The resulting Frankenstein monster of macaroni & cheese spangled with tinned turkey still echos unpleasantly on my palate to this day.

Ill-advised as it was, I remember that meal less for its abhorrence and more for the moment it marked; Aaron and I were on our own, away from the rest of our family for perhaps for the first Thanksgiving ever. We were best friends, but were still learning to navigate our working relationship on the vessel, as well as the sea we traveled. Our banter seems amusingly naive and short-sighted on reflection: code words we would shout to signal a fight back in case of pirate attack, how many courtesy flags we could sew in a day, whether to run the engine for refrigeration or to go without and mitigate the risk of mechanical failure.

Now that Aaron’s family has grown, we may spend this Thanksgiving apart. It’s bittersweet to think that, whether it’s seven years ago or seven waves ago, none of us are in the same place we were then. This year, when my family gathers for the meal, I’ll look forward to my mother’s inevitable prompt: “We’ve all spent Thanksgiving in some different places. What are some of your favorites?”

I’ve actually seen the Grand Canyon several times from the air as flights to LAX often pass directly over this well-known landmark. From 30,000 feet, the landscape is stunning with bright red rocks hurtling toward the sky and dark shadows hinting at the depth below. This view from a distance wetted our appetite to make the journey to this popular destination.

We departed LA on Friday afternoon, joining the throng of travelers leaving the city. Since the first half of our drive shares the same route as the popular pilgrimage to Las Vegas, it was a slow slog for the first few hours. It was easy to pick out who was headed for Vegas – generally either a single male driving a Mustang with wrap-around sunglasses and enough hair product to perform taxidermy on a small rodent or a car filled with blathering women with huge sunglasses and spray-on tans. Progress was plodding until we reached Barstow and were able to peel off from the Vegas crowd. Driving through the Mojave Desert, the sunset was beautiful and the mountains on the horizon gradually turned purple as the sky darkened.

By about 10:00 pm we began searching for a hotel for the night. The border town of Needles, California didn’t have much in the way of options, so we opted to drive north to Laughlin, Nevada since numerous signs promised a desert oasis. Instead, we suddenly came upon a perverse doppelganger of Las Vegas. I had no idea that such a place existed. If Las Vegas is tacky, then Laughlin is something less refined than tacky. A strip of casinos ran along the Colorado River and sunburned tourists in jean shorts and tank tops unloaded their trucks with motorboats and jet skis in tow. If Las Vegas is the vain, superficial, older sister who wears too much make-up then Laughlin is the dirty, poorly dressed, rug rat of a little brother who plays in the trash. On the upside, the rates at Harrah’s were reasonable and we skirted around the smoke-filled casino, past the McDonald’s and found our room in the 3^rd tower. Looking out on the other 1,500 rooms, we dined on turkey sandwiches and avocados before calling it a night.

The next morning, we rose early and got on the road. Grand Canyon National Park was only three more hours and as we approached the park, a steady stream of vehicles converged on the famous attraction. Before entering the park, we stopped at the visitors center in Tusayan where we purchases a park pass and got information on camping and hiking. Due to the holiday weekend, the area was teeming with tourists, so our first course of business was to go to the campgrounds and reserve our campsite. We set up our tent and then proceeded to the park. Not surprisingly, the place was a zoo. Parking was difficult to come by and the crowds were everywhere. We bypassed the visitor center due to lack of parking and as we drove through the woods a glimpse of the canyon suddenly emerged not more than 50 feet away. We parked on the side of the road and walked a few steps to find an amazing panoramic view before us. A paved path followed the contour of the rim for about a mile and tourists with all varieties of accents gawked at the spectacular views. Amazingly, visitors were allowed to be as stupid as they wanted and various groups jostled for the perfect picture, even if it meant scampering out on a precarious ledge with a sheer drop only a couple feet away. Perhaps due to the size of the canyon it isn’t possible to put up a rail along the whole rim, but on this particular day we saw more than a few people hanging dangerously close to the precipice.

After taking a few pictures, we scouted out the rest of the Grand Canyon Village that included a grocery store, several lodges, and plentiful small cabins. For dinner, we bought a steak and some popcorn to be accompanied by chips and smores – all good camping fare. Following  a nice meal, we went for a walk around the campgrounds, during which we were invited by a park ranger to a presentation on local wildlife. These presentations often seem amateur or become tedious, but this one proved to be both informative and entertaining. The ranger described the big game animals found in the park and showed an assortment of pelts, antlers, and horns from the animals. My favorite was the javelina, which I learned bears no relation to the pig other than a strong resemblance. The presentation also included instructions on what to do if ever encountering a bear or mountain lion in the wild, information that I hope will never come in useful.

On Sunday morning, we woke up early, packed up the tent, and got an early start driving into the park. Where the huddled masses had roamed the afternoon before, we found ourselves alone to enjoy our breakfast with a breathtaking view. We drove to the end of the road and then boarded a bus that shuttles visitors throughout the park, beyond where cars are permitted. Disembarking at one stop, we snapped some pictures, took in the views, and hiked a about a mile to the next stop, where another bus shuttled us further along the rim. We repeated this enjoyable exercise several times before reaching the end of the bus route. With the exception of the last stop, nearly every lookout was empty and we enjoyed the quiet solitude. In the morning light, the sepia cliffs looked even more brilliant. Around every corner was another spectacular view and we have hundreds of pictures to attest to the beauty of this park. The hiking ranged from nicely paved paths to well-trodden dirt trails. Though warm, the oppressive heat didn’t truly set in until the early afternoon. The entire route was tremendously beautiful and words cannot describe the stunning scale of the Grand Canyon. In a place so vast, everything seems out of proportion. The vast pillars and plateaus hardly look real and it seems like the background set of movie rather than a real landscape.

As we returned to the village, the tourists returned en mass. Long lines waited for the buses that we had breezed onto hours earlier. The afternoon sun beat down and we decided it was time to return home. During the drive back to LA, we appreciated the barren landscape, inhospitable to life and devoid of any development. The weekend at the Grand Canyon reminded us of how much we enjoy camping and hiking, causing us to vow to do more of both in the future. The short trip was largely improvised with little in the way of planning. Had we known what to expect, we might have chosen to raft the Colorado River rapids through the Grand Canyon or we would have secured the backcountry permit necessary to backpack down into the canyon. As it was, we were impressed by how convenient the national park was and what a wonderful luxury it is to have access to such beautiful surroundings. The buses were frequent and completely free. The food was reasonable, at least by LA standards. The roads and campgrounds were well-maintained. Considering what a popular tourist destination the Grand Canyon is, everything seemed to be understated and done with good taste. Compared to Laughlin, the Grand Canyon was clean and a pleasant reminder of how beautiful and diverse our country truly is.

Of course, the drawback of such a lofty claim is that it sets high expectations. In the case of the Silver Swan, the burger was pretty good, although I’m fairly certain that I’ve had better burgers elsewhere in the world. I will say that the ambiance at the Swan is tough to beat. (Full disclosure: I make it a point to visit the Silver Swan whenever I am in Ohio visiting family.) The faux wood paneling and dated artwork on the wall give the restaurant the feel of eating in the well-worn living room of an octogenarian. The clientele is made up primarily of men in their 50’s and 60’s quietly reading the newspaper and occasionally remarking to no one in particular “it’s a sad state of affairs” followed by a shake of the head before flipping the page and moving on to the sports section (or, this being Cleveland, maybe they are remarking on the sports section).

Yet, while the Silver Swan may not fully live up to its billing as serving the best burger in the world, it does offer a challenge to identify what establishment is worthy of such a designation – a challenge that I gamely am willing to take on. First, let me state the obvious: while I enjoy a good burger and have traveled a few places, my burger tasting experience is still limited. This is more of a journey than a destination, so I am always open to trying new burger joints and my list is in no way fixed. With that said, I have had some terrific burgers and have attempted to visit some of the famous burger purveyors throughout the land. The following is my highly subjective, in-no-way official ranking of the burgers that I have enjoyed over the past few years:

DFL (Dead Fucking Last)

Yak Burger (Annapurna Region, Nepal) – suffering from altitude sickness, I desperately wanted some comfort food to make me feel better. I thought a burger was a safe choice and I couldn’t have been more wrong. This atrocity was more soup than solid, a liquid mess that looked pretty much the same going down as it did coming up. Awful. (Grade: 0 bastards on a 10 bastard scale)

Honorable Mention

McDonalds (Tokyo, Beijing, Delhi) – I know, I know, it is shameful. I love ethnic food, but there comes a time when I just want something familiar, even if it is possibly the worst American food imaginable. After a couple of weeks of Indian or Chinese or even my favorite cuisine, Japanese, I occasionally have a longing for something that is easy to order and easy to eat. Every time I give in to the guilty pleasure of American fast food abroad, I am embarrassed to be the American standing in line. Still, it is interesting to see how McDonalds modifies their menu to fit local tastes (ex. Curry burger). I can’t remember the last time that I’ve gone to McDonalds in the U.S., but I can recall trips in Tokyo, Beijing, Singapore, Delhi, Rome, and Paris.

Bull’s Head Diner (Stamford, CT) – Connecticut is full of good Greek diners that serve excellent burgers. I used to enjoy a good burger here when I came back to Connecticut for work. (Grade: 7 bastards)

Billy Goat Tavern (Chicago, IL) – famous for surly service, the burgers here are good, but I like this place mainly for the positive  associations. When I lived in Chicago, co-workers and I would visit here on Friday for lunch and to play golden tee. (Grade: 7 bastards)

Chez Audents (floating) – this list isn’t intended to include non-restaurant meals, but such a substantial portion of the best burgers that I’ve had have been consumed on Audentes that I would be remiss in excluding it from the list. When we were sailing, a celebratory meal was to grill some burgers and have some guests over to the boat. Since foreigners are well-aware of America’s grilling prowess, we received frequent requests for burgers. (Grade: 8 bastards)

Top 5

5. In N Out Burger (Los Angeles, CA) – given the choice, many Californians would opt for In N Out as their last meal. It is definitely better than other fast food options and the fresh ingredients make a difference. (Grade: 7.5 bastards)

4. The Varsity (Atlanta, GA) – good value and a nice experience. The burger is solid, although I don’t like chili or too much else as toppings to overwhelm the meat. (Grade 7.5 bastards)

3. The Apple Pan (Los Angeles, CA) – a lot of lettuce and good size for a burger, but nothing special. The horseradish on the burger is tasty (Grade: 8 bastards)

2. The Counter (Santa Monica, CA) – good burger with excellent fries. The only drawback is the size of the burger which always leaves me feeling too full afterward. So tasty that I can’t stop myself from eating the entire burger. (Grade: 8 bastards)

1. Umami Burger (Santa Monica, CA) – delicious burgers that are just the right sized. Cooked rare to leave a pink center, using quality meat, and adorned with gourmet toppings. This is the best burger that I have had recently. (Grade: 9 bastards)

Despite consuming some delicious burgers, the search for the perfect burger continues. As I mentioned, this is a work-in-progress, so I’m eager to try new places and improve my list. Any recommendations are appreciated.

In the past couple of years, we’ve made several trips to San Luis Obispo and Paso Robles for wine tasting since it is only a few hours’ drive from Los Angeles. For some reason, we were under the impression that the drive from Los Angeles to the Bay Area is over 8 hours. In actuality, we made the trip in about 6.5 hours.

On the way, we encountered a few vicious squalls as we drove through the pancake-flat Central Valley, but traffic was light until we reached Silicon Valley. Even driving through the newly developed suburbs around San Francisco, we made good progress and arrived in Napa just as the sun was setting. Before checking into the hotel, we stopped at the grocery store for provisions, intent on making our visit to wine country as affordable as possible. Our plan to cook for ourselves was further boosted when we checked into the hotel and were upgraded to a one bedroom suite. The suite featured a full kitchen, dining area, two bathrooms, two flatscreen TV’s, and a large balcony overlooking the hotel pool. The hotel upgrade was to be the first pleasant surprise in a string of good fortune we experienced during the weekend thanks to Napa being virtually deserted during the offseason. Throughout our entire stay, traffic was non-existent, barely anyone was with us in the tasting rooms, and the hotel was sparsely occupied.

On Sunday morning, I went out for a cool morning run around the charming town of Napa. Although I had been warned that Napa was fairly developed and lacked the charm of smaller places like Sonoma, the parts of town I saw appeared quaint. Following a substantial breakfast, we set out for vineyards by driving north along Route 29. The south portion of the road is an expressway that gradually slows to a divided highway with occasional lights before morphing into a more scenic two-lane road. Similar to the character of the road itself, the vineyards along Route 29 follow a similar transformation. They start with the large, well-known wineries that boast palatial buildings and change to medium-sized, premium vineyards as you head north before completing the cycle with smaller, less-known wineries at the north of the valley.

Our first stop was at St. Supery, a medium-to-large sized winery that was highly recommended in the books I researched prior to our trip. The winery is best known for educating visitors and is supposed to boast a tour featuring some slightly hokey teaching instruments such as a smelling tube that helps to identify aromas in wine. The building itself is somewhat modern and nondescript. Either the educational facilities were closed during our visit or we missed them entirely. Instead, we proceeded to the tasting room, where a couple of other visitors were cozied up to the bar. After reviewing the tasting options, we settled for the less-expensive, less-exclusive tasting that allowed us to share four wines. At first, we felt neglected, but after a couple of sips and some probing questions the gentleman behind the bar opened up. Soon, Joe (his actual name) was peppering us with jokes, lecturing on the unique aspects of St. Supery’s wine, and recommending other wineries that we should visit. Over an hour later, he was providing us with samples of the reserve wines and talking football. Overall, the wine was superb and it was an educational way to start our wine tasting, even if it wasn’t the type of education we were expecting.

Next, we drove a couple hundred yards north to the Grgich Hills winery. I first came to know this winery through my uncle Bruno, who shares a Croatian heritage with the winemakers and has been generous enough over the years to introduce me to their highly regarded wines. Grgich also became famous due to the movie “Bottle Shock,” which recounts the rise of Napa wines to prominence and describes how a Napa wine (made by the founder of Grgich) beat out the best of France in a blind tasting. Fitting of a famous winery, the tasting room was crowded and we needed to wait for a place at the bar. When we finally did get served, we were granted only limited attention and were largely left to ourselves to discover the wines. When we did have the opportunity to speak to the pourer, he seemed uncertain of the winemaking process and lacked confidence discussing the biodynamic method Grgich referenced often in their literature. Our continuous questions probably did not encourage the server to hang around any more than necessary. As for the tasting, the white wines had a unique mineral taste. I enjoyed the Cabernet Sauvignon, but was underwhelmed by the other wines we tasted.

Following our tasting, we enjoyed a light picnic in the Grgich parking lot. Eating in a car can rarely be considered elegant, but on a beautiful day with endless vineyards stretched out as far as the eye can see it seemed quite refined and our apple, bread, and cheese certainly seemed to taste much better than it should. After lunch, we drove further up route 29, passing through quaint towns and numerous vineyards. We drove as far north as Calistoga, a small outpost at the north of the valley that has a decidedly different feel from the southern part of the valley. The town seemed more rugged, but quaint in its own rustic way. Initially, we tried to visit the Calistoga Geyser, but were turned off by the egregious $10 per person price tag, a steep ask considering the geyser only erupts once every 10 minutes and there is little else to recommend the site. Instead, we proceeded to the Castello di Amorosa, where we had scheduled a tour of the faux castle. The tour took 90 minutes and gave an overview of castles and winemaking. It didn’t help we toured the castle with a large group, but the castle had the artificial feeling of Disney with little in the way of substance. To be fair, it was an attractive castle and I would love to have such an impressive wine cellar, but even after an hour and a half neither Megan nor I was sure why the castle was built. Our best guess is that some rich guy who owns another winery (V. Sattui) decided that building a castle in Napa would be a profitable attraction for visitors who wanted to do something different than wine tasting. At the end of the tour, there was a wine tasting, but after St. Supery and Grgich, the wine tasted like colored water. For Megan, the highlight of the visit was a friendly cat named Guinevere in the tasting room, although even in this case our guide only told us the cat’s name and didn’t deem it necessary to tell us whose cat it was or why the cat was in the winery.

Our second day in Napa was equally enjoyable and the wineries were even less congested. Our first stop was at Cakebread, one of the famous wineries in Napa everyone recommended we visit. To be honest, we were wary since they are known for high-quality, high-cost wines, which only meets half our criteria. Still, the beauty of a wine tasting is it allows you to sample some wines that would be otherwise unaffordable. In this case, we made a reservation and were provided a private tasting with Bob, an extremely knowledgeable veteran of Napa. He was a wealth of information, providing in-depth explanations of the winemaking process and describing the history of the region. He explained how when Cakebread first started that Robert Mondavi, who already had a thriving vineyard across the street, stopped by to offer assistance and lend some equipment to the burgeoning enterprise. Every wine we tastes was sublime and if only it was affordable then we wouldn’t need to drink anything else. After the great tasting, we drove up to Rutherford Hills Winery, where we ate lunch while overlooking the Napa Valley.

Next up was Honig, a small winery recommended by a friend and located slightly off the beaten path, on a side street off Route 29. The pourers were much younger and obviously enthusiastic about wine, although the wines paled in comparison to the other vineyards we visited. The wines were average even though the prices were still consistent with better Napa wines. The only one we liked was an odd Late Harvest Sauvignon Blanc. The thick, yellow wine tasted like a less-offensive dessert wine. Overall, we were disappointed with Honig and couldn’t leave soon enough.

Following a slightly disappointing tasting, we moved on to Goosecross, another winery off of Route 29 that Megan remembered as being good. We arrived just as a couple of people were leaving and were once again treated to having the tasting room all to ourselves. The pourer this time was an affable Texan, Matt, who patiently explained the in’s and out’s of various wines. As with other wineries and nearly everyone we met in Napa, he displayed a passion for wine and was eager to educate us. Our tasting diverted from the normal flight and he generously added several different vintages for us to compare and some special reserve wines that were transcendent. In addition, he explained the differences between the various appellations and was happy to share recommendations for good wineries and local restaurants. He encouraged us to explore the Silverado Trail, a less popular road running parallel to Route 29 and has a vastly different culture.

With the light waning, we managed to fit in one more winery before closing time. We proceeded up the Silverado Trail to Mumm Vineyards, which specializes in sparkling wine. The setting is more like a restaurant and we sat down at tables on an enclosed balcony overlooking rolling vineyards bathed in the late afternoon sun. We were provided with tastes of three different sparkling wines, each of which were dry and tasty, although felt more appropriate for a wedding than for everyday sipping. Just as we were ready to leave, an older woman came over and offered us a taste of a special wine. Compared to the others, this wine was clearly superior. It was at this point, that the heady mix of wine and general exposure to the exorbitant prices of Napa finally wore me down. Up to this point, I had been responsibly moderating my purchases, only buying bottles I truly loved and seemed to be at least moderately good values. However, my practicality wavered and I splurged on a special sparkling wine, a purchase I immediately regretted since I have had a decent bottle of prosecco sitting in my refrigerator for the past few months.

Our wine tasting in Napa completed, before heading home, we went out for one wonderful meal. While it was nice to eat in our hotel room and enjoy simple picnics in scenic surroundings, it would have been shameful to leave Napa without eating out for one nice dinner. Fortunately, we had plenty of recommendations and we opted to follow the advice of our host at Cakebread, who suggested Bistro Jeanty. It was not a decision we regretted. Located in Yountville, the small little bistro had a cozy feel and we were seated next to the fire in the back. Several people had told us to order the tomato soup and we supplemented this appetizer with the escargot in garlic pastis butter. Both were amazing, but the tomato soup with a tasty puff pastry soufflé draped across the top was one of the best dishes I have ever had. For the main course, we split a deconstructed beef stew with mashed potatoes, buttered peas and carrots and steamed mussels in a red wine sauce. Again, both dishes were divine. To cap the meal off, we had a chocolate mouse crème brule. The calorie count for the whole meal probably topped 3,000 calories per person, but the buttery dishes loaded with crème were well worth however many years were shaved off my life.

Thus ended a memorable weekend in Napa. Both Megan and I marveled at how lucky people are to live in such a beautiful location. The weather was perfect, the wines were excellent, and everyone we met was extremely knowledgeable and helpful. Visiting during the offseason suited us perfectly since it allowed us to linger at wineries and savor the wine while we learned about the interesting process and unique history of the region. We are certainly fortunate to live within driving distance of such a fantastic place and we hope to make it back soon. As if the wine were not enticing enough, the tomato soup alone is well worth the trip.

When I was married in July and Megan moved out to Santa Monica, two diametrically opposing backgrounds converged. She had always had a pet (at times, several) and couldn’t imagine life without a furry companion. I was amenable to the idea of a cat, but needed to find one that wouldn’t upset my allergies. So, after 32 pet-free years, Megan and I adopted a beautiful Siberian kitten on December 29^th. My first foray into pet ownership has not been without its challenges. Although we’ve only had our cat for less than a month, I’ve already learned the following valuable lessons:

Cats are nocturnal. Having a kitten is similar to what I would imagine it would be like to have a child. During the first week that our cat spent with us, it would sleep most of the day, then go crazy between 9:00 pm and 10:00 pm. It would race around the apartment chasing ghosts, jump aimlessly at the wall, dart under furniture, and just generally act like it was nuts. This would be followed by a down time that provided us enough quiet to go to sleep. After a couple of hours of sleep, we’d often be woken around 2:00 am by the cat licking our faces and trying to climb under the covers to play. At first, we would take the kitten out and play with it until it went back to sleep. Obviously, this was unsustainable, so we kept it out of our bedroom. Unfortunately, the little bugger has already figured out a way to slide through the crack in the doors. The final indignity occurs around sunrise when he again sneaks into the bedroom looking to play. The upside of this experiment is that it is painfully clear that we aren’t ready for kids.

Kittens have boundless energy and always want to play. No matter what the cat is doing, at the sound of a bell it comes racing toward the noisemaker and leaps at the toy without any thought for where it will land. Luckily, the cat seems to be indestructible. Shockingly, the cat can play for hours chasing a stick with a bell and feather attached to the end. Long after I’ve lost interest, he will still be scrambling intently after the cheap toy. I’m hopeful that the cat will grow out of this phase and be as beaten down by life as the rest of us, but it is showing no signs of letting up.

Cats are great climbers. Our cat likes to be up high and it is constantly scanning above for a foothold. Whether the foothold is stable or not, if it leads to a higher place, then it is worth a jump. Even spraying the determine alpinist with water does little to deter its upward intentions. Of course, it doesn’t help that our kitten seems fond of water. We will often come home to see it perched in the sink. If the bathroom door is left ajar, the cat will hop into the wet shower, and the little creature comes rushing to the sound of flowing water. Unfortunately, the cat doesn’t seem aware when it is sopping wet and strolls around the apartment looking like a wet rat.

Cats are curious creatures. The world is a fascinating place when viewed through the eyes of a cat. In the morning, it follows me as I open up the house. It waits patiently while I take a shower, then inspects the bathtub afterwards for clues. It observes me brushing my teeth, never taking its eyes off me. It stares intently as I eat breakfast. It angles for a view as I wash my dishes. No task is too trivial. Every new item brought into the house is a new opportunity for discovery. Every smell requires more research. The curiosity is literally endless. This is cute in the morning and endearing in the evening, but downright annoying in the middle of the night.

In short, having a cat is a great deal of work. Megan carries most of the burden, making sure the thing is fed and doing whatever needs to be done with the litter box. My responsibilities mainly include playing with it and trying to tire it out so that it sleeps through the night, a role that I have not played to much acclaim thus far. Still, despite the challenges of taking care of this attention-craving cat, there are plenty of times when it is completely tuckered out and is just puddy in my hands. During those rare peaceful moments, it will curl up with me and emanate such a sense of contentment that it is impossible not to share the feeling. I can only hope that as the kitten grows older those times will become more common while the crazy moments will become less frequent.

The year began in Palermo, Sicily. I joined my parents and brother in touring Sicily for our Christmas vacation. On New Years’ we were firmly ensconced in the well-appointed apartment of a ballet-loving Sicilian who generously included us in his New Years’ festivities. Joining us were an eclectic mix of ballet aficionados – young and old, rich and poor, English-speaking and hand-gesturing Italian. We drank well and ate well, shifting from sipping champagne on the roof with a dramatic view of the Palermo skyline to munching on some delicious Italian cuisine with a rapt audience watching an old video of an apparently classic ballet performance. The year was off to a good start.

The old town of Siracusa

For me, 2009 can be clearly divided into two parts: Before Marriage (hereafter to be referred to as “BM”) and After Marriage (“AM”). The first half of the year was spent anticipating a July wedding. While the preparations for the wedding were largely completed by my wonderful fiancée, Megan, and her helpful mother, I was in no way prepared for all of the planning that went into a wedding. Even after making it through the event, I’m amazed at how much work goes into a single day. The preparations begin harmlessly enough with a whole range of options available. It is pleasant to imagine getting married in different places, envisioning different sorts of parties, and thinking of being surrounded by friends and family. Soon enough, decisions need to made and some of those options are eliminated. In our case, we opted to get married in Omaha, where Megan is from and where much of her family is located. This made sense and undoubtedly simplified the planning (at least for me since Megan was working in Omaha up until the wedding while I was 1,500 miles away in California). After a brief search, we settled on the Joselyn Art Museum, which is a beautiful setting and was conveniently located close to the charming Old Town section of Omaha.

During the first few months of 2009, while Megan drove the wedding planning forward, I divided my time between travelling for work, short weekend trips to an assortment of destinations, and enjoying my last few month of bachelorhood. For work, my role helping POM Wonderful expand to Asia meant regular trips to Korea, Japan, and China. While these forays abroad mainly meant shuffling between office buildings and hotels, I did have the opportunity for a few side excursions including an early morning trip to the Tsukiji Fresh Fish market in Tokyo and a disappointing Friday night in Macau. At the fish market, we arrived to see dozens of enormous frozen tuna being slid across the floor, along with hundreds of stalls selling every imaginable type of seafood along with a few that are best not imagined. After watching the end of the morning trading, we found a small shack that served up some delicious sashimi – definitely one of the better ways to start a day. Later, while spending a weekend in Hong Kong, a couple co-workers and I decided to take the high-speed ferry to Macau for a Friday night. We had heard that Macau was like Las Vegas on steroids and we were prepared to be impressed. When we arrived a soft drizzle turned into a driving rain and we hopped in a cab to shuttle us to the Venetian. The 15-minute cab ride allowed us to observe the massive casinos under construction that did in fact look like larger versions of those found in Las Vegas. However, it seemed that most of the construction had stopped and it was hard not to be amazed at how few people were actually in the casinos. At 9:00 PM on a Friday night we went to the busiest bar in the Venetian and for a while we were the only table in the entire bar until a couple wandered in. A couple of other casinos proved to be the same and we eventually admitted defeat and returned to Hong Kong unimpressed.

Aside from business travel, most weekends meant either flying to Nebraska to visit Megan or travelling elsewhere for short escapes from LA. In April, I flew out to Cape Cod to visit my dad, my brother, and my grandmother. It was nice to be back in a place so familiar and to spend a pleasant weekend with family. In June, my brother and my cousin, Eric, flew out to LA and we made the pilgrimage to Las Vegas. During a short weekend, we managed to cover most of the strip and avoided losing too much money or jeopardizing my marriage. Also in June, Megan and I met in Kansas City where we spent the weekend with my cousin Randy, who was preparing to officiate our wedding. We spent the weekend discussing the institution of marriage and answering an assortment of questions meant to assure that we were prepared for the significant commitment we were planning to make. Apparently, we passed the test since Randy would eventually conduct our marriage ceremony.

Unquestionably, the biggest event of my year occurred on July 11^th, when Megan and I were married in Omaha, Nebraska. After all of the planning and preparations, it was great to finally have our family and closest friends gathered together to be a part of such a special occasion. I flew out to Nebraska on my birthday and met my parents at the hotel. My brother arrived the following day and throughout the week each day brought the arrival of more family and more friends. Each day was full and the time seemed to fly by. It was so nice to have so many loved ones in a single place, but it was difficult to have enough time to spend with everyone. On Friday, my parents hosted the rehearsal dinner at Rick’s Boatyard Café overlooking the Missouri River. It was a fun night and provided a nice opportunity for our two families to get to know one another. The following day, the wedding was beautiful. My cousin Randy officiated. My brother Brian was my best man while Megan’s sister Chris was her maid of honor. We were married in front a large glass sculpture by Chihuly. Megan looked stunning and we managed to get through the ceremony without any noticeable snafus. Following the ceremony, the reception took place in a magnificent indoor courtyard with a fountain in the middle. The months of planning and hard work were rewarded by a gorgeous evening.

Following the wedding, Megan and I departed for Los Angeles, where we spent a day at our apartment before continuing on to Australia. For the next two weeks, we explored the east coast of Australia, beginning in Sydney then flying to Port Douglas and the Whitsunday Islands. The time was spent relaxing, eating well, enjoying the local attractions, and generally enjoying each other’s company. Some of the highlights included a tour of the Sydney Opera House, holding a kuala, snorkeling in the Whitsunday’s, hiking through the Daintree Rainforest, walking along the beach, seeing crocodiles in the wild, and feeding dingoes and kangaroos. It was a terrific way to begin our life together and our only regret is that the honeymoon didn’t last longer.

Thus began the AM portion of the year. After the honeymoon, Megan moved out to Santa Monica and my day-to-day life experienced a substantial upgrade. Instead of subsisting on a bland diet of pasta and rice, I began coming home to real meals. Instead of surfing the internet during dinner, I have actual conversations. Instead of talking to Megan on the phone every evening, I get to go for a nice walk along the beach with her each night. Even the apartment has undergone a surprising transformation with complete sets of dishes, knives, and silverware replacing the mishmash of random kitchenware that I had become accustomed to. In general, my daily changed from simple and minimal to slightly less simple and much fuller (in a good way). On weekends, the difference was even more pronounced. Rather than spending time sitting in airports, we could explore Southern California together. We could go camping or to a museum or even just out to eat. Just about everything became more enjoyable.

Perhaps the only drawback of married life is that we are faced with the unenviable choice of where to spend holidays. Naturally, we want to spend this time together, but we are also accustomed to spending them with our families. The best possible solution would have been if we were cousins and we shared the same family, but this would seem to carry its own challenges. This year, we opted to spend Thanksgiving with my family in California and spend Christmas with Megan’s family in Nebraska. So, in late November my parents and brother journeyed out to California for roughly a week of vacation. It was a fun week that included a trip to Santa Barbara for wine tasting, a drive north to Fresno to tour the POM Wonderful pomegranate facility, and a traditional Thanksgiving meal at our apartment (fortunately, we could use all of the great wedding gifts we received to finally host a dinner).

Likewise, the week spent with Megan’s family in Nebraska was thoroughly enjoyable. We traded in the never-ending summer of California for the extreme winter of Nebraska. During the five days that I spent in Omaha, the accumulated snowfall must have exceeded 18 inches. While the inclement weather precluded traveling too far from the house, it was wonderful to be able to play in the snow for the first time in years. After years of spending Christmas in the tropics, it was nice to experience a white Christmas and get at least a taste of winter.

So, after a memorable year, the end of 2009 finds Megan and I comfortable and happy in Santa Monica. It is difficult to foretell what the future holds, but we are fortunate to be together and we can only hope that 2010 proves to be as enjoyable as the past year.

Travel has dominated the past months for a number of reasons. For work, I travelled overseas to Korea, Japan, Hong Kong, Beijing, and Shanghai. While the strip was predominantly business, I managed to sneak in a few fun activities. In Tokyo, I met up with my good friends, the Eguchi family for an enjoyable lunch. In Hong Kong, a couple of co-workers and I took the ferry to Macao, supposedly the “Las Vegas” of Asia and “Vegas on steroids.” Despite visiting on a Friday night, what we found was a depressing ghost town. We strolled around the palatial Venician where a smattering of Chinese tourists marveled at the artificial canals. We drank by ourselves in an empty bar before moving to an equally desolate restaurant. It quickly became apparent that the casinos had been overbuilt in a wild frenzy of overly optimistic expectation. Instead, after a disappointing few hours, we hopped on the ferry back to Hong Kong. In Beijing, our hotel was only a few blocks from Tiananmen Square. After running the gauntlet of prostitutes, it was possible to stroll up to the Great Hall at the entrance to the Forbidden City. However, as with my last visit to Beijing, I was once again thwarted in my attempt to see Chairman Mao’s preserved corpse. This time, the mausoleum was closed for regular renovations and maintenance that just happened to coincide with the 50^th anniversary of the invasion of Tibet.

The Eguchi Family

Aside from business travel, I have been shuttling back and forth to Omaha on weekends when Megan isn’t visiting me in LA. Weekends in Omaha typically involve exhausting amounts of wedding planning while weekends together in LA usually involve little, if any, mention of the wedding at all. In mid-March, my mom visited the U.S. from Italy and flew to Omaha for the weekend. Since it was her first visit to “the Gateway to the West,” she got the frantic tour of the area. This tour was naturally heavy on wedding-related destinations including the wedding venue, rehearsal venue, hotel, bridal shop, courthouse, jewelry store, shopping malls, restaurants, and just about anything else remotely connected to a wedding. It was a busy weekend, but it was nice for her to be able to meet Megan’s family and to see Omaha before the wedding.

The following weekend, I took a redeye flight to Boston and spent the weekend in Onset visiting my dad, my brother, and my grandmother. It is always wonderful to visit Onset, especially in the off-season when it is quiet. We enjoyed a relaxing weekend, occasionally venturing outside to play tennis or throw the football, though mainly camping out inside watching soccer and basketball on TV and feasting on chocolate chip cookies. On Sunday morning, we made the regular pilgrimage to the Daniel Webster Inn in Sandwich where we savored a delicious breakfast buffet. Our family has had many memorable meals at the Daniel Webster and it was nice to add another one.

After a couple of months of frantic travel nearly every weekend, April was intended to be a month of regaining stability and getting back into a normal routine. However, these plans hit a snag when I unexpectedly was laid low by a medical issue. Megan was in LA visiting for her Spring Break and on her second day here I began to feel sick. After nearly 8 hours of vomiting, it became clear that whatever I had wasn’t going away, so she drove me to the emergency room at 3:30 in the morning. I was soon admitted to the hospital and an NG tube was promptly thrust down my nose into my stomach. A couple of years ago in Atlanta, I experienced similar symptoms and was hospitalized due to a blockage in my small intestine. Eventually, the blockage resolved itself without surgery, although apparently the same issue had returned. This time, I was given a CT scan and moved into a shared room. Fortunately, the NG tube relieved the pressure in my stomach and prevented vomiting and thankfully the steady flow of morphine dulled the pain. In the afternoon, I completed another CT scan, this time with a liquid injected into me to monitor the flow. Only a couple of hours after the results of this test came back I was rushed down to the operating room to prepare for surgery. When I woke near midnight, the surgery was completed and I was informed that the blockage in my small intestine was due to Meckel’s diverticulum. The offending portion of the small intestine was removed, along with my appendix (to reduce the risk of infection). A roughly four inch scar ran up my stomach, wrapping around my belly button. Initially, the scar was jagged and looked like I was the victim of a shark attack, although it has straightened out over time.

Aaron in Emergency Room

Following the surgery, I remained in the hospital for four additional days. The first day I could barely move and I was told that the small intestine basically falls asleep as a result of the anesthetic used during surgery. It wasn’t until the third day when I was allowed to drink liquids and four days before I could begin to consume soft foods. Oddly, despite not eating or drinking anything for an entire week, I still didn’t lose any weight at all. Fortunately, Megan stayed with me in the hospital and we passed the time reading, watching TV, sleeping, listening to our annoying roommate, and going for short walks. While walking around was encouraged to aid in a speedy recovery, the walking course was less than stellar. Our short stroll around our floor of the hospital took us past one room where two security officers stood guard on an unquestionably disturbed looking patient – Megan and I spent a good deal of time speculating on his crime, although we never gained closure through a confirmed answer. Further along the course, we passed a series of rooms marked with signs warning that patients inside the room carried airborne viruses. Nurses entering the room were covered head to toe and donned masks. Still, they often left the doors open and occasionally let those patients out for a walk, so we did our best to hold our breaths and avoid that section of the floor. Really, I cannot recommend a stay in the hospital on any grounds. The food isn’t very good, the rooms aren’t very comfortable, and most of the people are sick.

Aaron returning from a walk

Eventually, I was discharged and allowed to return home. However, I was instructed to remain on soft foods for a few days and to avoid any exercise. I was not allowed to lift anything over 15 pounds, I couldn’t run, and I wasn’t allowed to drive since I was prescribed vicodin. Thankfully, Megan extended her spring break and stayed for an additional week. During that time, she pampered me and took care of me far better than any of the nurses at the hospital (actually, even in the hospital she usually got what I needed). At times, it was slightly embarrassing to have her carrying bags of groceries or piles of laundry while I shuffled next to her carrying nothing (or her purse). Each day, we would go for a short, slow walk around the neighborhood and I gradually began to feel better.

The recovery continues and I am not yet entirely back to being able to eat, drink, or exercise as I would like. However, each day the pain lessens and I get closer to a full recovery. In retrospect, I was fortunate that the incident happened while I was in the U.S. and that Megan was around to take care of me. The upcoming couple of months look to be busy and full of more travel, so even the timing worked out pretty well. Considering how busy and eventful the past few months have been, I’m eager to see what’s in store for the next few months.

Siracusa was founded by Greek Corinthians 2,700 years ago and quickly became one of the most important Greek city-states. Cicero described Siracusa as “the greatest Greek city and the most beautiful of them all.” The city still maintains its charm and is overflowing with history. The ancient old town was made even more dramatic during our visit by the strong wind that blew in from the north. Huge waves battered the walls of the city and the narrow alleys transformed into fierce wind tunnels. As the town endured the adverse conditions, it was hard to imagine the Greeks landing in the relatively unprotected harbor. Certainly, the few boats tied up in the marina were rolling violently and I was happy to be staying on dry land.

Being the offseason, the town was relatively empty and it was easy to spend hours strolling through the maze of streets. Although Siracusa has crept further inland, the ancient walled city is contained on a small island no larger than a couple of miles around. Like most Italian cities, there is an impressive church, a main piazza, a wealth of inviting restaurants, and a disproportionate number of fashion boutiques. After struggling to navigate the impossibly narrow streets that were obviously not intended for cars, we eventually found our bed and breakfast, which was a spacious loft in the old city. On the ground floor was a courtyard and some Jewish baths.

Our first night in the city, we enjoyed a fine meal of traditional Sicilian food. Brian opted for pasta drenched in the ink of an octopus, while the rest of us experimented with less black food. Afterwards, Brian and I explored the city in search of an elusive wine bar and finally settled on an intimate restaurant on the corner near our hotel. The next morning, we drove inland a few miles to view the ruins of both a Greek and Roman theatre. Built next to a quarry, the theatres were remarkably well maintained. In the shape of a semi-circle, the Greek theatre was built into a hill that focused on the stage. In contrast, the Roman theatre resembled a smaller version of the Coliseum and the stadium seating surrounded a larger oval in the center. The highlight of the quarry was a large cave known as “Dionysus Ear,” so named because the acoustics allowed the slave driver to listen in on the conversations of prisoners from a distance. It was from here that workers mined the quarry for the enormous stones that would be used in the theaters.

The rest of our time in Siracusa was spent exploring the old city. The narrow paths between leaning old buildings reminded me of Siena while the seawall and proximity to water called to mind Venice. In the morning, we strolled the fresh market that offered an astonishing assortment of colorful fruits, unrecognizable vegetables, and peculiar creatures from the sea. Near the piazza, we savored calorie-packed canolis. Not content with one desert, we then washed it down with Italian Hot Chocolate, a rich drink so thick that it could be eaten with a spoon.

After a couple of nice days in Siracusa, it was time to head west across Sicily. On the morning of our departure, we found the car covered in salt spray and foam from the sea that had managed to fly over the imposing seawall and across the street to coat our car. The wind continued to howl as we departed the city and we began the roughly three hour drive across Sicily.

The drive across the interior of Sicily was scenic. Rolling hills, remote villas, and the occasional traditional village made for a lovely landscape. The peaceful surroundings quickly gave way to the bellicose urban squalor of Agrigento. Traffic ground to a halt, rundown apartment buildings appeared in every direction, and the overwhelming sense of corruption was inescapable. Agrigento is famously a hotbed of mafia activity. Even without this knowledge, a few minutes in the city made it obvious that this was not a place where one wanted to linger.

For our part, we stopped in the city proper long enough only to grab a slice of pizza and then we drove to the outlying suburbs that offered an astonishing array of Greek ruins. Situated on a series of hills, there were six or seven massive ruins spread along a ridge known as the “valley of temples.” Never having visited Greece, I imagine that these impressive structures are common in that country. The first ruin we visited was a well-preserved temple that resembled the Parthenon. We furiously snapped pictures from every conceivable angle and marveled at how intact the temple remained after 2,500 years. It helped that there were very few visitors and it seemed as if we had the place to ourselves. This is one of the advantages of visiting Sicily in the off-season. The obvious drawback is that it was bitter cold.

Next, we hiked a quarter of a mile to a similar and equally well-preserved temple. Again, we sought to capture the majesty of the structure through the perfect picture. Walking further down the path, we were greeted by yet another temple. Then another one and then another one. Gradually, our amazement turned to apathy. Each temple seemed slightly less impressive and we picked up the pace as we moved from one temple to the next. By the end, we clicked a couple of pictures and kept walking.

Having been satiated on the ruins of temples, we hopped back in the car and drove another hour to a quaint bed and breakfast in Salinute. Owned by an English woman who lived on a working olive farm, we were the only guests for the night. The cozy rooms each had their own kitchen and bathroom and we opted to stay in for the evening to enjoy a simply dinner.

The following morning, we visited another series of ruins, this time in nearby Salinute. These ruins were equally impressive and even less crowded. We literally had acres of ruins to ourselves. Even more surprising, these ruins were completely open and visitors were welcome to walk among the fallen pillars and columns. Having taken the obligatory pictures, we proceeded to climb among the ruins, scrambling over massive stones. Similar to the ruins near Agrigento, the ruins in Salinute spanned a couple of miles and we meandered through impressive temples overlooking the rugged coast.

After a hearty lunch in downtown Salinute, we drove north along the coast to our final destination in Sicily, the capitol and largest city of Palermo. In Palermo, we would spend New Years’ Eve.

The journey began as all epic journeys must, in a long line on Christmas morning with an irritable mob of angry travelers. Contrary to my naïve expectations, many people do in fact travel on Christmas day. I left my apartment at 7:30 am on Christmas morning, boarding the shared ride van that cruised through the eerily empty LA streets and arrived at the airport in record time. The lack of traffic and overly cautious shuttle schedule resulted in my arriving at the airport four hours before my flight. This proved useful as I was immediately confronted by an appallingly long line. Apparently, US Airways had too few people working the counters and the resulting line wrapped 100 yards out the door. People stood helplessly as they missed their flights due to the airlines incompetence. Any traveler brave enough to walk to the front of the line to ask a question was berated by the people who suspected the encroacher was trying to cut the line. Eventually, after an hour and a half, I made it to the counter and had plenty of time to reach my gate. I was then whisked to Charlotte, Frankfurt, and, finally, Bologna, where my smiling family was awaiting me.

Having spent Christmas Day flying across the Atlantic, I arrived in Bologna on December 26^th . My brother, who arrived a day earlier, gleefully reported on a delicious Christmas meal that my mom cooked for his arrival. Fortunately, my family celebrated a belated Christmas and had another excellent meal before exchanging gifts. For this meal, my mom prepared a traditional Italian Christmas dish called “stinko” (sp?). Despite the off-putting name, it was in fact very good and an always reliable Brunello provided by my dad only enhanced the dinner. Despite the presence of tasty food, transcendent wine, and good company, jet lag took its toll and I found myself nodding off in the middle of conversations like a doddering, senile old man.

The day after I arrived in Italy, we woke early and began the long drive from Bologna to Sicily. Considering how tiny Europe is, it was with some surprise that I learned that it would take about 12 hours to drive from northern Italy all the way to the heel of the boot. The drive was scenic and my still confused body spent much of the trip drifting in and out of sleep. We alternated drivers and the long journey didn’t seem too bad. Just after sunset, we finally embarked on a ferry that carried us across the windy strait to the island of Sicily as rain clouds lurked on the horizon.

Still, we had another hour of driving through a torrential downpour before we reached our destination of Taormina. After eventually finding our hotel, my father and I then spent the better part of 30 minutes figuring out how to get the spacious BMW to fit in a parking spot several inches shorter than the length of the car. The answer was eventually revealed to us when a passing Sicilian pulled one of the poles marking the end of the spot out of the ground and leaned it against a nearby wall.

Taormina is perched on the side of a hill overlooking the sea and is considered an affluent resort town that offers stunning views of Mt. Etna. Befitting the alpine personality of the town, our Swiss lodge felt like it could have been somewhere in the Alps. After checking into the hotel, we secured a recommendation for dinner and walked through the quaint downtown to a non-descript pink restaurant. Small and cozy, we were fortunate to have a reservation as waves of would-be diners were turned away due to lack of available tables. Hardly larger than a decent sized dining room, the patrons all seemed to know the wait staff and everyone appeared to be a regular. Celebrating our arrival in Sicily, we dined on the fresh seafood accompanied by local wine, followed by some delicious tiramisu. This proved to be the best meal of the whole trip.

Still suffering from jetlag, the next morning I awoke before sunrise and ventured out into the damp predawn. The town was empty and I was free to stroll the quiet streets as the light slowly changed. Cobblestone streets and narrow alleys snaked throughout the small village. I ventured up a well-trodden path towards a remote village that appeared to float in the clouds. Hanging on the side of a cliff, the village clung to the mountain and watched over the rugged coast below. After encountering an insistent dog that urged me to turn around, I took heed of the advice and headed back to the hotel for a mediocre continental breakfast.

Since it was Sunday, my mom seemed to feel that it made sense to attend church. Since this was Italy, there were plenty of churches, although they seemed to specialize more in the displaying of relics and on the struggle to remain standing than in the conducting of religious ceremonies. We wandered through several churches and walked through a maze of high end shops before being caught in a downpour. The rain was unrelenting and we finally ran back to the shelter of the hotel. While the city was beautiful, the weather did not seem encouraging. With another drive ahead of us, we decided to move on to Syracusa.

Having not seen Mt. Etna, we left Taormina charmed, well-fed, and wet. Next up, Syracusa.

As I should have expected, Audentes was exactly where I left her. Similarly, as expected, she was filthy. A thick layer of dirt had settled on the hull. After obtaining a ladder, I climbed aboard and surveyed the topsides. Again, everything was dirty, but otherwise unchanged. Unlocking the hatch, the cabin was musty and cluttered, but not nearly the disaster that I had anticipated. In my frequent nightmares, I pictured some vicious animal (perhaps a javelina) running roughshod around my cabin, wreaking havoc and defecating with little regard for my belongings. All in all, I was pleased that nothing was missing or damaged. Of course, the teak was badly faded from the sun and I expect that some hidden items such as wires had suffered corrosion. The engine was never my most reliable companion and I doubt that the time apart has done much to improve the relationship. However, considering that the boat had been neglected for two years, I was pleased to find everything much as I left it.

After the initial wave of relief, I began cleaning. Since I was only staying for a day, I wasn’t able to thoroughly clean the boat or even clean it to the point that I would have liked, but I did manage to make it at least livable for a night. I aired out my sleeping bag, drained the bilge, and dusted around the chart table. It was tempting to try to tackle the cockpit and to get the boat to the comfortable condition that I am accustomed to, but the realization that I would soon be leaving and that the work would be wasted led me to instead focus on going through my stuff to bring back a few items to the US. While space was limited, I managed to pack away some books, movies, a calculator, sunglasses, my surfboard, and my foul weather gear. Sorting through closets and drawers felt like Christmas morning, as I remembered all of the personal items on the boat.

Even during a short visit, it was easy to shift back into my former lifestyle. Projects that seemed so daunting from the U.S. suddenly appeared manageable. I started lists and found myself planning how long various projects would take and how much each piece of equipment would cost. Even being back close to the water, surrounded by other boats and a stunning landscape brought fond memories of my years aboard Audentes flooding back. Yet, after only a day of being back on the boat, it was time to drive south to the airport to catch my flight to Sydney.

Despite the short duration of the visit, it was sad to leave the boat. The difference between my life aboard Audentes and my current lifestyle was made even more apparent when I arrived in Sydney. A day after sleeping in a dirty, cluttered boat, I found myself relaxing in my posh hotel room in the Shangri-La overlooking the Sydney Opera House. The contrast was jarring. I began to feel like a polygamist, leading two completely separate lives. In one life that is centered in the South Pacific, I am an isolated sailor living on a shoestring budget and constantly battling to maintain an aging boat as I drift from one tropical island to another. In my second, completely different life that is based in Los Angeles, I’m a corporate striver trying to peddle POM Wonderful pomegranate juice. In one scenario, I’m a loner battling the elements in an exotic land; in the other, I’m engaged to a lovely woman from Nebraska. The more I considered my divergent lives, the more I wondered at how I could bring the two seemingly opposite existences together.

Fortunately, I didn’t have too much time to dwell on the dichotomy that is my life as I was busy in Australia launching POM Wonderful in the land down under. Aside from meetings with importers, retailers, and demo reps, I was able to visit a number of the stores selling the product to get feedback and to see first-hand how the juice was moving. It was also a nice way to see Sydney and I was immediately enamored with the beautiful city. Certainly, it is a sailor’s paradise with plenty of wind and countless lovely coves. It seems as if the entire city is on the water and each night we dined at a different stunning harbor.

My last day in Sydney, I signed up to climb over the Harbor Bridge. After forking over $200AUD, passing a breathalyzer, and clearing a metal detector, I was outfitted with climbing gear and harnessed in. The climb itself was a nice way to see Sydney and our guide gave an entertaining and informative tour of the city from above. At certain points, we could peer through the grating straight down to the harbor below. While most of the climb was sunny and warm, a dark cloud did pass over and for about 15 minutes we endured hard rain and winds in excess of 25 mph. Reaching the summit, we were regaled with stories of various Aussies who chose the top of the bridge as the appropriate place to propose. In one story, the gentleman fumbled his ring and watched in agony as the expensive rock tumbled into the abyss. In another anecdote, a woman rejected the proposal and the poor man was subjected to several hours of being roped right next to the vile woman with no chance of escape.

Returning to the US, I had little time at home in LA before I was again on the road. This time, I headed east to Nebraska where I spent Thanksgiving with my fiancée and her family. In addition, we were fortunate enough to have my brother Brian join us in the Midwest. Brian provides a good account of the weekend on his website, which can be reached at the following link: http://www.thecookblog.com/thanksgiving-in-nebraska . There is little that I can add to my snarky, 1920’s-hat-wearing brother’s description, so I simply say that, as usual, I had a wonderful time with Megan and her family.

And so, the past couple of months have been a whirlwind of travel. Instead of slow, plodding progress with a tropical breeze at my back, my recent mode of transportation tends toward the frantic hustling among the throngs and masses. I have spent more time huddled in mobbed airports than I would care to recount. I’ve endured numerous layovers in Denver, Phoenix, and Auckland. I’ve been coughed on, elbowed, bumped into, and generally jostled at all altitudes. I’ve dropped an astonishing amount of money on cabs, rental cars, and parking garages. I’m tired, weary, and there is no end in sight. Yet, I am happy. I like my job. I’m in love with my fiancée. I can tolerate LA. Although things aren’t perfect, all in all, they are pretty good.