Puerto Rico and the Break I Needed

I hope everyone can say their honeymoon was perfect. I sure can. As one who can sometimes be a teensy bit of a perfectionist (don't roll your eyes at me!), I honestly couldn't have planned a better vacation.

let's live here

I had a seven-month wedding engagement and delegating is not one of my strengths, so the vast majority of wedding planning and projects fell to me, with my fiancé and mom helping out when I allowed it. I'm not complaining, though; goals, projects, to-do lists, deadlines…these are my forte. I thrived during those seven months.

But let's be real: after months of diy blogs and deadlines, shopping trips and spreadsheets, thank-you notes and late nights, whiteboards covered in scribbles and sticky-notes––a girl (and probably everyone around her) needs a break.

DESTINATION: PUERTO RICO

I had never considered visiting Puerto Rico and that's part of what made it so perfect: because I didn't know anything about it––its history, geography, attractions––I didn't feel any pressure to go, see, and experience anything. I didn't feel any pressure at all. (In contrast, if we went to, say, Italy for our honeymoon, it would've been crammed with reference books and rants about the brilliance of Brunelleschi, along with lists of necessary destinations and expenses. My poor husband and I would've had no rest.)

So with a handful of travel pamphlets tucked into our backpacks, we stepped off the plane late on a humid Puerto Rican night. Our rental car wheezed like a wind-up toy as we navigated the dark roads, both of us laughing over a hilarious checklist of crazy things to look for while driving in Puerto Rico (It was totally accurate, btw!).

We had a condo on the 21st floor, which included an equipped kitchen, a balcony overlooking the ocean, aaaand a laundry room, plus plenty of beach and pool gear! How perfect is that?! (Disclaimer: normally I wouldn't really care about having a kitchen––except to keep ice cream in the freezer––but when you're married to a chef, kitchens become a great asset.)

yes, this wife has scored big time

Throughout our week in Puerto Rico, I perpetually basked in the blissful feeling each day of knowing I didn't have to do…anything. What a change of pace after the wedding! My life went from hectic to a holiday. Each day we might wander down to the beach or the pool, go snorkeling, spend a while dozing in the lawn chairs, go back to the condo to eat and lounge on the balcony. Each evening our weather app projected rain for the following day, and each morning we awoke to sunshine. Everything was close-by, from our church to the grocery store to the rainforest.

That's not to say we didn't do anything in Puerto Rico.

Blake has always wanted to see a bioluminescent bay, where the water is said to sparkle and glow. This is caused by organisms in the water, which, when stirred, light up. We found a tour company online and plugged their address into our GPS (a futile act, since not once did our GPS take us to the correct location and we always had to drive around for a while before finding our destination). I was skeptical of our probability of seeing the bioluminescence––the pictures online were clearly taken with a long exposure––but, as dusk approached, I dutifully geared up in my life-vest and slogged through thigh-deep harbor water (just don't think about it) in order to scramble––gracefully––into our kayak.

day four of no makeup (and he still loves me!?)

following the pink glow sticks was not so easy for some

The instructions were basic: listen to your partner and follow the kayaks with pink glow sticks. We trailed our guide through the harbor, then wound through a mangrove swamp slashed with shadows, eventually emerging out into the bay just as the moon rose. Our guides spent a while attempting to amuse us, while I attempted to stay clear of my fellow explorers, who––despite the fact that we were, like, not supposed to be moving, still managed to keep running into each other––and Blake kept splashing the water, in hopes of seeing the lights.

Eventually, he did.

I didn't have my camera, and my phone couldn't capture anything in the dark, but the best way I'd describe the bioluminescence is like sparks floating through the water. Or little fireflies. They lit up wherever you touched the water, streaming out behind each kayak.

Overall, the whole week was amazing: a perfect blend of laid-back lounging, easy-going adventuring, and fabulous food. The days were bright and breezy while each night, the wind would stretch the clouds out over the ocean, causing our curtains to sway. The crickets would begin to hum while the waves rolled across the sand. And, some nights, you could hear the thunder murmuring quietly in the distance.

on our way home with my new hoodie and husband

The Obligatory New Jersey Post

FUN FACT: In 2015, YouGov conducted a survey in which US citizens were asked about their opinions of each state. The results were––in my opinion––hilarious: New Jersey is the least liked state in the United States of America. In fact, it is the only state which receives an overall negative opinion.

I was born in New Jersey. That's where my family has lived for generations. And so, as my husband and I pack our little car for the west coast, I find myself feeling obligated to compose some thoughts on living here in this lovely, humid, unfriendly, taxed-to-death state.

My family's farmhouse in rural New Jersey

As soon as I tell people I'm from Jersey, I cringe as I hear the classic reply: "Oh, from Joisey, huh?" or "That's funny. Where's your accent?"

Let's clarify a few things. First of all, New Jersey is unofficially split into two sections by its residents: South Jersey, which is basically a rural suburb of Philly, and North Jersey, which is basically an industrial suburb of NYC. The infamous "Joisey Accent" is actually a creature of New York––yes, guys, Snooki grew up in New York, not New Jersey––and is really not that prevalent in South Jersey.

(If you want to hear the quintessential South Jersey accent, simply ask a resident to say the word "water" and you've got it.)

Now, back to the first point. Despite being looked down upon, residents of New Jersey are pretty proud of their hard-nosed way of life. "Only the Strong Survive" is their defiant motto. People don't smile much here, and their sense of humor––if you want to call it that––is mostly sarcasm. I was born in Jersey, spent some of my childhood there, then escaped with my family to Florida, where I picked up on a few Southern tendencies, like smiling at strangers. In my late teens, however, my family moved back to South Jersey and it became my home base until––booyah––I got married.

CONFESSION TIME: despite my heritage, I am not a Jersey Girl. I simply don't like it here. The weather consists of hot, muggy Summers; short Autumns and Springs; and gray, cold, rainy Winters. Cost of living is high: everything requires a permit (even visiting the shore), rent is high, taxes are high, toll roads are everywhere. People are generally bossy, informal, blunt and assertive (and proud of it). Everything is regulated and against the law. Yup, this place is just not my scene.

The same family farmhouse in rural New Jersey

However, South Jersey isn't all bad. There's a lot of charm to be found here, if you know where to look. I've lived in the suburbs and the countryside, and both can possess an old-fashioned, small-town feel. Rolling fields of corn sway under overcast skies, the mailman walks from house to house, and––no matter where you live––you can stroll down to one of the many parks and feed the ducks (jk that's against the law now) or picnic (I LOVE picnicking). Plus, there's tons of American history, and it's convenient to live within driving distance of several large cities (Philly, NYC, Boston and DC, to name a few). Also did I mention all the corn fields?

Meeting with Gen Washington after a Christmas Day reenactment of crossing the Delaware River

Corn, corn, corn! Nuthin' but corn!

And, of course, there's Wawa. Wawa is the world's greatest convenience store. All Jerseyans will swear by it. They have the best hoagies and soft pretzels, and I will miss them dearly when I leave.

So, if you ever visit (or, heaven forbid, move to New Jersey), here are a few things to remember:

- Prepare to be honked at. Trust me, it will happen.
- Have extra cash on hand for
   a) all the tolls you might accidentally encounter
   b) the adorable little farm stands with fresh produce at fabulous prices
- DON'T TRAVEL IN THE LEFT LANE. The left lane is for passing.
- Watch out for all the deer.

Also, some jargon:
- It's The Shore, not the beach.
- They're jimmies, not sprinkles.
- Call it a hoagie, not a sub.

Aaaand, last but not least, South Jersey is the only place outside of Philadelphia where you can get a decent Philly Cheesesteak. If you are anywhere else and you encounter one, it's a fraud––okay?

There's gold in them thar buckets…right??

Summer is fading; the leaves are turning amber, the fireweed blossoms have fallen, there's a chill in the air. And my little countdown app is displaying a startlingly small number of days before homecoming. It's August 27th, which means that in one month from today I will be stepping off a plane into the noise of Philadelphia. I will have left my summer in Alaska behind.

Honestly, it's a little alarming. I don't really want this time to end. I don't want to say goodbye to the people I've come to know and care about. But, as one who tries to live optimistically, I'm attempting to focus on, ya know, "living in the moment." Basically wringing all the awesomeness I possibly can from this summer. I've been fishing, hiking, kayaking, canoeing, horseback riding. I've roasted s'mores on frosty nights beside the river, watched orcas breech and sea lions dive, paddle-boarded beside calling loons, and lifted my face to brilliant displays of the Northern Lights.

I've also, as a housekeeper, cleaned hundreds upon hundreds of toilets. But I don't know if that is a) unique to Alaska; or b) something to be proud of.

Anyhoo.

Panning for gold is something else I've now officially experienced. Yay! Amber, one of my most favorite people here, is leaving in a few days, so when she suggested we try out some gold panning, I was eager to accept. Of course we brought along Zac. Because he's awesome.

We shoveled some gravel into buckets, then began the process of scooping bits of the gravel onto our sluices. We would each shake the sluices back and forth, filtering out any tiny flakes of gold, which we would then pick out with tweezers (I think poor Zac only found, like, two flakes of gold). It was painstaking work, so naturally we had to take a doughnut break at Dude's Food Truck.

Fresh outta the oven with blueberry frosting. Yesss.

After going through all our gravel with the sluices, we settled down for some real old fashioned gold panning. Ah, this is what I had been looking forward to! Except that it was also hard. Dangit. However, I will point out with no small amount of pride, that I found a TON of (microscopic) gold flakes and three (also microscopic) garnets! Yes, I can definitely see a future career in Alaska gold panning for me.

Lookin' Fly (I think) while Fly Fishing

You haven't experienced Alaska until you've seen the salmon run. Every summer the crystalline rivers flash crimson with the vibrantly-scaled fish struggling upstream, while the riverbanks are crowded with fly fishers, clad in bulky waders and casting their lines in hopes of catching one of the thousands of salmon. Alaskans are very proud of their salmon. (In fact, they're pretty much obsessed.)

Well, I finally convinced my super-fun brother, Zac, to come up and work here in Alaska with me. The week he arrived, our tiny town was hosting its annual SalmonFest, a collaboration of local chefs who each submit a salmon dish of their own creation. You pay $10 to get in and basically have all-you-can-eat salmon.

DOES IT GET ANY BETTER THAN THAT?

Zac doesn't really like salmon (which is why he can never be a true Alaskan) but I eventually convinced him to go to the festival with me. We sat at one of the crowded long tables beneath the lodge ceiling and tried every dish at least once. Even my hater brother had to admit it was delicious. Also, there was coleslaw. Like I said: perfect and very Alaska-y.

My [super-hot and all-around awesome] boyfriend, Blake, just loves fly fishing. He goes fishing nearly every morning and probably enjoys being out there in the river almost as much as he enjoys being with me. Almost.

Determined to figure out what, exactly, is so great about fly fishing, I asked him to take me on one of his trips. Fishing, to me, has always appeared pretty boring. I mean, you stick a worm on a hook, drop it in the water and wait to catch something, right?

Not really. Blake picked me up after work, we geared up and marched down into the river. I'm not a terribly graceful human, so stick me in waders and Houston we've got a problem; I nearly went down several times, stumbling on the slick rocks and awkwardly regaining my balance with the help of Blake.

The water was frigid and the bank was littered with the rotting carcasses of salmon which did not smell as appetizing as the salmon we ate at the SalmonFest––but it was a cool, lazy afternoon with a light breeze and gentle dose of sunlight. Blake was a very patient teacher, and after a lot of practice, I felt that promising tug on my line and was able to land a rainbow trout, my very first Alaskan fly fishing conquest!

And then, feeling completely satisfied, I was over this whole fishing thing.

At one point, I was alone for several minutes, just squatting at the river's edge. A gray jay called in the distance and the wind rustled the leaves. The only other sound was the water sliding around my legs and over the rocks. It was wonderfully peaceful, that moment by myself––surrounded only by the stillness––outside, secluded, free. An Alaskan fisherwoman. Well, sort of.

Salmon and Self-Discovery

I've been in Alaska for over two months now, and I've only just made a very pertinent discovery about myself: I am not a wilderness girl. Nothing about me is wild or rugged. I absolutely hate "roughing it."

Whoops.

It may seem a bit crazy that I decided to drop everything and move to Alaska for five months. However, my assumption was that since I loved nature, Alaska was the place to be…right? I just never understood that there was a difference between "rugged" (ew) and "rustic" (yesss). Despite all this, one of my goals in life is to be an adventurous person (hence the blog about all my "adventures"). Just because I may shriek in horror when one of my nails breaks doesn't mean I won't jump off a bridge or eat a blood cupcake or crawl through a swamp to get that gorgeousss shot of a heron.

Actually, when it comes to nature photography, my aversion to roughing it tends to fade into the back of my mind. And so, when the option arose to take a hike up to some falls to watch the salmon jump, I was thrilled. Reaching the falls, I picked a ledge over the river that wasn't quite wide enough for both me and my camera backpack, pulled out my zoom lens, and settled down with my eye pressed against the viewfinder.

We sat there for an hour. Occasionally, a salmon would break through the frothy spray in a desperate attempt to breach the falls…but mostly, the fish were simply too exhausted to continue upstream. It wasn't exactly the most thrilling shoot of my life––or the most comfortable seat––but I was so pleased with the possibility of one or two good photos that I didn't notice.

I didn't notice the bear, either.

I didn't even glance in its direction until after it had crashed through the bushes and charged into the river. At this point, it took my non-wilderness brain several moments to register that the big brown thing I was seeing was a dangerous animal called a bear.

Upon realizing the danger, however, I did what every nature photographer would do: I started taking pictures. Carefully picking my way backwards along the rocks, I snapped away as the exhausted salmon streaked frantically through the water, trapped between the bear and the falls. Eventually, the bear snagged a salmon in his jaws. AND THEN THERE WAS BLOOD EVERYWHERE!!

At that point, my camera batteries died and I remembered I'm not actually a NatGeo photographer, but a somewhat-clueless farm girl trying to have adventures in the Alaskan wilderness. Oh yeeeah.

Warning: Nature Overload

I'm a Florida girl, so I've had my share of SeaWorld. My first visit to the theme park was on a chilly November afternoon when I was a wee girl of five. I can still remember watching, enthralled, as "Shampoo the Killer Whale" appeared, hurtling through the glistening aquamarine water and bursting upwards in a magnificent arc.

Unfortunately, nobody told me I was sitting in the Splash Zone. And they should have, because I was a wee girl of five who happened to really, really hate getting wet.

Since that day, I've recovered from my traumatic experience enough to go snorkeling with rays, go scalloping in the Atlantic and even kissing a dolphin. However, I have NEVER seen anything like what nature has to offer at the Kenai (pronounced like "keen eye") Fjord here in Alaska.

I'm happy because I am getting pummeled by the cold wind and not splashed by orcas

My coworkers and I were lucky enough to catch a cruise tour of the fjord on a flawless May day. The sky was bright, the air was brisk, and the wind on deck was like someone incessantly pummeling you with a slab of ice. Luckily, I had a neat little spot inside (next to this cute guy named Blake) and a cup of hot chocolate to which I could return when I tired of having my face frozen.

Blake fell asleep so I decided he was boring and took this totally non-creeper photo

I didn't spend too much time inside, though, because I didn't want to miss any of the wildlife. And boy, was there wildlife. The Kenai Fjord offers a total OVERLOAD of wildlife. It's breathtaking. It's nature's SeaWorld. Who wants to sit in the stupid Splash Zone anyway?

To give you an idea, in this one day cruise I saw orcas, humpback whales, doll porpoises, bighorn sheep, sea otters, sea lions, puffins, auks, harbor seals, bald eagles and a disgruntled black bear. The orcas, whales and porpoises all swam right up to the ship, their glistening sides catching the Alaskan sunlight as camera shutters clicked and people gasped in delight.

Don't forget the landscape, either. Alaska has a beautiful exhibition of awe-inspiring, snow-capped mountain ranges, and watching an orca breaching with those jagged peaks in the background is spectacular. We saw several glaciers and were able to rest in the shadow of one, listening to the distant thunder of ice breaking free and crashing into the gelid water. The crewmen even netted a chunk of glacial ice and hauled it aboard for us to touch (spoilers: it was pretty much like every other piece of ice I've encountered). Glaciers feed nearly all the bodies of water here, and the result is that the rivers and lakes are a translucent aquamarine hue, while the ocean is a deep teal.

Basically, it was unlike anything I've ever seen across the globe. EVERYBODY SHOULD GO TO KENAI FJORD IN ALASKA. Kay bye.

(Now I just have to see a moose!!)

Alaskan Wild

Hi, it's me. Remember how I started this whole blog thing because I was moving to Ecuador? Well, there've been a few changes. You may have noticed the new banner at the top of the page, the new buttons down the side. Ecuatoria has undergone a facelift.

Ecuatoria has moved to Alaska.

You may be thinking, "wait, wasn't I just reading about the Amazon Rainforest?" or "did she seriously just move from the equator to the arctic?" or "I like turtles." Whatever you're actually thinking, it's true that you, me, we all are about to undergo some considerable cultural and climatic changes. Here are the facts:

1) I'm living in Alaska until the end of September.

2) I'm working at a resort lodge nestled deeeep in the wilderness.

3) Seriously, we barely get any wifi out here.

Living in Alaska has been an ambition of mine ever since my family moved to Florida over a decade ago. Now, I love Florida, but it has no mountains (unless you count golf courses), and it has weird seasons (hurricane season, lovebug season, summer, and this weird sunshiny-autumn-spring thing that occurs in the winter months). This inspired in me a fascination of all things Alaska. I checked out all the books on Alaska from our library (this was before the invention of the internet), collected pictures and postcards, talked to anyone who had lived there. And I determined I would someday traverse those wild, rugged slopes that dominated the Land of the Midnight Sun.

Or something like that.

So here I am. It's cold in Alaska. And rainy. Fruit is pricy. We're told never to walk alone because we might get mauled by a bear. There's no wifi. Also…there's no wifi.

However, the wildlife is incredible, the mountain ranges are spectacular (they're much bigger than golf courses), the people are super friendly and tight-knit, and I love it here! I love my coworkers and my job. I love that someone cooks my meals for me. I love that I can step out my front door and find myself surrounded by soaring, snow-capped peaks, or listen to the crystalline river, or watch a bald eagle navigate the cloud-swept sky. Everything here is huge, wild and rustic. The air smells of pine. The sun never seems to set. Welcome to summer in Alaska.