Wanderings: Serendipity

The next morning I woke early, ready to face the day. No one was in the house that I could tell. No note, no coffee pot in sight with access to the makings of my morning cup. I found a rickety umbrella and headed out in search of a coffee shop...in the dark...in the rain. I was grateful for a nearby Denny's (I've never been grateful for a Denny's) where I had coffee and breakfast and time to think. I wrote in my journal, trying to sort my feelings and weigh my options. My first instinct was to run. I asked myself if that was always my first instinct. I was bemoaning the fact that I would miss Christmas with Adie and Mike and my new grand dog, Charlie. Much of what I wrote as I sat there with the regulars, was pep talk stuff. I remembered my friend Judy’s advice, “You have the means to get out of any situation you’re in if turns out to be not okay.” Was this one of those? I was in no danger unless you count ant bites.  Eventually, full of coffee and breakfast and some resolve, I  decided to give Vivien a chance. Maybe I'd get on the Bernie bandwagon…stumping for him might be kind of fun. I steeled myself to go back, determined to discuss the room situation with Vivien.

When I arrived, there was still no one around. Without the password for the wifi I couldn't get online and attempt to avoid the uneasy feelings that were creeping back in so I decided to make myself useful and clean up the kitchen a bit.

The one light fixture that worked and a bit of cloudy gray daylight making its way in were enough to see the kitchen in all its disgusting glory. HOLY CRAP!!!! There was no way the three huge, stainless steel industrial size sinks full of dirty water and pans and dishes were left from a dinner (or even five huge dinners) that someone had recently prepared. The pots, pans, dishes, utensils, glasses and coffee cups must have been accumulating for weeks. WEEKS. The dishes from the night before had not been scraped or dealt with. The leftover chicken was likely stuffed into the full and filthy (God-I-don't-want-to-look-inside) refrigerator. There were 5 or 6 lidless steel pots on the floor with scraps of food which I assumed were for the compost pile; a few of them overflowed and were serving the thriving ant community.  Restaurant bus tubs filled with dirty glasses and dishes and coffee cups (where did they get the damn coffee?) were on the floor under the sinks and tucked beneath and on top of the island in the center of the kitchen.

A lesser woman (or smarter one?) might have bolted right then. But because I was there to work for Vivien, I was determined to show her how amazing I am. My hope was that she would realize I am worthy of an actual bedroom. Also, I really like to have things clean. So I found and apron, rolled up my sleeves and went to work.

Four hours later, the dishes were done and the sinks clean. Four hours of washing dishes. FOUR HOURS! In one kitchen! I was sweeping the floor when Babar came in. He said nothing about the kitchen except that while he's here, he likes to use the same dishes over and over so "this will be my space" and he put two little bowls and a fork and spoon on the butcher block cart that I had cleared. Not a word about the fact that space now actually existed where he could put his stuff. He asked me if Vivien had given me any direction about answering the phones and I told him I hadn't seen her yet today...it was after 1:00.  He tried chatting me up about politics and Pakistan for a while then walked out into the nether regions of the mammoth house and I never saw him again. I was drying and stacking some of the last dishes from my marathon cleaning session when Vivien walked in and said acerbically, "Well, it looks like you figured out what needed to be done around here" and walked out. (Mom?)

I wasn't looking for a medal, but a tiny bit of gratitude would have gone a long way. I picked my jaw up off the floor and followed her to ask for the internet codes. I think I decided right then I wouldn't be staying. She gave me the codes then went into a bedroom and closed the door. For half an hour I tried, couldn't get on and finally knocked on her bedroom door to let her know. Apparently I woke her up from a nap. It was an effort for her to keep from being surly with me as she let me know I must have put the wrong password in. I had not. She messed around with the cable connections that were in a small room on the next floor up and I was able to bring up the internet just long enough for her to make her way back to her bedroom and shut the door before it stopped working again. Ugh.

 So on my phone (yes, I'm am grateful my family talked me into getting a smart phone) I searched Airbnb for a place nearby that could take me in last minute, a week before Christmas. I contacted a few hosts with openings for the next few nights and called (but got no answer) the only place in town that rented cars, then packed up my stuff and left it in the room, ready to go when I returned...hopefully with a car. The rain softened and had thankfully quit by the time I reached the dealership...no cars available for the next four days. I needed to stay at a place in Fort Bragg within reasonable walking distance. For some reason, I never considered looking for cab companies in the area. Small town girl goes to the big(?) city.

As I walked, I thought Fort Bragg might be a nice little town to explore. Set on the Mendocino Coast with gorgeous shoreline, it boasts a famous tourist attraction called Glass Beach. I walked past of few restaurants/microbreweries which looked promising that I made note of. I was lucky and within an hour or so, got a reply from a woman (Adriane!) on Airbnb who could take me for three nights. I laughed out loud when I read her text saying I needed to cut her some slack because she had been baking and her house wasn't very clean at the moment. I think I told her I'd clean it myself if she wanted me to, it can't be as bad as where I had just stayed!

I had been walking for a couple hours and was pretty tired once I got back to the inn to pick up my things.  I hadn't eaten anything but a Kind nut bar since my Denny's breakfast but figured I'd get settled in and walk to town for dinner. 

I made my way back to the inn and left a note (I'm not a fan of confrontation) on the kitchen counter telling Vivian I wouldn't be staying with her...the ants in my room were just a bit much and I wasn't up to living in the filth...or something like that. I slithered out the back door past all the compost pots I had put on the little screened 'garbage porch' then looked back with a sigh of good riddance.

Directions from Adriane(!) had me walking 8 blocks east and about 7 south from the inn. Piece of cake. At about 6 blocks into my escape, I remembered that the Pacific Ocean would be to the west of me as I was walking, not the east. This makes a big difference when deciphering which direction north and south are, by the way. Yes, I had my phone but my brain cells needed nourishment and my emotions were in charge over my intelligence I guess. Schlepping my 20 pound backpack around would have been no big deal had I not also packed a wheeled suitcase that weighed another 25. It was during this 15 block walk (once I realized which way I should have been walking) that I remembered why I hated that small wheeled suitcase I would be traveling with for the next 4 months or so...the handle is too long for me to wheel it comfortably. Ugh. By the time I reached my destination there was barely enough 'sunlight' to see and I was famished and exhausted.

My host, Adriane(!) could see what a wreck I was and offered to make dinner for us when the baking was done. An angel! I gratefully, sheepishly replied, "Yes thank you."  A yummy Mexican egg dish and conversation filled my belly and relaxed my nerves. We talked for a couple hours and got to know each other a bit. When I climbed into the comfy queen size bed topped with luxurious bedding and the fluffiest down comforter ever, I dove with relief into a warm, dreamless night of blissful (and ant free) sleep.

Two days into the agreed upon airbnb stay of three nights, Adriane and I had begun to form a friendship for which I am eternally grateful. As I was trying to figure out my next step (I had planned to stay at the inn for three weeks) she asked me what it was I needed and the arrangement was made which had me staying to help with the renters coming while Adriane left to visit her mother for the holidays. My three day Hail Mary stay at the most adorable craftsman style home with the very talented weaver, Adriane became a ten day haven where I could regroup, feel useful, make a friend and get ideas that may (or may not) be implemented upon my return home to Michigan. Hi to Adriane's husband, Mark in the garage apartment:-) and to Moxie, my new cat friend.

This was my home for 10 days in Fort Bragg, CA.  I wish I had taken some pics of the ant room for comparison, but it really never occurred to me. And sadly, I didn't even get a picture of Adriane or Mark or Moxie. But I think I will see my Fort Bragg friends again.

Wanderings: First (and last) Supper

So there I was, alone at a big dining table set for six in a stranger’s house unsure when or if I would be joined by anyone. Fighting the urge building inside to run home with my tail between my legs I poured a glass of wine from the open bottle on the table and took one of the hors d’oeuvre Vivien must have put out before she left. The chopped meat and veggies on slices of crusty baguette topped with a bit of shredded cheese would taste great washed down with some wine but first swallow revealed the awful truth…it was liver pate’. I’m sensing a touch of symbolism here. 

As I sat considering just what I had gotten myself into, a surly teenage boy walked through with a grumble in response to my hello. Since this was likely the kid Vivien had gone to fetch, I assumed I would be seeing her shortly. Not so. There isn’t a time that comes to mind when I felt so out of place and awkwardly alone. Anger at Vivien started to share space with my sense of unease, but I knew feeding that anger would not help to establish a working relationship with her once she returned. So I fed myself instead. The spicy chicken was not bad scooped up in the naan bread and the cucumber and tomato in yogurt helped to cool its burn. With food in my stomach, I hoped my situation might be easier to handle. 

I was having my dinner (still alone) when a young couple walked in. Elisabeth from Long Island and Ross from South England were fellow WorkAway travelers on their last night at the inn. Thinking I would have someone to sympathize with my not very welcome feeling, they let me know they were greeted the same way on their first night and then went on to tell how great Vivien was to them, supplying a bit of understanding and a sliver of hope that things would get better. 

After finishing my meal and getting to know my fellow Workaway-ers a bit, Vivien came in with her son and sat down to eat. For the most part, the conversation was between Vivien, Ross and Elisabeth since it was their last evening together. I gathered that what the two had done during their stay was to work at Vivien's campaign office in town. Talk of Bernie and future plans for the young couple (next stop was a surfing school in Costa Rico...fun!) was exhausted and so was I. We carried our plates into the kitchen. I expected to rinse them off and clean up a bit, but Vivien said she'd take care of it and would see me in the morning...I could take it easy for the first day.

So off to my hole in the wall I went. I got ready for bed, killed a few ants that had wandered in and searched for the switch to turn off the hall light which illuminated my room with no ceiling. After more than a few very frustrating minutes, Elisabeth walked past on her way to the kitchen and showed me with a compassionate chuckle what I was looking for. The switch plate was hidden behind a large cabinet shoved against the wall in a room that wasn't mine or the hallway's. With my arm fully extended and barely fitting in the space, I could just reach to turn off that light. If left to find it on my own, I never would have thought to look there. Welcome to the inn.

Wanderings: The Weller House Inn

 

The Weller House Inn, Fort Bragg, CA

 Unsure whether I was at the right door into the old house, I walked in, saw no one, heard nothing and called what I thought was a loud enough, “Hellooo?” After peeking around some corners, feeling rather lost and getting no response, I went off in search of a more appropriate entrance. I never found one. It was dark and raining outside; the house was unlit (nothing like the professionally shot photo posted on Vivien's profile) so I went back and called out a little louder then sat on a bench to wait. Nearly10 grueling, uncertainty filled minutes later, Vivien came out of one of the closed doors across from where I was sitting (she never heard my hellooo?) to 'greet' me and show me around a bit. Schlepping my bags, I was led through a maze of small connecting rooms piled high with office papers and plastic bins and clothes and what seemed like just a bunch of junk. In a private dining room, I was introduced to Angelina, the housekeeper I would be working with. She was sitting at the end of a long dining table littered with Bernie Sanders campaign flyers and pamphlets. Vivien began telling me about her passion for Bernie, peppering me with questions about my political views and who I was looking at for the election. She said I might be working at the campaign office in town and mentioned a few upcoming events she had scheduled. Hmm…I thought I was there to help run the inn and clean guest rooms.

After a bit more chit chat about her hero Bernie, Vivien led me through the kitchen and introduced me to Babar, from Pakistan who was at the stove cooking. She called him her partner.  It was not a well lit area because of an electrical glitch in the circuit breaker on that floor so I couldn't take in much beyond Babar at the stove and the island behind him piled with dishes and pots and pans. After an invitation to eat dinner with them later (no, he was not the cook for guests of the inn) I was led with my bags around a corner to my room. Vivien explained that the electricity wasn’t working in half the kitchen or in the room she normally puts workers in and asked, "Do you know anything about circuit breakers?" "Not in 150 year old houses," I replied, wisely leery of ancient electrical systems. I followed her to my room. The door opened out into the hallway because there wasn't enough space for it to open in, as most doors do. The room held a full sized bed shoved into a corner, some shallow built in shelves big enough for toiletries and my cell phone on the wall next to the head of the bed. A portable heater about the size of a carry-on suitcase was squeezed between the wall and the end of the bed. Tucked to the right of the doorway, at the side of the end of the bed was a tiny nightstand with a tinier lamp on top.  A mere two square feet of floor space was available to put my bags...unless I shoved them through the floor level cubbyhole that opened to the hallway. The other option would be to could climb on the bed and set them on top of the wall that stopped a good ten feet from the 'real' ceiling...this room had no ceiling of its own and was constructed by adding two walls to a larger area...my room's ceiling light was in the hallway. Maybe this configuration is not so strange for an old Victorian house turned B and B but it felt like an afterthought, as did I at the moment. I set my bags on the bed as Vivien mumbled something about having trouble with ants and was off to get me some clean bedding. 

Did she say ants? As my host walked out, I looked more closely at the bed where I had just set my things. Ants indeed. Everywhere. Crawling ants,  dead ants, dying ants...on the nightstand, on the bed, the portable heater, the window sill. Thank God for the window, which I immediately opened because the recently sprayed chemicals were making it hard for me to breathe.  The shelf on top of the wall suddenly seemed a better option for my bags so up they went. I carefully removed the comforter cover and sheets, trying to keep the ants from falling back or crawling up onto the now unmade bed. Vivien returned with clean bedding and said, "Here you go," then left me to make what was supposed to be my bed for the next three weeks. 

When I was done, I tracked her down (she was busy sorting and stacking Bernie stuff) and asked for something to clean the ants and chemical smell off the floor. She scoffed and let me know it was just orange oil. My horrible sense of smell had been miraculously revived and I was absolutely sure I was NOT smelling orange oil. I was given a crusty old, rinsed-a-hundred-times rag to wipe the floor and shown to the near-by bathroom (I'll spare you those details) for access to water and a broken broomstick if I wanted to use it with the rag to mop under the bed.  After several wipes and rinses and moppings, I put away my tools and sat down to hum a few bars from Cinderella....in my own little corner in my own little room, I can be...etc., etc.  I gathered my thoughts and willed myself not to cry.
 
When it was clear that no one was coming to see how I was settling in, I made my way to the kitchen to chat with the man cooking. Vivien walked through and announced that she had to go pick up her son from the movie theater. “Have some wine, make yourself comfortable and set the table for 6 while I’m gone,” she told me. Um…okay, bye. Back in the dining room I solicited Angelina’s help to set the table for dinner. Neither of us knew where the dishes were stored but we eventually found what we needed and got the table set. While I was awkwardly waited with her as she concentrated on her computer, Babar came in and told us to get started with dinner because he had to go…something about a call from his sister. He yanked the naan bread from the oven, set the wok with the spicy curry chicken on the table and left. The little bit of info I had extracted from the housekeeper revealed that she was only there because her internet was down and she had some emails to take care of. When I asked her about how many guests were there that night, she said in broken English, "Oh there aren't never guests," then proceeded to fill up a bowl with food and left, saying she needed to get home to pack for her trip home to her family in Mexico for the holidays. Huh?


Lesson 2: You can't judge a host by her profile.

Wanderings: Getting There

A little explanation for those wondering how it was I came to Fort Bragg, California for my first stop...

Looking for a cheaper, non-vacation way to travel, I had found a site online called Workaway which was created to 'promote fair exchange between budget travelers, language learners or culture seekers who can stay with families, individuals or organizations that are looking for help with a range of varied and interesting activities.' It is a network of people from around the world (including Hawaii..yay!) who set up profiles of themselves (hosts and travelers/workers) then connect via emails and/or Skype to decide if what the host needs and has available for accommodations is a good fit with what the worker (me) has to offer and is comfortable with. I tried to be smart and careful about my choices, making sure to apply to places that had many reviews by travelers who had positive experiences with the hosts they had recently worked for. It's quite pitiful the amount of hours I spent poring over profiles in search of a perfect match.

I chose an old Victorian bed and breakfast on the Mendocino Coast for my first 'assignment'. I love northern California and was glad to be near (3 1/2 hour bus ride away) some family for my step into the unknown, especially since it would be my first Christmas without Adie in all of her 30 years. Baby steps.
 
The bus (CC Rider #65) from Santa Rosa to Fort Bragg was driven by a portly Italian man who revealed occasionally that he could double as a plumber (ugh) and had a love of Italian music which blared from speakers the entire trip. The first hour and a half of my ride was shared with a gorgeous young and in love backpacking couple from Italy. As they reclined back and propped up their feet clad in hip, well worn Italian shoes (did they hike in those shoes?), I absorbed myself in a fantasy of their journey, avoiding the dread taking up space in my gut about the one I had just begun as a middle aged woman traveling alone.  My fantasy couple got off at the Ukiah stop and with the new riders boarding, my imaginings switched to what homelessness in Northern California must be like. The dread in my gut made space for some gratitude as we continued on toward Fort Bragg. The winding, hilly Redwood-lined roads were traveled in fog and rain and the sun went down without notice.  I was dropped off at The Weller House Inn around 6:30. Hungry, tired and cold but ready to begin my assignment. I was anxious to meet Vivien the owner, who was expecting me.

To follow, is a detailed description of the part of the house in which I was to spend the next three weeks. All my posts won't be so exhaustive as this, but I didn't have the presence of mind to take pictures that first night and it's not easy to describe in just a few words so that you get the whole picture. Even though I won't soon forget that house, that room, those people, it seems important for me to document it and share it with you, dear readers. Please bear with me:)
  



 

Wanderings: California Here I Come

My December 16 flight to San Francisco was scheduled to leave at 5:45am so I was awake (barely) at 3:15 to make the 4am quick shuttle ride from my hotel in Detroit to the airport. First thoughts upon waking were grumbles, "I don't need to be there almost two hours before departure...an hour is plenty of time!" Luckily, something pushed me out of bed anyway and after one sip of horrible hotel coffee I was on my way to DTW. It was a good thing I made the 4am bus because the arrivals area was a madhouse. The line (aka mob) that I thought lead to the American Airlines counter was a mile long. Five minutes in, I was awake enough to ask what line I was in and was told it was for Frontier. Ugh. Nearly forty minutes of being in the right 'line' and a couple of screw-ups at the damn ticket kiosks (I prefer human beings, no matter how cranky) I headed for the corrals that would take us all through security. When I was escorted into the TSA pre-check line I knew the stars once again were going to align in my favor. My simple, hopeful mind concluded that it was a good omen for the whole trip (all 4-6 months of traveling) that I breezed through security still donning shoes, coat and scarf; my possessions, including my computer which I never travel with still happily snuggled into my over-packed carry on bags. Smooth sailing from there confirmed all my good omen theories...the flight left on time, was early into and out of Chicago; all flights were supposedly full, the middle seat next to me was miraculously vacant on both legs of the trip. Extra space all the way to SFO...YAY!  I am DOING this! We landed early in San Francisco, my checked bag popped up onto the conveyor belt as I headed into the baggage claim area and amazingly, I made the Sonoma County Airport Express that would take me to Santa Rosa an hour earlier than I had planned. Oh I am GOLDEN! I would be at Aunt Lorraine's and Uncle Joe's by noon! Double YAY! Piece of cake...this big adventuring stuff...no problem...I've got this. 

We had yummy Chinese carryout for dinner that night and I had a good night's sleep. A quick stay with my favorite aunt and uncle ended with hugs and best wishes...a nice transition between comfort zone and whatever was to come during my first Workaway assignment in Fort Bragg, a few hours north of Santa Rosa.

The bus ride north the next day ended with a forceful expulsion from my comfort zone and a rude introduction into reality. I've never been a fan of reality.

Wanderings: In the Beginning

The seed was planted on a 'business' trip to Maui in 2004. I fell in love with Hawaii and would declare aloud to anyone who would listen, "I'm going to move to Maui and live in a commune." Nearly 12 years later, I'm sitting at a desk in Hilo, on The Big Island in the home of a couple I've agreed to help with housework and Airbnb guests in exchange for a place to stay. Not exactly a commune, and Maui is a tad bit north of me but hey, a seed sometimes sprouts into a thing you didn't know was planted.
 
This past summer, I revisited my 'said it out loud' dream and began to nurture it.  Throughout the early stages of its inception I questioned the soundness of the decision to take such a drastic step.  Then I (accidentally on Facebook...don't ask) let it slip out that I was planning to pick up and 'move' to Hawaii and it seemed there was no turning back. The stars began to align; ideas introduced possibilities, baby steps became leaps of faith and 'maybe' turned into 'why not?' What I initially called running away from home has been upgraded in my mind to a more sophisticated term, sabbatical (because sometimes a little sophistication is called for). It's not a word I would have used to define what I'm doing and it's not the first definition listed in the dictionary, but I've latched onto this simple version as mine: sabbatical, n. any extended period of leave from one's customary work.

It's been a little over a month since I left my steadfast husband, the comfort of my home, my caring friends and sweet goofball puppy/dog. I'll play catch-up for a while with my writings but I promise to keep the people who love me, worry about me, and care what happens to me informed of my wanderings and states of being (well or otherwise) through this blog.  I've been surprised by the number of people who want to know how things are going for me. Of the lessons learned since I left, first was this: I am loved. That's not such a bad way to embark on a long journey:-) And so it began, with a one-way ticket to California...