Statues -Schloss Hellbrunn

I could talk for days about Helbrunn Palace and the water games; I probably will, at some point.  But when I see a statue, I just can't help myself, and the gardens here a littered with them.

At the Baby Cottage

Jinja, Uganda.  Fall 2009.

There's an outbreak of scabies when I get to the Amani Baby Cottage, so I don't spend any time around the children at the orphanage.  If I were one of the volunteers, or were staying longer than two weeks, the separation might not be necessary.  But we don't want to risk me taking anything nasty home with me, so I try to keep a bit of distance as Judy shows me around the grounds.  

 

One little boy grabs hold of my legs the second I walk through the door, and reaches for me until I pick him up.  His little hands cling tight to my arms, almost enough to hurt, and he screams when I try to set him down.  "They're starved for attention," Judy tells me later, after another American volunteer has pried his fingers away and we've left him wailing with the other children.  "They've been abandoned by so many people, and there just aren't enough volunteers to make sure they all get the same amount of affection.  And they don't really need volunteers.  They need parents."  And for many of the Amani babies, time is running out.  The baby cottage will only house the children until they reach the age of five, when they're sent to a different facility.  The sad fact is, if they haven't been adopted by that time, they likely never will.  The process of adopting one of these children can take years, depending on who you are and where you live.  Some families just can't wait that long.

An older boy runs towards us as Judy leads me to her office.  "Auntie!  Auntie!" he calls, then stops short when he doesn't recognize my face.  Judy shoos him away, warning him that it's nap time, and he should be in his bed.  He hurries into a nearby building.  I hadn't noticed it before, but the gentle sounds of English lullabies are drifting through the open windows, clashing with the festive music coming from our neighbors on the other side of the fence.

None of this seems to bother the dog, who lazes in the sun outside Judy's open door.  When she gets overheated, she'll climb up to rest her belly on the cool stone floor of the office.  "No, no, no," warns Malia from my lap.  She toddles down to put her tiny hands against the dog's backside, shaking until the dog wuffles her disappointment, and goes to seek solace in the shade cast by the nursery. 

A storm knocked around most of the transformers in Jinja just a few days into my visit, so electricity is sporadic at best.  Judy can't work without a powered computer and internet connection, so we only ever stay as long as the lights are on, and walk back home when she's finished with her daily tasks, or the lights flicker off again, whichever comes first.  It's irregular, and it would make me want to tear my hair out, but Judy's been here long enough to know to brush it off with a shrug of her shoulders.  "That's just how it is here," she says, packing her bags to the sound of her equipment rapidly cooling after the power suddenly drops out for a second time that day, and I don't think I'll ever complain about a thunderstorm power outage again.

Pack Your Bags with Become.com

What do I think of when I pack my bags?  Where am I going?  What will I see?  How much of my life to I need to fold into my lightweight luggage to carry around with me wherever I go?  How much room do I need to leave for the memories I'm going to bring back with me?

Baggage is important, and how you pack says a lot about you.  Maybe you're the kind of person who folds everything tightly, stacking everything neatly and aligned by the edges, allowing for no unsightly bulges in the line of your duffle.  Maybe you roll your clothes and stack them on top of each other, packing twice as much into one bag, all the while praying it's still light enough to slip under the weight limit.  Or maybe you're the type who heaps everything into your suitcase with no method to your madness, and have to sit on the lid, just to get it to close.

Me?  I'm a roller, because I like to leave as many hands free as possible, and I like to keep myself to one bag.  I keep my toiletries in an outside pocket,  to keep them away from my clothes, but I don't bother putting them in a plastic bag, because I like feeling like I've bested fate when I somehow avoid a shampoo explosion.  I like lightweight luggage that I can carry instead of pull behind me, because I like being in control of my baggage.  And I like waiting until the last second to pack, because a vacation just doesn't feel right unless I'm worried I've forgotten something.  

Down Among the Sheltering Palms

You're about to learn something very important about me.  

I think palm trees are awesome.

Never has there been a tree more photogenic than the palm tree.  Yes, New England is pretty in the fall, and coniferous trees are enchanting when they're covered with snow, and all trees look pretty when they're budding in the spring, but if you're looking for a tree with consistent style and personality, cherry blossoms have nothing on palm fronds.

Palm trees make everything better.  They're the perfect trees for sitting in the sun - just enough shade to keep you from overheating, but not so much that you shiver in the shade.   Not to mention the added benefits of coconuts.

Be honest, are you more interested in this location with the palm tree?

Or without?

I rest my case.

In conclusion, palm trees are the best, and if you disagree, I will fight you.  

Thank you for your time.

Destination: Hualalai

It may seem that, with the economy the way it is, destination weddings are out of vogue, that you shouldn't spend exorbitant amounts of money for this one occasion when you have the rest of your life to plan for.  I disagree.  A wedding is a beautiful thing, and if you want to spend your day celebrating this beautiful moment in a beautiful place, you should do so, guilt free.

The Four Seasons Hualalai on the Big Island of Hawai'i is a beautiful place to get married.  Recent renovations have elevated this luxury resort to a level of quiet sophistication - with its seaside beaches, spacious rooms, and brand new spa, you and your guests will never feel so pampered!  And when you choose Four Seasons Hualalai for your wedding, Perfekt Photo, leaders in Hawaii wedding photography, will tell the story of your wedding day with their fashionable, elegant photography.   You can view the Hualalai portfolio on the Perfekt Photo blog.

Today's post brought to you by Four Seasons Hualalai and Perfekt Photo.

Follow the Fellow

Honolulu, Hawai'i.  Winter 2009.

It rains every day in Hawai'i.  Not in a dark way, and it's rarely a heavy storm, but only twice in a blue moon does a go by on the islands without a gentle, sunny shower briefly passing through in the afternoon.  It's never enough rain to ruin our outdoor plans, and it always makes for plenty of rainbows.

We followed this rainbow all over Honolulu one afternoon.  The air is clearer over Oahu than it is over Ohio, so there's no smog for the rainbow to get lost in, and little pollution to dull it's colors.  We tried to catch it as it hung perpetually in front of us while we drove down the highway, but it was at it's most photogenic at the punchbowl, where it was appropriately patriotic. 

Look to the rainbow.  Over the rainbow.  Why are there so many songs about rainbows?

Tongolo 3/Galema

Tongolo, Uganda.  Fall 2009.

Elizabeth says we need to go up the mountain to Galema before we go back home.  The wife of the village's LC has a lump on her leg that he wants Elizabeth to look at.  There's really nothing she can do if it's anything more than a bruised bump, but the people here trust her.  If she tells them to go down to the doctors at the aid station, they will.  

She says it's an hour walk from Tongolo to Galema, and Elizabeth is fully prepared to hike up the mountain.  The rest of us, less so.  Malia is sound asleep in her baby sling across Judy's back - I wish I were that small.  It's late in the afternoon, but the sun is still high enough to burn mercilessly.  It sounds silly to say so; It's Africa, I knew it would be hot, but I never thought it would be so relentless.  I've got a hat and plenty of sunscreen, and I can still feel the skin on my nose burning pink.

Lillian reminds Elizabeth that we have to walk past the car to get to the path to Galema, and we do have a baby with us, after all.  Elizabeth wants to resist, I can see in her eyes she doesn't want to drive up the mountain.  I don't say anything.  None of us do - we are very obviously not complaining in this battle of the wills, and if Judy points the baby in Elizabeth's direction, it's totally coincidental.  

Five minutes into the drive up the mountain, I can see why Elizabeth wanted to walk.  I can't say definitively that this is the worst road in Uganda, but it is without a doubt the worst road I've ever been on.  The dirt has almost completely eroded away, leaving deep crevasses on either side.  The bit of drivable road left is only just barely wide enough for the car - in most places we're driving half on the road, half in the crevasse, with both hands pressed against the ceiling, trying to keep our balance, wincing when a big bump knocks our elbows together. 

At the top of the hill, Elizabeth and Lillian cheerfully greet the LC, then disappear into his home to examine his wife, leaving Judy and I to stand by the car and admire the view.  Lake Victoria rests at the bottom of the mountain, the Victoria Nile stretching out like an arm into the horizon.  Children from around the village who came running at the sound of the car stop short when they see us - we are clearly not who they expected.  Some of them run away when I wave, the others just stare.  Not in a hostile way, but not in a purely curious way, either.  I try not to stare back, but I know that I am.

When Elizabeth emerges from the hut with Lillian and the LC she is smiling, but it's tight across her face, and I can tell she doesn't mean it.  The lump must be more than your average bruise.  The children flock to her with their hands outstretched, crying "Sweetie!  Sweetie!"  Elizabeth shoos them away, finally turning out her empty pockets to prove she hasn't brought any candy, and she becomes infinitely less interesting in their eyes.  Though they do still crowd around the car to hang off the doors when we're all ready to leave, and won't let go until she leans on the horn.  They run off, delighted.    

If I thought driving up the mountain was stressful, sending the car back down half-cocked with gravity pushing us faster should have killed me.  Driving out of the village is like a sigh.  We roll the windows down to let the air run through us, cooling the sweat on our skin.  The sun won't set for another three hours, but all I want to is crawl into bed and sleep for days.  Gently, though; I'm lucky to be unburned, but I'm still pretty pink around the edges enough to know that tonight will be an uncomfortable one.  

We still wave at the children who run along beside the car, but our smiles are tired and our hands are heavy.  The happy cries of "Mzungu!  Bye!" follow us all the way back to town.

Post Script:  Two days ago, after several long, uncertain months full of suddenly appearing family members, lost money, and disappearing judges, Judy contacted all of us with the news that she was officially Malia's legal guardian!  She hopes to return to America soon, where she will be able to complete the adoption process.