Magical Destinations in Faerie Magazine
I'm excited to show you a little piece I have in the spring issue of Faerie Magazine!
(It's part of a series on magical destinations, mine being the Fairy Glen.) 
The magazine makes a point of showcasing the work of incredibly talented artists like Frank Tjepkema (above) and Emma Van Leest (below). 
This is a gorgeous ad-free publication—it's unabashedly "girly," and I really admire the lush photography and design. I'd love to publish a longer piece with them at some point. 
(In case anyone is wondering—yes, the lamb-as-accessory thing does squick me out a bit.)
Irish Holy Wells, part 2
(Irish holy wells, part 1.)
After a few nights in some random little towns in Roscommon and Leitrim, I met up with my old friend Paddy in Sligo, and he took me to a holy well and grotto just outside town called Tobernault (tobar meaning "well" in Irish). As you can tell by the complexity and upkeep, this is quite a popular spot for prayer and reflection. 
(More on my time with Paddy in another post.)After a couple nights each in Sligo, Mayo, and Galway, I arrived in Tipperary for a visit with Seanan's family. Bán (Seanan's mom) took me on an afternoon tour of three holy wells all within a few miles of their house.The first, St. Patrick's, I'd been to with Seanan before, but the past five years have not been kind to this little spot. The well is clogged with slurry. (You can't see it too well from the photo below, but really—was I going to take a picture of liquid cow poo to prove it to you? Sigh...) 
The second well, St. Brigid's, was overgrown and tricky to find, but it smelled much better!: 
Bán saved the loveliest well for last—I'll show you those photos next time.
Fleet Library, part 2
(Fleet Library, part 1.)Here are some pictures from the Visual + Material Resource Center upstairs at the Fleet Library:
And look, an old friend!: 
Veganversary!
Three years ago this month I decided to cut all animal products out of my diet. Not coincidentally, these have been the happiest and most productive three years of my life thus far.In April 2011 I was volunteering at Sadhana Forest, and as I write this I'm abroad again—this time happily ensconced in a cottage apartment in West Cork, writing and reading and going for long walks down quiet country roads in the glorious and improbable sunshine.
This is my first time in Ireland as a vegan, and I am experiencing the landscape in a new way. The romance of the Irish countryside isn't there for me anymore. These animals, the cows and the sheep—they are raised for slaughter, and there is nothing remotely "romantic" about that. I knew this before, but I see it now. I acknowledge it to myself every time I walk past an animal grazing in a pasture. 
That said, I have dear friends who are cattle farmers, and I'm not judging them. This has been a way of life for their families for many generations, and I recognize that our respective worldviews aren't going to converge anytime soon. I like to think I've mellowed a bit since I first relaunched this website back in September; I'm no longer trying to convince anyone of anything, and that feels really good. I can juggle the apparent contradiction in loving people who raise animals for food—in knowing they are good people even though I passionately disagree with them on crucial points. Theirs is a dying way of life—not sure if I'm intending the pun here or not—and the only thing for me to do is to be here, ready and waiting with resources and information, for when someone is ready and willing to receive it. 
Being vegan in Ireland isn't quite as easy as it is in the U.K., but people do know what veganism is and are more than willing to accommodate me. "Feeding a vegan is easier than I thought it would be!" Ailbhe remarked toward the end of my visit to Galway, and hearing her say that made me really happy. I've found a new equilibrium—letting people be who they are as I go on being who I am—and perhaps this is the culmination of a three-year growth process. Makes you wonder what the next three years have in store, eh?
Irish Holy Wells, part 1
I have visited six holy wells for novel research over the past couple of weeks. Some were well tended, others neglected and even polluted. Some were enchantingly situated, others less so. But each of them has a long history and tradition behind it, even if they're seldom visited these days.
St. Attracta's Well in Clogher, County Sligo. If you follow that link, you'll see just how much further into disrepair this well has fallen since those photographs were taken several years ago. You can still see the bullaun and "serpent's eggs," but the crucifixion carving has been removed (for safekeeping, one hopes!) 
The next day I stopped by St. Lasair's Well, which is just across the road from Kilronan Abbey in County Roscommon. (Somewhere in the graveyard is the final resting place of Turlough O'Carolan.) Kilronan means "church of Ronan," by the way—Ronan and Lasair are father-and-daughter saints. Her well is in the midst of refurbishment. 
Because of the renovations, all the bits and pieces people had left at the well over the years were scattered on the Mass rock a few paces away. 
Here I found my first "rag tree": a bush or tree near a holy well where people leave items belonging to a loved one in need of healing. It could be as simple as a scrap of clothing, a bit of yarn, or a set of rosary beads; or you could find children's shoes, stuffed animals...even a pacifier. (Along with this teacup, I found an unopened package of Weetabix. St. Lasair is all set for breakfast whenever she wants it.) I have an even better example of a rag tree to show you in a future post.
Fleet Library, part 1
In high school I dreamed of going to the Rhode Island School of Design. I wanted to be an artist of some stripe, only I couldn't get a portfolio together in time, so I wound up studying art history at NYU. That path led me to paint with words instead, and while I love this life, I do occasionally think about how things would look now if I'd had more courage and confidence as a high schooler. A few weeks ago Elizabeth invited me along to a reception and tour of the Fleet Library at RISD, and I got to indulge again in that little daydream. (Not that I'd have been able to use this library back in the day—it only opened in 2006.)The library is in a converted bank building, with all the best details and features intact. It is an absolute delight. 
The lovely folks at the Fleet had wine, apple cider, fresh fruit, and other nibbly things on offer, and Elizabeth and I chatted with our new friend Chelsea before the tour began. 
We left the library that evening feeling thoroughly inspired. I mention that "lost" dream of high school not because I care to dwell on "might have beens"—it is a waste of energy, for the most part—but because I haven't actually given up on it...(Coming Thursday: fun shots from the Material Resource Center and Picture Collection on the second floor!)
Vegan Ireland: Cork edition!
I landed in Cork last Friday afternoon and met up with Brendan for coffee at Filter on Georges Quay, followed by elderflower-pear juice and a vegan snickerdoodle. YES. 
(Two of my favorite murals from the White Street car park, where graffiti art is officially sanctioned.) 
Then I arrived at Emily and Vince's house, where I met their new degu (his name is Tristan—I'll have to get a picture!) before Emily and I headed to dinner at My Goodness, a "pop-up" vegan restaurant in the café space at the city's LGBT resource center.
I've always appreciated veg restaurants that do a simple set menu—I'm spared the indecision, and they're free to focus on doing one dish really well (or in this case, a raw and cooked version of the same dish). That said, such a restaurant should also be flexible enough to accommodate those of us with food allergies, and when Emily informed our kindly server (who happens to be married to the chef) that she is allergic to avocado, he replied with "no problem at all."
What followed was one of the most creative and surprising meals I have ever devoured. First up, "crawb" cake with a colorful assortment of fresh and pickled vegetables along with a lightly dressed sprouted bean salad and tahini dip:
The "crawb" cake was made of seaweed (naturally); shiitake mushrooms; flax, pumpkin, and sesame seeds; and the same pickled vegetables we found on the plate. I imagine the cakes were finished in a dehydrator. Very flavorful and fun. 
Needless to say, €12 for all this delicious food was an extremely good value. On our way out we got to chat with Virginia, the chef, who is an ecologist and gardening teacher from Texas. I was really excited to hear that she doesn't have any special culinary training—she has the attitude that if she can do it, anyone can (which is exactly what I wanted to hear as I move into more food blogging and recipe development!)At the moment they're only open a few days a week, but hopefully business at My Goodness will flourish and they'll expand into a permanent space. (And as someone commented on Facebook recently, some creative vegan entrepreneurs need to do a pop-up café like this in Galway! Galway gets all the hippie-hipster "forward thinking" cred, and yet they don't have a single vegetarian restaurant as far as I know. (Cork, on the other hand, has Café Paradiso and the Quay Co-op, both of which are top notch in their own way. Alas, I don't think I'll have time to revisit them this time around!)Emily had promised me a pint of vegan Irish beer, so after dinner we met up with Vince for a pint at the Franciscan Well (none of their brews are made with isinglass): 
Apart from Cork, I've been cooking a lot of my own food on this trip (spending a lot of time with friends, and we've been mostly hanging out at home; and right now I'm on my DIY writing retreat a long way from any restaurant!), but I'm sure I'll have more fun vegan eats to blog about while I'm in London next week.
Irish Spring
After that seemingly interminable New England winter (heck, everywhere winter), it was wonderful to land in Ireland and find spring in full swing. I spent my first day in and around Boyle, County Roscommon, passing the night at a lovely old B&B literally right next door to a 12th-century abbey. (Okay, so the B&B is new in comparison.)
Tomorrow: a wonderful pop-up vegan restaurant in Cork City.And next Tuesday: Irish holy wells!
The Backyard Tourist, part 3
(The Backyard Tourist, part 1; part 2.)Last weekend Kate and Elliot came up to visit, and we spent Saturday sightseeing with their friends Stephanie and Joe. First stop, Grasshopper for brunch! It's an Asian vegan restaurant in Allston, just a few doors down from FoMu. I'd been meaning to check it out for ages. 
Most of us ordered juices too, which were actually smoothies, but still delicious. (You can order a smoothie with avocado in it!!)After brunch Stephanie drove us to Bunker Hill. (An entire year in Boston, and I hadn't been!)
Then we spent a little while at the museum across the street:
By this time we were all feeling in need of a pick me up (the weather was foul, after all), so Stephanie suggested we head over to CuppaCoffee near North Station, her all-time favorite coffee shop. It's tiny and delightful and the friendly Aussie owner really knows his stuff! 
Fortified by a French roast with almond milk and raw sugar, I moseyed over to the Revere House with the gang for another round of Revolutionary history. The building was lovingly restored a hundred years ago, and though you can only see four rooms, I found it well worth the $3.50 admission price. 
I was geeking out, actually—my next novel is set in New England in the 1780s/90s, so this visit turned into an important piece of research for me. Kate had to come back into the house to retrieve me while the rest of our friends waited outside in the rain. (Sorry, guys!)(No photos allowed inside, by the way.) 
On our way to dinner we stumbled upon the Holocaust memorial. (Did you know Boston had a Holocaust memorial? Me neither. And it's right down the street from the Writers' Room, too!) It was particularly moving to experience it as we did—at dusk in the pouring rain. 
You all know how much I love my "little" sister, so you can just imagine how I felt when I read this panel: 
On an infinitely happier note, we had a fabulous dinner at India Quality at Kenmore with Faith and Alex, who is headed off to the Peace Corps in Georgia in a few weeks' time. I'm so excited for him!
13 Hours in Manhattan
Since I moved to Boston I've been doing this wacky thing where I go down to New York just for the afternoon and evening (usually for a Yaddo get-together), then I take a late bus back so I can (in theory, anyway) have the whole next day at home to be productive. Here are some pics from a quick trip down the week before last:
A light meal before yoga class at Jivamukti NYC: an Abundance smoothie (cherries, strawberries, raspberries, cocoa, coconut water) and steamed kale with turmeric tahini dressing. They do say you should eat as colorfully as possible, right? I got off the bus feeling generally off kilter, but this snack totally pepped me up for yoga.
(I went back for a sandwich after class, and overheard a guy telling his companion about a friend of his who buys old clothing on eBay with weird stories attached. For instance, she once acquired a 19th-century wedding dress with a gaping hole in the bodice, with dried blood still visible around the edges. It seemed the groom was already married, and when his first wife found out about the illegal wedding she came to the church and stabbed the second bride in a jealous rage.)
Then I met some of my Yaddo buds at Congee Village on Allen Street for dinner:
Afterward we headed across the street to Berkli Parc for wine and coffee. My bus wasn't leaving until four (I know, I know! I am nuts), so it was actually the smart thing to do to order two "dirty chai" soy lattes (i.e., chai + espresso) between 10 and 11 o'clock at night. BOING BOING!
I got good work done in the almost-hour after everyone else headed home, and when the cafe closed at midnight I went to Penn and wrote in the 24-hour Au Bon Pain on the lower level. (No way I was gonna wait for more than twenty minutes at the Port Authority. That place is sketchtastic.)
Pretty street art.
(Um, what? I Googled, to no avail.)
I may not be ahead of the trend after all...
@cometparty you working at a 24-hr coffee shop while waiting for your 4 am bus was inspiring. I have the poem taped to my journal. Thank you
— Mieke Zamora-Mackay (@MZMackay) March 28, 2014
Scrumptious Meals along the Eastern Seaboard
On New Year's Day Kath drove us to Providence to celebrate the start of 2014 with Elizabeth, and we had a gorgeous brunch at the Garden Grille. This tofu scramble had kale, caramelized onions, and Daiya cheese.Then we all treated ourselves to carrot cake (which tasted just as awesome as it looks):
In the evening Meg came over with an Ethiopian-inspired curry with squash and kale, which we enjoyed after cocktails Elizabeth made for us.
Back in Boston (a couple weeks later): a post-yoga brunch at Veggie Galaxy. Tofu omelet with leeks, soy chorizo, and Daiya cheese. SO GOOD.* * *I combined last weekend's quickie trip to Miami with a visit to North Carolina to see Kelly and her family. On our first full day together she took me to Parker & Otis for lunch, where I had a hearty avocado-and-white-bean-spread sandwich on whole grain bread:
Parker & Otis is a cafe-cum-upscale-general store with an excellent selection of tea and chocolate (much of which is vegan!)
A gourmet hot chocolate with almond milk at Cocoa Cinnamon. (Photo by Kelly.) 
On Friday night (after an amazing yoga class at Loving Kindness in Carrboro) I cooked up some roasted red pepper fritters, which is my 21st-century vegan answer to the chicken cutlets of my childhood. (Recipe forthcoming! It's a little time consuming but pretty straightforward, and it always gets rave reviews from meat eaters since it's breaded and fried. Tricksy!) We also made pasta primavera and a salad of mixed greens, pumpkin seeds and avocado with olive oil and balsamic vinaigrette. (Paired with a bit of bubbly, of course.) 
A simple hummus-and-veggie wrap gets the job done. (Photo by Kelly.) 
I'd have picked up a jar of this chai almond butter if it hadn't had honey in it. So I took a picture instead to remind myself to try my own version at home someday, maybe with maple syrup? 
On Saturday night we had an excellent dinner and cocktails at Fiction Kitchen in Raleigh. Purple sweet-potato cakes on a bed of lentils, topped with cashew cream and garnished with greens and beet puree. (We split this for an appetizer; I had a big salad with cashew cheese, local apples and beets for my main course, but I couldn't get a halfway decent photo of it.)* * *Now on to Miami:
Breakfast at Choices: raw acai blended with banana and almond milk, topped with organic fruit, coconut flakes and granola; a Cocobliss smoothie with young coconut, cacao, goji berries, almond butter, chia seeds, agave and ice; and a side of tempeh bacon (which was more like BBQ tempeh, but whatever, it was good!) 
Got this iced coffee at Choices for an afternoon pick-me-up (seeing as I had to get up before 4am to catch my flight). The cayenne was more subtle than I was expecting, but it still hit the spot! 
An awesome dinner at Books & Books: the kale and quinoa bowl off their vegan menu, sweet potato fries, and a green iced tea.Miami also has a vegan bakery called Bunnie Cakes, but I decided to skip it since 1, I was ridiculously full after that big brunch at Choices, and 2, Kelly had spoiled me rotten with coconut and almond-based ice cream for three nights straight, so I was feeling a bit maxed out sweets-wise. I'll check it out next time!
23 Hours in Miami
10:30am: for breakfast, the acai bowl at Choices Café. 
11:30am: walking to the bus stop for Miami Beach. 
1pm: the Wolfsonian. 
...and what I came for. 
3:30pm: a few quick notes. 
4:15pm: checking in at my AirBnB room. (Wonderful hostess, needless to say.) 
5pm: yoga on the beach. 
6:30pm: yoga over. 
7pm: twilight surf frolic. 
8pm: Books & Books for a delicious dinner and Rachel's debut novel. 
9:30pm: "Home" again for a shower, chocolate (thanks, Kelly B!), and another really good book.
I Praise the Cleanliness of Rwanda
(Continued from In Which We Are Nearly Trampled by an Elephant at Midnight.)
So we had that late-night incident with the forest elephant, and I tossed and turned until morning (or would have, had there been any room to). It had occurred to me that I'd been eating pineapple, and at bedtime I got lazy and relieved my bladder at the edge of the campsite. What if the elephant smelled pineapple in my pee??I became increasingly convinced of my guilt as the day went on and we packed up and set out for Kigali, the capital of Rwanda. (Immigration control was more tedious than we expected, but then that is the definition of bureaucracy.) 
Apart from a bit of ongoing car trouble, our evening in Kigali was very enjoyable. The hostel is wonderful (lovely breakfast included—awesome homefries not pictured), and we had filling burritos at a Chipotle-esque place down the street. Then we took two taxis downtown for some proper exploring. 
After awhile of wandering the residential back-streets, where children ran up to us and grabbed our hands to make sure we were real—everywhere we went kids would gleefully shout “mzungu!", which means "white person" by way of "ghost"—we stopped for juice at a random restaurant on the main drag. I said, “Guys, I have to tell you something. I think it's my fault we almost got trampled by an elephant."I told them my theory about the pineapple pee, and they said I was being ridiculous. (Whew!) 
I was comfortable with the vibe in downtown Kigali; apart from the kiddos, I don't remember anyone looking at us as if we were remarkable. We even met a guy who tried to sell us sunglasses at nine o'clock at night. 
The next day we headed south to Nyanza, former seat of the Rwandan kings. There's a reconstructed palace compound, which is well worth a visit—we had a very friendly and knowledgeable tour guide, and the cattle herder sang a beautiful pastoral song as we toured the farmyard—and a newer and much grander palace on a hill is now the site of the Rwesero Art Museum. Lots of interesting contemporary art—sculpture, especially—but the children's room was our favorite. 
Next post: Lake Kivu, then back to Kigali to visit the Genocide Museum.
Peace and Ease (another weekend in Providence)
In peace and ease she spends her happy days,And fears no envy, as she courts no praise.
—Elizabeth Scot
There are many things I love about visiting Elizabeth in Providence, but going to the beach is pretty high on the list. 
Amiee flew up from Philadelphia and we had a magical time—literally magical. We each had some important inner work to accomplish, and the process becomes so much smoother and more joyful when your "soul pod" is helping you through it. I had a lot of letting go to do.Of course, nourishing the spirit starts with physical nourishment. We had beautiful food at every meal. 
Sunday evening we went to Wildflour, a vegan bakery/café, followed by dinner at the Garden Grille (which I believe is owned by the same folks). Like I said, I'm trying to listen to my body, and between two gorgeous cups of coffee with steamed almond milk and cinnamon (thank you, Elizabeth!) my body'd had enough sugar for one day, so I regretfully passed on the bourbon truffles. 
That said, fresh juice is just as much a treat to me as a cupcake. That sounds a tiny bit crazy, but it's true—especially since juice never winds up feeling like too much of a good thing. 
More "detox" for dinner: this salad with mango, beet, avocado, and orange was light but satisfying. The service at the Garden Grille is great too! I told Bristol about our meal and she mentioned that they've opened another restaurant in Providence called the Grange, so we'll have to check that out the next time I'm visiting.
Up and Writing!
I'm thrilled to announce that I'll be teaching at Squam Art Workshops next fall! The class is called Up and Writing and it's designed to help you evolve from a person who daydreams about being a writer into one who actually writes. You may look at my books and see a gulf of experience between you and me, but there isn't, really—as I mention in my first Flashwrite episode, I spent a good deal of time talking and thinking and reading and dreaming about shaping words into stories before I developed a writing practice in earnest.How did I become a "real writer"? More to the point, how can you? Sign up for the workshop and find out! A week at Squam is an incredibly life changing experience in general—you breathe in the delicious pine-scented air, go swimming in the lake, count stars (and lose track), listen to the loons calling at night, learn a lot, get crazy inspired and make friends for keeps. Squam is the closest thing I have ever found to heaven on Earth.Registration doesn't open until January, but you can pre-register to save your spot. I just pre-registered for Spring 2014 and I'm over-the-moon excited. A really cool online workshop with Harriet Goodall—Gift of the Heart—just launched today as well!
In Which We Are Nearly Trampled by an Elephant at Midnight
(Continued from The Long Road to Rushaga.)
We fell into our tents that night, tired and happy to be reunited sooner than expected. When Jill and I woke up the others were already off on their gorilla trek, and we had a languid morning—fresh fruit for breakfast and "showers" before walking back to Rushaga for a tour of the village. 
The village walk was fun, if a little awkward at times. Inescapably you become—as if you weren't already!—a very silly tourist. That said, we really enjoyed watching the ladies dancing and weaving trivets and baskets. (I'd intended to post a video I took of the dancing, but now that it's time it doesn't feel quite right to put it up. Does this make sense? Maybe it will if you keep reading.) Everyone was very kind and friendly, and genuinely so, as far as we could tell. 
This may look like poverty by first-world standards, but we got the sense that the people of Rushaga were quite content with their lives. Enuth, our guide, told us that everyone here is adequately fed—that all their basic needs are met. 
Still, it was hard not to feel horrified by the state of their schoolhouse, and I was very awkwardly aware of how privileged (and therefore ridiculous) I must look as an American tourist. We're told on the nightly world news and charity infomercials that children all over the African continent are living and dying in abject poverty, and it's hard to tell how "typical" a place like Rushaga is when their situation just outside a national park no doubt greatly benefits their economy.What I'm trying to say is, I felt grateful all over again for the many blessings and opportunities I've been handed, but at the same time I didn't want to think of the people I was greeting as deprived in any way. An unresolvable paradox, I suppose. 
After our tour of the village, Jill went back to rest and Enuth took me past the camp to the most perfect waterfall I've ever seen. On a hill across the narrow valley I spotted Spencer coming back from his gorilla trek and called to him that we'd be eating lunch soon, which felt a little bit magical—finding the familiar inside the unfamiliar—or at least way more coincidental than it actually was. 
We had a lovely (if wonky) meal that evening—including freshly made guacamole served with potato wedges. Jill and I stayed up late having a heart to heart (they happen naturally enough when you are tent-mates), and around midnight one of the camp staff came over to ask if we had any pineapples in our tent.Wha? (Of course not. Rule #1 of camping = no food in the tent.) The man explained that an elephant had been spotted in the forest outside the village, but not to worry, they'd be awake and vigilant all night long. Elephants love pineapple, apparently.(Oh, and have I mentioned that there are no protective barriers between campsite and forest?)Jill and I kept talking for another hour or so, and then I got up to pee. Contrary to what the attendant had told us, no one appeared to be around or awake. A few minutes later, bladder relieved and all ready for beddy-bye, I reached for the tent zipper...and heard a stomping noise, and the sound of cracking branches and shuddering leaves, in the trees just beyond the campsite.I froze. And heard it again.SHIT! SHIT SHIT SHIT! We are about to be trampled by an elephant and we can't see a thing!Jill was still awake, of course. She followed me down to the cabana where our meals were served, and we only briefly wondered if we were overreacting. (Hells no, we weren't overreacting! A day or two before a mama elephant had nearly charged the Land Cruiser, an experience which dosed us with a healthy fear of elephants. We'd unintentionally driven between her and her baby.)Kate and Elliot came down a minute later, having heard the stomping noises for themselves. Spencer was wearing earplugs, but we finally managed to rouse him, and we all grabbed our sleeping bags and piled into an empty banda. 
(A banda is a one-room hut; ours had three single beds in it. We made do.) From a journal entry the following day:At first I couldn't get settled in the banda—too much nervous energy—and when I realized Jill was chewing Nicorette to calm down and now had to figure out how to dispose of it, I cracked up giggling, and eventually Elliot cried out in exasperation, "I feel like I'm camping with a bunch of three year olds!"Sorry for keeping you awake, Sir Pooh. In the morning we ventured out of the banda to find our tents intact, but I don't feel the slightest bit ridiculous for being on the safe side. Besides, it's the best story of the trip. (All Uganda and Rwanda entries.)
Eating Out in New York, continued
I've been down to New York twice in one week—first for a Yaddo "family reunion" at the Brooklyn Brewery last Wednesday night, and then to see a very dear friend visiting from far away. Naturally, I ate a lot of gorgeous vegan food. 
I haven't ever spent much time in Williamsburg, so I Googled to find a list of vegetarian eateries near the Brewery. Bliss Café was the most convenient—cute, romantically lit, and bustling even at 6pm on a Wednesday. I ordered a "bliss bowl"—steamed kale and other veggies with beans, rice, tempeh, and lemon-miso dressing—a simple but delicious meal, washed down with beet-carrot-ginger juice. 
I've been treating myself to a lot of dessert lately. (My birthday is tomorrow, after all!) This brownie, alas, wasn't nearly as moist and flavorful as the vegan walnut brownies at the Armory café, but at least the coffee was top notch. Overall I can't say I'd hurry back here—the service was a bit "oh? you want to eat? all right then, you can sit there I guess," and I do prefer to patronize restaurants that are 100% vegan. 
The Yaddo party was fantastic—I didn't sample the brew (although most of their beers are vegan), but I made new friends and reconnected with a few members of my original posse. After the event we moved to a dive bar down the street. I was taking the train back at 2:40am, but I didn't actually have all that much time to wait around beforehand! 
I found a 24-hour deli near Penn Station selling vegan cookies. Much much better than that Bliss brownie, but it tasted disconcertingly like egg nog! So the spices were there, but not in the right proportions, I don't think. And not enough pumpkin, clearly. That said, it was going on 3am and I was hungry, so it did the job.Now on to visit #2: 
Yesterday was one of the very happiest days of 2013, hands down (tell you why later). My friend and I talked for hours over a thoroughly delicious quinoa and avocado salad at Peacefood Café on the Upper West Side. We also ordered gingerade and chickpea fries, of course! 
Polished off lunch with a Brazilian nut chai and a chocolate-dipped macaroon. You wouldn't know it was vegan, right? SO SO GOOD. I also have to give Peacefood a shout-out for some excellent customer service. I love it when a server actually says "Welcome! How are you?" 
Alone again at half past nine, I headed downtown to a restaurant I used to love in my NYU days called Quantum Leap (Yes!), but I was disappointed to discover they now have fish on the menu. (New owners, probably.) So I went to Sacred Chow just around the corner (which I love, as you know), and even though they were about to close, they still fed me and didn't rush me out. Not only is their food really good (especially the tapas!), but their service is hands down the best of all the New York restaurants I have ever been to (not just the vegan ones). It is very rare to find a bustling restaurant where the staff make you feel totally comfortable about dining solo (and in the case of my first visit, taking up three empty seats). I said as much to my server, who replied that the owners made a conscious decision to make people feel welcome even if it meant losing a bit of money in the short term. Smart, right?—I keep coming back! Last night they had a Caldo Verde soup special, with kale and onion and potato in coconut broth, and it warmed me up beautifully.A bunch of us are going to Veggie Galaxy tomorrow night for my birthday, so I'll have to blog about my chocolate banana frappé next week!
The Long Road to Rushaga
After three nights at Queen Elizabeth National Park, we headed down to Bwindi Impenetrable Forest National Park. That day turned out to be longer and crazier than we ever could have anticipated! First we drove several hours to Buhoma only to realize that Kate, Elliot, and Spencer were signed up for gorilla trekking on the opposite side of the park, at Rushaga—meaning that we'd have to drive all the way around the park to get there. "Buhoma," Spencer sighed. "The campground of lost dreams." (Several days later we realized how this mix-up had occurred: Dorcas, our travel agent, had explained the arrangements to Spencer when she'd woken him up one night at 3am California time. I wouldn't have gotten it straight either.)
The second snafu happened an hour or so en route to Rushaga. It became increasingly clear to Colin and Elliot that the brake pads needed to be replaced, and when we pulled over (in the middle of noplace, mind you) it seemed like we were as good as broken down. The kids had to face the possibility that they'd lose $500 apiece (gorilla trekking ain't cheap, which is why I opted out), and the prospect was a tiny bit painful. 
Then another van came along with only two passengers—a honeymooning couple from Spain—and even though their guide saw our predicament as an opportunity rather than genuinely wanting to help, he got the job done. Jill and I said goodbye to my sister and the guys, figuring it would be at least twenty-four hours before we saw them again.Colin wanted to press on—to find a town with a mechanic—so we got back on the road not too long after they did. What's the worst that can happen?, I thought. We spend the night in the car. No big deal. 
It was a strange afternoon and evening. Even though we really missed the kids, driving all that way through some absolutely gorgeous mountains with a squeaky brake was a weird sort of bonding experience for Jill and Colin and me. I felt calm because I knew everything would be fine. "I will get you there, and I will keep you safe," Colin said. And he did. 
We arrived at Rushaga after nightfall, and walked down to the Nshongi campsite with our bags. The place was packed with a large tour group who'd done the gorilla trek that day, so much so that when the kids showed up the staff initially told them there wasn't any more room. We found them putting up their tents on the edge of the site, and Kate jumped in surprise when she saw me. It felt so good to be reunited much sooner than we'd anticipated. 
We didn't get even one proper meal that day, but we made up for it the day after—and the kids got to see their gorillas! 
There's much more to tell you about Rushaga, of course—Jill and I took a tour of the village, which was really lovely, and late that night we got the fright of our lives!
Queen Liz, part 3
(Queen Liz part 1, Queen Liz part 2.) We stayed at two different settlements in Queen Elizabeth National Park—two nights in Mweya and one night at Ishasha. While we were stopped at the gate on the way in, a baboon with a hurt paw (a piece of barbed wire stuck in his skin! so sad!) sidled up to the car and seemed to be begging for food.I looked down and gasped. I had seen my first (and only, so far) baboon willie. It was bright pink and as long and thin as a drinking straw. 
Ishasha is not renowned for its exhibitionist baboons, however. People go there to see the climbing lions. 
Two lionesses asleep in a fig tree. (HOW AWESOME IS MY LIFE??) 
The Ishasha campsite was in a pretty clearing in the woods by a river. Baboons and hippos in close proximity, but there were guards keeping us safe. 
There were lots of highlights in Ishasha—the lions, our hearty alfresco dinner that night, and a nature walk with Bernard, who proved himself an excellent guide. I picked up a lot of animal facts (elephants are sexually mature at the age of twelve, and their pregnancies last 22 months; hippos spend 90% of their time in the water, and grow up to 3½ tons; colobus monkeys don't have thumbs), but my favorite part was when he explained why he believes the first Homo sapiens lived in Uganda. "When you are here," he said, "you are at home." A lovely thought. 
(All Uganda and Rwanda entries.)
Sempre e Più
In the end, of course, you will take what life offers, but often life offers more to people who ask more of it.
—Garrison Keillor as Mr. Blue
When I landed in Florence for a semester abroad in January 2002, I didn't have a ready-made friend group to fall into. I can't recall without digging out my old journals how I was doing emotionally in those first few days and weeks, but I do remember how excited I was to be living in a 17th-century villa with a cappuccino bar downstairs. (RIGHT?! That cappuccino got me halfway through my practice novel, but that's another story.)I also very clearly remember, in late January or early February, taking a phone call in the cafe area long after the barista had left for the night. I'd met Aravinda on a school trip to D.C. the previous year, and although we hadn't quite become friends yet, she was having an issue with her roommates (in an off-campus apartment) and needed to talk it out. They were telling jokes that were upsetting her, and even after she explained why she was upset (without getting into it, I can tell you that she was totally justified in her reaction), the roommates and their friends carried on as if she hadn't said a word. As I listened to her speak so openly of her hurt and frustration, I realized that I really, really wanted to be her friend. She trusted me to listen, and because she'd reacted to the situation just as I would have in her place, I knew I could trust her back. 
We were friends from that night onward, and had lots of adventures in Italy together (and later on, in Ireland and Greece). Since she recently married a wonderful man named Nevin (which is why I was in San Francisco last month), I thought I'd take this opportunity to honor our friendship and all that I've learned from it. 
Aravinda is one of the very smartest and most exuberant people I know, which is a (rare) personality combo I've always found invigorating. I've made many friends over the years I've wanted to be more like, but my friendship with Min was the first in which I was mature enough to realize this consciously. 
People who know me in 2013 probably wouldn't peg me for an introvert (I'm an INFP, by the way), but being more friendly and open and outgoing is something I've consciously worked towards over the past decade. Looking back on my childhood and young adulthood, I see I was often fearful—afraid to express myself, to stick my neck out, to try new things instead of judging them. My perfectionism, too, kept me within a relatively narrow range of experience; for instance, when I got to Italy, I was so intent on speaking Italian properly that I never got around to having an actual conversation for all my hesitations. Aravinda, on the other hand, chatted away with every Italian she met, including my cousins in Sapri (on the Amalfi coast) when I took her to visit them.
Did Aravinda care if she got the grammar wrong, or used a wonky cognate from her years of high-school French?Nope.Guess which of us my Italian cousins enjoyed talking to more!I watched her in these interactions, and wished I could be like her: so articulate and enthusiastic she almost literally sparkled, candid to a fault—and yet, on the whole, she did not care what anyone might think of her. She was the first friend to read my early writing, marking up my chapters and often telling me, "This is good, but you can do better." I loved her for her frankness, because I knew she cared enough to tell me the truth.Most of all, Aravinda was never afraid to ask for anything she needed or wanted, and before I knew her it had never really occurred to me that I could (and should!) do the same. But it makes sense, doesn't it, that if you want to be a person who has good self esteem, you begin by making friends with kind and honest people who already have it? By the tender age of twenty Aravinda had already mastered the prime directive of Richard Bach's Illusions (which you'll find at the top of this page, because it is the simplest and most perfect advice ever): she was who she is, calm and clear and bright.Lucky for me, some of that sparkle has rubbed off. Today I'm the person I wanted to be back then, and it has a lot to do with my friendship with Minnie Minster. More than she knows, I bet. There are many varieties of friendship, but the best kind offers both friends a continual opportunity to grow into better versions of themselves. 
Aravinda is such a rare and lovely bird that to be perfectly honest, I doubted for a long time if there was a guy out there good enough for her. Here's something else I love about who I am these days: I actually enjoy being proven wrong.
Wedding photography by Ian Chin. 
