Greek Week

Last October, Dave and finally got to take our long-overdue, reschueduled honeymoon. After all that happened last year, we were in desperate need of a vacation.

So after two full days of travel (including the time difference), we arrived in Santorini, Greece. Although it was nearly midnight and totally dark, I could tell the Santorini Princess was going to be beautiful come sunrise. Our hotel staff had been eagerly awaiting our arrival since late that afternoon (we had a delayed flight from Athens and got to spend several hours in the Athens airport; we made good use of the time by buying a Greek-English language guide book and learning some key conversational phrases), and took us on a tour of the property that ended with perfectly chilled champagne in our room. I cannot say enough about the staff's friendliness, professionalism, and the level of service we received. Or for that matter, the friendliness of the Greek people in general -- they are just lovely!

We awoke the next morning to the most breathtaking view. Out the front door of our "apartment" was the lower deck of the pool. And because our hotel was built on the caldera, on the other side of the pool was a cliff straight down to the ocean. One morning we ordered room service for breakfast, and ate on our porch as we looked out over the vast Mediterranean Sea and the tiny specks of the other Cyclades Islands. Another night we went up to the top deck and had cocktails and appetizers while we took in a beautiful sunset. Add to that the fact that immediately to our right was the restaurant, and two doors to the left was the spa, and we couldn't have been happier with our room.

We spent our first day relaxing by the pool while George and Igor served us delicious and creative drinks, followed by a 90-minute couples massage in the on-site spa. That night after dinner we took a stroll to a nearby village for drinks at a local pub (or whatever the Greek equivalent is).

On day two we rented an ATV to go exploring around the small island. I think we covered every inch of road (and some areas that were not necessarily accessible by road) that day. We saw an ouzerie next to one of the 250+ churches on this island alone (even our hotel had a little church -- they were seriously everywhere!), and spent an hour trying to understand the story the owner was telling in broken English. Something about a donkey whisperer. The next two days pretty much went like this... breakfast at 11 am when we finally decided to get out of bed, a couple hours at the pool, several hours of riding around exploring and taking photos and stopping at roadside cafes, ouzeries, etc., then dinner in Oia at one of the many scenic restaurants there. Friday night we went out to a local club. I had tired of my casual clothes and flip-flops, and was excited to get dressed up and wear some high heels. Even though we were on an ATV. And even though we had to walk up and down cobblestone streets that were very steep because of the location of the town on the cliff. But it was still fun. Saturday night there was a rain storm, so we ordered room service and busted out a bottle of Ouzo for some strip Phase 10. (If you'd like the rules, we videoed the whole thing so I could remember how to play for future use, and I'd be happy to share -- the rules, not our video.)

Sunday we traded in our ATV for a Crossblade (way cooler than a regular Smart car), and went to the island's wine museum for a tour and some wine tasting. That night we were driving into Oia for dinner and came across a restaurant with a firepit. Since it was chilly that night, we decided this was where we should eat. Well, it turns out that this particular restaurant was where the local business owners came after they closed up shop. So we stayed for quite a while, listening to them sing and watching them dance, and soaking in the local culture. Monday was cold and windy, so we did some shopping and enjoyed a conversation at a cafe in Oia with another couple from Southern California.

The next morning we flew to Athens. We had planned one day in the capital at the end of the trip, to try to see some of the amazing historical and mythological sites there. Our cab driver was hysterical. He went on and on about where we should go (at least I think that's what he was saying -- we only undersood about every 10th word), and gave us some maps of the city that looked like they had been used more than a few times. Then when he dropped us at our hotel, he insisted I take his bright orange Shell Oil laniard (which was rather dirty) to hold my cell phone (which didn't work in Europe) and hotel key (which was a card, not a key). He was the sweetest man. Anyway, we spent 6 hours or so walking around the city, visiting the Acropolis, several temples, the national garden, the Olympic stadium, et al. And then after a quick nap, we found a great little wine bar near our hotel and had a leisurely dinner with a couple bottles of wine and played cards for three hours.

Then it was time to come home. Ten days is a perfect amount of time to feel like you've really gotten away, but in Europe it's just not enough because you're barely starting to become accustomed to the more relaxed lifestyle.

As soon as we finish editing and captioning the hundreds of photos we took, I'll post a slideshow if I can figure it out, or at least a few more photos.

Garza Azul

Hey there, faithful readers (if there are any of you left)! I can't believe how long I've been away. A lot has happened in the last six months, and a lot has changed. So here I bring you the first of several installments chronicaling the new and improved life of Nicole.

We went to Mexico for Thanksgiving. But this vacation was not to a typical resort town in Mexico, with tourists everywhere, modern amenities, overpriced restaurants and multiple entertainment options. Rather, we were headed to a tiny village just south of Guadalajara. True Mexico, where no one speaks a lick of English, but where everything is authentic and somehow charming despite its primitiveness. At first mention of the trip, I was a bit concerned about having no phone, no Internet, no connection of any kind to the outside world. But I quickly embraced the idea of a relaxing retreat from our stressful lives, with nothing to do for an entire week but lay by the pool, read, play games, shop in the local villages, and eat authentic, home-cooked meals.

After a five-hour flight from Los Angeles, followed by a one-hour drive from the airport in Guadalajara to the house we rented in the remote area of Lake Chapala, we were ready to settle in and start the relaxation. But we soon discovered that there were a few omissions in the description and photos on the American owner's web site. First, the house was home to the largest spiders I've ever seen. And you couldn't kill them because they ate all the other bugs. I had to take a Xanax every night just so I could fall asleep with the 3-inches-in-diameter spider on the wall directly above my head. The pool was infested with wasps and all other manner of flying, stinging insects. I got stung once and decided not to go back, so I didn't come home with a winter tan like I had hoped. Our room was filled with gnats the first night because someone left the light on the night before we arrived. Said room was also on the side of the house with no hot water, so showering was a major production. And there were bats there, including one baby bat who took up residence in the corner of our bathroom.

But it wasn't all bad. We played A LOT of games. Which is one of my favorite things to do. We spent time in the surrounding pueblos, and I learned that I actually know more Spanish than I thought. I woke up every morning at whatever time I wanted, and did Pilates on one of the many balconies overlooking the lake. We were with a great group of friends, one of whom was formerly a professional chef. So we ate a lot of fantastic food made with the freshest ingredients and, of course, did our fair share of drinking. And Dave and I took some photos on the grounds (which were beautiful) that we were able to use in our save-the-dates.

I don't know if I'd go again. It was definitely lacking in some of the luxuries that I prefer on my vacations and just in life, in general. (I'm really not a roughing-it kind of girl.) But it was an adventure, and the memories are priceless.

Playing House

My boyfriend's parents treated us to a weekend of skiing and relaxation two weeks ago at their Sunriver, OR vacation house. We ate great food (my boyfriend is a fantastic cook!) and drank good wine. We stayed up late, slept in, took naps. We skiied on freshly fallen, perfectly powdery snow. We played games. We soaked in the hot tub after a little coaxing on his part (I was not about to walk outside in a bikini, where it was snowing and zero degrees!). It was peaceful and lovely, and so much fun to play house with him!

Aaahhh...

I had the best weekend. Don't even try to argue with me about it. It was the best.

We arrived Friday night at Sycamore Mineral Springs Resort after sitting in six hours of holiday weekend, rush hour, Southern-Californians-not-knowing-how-to-drive-in-the-rain, traffic. First order of business: a long soak in the private mineral springs spa conveniently located on the deck of our room, accompanied by a delicious bottle of local Pinot Noir. Second order of business: none of your business!

Saturday morning, after sleeping in and another soak in the spa (in the rain, which was surprisingly fun), we were both treated to a relaxing massage. Then, it was off for an afternoon of wine tasting. Several vineyards, the equivalent of a bottle of wine each, and at least a case of purchased wine later, we indulged in an afternoon nap before heading out for dinner.

Dinner was interesting and may deserve its own post, but a long paragraph will have to suffice. Imagine the tackiest place you've ever been. I guarantee you, it will pale in comparison to this place. Upon first arriving and getting a brief glimpse of the lobby, we were a little apprehensive. But we were given a recommendation from a trusted source that the food at the Madonna Inn restaurant was excellent, so we pressed on. While waiting for our table (because who would think a place like this would be so popular as to need a reservation), we had the opportunity to more fully explore the premises. Red velvet jacquard walls with elaborate gold-framed mirrors surrounded us. Even the wall made entirely of mirrors had extra gold-framed mirrors hung on it. Flying golden cherubs were everywhere, most holding candle-lights. In honor of Valentine's Day (at least I hope that's the reason), there were no less than ten large, red-and-white papier mache hearts hanging above us at any given spot. Thousands of white lights produced an ambient glow that I'm sure was intended to be much more subtle. A swing band of nine men in their 60s, who I can only imagine had been playing there since the grand opening in the 1960s, was playing on the stage in front of the dance floor. All chairs and benches were made of thick, pink leather-like material and dark, elaborately-carved wood. The carpet had huge pink and red roses surrounded by greenery. Multi-colored, heavy, ornate goblets were set on pink linens at every table. Our table was apparently special -- it faced a man-made lattice corner, and we sat with our backs to the other restaurant-goers underneath a huge man-made tree. The food was good, as promised, and Juro (our waiter) gave us two free desserts -- I just wish we had thought to bring a camera to memorialize the whole experience. Too bad we didn't get to see any of the rooms while we were there!

Sunday morning, we slept in again and enjoyed another soak in our private spa before heading home via a leisurely, scenic drive down the coast.

Despite the fact that I got sick from slowing down after a couple of weeks of non-stop busy-ness, it was a lovely, romantic weekend that I hope to repeat in the near future.

Vegas, Baby!

Labor Day. It's the official end-of-summer blowout. Some parties are civilized BBQs with friends and family, and others are slightly, well, less-civilized.

This year, we went to Las Vegas to celebrate (read: our celebration was more of the less-civilized variety). Hungover from our night out on the town, we decided it would be a good idea to hit the lake. ('Cause nothing makes your hangover headache worse than dehydration from more booze and an entire day in the sun.) Lake Mead was overflowing with boats, all packed to capacity and complete with drunk drivers. Always a good time.

There were shenanigans, tom-foolery, and bally-hoo throughout the day, and it was a blast. A few highlights:

X Games, Here We Come!

So, cabin weekend 2005 was super-fun.

I had a minor bout of depression just before we left. Not because I was afraid of breaking one (or more) of my limbs into a thousand pieces. No. Because JS was dreadfully sick. So sick that he wasn't going to be able to come. All the planning. All the anticipation. All the excitement over the fun that was to be had. All the pre-paid, non-refundable reservations. I was so sad as I left my gig to drive up the mountain. By myself. With two other couples. And while I do so love being a fifth wheel, this wasn't exactly the weekend I had envisioned.

Being the only single member of the group, I got stuck with the sofa bed instead of getting one of the two rooms. I awoke Saturday morning tired and sore from a not-so-good night's sleep, and feeling less-than-enthusiastic about skiing solo with the lovely couples. Luckily, skiing turns out to be rather like riding a bike. I was sure of what I was doing after our first run, and by the end of the day, I had graduated from green circles to blue squares and I was feeling pretty confident that I'd be back to my talent of yesteryear in no time at all.

But the fact that I didn't fall even once during my first day back on the slopes wasn't the best part of the day. By the time I got out of the shower that evening, JS had arrived at the cabin.* He was still sick, but feeling much better than before. The others had decided to do a bit of late skiing, so he and I enjoyed the jacuzzi and a glass of wine for a while until they returned from a hard day's work. After dinner, we all played games and stayed up way past our bedtimes. I was still stuck with the sofa bed, but at least I had some company for the second night.

When we hit the slopes on Sunday morning, I was so happy that even a crippling fall couldn't have broken my spirit. JS is an even better skiier than I imagined. The grace and ease with which he shooshed down the hill both inspired and challenged me, and by the end of day two, I was skiing black diamonds again.

So the weekend getaway ended happily after all.** No falls. No broken bones. No broken hearts. Just some super-cute pictures and some really good times.

*To be fair, I actually knew he was coming up. We had spoken earlier in the day. But isn't the story so much better if he surprised me?
**Except for the part where my car got towed, but I chose not to include that part, on account of I think it sucks the fun out of the story.

"Break a Leg"

A pre-show phrase I've become accustomed to, working in the entertainment industry. However, I fear that I may actually do so this weekend.

In approximately three days, sixteen hours, and forty-nine minutes (approximately), I will once again brave the wintery slopes on skis after a hiatus of something like seven years. Of course, I'm terribly excited about the weekend getaway that JS and I will be taking, especially since it will include apres-ski soaks in the jacuzzi in my new Brazilian bikini, game night in front of a toasty fire with Em and M (cute, huh?), and far too much alcohol. But I can't help but feel a tiny pang of apprehension about the whole skiing part of the weekend.

With my ex, J (seriously, what is it with me and men whose names start with this letter?!), I took up snowboarding. So it's not like I've been completely absent from the slopes for the last seven years. But I haven't donned skis and the requisite torturous ski boots in what seems like an eternity. Freezing my cold feet further, JS is an incredible skier. And I used to be, too. So now I feel pressure to jump right back onto the black diamonds of my youth. But I fear I may be stuck on green circles all day. Or end up gliding gracefully down the hill on the toboggan attached to the helpful ski patrollers' snowmobile, broken limb braced for the bumpy ride.

I can hardly wait!