Carrie Go Wandering

A Peso in the Laundry

2012-01-31T16:27:00.002-07:00

Yesterday I returned from a lovely two-week trip to Yelapa (Jalisco, Mexico). This morning I started laundry. It's kind of boring, hauling towels in and out of the washer, folding shirts, sorting socks, and I was feeling a little bit listless. Already the moisture had been sucked out of my skin and hair, and my cell phone was ringing over and over.

And then I heard something rattling around in the dryer. I opened the door and smiled. It was a stray peso. Ah, perfect! I sat on my back step with a big cup of tea and took thirty minutes to travel back in my mind to Yelapa. Some of my favorite reflections include:

Walking this river path in silence many mornings, contemplating how much I love solo travel because of the freedom and fearlessness and whimsy it evokes. Due to my daydreams, I never made it to to the waterfall that is at the end of this path, which is typically not hard to find...

Salsa dancing on the roof of the Yelapa Yacht Club. (This is my kind of Yacht Club.)

Meeting captivating people and forming instant bonds. At this point, we've just finished swimming in a waterfall, and we're about to continue our day-long journey through the jungle.

Kayaking out, out, out into the Banderas Bay, where it was only me and the water taxis and the whales. I was adept at going out to sea, but my returns to shore were less than smooth. I never managed a graceful exit onto shore. In fact, I have some good scrapes on my hip. (Perhaps there's a metaphor here?)

Watching my friend Donaldo cook whole red snapper in a frying pan, and then eating it with divine pleasure. This is possibly the best fish I've ever eaten! We spent over an hour walking around trying to buy fresh fish, because there was a big fiesta going on at the church in the village, and it was all spoken for. But we found this, and it was worth the effort.

Welcoming my family at the end of the trip and watching the wonder in my kid's eyes as they embraced their new surroundings.

Oh, and regarding "my dog" Mukako, the one I mentioned in my last blog post? Well, he eventually fell in love with a blond mutt and abandoned me almost completely. Here, they are relaxing on the beach instead of protecting me. (I can't blame him. She's cute.)

Yelapa in Photos

2012-01-21T14:11:00.001-07:00

My first few days in Yelapa, Mexico have been a sweet whirlwind. Holy shit! Serendipity is at work. Thanks to new friends Brad, Donaldo, Dave and Dean for embracing me and my love for adventure. Here are some moments from Days 1 & 2 that will surely turn into stories.

The Beginning: Here's my boat from Puerto Vallara to Yelapa. Good thing I packed light. What a fun ride!

Spectacular Views: While sitting at the table in my casita eating a lunch of smoked marlin tacos cooked by neighbor Donaldo, I looked out over the water and saw a parchute. This is not your average parasailor, though. There's no boat. It's just a guy with a propeller on his back, flying through the cove.

Call to Adventure: Brad, whose family owns my casita, asked me to join him and some others on a backroad trip through the jungle. How could I say no? I caught the 8 a.m. boat to Boca and met the posse. Long story short, I got to ride in Aussie Dean's sidecar all day, while Brad and Dave drove a 4-Runner. I felt totally alive. They called me Sidecar Sally, which might be the title of a future book...

Symbolic Things: On our tour, I was inspired by these Aztec petroglyphs. It was fabulous to feel with my fingers this delicate form of pre-writing.

No Strings Attached: "My dog" Mukaka follows me everywhere and sleeps outside on my step. He fights for my honor, and I'm not even feeding him. His loyalty blows me away.

On that note, I think Mukaka and I will go for a walk on the beach and see what we find...

The Beginning of the Story

2012-01-14T16:41:00.001-07:00

Yelapa, Mexico (courtesy of Destination 360)

This morning, I dug my bikini out of my dresser drawer. It was a nice feeling, holding that flimsy blue material in my hands while the wind howled outside my window. I looked at my eighteen-month-old daughter. "Mexico," I said. She giggled. I did a little spin around the room and tossed my bikini into my suitcase.

I don't know if it's just me, but I love the days before I leave for a trip. Sure, it's partly a rush. There are projects to finish, loose ends to tie up, and clothes to wash and pack. But as I navigate each of these tasks, keeping things as simple as possible, I find that I begin to melt into the adventure that lies ahead. My routine becomes infused with the whimsical images that travel inspires.

In this case, the images involve sand, jungle, and stripped-down accommodations. I'm going on a two-week trip to Yelapa, which is a tiny village near Puerto Vallarta, accessible only by boat or burro. I'll take a boat in, but who knows? Maybe I'll exit by burro. The first week of the trip I'll be solo, working on a draft of my novel and exploring the village. The second week, my family will join me.

I've done a little research on Yelapa-- enough to find my way to my casita and stay safe as a solo female traveler-- but mostly I'm going in green, which is how I like it. I know vaguely that there are waterfall hikes, whale sightings, and weekly salsa dances with a live band. I'll figure out the details when I arrive. For me, that's half the fun.

And the other half of the fun is embracing the moments before I leave. Instead of getting swallowed up by mundane details or worries, such as potential flight delays and weather issues, I'm enjoying the sensory experience of preparation: pulling my flowing sarong off its hanger, trying on flip flops, tightening the strap of my money belt, buying anti-diarrheal medicine, hitting they key on my computer that activates my out-of-office reply. For me, it's all part of the experience. In fact, it's the beginning of the story. I wonder what's next?

Good Morning, 2012!

2012-01-02T17:03:00.002-07:00

This year, my husband and I decided to buck tradition and do something different for New Year's Eve: Stay in a yurt. We drove two hours NW of Fort Collins, strapped on our backpacks, and snowshoed a short trail into the Colorado National Forest. Above is a photo of our yurt. It's called Dancing Moose, because moose are common in the area, and apparently they look like they're dancing when they step over the wooden fence that marks one border of the property.

Chris and I were pretty giddy upon our arrival. It was sunny and warm and quiet, and we were... alone. There was no noise other than the occasional creaking of trees and the sound of our snowshoes crunching the snow. As we stood on the deck basking in the sunshine, we realized how depleted we'd been feeling, and how much we needed this dose of fresh air.

From the deck, I spent a lot of time staring at this interesting crooked tree. I wonder what made it grow that way?

At dusk, we took long walk on a trail near our yurt. I kept my eyes open for moose, because I love how huge and stunning and awkward they are. As the light faded, it started to get really cold. Chris kept talking about turning back. Just as I muttered, "Fine," we heard a thumping sound. A large creature appeared in our path. My breath caught in my chest. It was a female moose! She stopped and stared at us for a long time. We backed up slowly, mouths open. I've seen lots of moose in my Colorado adventures, especially when backpacking, but the awe never fades.

The inside of our yurt was pretty rustic, which we expected. There was a wood stove for heat, a propane stove for cooking, dishes, bunk beds and an outhouse. For our New Year's Eve dinner, we cooked cheese fondue and dipped bread, apples, broccoli, and cauliflower. It was delicious. We ate in our bunk, because it was cozy.

When I woke up on the first day of 2012, I immediately got up and took my camera out onto the deck. On my way out the door, I checked the thermometer inside the yurt: 34 degrees. Cold! I knew I needed to start a fire, but first I wanted to capture my first sight of the new year. It was a beautiful morning:

Eventually it was time to go home, and it was hard, but at the same time we felt totally rejuvenated. We ate a big breakfast of eggs, toast and apple slices, and then we packed up our stuff. As I trudged to the car, Chris took this photo of me. (My load looks worse than it is.)

What a perfect new beginning!

Holiday Wish List

2011-11-30T11:02:00.003-07:00

This morning, I opened my email to a message from my mom with the subject line: Holiday Wish List.

Holy crap, it's the holiday season! It's time for lights and cookies, eggnog and bells.

But ugh, every year I look less-than-forward to coming up with a wish list. I scan my brain for ideas (socks? underwear? soap?) and all I ever really want are gifts that encourage me to experience the world. This year, I've got four ideas that make me all tingly. And they fit a variety of budgets. Perhaps they will inspire you, too.

1. A Travel Guide. Maybe I'm old fashioned, but I still enjoy a paper guidebook that offers ideas for adventures that get me away from my screen. At the bookstore, I love to scan the selection: France, Argentina, California, New Mexico. I'm a huge fan of Fodor's, because I've traveled to Germany, Turkey and Costa Rica with their guides in hand, and everything was accurate. This year, I'm interested in Italy, so Fodor's: Italy is on my list.

2. Luggage. I'm a one-bag traveler, whether I'm going for a weekend or ten days. Patagonia makes luggage that I crave. This year, I'm hoping for the Freewheeler, because it's so durable and practical that I think it could be my sole piece of luggage for the rest of my life.

3. Travel Fund Contributions. Like many people, I live on a strict budget. But the line item I won't sacrifice is my Travel Fund. Mostly, I travel cheap (camping or visiting places in the off-season), but every once in a while I discover a trip idea that's expensive, but worth it. This is how I feel about the International Wilderness Leadership School. I'm attracted to almost all of their trips, but I think I'd like to start with a 12-day backpacking/canyoneering adventure in Utah. Let the saving begin...

4. A Mixed CD. Road trips are one of my favorite ways to experience the U.S., and what road trip is complete without awesome tunes? I still listen to CD's. And I love mixes from people who love music. I tuck them aside for my next trip, and then it's a surprise when I hit the road.

Happy Holidays, Fellow Travelers...

A Tour of the Southwest

2011-11-01T11:32:00.001-06:00

My recent road trip from Colorado to Arizona was fantastic! It's hard to beat the scenery, especially in the autumn. The photo above was taken at Arches National Park near Moab, Utah. The camera self timer worked great!

I camped overnight at Arches, which included a couple of surprises. First, there was a huge full moon, which cast gorgeous light over the rock formations. Second, I woke up the next morning to a mouse in the trunk of my sedan! I named him Desert Harry and he caused quite a commotion and delayed my departure to Flagstaff. He is the main subject of my current essay-in-progress. I don't have a photo of Desert Harry to post, because he was very quick and ended up behind the upholstery lining of my trunk...

But I do have a photo from the Park Avenue trailhead, which I stopped at for a quick visit. It is very aptly named:

On the way to Flagstaff, in the middle of nowhere, I discovered a tiny art gallery that had this truck parked out front. I love old trucks. I wanted to exchange my Subaru for it, but instead I bought something at the gallery: a little sheep made from mud by a local Navajo woman.

Finally, I made it to Flagstaff, where I attended a science writing conference. I met interesting people from California, Arizona, Minnesota, Vermont, and even my home state of Colorado. I'm looking forward to building a portfolio of science clips over the next years.

On my way back to Colorado, I drove through northern New Mexico and camped at the Ojo Caliente Hot Springs. Wow. Are there any words to describe this place? The contrast of colors and textures blew me away: red rock, indigo sky, yellow Cottonwoods, green pine trees. I love the footprints in this photo:

It was hard to go home, but of course I was thrilled to see my family! (They were sick with the flu the whole time I was gone.) I'm excited to return to some of my favorite places on this trip for in-depth explorations. For example, I want to hike the backcountry of Utah and New Mexico. I always love having adventures to plan!

Solo Traveler Blog Post

2011-10-11T10:51:00.000-06:00

I'm really honored that I got asked to write a guest post for Janice Waugh's Solo Traveler blog. In my opinion, she's the guru of solo travel, and her site is an incredible resource. You can check out Solo Traveler at:

www.solotravelerblog.com

My post is about my very first trip to Germany. It wasn't supposed to be a solo adventure, but it ended up that way. I spent a lot of that three month excursion outside of my comfort zone, and it was hard, but in the end I found my authentic voice, and I had lots of fun. Thank goodness for German beer, bread and cheese, and Swiss chocolate. They saved me. Ha!

I'm enjoying the comments people are leaving in response to my post, and I'm also excited that the post got re-tweeted a lot!

In partnership with Janice and Solo Traveler, I've agreed to be the City Host for the Fort Collins, Colorado area. This means I'll organize 1-2 meetings a year, as an opportunity for solo travelers to meet face-to-face and exchange ideas and advice. If you'd like to be involved, feel free to email me at clvisint@yahoo.com. You don't have to be a seasoned solo traveler. Newbies are welcome and encouraged.

Get out there! It's good.

Now,I must continue packing for my trip to Flagstaff...

Hittin' the Road

2011-10-06T16:13:00.002-06:00

This week I'm busy preparing for my next adventure: A week-long road trip to Flagstaff! (There's a cool science writing conference there, so I'm making a trip out of the deal.)

It's a twelve-hour drive from Fort Collins to Flagstaff, so at first I thought about flying. However, is it just me, or are plane tickets more expensive, with less convenient itineraries, these days? Maybe I'm curmudgeonly because I've been searching for flights to Rome for months, and I can't find anything much under $1000, and I've pretty much given up.

Anyway, Flagstaff is not Rome, but it does involve traveling to a place I've never really been. (I was there as a kid, but I don't remember it well.) And, when I pulled out my old paper atlas to take a peek at the route, I saw a collection of amazing cities: Moab, Durango, Sedona, Santa Fe. There are actually three fantastic route options from Fort Collins, and it was hard to decide. In the end, I chose to hit Moab on the way there, camping at Arches National Park. On my return, I'll camp at the Ojo Caliente Mineral Springs, which is supposed to be stunning. While there, I'll visit Sedona for some hiking and biking.

In Flagstaff, I'm sharing a room with a freelance writer who lives on a small farm in Vermont. I can't wait to meet her and hear about her life. Also, the conference gets great reviews! (I occasionally supplement my literary writing with freelance work, and I'd like to break into the science market.)

So, I'm itching to go! On the road, I love to walk into cafes (or bars, if I'm in the mood) and strike up conversations with random people. I can almost always find common ground with strangers, and I dig people's stories. This trip is just what I need right now. I'm gonna listen to lots of good music while I drive, and I'll also take pictures, which I'll post when I return. Here's to the joys of ongoing adventure...

Sky Meditation

2011-09-21T18:09:00.001-06:00

"How can I quiet my mind?"

I ask myself this question almost every day. Like many people, my mind and imagination are overactive, and it's tiring. When I take trips, I often choose places that are totally different from home, or that push me into survival mode, because these experiences force fidgety thoughts into the background.

In daily life, I try to be quiet. I have a regular yoga practice. I exercise. I've also tried a formal mediation practice, but my record is something like two minutes, and that might be an exaggeration. So, I spend a lot of time thinking about stillness, while moving.

At the Yoga Journal retreat in Estes Park a few years ago, a Kundalini yoga instructor said, "If you take time to recharge every day, you don't need to pay money for a conference." Her comment struck deep. Although I believe good teachers are invaluable (like the ones at the conference), she did have a point. Sometimes we spend lots of money on stuff that's inherent and intuitive, because we're unwilling to acknowledge the issue and put forth the effort to change things.

And then, Voila! The other day while hiking, I finally did it: I accessed my quiet mind. It happened by accident. Here's how: At the summit of the trail I found a flat spot to eat lunch, like I usually do. But this time I laid my back and looked up at the sky. With my hands over my belly, I listened to my breath. I placed my thoughts on the clouds, one by one, and watched them disappear. Before I knew it, I was focused wholly on a vacuum of blue. I sat up after ten minutes feeling incredibly refreshed.

The good news is that the sky is everywhere. There are no excuses. I can recharge every day. Starting today, I'm giving it a try: ten minutes of sky gazing every morning or afternoon.

Watch out. Next time you see me, I might be so chill it freaks you out. Probably not, but a girl can (day)dream.

Honoring Don

2011-09-14T15:55:00.001-06:00

One of my favorite books of all time is the epic Lonesome Dove. I don't typically read Westerns, or books that are 900+ pages. But Lonesome Dove was recommended to me by ten different people, over a two-year period of time, and finally I surrendered. I picked up the heavy paperback and dove in.

Within 100 pages, I was hooked. I fell hard for those cowboys and whores, and even the horses. The adventure is exciting, and the friendships endearing. But something about the cultural context of the story resonated with me even more deeply. It was a sadness about the disappearing West, a fierce love for the wilderness, and a strong desire to protect all that is wild in my heart, and in the world.

This weekend, I'm helping to host an 80th birthday party for my father-in-law, Don. He waited to have kids until his forties, because his earlier years were spent traveling around the world, attending seminary school, writing a book about the environment and consulting with non-profit organizations. He's been an invaluable mentor to me. Don is the person who taught me how to listen my inner voice, which has always whispered things about adventure, creativity, simplicity, flow. It's why I travel. It's why I write. It's why I started this blog.

Don and I both love the book Lonesome Dove. When we "discuss" the book, we mostly stare off into space and don't talk.

At Don's birthday party, there will be a "nice" roast. People have stories and songs and readings planned. It will be lively. I'm excited, because I will be reading the quote that opens Lonesome Dove. It's the best way I can think of to honor his life, and his influence on mine.

All America lies at the end of the wilderness road, and our past is not a dead past, but still lives in us. Our forefathers had civilization inside themselves, the wild outside. We live in the civilization they created, but within us the wilderness still lingers. What they dreamed, we live, and what they lived, we dream.

T.K Whipple, Study Out the Land

Hit Play

2011-09-08T14:24:00.000-06:00

Lately, I've been itching to get in my car and drive, just so I can listen to music. When my family asks where I'm going, I make excuses like "We need milk," or "I forget my jacket at the yoga studio." But secretly, I'm dying roll out of the driveway so that I can hit Play. It's an experience I crave, because it literally transports me.

September in Colorado means shorter days and cooler nights, and my mood gets kind of touchy. This fall, I'm revising a novel, which sounds glamorous, but it actually means I stare at my computer a lot, wondering if the story is getting better, or worse. I often feel stagnant, caught in my own head, and in need of escape. I've got travel plans scheduled for fall and winter, but they feel far away.

Songs with evocative lyrics, or with no lyrics at all, tend to help me a lot. Sort of like travel, the right songs encourage me to think about the world differently, or they challenge my opinions and help me connect with others in a new way. It's also a good opportunity to escape my thinking mind and embrace the present moment.

I've got lots of music stashed in my car, and everything has its purpose. Johnny Cash helps me slow down and check out my surroundings. Alison Krauss speaks to my restless, flirty soul. The Weepies are all about kindness and compassion. (They make me want to hug a stranger in need.) The band Glashaus is trance-like, with their sensual beats and German-language lyrics.

Lately, I've added a couple of local bands to my "car" collection. The Patti Fiasco has great energy and a wide-open heart, and I like Peace Officer for their thoughtful, socially-conscious lyrics.

I like to stretch my horizons, whether I'm home or away, especially through music. What do you listen to when you drive?

In Search of Eco Bliss

2011-08-30T16:35:00.001-06:00

Each month, I get an electronic newsletter from EcoTulum, which operates the accommodations at one of my favorite places on earth: Cabanas Copal. This rustic collection of palm-thatched huts sits on a ledge that overlooks the Caribbean in Tulum, Mexico. Here's a great photo, compliments of EcoTulum:

As you can see, the place is stripped down. The cabanas are open-air, there's no electricity, and the beach is clothing optional. I love traveling to places that reflect my own values, and Copal captures this perfectly. To me, this is an incredibly romantic place, partly because of their commitment to honoring the environment.

In EcoTulum's last newsletter, I sensed that something had changed at Copal. It wasn't overtly apparent, but the subtext made me hold my breath for several seconds and click over to the website. In fact, I was correct. Copal's land lease expired, forcing them to downsize from 46 cabanas, to 8. They now have only a small patch of beach, so guests are encouraged to hang out at the next property over, which is upscale.

Also, nudity is apparently illegal on Mexico's beaches, and government officials are beginning to enforce this law. I'm not really into public nudity, but the scene at Copal felt quaint and somehow private, and I did partake quietly. I don't know about you, but the thought of being prosecuted for nudity by any "official" makes my skin crawl.

For all of these reasons, I'm not going back. This makes me feel sad and annoyed, and a little bit lost. Copal felt good on so many levels, and I planned to return again and again.

Eco lodges are trendy these days. I should be able to find a replacement, right? But I hear that the term "eco" often doesn't mean much, and also that many eco lodges are an option only for rich people.

I'm curious to know what others think. If you have eco friendly, affordable recommendations, please pass them along! (The nude beach isn't necessary, but sunshine is a must!)

Yes

2011-08-15T16:50:00.001-06:00

Recently, I watched the movie 127 Hours. I spent the entire time glued to the sofa, gripping a blanket, feeling some combination of fascination and horror. In case you're not familiar, this is the story of American mountaineer Aron Ralston, who got trapped while canyoneering in Utah. He endured five dire days near the bottom of a remote canyon, his hand pinned by a boulder. Finally, he managed to amputate his arm and get out alive.

Can you imagine amputating your own arm? I really can't. In his case, he basically hacked of his arm with a cheap multi-tool, because he'd forgotten his Swiss Army knife. It was unthinkable. Every time Ralston dug into his arm, I looked away from the screen.

Throughout the movie, I was in awe of Ralston's technical and survival skills. He used ropes, caribiners, a dull knife, and his CamelBak in resourceful ways, and he managed to stay alive for five days with almost no food or water. I jotted down notes on a stray pad of paper, including CamelBak sling and ropes for warmth. I also promised myself that I'd sign up for a wilderness survival course, because although I consider myself relatively smart in the outdoors, I know a fraction of what Ralston does.

For days after the movie, I found myself thinking about Ralston's accident, and obsessing about how I'd have handled it. Although I don't rappel into canyons, I do embark on solo trips into the Colorado mountains, where similar risks exist. There are unstable boulders, cliffs, and falling dead pine trees, especially after the beetle kill. I go out prepared, and I try hard to avoid making mistakes, but even so, things can go wrong. If it had been me in that canyon, would I have survived?

I asked my friend Charlie this very question. (This is a classic case of Charlie being the wrong place at the wrong time. He was simply trying to walk through a bookstore, and I lured him into a passionate ten-minute discussion about wilderness survival.) But something great came out of our conversation. When I asked Charlie if I could survive, his immediate response was yes.

Yes.

It was just what I needed. A vote for the resilience of my human spirit. Our conversation didn't end there. Charlie shared examples of his own scary situations and judgment calls, and I recalled some of mine. We both agreed that there are never any guarantees. Even if you do everything right and know every wilderness skill possible, if a boulder falls on your head, you're screwed.

I'm going to watch 127 Hours again, and this time I'm not going to look away. I will watch Aron Ralston hack off his arm. It's unlikely that I'll ever have to amputate my own limb, or anyone else's. But it's amazing how these skills can be transferable, in ways that are... unthinkable.

Prowess

2011-07-29T12:17:00.004-06:00

I love solo backpacking trips. I know this sounds crazy, but I do. A few days ago, I returned from a 3-day trip through the wilderness west of Fort Collins, Colorado.

It was a great challenge. I hauled my 50 lb. pack up a mountain, sawed wood for a fire, purified water, and hung my food to keep it away from bears. There were endless opportunities to test my physical and mental prowess. (I love the word prowess. Isn't it sexy? I thought about this on the trail. Ha!)

It was helpful to think about funny things, in order to manage my fears. There are so many dangers out there. What if I fell and hit my head? Ran into a bear or mountain lion? What if a dead pine tree crashed onto my tent? And then my biggest fear: deranged mountain men.

Sometimes bad things happen to women on trails. A couple years ago, a man dressed in camouflage jumped two women who were hiking a well-used trail not far from Fort Collins. The women got out alive, but not without trauma. There were two of them, which helped. If he'd attacked a solo woman, would she have survived? That situation sits in the back of my mind, always.

On Day 2 of my trip, I decided to day-hike four miles up to a meadow. At first, the trail was deserted and I reveled in the beauty of the roaring river, the vibrant wildflowers and my own quiet mind. And then, an hour into my hike, I saw a solo male hiker up ahead. There was a big knife on his belt. Immediately, my shoulders tensed. Despite my protections-- bear spray and newly-acquired karate skills-- I knew he could easily drag me off the trail and stab me to death.

I had to make a choice. I could continue hiking, pass him and hope for the best. Or I could turn around and head back to my campsite. He probably hadn't even noticed I was there.

I decided to keep going. I don't like to get swallowed up by my fears, on the trail or in everyday life. I don't wake up every morning worrying that I might crash my bike or my car, or get struck by lightning. Chances are this guy was a normal person who was carrying a knife to protect himself from predators: bears and mountain lions and... serial killers?

I approached the hiker with forced confidence. When I got close, he glanced at me sideways and stepped off the trail. Instead of taking a tiny step, he moved over like five feet. I'm sure my body language screamed, "Don't even think about touching me, motherfucker." He let me pass, no problem. He said hello. I nodded.

Deep down, I think he admired my prowess. Just kidding.

I don't know if I made the right decision. Probably there was no "right" decision. But I think it's good to live life, and this sometimes means trusting that everything's gonna be all right.

Light Me Up

2011-07-09T14:27:00.001-06:00

I just learned that Iowa is the "Life Changing" state. Damn.That's an ambitious slogan. I'll be honest: I've driven through Iowa a number of times, mostly from Colorado to some midwestern state, and the miles of cornfields have never sparked a personal revelation. Mostly, Iowa's speed limit stands out. It's 65-70 mph. After driving more than 75 mph across the entire state of Nebraska, the slowdown is painful.

On our recent road trip from Colorado to Michigan, we hit Iowa at a particularly low point. Eight hours in the car, humid air seeping in, and I was cursing 90% of my CD collection because every song was skipping. (I know, who listens to CD's anymore? One day I will take charge of my music situation.)

So, as it was, at the edge of Iowa we'd been listening to one song, on one of my non-skipping CD's, for something like twenty minutes. Someone in the car yelled NEW SONG! I gripped the wheel and flicked off the radio completely. When I looked up, there was that speed limit sign, staring me down.

Finally, in silence, we turned into our stopover campground, Lake Anita State Park. It was: Dusk. Mosquitoes. Impossibly thick air. We rushed to make a fire with wet wood, half-roasted hot dogs over a tiny flame, set up camp. I grabbed a towel and escaped to the showers.

And then, at dark, the most magical thing happened. Fireflies lit up the campground: Thousands of tiny lights suspended in space. I froze, looking around, blinking, smiling. It was surreal and whimsical and romantic. I've seen a lot of great things on my travels. This was one of the best.

Maybe it was even a little bit life changing, because afterwards I started noticing Iowa: the terraced farm fields, ultra-green landscape, steep cliffs of Dubuque. Stunning views. Little signs caught my attention, pointing to interesting attractions, like the bridges of Madison County, Amana Colonies and Iowa City.

I came home with a new perspective on Iowa. I think I might need to plan a trip there, where I will drive slow, linger, and let the slogan set me straight.

Going Back

2011-06-29T13:53:00.000-06:00

This is the house where my mom grew up. It's just outside Norway, in the upper peninsula of Michigan. My grandmother still lives there. She's alone now, but at one time this tiny ranch (maybe 700 square feet?) was home to a family of five.

I just returned from a visit to this house. I packed up my own family into an old station wagon-- husband plus two tiny kids-- and embarked on the eighteen-hour drive. I haven't been back in almost ten years. This year, the goal of the trip was to take notes on the setting (Norway is where my first novel is set) and also to reconnect with family and play in pine forests and lakes.

Here's what I didn't expect: A blast of memories on Day Two of the drive. I was focused on our destination, and I didn't think much about what was in between. But in the nine-hour stretch from middle Iowa to northern Wisconsin, we basically blew past the first twenty-two years of my life.

First there was Madison, Wisconsin, where I got my undergraduate degree and spent many sweet years. And then we hit Green Bay, plus surrounding small towns, where I spent my childhood and adolescence.

As we passed through these towns, I felt myself get really quiet in the car. I turned down the music. I stopped singing along. My husband looked at me but didn't say anything. He could tell something was up.

My mind was racing. It flashed clips from my life. The things that came forward seemed random: riding the Tilt-A-Whirl at Bay Beach amusement park, chasing my Spaniel around the backyard, listening to the song Free Fallin' with a high school boyfriend in his car, riding a bus to the Indy 500 with the high school band, waterskiing at my friend's cabin, making ravioli on a cold winter day, skinny dipping in Lake Mendota during a particularly muggy summer.

I saw faces of people I never think about anymore, at least not consciously. I saw objects: the black leotard I wore as a dancer, a poster of Trey Ames on my bedroom wall, the piano in my parent's living room that I practiced most days, a pan of meatloaf on the kitchen counter, my college bike named Miranda.

There were a few moments where I almost shed tears.

Looking back, I think it might've been nice to stop in these places. I could've used a few moments to pay homage to my past. To close my eyes and remember. To let the images wash over me. 70 mph was too fast for reflection.

I live in Colorado now, and I love it. It serves my restless spirit better than the midwest. But there is something warm and comfortable about my past. It wasn't all good, but there were lots of good things, and it shaped who I am today. I don't give this enough credit.

I'm wondering if my readers have had similar experiences. When you go back to where you grew up, what images come forward?

Sweet Air

2011-05-16T22:29:00.001-06:00

Courtesy of Hot Sulphur Springs Resort

I love sleeping outside. When I can, I do. But right now it's May, the edge of winter in Colorado, and this means I've been sleeping inside for months. I scratch at the walls. I need to get out. I want to breathe sweet air while I dream.

On a crisp Friday evening I can take it no longer. I hop in my car and head to the hot springs. It's a three-hour trip, but tonight it takes six. It's snowing in the high country and I can't avoid: elk in the road, jack-knifed semis, boys with snowmobiles, men with provisions.

When I finally arrive, it's wee morning, and for hours I've been watching my odometer click off tenths of a mile at a time. My neck aches. My calves cramp.

I doze for a few hours and wake to bright sun. My skin feels transparent.

When I pay my admission, the attendant says Oh.

I blink. What?

She looks at my eyes.

I say, It was a shitty drive.

My favorite pool is big enough for one person. I float on my back, all hollow limbs. The water is cloud soft.

I inhale through my mouth, hold it in, blow out. They rhythm is good. I don't stop.

Fashionistas Weigh In

2011-05-04T10:56:00.001-06:00

This week I'm posting interviews with a couple inspiring women who are experts at packing light & looking good. I think it's easy to do one or the other, but not BOTH. For example, I can easily pack light. I did a two-week trip to Turkey and Germany with one carry-on bag. However, I think I looked pretty frumpy.

So... welcome Dawn Berg Duncan! She's a marketing/public relations professional and well-traveled fashionista from Fort Collins, Colorado. In this photo she's on Canal Street in New York City. Doesn't she look hip?

I was very excited to talk to Dawn. She is GOLD. Here's what she shared:

Where do you like to travel?
I like Europe, the Wine Country, Mexico, and NYC the most. I have been to France, Spain (3x), Italy, England, Switzerland and also 15+ trips to Mexico. I usually head to NYC once a year to shop and roam about. Trips back home to Minnesota are great, too----I grew up in a really rural area that is lush with tons of lakes and rivers. It's gorgeous. The Wine Country is awesome; I never tire of good food and wine! My husband and I also love Santa Fe.

Have you always liked traveling?
I've had wanderlust since back in the womb. I arrived in this world ready to see it all and eat, shop, talk, and roam my way through countries with a focus on soaking up as much culture as possible. Although I have been many places already, there are so many more on my list! I get my "foreign fix" a bit by being married to a native of Ireland who has lived all over the UK and also USA.

How do you pack light AND look good?
One of my tips is to pick a color palette that I will use throughout the trip. I happen to love black and white, so it's easy for me to do this as I just add lots of accessories in bright colors or other neutrals to my outfits and voila! New outfits every day. Having good basics is key: A good little black dress that isn't high maintenance in terms of wrinkling, leggings or some sleek black pants, a basic skirt, jeans, a "day dress." I don't wear shorts much, so I tend to pack day dresses/sundresses as opposed to shorts or cargo pant type things.

Also, when you choose a basic color palette for your trip, it cuts down on the number of shoes you need to bring with you. If you're traveling for a long business trip and you need a lot of shoes for events, etc. one thing you can do is ship a box to your hotel. Sounds crazy, but it's much better than having to cram five pairs of shoes into your bag. I've done this when I've had week-long business trips that required everything from boots to tennis shoes, to 3 sets of heels, flats, etc. Too much to carry in one roll aboard suitcase.

How do you pack for a trip?
My process: I make a master list and fill out categories of what to pack. I write down each day I will be gone and what I plan on doing that day, so that I can see if I need a basic outfit AND a dressy outfit for that day or if I can wear one thing all day. If I am going on a beach vacation, I pack really light---I mainly live in a swimsuit and some sort of sundress.

What are some fashion essentials for most any trip?
Sunglasses, swimsuit, sunscreen, dressy dress, day dress, a nice scarf that is long and can double as a wrap, lots of accessories and a great bag that you can use daily.

Where do you find good clothes/accessories for travel?
I mainly shop at Banana Republic and White House Black Market, but also have bought travel clothes through rei.com, athleta.com, Magellan's, and titlenine.com

Any other advice?
I believe in the mantra, "Good clothes open all doors." Even though I've had some interesting fashion dilemmas to face while traveling (insert Spain, 2008, where it rained non-stop for 8 days and was frigidly cold...and I had a suitcase full of summer outfits), I love thinking about what to wear---where!

Look good no matter where you're going. You don't have to spend a lot to look good, you just need to think about what you're doing. Study the culture a bit of where you're headed. True, you'll probably always look like a tourist, but you can blend in better by being conscientious of what you wear. If you're going to Italy, know that they are the fashionistas of the world and if you're in flip flops and a grubby t-shirt, you'll stand out---in a bad way. Make the effort to be simple but chic.

THANKS, DAWN! (I've definitely been the girl in flip flops and a grubby t-shirt.)

Readers, what do you think about Dawn's advice?

Eco Bliss

2011-04-26T09:56:00.000-06:00

This week I was planning to write a racy little piece about sex in faraway places, but here's the thing: I got the flu yesterday. I'm feeling a lot better today (as in, I've stopped puking every hour). But sex isn't exactly top of mind right now, as maybe you can imagine.

So here's something cool instead. I just booked a little casa in Yelapa, Jalisco, Mexico for a couple weeks this winter. Here it is:

This photo of Casa Isabel is courtesy of TripAdvisor

I'm not sure who the guy is in the picture, but I'm pretty sure he doesn't come with the casa. Anyway, I'm really excited to explore this rustic Mexican town that sits on the Bay of Banderas, Pacific side. Here's a picture of the town:

This photo of Casa Isabel is courtesy of TripAdvisor

There are no developed roads to Yelapa, so I'll be accessing it by boat. And there's a Spanish school in town, so I plan to take some language classes to improve my skills when I'm not hiking in the jungle, writing, reading or hanging out on the beach.

The thing that excites me the most about Yelapa is their eco-conscious attitude. This mirrors my own values, and I love it when I can visit a place that respects the environment and local culture. I'll never be a 5-star resort kind of girl, because the excess makes me uncomfortable.

I'm wondering if any of my readers feel this way? If so, please share your thoughts. What are some of your favorite eco-conscious destinations around the world?

Holy Places: To Worship or Abstain

2011-04-22T21:41:00.001-06:00

Recently, I spent a weekend in a silent meditation suite at a yoga center a couple hours from my house. I did this, despite the fact that I don't meditate. When I made the reservation my toddler was screaming "Stupid Mommy," from his bedroom, and my baby was throwing Cheerios on the floor.

The retreat promised things that I craved: quiet, wilderness, meals delivered to my door, yoga classes, outdoor hot tub. I wanted this, super-sized, so I ignored the other accommodations and went straight for the gold.

It was really no surprise when I got to my suite and freaked out. The room was a few steps up from solitary confinement. It had one tiny window, which overlooked the dumpster, and I recognized zero of the yoga gurus standing guard on the altar. One guy was shirtless and had long, splayed fingers and beady eyes. Shit. This was not who I wanted to sleep with.

I spent my nights with one eye open, worrying that the yoga dude would leap over and grab me with his spindly fingers. More than anything, I felt guilty about my negative inner thoughts.

During the day, things were better. I read books and ate lovingly-prepared food and practiced yoga in a charming cabin with a wood-burning fireplace. I spoke to no one, which helped clear my mind.

On the last evening, I decided to participate in group meditation in the temple, thinking it might ease me into a night of sweet thoughts and slumber.

The inside of the temple was beautiful: rows of meditation cushions and a live kirtan band and an ornate altar boasting dozens of gurus. The music was enchanting, the energy divine. I sat in the last row. I could embrace this, from a distance.

A girl in a long skirt appeared at the back of the temple and danced her way up to the altar, woven basket in hand. One by one, she began to pull items out of the basket and wave them in front of the altar: a velvet scarf, tiny bell, tray of tea cups, yellow umbrella.

Amusing, I thought. I wonder about the significance.

But then she began to hand the items to folks on the cushions. People got up, blissful looks on their faces, and swayed and danced and waved the items in the air around the altar. I avoided eye contact.

When I was one of two people left on the cushions, I accidentally looked up, and a guy holding the velvet scarf was in front of me. He handed me the scarf. I accepted, with false thanks.

I walked up to the front, moving my hips a bit and tottering around from foot to foot. In my mind, I thought two things:

What the f*** am I doing?

I hope this doesn't end up on You Tube.

My guilt overflowed. At the end of the ritual, sitting in silence, I obsessed about my own disrespect.

So here is my question for readers: What would you do in situation like this? Be honest. Please comment!

Your First Time

2011-04-13T15:17:00.000-06:00

It used to be that when I walked into a restaurant and saw someone sitting alone, I'd think, "Oh, that person must be so sad." I'd have a strong desire to ditch my own friends and family in order to comfort the poor soul.

I don't feel that way anymore. After completing over a dozen solo trips of varying lengths and distances, I know that it can be quite enjoyable to sit alone in a restaurant.

Here's the thing: I view the world in a whole new way when I'm out there alone. There's less noise, fewer distractions and more of an opportunity to be authentic.

I can honestly say that I miss a lot of stuff when yapping away. For example, if I go for a hike and talk the whole time, I don't feel rejuvenated at the end of the trail. It's hard to be tuned in to a conversation and immersed in the textures of nature.

Don't get me wrong: I don't recommend doing everything alone. There are lots of people I love spending time with. It's good to have balance. However, if solo time is something that interests you (or maybe it makes you shudder, but you'd like to get over it) here are some tips for success:

1. Start small. Try going to a coffee shop and hanging out alone for an hour. You can bring stuff to keep you company-- a book, magazine, your knitting project. Take time to look around. Check out the postings on the community board. Enjoy the artwork on the walls.

2. Work up. If short solo "trips" go well, you can try longer time periods. Go out to dinner, a movie, or hiking. If you think people are looking at you funny, consider whether it's your own insecurity that's behind this.

3. Try an overnight. Do something you love. Maybe you've always wanted to visit a museum that's a couple of hours from your house. Go overnight and stay alone in a hotel. Bring a book, a journal and a camera. Document the experience!

If you decide you like solo trips, the world is yours. You can go anywhere. My favorite solo trips include a couple of months in Frankfurt, Germany, a Spanish immersion program in Oaxaca, Mexico, and a solo road trip through Wyoming and Montana.

Keep in mind that technology makes it really easy to keep in touch with your friends and family at home. SKYPE is super cool. And... I emailed my family from a sailboat in the middle of the Aegean sea once, so access is almost everywhere these days.

Happy Travels,

Carrie

Why I Go It Alone

2011-04-07T10:00:00.000-06:00

In my conversations with people, the topic of solo travel often comes up. "Why do you love it?" they ask. My answer is simple. It's freedom.

When I travel solo, I don't have: an agenda, obligations, the back-up of English-speaking companions. All I have is myself. And one small bag. There is whimsy in this. I get to do what I want, when I want. I can spend all day not speaking, or I can be-friend a local person in a cafe and talk for hours. I can sit on a beach painting circles in the sand.

But when challenges arise, I still only have myself. This takes some courage. Like when my tire was flat in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming, or when four taxi drivers were arguing about how to get me to my destination in Turkey. Things always get dicey, in every trip, at some point. I see it as an opportunity to dig deep. To hold tight. To grow. When I get through it, I feel free.

In my blog, I want to explore all of this further. I want to break it down, cut it up and examine the pieces. Some of the topics will be edgy, such as the notion of men + women + sex in faraway places (let's be honest, it comes up, wedding ring or not). Other topics will be practical, like how to travel with less crap. I'll always have a poll up at the edge of my blog. Log your answer (it's anonymous) and I will use the data for further blog posts, essays and maybe even a book.

I'll post once a week, so keep your eyes open.

Thank you for sharing this journey with me!

Fodor's Forums

2011-04-07T08:46:00.000-06:00

I just discovered Fodor's Forums, which is RAD! It's an easy way to get answers to travel-related questions, from seasoned travelers. You simply sign in, post a question, and check back for responses.

Recently, I posted the question "I'm thinking about traveling to the Cinque Terre region of Italy in November. Any thoughts on this timing?" Within minutes, I had helpful responses from people who clearly know the area. And, while I was scanning my responses, I noticed another forum topic about how to avoid pickpockets. So I grabbed a few tips on that, too.

I added Fodor's to my Favorite Travel Web Sites list, on the side of my blog. Check it out when planning your next trip.

2011-02-07T15:27:00.000-07:00

I just got back from Sayulita, Mexico, where I spent a couple of weeks doing beachy stuff, like swimming in the ocean, building sand castles and surfing. Okay, I barely even stood up on the board. And I drank lots of saltwater. The waves pretty much kicked my ass, whether I was swimming or surfing, and it would've been really humbling, except that I was only six months postpartum, so I gave myself (and my core muscles) a break. It was fun to play in the waves and then sit on the beach with a daquiri, watching the others rip it up.

Learn more about Sayulita at www.sayulitalife.com.

Touching the Earth

2009-08-22T11:30:00.001-06:00

Right now I'm reading the book Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Many people have heard of this book, but I hadn't until just recently. I guess it makes sense. I got a motorcycle of my own, and then a book like this floats into my consciousness.

I'm only on page 10 or so, and already the author's words are resonating with me. In particular, he's helped me realize why I even wanted a motorcycle in the first place. In fact, it's quite simple. It keeps me close to the world.

When I told friends and family that I'd gotten a motorcyle, most were surprised. My husband doesn't ride, I'm pretty natural, and I would choose snowshoes over a snowmobile any day. In fact, other than my car, I don't really like motorized "toys." So when people asked me why, I just said a motorcycle was a new opportunity for travel adventures.

And this is true. It does broaden the possibilities for travel experiences and stories. Right now I'm just learning to ride, but once I venture further out into the world, I'm sure there will be plenty of triumphs and challenges (and characters galore).

But I actually think it's much more than this. In fact, it seems that traveling by motorcycle fits perfectly with who I am. And I mean who I really am, deep in my heart.

The author of Zen compares riding in a car to watching TV. Encased in metal and glass, the passenger watches the world from the outside. But on a motorcycle one is immersed in the scene, part of the wind and the pasture and the earth. On a motorcycle, one is touching the world. This is not wholly unlike walking or riding a bicycle, but on long trips, a motorcycle can cover more distance.

I am a free spirit at heart: I feel things deeply, I crave freedom, and I like to stand close to the fire. On my motorcycle, I have all of these things. It feels really good. Isn't it wonderful to discover things in our lives that we didn't even know were missing?

The Power of the Unconscious

2009-06-24T06:41:00.000-06:00

It's been over a month since I returned from the Christ in the Desert monastery in northern New Mexico. My intention was to blog about my experience much earlier, but that's before I knew how long it would take to fully sink in.

On the surface, the experience was rich and intriguing. There are twenty-some monks living at Christ in the Desert, which is almost two hours from Santa Fe. The Catholic monks live in total seclusion among the sparse landscape: layered mesas, red rocks and scrubby brush. The Chama River runs through their property, and free range cattle wander the premises.

Starting at 4 a.m., the monks come together for worship seven times a day. Seven! During these services they chant the psalms, read the Bible, etc. Their church is a beautiful adobe work of art, designed by a Japanese architect many years ago. In the gift shop the monks sell handmade leather shoes and belts, beeswax candles and carved wooden signs that say things like Vay Con Dios (Go with God). There are plenty of other items as well; cards, books, rosaries, etc.

No one talks much at the monastery. I probably spoke four sentences total in my four days there. There were a few other guests who were silent as well. I loved this depth of solitude, the gorgeous surroundings and my tiny "cell" containing a bed, desk and rechargeable lantern.

It should've been the perfect place for me. I love nature. I love silence. I do well on my own.

But I was incredibly uncomfortable. To cope, I blamed this on all kinds of external things: the color of the monks' robes (black, which evokes images of cults for me), the rigid schedule, the overwhelming male energy. I told myself it would've been different if I'd visited a convent instead.

Those were just excuses. What I realize now is that my discomfort ran much deeper than this. Unexpectedly, I had to face one of my greatest fears while I was there: the fear of failure. And I realize now that this came straight out of my unconscious, from a place where my belief in God (or lack thereof) is a free-floating question that I'd rather not acknowledge.

I grew up Catholic but stopped going to church just after high school. The rigid views of that faith turned me off. Since then, I've come closer to nature. I've decided that nature is my "church," and I love the rich spirituality that I feel when I'm walking in the wilderness.

Lately, though, I've been wondering if I need to do something about church. I have a child who just turned two. There is an enormous feeling of responsibility in this. At this point, I choose his experiences. Do I introduce him to God in a traditional way?

My time at the monastery raised this question. As a mother, I am worried about screwing this up. Somehow, I need to decide.

Six Days in Silence

2009-04-06T14:10:00.000-06:00

I am getting ready to embark on my next travel adventure: Six days in silence at a Catholic monastery in northern New Mexico. No, I won't be trading in my jeans and T-shirt for a beige robe and braided belt. But I will be sleeping in a cell with a twin bed and propane heater, working on projects assigned by the monks, eating three simple meatless meals a day, and writing in a notebook instead of on my laptop. I'll also make a valiant effort to attend morning vigils... at 4 a.m. The web site states that visitors can bring an electronic alarm clock, if necessary. This will be an A-list item for me, since I usually sleep until 6.

The idea to visit a monastery came to me a few months ago when I was searching around on the internet for adventurous ideas. As I was plucking away at the keyboard, I realized how tired I am of my computer. I sometimes feel addicted to E-mail and MS Word, and now I'm obsessive with Facebook and Craigslist, too. As a freelance writer, these resources make me feel a part of the outside world.

But it all feels so electronic (and robotic) sometimes, and as a person who likes to feel the world with my very own hands, I occasionally need to tear myself away from the safety of my tech connections. I remembered a friend who visited a monastery many years back and savored the silence, and I decided to give it a try.

The Monastery of Christ in the Desert is located near Abiquiu, New Mexico, off a winding, steep dirt road. It will take me seven hours to drive there. I made my reservation three months ago, and to my surprise, there was only one space left. I am not sure who is flocking to this place. Who will I encounter? How will I handle complete silence? I am nervous and excited. As always, this trip will catapult me out of my comfort zone, and it will be interesting to see what my mind does (or doesn't), and what discoveries I make about myself and the world.

Trips Printed on Trazzler

2009-04-04T09:26:00.000-06:00

I recently submitted two trip ideas to Trazzler, a unique travel web site, and they printed them. To find my trips, check out the link to Trazzler at the top of this blog. Type in my name and hit Trip Search. Enjoy!

Taken with Tulum

2009-02-02T13:39:00.000-07:00

My husband, Chris, and I just returned from a five-day vacation at an eco lodge in Tulum, Mexico. It was our first real trip away, just the two of us, since our son Jake was born almost two years ago. I didn't plan to write, take notes or even observe the world as a writer. The trip was designed to be pure restful romance. And it was.

But I ended up taking lots of notes, too. There were too many colorful images to ignore. For starters, the beach was "clothing optional." The particulars of this, which I will elaborate on in an upcoming essay, sparked a flood of ideas. I am fascinated by different cultural interpretations of nudity. Interestingly, I just finished an essay about my experience in a co-ed naked sauna in Germany, which I submitted to a couple of publications for consideration. My experience with nudity on the beach in Tulum was totally different. Another essay unfolds...

On this trip, I was also struck by the feelings that surfaced for me as a mother away from her child. As much as I don't want to sit around pining for my son when I travel, I inevitably think of him several times a day. I'm sure this is perfectly natural. But I value my time away, and I believe it is healthy for everyone involved. The thing that kept nagging me was this: I miss being able to travel without missing anything. There was a time when I could take off and not really think about anything back home. No longer. I admit that this tugs at that part of me that likes to fly free.

But maybe this feeling is temporary. As Jake gets older and more independent, won't it be him who is leaving me? An interesting notion, for sure, and one that will blossom and bend with the passing of time.

A New Adventure is Brewing

2008-12-24T13:11:00.000-07:00

For me, half the fun of traveling is the time in between trips, when I muse about my next adventure. The process is cyclical: I get restless, imagine all the places I could go, make a decision, begin planning, depart, and then return, savoring the experience and writing about it. At any given point in time, I am in one of these stages.

I've been back from Turkey and Germany for three months, and I wrote two travel pieces. One has been submitted to a few publications, and I am waiting to hear. The other is still in revision.

As the Christmas holiday approaches, I find myself restless again. I am beginning to imagine a summer trip that will ignite my spirit. Where should I go? This year money is tight, so a solo road trip might be in order. Maybe I should go south to New Mexico? Or north to Montana and Idaho? My mind is open, and the road is, too...

2008-11-24T16:41:00.001-07:00

A friend of mine owns a one-room cabin on a secluded piece of land not far from Fort Collins. His family built the cabin, and they visit occasionally, but mostly it sits empty, content among the evergreen trees, trickling stream and tall prairie grass. When I want to be alone, I go there.

My experience at the cabin is always simple and sweet. I especially marvel when the moon is full, when the sun is warm, and when there is a good fire in the wood stove. Last week I went there on a Tuesday. It was seventy degrees in late November.

The location of the cabin requires me to coax my Subaru along steep, winding, narrow roads that are meant for a truck. I always wonder if I will get stuck.

When I return from the cabin and people ask what I did, I reply "nothing" and they offer blank stares. The truth is, I sometimes read or write or walk, but mostly I just lie still and stare at the sky. My mind wanders, and I am content to be still.

2008-11-13T09:42:00.001-07:00

I went for a solo hike up the Snodgrass trail in Crested Butte, CO before daylight. It was the kind of morning where the whole town was shrouded in misty clouds; cold, wet and foggy. I was the only person on a well-used trail. (Even the locals thought it better to stay in bed.) My mind played tricks on me. Was that a the shape of a mountain lion crouched in the tall grass?

I looked at my watch: 7:05 a.m. I'd been hiking for an hour, and it was time to turn around, head back to the hotel, shower and start my day. But I wanted to keep going. I was enjoying the mystery of the morning. And then, without warning, I emerged above the clouds. Suddenly I was staring at indigo sky and peaks bathed in billowy clouds. Moments later, the sun rose. Everything turned golden. The magic was all mine.

Sailing the Aegean Sea

2008-10-06T14:22:00.000-06:00

I recently returned from a travel writing adventure in Turkey: Ten writers sailing the Aegean Sea for seven soul-satisfying days. Enamored with the shades of blue, green and grey from sea to sky, I spent virtually every moment outdoors. The cabin felt closed-in, and I wanted wide-open. So I slept under the moon and stars, and I woke to sunshine or haze or a little of both. I was a girl seeking freedom, and I found it not on the horizon, but in my own hands.