wild thing

Whenever I travel, I come back having learned things I didn't know about myself. This particular trip pitched some heavy revelations I was no match for, but an exciting piece I found is - drum roll please - a newfound affinity for wilderness. Not sure exactly what it was, but standing in the midst of the bluest hues, inhaling tree-scented oxygen had me wishing I could be camping out there in the Rockies - sleeping outside in the open, stargazing the night away...

I'm no Thoreau, but the slight possibility that my recent development of love for nature and whole, untainted foods may point toward hippie leanings scares me. Four years in Smog City - aka the most park poor city in the nation - has clearly done some damage. I need to get out more.

Each body of water we came across wore a different tint of blue, and I could not be happier.

pebbles, unscathed

O Canada!

Getaways are magical. The idea of leaving everything behind and going somewhere, getting out of the everyday and into the unknown... enticing.

No matter how many times I travel, I'm always blown away by how I can hop on a plane and land in a whole new world in a matter of hours. Step out and greet foreign sights, smells, and cultures. The novelty of a place... but that's a different story for another time.

6:30 am (all thanks to selfless Connie, who escorted us to LAX at an ungodly hour), Air Canada A319 lifted off to the sun rising,

proceeded to fly right over the California coast,

 and in between dozing off and admiring the scenery, took us across the border to Canada.

 I dream of a day when pilots point out the landmarks we fly over. Is there an app for this yet?

Canada, you had me at hello. Or should I say first breath? Stepping out of our plane at YYC, we could immediately feel the 50 degree difference from the perpetual summer that is LA. Not just temperature-wise, but also in the quality of the air. So crisp, so clear that I subconsciously blurted out, "I love Canada!" a good 7 times within the first 10 minutes.

 Another first impression: the stereotype is true - Canadians are super nice. I've not had a more pleasant experience at the airport than at Calgary. From the security guys to the car rental workers, customer service was nothing short of stellar. So our journey on the ground began, excitement rushing through my veins. I wanted to hug this wonderful nation and every Canadian I met. 

wilderness called

so I went.

One morning, I woke up feeling extra spontaneous. Upon seeing this beautiful photo on Instagram, something deep inside me knew I had to go. Alberta was inviting me. I had to respond. I had to go and meet her.

I became the woman who looks in a mirror and immediately forgets what she looks like. The adventurer half of me scolded the logical half for unnecessary and excessive cowardice, namely its petty reason for giving up on the #creationtherapyinCanada trip a couple weeks ago - unpredictable weather come September. Beauty is worth the risk, it said. So what if it rains the whole time you're there? Better to go than wonder what could have been.

So we booked it.

While planning for the trip, I was scared that looking through too many pictures would kill the magic and ruin the awe factor when I actually arrived at scene. Boy, was I wrong. Everything was infinitely better than the best shot out there.

The real thing needs to be seen, heard, smelled, and experienced. In person.

On top of the inner perfectionist censoring my work as per usual, these photos are even harder to release, partly because my laptop is dying, partly because the past 2 weeks have been crazy, and mostly because my pictures don't do it justice. At all.

I tried to capture the beauty before my eyes, but I can't shake the feeling - the fact, I should say - that my work only conveys a tiny percent of the breathtaking glory that is the real deal. So please, go taste and see for yourself.

so close, yet so far

Sometimes you are at the right place at the right time but you're not used to the camera you borrowed, and it doesn't focus on the right subject.

So you cry. And release deep anguish via an all-too-real sigh.

And make an oath to come to the next game, with a different set of equipment. Immediately, you wonder, why do I do this to myself?

Touch down...

fútbol

is a high contact sport. Sometimes I think it's more dangerous than football - no helmet, no mouthguard, no shoulder pads; just wee little plastic boards for shin guards.

There's a lot of fighting for the ball.

Tripping,

shoving,

tackling,

arm grabbing... you name it.

It's also high speed,

and demands a whole lotta stamina. You run for 45 minutes straight, take a 10-minute water break for half-time, then give the field another passionate 45 minutes.

You gotta dribble and look up and find space and juke opponents all at the same time.

Soccer is not for the faint-hearted. Sometimes your heart drops as you watch the ball get too close to your goal. Followed by a sigh of relief when your goalie steps up.

Fouls, flops, and back-to-back action. It's a lot of drama.

Can you jump like a girl?