Tag: backpacking

For the love of Art

Chicago

It’s hard to put into words how much I love art galleries. I’ve always loved them. When we went to Florence on our first big trip, we had so little money I had a choice – the Uffizi or the Accademia Gallery. The Birth of Venus or the statue of David. One, not both. It was heartbreaking.

Not this time. For this trip I have tagged all of our potential gallery and museum visits, with time up our sleeves for the unexpected extras. I’ve been quietly excited since we left.

However I was unprepared for today’s visit to the Art Institute of Chicago.

When I walked into the first Impressionist gallery, I cried. I couldn’t help it. The sheer magic and colour of the room, paintings I’d studied in high school, all laid out in front of me.

I gasped out loud as I entered the next room, Georges Seurat’s A Sunday on La Grande Jatte – 1884 slowly revealed as we walked down the short corridor.

It went on, Monet, Matisse, Renoir. Degas, Van Gogh. Every gallery we entered another painting to take my breath away. We were being slammed from all angles. I was overwhelmed, even more than Bluesfest 2013, when there were so many sensational acts Disco Jen and I thought we might have to surrender on the first day.

After three hours of sitting, standing, staring, gasping, and perhaps more crying, we had to retreat to restore our energy.

Then back into battle. Picasso, Pollock, Warhol, Kandinsky. American Gothic and Nighthawks. To quote Don, every room was a winner.

We had other things planned for today, instead we’re back in the hotel, emotionally bruised and battered. We can’t go out again.

The only solution I can see is cocktails in the hotel lobby.

Retired hurt

San Francisco

We’ve been in San Francisco for three days now, and I’m yet to finish a meal.

Our first breakfast was at Sears Fine Food, where breakfast comes with hash browns. That’s at least three potatoes right there. Plus Southern corned beef hash, made with an additional two potatoes. Needless to say, I could not finish.

Dinner, Tad’s steakhouse, and one magnificent steak the size of my face, plus a baked potato the size of my head. Needless to say, I could not finish.

My plan for yesterday’s breakfast at Pinecrest Diner was just oatmeal. “Or perhaps cereal,” I said to Don, “but no more potatoes.”

“Scrambled eggs,” I said to the waitress after Don had ordered.

“Do you want bacon as well?” she asked.

“Oh, go on then.” Wisely Don said nothing. And of course the whole lot was served on the biggest hash brown I’ve ever seen.

Needless to say, I didn’t even come close to finishing.

I must say though, a big breakfast certainly keeps you going for most of the day. Yesterday morning’s potato mountain held us through until 3pm, at which point we embarked on a walking food tour of North Beach with Avital tours.

Oh. My. God.

Four courses at four fabulous Italian restaurant institutions. Rich tomato seafood stew, arancini balls, woodfired pizza, fresh ricotta filled cannoli. Sourdough bread. Red wine. Thank goodness we were at the top of the hill at the last stop and could just roll back to the hotel. With the leftover pizza and cannoli.

Because we couldn’t finish it.

The Zombies of San Francisco

San Francisco

As most people are aware, it takes approximately 147 hours of flying time to travel from anywhere in Australia to anywhere at all in the northern hemisphere. This is compounded when your flight is delayed (ours was), you miss your connecting flight (we did), you wait patiently in LA International airport entertaining your husband by singing LA International Airport for 3 hours (I did), and your new connecting flight sits on the tarmac for over an hour before taking off (ours did).

And thus we arrived in San Francisco having been awake for all of Thursday and half of Friday.

“We need to stay awake until at least 6:30,” Don said to me.

“Ok.”

“What time is it now?”

“4:04.”

“Ok, good.”

We began trudging around downtown San Francisco.

Trudge, trudge, trudge.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yes. No. Not really.”

Trudge, trudge, trudge.

“Do you want to go into that shop?”

“What?”

“Sorry?”

“Where?”

“That shop?”

“Not really.”

“Ok. What time is it?”

“4:13.”

Trudge, trudge, trudge.

“Are you hungry?”

“Who?”

“What?”

Trudge trudge trudge.

“Weather’s nice.”

“I can’t feel my face.”

“What time is it?”

“4:16.”

“Should we give up and go back to the hotel?”

“Oh God, yes.”

After almost 15 hours sleep, day two panned out much better. Hash browns, cable cars, Golden Gate Bridge, San Francisco Bay cruise, crab chowder, extremely potent margaritas, Alcatraz tour and a steak the size of my face.

So far the 147 hours travel time has been well worth it!

Packing

Questions I have asked myself today, whilst packing, the day before we leave:

Will I be warm enough?
Will I be cool enough?
Where are my black cargo pants?
Do I need to buy a new dress?
What’s this secret pocket in my suitcase?
What can I fit into this secret pocket in my suitcase?
Where the hell are my black cargo pants?
How have I ended up with 17 tops, a pair of shorts and some leggings?
Will eleven books be enough?
How much do eleven books weigh?
Is there any chance I’ll exercise while I’m away?
Where the fuck are my black cargo pants?

Questions I have asked Don today, whilst packing, the day before we leave:

Why do you think you’ll need nine pairs of socks?
What do you mean I don’t need a new dress?
You bought men’s sandals??!
How are you packed already?
Could you please put the red wine down?
I know I seem unorganised, could you just give me a minute?
HAVE YOU SEEN MY FUCKING BLACK CARGO PANTS!?

An amble around the world

Forgive me the tights, it was the 90s.

This was the first time we ambled around the world. The great Australian adventure of carting a backpack ten thousand miles, picking up work in the UK and seeing as much of Europe as we possibly could with the meagre funds we hadn’t already spent in the pubs of London. We saved on accommodation by taking a tent – a tent! We saved on food by packing a trangier cooker and seeking out packet soups and baked beans. Over two years we drank a lot of cider, sangria and Irish coffees. We camped under olive groves, on French mountainsides, in convent grounds, at the very tip of Norway and on one memorable cliff overlooking the Mediterranean. We explored over twenty countries and it was sensational.

We’ve been many places since then, but this year we had the idea that we might revisit that idea of a proper amble around the world. Only this time we’d do it in a little more luxury. A hotel bed rather than a self-inflating mattress and sleeping bag. Real food. A suitcase instead of a backpack – for me at least.

So on Thursday we’re off. Last time I packed tie-dyed leggings and a fake international driver’s licence, Don took his guitar and we had almost two years. This time we have four devices, crush-free leisure wear and pre-purchased tickets to Hello Dolly. And 99 days.

I expect it will be just as sensational.