The Museum of Natural History. Everyone’s been there on school trips as a kid, but in Lisa’s humble opinion at least, this museum is far more suited for adults who are kids at heart than for actual children. For one thing, there’s authentic science on display, which you have to stop and read if you want to really understand what it is and why it’s important. Flashy displays and clickable screens soften up the difficulty somewhat, but the text is still geared for the adult beginner or possibly the child expert. Furthermore, there are far too many breakable and fragile objects around that people insist on touching and climbing on - looking at you two, Couple-Squeezed-Into-The-Giant-Clam. This museum is a place you want in your neighborhood, and Lisa loves living near it. So we spent almost five hours there on Saturday and left pretty close to closing time.

Overall Experience
Of all the times we’ve been to this museum, separately and together, this was the most we’ve gotten out of it. This may be because we arrived in the morning, saw the IMAX feature first, then timed the rest of our viewing so that we spaced out exhibits, gift shop perusing, and a coffee-and-cookie break. We entered through the Planetarium, which was far less crowded than the main entrance would have been, and since Lisa is a member, we were able to get tickets for both of us at a reduced rate (the lady at the desk gave Michael a “corporate rate” which was very nice of her, and unrequested by us).

We walked through the Planetarium, which is soon celebrating its 10th anniversary and has needed an update to reflect current planetary science for approximately the past 5 of those years. The text about the Moon, for example, states that it has no water, which is now known to exist in ice form near its South Pole. Many of the displays are now computerized so that they can provide “science bulletins”, which we looked at until it was time to head to the LeFrak IMAX theater for a lefraking interesting feature about the Hubble Space Telescope, narrated by non-scientist (even onscreen) Leonardo DiCaprio. We think perhaps they should recruit Patrick Stewart for their next narration, as he has the space cred as well as the gravitas in his voice to actually pull this off, unlike Whoopi Goldberg’s silly narration overlaying an otherwise exemplary space show.

While in the Planetarium we also stopped to fool around with one of the many video message kiosks scattered throughout the museum exhibits:

We enjoyed this so much, we made two more - one in the dinosaur hall and the other in the Hall of Biodiversity.

Our other main highlight was the “Race to the End of the Earth” walk-through exhibit, which depicted the struggle of two teams — British and Norwegian — to ‘discover’ the south pole. Only one of them made it back (guess who).

Michael: I’ve been to the AMNH more times than a TI-85 could count. About half of those visits happened during childhood, so whenever I go back, it’s like I’m touring my own natural history. The space shows stick in my mind most of all, and although the special effects have improved quite a bit since the early-mid 80s, the intellectual quotient has eroded. Instead of visiting astrophysicists presenting the space shows, we now have celebrity recordings. The shows are shorter, the syllables are fewer, but the cosmos is prettier. The “Race to the End of the Earth” expedition was a powerful new addition, showing us the folly of human pride. I’ve learned that if I ever decide to go the south pole, I shouldn’t bring ponies, make six-course meals from my rations, or refuse to join forces with my “competitors.” The Hall of Meteorites and the Hall of Minterals were fun in an imagination-stoking way. I couldn’t stop imagining shapes on the minerals’ surface and personifying the various nooks and crannies. Still disappointed that there’s no “kryptonite”, though, especially since there’s a real element named krypton.

Lisa: I often enjoy the special exhibitions at AMNH but almost always find things to criticize - and “Race to the End of the Earth” is no exception. This exhibition probably would play better as a clickable website than as a walk-through experience. Some interactivity was introduced via a map with sliding panels (”What animals did they see?” Slide the panel - “They saw penguins and seals.” I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the general flavor), cards picked up at the beginning of the exhibit that identified the viewer with one of six profiled expedition members and gave you a scavenger hunt item to locate, i.e. Roald Amundsen’s binoculars, and the occasional iPad-on-a-kiosk that featured an audiobook experience. The information was interesting, the story communicated as well as could be given the setup, the design sort of a retro turn-of-the-century-newspaper-headlines feel, but - is it too much of a pun to say it left me a bit cold? Yup, thought so… Gift shop with its plethora of penguins was fun, though.

I could go on and on about how to make the exhibition more child-friendly, or more exhibit-like in general, but I’ll be brief — more things to do, fewer things to read. Too many people crowding around a display waiting for a turn to flip electronic pages does not a fun museum visit make. I thought the Silk Road exhibit had a great balance of visuals, things to try out, and the overarching organizational tool of getting stamps in a passport worked well. Then again, the Silk Road was about a meeting of cultures and tradespeople, not a group of guys freezing their fingers off and shooting their ponies for food. Seriously, it’s not a happy ending. This is the kind of story I avoided before and during my own Antarctica trip for fear of getting thoroughly freaked out (not that I was anywhere near the South Pole, but people have died doing far less dangerous things…)

For me the highlight was finding hidden treasures in various exhibit halls - the ancient turtle ancestors in the dinosaur wing, Ken Miller in the Hall of Human Origins, bubbly-shaped crystal pieces in the Hall of Minerals, the photos from the Inca Trail outside the IMAX theater (I loved Peru and they have some great shots of some cool places I was, and wasn’t), and the subzero temperatures in the Hall of Meteorites that totally should have been reversed with the temperature settings in the Race to the Ends of the Earth. And the video kiosks! Did I mention those? They’re a lot of fun.

Score: 8.5 of 10 (Michael: 8, Lisa: 9)

This Saturday we decided to re-enact our third date, which consisted of brunch at Isabella’s and a sojourn around the Museum of Natural History. However, we were disappointed to note that Isabella’s doesn’t open until 11 (a feature annoyingly shared with many brunch places in this neighborhood, particularly on Saturdays) so we switched tactics and chose Sarabeth’s instead, as it had a similar feel to Isabella’s, right down to the name. When we arrived, shortly after 10 am, there was a considerable crowd milling about outside despite the breezy temperature, and an equal number of folks loitering inside, so we put our name down for a 20 minute wait and walked around the block. Upon return, we found that they’d already reached our names on the list and got a table almost right away.

Overall Experience:
Sarabeth’s is a standard UWS brunch place featuring a variety of tasty omelettes, pancakes and french toast, oatmeal (which we never order, but loved the naming scheme of Baby Bear, Mama Bear, and Papa Bear) and muffins and pastries that might come as extra with your order, depending on what it is. Service was quick and responsive, at least once we were finally seated, and only the check was brought slowly. Our coffee cups were refilled quickly. The atmosphere was significantly noisier on this visit than in our previous one, owing to the crowds - we were relieved when the volume started to let up (as other brunch places along Amsterdam started opening) and we were able to finally hear one another.

Michael:
I ordered a spinach & goat cheese omelette, which came with a handful-sized muffin. For me, this is the ideal combo of protein and carbs; enough protein to power me for most of the day, enough carbs to keep me from constantly craving giant bowls of spaghetti after the meal. I asked for a pumpkin muffin, only to discover it was filled with raisins; I wish this had been listed, since a) I wouldn’t assume pumpkin implies raisins, and b) I hate raisins. But they were very happy to replace the rejected pumpkin muffin with a corn muffin, even though I’d practically obliterated the pumpkin muffin in the process of inspecting it. This suited me fine.

Lisa:
The pumpkin (&raisin) muffin was delicious - better than my side pastry, which was a serviceable enough but bland currant scone. I’ll probably be ordering the pumpkin one next time. In terms of my actual meal, I ordered the garden omelet, which combined cheese with corn, broccoli, carrots and sun dried tomato - sounded like an odd combination, but I enjoyed it. I was very tempted by the pancake and french toast options listed, but knew that we were going to be doing a lot of active walking and that I couldn’t afford to drag myself around in a glucose-induced fog. After about the third refill of coffee, I was starting to seriously buzz, so we got the check. The food here is quite good, and you do sort of pay for it — though it was the price of the coffee that actually surprised me, as we didn’t order any special lattes or cappuccinos. Then again, when you get refills, I suppose the price is entitled to reflect that. (So, I got what I paid for.)

Score: 7.5 of 10 (Michael: 7, Lisa: 8)

Prelude

We were inspired to try the Hi Life Bar & Grill by their outdoor seating section on 83rd street, which we’d walked past a million times - a partially enclosed area with individual “cubicles”, each consisting of a single table framed by two wooden doors. This makes the table area at once both private and open to the street, a charming idea.

Overall Experience: When we arrived, we were shown to a table that was in the porch area, though not directly enclosed by the doors. However, the couple next to us paid their check and departed, which left an opening. The busboy clearing and resetting their table noticed us oogling the vacant “cubicle” and asked if we’d like to switch. After checking for us, he and our lovely waitress set us up, opening up the doors and transferring our beverages. Throughout we received excellent service and delicious food.

Michael: If you’ve ever felt experimental enough to eat breakfast and lunch at the same time, this is the place to do it. Each meal came with cinnamon toast and blueberry muffins, constituting the “Br” part of brunch. We then split a generously-sized dish of penne, chicken, sundried tomatoes, peas, and a light tomato cream sauce. My cheese-loving id wanted the sauce to be a little more creamy, but the food was eminently satisfying and the waitress was polite, cheerful and accommodating.

Lisa: What is it with the UWS brunch places and strawberry butter? When the basket arrived at the table with our breakfast appetizers, the butter was a semi-radioactive fuschia color. So of course I wanted to try it. I thought it tempered the unholy sweetness of the cinnamon bread and was the perfect touch for the solidly tasty blueberry muffin. Having dispensed with breakfast, we then moved on to the main course, which my non-cheesy id thoroughly enjoyed. I’d gone in expecting to order pancakes or eggs or french toast, but would be happy to go back and try again. The added bonus of the open air atmosphere (particularly as we watched everyone’s dogs walking by glancing up at us with friendly curiosity) stamped this experience for me as a brunch destination to be repeated.

Rating: 8 out of 10

As a recently moved in resident of the Upper West Side, I’ve been exploring the neighborhood’s many culinary offerings. This includes brunch, that staple meal of the UWS weekend. One night as my boyfriend and I were walking down Amsterdam Ave., we spotted a menu that promised crepes - from savory three cheese or French ham & gruyere to sweet awesome Nutella. We were eager to get back the next morning, for our weekend brunch, but to our disappointment wandered back up and down the same stretch of the street without encountering any menus containing crepes. We couldn’t exactly remember which restaurant had offered them, and since several of the places were closed anyway, we ended up eating somewhere else.

But the crepes were not forgotten. We went back the next weekend, still on the search for the crepes, only to be disappointed again. And again, the third time we tried. By now the quest for crepes was assuming a rather quixotic quality, as we both had begun to doubt whether the place had ever existed at all, or if in our feverish imaginings we simply conjured up the crepes menu and were destined for disappointment.

However, last Wednesday night, as we were walking down Amsterdam towards our dinner destination, we happened to pass by the same string of restaurants and, if by some miracle, stumbled upon the very menu in front of the very restaurant that had sparked the entire quest. We had a good laugh over the fact that the brunch at this restaurant opened at noon, which was why we had kept missing it — and decided to go back over the weekend, deliberately waiting until noon so that we could finally, finally have our crepes. The quest was almost at an end.

This morning, as we were googling the crepes menu to kill time before 12:00, my boyfriend casually commented, “Watch, it’ll be like that scene in Big, where he goes back to the carnival and it’s all boarded up and disappeared, as if it was never there.”

And sure enough, when we got to the place, its windows were papered over and a sign in the window promised that a new restaurant was Coming Soon.

It was never meant to be.

Excited to announce that I’ll be heading to England at the end of this week - have uploaded the travel plans into a special Google Map. Zoom out to see all my different stops! (I’ll be adding details as they become available.)

View Lisa’s Earthwatch Expedition and Hadrian’s Wall Excursion in a larger map

I’m in a reflective mood and looking over some old journal entries… posting the ones that I think are worth reading. This one was from November 2003. At the time, I was in my last year of graduate school, first year of assistant teaching, and over the summer had taken one of my very first solo trips. I like this one because it captures the essence of why I travel. It’s also quite indicative of the basic feeling I had through my twenties, that being present in the everyday world, with people, was a struggle and a distraction from the “world out there”, rather than PART of the world and something worth exploring.

alone

Over the summer I had this amazing euphoric period. I was out doing amazing things I had never done before, stepping way outside my normal routine and exploring sides to my personality that usually lay dormant or underused. I felt this overwhelming sense of optimism and basic peace with the world. For once I saw beyond the walls of my room, and the skyline out my window, and I knew that other things were out there — things that had nothing to do with me or any human being, things outside of our narrow little history and time and idea of what it was to live.

It’s this odd human conception that everything has to MEAN something. Or that things should be a “certain way”. It’s a wonderful capacity to find patterns and connections that our brains have, and a terrible curse. Because you don’t find any other animal or plant or fungus or living cell asking itself why it exists, or if it dare disturb the universe. It lives because living is what living things do. And it dies because living things eventually die. Along the way things happen to it, and it makes things happen, and it all goes on. It’s amazing, and it’s beautiful, and it’s very much outside what I usually contemplate in day to day experience. I think about my job, and I think about being alone or being with people, and whether my muscles ache or my head feels clear, and I don’t think about the fact that there are deep oceans filled with living creatures we’ve never seen. I don’t think about the people I’ve never met and the stories they’ve lived. I don’t think about the stars, because where I live they’re blocked by the bright lights of the city. I get pulled down into the little grey pocket that is my corner of the universe, and I forget that there’s a world out there. I forget that I’m living.

There was this one night in particular, over the summer, when I was out patrolling the beach on St. Croix and we were digging up a turtle nest. Someone had to take the spare radio and finish the patrol alone, in case any adult turtles should come up while we were working. I took the extra radio and my dying flashlight and started walking. It was just me, the loose sand, the fading light of the moon on the ocean, and the vines growing sea grapes. At that moment I could have been the only person on the face of the Earth, that is how alone I was. I thought about my students, about people I loved and people I’d lost, and then my thoughts fell away and I kept walking. And then I started singing. Why not sing, when there was no one who could hear and giggle at me for doing it?

And then, I saw a dark shape sitting on the edge of the beach, jutting out past where the waves were lapping the shore. I checked the posts to see where I was, and if I wasn’t passing by the same log we’d passed a hundred times. The light was very dim, and my flashlight was failing, but somewhere in the darkness the shape moved, and moved again. My heart was pounding as I fumbled in my bag for the spare radio, which I’d never thought I’d need.

“You’ll never believe this,” I told the radio, “but we’ve got a turtle.”

Another volunteer had to rush the scanner over so we could wave it over the turtle’s flippers and find the electronically implanted ID number, and I had to crouch behind the massive animal and tug on its back flippers to attempt to read its metal tag, although the moon was nearly gone and I didn’t have enough light. Mostly I had to wait, and sit with the turtle as it made its way up onto dry ground to do what it had come to do. So I sat and watched. The scanner arrived, and the turtle’s barcode popped up in its blinking window, and we scribbled the numbers onto the official data sheet. But then we sat and waited again, and watched the turtle in silence.

It was the most connected I’ve ever felt to the world, to all the creatures who live in it. It was all exciting and new, and I didn’t know what was going to happen, or what I was going to do when it happened. I just knew I was seeing something ancient and beautiful, older than the sand I was sitting on, and I wasn’t distracted by idle chatter or worries about whether things were the way I expected them to be. That first time I was frightened to patrol without the other volunteers, but then I enjoyed walking the beach alone. I savored the chance to watch the waves, or look up and see the Milky Way’s trail across the sky, or sing profound and silly music while making little sneaker-prints in the sand.

What I’ve done, since I’ve returned home and faced the realities of the fall and winter, is to retreat. I’ve tunneled as far into myself as I can go. Occasionally I pick up a book or a thread of an idea and my mind races ahead of me, and I recognize the shadow of the feeling that occupied me months ago. But mostly I stumble through my days, feeling very little, seeing even less. Nothing very much registers. People are an irritation, a distraction from the monotonous hum of waking existence. When I am reached for, when demands are piled upon me, I want to pull away, to wiggle out from under the burden.

Despite occasionally wishing for more company, I think my basic loneliness stems from the recognition that I am worn out by people, worn out by trying to know and to love, and worn out by the struggle of trying to recover something that I once had and lost. The very idea of meeting a stranger and going through the whole dance — I don’t entertain it often, or for very long. I am at odds with myself over it, because I know that the nature of humans is and should be social, because no person could survive totally alone and without friends or love or affection. But often I think that would be simpler for me. There would be nothing else to lose. No intrusive memories or regrets to push away. Maybe I could be that solitary figure back on the beach, singing to the waves, radio stuffed safely into the bottom of my bag in case I ever really need it, but hoping that the need does not arise soon.

Here’s my 13 days in Antarctica, boiled down to 5 minute clips:

Nothing like hearing “Let It Snow” in a place where it NEVER snows… I spent last Christmas and New Year’s in Hawai’i.

Collection of photos from my recent Earthwatch expedition in Iceland. Sad to say, I accidentally erased all of my video footage - but this gives a bit of the idea.

The purpose of the project was to collect data about the glaciers in Southern Iceland. As these glaciers press down, they form large pools of water underneath them. This water drains out as rivers, but can also collect over time underneath the glacier. Eventually, the glacier’s ice starts to float on top of the water, because ice is less dense than water, and when this happens, the water bursts out and causes destructive floods. Scientists want to figure out ways to predict when this might happen, and where the floods are likely to go.

It’s also possible that the glaciers will be affected by global warming and that this will lead to changes in how and when they produce these floods.

Child: “How close are we to being there?”
Me: “Closer than we were.” 

Sitting in the colonial schoolhouse: “This is so much better than our REAL school. No offense, Lisa.”

Upon hearing that a child’s father would take him “out to the woodshed” when he misbehaved: “Why, what happens in the woodshed?”

One boy, on seeing me in my bathingsuit: “I’m glad you’re wearing that and not a bikini. That would make you look… inappropriate.”

Overheard at dinner: “I need to have another cup of soda. I deserve it!” 

Birthday boy, upon noticing the balloons and singing waitstaff and not realizing they were approaching HIS table: “I feel sorry for the poor sucker who’s going to get that!”

Back in the hotel room negotiating over what to watch on TV: “Can we watch the Simpsons?”
Me: “Is it rated G?”
Kids: (collective mutter)
Me: “There must be something appropriate that you’d all want to watch.”
Child: “What about Bad Girls?”
(after the group has stopped hysterical-laughing)
Me: “_______, do you really watch Bad Girls?”
______: “All the time!”
Different child: “Do your parents know that?”
________: (gazing imploringly at me) “You won’t blow my cover, will you?” 

Walking down the hotel hallway with the group of boys staying in my room plus the adjoining room: “We must look so weird all walking together with just all of us and Lisa. Look at you, Lisa. You’re like the Octomom!”

It may be spring in some parts of the Northern Hemisphere, but in the last three days staying at Mount Hood, I’ve seen almost a foot of snow fall. It’s continuing to float down as I sit here by the window, pondering another morning of struggling through downhill runs (and even more so, sitting exposed to the elements on the lift afterwards) with the wind whipping snow and hail in my face.

The most difficult part of the day, though, was not the inclement weather - it was the several inches of freshly fallen snow - powder - on the trail. Though I can take almost any intermediate trail under typical conditions, I only ski a few times a year and I only started skiing a few years ago. This was my first time skiing on powder, so in some ways I felt like a complete beginner all over again. Almost as soon as I got started, my ski got stuck under the inches of snow and I tumbled to the ground. I then spent the next few minutes pushing myself painstakingly back up and then sliding around in frustration as I attempted to get my skis back on.

Once I was up and ready to go, I stood looking down the expanse of the trail and wondered whether I could make it down. I didn’t want to fall again. Of course, this made it even more likely that I would fall again, because with the anxiety taking the forefront, I couldn’t ski naturally using the techniques that I knew. I was extremely cautious, nervous, jerky in my movements. I got down to the bottom, finally, and wanted to head straight in for the hot chocolate and forget about the whole rest of the day. Why push it? Why risk injury, frustration, and embarrassment?

This was how I felt, too, when I first learned to ski. I could barely get the skis on without slipping, and I was terrified of crashing into a tree or tumbling down somewhere and being unable to get up. My sense of direction not being the greatest, I also worried about wandering onto a trail that was too difficult - and of course, as a beginner, most trails ARE too difficult. (I still struggle with finding my way when I’m at a new mountain, but now that I can take a wider variety of trails, this anxiety has lessened at least.)

The first few times I went skiing, I approached the activity with a sense of dread and left afterwards feeling relieved and proud for getting through it. I’d go on the green trails and feel satisfied with that, unwilling to press my luck on anything that required greater technique. Then we visited Snowbird for a ski vacation as a family, and the instructor informed me that I was on the “hardest green trail in the United States”. Once I got through that, I realized that I could take a wider variety of trails and not worry so much about getting lost. That was nice.

Each time we went, I would think to myself, “I’m glad I got through this… now I never have to do it again.” It took quite a while, and many successful runs, before I ever thought that I might want to ski for fun. Even now, I’ll choose to go when the opportunity presents itself - it’s not something I seek out on my own. I’m happy enough when I’m doing it, and happier when I’ve gotten through another successful day. Maybe someday I’ll book a ski vacation purposefully and look out the window and think, “Today looks like a great day to ski… I can’t wait to get out there.” But I doubt it.

A lot of things come naturally to me, but it’s a very useful experience to deal with learning something that doesn’t. It really helps to understand when trying to work with someone who’s struggling, to know how it feels to be stuck in the struggle. You don’t want to try because of what might happen. Maybe it isn’t exactly like skiing, where you can actually physically hurt yourself, but there are other ways to get hurt. You know you’re not a natural, and you know there are people around watching and judging you even as they’re standing by to help you when (not if) you need it. Even worse, the anxiety itself is clouding your brain and making you forget what you already know. If you happen to have a successful run, it can feel like luck - like you’ve tempted fate and you’ll get the worst of it next time. That reinforces the relief you feel about being finished, and the desire to never ever go near it again.

The only way to get through it is to stack up a pile of successes. There isn’t a substitute. You won’t feel better about your ability until you’ve experienced it again and again.

So I’m going back out on the powder today. I’ll probably fall. I’ll probably get frustrated, and I’ll definitely feel relieved when it’s over. But it’s the only way to learn how.

Today in science class, I was showing my 3rd graders footage of astronauts on an Apollo mission driving the lunar module. A student said, “You know what I would do if that was me? I’d crank my iPod all the way up and rock out!”

I had to break it to her that iPods were not invented yet.

She recoiled in horror. “You mean… they didn’t even have music???”

One of my boys came in to the science room this morning to drop off some materials for me. While we were chatting, he suddenly got a twinkle in his eye and said, “Oh, and I have a dare for you.”

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“Which would you rather do - eat a spider, or lick the science room floor?” Satisfied smug, thinking - I’ve got her now.

I quickly glanced down at the floor, still smeared yellow and pink from Friday’s prop painting session. Then I smiled back up at him, and with a matching twinkle in my eye, said,

“Well, I’ve eaten ants before. So a spider wouldn’t be so bad.”

He grimaced and started to back away. “I was just joking…”

Lesson learned: Do not try to out-gross the science teacher. Especially if she’s been to Australia. It’s like Fear Factor out on those tours. (The ants tasted like Sprite and are said to be very high in Vitamin C.)

Today I was supervising recess, watching the kids engage in a time honored playground tradition - picking teams. There’s no way around it - someone has to be picked last. Even if your group consists entirely of professional athletes and superstars, and you start picking one by one, you still end up with someone getting left until the end. And this being an elementary school group with a typical range of sports ability - some play competitively on the weekends and some can barely make contact with the ball, and everything in between - it’s almost inevitable that certain kids are going to get snapped up first and others left hanging until the end. We’ve all been there and remember how it feels.

I have to say, this particular group plays very fair. When I was a kid and boys and girls were expected to play on mixed teams, every boy were always picked first, unless there was a super-ultra-tomboy in the group, who would generally get picked in the middle even if she was a superior athlete. This group is more enlightened (and their teachers make sure of it). The active girls are picked right alongside the boys. There is some angling to make sure that friends end up on the same team, but with such a small group, that often can’t happen and the kids don’t make much fuss about it. The last kids to be picked are generally the ones who don’t really know the game rules, and/or don’t make much contact with the ball.

Of course, the experience of being picked last never does anything to change that, either.

There’s one boy who always gets picked last for teams - I can’t remember watching a game where he wasn’t picked last. He’s a kid I’ve gotten to know quite well over the past few years and yet the fact that this keeps happening surprises me. What surprises me is that he hangs in there. He’s eminently clumsy, chronically knocking things over and bumping into people, and often can’t make contact with the ball or defers to more confident, aggressive players because he really wants his team to win. He’s competitive (read: anxious about losing) and he does bristle sometimes when he’s picked last, like today when he burst out, “This is a stupid team!” after watching the most non-athletic, disconnected girl get welcomed onto a team before he was. (She later wandered away from the game, without anyone noticing she was gone.) It’s the closest I’ve ever heard him get to complaining that he is always, always picked last.

What’s amazing to me is that this kid goes out there, every day, and stands there in public, and watches everyone else get picked before he does, and takes it. He wants to be in there, with those kids, so badly that he’s willing to take it. Not always with the best grace, but guaranteed if it isn’t raining tomorrow and the group goes out there, he’ll be right there waiting to get picked, hoping maybe this time - this one time - the team captain will turn to him and pick him out of the crowd. Maybe not first. Maybe not even second. And if he’s last again, he’ll take it, because he isn’t giving up.

I didn’t do that, as a kid. I gave up. I couldn’t control the embarrassment or anger I felt about being picked last, and I was convinced that the other kids hated me and were picking me last to send me a message that I wasn’t wanted. It was a tangle of mistaken perceptions and emotional overreaction, and a compounding of teasing and rejection and insults until I finally just walked away. I actually stopped trying. I played alone at recess - for years and years. I was almost too old for recess by the time I started interacting with other kids on the playground. There had to be kids at my elementary school who stood there and endured the selection process day after day, but I didn’t notice because I couldn’t even bring myself to be a part of it at all. I didn’t participate, or even watch.

This kid stands there and opens himself up to the possibility of being picked last every single day, and because he does, he ends up on a team. And he gets to play. It makes me really proud to watch.

I haven’t used this recently and I’d really like to. I’m not sure what I’m going to be posting here. But stay tuned, I haven’t forgotten.

3:30 pm back on Eastern Time (in Bogota)

My nerves are quite frayed but I’m slowly recovering. I had to go through immigration and customs and then - most ridiculous of all - had to exit the airport and walk back in, only to find that I’m stuck dragging my suitcase around until 7. After incoherently asking for help in a few places (everyone is too busy to help) I found my way up to the 2nd floor where there are restaurants (well - is McDonald’s a restaurant?) and I called my parents from a phone booth, got some pesos, and now I’m drinking Dunkin’ Donuts. Looking around, there are a lot of people here with suitcases. I feel better already, just seeing that I am not alone. I have to admit, I got pretty panicked when I had to leave the airport and came back in and when I was told to wait for 4 hours but I had no idea where to go. There are a lot of police patrolling around. As well as some airline personnel. I am really ready to be off this roller coaster. It’s very warm and humid in the building - adding to my general feeling of misery. I’m already in the lightest clothing I own. I feel like taking 7 showers in a row.

Amazing how the Antarctic already feels so distant. And in geographical terms, it is. I’ve traveled the length of South America in the past day. Tonight I’ll travel half a continent more. It almost doesn’t feel real. I feel a bit trapped, like I’ve been here for the entire trip and never anywhere else. Of course that is just from being tired and traveling a very long way.

I can’t believe the money system here. Some of the numbers on the bills are astronomical. I have a bill in my pouch that says 20,000 pesos. I guess the currency must be very devalued. Pesos in Argentina were about 2.5-3 for the dollar.

about 4 pm I can’t believe how quickly I am running out of pages. Well, all I’ve had to do recently is write - all this waiting, waiting, waiting.

It’s too hard to shop with my bags in tow. I gave up after two bookstores and one souvenir stand. Now I’m at a pizza place having - what meal would this be considered? Lunch I suppose. I don’t even know. Afternoon tea.

It makes me sad to think about Antarctica right now. The ship was a very comfortable and safe place. You always felt there were people looking out for you. It’s corny to say it feels like a family, but it sort of does. Or barring that, a camp or school group. I really enjoyed it. I had people around when I wanted them, and time alone when I wasn’t feeling social (or well). There was always something new and beautiful to look at. I’ll really remember it fondly.

School must have begun again today. Tomorrow is Laura’s last day covering my classes for me. I’m really glad that it all worked out.

Just a little while longer until I can check in. I’m feeling better now that I have eaten some real food - not a croissant, chocolate, or bag of pretzels, but actual cooked food. It feels cooler back here as well. It’s amazing how simple things can make you feel human again.

It’s quite gray and looks like a storm is brewing outside. They must get a lot of rain here.

I am in no hurry to get up though I am done with my meal. I hate lugging my things around. I hate having so much stuff. And all things considered, I actually packed pretty light. I was able even to get my jacket inside my carry on bag. I’ll need it when we land in New York.

When I’m in airports I often look around at the people and wonder about them. What are their stories? Where are they off to? Do we have anything in common aside from being in the same place at the same time? I like to watch, and listen if I can.

The Ioffe should be in the Drake Passage now - deep in. They probably entered late last night, probably while I was arriving in Buenos Aires or transferring between airports. I am so, so thankful that I did not have these hassles with my flights coming down. I had pretty good luck. I really couldn’t have asked for better. I’m frazzled and irritated today, but I really am grateful for the way my trip worked out in general. I’m quite looking forward to getting my photos and videos sorted when I get home.

4:50 pm Man is this dragging. Maybe I need a change of scenery. I could pay the bill here and go get a coffee from somewhere else. I just feel the need to move.

a few minutes later I’m in a little cafe trying to relax and spend some time. My next stop is downstairs to check in and get this show on the road. I would like to see who else is on my flight, if there is anyone to talk to.

For my next trip I would like to travel somewhere that is English speaking. Perhaps the Canadian Arctic? Or New Zealand? It’s just so tiring to process a foreign language, esp. when you yourself are tired and stressed. It’s amazing how much my Spanish deteriorated when I got sleep deprived. And emotional as well. Plus people speak so fast. Why? What is the rush? On the ship things went at a gentle pace. I really liked that. And I liked being free of the Internet, the TV news, the input always coming in. When you are on vacation you should be focused on the moment, what is right in front of you. Not what is going on thousands of miles away.

later Finally, FINALLY checked in. Shall I count the number of security lines I’ve had to stand in? First, through immigration. Then through gate security - which was a very extensive search lasting several minutes. Then another search in the same hallway. And now, when my gate opens, yet another. I think that is just a tad excessive. It just makes me feel like this is a dangerous place. It’s such a hassle to arrive or leave here. Who would ever come willingly? I feel the same about Buenos Aires. Nothing I’ve seen or experienced would make me want to come back. As far as I’m concerned, I’ve done with South America now. I have seen more than enough of it and it’s a total hassle to be here. If I ever go back to Antarctica, I’ll go some other way! I wouldn’t want to just repeat the itinerary I just did (or an approximation of it) - I would want to see something different.

I feel like I’ve run an ultramarathon. Only now is the end in sight.

waiting to board flight from Buenos Aires –> Bogota

Aerolineas Argentinas is the stupidest and most incompetent airline I think I’ve ever flown. Far worse than even American Airlines in the Caribbean. I don’t understand what their problem is. The left hand not only doesn’t know what the right hand is doing, it doesn’t even know what its fingers are doing.

What has been happening for the past few hours? Comedy central. They started to board us at Gate 13 (an hour and some minutes late to begin with). Then the flight attendant gets on the loudspeaker and says something rapid-fire. She passes by me and says it again. My comprehension totally fails me. I see other people starting to gather their things and head for the door. I do likewise. We get back to Gate 13 and are handed a white plastic strip labeled “Transito” since our tickets have already been ripped. We sit back down. We wait. People ask questions - I hover near the desk to try to overhear. From what I can gather, something set off an alarm on the plane. People start to panic about connecting flights. They’re told, not very nicely, that they can go with other airlines but of course their luggage is still on board the original aircraft. The crew exits, neat black wheelie suitcases in tow. We wait some more. I start digging into my chocolate stash. They announce that we are moving down to Gate 12, where there is a new plane parked. The crowd alights en masse and reassembles in a scraggly line at Gate 12.

The crew arrives and disappears down the ramp and behind the curtains. One lone flight attendant gets stuck on our side of the locked glass doors and can’t figure out how to open them. She tries the set around the corner. Another woman comes back down to assist, and finds it’s locked from the inside as well. They start walkie-talkie-ing and cell-phoning. People in official looking clothes stroll by in varying degrees of purposefulness. Eventually, Thing 1 and Thing 2 from our original gate appear and start their rounds of chatting on the beige phone, chatting on the walkie talkie, wandering off on missions unknown (chatting with various people in the increasingly diffuse crowd) and snapping at any passenger who asks a question that in any way resembles a complaint. I start popping chocolates like, well, candy.

The lady next to me keeps grumbling about how she had to get to the airport at 5 this morning. People stand up, sit down, wandering into the duty free shops. An official looking person in a captain’s uniform comes over and pops a little switch on the top of the door that allows it to open for the poor trapped flight attendants, then ceremoniously locks it once the stray attendant has flown. People mill about. The phone rings, but neither Frick nor Frack are at the desk to answer it.

Suddenly the captain notices a shopping bag at the desk, left unattended. He asks the 30 of us who happen to be standing around if it’s any of ours, then wanders away. A few minutes later, he’s back with a security guard, who asks the same 30 or so of us the exact same question, to which she receives the same answer. She and El Capitain exchange looks. She gingerly picks it up. Nothing explodes, so she takes it to a nearby machine and runs it through. Still no exploding. She leaves it on top of the machine as some kind of trophy to security.

Meanwhile, a blond fembot has joined Mo and Curly at the desk, ostensibly to help check us in. Right about then, a passenger decides he’s had enough, and he, his arty stubble and his ponytail all start haranguing the desk staff re: the injustice of it all. They snap back at him and threaten to remove him from the flight (oh, I’m sorry, was there a flight scheduled? I thought this was the Aimless Mucking About Room - no no, you want 12A next door) but his impassioned speech is clearly resonating with the crowd. Friends! Romans! Passengers! A mob begins to gather, with others firing out one liners or simply talking over the wanna-be Marx.

The blond fembot starts arguing back, and they drown each other out in true Jerry Springer fashion (minus the chairs) for several minutes. A couple of folks come down the ramp and open one of the doors - hey! We’re ready to board! Then another agitator starts in, joined by Karl Marx’s girlfriend who criticizes the lack of a system for calling people to board, and then it turns out that so many people’s seat numbers have changed that they need to call them up about 17 at a time so that the muddled passengers can wave their defunct boarding passes at the desk.

People start pushing and nudging and swarming around the desk. I’m out of chocolate. I’m also realizing I am hanging on by a bare thread and I really don’t feel confident in my ability to understand fast Spanish after, I don’t know, 0 hours of sleep, and someone elbows me in their quest to reach the Airline Counter of Doom and I start crying. They call the folks with the Transito passes and - wonder of wonder, miracle of miracles! - I have one. The kind people who pushed me aside now graciously push their neighbors aside so I can slide through. I’m still crying when I get to my seat. No matter - I’m on board. Slowly, and with less urgency than would have been suggested by the frenzied carrying on and aggreived faces seen out in the gate, people board.

I see the first English of the day - Welcome Aboard. Really, I don’t know that we are. I think this airline would do tons better if there weren’t all these pesky passengers milling around and demanding things. Though we are smarter than we’re given credit for - after watching the captain once, any one of us could have advised all the other airline workers how to unlock that door - because none of them knew.

Why are we listening to a techno remix of Madonna as we’re taking off. I cannot wait to get out of this country and off this misbegotten, Pythonesque (except not funny) sorry excuse for an airline.

(as if to prove it, the flight attendant just said, “Although the fasten seatbelt sign has been turned off…” Um, we’re still ascending, and the seatbelt sign is still ON.)

1. Thou shalt utilize the flat screen TVs to deliver timely and accurate flight information, including gate numbers. Thou shalt NOT broadcast advertisements and other inanities on endless repeat at the expense of providing information to passengers.

2. Thou shalt configure thy facility to accommodate one long line, or several shorter lines. Thou shalt NOT create three or more consecutive long lines that cause passengers undue lateness.

3. Thou shalt not route passengers through a long hallway designated as the “smoking area” en route to their gates.

4. Thou shalt not cause passengers to walk past more than one perfume or duty free shop en route to their gates. Stores shalt not take precedence over departing aircraft unless thou intendeth to convert said aircraft into mall shuttle buses.

5. Thou shalt control the climate uniformly throughout thy airport. There shalt not be distinct climactic zones requiring a change in dress.

6. Thou shalt board flights in an organized, sequential fashion, preferably by seat number or some other mechanism to speed thy process.

7. Thou shalt check the passports and travel documents of passengers approaching the aircraft. Or, thou shalt abolish such documents as unnecessary, if thou shalt not look at them.

8. Thou shalt not stock English language books unless thou dost guarantee that at least 10% of them are not crappy romance novels.

9. Thou shalt post a sign at the gate announcing the next flight leaving from it, and approximate time of departure.

10. Thou shalt not cause any passenger to wonder what drugs thou hast ingested during they airport building process.

3:06 am Buenos Aires local time

I really think that Jorge Newbery must be one of the stupidest airports I’ve ever been in. They made us disembark right on the runways and get on buses. In the pouring rain. Then they load the bags onto one tiny little carousel and you have to elbow people aside just to be able to see the bags. Much less get yours! Anyway, many minutes later, I was able to collect my things and find my transfer person, who drove me for nearly an hour in perfect silence as I got the Buenos Aires seedy drive-by tour. Honestly, it could have been San Jose or Lima or Quito or any other of those cities - they all start to look alike after a while. The glitzy high rise part of the city was glimpsed from above - but not far enough above - during our turbulent landing. The last 15 minutes of the flight really almost made a religious person out of me. I wish there were another way to get to and from Antarctica without having to deal with all of this in the middle.

So, I’m here at my 2nd airport in Buenos Aires, in readiness for Flight #2 to Bogota. I can’t check in for at least 2 more hours. The drink machines only take exact change, which I do not have, and the kiosks that are open only sell little but chocolates, ice cream and cigarettes. (It’s really hot in the airport - so ice cream won out over chocolate.)

The dinner served on board was so indescribably awful that Diana, her seatmate and I all ate bags of pretzels instead. It was like a spam byproduct wrapped in a Twinkie. The lady next to me ate the whole thing. Which is why, I imagine, she spent the next two hours continuously yammering away in a semi-hostile tone with the guy next to her. They talked heatedly for just about the entire flight. I was getting pretty irritated but didn’t know a polite way of saying, “Shut UP, you are the only two yahoos shouting on the entire aircraft!” in Spanish.

Seems to be a torrential downpour outside. I wonder about the flights getting ready to take off. First of all, it’s absolutely bizarre to have a 3:30 am flight to anywhere. Secondly, how is there absolutely nowhere but a vending machine that sells cold drinks? That is ridiculous that you can find a place to buy cigarettes, but not water.

I have to say, I’m getting pretty tired of all this. It’s a huge hassle to have this many flights, each with its own improbably long layover. If my next flight had not been changed, I could have been at a hotel sleeping by now. I just do not think I can sleep in an airport. Besides its utter unsuitability for falling and staying asleep, I’d be too nervous about sleeping through the boarding calls or having my luggage stolen. There is one person who until just moments ago was huddled in the corner with a luggage cart parked in front of her. Asleep on the floor. I think that breaks several travel rules all at once.

The terminal’s cleared out a bit. The next Aerolineas Argentinas flight isn’t until 6:10, so perhaps it will get busier in an hour or so. I don’t mind it being quieter. I can rest (but NOT sleep).

During the hottest part of the day, it topped 100 degrees here. I certainly have gone as far to the opposite climate from Antarctica as I possibly can. Luckily it’s cooled off a bit now, but I am still rather warm.

The rain sounds absolutely torrential outside. I can’t imagine allowing flights to take off in these conditions. I hope this does not throw off the flights for the entire day. Not that I don’t have a monster layover in Bogota as backup. Wow - the board is saying that one recent flight actually did take off. There are two others that were boarding - I want to see if they will take off too.

I wonder when the breakfast places will start to open. I would love a glass of juice or water before I overdose on caffeine again. Considering I just had ice cream at 2:30 am, I’d say it’s likely that I will become completely dysregulated from the next group of flights. The timing really did not work out well. But, I would much rather sit at the airport and wait than have to race through the terminal and worry about missing the flight.

I’m tired of sitting. If I weren’t dragging all my luggage around, I’d get up and walk someplace. I hope they can check my red bag through to New York so that I don’t have to drag it through the Bogota airport as well. Then again it’s two different airlines - though when I checked my reservation on the Avianca website, the earlier flight did pop up. So maybe they cooperate or codeshare or something. The last time I went through Bogota, I was funneled right into international transfers. There was no place to pick up baggage. Maybe that will be the same this time.

4:14 am One thing I neglected to mention earlier was that we had a medical emergency on board. Nothing too major - they got on over the loudspeaker and asked if there was a doctor on board, and luckily there was. For a brief time I feared that we would have to turn back towards Ushuaia, but we pushed on. How likely is it that the medical emergency patient had been aboard the Fram? That would be sort of hilarious.

A nice cool breeze is blowing through the airport. Feels great after being so overheated. Still - I’d prefer a cold drink to prevent dehydration. And what I’d prefer even more is being able to check my suitcase. About 40 more minutes.

6:32 am This whole situation is starting to get to me. I just stood on line for over an hour to check my bag and I’ve paid the airport tax. Now I’m getting breakfast and I’m feeling like one more little thing is going to push me over the edge. The waitress asked me a question in Spanish that I didn’t understand and when I was confused, she gave her friend at the counter a nice sarcastic smile. Contrast that with the airline person who asked me if I wanted to check my bags all the way through to New York. And in a really gentle way that I appreciated. I’ve been up for 24 hours and i first have to get on a flight this morning - I’m not exactly at my sharpest or most patient. I’m trying, I really am. Who knows when I’ll even be able to check in for my next flight. But, at least 2 out of 3 will be over with.

7:45 am I take it back. Jorge Newbery is only the 2nd stupidest airport I’ve ever been in. This place is definitely first. I’m so mystified by what passes for security and service around here and to top everything off, my flight is delayed for an hour and a half. Which, in the scheme of the day, is really not bad in and of itself. What I resent is having to run down all these corridors and wait on so many lines just to be told that the flight is delayed. This airport also has some of the rudest staff at its shops. That is part of the reason I’m parked here at the gate rather than wandering around shopping now. Not that I really want to drag my carry on around anymore. I took some things out, but they were more bulky than heavy. I just didn’t want to risk putting certain things in my packed luggage on the chance that something happened to it.

I will be very glad when this is all done with. To take a real bath and get into a real bed.

I hear an airplane outside the window. Probably ours, since this gate is way out in the boondocks. But I’m sure they have to disembark the passengers and clean before we board.

The morning after the election, everyone straggled into school haggard and exhausted. Several kids said that they couldn’t get to sleep or were woken up by celebrating on the streets of the city outside their windows. Some were at election night parties or stayed up to watch Obama’s speech, which didn’t start until after midnight. One girl said her mother shook her awake crying, “We made history! We made history!”

I do feel a little shaken awake. I think we all do. Maybe it’s that the fog of the last eight years is beginning to lift. It had gotten so bad that I couldn’t even watch Stewart and Colbert anymore - it was just too ridiculous and depressing. It got hard to tell between a made-up punch line and actual news.

The day of the election, I went on full media blackout. I didn’t want to face the possibility that we might reward fear-mongering, prejudice-encouraging, character smearing, anti-intellectual, anti-scientific, anti-reality rhetoric. I hate what this campaign has done to John McCain, as he’s been forced to pander to the worst in people as Obama inspired the best in people. The John McCain of 2000 would have hated the John McCain of 2008.

But my vote for Barack Obama wasn’t just a vote against the past eight years or against Republicans. It was for Barack Obama. If he can run this country with anything approaching the focus, drive, cool-headedness, intellect, organization, and spirit with which he ran his campaign, I really think we are going to be in a different place. He knows what he doesn’t know - meaning that he isn’t going to be a unilateral “decider” thinking that God will guide him to the right decision regardless of the raw, obvious facts in front of him. He’s a member of the reality-based community. He’s calm and thoughtful, willing to work hard for long periods of time, perceptive to the needs and concerns and implications of what he’s dealing with, and (gasp) willing to compromise when necessary.

I’ve voted in three Presidential elections before this one, but never before was I inspired to identify with a campaign and a message the way that I was this time. Sometimes I caught myself thinking, “This is too good to be true, America’s not ready for a change like this.” And yes, it took a near-catastrophe in the economy to open people’s eyes that maybe it’s more important to have a President you can count on to react to the issues rather than the President you’d have a beer with. (Or the President who always sounds like he’s already downed a few with you before getting in front of the teleprompter.)

This is a victory for reason, for science, for education, for balance, for civility, for diplomacy, and for civil rights. I’m thrilled to be able to share in it, and I’m thrilled to hear the kids matter-of-factly talking about our new President-Elect as though it’s perfectly natural and normal to see an African American and his family front in center as role models for our country and for the world.