A journalist observes life in the far north.
I am still getting used to this leisurely pace of life without a 1-year-old to chase after. I find that I have more time to think and I’ve been keeping a journal. I like it until I see another baby. Then I long for my girl and my arms feel empty.
We are still in San Francisco at Ramin’s villa. After nearly depleting his beer supply, he drove us up Mount Diablo yesterday and then took us out for dinner at his favorite Persian restaurant. His sister, a gorgeous brunette and a literature professor, joined us. They are good company and I wish they could come with us to Nepal. I ate myself silly and then the lack of sleep from the night before caught up with me and I turned into a zombi.
This afternoon, we hop a plane to China. One of my bags, the one with my gear, was mistakenly sent to Minneapolis but Alaska Airlines has assured me that it will be here by noon. If not, I may have to buy and rent some things in Kathmandu. The important thing is that I have my trekking boots, according to Ramin, and I suppose he’s right.
A few words about “the villa” where we are staying. It has two living rooms, two dining rooms and two fireplaces. There is a Porsche in the driveway, a wine closet and a baby grand piano. A gray and white cat guards the property, which sits among other stately houses in some rolling hills outside of San Francisco. To releive stress, Ramin is tearing down drywall downstairs, where he is turning a child’s playroom into a garage and some more bedrooms. Reportedly, you can hear coyotes howling in the hills at night, but I must have been dead asleep last night because I didn’t hear anything.
I admit this is odd to say but I sort of miss Redoubt. The first thing we did this morning was check the volcano observatory page. I saw that it erupted about a half hour before our plane left Fairbanks. I don’t know how we managed to get out of Alaska but I’m glad because it seems that volcano has been going nuts since Friday.