Hobbies (and hiking) for beginners

WORKING TITLE: Kali vs. Wild


Before I start raving and ranting about my latest adventure, let me explain why it's been a week since my last blog. You see, I've found these amazing things called hobbies. Originally my hobby was supposed to be blogging, but I quickly realized, thinking about blogging doesn't give me much to blog about.

So, I started thinking about how I have never really had a hobby. Do I love collecting postcards? Yes. Am I sitting around ordering old ones off Amazon.com? No. I mean, my guiltiest pleasure is reality TV (in particular the Real Housewives), but TV is not a passion; it prevents boredom. One might suggest I could also put a stop to my boredom by getting outdoors. Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't mind being outside, but I hate Oklahoma weather. In winter, it's abnormally cold; In summer, disgustingly hot... So do I want to go for a hike when I don't have a body of water to go to afterward? To be blunt, no. Do I want to go to a baseball game where I'm sweating more in the stands than the players on the field? Hell no. Sorry Redhawks, in Oklahoma, I would much rather sit at home and watch Bravo...

...But, not in California.

Well, to be honest, I would love to watch Bravo since my TV here has a solid 23 channels. These are not even regular broadcast channels. My channels are a hodge-podge. These are the leftovers no one out here wants in their Comcast packages. There is no Bravo; there is no ESPN. All I know about the World Cup is what I watch on Letterman, and I didn't even watch Letterman until I came here. Don't worry, I get to watch the occasional movie on Oxygen, the great shows on Animal Planet, and Fox News push their conservative political agenda... Oh, and the Military Channel. I actually watched a full-length documentary about the Civil War the other night. Okay, that last sentence isn't true, but if I wasn't so bored it might be promising? Let me just say, I am an MSNBC girl, and although Anderson Cooper is dominating the oil spill coverage on CNN, I miss my MSNBC.

After years of my dad making Seinfeld references and me not getting them (because I would rather watch Sex and the City), I finally watch the show at night. I have to admit it's funny, but I'm only watching it because I'm not a George Lopez fan (his show is on simultaneously). Nights aren't too bad, since I can handle late-night talk shows; however, during the day, I can only take so much repetitive news, which is exactly why I decided to find a hobby in the first place.

Last Wednesday I went to celebrate America's pastime at the Giants game. I was completely amazed a game against the Baltimore Orioles would be packed in the middle of the day. It wasn't just tourists at the game, either. It was real fans wearing their black and orange. Turns out, baseball is America's currentime, too. Maybe I would suffer for another $10 margarita and a "Giants dog" at the Dodgers game on the 30th, but that was two weeks away. So Gillian came to visit.

I know you might be asking yourself, "who is Gillian?" She goes to OU, and is spending the summer in the bay area for her internship. We have some mutual friends, so we decided to meet up and explore the city. Except on Thursday, because most of the city was "booked" through Sunday due to "high touirst season" (which we were so kindly reminded of by the guy selling tickets for a bay cruise). So, we went on the bay cruise, and then did the next best thing by having a few drinks at Fisherman's Wharf. Unfortunately, Gillian has actual commitments around here, so I had to find something new.

After an eventful few days, I decided I needed to really do something great and spruce this life up. Since the city is experiencing high season, most of the cable cars, buses, and streets are constantly filled with people. Since I can walk faster than any mode of transportation can get through traffic, I have been walking the streets and building up my stamina. So, I decided to take up hiking. This would be just the adventure I was looking for!

But first, I would need to prepare by purchasing supplies. Now, anyone who knows me can tell you I've been carrying some type of bag with me since I was out of the womb. My earliest memory is at 3 years old when I left my blue Minnie Mouse purse (with only Chapstick and my dad's college class ring inside) at Casa Bonita. Luckily, it was still there when we went back shortly after realizing it was missing. In fact, the joke with most of my friends has always been that, contrary to popular belief, I would be the one to get us off the deserted island. When my laser-beam-satellite-gps-radar-signal-radio didn't work, I would just build us a boat with all the stuff in my purse and get us out of there. This would be no different.

I headed to The North Face to buy a hiking backpack. I marched myself, through an area of town I assume would be similar to Detroit, to REI Sports for my supplies. Then, I headed off to Borders to buy books about hiking. Two days later, I packed my bag and headed out to Angel Island.

In all honesty, I hadn't heard much about Angel Island until this point. Prior to this, I probably would have shown up in flip-flops and a sundress. Luckily, I do my research. Now, I'll be the first to say I'm not a hiking expert. In fact, I don't have skill or expertise in any given area. But, I prepare myself enough to bullshit with the best of them and make you think I do. In reality, could I win Survivor? No. But could I make everyone THINK I could win survivor? Abso-freaking-lutely.

My friends who went on a recent camping trip with me can tell you I'm not much of an outdoor enthusiast, but I will certainly be ready for any unexpected encounter if you manage to get me out into the wildnerness. I read in one of my hiking books that overpacking can be an issue, but I figured the purses I carry everyday are bigger than my hiking bag, so I was going to (in typical Kali fashion) fill it to the brim. Like I said, I'm not an experienced hiker, but I knew those extra 5 pounds of "stuff" could save my life.

So, after packing my lunch (PB&J, wheat thins, laughing cow cheese, and an apple) and my backpack (trail mix, cliff bars, protein bites, water, plastic bags, flashlight, mini roll of Charmin toilet paper, multi-tool, kleenex, sunscreen, bug spray, cotton balls, hand warmers, space blanket, batteries, duct tape, hand wipes, safety pins, first aid kit, poncho, waterproof matches, candle, rubber bands, tweezers, whistle, compass, toothbrush, after itch cream, and tampons- I saw on Expedition Africa that they are highly flammable), I set out to catch the 9:45am Blue & Gold Ferry toward the Island of Dreams (not, the island of my dreams).

I didn't know what to expect, but this was a 5-mile hike. I can't tell you the last time I did five miles in anything (maybe when I ran cross-country seven years ago?), so I knew this would be interesting. I picked up my map and set off. I wasn't sure what I was doing, but in my new hiking gear, I certainly looked the part. Immediately, I faced my first obstacle: many, many, stairs.

Once I made it up the first set to the landing, I looked out at the view and thought to myself, "I can do this. This time last year (one year and one day, to be exact), I was in Peru climbing the mountain at Machu Picchu. No one even told us to take water, and that was a stair master for thousands of vertical feet." So, I held my head up high, and I made my way up the rest of the stairs to the path and began the rest of my walk.

Although Angel Island is a hotspot for tourists, many don't do much besides eat lunch at the cafe, see the visitor's center, or make the 1-mile walk to the Immigration Station. The 5-mile route is virtually a road circling the perimeter of the island, which is not crowded at all. Other than the occasional tour car (the kind you see at Universal Studios) passing by (and the people taking pictures of me hiking like I am the exhibit), the road is relatively quiet. I figured I would save the big hike up to Mt. Livermore for a different trip, since it would give me something to work toward. Nevertheless, I made my way around that perimeter, seeing different views at every angle.

Part of the island was cold, while other parts are warm. I faced Berkeley, making a circle to see Oakland and the Bay Bridge, then San Francisco Bay and Alcatraz. Not much of Golden Gate was visible due to fog, but the sun on a different side made the views of Sausalito and Tiburon look like the Mediterranean.

Nearly three miles into the hike, I noticed a sign for the route to Battery Drew (the island was used heavily for military purposes during WWI and WWII), but I kept straight on my trail. Marching right along to the beat of my own drum, I happened to look down and notice what I thought, at first glance, was a branch. Oh no, this was no branch. This was a snake. A real-life snake in the middle of the road.

Now, I'm not scared of a whole lot. I'm not afraid of spiders or bologna like some people, but the thought of anything the size of a stick being able to eat me, freaks me out. Ive never seen a snake outside of the zoo. My brother used to read that book about the Boa Constrictor, but as much as I love J-Lo, I couldn't even get through the movie Anaconda. Snakes on a plane? Umm, no! Snakes on the trail I'm walking on? No thank you; absolutely not! What was I going to do? Strangle it with my duct tape, stab it with my tweezers, or blind it with my reflecting mirror? These were not promising options. I mean, with my space blanket and my hand warmers, I was prepared for a freak blizzard to take place in Northern California near the coast, but I most certainly was NOT prepared for snakes.

I paused to listen for a rattling tail. Except, I was missing one tiny little detail: I didn't know what a rattling tail sounded like. There was a constant buzzing from other bugs, so how would I know if its tail was rattling? My mind quickly flash backed to the movie Troop Beverly Hills when they heard the snake in the swamp and ran off, but that's Hollywood. The truth is, you're not supposed to run. The best I could tell, it was a yellow-brown thing. They don't teach you about snakes in the hiking books. No, you have to buy a snake book for that. That, my friends, is Capitalism at it's finest. I'm sorry I didn't want to pay $15.99 for the Eyewitness Snake Book, just in case there was that 1% chance I had a snake attack. Even if I saw it, what would I do? Pull out the book and analyze it? I had a silent panic attack. I thought to myself, "I'm in the wilderness alone. No one even knows I'm here (except for my parents, the people at the hotel desk, and the hotel maids who would've seen the note of my whereabouts on my desk when they were cleaning my room). My picture would be all over the news, they would search the island like it was Aruba. But who will know I was swallowed by a snake the size of a coat hanger?"

With it's head forward and it's beady little eyes staring right at me, I walked backward.. SLOWLY. Luckily, I've watched enough TV (in places other than San Francisco) to know not to startle it. I decided to take the 100 extra yards and make the detour toward Battery Drew. And boy, what a sight it was. I'm still not actually sure what the batteries did for the military, but that little burst of energy (after the snake) scurried me along like I was the Energizer bunny.

Once I finished the hike, I was in good spirits. On the ferry ride back, I realized maybe I rushed into this whole hiking thing. The 5-mile trail? Totally do-able. 60 Trails within 60 Miles (one of the books I purchased)? Not so much. I mean, one little hiss from that snake and I'd be spending the rest of the summer in my room watching other people's hikes on the Discovery Channel. I can't imagine being in alone in an actual place with mountain lions or bears, and no tourists.

Even though I like to think I'm as quick on my feet as MacGyver or Bear Grylls, I'm nowhere close to being an expert hiker. Throughout the summer, I probably won't hike anywhere else, but I will definitely venture back to Angel Island (where I hope to climb Mt. Livermore). It's always comforting to know that a roof over my head, some bad television, and a new hobby, are just a ferry ride across the bay away.

"If you come to San Francisco, summertime will be a love"

"Travelling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things- air, sleep, dreams, the sun, the sky- all things tending toward the eternal or what we imagine of it." -Pavese

The above quote sums up the whole of what was my first week alone. The first few days, I was ecstatic. I was out and about all day every day, until the city quickly got the best of me. I didn't know anyone; I didn't know where to go, and in all honesty, the city was kicking my you-know-what. I was waking up early for morning walks, then I would go back home and get ready for my days, where I would walk, and then walk some more. To say the least, walking the hills takes some getting used to, so my legs needed a break.

Up to this point, I haven't actually been lost in the city, but just because I know where I am, that does not mean I haven't lost my way. I've missed bus stops here and there, and I've ended up a few blocks downhill from where I meant to go, which means, I have had to walk back up. I took a few days to rest, because, in short terms, I was exhausted. I'm not sure if the exhaustion was purely physical, either. I was mentally exhausted from leaving my comfort zone, and letting go of everything happening without me back home.

I certainly needed a few days to get adjusted and situated, because even when I don't have a "plan," my life still requires organization. No matter how care-free I get, organization is a key aspect of my ability to function in life. I took a few days to thumb through stacks of magazines and pick out places I would like to see at some point during my time here.

After a few low-key days, I managed to make it to the Curran Theater Saturday night to see a performance of "In The Heights." I bought a ticket from the Tix Bay Area box office in Union Square. The box office sells half-price tickets the day of performances, which is convenient for tourists looking for a cheap way to see the different shows.

Temperatures hit the 80's over the weekend (which is pretty much brutal for San Francisco), so Sunday I took advantage of the warm weather and went to Ocean Beach. In reality, Ocean Beach is only eight miles from where I'm staying; however, the amount of time spent on a bus for eight miles can quickly add up. The bus stopped on every block, so after about six miles, I got off the bus and foolishly decided to walk the last mile and a half or so. Even though it was hot and sunny inland, I could see the fog over the water, so I contemplated turning around. It was cold, foggy, and I could feel myself getting shin splints from walking in my flip flops. I decided to keep going, though, because if it was a total bust when I arrived, I could always

call for a taxi home.

Finally, an hour after I left, I arrived to a crowded stretch of sand. I couldn't see much due to the fog, but I figured I would stay anyway. A short time after that, the fog lifted, and I was able to see hundreds of people along the Pacific Ocean, enjoying their first summer day. This day was all I wanted it to be; it was perfect.

Over the past few days, I have been exploring my options of things I might want to do after college. Volunteering with the Peace Corps? Interning with Amnesty International? Working for a non-government organization in Peru? Some people might think these are a stretch for me, but I've always been a big dreamer. Even if I don't push myself with the little things, I usually manage to find a way to follow through with my large goals, without being limited.

At first thought, I didn't exactly accomplish anything I had hoped to in my first week. In hindsight though, I did exactly what I came here to do. I took a few days off to do what I said I would, which was breathe. I finally realized I came out here thinking things would magically just happen for me, and I couldn't have been more wrong. I came out here with the notion that simply just being here would change my life. In fact, it is not in my existing here that my life has changed, but rather, I have started to change upon the realization of not wanting to solely exist here.

As of today, I feel rejuvenated and ready to take this city on. Tomorrow, I am going to the Giants vs. Orioles baseball game, which takes place during the weeklong Giants County Fair. Granted, it's not Texas State Fair at the Cotton Bowl, but people watching is great entertainment. This week, I will also start volunteering with the AidsWalk organization, in preparation for their largescale July event. Next week, my best friend in the world comes to visit, so I am preparing myself (and the city) for that. As much fun as I'm having on my own, it is always nice to get into some trouble.

I have to give a shoutout to the women who work with my mother- since they are living vicariously through me this summer. Now that I'm back on my feet (literally, as of my morning walk), I promise not to disappoint.

The young and the restless

"I think San Francisco is the best place in the world for an easy life." -Imogen Cunningham


For as long as I can remember, I never imagined myself living in one place. I have always loved to travel, and being a woman on the go seemed like the perfect option. As much as I adore my parents, I never saw myself growing in Oklahoma, and I certainly never thought about calling one place home. That is, until, I fell in love with San Francisco.

The first time I traveled to the city was with my mom for my 20th birthday. Immediately, I knew this was a place I was capable of spending the rest of my life. My dad used to joke that every place I traveled to was my new favorite city, and a place I saw myself living. Of course, he was right, but something about San Francisco stuck with me.

I have been in the city almost a week now, and I have to say, the people and the places constantly amaze me. I have this innate fascination for everything the city has to offer. I wake up every day wondering what I will see next, and who I will meet along the way.

In my quest for something different, I am trying to give myself a new perspective. I have stopped planning... Well, I've stopped planning the way I normally would. I give myself an area I would like to explore, and I set out to do just that.

Today, I successfully conquered the public transportation system in my venture to find something out of the ordinary. I'm not talking about riding the Cable Cars; anyone can figure that one out. No; I am talking about riding the bus. I hopped on the #38 bus at the cross streets of Geary and Taylor, and I rode it about 15 blocks to Steiner. Since I've never lived a city like this, and the public transportation system is virtually nonexistent in my home state, I wasn't sure how it would go. Luckily, I have the ability to effectively read a map, so I felt fairly confident I could handle it. When I got off the bus, I walked 7 blocks south, where I found myself at the corner of Alamo Square.

Alamo Square sits on top of a hill, giving people one of the best views in the city. Although tourists usually come through the area to see the houses of the "Painted Ladies," (also known as Postcard Row), the park is mostly filled with locals who come to walk their dogs or eat lunch. Since the park is on the west of town, it is not nearly as crowded as Washington Square in North Beach (Little Italy). Crowded or not, Alamo Square is one of my favorite places to be.

After sitting in the park for a while, the wind got the best of me, so I decided to move downhill as I made my way toward the Haight district. The Haight area is best known as the epicenter of hippie culture, the most famous youth movement in history. In the 60s, people could walk down the streets and run into people like Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, or the band Grateful Dead.

To this day, the area is full of young, creative people "fused together by a shared pursuit- re-imagining what society could be. Teenage runaways still gravitate to Haight Street looking for peace, love, and understanding (TimeOut San Francisco)." Until now, the only time I spent in the Haight area was passing through on a bus during a tour of the city with my mom. Today, surrounded by young artists, musicians, and writers, I felt like I was a part of it. In the area, it is nearly impossible to feel trapped. Today, I felt free. I could breathe, which led me to realize I am accomplishing what I set out to do: find myself. This is the place to be inspired. This is a place where it is safe to dream, without fear of outside judgment.

Although I marveled at the area, my hunger got the best of me, so I stopped to eat lunch at Eddie's Cafe off Divisadero in Lower Haight.

On this cold day, a cup of coffee in a tiny restaurant fit the bill. The place could probably hold 25-30 customers, at best. Eddie's is a place where, like the bar in Cheers, everybody knows your name. Their unofficial mission: to get the customer in, serve them coffee or breakfast (any time of day), and get them out. The employees are efficient, and they genuinely care about their customers. In large cities, it is often hard to find community friendly places, that are in it for the people instead of the money, but Eddie's does just that.

After taking a few minutes to relax, I left Eddie's and made my way to the center of it all: the cross streets of Haight-Ashbury. The livelihood along these blocks comes from stores that sell hand-blown glass, smoking paraphernalia, edgy clothing, and vinyl records. I quickly found the vintage stores I had long heard about: Ambiance, Positively Haight, and Buffalo Exchange, where I bought a colorful scarf and a purple-studded-fur clutch purse for a total of $20.00.

These are not your average Goodwill thrift stores seen in the Midwest. These are the places where celebrity stylists and fashion editors find those pieces we all see in magazines labeled "vintage." These are the pieces we could never get our hands on... the pieces we all long for.

I quickly realized I could spend days in the Haight district, which is why I decided to leave. I had wandered into the area out of curiosity, not realizing I would feel so connected. I was getting caught up in my surroundings, and I was not sure I would be able to get myself back home. After taking a quick look at the map, I got on the #71 bus and rode the 25 blocks or so down Market Street. I saw the famed Orpheum Theater (where I hope to see Wicked sometime before I leave) and many other sights I recognized near the Civic Center and City Hall (where Joe DiMaggio married Marilyn Monroe). I exited the bus at Powell and Market Streets (where the Cable Cars turnaround), and I walked the two blocks back to my summer home.

At the end of the day, I realized I hadn't given myself enough credit. Even though I had navigated the streets alone once before (well, technically with my mother in tow, but she couldn't read a map to save her life), I was apprehensive about doing the same on my own. Ultimately, I made it safely to and back from a place where the streets are not labeled on my tourist map... A place I know I will find myself again and again... A place only the young (and the restless tourists) go to breathe, perhaps buy a vintage scarf, and dream.

Departing: The person I thought I was

Now Arriving... in the City by the Bay: The person I will become


"At the center of your being you have the answer, you know who you are, and you know what you want." -Lao Tzu


It's been just over two weeks since my first blog, and in those two weeks, it feels like so much has happened.

During that time, I ended my run at a part-time job. Even though I did the work well, part of me feels guilty for not putting my heart and soul into it; however, that job symbolized everything I don't want my life to be... everything I know I'm not. The workplace was small, the employees were few, and I spent my days there longing for a way out.

I spent some great last nights with my friends in my college town of Norman, Okla., and my hometown of Tulsa. Each time I said goodbye to a different group of friends, it was bittersweet. I still have a year of college left, but I know things will never be the way they were. I am determined to come back from this trip changed, and even though I want my friendships to stay as strong as ever, many of my close friends will graduate in December; I know it's only a matter of time before life takes us our separate ways.

I spent the last two weeks tying up loose ends... finding closure, in a sense, to a part of my life where I felt trapped. I have spent many years taking care of my friends, only to find out they didn't need me to. I finally realized I never spent time taking care of the one person who needed help the most... myself. I blocked off and masked my problems by focusing on everyone else's. My friends made me happy, but a lifetime of personal baggage was keeping me from being the person I know I am capable of being. I was suffocating. At 21 years old, I knew I would never survive if I didn't find a way out. I needed to stop breaking down; I needed to breakthrough. The only way I knew I could do that, was to spend the summer in San Francisco... The city of my dreams.

So, here I am, beginning my adventure; my search for clarity.

At first, I was wary of my parents flying out with me. I had this big vision of myself saying goodbye to them at the airport, as I embarked on this great journey ahead of me... A journey filled with opportunity and life lessons. The reality, though, was completely different. We spent the first few days together. I thought I wanted to just arrive here and figure it all out. The truth is, though, I needed my parents. Although I have studied abroad in the countries of Peru, Chile, and Puerto Rico, there was a loophole: I was never really alone. I took those trips with people from my university, so even though they were amazing experiences, I never really had to leave my comfort zone. It's my first day alone in this city, and for someone who has spent semi-substantial time in Spanish-speaking countries, I have never felt so far away from home.

As much as I'd like to think I am completely independent, the bottom line is, having my parents help while I got settled made a big difference. Instead of living on someone's couch via couch surfing or living in a hostel with multiple roommates and a communal shower, I am living in a private room with a private bath in one of a hotel's student residences. The room, in all honesty, is bigger than that of my college apartment, but it feels, in some ways, much smaller. For instance, I can barely get any clothes to fit in my closet, so I bought a clothes rack for $10, on which I can hang my dresses, belts, scarves, and purses- very Carrie Bradshaw-esque circa 1998. I also turned one of my suitcases into part of the room decor; my diverse magazines rest atop the sweaters that fill it. My jewelry (all costume pieces from places like Forever 21) is stored in kitchen containers and sewing boxes I found at The Container Store only a few blocks away.

Although it is not the studio apartment or penthouse I had always envisioned for myself (maybe one day), the residence is perfectly appropriate for a college student from Oklahoma. All the while, I have mixed emotions about my summer home; part of me thinks I have created a fashionable living space, while the other part of me knows that I will suffocate in this little room if I don't fulfill my potential and take advantage of everything this city has to offer. For this reason, I am determined to, for once and my life, really follow through with a set goal. I will explore. I will learn, about both the city and myself.

Right now, I am overwhelmed with emotions. It is the perfect catch-22. I wanted to be alone and now I am, but I still fear my friends will move on and have the summer of their dreams without me. I need this time for myself, and the truth is, my friends know I need it to. Any space they give me is because it's what I wanted... what I needed. So I hope I come back from this trip changed- with no more selfish thoughts of feeling left behind, because in all reality, I am the one who left them.

In any case, I hope they enjoy their time in Norman during their first, and what is likely to be their last, summer all together. In typical Kali fashion, I brought a memory box. A sparkly, sequined, silver, bejeweled box to hold my most precious memories of home- pictures of my friends and family, a red string from a silly game I made up on a recent camping trip, letters from friends, bar scribbles from my last nights out back home, and Sheepie- the precious stuffed sheep from a very close friend. Although my friends laughed at the idea of my box and told me the box should be for my "new" memories, we all know I have to do this my way. I need those memories to survive. Because even though I am running toward the unknown, I have to remind myself I am not running away from that life; I am just searching for something better for myself.
Ultimately, I am grateful for this opportunity my parents have given me. I have to admit outloud (or in this case, via the internet), that this opportunity was handed to me, so that I do not selfishly waste this experience. I often have a tendancy to stop short of ordinary, so I truly hope to find whatever it is I'm looking for. I want the best things for my friends and my family, but somewhere along the way I lost the ability to push myself. Deep down, I know I am worthy. Deep down, I know I can do great things.

This blog makes me accountable. I am putting myself out there. I refuse to let this blog be anything less than ordinary. Thus, my summer vow: I will write, photograph, wake up on a Sunday for Latin mass, go to lectures, pay $5.00 to hear bad comedians, see broadway shows, shop thrifty at flea markets and vintage stores, read books, meet new people, walk the Golden Gate, climb Twin Peaks and watch the sun rise, celebrate the city's diversity at Pride, take part in the Aids Walk, and volunteer. I will maximize my time. I will try new things. I will laugh. I will cry. Most importantly, for the first time in my life, I will live... without a plan and with only a dream. For eight more weeks, day after day, I will leave this room and its poolside view, and head out to the streets to get lost; in an effort to find myself.