Stina's Trip » Silver City

I promise, I’ll come back for you

admin — Sun, 07 Feb 2010 01:23:27 +0000

(AUSTIN, Texas) — At this moment, I’m watching the most painful scenes of the English Patient. By the way, if you’ve never seen it, I suggest you stop reading now.

This is the part when the woman is dying, slowly, alone in a cave while her guy is trying so desperately to get back to her. He promises to return, even though there’s a desert and soldiers and a war to get through. He’s determined, however, and finally, after going through hell, he does make it. But she’s long since dead. It’s that feeling of his, of being so utterly helpless while his future vanishes, that I identify with. I don’t necessarily think this is happening or has happened, but I still carry that fear with me always. What if I’m simply wasting time while my real life is somewhere else, slowly slipping away? It’s partially that worry that has made me move so much, even before this trip. After I graduated college, I lived for six months in Portland, Ore., until finally that cave visual pushed me into greener pastures. Then came a year-and-a-half in Silver City, N.M. Then it was a year and change in Glenwood Springs, Colo. (even if the economy hadn’t made me leave, the cave eventually would have). Then Moab, Utah. Then my trip.

And now Austin? God, I am feeling a million things right now. Part of me has the cave fear and worries that maybe my real life is somewhere else, away from all the traffic and cool movie theaters and hipster cowboys. Part of me feels lucky to be here. I mean, if you have to run out of money, there are far worse places to do so. There is a real sense of funky innovation and pride in this city. Where else you can you buy cupcakes out of a shiny, tiny Airstream and go bowling at a swanky cocktail bar? This place is bursting at the seams with things that make it original and cool, and I appreciate that. Those things are what whisper in my ear to settle down, get a job of substance and place a personals ad. But I haven’t committed to any of that, not yet.

I do not mean to complain. It’s just that, when you step outside of society, it’s so hard to step back in. As exciting as getting a prestigious job here would be, so is the idea of picking up and leaving in a month. I think, perhaps, my fear is that if I settle down somewhere, I won’t be special anymore. Now, that’s embarrassing to admit. I’m scared to live a “normal” life.

What if I can’t do it? Worse yet, what if I like it?

All of these questions and more are swirling around me ask myself the real question, the big one I asked when I graduated college: Now what?

God, I fear I sound just like every other 20-something, getting all philosophical about her or his place in the world. I can imagine how these words sound in your head and am cringing a bit because of it. Maybe I really am more conventional than I think.

I guess I’ll do what I believe others do in this situation. I’ll keep working. For me that means I’ll keep writing, describing some of the events from my trip that I failed to get to earlier, and I’ll keep looking for jobs. I’ll give Austin a month, and if things don’t work out, I’ll leave, even though I’ll be hilariously low on funds by that time. I don’t know what these next few weeks hold, but having a light game plan makes me feel better. It makes me feel I have control over something, even though, deep down, I know that’s not true.

But perhaps I don’t care. Believing in that is better than becoming all cerebral and dwelling on my fears. It’s certainly better than focusing on that depressing cave metaphor of mine.

Perhaps it’s time to watch a romantic comedy.

You know, it does feel easy here

admin — Wed, 27 Jan 2010 05:11:54 +0000

(NEW ORLEANS, La.) I’m lightly sick right now, and the barista at this mind-bendingly cool coffee shop is kind of rude. But I don’t care. I have had a great night.

A few hours ago, I went on-air at Loyola University’s Crescent City Radio with a triad of freshman and sophomore boys, and we talked about everything from the Saints’ victory (I mean, of course) to strange, depressing news items from South America. James, the host of the Lambert Nation proved to be a nice guy and ended up inviting me on his show with only a few hours notice. After the show, he bought me dinner at the campus’ opulent cafeteria, and that move warmed my heart. How classy. Thanks, James, for the conversation and the food — and the late confirmation that my own college cafeteria grub actually was pretty mediocre.

On the drive back to the trailer, I got lost and found my way here, to Z’otz, an offbeat coffeehouse that looks kind of like a cave decorated by hipster artists. How can I explain this? It has multiple, interlocking rooms that are misshapen and filled with young people on their laptops. The room I’m in, which faces the street, is covered in plaster painted to resemble stone, and there are huge photos of Barbies in compromising positions on the wall. What’s really strange is that I was here yesterday and wanted to return but couldn’t remember the name of it or the street it was on. Yet, while driving around completely lost, I found it by accident. I love it when magic works like that.

Well, I was thinking that I would write a long, involved post tonight about those three weeks I recently spent in Savannah, but I won’t. Not just yet. My sore throat and foggy head are enticing me to find my way back home, watch an episode of 30 Rock and go to bed. And besides, maybe I’m still not ready for the responsibility of writing about Savannah. In no small way, that city felt like home, and I have always found it hard to write about the places I call home. My words always seem to pale in comparison to the complexity of the towns I love. Sure, I have written tons about Silver City and Moab and Arcata, but I always feel that they deserve more.

Anyway, thank you for reading. Nothing earth-shattering happened tonight, but I have this light, optimistic sense of elation in me and wanted to share it. When I feel in my skin, it’s always a surprising gift. These last few days, New Orleans has given that to me, and I’m in awe.

A golden oldie

admin — Sun, 17 Jan 2010 14:36:41 +0000

(APALACHICOLA, Fla.) — I’m sitting on a large porch, near a wide street, in a small, rainy Florida town. I am leaving today, but I seriously considered moving here. When I arrived a few days ago, it felt like the town opened up its arms to me, and almost immediately I met tons of cool small-town people. I could get a job here, I thought, I could make this work for a while. But I can’t. Maybe I’m not ready to really settle down quite yet or maybe the idea of not working for a newspaper again is just too sad.

Or perhaps my old homes of Silver City, N.M. and Moab, Utah still have their hooks in me so deep that moving briefly to any other tiny town would feel like cheating.

Anyway, as I get ready to depart, to drive off to Panama City, I leave you with some images from my last Florida stop, St. Augustine. This city, the oldest continuously inhabited in America, wasn’t what I had expected. It was far funkier, more down-to-earth and weirder than I had imagined. Before I arrived, I was worried that I would feel swallowed up by a corporate beach community mentality, but instead I felt comfortable there. This was thanks to my couch surfing hosts, April and Conrad, but also to a delicate friendliness in the air. I can’t exactly explain it, but perhaps I can illustrate. One afternoon while running downtown, I realized I was seriously dehydrated. Nothing felt right in my body, so I quit my run and immediately felt like a slacker. My guilt led me to knock on the door of some elaborately decorated mansion, one that now serves as a $10/a pop tourist attraction. I asked the older, well-put-together woman selling tickets if she knew of any nearby drinking fountains. She said no — and handed me a bottle of cold water. Then I finished the remaining 25 minutes of my run.

I think there must be a law written in stone somewhere that you will always have a soft spot in your heart for towns where you have those kind of moments.

St. Augustine to me: the fort , a palm tree, the highway. Castilo de San Marcos is very old, I mean 17th century old.

A hard day's work at the fort. Outside Castilo de San Marcos in St. Augustine, Fla.

Happy Festivus. Outside Potter's Wax Museum in St. Augustine, Fla.

Outside the Pirate Haus Inn, which my gracious hosts own.

And inside the Pirate Haus Inn.

Old town St. Augustine, Fla.

This old lady was spunky and British, and she was delighting the young military guy who stood guard outside his base. Coast guard? Marines? I have no idea what service he was in. I only know he enjoyed laughing with her.

In case you were wondering — yes, it still is really cold in the South. Old town St. Augustine.

Smoking section. Old town St. Augustine.

They call it Charm City? You don’t say.

admin — Sat, 12 Dec 2009 02:48:50 +0000

(WILMINGTON, N.C.) — My friend, Erik, and I have a thing for quirky towns and cities that others might overlook. The places we like are the ones that, if they were kids in middle school, would get beat up by bigger, glitzier locales like New York, Toronto and London. I’m talking about El Paso, Texas and Leadville, Colo. and Astoria, Ore. I’m talking about my two favorite tiny towns in the West: Silver City, N.M. and Moab, Utah. Erik and I are different in so many ways, but when it comes to a sense of place, I feel we are on each other’s wavelengths. We like our towns to be remote and weird and our cities to be sweet and personal. Above all, these places must have a feeling of magic to them, one that not everyone agrees is there. When I find some spot that matters, Erik is someone I can call up and gush to — and he usually gets just what I’m talking about.

This is why I know he would have loved the Hampden section of Baltimore.

I was there a month ago, and I think it has taken me so long to post these pictures because I was afraid of screwing this up. My experience of Baltimore was so delicately strange and homey, so unlike any other city I have been to, that I didn’t want to short change it. As you might guess, that’s a good way to never get something written. But I suppose that’s normal. I mean, aren’t all the things that really matter the scariest do to?

OK, deep breath. Here it goes.

I liked Baltimore. I liked it a lot. It wasn’t my hometown, but I could feel its colorful funk tugging at my heart, asking me to take it in like an sweet, scraggly, stray puppy. I didn’t see much of downtown, and that was just fine by me, as the part that really spoke to me was Hampden, a neighborhood that was a pretty good mix of hipsters, artists, and rough, poor folks who have lived there forever. The homes were narrow, tall and interconnected — row houses, a term I had never used before I landed there. While I walked the traffic-free streets, there was no consistency around me, which I believe I mentioned in an earlier post. One house might have been decked out with cutesy lawn ornaments and a mailbox that looked like a duck, and the next house over might have been this side of abandoned, with a stroller in its front yard and a broken down car alongside that. Something about this lack of uniformity touched off a little spark in me, and I was continually elated whenever I explored this section of town. It reminded me of Moab and Silver City, actually, by how its creativity could border on junky. I couldn’t imagine any homeowner’s associations around there. It was as though people had their personalities on display without much editing. That made me smile.

For a week, my car and trailer were parked on a quiet stretch of street near an auto repair place in the same neighborhood. No one bothered them. No one seemed to care. Live and let live, just the way I like it.

It was in this personal kind of environment that I reconnected with Meredith and Avelino, old friends from New Mexico. I doubt I even would have stopped in Baltimore if it hadn’t been for them. I had this feeling as I was driving up to their home, another insanely tall and thin structure, that our hanging out for days on end would be just fine, even though we hadn’t seen each other in more than two years. And it was. They have this cute, coupley way of interacting that is so disarming and good-hearted that even when my mood took a lonely turn every once and a while, I didn’t begrudge them their adorableness. They are both artistic, smart and well-read, and they’re also the kind of people who love Christmas and get googly eyed over their cats. Being with them I felt taken care of in a very genuine, comforting way. What a nice respite before I moved on to the hectic world of D.C. and northern Virginia. God, I must think of a way to give back to them.

It seems weird that was just a month ago. Now, I’m by the North Carolina ocean, and I’m staying with a woman who owns a vintage clothing store downtown and who reminds me so much of Cary Bradshaw. I like it here, in all its damp, green glory, but I will admit to having little daydreams of Hampden. I like that about traveling, how you carry the places you really care about with you all the time. As much I love to discover all these new towns, it’s also such a comfort to be able to close my eyes and think back to the places I hold in my heart. To Baltimore and Silver City and Moab and so many other towns, I miss you. And think of you often. Same goes for you, Erik, Meredith and Avelino.

Here are a few shots from Baltimore and around.

Avelino and Meredith's kitties, Squishy and Nutmeg, in their domain.

My New Mexico friends, Meredith and Avelino, experiencing a very non-New Mexican annoyance/joy: leaves.

Photo by Avelino Maestas.

I don't know what these are, only that I probably shouldn't eat them.

Hampden. This is Baltimore to me.

If it looks like there's a story here, that's because there is. This fellow, the owner of a Hampden music store, was my conversation buddy for about an hour-and-a-half. He talked mostly, and I listened, and it was strange, but it was also kind of perfect. By the time I walked out of there, I had no idea what had just happened. I still don't. But at least I have photographic evidence. I wish him the best.

A Baltimore-centric joke. This city is the home of the Hons — fabled stereotypical women with beehive hairdos and cat eye glasses. This is the kind of woman who might be your waitress at a pie diner and call you "Hon." Or she might appear in a Gary Larson cartoon.

More fake blood and pop culture references, please

admin — Mon, 16 Nov 2009 01:38:38 +0000

(LURAY, Va.) — It’s one of those slow nights in the middle of nowhere. All around me are green, rolling fields and cows and farms, but even at 5:30 p.m., it’s too black outside to see any of that. It’s also eerily silent, and I’m kind of into it. It reminds of why I moved to the desert when I was 22. I just wanted to be with myself. I was craving the simple life, without so many options and daily competitions. Of course Silver City, N.M ended up being just as complicated as anywhere else, but at least I felt at home there. It made sense to me. And strangely, I feel a tiny fraction of that comfort here, in northern Virginia.

Maybe it’s just a reaction to being in an intimate place after visiting so many huge places recently. In the last few weeks, I’ve seen New York City, Baltimore and D.C. Now that I’m out of all that, I look back on it warmly, but I’m also happy to be away. I’m on my own again, far from all my extremely sweet and welcoming friends who have migrated to the East Coast in the last few years. Now I don’t know anyone for thousands of miles, and that feels good somehow. I already miss my friends, but it’s time to be alone. I’m craving solitude in a way I can hardly explain. I want to write and take pictures and plan my next few moves. I want to see how well I get on while being completely alone. Really, isn’t that what this trip is all about? I think so.

In honor of my last month or so, in the next week I’m going to post quite a few stories and photo essays of my recent travels, mostly to cities. Right now I’m going through a real turning point in my trip. I get to choose it all over again and decide if this life is really what I want. I think is. I almost know it is, but if that’s the case, I have to start making more money and soon. These next few months are going to be the test of whether I can do this or not. I’m a little nervous, to be honest. I just want to do good work and support myself and see more of America, but I know those aren’t the easiest of things.

Tonight, at the lovely RV park where I’m staying (Country Waye RV Resort — total gem), a guy from Québec looked at my trailer and said, “You have to be a poet to live like that.” To this, I replied, “I’m trying.”

Until I’ve got some words to give you, here’s a photo album of my Halloween, spent in New York City. It was a rainy night, so most of the pictures are from the subway. My favorite costumes were clever, homemade ones, and I loved watching people shine with pride when they were complimented on them. I saw one guy dressed as “balloon boy,” complete with the titular, silver balloon and a sock monkey. I gave him a thumbs-up as he boarded a train, and he mouthed an excited “thank you” at me as his car pulled away. That sort of innocent, bubbly energy is my favorite part of Halloween.

OK, I also get a kick out of men dressed in drag, too. Don’t ask me why…it just makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside and reminds me that anything is possible.

Cirocco, my friend's roommate and my guide into the crazy web of New York City's Halloween parade. Under this black jacket was a beautiful, vintage dress from the 1960s or '50s. But no, no, no, she was not someone from Mad Men. That she made clear.

I love it when you tell a complete stranger to "work it" for your camera — and then they do.

Save the children!

One of the many, many zombie parties going on Halloween week. I have to say, I love zombies, but I can't exactly tell you why.

Any costume that makes a girl cover her face completely in makeup is a costume I like. The dedication is awesome, I think. She is an Oscar, by the way.

I, on the other hand, was just dead.

This is the only pictures I took at the actual Halloween parade. Damn the rain.

I have no idea what her costume is, but I'm impressed.

Best group costume ever. A gaggle of gay Tiffany jewelry boxes. What you don't see here is that theyr'e all wearing togas.

Work it.

I loved watching his couple in the subway. They were cute and caring toward each other, exchanging knowing glances that I couldn't decipher throughout the whole ride. This was around 11 p.m. Halloween night.