lines of flight

From Flagstaff, AZ to Chicago, IL took about 30 hours. The Amtrak picked us up just before sunrise and chased a tangerine strip of horizon through a scrubby landscape, easily outpacing the semi trucks and pickups that own the roadway. Again I was shutter-bugging like crazy, this time through the train windows–red rock formations and adobe houses, pastel bridges and indian gift shops.

Time moved slowly inside the carriage as we were subject to other peoples’ conversations and parenting skills (or seeming lack thereof).

It amused me to see conservatively-dressed Amish or Mennonite men eating Cheez Whiz, I would have thought that would be one of the unholy modern things they’d do well to shun. Yet I got a “look” from a bearded man in home-made clothes for coming back to my seat with a Sam Adams beer, LoL.

We passed through most of Kansas in the night and early morning, including Dodge City (darn!), but I’m imagining most of the scenery looks like the first few photos, after the jump.

Kicked around Los Angeles’ Union Station and Olvera Street for a day, a part of LA neither of us had seen on previous trips. It was heavily touristed but the locals were mainly Mexican families, giving it a feel both familiar and foreign. M bought a luchadore mask and practiced his Spanish on the merchants and waiters. Street performers addressed the crowd in Spanish, including the indigenous dancers who performed in front of an elaborate nativity scene in the central rotunda of a public square.

We were both sleep-deprived and seriously bickering, up and down and down and up the short street crowded with market stalls selling leather goods, Mexican candy, arts and crafts and Mexican-themed crap made in China. We finally made up over an amazing Mexican meal at La Golondrina, best tortillas I have ever had in my life! And I don’t care if they were lard-inclusive, even the refried beans were excellent, not to mention the rather decadent Chile Relleno de Jaiba ( “Roasted chile poblano stuffed with seasoned snow crab and served in a roasted mushroom and chile chipotle salsa.”) I don’t know if that was authentic or haole-fied, but it was delicious, with big chunks of crab and lots of flavor.

The day was bright but cold and by 3 in the afternoon we were both tired and soon found ourselves perched in Union Station dozing and people-watching. Sitting next to a security guard, we overheard on his walkie talkie a bomb scare, to which LAPD responded but didn’t sound the alarm. We also heard an almost scarier scare, a report of a woman shaving in the ladies’ public rest room. Face? legs? armpits? This I investigated myself only to find a swarthy woman in men’s work clothes drying her face off with paper towel. While I took a leak, I listened to her conversation with a tattooed, middle-aged white lady who had “been on the street for two years” and was giving the other lady a name at some agency, a woman who could help, “tell her you’re pregnant and she’ll help you.”

The train boarded around 6:15 pm and we snoozed pretty much the whole 10 hours to Flagstaff until we were ejected at the dark, cold station with neither our bearings nor our winter gear in place. But we bundled up and made our way to the Grand Canyon International Hostel and jumped in on their all-day Grand Canyon tour, which took us to the site that was the whole purpose of this stopover.

I took about a gazillion pictures that all pretty much look the same, but was thoroughly impressed with our day trip to this marvel of geology, as well as with the elk and the raven who were also there. The scenery reminded me of a cross between Haleakala Crater and Waimea Canyon, but with snow. Tho it wasn’t freezing-freezing, there were several inches near the rim and we used crampons to do the beginning of a short hike into the canyon (am I geek for finding that really fun?)–for my non-hiking friends, crampons are these metal spiky things you strap on your shoes to grip on the ice. Very simple and functional and made me feel a little more bad ass on the trail, LoL.

BTW I’m glad I brought my trusty hiking boots instead of the knee-high, wedge heel, golden suede pair I was drooling over in the department store before we left Honolulu.

With no international travel on the immediate horizon, I was on a mission to make this semi-annual wintertime trip to Michigan just a little more adventure-like. So we leave tonight on a red-eye flight from Honolulu, spend a day in Los Angeles poking around Olvera Street, then hop aboard Amtrak for a cross-country ride on the Southwest Chief.

The train ride takes over 40 hours total, but we’re hoping for fun, relaxation and some scenic oohs and aahs. And maybe an on-board upgrade, too, since we’re traveling coach and that means no sleeper-bed options (we’re armed with pillows instead). We’ll stop in Flagstaff to peek out at the Grand Canyon before continuing on to the City of Wind.

After a few days in Chicago visiting with friends, we’ll rendezvous with incoming fam and once again make the dip south of Lake Michigan to Kalamazoo. Actually we’ll be staying in Portage, a small, suburb-like town next to Kalamazoo, but Kalamazoo is so much more fun to type because I always think of that old song they made us learn when we went to elementary school there… k-a-l-a-m-a-z-o-o, oh, I gotta gal, in Kalamazoo, zoo, zoo, zoo, zoo… er, yea, LoL.

We’ve shipped gifts ahead in an attempt to travel carry-on only, but with the bulk of my winter coat, wool pants, sweaters etc., I’ve ended up taking a small suitcase as well–but still only one pair of shoes (hiking boots), which is a coup for me. I have to admit I’m bothered by the lack of stylishness inherent in hiking boots, but given the weather reports I’m getting from the Midwest (cold, sleet, ice, snow, wind), looking cute will have to take a backseat to avoiding hypothermia. Unfortunately for me, I cannot find my silk long underwear–I think I left it in Alaska–so I’ll probably be shivering a little more than usual.

Not everyone will find the “funky little moomin” clip I posted a link the other day entertaining–or even explicable, so I would like to offer a little background to those deprived souls not familiar with the stories that inspired the Moomin funk-phenomenon worldwide.

Saving me hours of typing is this 16 minute program from a series called A Journey through Aesthetic Realms, an episode entitled: “Moomin Stories, the World Seen through the Eyes of a Child.” Presented by a large-nostriled, Finnish-speaking host and captioned in 12(!) languages, the program heavily features the Japanese-Finnish animation but also includes some of the original artwork by their Finnish creator/author/illustrator Tove Jansson.

The show is a production of “Supreme Master Television,” which turns out to be a spiritually motivated channel that supports peace, the environment and vegetarianism, not some Orwellian master race propaganda (whew!).

The two styles of illustration–print and animation–are quite different, which is understandable given the different intended media. I was hoping for some commentary on these differences, but they don’t go to that particular aesthetic realm. The Jansson drawings (top – click to enlarge) are very precise with lots of quirky details. In contrast, the ones for television (2nd and 3rd) are simpler and more cuddly-looking, from what I’ve seen at least, which admittedly isn’t much actually voiced and animated as a real cartoon.

I grew up on the books and I study and buy select products from Europe and Japan. Most recently I’ve started collecting the bound volumes of the Moomin comic strip that are coming out, they are lovely! The old-school illustrations are the BEST! But I’m not the only one with my collection of Moomin goods.

“The Moomin Boom (muumibuumi in Finnish) started in the 1990s, when Dennis Livson and Lars Jansson produced a 104-part animation series in Japan. . . .