Marie Javins's Blog, page 52

Moving Up

I was sitting in a cafe at the center of Yosemite National Park on Saturday (one of only a few spots where the outside world can intrude via wifi or cellular), when I learned an announcement about my promotion was going to show up on a website this week.

Which is odd since my promotion happened nine months ago. I was puzzled but ambivalent. Okay, sure.

But what I wasn't prepared for was the onslaught of congratulations! Which is awesome, but awkward, given the nine months in-between.

I practiced grace for several days. I sometimes succeeded.

Yosemite Photos

Here are photos of my short trip to Yosemite. 

I really need to do this kind of thing more often while I'm living here in California.

Yes Bear

It wasn't pocket lint after all.

Give Me A Tent and a Patch of Ground

Tonight’s lodging.

Looks fine, except the neighbors are traveling in a pack and blaring music through a tinny Bluetooth speaker.

Glacier Point

Here are some photos of Yosemite Valley from Glacier Point.

Bear Where?

I awoke early—well, that's probably an exaggeration. I managed to leave the lodge at the outskirts of Yosemite before 9 in the morning. That's early enough, but hardly worth mentioning.

I drove to Glacier Point, a nearby outlook to get a glimpse of the Yosemite Valley I'd be arriving in soon.

Marvelous.

And then I drove back, slowly down the winding road to the main drive. And then I saw a crowd of people and cars, and I pulled over.

I saw a bear! I think.

Short Fridays

Back on March 15, I'd been hovering over my keyboard at 7 a.m. As immortalized on Sunset.com, I was signed in on Recreation.gov, waiting for Yosemite campsite reservations to open up.

I barely grabbed one and they were all gone for July 15-Aug 15 within a minute. I couldn't even get the same one for two consecutive nights, so I took a site for Saturday and reserved a still rare but less competitive single room with shared bath at a park entrance lodge for Friday night.

"That actually works out better," I thought. "In case I get held up in traffic out of LA and arrive late."

And here I was, five months later, cursing the slow traffic out of Los Angeles County. I'd meant to leave work at one, which is the earliest we can leave on summer Fridays, and I'd managed to get out just ten minutes late. But then I had to stop by my place to grab my blue IKEA bag of tent, sleeping bag, travel pillow, towel, and 19-year-old Thermarest. I shoved a few clothes in a knapsack, grabbed a water bottle, the old phone I use as an iPod, and was finally on the road by 2.

Traffic crawled from Burbank to Bakersfield, giving me plenty of time to alternate between being annoyed and contemplating my journey. My old car had been to Yosemite without me back in 2002. On the great cross-country trek with Turbo the Aussie, Henry the 1990 Ford Taurus had been driven to Yosemite after Turbo put me on a Greyhound back to LA. I was to be in a wedding, and while I can't remember which city Turbo and I had parted in, I remember being pissed when he'd locked the keys in the trunk right before I'd had to catch my bus. He'd been eating a sandwich out of our picnic gear in the trunk, and he had a habit of tossing the keys down inside the trunk while he made his sandwich.

"You're going to lock the keys in the trunk that way," I'd said a few days before.
I hadn't said "I told you so" at that point. The moment was humiliating enough. At least AAA covered the locksmith.

Turbo and I had carried a National Parks pass back in 2002 and we'd used the heck out of it. I had one tonight too. Exhausted, I finally arrived at the southernmost entrance gate into the park at 8:30 p.m. I pulled out my pass.

"Pay on way out," read the sign.

I drove through the dark the last six miles to my accommodation, a sprawling Victorian compound called Wawona Lodge. I was glad to not have to set up my tent in the dark.

Wouldn't be the first time, of course.

I parked my rental Nissan at 8:30 and pulled out my knapsack and overnight bag, being careful not to leave anything smelling of food in the car here in bear country. I walked into Wawona's reception area just after 8:30.

"What time does the dining room close?" I asked the desk clerk.

"Nine."

I didn't take my bags up to my room first. I went straight in and ordered dinner, sitting down to eat at 8:45.

That was close.

The World on Paper

I just bought my last-ever copy of the final paper edition of the classic Nancy Chandler map of Bangkok, first published in 1974.

I bought my first one in the year 2000, and wore it out over several years, scouring its tiny details with my much-younger eyes, planning my destinations and routes along canals and alleys. The Skytrain was a mere infant the first time I stumbled over it, a few stops not even on the map when I looked up in central Bangkok and said OH WHAT'S THAT, followed by "If I took the river taxi to Saphin Taksin, I could pick up the Skytrain there," which forever changed how I got around Bangkok.

I had a few more versions, my last one in early 2013 I think, when I stopped by BKK in search of ceramic zebras on my way back from Burma. I also bought a PDF of this map, so in truth, I'll probably never use this paper version as intended.

I think I'll frame it and put it on my wall. I love a good map, and this one makes me nostalgic for a way of traveling almost no one does anymore. Indulge me for just a moment...there was a time when I stopped halfway though MariesWorldTour 2001, set up shop in Berlin for a month, spread out two maps of Africa on the rental apartment's floor, and that's how I planned alongside some Bradt and Lonely Planet guidebooks.

That world is gone now, and I'd never purposefully choose it over having a world of information in my pocket. In this case, tech makes my journeys so much easier. But no tech can increase the level of comfort on a pocked dirt road in a truck filled with chickens and goats. Don't worry, still plenty of adventure to go around.

Resusciatation

Wait, what? 

This must be how people feel when their exes move on without them.

(See also what else does the Justice League and THE 99 have in common?)

Mixed Emotions

It's that time of year when everyone parses out their complicated feelings about a certain large comic book convention located in southern California, leading no one to satisfactory conclusions.

Let's review.

-Yes, it's changed.

-Yes, you've changed.

-Yes, we've all changed.

-Yes, it's insanely expensive and you could either get a new roof this year or you could pay for a hotel room at SDCC.

-I would probably not be going if I weren't employed in the field, as I would choose a new roof.

-Even those who go struggle with the ups and down over the course of a few hours.

-Yes, it's fun.

-No, it's not fun, in fact, it can kinda suck.

 -You probably can't go anyway, since you didn't plan ten months ahead of time, so your thoughts on not going have no actual bearing on the results. It's kind of like politics. Talk all you want. Doesn't matter.

 -You could just tell everyone you went, and stay home and buy that roof, since it's possible to be there all week and never see people you wanted to see.

-If I weren't going, I'd probably find some way to rationalize how I had made the better choice than those who went, but it would be absurd, because the truth is so much more complicated.

-When I don't go next, likely in 2021, remind me to bitch and moan about how stupid everyone is who is going, because they should all be buying new roofs instead. No, wait. Remind me to accept my spot in the world with grace and not put down those who still attend.