Kotor, Montenegro. Prior to embarking on a Mediterranean cruise, I’d never heard of it. Now, I can’t wait to return and spend more than a few hours roaming through the old town and climbing the hills. Imagine this view at sunset!
My friend Julia and I visited Venice before embarking on a Mediterranean cruise. Somehow I only took 91 photos! This seems a little weird for me, but we were only there for one day. This one was my favorite!
Sitting at Jalapeños in Barkley Village, I watch bartender Maribel Rivas pull out an iron flight caddy and fill the first of three cascading shot glasses with Silver.
I’m a little nervous. After my first Irish whiskey flight years ago, I booked an airline ticket to Dublin. So, as Maribel pours Reposado into the second shot glass, I wonder how I’ll handle my tequila and if the weather is nice in Mexico. Have I kept enough of my New Year’s resolutions to feel comfortable in a bikini?
Deciding that I have not, I put away my smart phone and watch her pour Añejo into the third glass. Besides, I’m no longer a college kid drinking indiscriminately and making careless decisions. It’s time to discard old habits and drink like an adult, to stop and smell the agave. The sophisticated drinker can identify the different classifications of tequila and appreciate their color, aroma, and taste…without a hangover or unwanted airline tickets…
You can read the rest of my article on The Crossing Guide, and then impress your friends with your knowledge of tequila. (Throw out terms like reposado and añejo, and you’re sure to gain a little respect.)
First-time director Shu-Ling Hergenhahn-Zhao recently transformed Cass Murphy into a Picasso painting for Lojo Simon’s play, Adoration of Dora. AOD is a surreal exploration of the life and work of Dora Maar, photographer, artist, and muse to Pablo Picasso in 1930s Paris, starring an all female cast.
On May 15th, I’m heading to Ireland for the summer. I created a new website and blog to document the adventure. Please visit CapturingIreland.com and follow me!
Isn’t it about time you visited Ireland?
Come on! Book that ticket. Rent a car. Circle the Iveragh Peninsula and summit the fog-covered mountains that fall into a sloping patchwork of green fields. Stop in Portmagee and order a pint at the Bridge Bar. Make a few new friends as traditional, Irish music pulses through the wild Atlantic air. If the Guinness makes you sleepy, check in at the adjoining Moorings Guesthouse. There’s no better place to rest your head than in a little fishing village on the edge of Kerry.
The clouds that settled over Bellingham Bay on Sunday morning began drifting into the Chuckanut Mountains by early afternoon. I was driving south on Chuckanut Drive at the time, through the place where the sunshine met the fog, breathless at the beauty of it and desperate for a place to pull over with my camera.
When I finally found a safe place, I thought, “The only thing that could make this shot better is a subject – a car or a bicyclist, maybe – driving through the light.”
Not even 60 seconds later, a car pulled up and a man said to me, “Great lighting! Do you want to use my girlfriend as a model?”
“Umm…yes…” Even now, with the picture as proof, I can’t believe that really happened.
Sometimes a prayer, a wish, or some seemingly insignificant request whispered up to God, does get answered.
I’m a sentimental girl, an incurable romantic prone to fits of nostalgia. Because of this, I have booked four trips to Ireland looking for…I don’t know. Lost love? A little white cottage with a thatched roof in which I can dream and write? The perfect travel photograph? An actual leprechaun or a metaphorical pot of gold?
I’m the girl who wanders the beaches of the Wild Atlantic Way, collecting shells and rocks. (Choose any jacket from my closet, and you’ll find grains of sand in the pockets.) I’ll pull over every hundred yards or so in County Kerry to capture a memorable vista with my camera. Live music in pubs makes me cry because every song sung in Ireland emanates from the soul of the earth and possesses me. I can’t explain it; it’s something you have to feel.
You know what isn’t romantic to me? Souvenir shops. Mass-produced trinkets or clothing in one of Ireland’s 40 shades of green. If I have to buy it, or it came from some factory in China, I don’t want it. In fact, I don’t even budget for souvenirs. So, it was a big deal that I bought two of them this past October.
One was not my fault. I’d fallen under the enchantment of a Spanish busker crooning out the most beautiful rendition of Hallelujah in the middle of Grafton Street, and, wiping tears from my eyes, turned over my last ten Euro to buy his CD. Now that I’m home, though, and the thrall has lifted, the CD makes me laugh because his Spanish accent reminds me of Antonio Banderas singing Livin’ La Vida Loca as Puss in Boots and nothing at all of that night in Dublin.
My second souvenir was a pewter pendant with my name stamped out in ancient Ogham script. Yes, it’s totally touristy. Locals don’t do this, but there was this guy sitting in front of Poulnabrone Dolmen in County Clare, and he had this Druid air about him, a table full of tools, and a good story about how he was an artist and got robbed while sleeping on the streets of Galway this one time… Pull at my heartstrings! Good-bye 20 Euro.
Ogham gets it’s name from Ogma, the Celtic God of Eloquence and Literature, and it was a form of writing used in Ireland between the 4th and 7th centuries.
Ogham, thought to have magical overtones, was common among the Druids. How could I resist buying a pendant with a magical language on it?
I suppose the real story is, though, that I have a soft spot for artists who are simply trying to eke out an existence. I picture them back at their meager apartments or the couches on which they surf in the homes of friends or tired relatives who wish they’d pick a real career, and I feel sorry for them. So I buy their wares and hope they can continue to create and find happiness.
Like I said, incurable romantic.