a summer in sarajevo

It has been so long since I posted that my domain expired, and I learned a lesson in owning your own domain: don't let it expire. It's cheap to purchase these things, but if you let them expire, it costs a small fortune to get them back.

I'm living and working in Sarajevo this summer, and it's already going by too fast. It's my first time living abroad since Japan - 5 years! - and I've learned from that experience to find gratitude in every moment because it will end so soon. It's some of the easiest gratitude I've known. My soul feels filled up. It's filled from living on a new street whose name I can't pronounce correctly yet - but I'm working on it. From a washing machine whose instructions are in a foreign language. From a local transportation system that I haven't figured out yet. From the first time I tell a taxi driver how to get to my house - and I actually get there. I'm at home discovering things unknown and a place unknown to me. 

This summer, I'll get to know Sarajevo. 

life right now

It's hard to believe that just two months ago I was enjoying this view and a great novel. (Or that it has already been two months ago?) These past two months have been a whirlwind. Zan and I finally found a tenant for his condo, and within the week, we also found a place of our own. I'm busying myself (in those rare moments I find a chance to do something other than homework) with decorating, a thing that is brand new to me but feels right and like it's time because I'm so happy that this apartment is our home.

Zan and I are heading to Georgia in mid-August to spend time with my family and pick up Sir Theodore from my mom. I can't wait to bring him home. I'm having increasingly elaborate daydreams of us being reunited - slow motion running towards each other and all.

The first season of the Rangel Fellowship is coming to a close, and I'm still wrapping my head around how fast this summer has gone. I'm more excited and ready for my career as a Foreign Service Officer than ever before. Having to wait two more years - and surviving grad school - to get there is a tough pill to swallow, but I'm finding all the reasons in the world to get excited about it. I love learning, and I know as soon as classes start, I'll be happier to be where I am than I can imagine right now.

And in two short (too, too short) weeks, I'll be on a flight heading to Vancouver. Callie and I are meeting there and heading to Victoria for our friends' Tiffany and Alex's wedding. We all taught together in Japan. I've been back from JET for five years, and I love these friends more fiercely than ever. Zan couldn't make this trip - and all the love in the world to him, but I can't wait to travel with Callie again. She and I have traveled to five (six?) countries together, and it's time to add another to the list. It's going to be so much fun and a needed mental break before school starts.

Is anyone else watching Orphan Black? I'm hooked. 

And that's about all my frazzled brain knows right now.

Happy Friday!

rediscovering great falls

We wanted to hike Billy Goat A at Great Falls - accessible only on the Maryland side, but we were so engaged in conversation that I didn't even notice when my phone's map sent us to the Virginia side.

Growing up in Georgia, I was relatively far from other state borders. We had to work to get to somewhere else. My mom would honk the horn when we would cross the border into Alabama or Florida, Tennessee or South Carolina. We'd holler our hoorays. I always felt this bubbling excitement of the unknown. Like crossing that state border would show me something so special I couldn't even imagine it yet. It always filled me with that mix of excitement laced with a tinge of fear of the unknown. To this day, it's the feeling I crave most.

It still isn't ordinary to me that I cross from DC into Maryland or Virginia with such ease and frequency. They're all right there, practically on top of each other. At Great Falls, you can literally wade from one state to another. You can accidentally end up in Virginia when you meant to go to Maryland. And if you want to fix your mistake? It's less than 20 minutes.

Maybe that's a reason why I feel so at home in DC - it's a place that isn't a state, it's neither here nor there, neither Virginia nor Maryland, Yankee nor Southern, but in so many ways, it's the epicenter of America - at least in my nerdy, political, international affairs world. It's a place where there's always something new to discover.

(I'm not sure where that tangent came from, but it felt good to write. Do you ever just feel good writing? It doesn't even matter what comes out, it just feels right to say it all.)

I love Great Falls, and this hike with Jess rejuvenated my soul. That sounds so crunchy, but damn if it isn't true. I haven't been hiking in far too long. Zan and I did some good walking in Costa Rica, but it wasn't the same. I need that nerves on edge, heart pounding, lick my lips and all I taste is sweat, kind of hiking. And I need a view that makes me want to sit and stare and think and be grateful for everything. In the past few years, I've overlooked Great Falls for mountains and bigger peaks and more expansive views. But sometimes the best view is what's in my own backyard that I've left untouched for too long. This was one of those days and one of those hikes.

I'd never seen the Great Falls themselves - in nearly four years of living in this beloved city. Isn't that crazy?

I'm so glad we went to the wrong state. It was the right hike. Standing up there on those rocks, looking over the cliff to the river below, I was excited with just a tinge of fear. The best way to be.

If you're interested, we started near the Falls and made a loop that combines the Patowmack Canal, Matildaville, and River Trails.

costa rica day 6 | the caribbean coast

Today, Zan and I had one of the best experiences yet on this trip. There were caves and coral, reefs and waves, jungle and ocean. And all it cost us was the price of bus ticket.

"All this fun for $2," I joked to Zan while we slid through mud and carefully stepped over tree roots in bare feet. "I feel like I won Costa Rica!"

I have been obsessed with how expensive Costa Rica is so it really did feel like a victory...

We slept until 7:30, the latest of the entire trip. We had a lazy morning reading in bed (ahem, looking at our phones), before an equally lazy buffet breakfast at the hotel. There were homemade banana pancakes that were divine. We decided to take the 9:45am public bus out to Manzanillo, a small fishing village and beach town with a large wildlife refuge about 10 miles from Puerto Viejo. The bus showed up at 10:15 -- everything really does run on Caribbean time!

Zan had been unsure if he wanted to go to Manzanillo, but one of the very friendly hotel convinced him, more so than I could. I had read about an 8km hike along the coast to Punta Mona nad wondered aloud to her if it was safe (I also read about a robbery on the trail), if we could do it alone, and if we needed to hike the entire way. Excitedly, she pointed to a spot on our map of the area, saying it's only a 2-3km hike to reach a stunning lookout point and to see a giant rock that has become the iconic image of Manzanillo and this portion of Costa Rica's Caribbean coast. I had read about caves along the hike and hoped to find a few of those, too.

Finding the trail was easy; the path that ran through town essentially ran into it. A Dutch couple introduced themselves, and the four of us hiked together. It had rained the night before, and the trail was slick with mud. We all had to use our hands - and lend hands to the others - for leverage at the steepest, most slippery parts. The trail ran along the coast, with the sound of the waves on one side and verdant, overgrown jungle on the other.

We reached the lookout quickly, and it was every bit as beautiful - and even more - than we'd hoped. The giant rock emerged from the ocean floor after an earthquake in 1991, and now it stands about 20 feet tall in the ocean, waves lapping at its base and spray shooting several feet in the air. We gingerly stepped on the spiky coral rocks at the lookout point to see the view from every direction.

The trail led us to several more beautiful areas, most of them deserted beach coves. The last one we went to had an enticing alcove of coral and heavy rock, and I climbed up to explore. The Dutch guy joined me and saw a nearly hidden entrance to a cave, only accessible by leaping over a foot gap in the rocks, jagged rocks and ocean below. The cave was wide and high, easy to walk in and around. Looking up, there was a natural skylight, but the beams were so bright I couldn't glance up for long. The view from inside looking out - at the waves bouncing off the geometrical rock formations, was extraordinary.

After exploring a while longer, we hiked back to town and found a simple stretch of beach to enjoy for an hour or so before lunch.

The woman at the hotel had recommended a reggae restaurant named Cool and Calm Cafe. Walking around town to find it, we heard it before we saw it. Andy, the owner, is a Manzanillo native, Caribbean to his core. The outdoors cafe is funky and as cool and calm as the name suggests, with a menu featuring fresh fish caught locally and Caribbean chicken. Zan had fish tacos, and they out with fried fish piled so high he had to eat his way down to the tortillas. The Caribbean chicken was flavorful, and I finally experienced rice cooked in coconut milk, a local favorite. It was our most expensive lunch yet, at $30 for the two meals and some guacamole and chips to start. (The guac and chips were $7, and literally there were 13 chips. Counting chips is a sign of mental instability, I'm sure, but seriously, were we in Costa Rica or San Francisco?!)

Stuffed to the gills, we spent a few more hours on the beach before catching the 4:00pm bus back to town.

That night, the rains we were told would drench our entire trip, came. I don't know how we lucked out with such fantastic weather, but that night the rain came down so hard it was as though the sky had been holding it in all week and couldn't any longer. It was deafening, and I lay in bed listening to it for hours, or for at least as long as I could keep my eyes open.

For dinner, we went to Marco's Pizzeria at the far end of Puerto Viejo. Marco has a wood-burning oven sitting outside and standing right there, amidst a handful of tables and the sound of crashing waves, he rolls the crust and delicately applies toppings. His pizza isn't just good for Puerto Viejo or Costa Rica, it's comparable to - or better than - the best I've ever had. And I'm a certifiable pizza snob. We raved about that pizza all night and for days after.

After dinner, we wandered a few hundred feet up the dark road to The Point, a sports bar Zan has wanted to check out since we were in DC researching this trip. We chatted with expats, including a woman from California who came to Puerto Viejo to teach yoga for four months after being laid off from her job. I'm drawn to people like her - ones that choose the unexpected paths and take the risks and live big. The "ones who are mad to live," as Jack Kerouac so perfectly said.

Puerto Viejo is a lot of things - expensive, surfer's paradise, a party town - but mostly it's a haven for people looking for a new life, a healthier life, a life filled with more reggae music than buzzing phones. There was the expat who told us he and his family moved down here to have more time to put family first. And the one who turned her back on a cushy corporate job to find herself. And the couple who heeded the irresistible call of the jungle and now dedicate themselves to protecting native wildlife.

It's a hippie town, full of vegan, raw, and vegetarian restaurants, yoga studios, and weed. I have complicated feelings on Costa Rica from this trip, but I understand wholly, in my soul, how a traveler planning to pass through Puerto Viejo ends up calling this beautiful place home. 

costa rica day 5 | jungle love, puerto viejo

Well. After being initiated into Puerto Viejo with shots of Guaro, I woke up in the starring role of the unfortunate movie, Guaro's Revenge. I was a little hungover. Okay, that's an understatement.

Zan woke up early to go fishing, and I slept in. Around 10am, I plopped into the hammock on our porch to plan the rest of my day. Next thing I knew, it was two hours later, and I hadn't moved an inch. By noon, Zan wasn't back yet and I knew it was then or never to get myself moving. I tossed on my bathing suit, packed a beach bag, and before I could leave Zan a note, he walked through the door. He was dejected from not catching anything, but "it was a nice boat ride." He always sees the bright side. Speaking of bright side, his arms were lobster red ("he's my lobster!").

We biked into Puerto Viejo for lunch at Soda Mirna, our first taste of Tico food in the south. It was a basic meal of braised chicken, rice, beans, and plantains. It was a hearty, good meal... but even at a restaurant as local as it gets, lunch was $20. I can't get over how expensive this country is!

We biked to a beach in Playa Cocles, a small town before Playa Chiquita, really close to the Jaguar Rescue Center. It wasn't as beautiful as the beaches yesterday, but in paradise, the beaches are all just shades of gorgeous. It's a locals beach, evidenced by the handful of guys we saw wading out to their thighs before throwing fishing line into the surf. A few had buckets of fish they'd already caught.

We left with enough time to check out Alice's Ice Cream Bar, a place we'd passed (and somehow resisted) the day before. An American expat couple owns it. The wife, Alice, makes all of the ice cream with hand run machines, and her husband runs the business side of things. The husband is from DC so we had plenty to talk about over the rich, creamy coffee and dark chocolate ice cream we devoured.

For dinner, we took a taxi ($8) to Jungle Love, a raved about restaurant in the quiet town of Playa Chiquita. We got lucky that a couple had canceled their reservation, and we nabbed one of the 5 tables right away. All of the tables are outside in the open air, a simple roof overhead, and the jungle encroaching from all sides.

The owners are an expat couple. Zamu is a character. He's a big guy - very muscular - from Oakland, California. He has a penchant for pithy, philosophical phrases and an ability to talk to anyone. He told us right away that it was our night, and the entire, beautiful meal made us feel that way. Most of the ingredients are either grown on their property (lemongrass and herbs) or locally sourced.

I had Zamu's sausage pasta ("I know the guy who makes the sausage"), and Zan had sea bass, the fish of the day. Zan had a religious experience with his fish and the basil-ginger sauce on it; I found the ragu a little sweet for my tastes but the dish as a whole hearty, warm, and crave-worthy. Zamu's wife (a charismatic, expert traveler with a contagious laugh) sold us on a cinnamon brownie with homemade coffee ice cream from a local farm. That ice cream was so rich and creamy, and I want more even thinking about it.

With a bottle of wine, two entrees, two apps, and a dessert, our bill came to about $65 with tip. It was probably the most reasonably priced meal out here, and we weren't even charged for incredible conversations with Zamu and his wife.

Zamu is an Army man and trained in hand-to-hand combat. I joked, "Remind me never to make you angry," and he smoothly replied, "It doesn't have to be like that. I just tell people, 'use your words.'" He's teaching his 9-year-old son martial arts and self-defense to carry on the family legacy.

I'd use my words around his son, too.

to mike

While I was in Costa Rica, my colleague Mike passed away. He found out he had lymphoma just about a year ago. To be honest, I didn't know Mike outside of the office very well. We were both on the communications team at the Alliance for Excellent Education - the organization I loved and just recently left to pursue graduate school. Being on the same team meant that we interacted much more than I did with many of the other staff members my first year at the Alliance. He handled webinars and the website, video editing, and adeptly wrote code.

Mike was meticulous - organized in a way that always impressed me and made me take note (and brought to light how unorganized I was, in comparison). He kept an oversize desk calendar with a handwritten schedule of all of our webinars and events and other key dates. He used pencil for all tentative dates and inked them in once confirmed. I always smiled when he lugged his huge calendar into our weekly communications staff meeting. I, too, like everything right in front of me - visible with ink on paper. Within a few months, I had my very own oversize desk calendar keeping me company in my office space, too.

At some point in the year we worked together, I googled Mike, because I had a hunch that this man who was fairly private but whose love of baseball was as public as it gets, had stories. Had interesting experiences. Of course, I could've just asked him about it all, but I was the new kid in the office, and the Internet just makes everything so easy. He came up as one of the first search results for his name, and I learned right away that he has an Emmy - two, in fact. I emailed him asking a work question as a ruse and slipping in there that one day I've love to hear his story of winning an Emmy. He got right back to me with a friendly response, answering the work question in detail, but he didn't mention the Emmy. I don't know why - humility? But I never brought it up again.

I'm not sure what Mike's beliefs were, but I don't need to know. Whatever he believed, I hope with all my heart that he was at peace and unafraid. That the time he had with his family gave them a chance to say the things they wanted to say, the things he wanted them to carry in their hearts, and the things they needed him to know. That he felt loved and comforted and pain free. And I hope now that all the love in the world is showered on his family, giving them hope and a sense that it's going to be okay.

RIP, Mike. Everyone who knew you misses you.

costa rica day 4 | exploring puerto viejo

When Zander and I were planning our trip to Costa Rica we debated for a few weeks whether to stay in calm and peaceful Cahuita or lively and trendy Puerto Viejo. I had all but booked a charming Airbnb apartment in Cahuita, situated just a stone's throw from the beach and the Cahuita National Park. Zan was hesitant, though, and leaning towards Puerto Viejo. I went with his opinion on this one, and I'm glad we did.

I had pre-judged Puerto Viejo as being a backpacker party town. I was right - Puerto Viejo is a party town, but that's not a bad thing. While the town itself is an enclave of backpackers and tanned surfers drinking and dancing through the night, there are a handful of other small towns and villages that line the coast - each with their own personality. From hippie vegan cafes to fishing villages with Rasatafarian vibes to all natural healing centers, Costa Rica's southern Caribbean coast has all things granola. Puerto Viejo is in the perfect location to explore all the tiny neighboring beach towns and beaches. And that's what we did today - explore.

We rented bikes through our hotel. I found an incredible guide to Puerto Viejo on This American Girl's blog, and I jotted down all of her recommended beaches. We biked out to the furthest beach on the far end of Punta Uva. We biked down a dirt and grave beach access path by Arecife hostel and restaurant. After a short ride, the jungle on either side of us gave way to sand and palm trees, through which the picture-perfect Caribbean turquoise water lapped the shore.

We spent an hour and a half alternating between swimming and sunning before we packed up to find lunch. All of the restaurants I'd jotted down to try were closed, the owners taking a break at the beginning of the rainy season. We met an expat named Laurel who knows everything there is to know about the area; she named each of the restaurant owners by name, telling us about their families - who just had a baby, whose restaurant isn't doing so well, and so on. Eventually, she directed us to La Botanica Organica Cafe, asking us to give the owners a warm hello while we were there.

It's a popular cafe - a vegetarian and wellness restaurant with a small shop that sells essential oils, all natural sunscreen, and the cutest cloth eco-diapers I've ever seen. Zan and I both had a hummus sandwich. I didn't love the food, to be honest (give me meat or give me death), but I loved the atmosphere and downright swooned over the pureed mango drink I had.

After, we biked to a beach nearby in Playa Chiquita. This access path felt like a mini-jungle exploration hike, so buried in vegetation it was. It opened up to an even more beautiful beach, if that's possible. Large swaths of coral dotted the sea closest to the shore. An old, hallowed log provided a place to climb and take pictures. We stayed until we could feel ourselves burning, even through layers of sunscreen.

We got back to the hotel around 5:00 and wasted no time finding ways to relax. By 7:00, we were at Tasty Waves Cantina, "the biggest party in town on Tuesdays." We had tacos and margaritas (2x1!), all delicious and homemade. Our server, an American expat, initiated us into Puerto Viejo with a shot of Guaro, Costa Rica's grain alcohol. It tastes like rubbing alcohol but goes down surprisingly smooth. Between that and two strong margaritas, I was ready to hit the dance floor at 10:00pm when a DJ cranked up the music.

Women drink for free on Tuesdays from 9:30-10:30, and at 9:30 on the dot, women came out of the crevices, swarming the formerly quiet bar. We stayed until nearly midnight. I lost track of Zan as I danced; I can't remember the last time I danced until I'd be sore the next day.

I danced with two women - backpackers, I presumed, and in that sweaty, tipsy, drunk on the music moment, I envied them and the hippie backpacker lifestyle. That feeling lasted only as long as my inebriation, though. I woke up with a headache and extra gratitude for a career that will allow me to travel while having stability. I'll take the excitement and new experiences every day all day, but doing it broke and uncertain of where my next paycheck will come from has never been for me. But there was something sweet about envying that lifestyle, letting my hair down and cutting loose for a few minutes, pretending that I, too, was carefree and deeply tanned, each tattered layer of thin clothing a story of where I'd been.

The women I danced with were incredible, even if our only communication was through hand gestures of fanning ourselves, sharing the misery of a stifling hot Caribbean night. One was my dancing hero. She wore a white tank and cut off jean shorts and had this natural rhythm that was a mix of dancing in reggae clubs as often as hip hop ones. She was so confident and unaware of anyone around her. I loved her energy. Her friend, a lanky brunette, didn't have those dancing skills, but she had a smile that took over her entire face. They were a great pair, and it was fun to join them for a little while, loving and living life to the fullest.

Zan hailed a cab as I paid a street vendor for a meat kabob and a cheese empanada. The next morning I'd blame Guaro's Revenge for my raging headache, but in the moment, it was exhilarating to be young and wild and free.