Tales of an Epic Vacation

Posted in Misguided Musings by KJ Ivany

Who Loves Ya, Baby?

Part 2 Santorini, Greece

We spent time in various locations and islands in Greece. The first two days in Santorini, then a ferry to Naxos where we spent four days, then we headed to Athens for a night, catching our cruise the following day. While on the cruise, we also visited the islands of Paros, Rhodes, Crete, Kos and Syros. In summary, all the islands were beautiful, but our four days in Naxos was my favourite. We had more time to spend to experience more of the island. The cruise ports were more highlights and tastes of Greece than actual in-depth experiences.

We first landed in Santorini after our whirlwind in London of sightseeing and zombie-walking. A great opportunity to experience some of London, but something we should return to because friends are there now and just posted a picture of an Agathie Christie statue AND NOW I HAVE TO GO BACK TO SEE THAT UP CLOSE BECAUSE DAMMIT.

Our time on the plane from London to Santorini was more like an episode from Coronation Street, than any trip I’ve ever encountered. A bride and her three kids plus groom and mothers and future in-laws were trying to figure out seating arrangements, dress storage all the while battling it out with passengers trying to pass them in the aisle to get to their seats. It was so ridiculous we had dibs on streaming season two, because damn, what a show! Would the bride make it to Greece? Would she still be getting married to Joe seated away from her and the three kiddos, in the front row? Because Girrrllll, drink all that Prosecco. You have all your shit together with the kiddos and their snacks, tablets, and headphones calmly sitting by the window gazing out at the sunshine. He was ready to throw Mama from the plane with all the “conversation” over who should be sitting in the front row with him and questioning the dress situation WHICH BRIDESMAID ALREADY TOOK CARE OF SO SIT YO ASS DOWN! Seriously, hope they had a nice wedding. Hope season two will be streaming soon.

We had the pleasure of staying at Nevma Suites in Santorini. A cliffside hotel, with breakfast and our own patio overlooking the water. Lovely. Our first night we ate at a beautiful restaurant a little jaunt down a cobblestone pathway. The wind was gusty, but the stars were out. It was a lovely dinner. We stopped for beer and wine on our way back to our hotel at a store that was officially closed, but the owner took pity on us and let us in because a bunch of Canadians needed their beer to end their first evening in Greece. So nice!

The next day we travelled to Oia for the scenes and views and crowds…oh the crowds. When the cruise ships are in its hordes of people trampling up and down the cobblestone paths and alley ways. The sun was hot, and the winds were high. We stopped at the ruins of an old church to take some pics and wonder why we stopped at the ruins of an old church. We took a break for lunch at a restaurant named, wait for it, the Blue Dome. By the time we had returned to our drop-off point the crowds had dissipated and it was less like the herding of cattle and more like a regular crowd on George St. Only, a little less drunk.

Dinner that night was at the Wine Bar. Ohhhh, the trip to the Wine Bar was an adventure to end all adventures. Wind, sun and an astounding uphill climb for THIRTY MINUTES. I shit you not, GET A TRANSFER PEOPLE. We dressed in all our pretty dresses but sensible shoes because, “It’s a thirty-minute walk,” but THE PART ABOUT IT BEING COMPLETELY UPHILL MUST HAVE BEEN WHISPERED. I didn’t catch that. UPHILL? Fuck. Did we take breaks? Nahh, who needs a break? We are hearty Canadians! I did stop to admire the ladies who were getting their photos taken with the long dresses in the whipping wind over the cliffside. Probably a good idea I did not partake in such an event. One inch too far and KJ would have been decorating the side of the cliff with the dress left whipping behind.

Better to be on solid FUCKING UPHILL ground. So, we trudged on. By the time we got closer to the restaurant, I was sweaty, sweary and ready to sit on the side of the road waiting for someone to take pity on me and carry me back to the hotel. Again, we are hearty Canadians, and we made it to the bar. It was small and we had a big table outside overlooking the water to see the sunset over the cliffs. Amazing. Then, the wind came up. The sun went down.

Oooohhhh beautiful sunset, can we start the bonfire now, because FUCKING COLD. Seriously, cold in Santorini? It was more, KJ and the neighbours sitting on a patio watching the sunset with the 100km/h winds on the edge of Signal Hill, Newfoundland than heat-soaked Greece. We sat through our appetizers huddled in blankets and hoping the wind would fuck-off, but I think it got worse. We were then shuffled inside at the bequest of our newfound friend and organizer of the Wine Bar affair, whom I love and mean no harm in the above sarcasm and am eternally grateful for getting us a cozy spot inside to eat our meal and not be blown to shit in the wind. Our pics are great, by the way, especially of our hair blown about and looking like we just had a beat-down with a rabid raccoon, or was that just me? Ugh.

We got a TRANSFER BACK TO THE HOTEL BECAUSE THANK FUCK where we proceeded to pack and get ready for our next adventure to Naxos the following day via ferry. The ferry in Greece operates a lot like Mario Brothers on crack. You play chicken with the cars that are loading AT THE SAME TIME YOU ARE TRYING TO WALK ON THE BOAT so don’t walk the wrong way or Mario can’t save the princess and he loses a life that they don’t give a fuck about so just keep dodging traffic, and people and hang on to your luggage for fuck’s sake and look out of the way. Yeah, like that. F.U.N.

4Jul2023

European Adventure Episode 3 – You Gonna Drink That? Tuscany is My Motherland

Posted in Misguided Musings, Uncategorized by KJ Ivany

Following our days of hiking up the hills of Cinque Terre and the stairs that led to heaven, only to have to turn around because SOMEBODY went the wrong way, we were able to venture back to the ship virtually unscathed and ready to tackle the next day.

I don’t mean to overshadow our time doing the three towns of Cinque Terre. They were lovely, we shopped, and we climbed, and we ate. All the things one does in Italy. I didn’t want to bore you with, “Well, in this town we climbed a million stairs, climbed upwards among the cliffs, took some pictures then walked down again. The end.” Makes for a lackluster story. Especially since there was no falling, tripping or being thrown from an overcrowded bus. I know, it’s shocking but I really fared quite well. And that’s thanks largely to Hubby and friends who lent arms, elbows, shoulders, and other limbs to assist lest gravity had stepped in to overtake me leaving me to tumble down all the lanes, steps and cliffsides. “Watch out! Rolling Canadian incoming!”

_{Cinque Terre and those amazing cliffsides that no one wants to see me roll down!}

The following day, we connected with our tour guide Sara who drove us to Pisa and on to Tuscany for some wine tasting.

The day was cloudy and rainy which made for a quick trip to Pisa. We ventured around the tower, took the customary, “Oh-no-the-tower-is-falling-let-me-hold-it-up-with-my-little-hand-and-make-it-all-better!” poses, bought a souvenir, and tried to get our own Gene Kelly to do his singin’ in the rain routine, but he wouldn’t bite. Woulda been the best pic.

_{The tower is peeking around the corner to say, “Bonjourno!”}

From there, we ventured into the countryside of Tuscany. To say it was breathtaking is an understatement. We were awed by the lush farmland, the cypress trees lining the drives into the vineyards and the sprawling hills. Amazing scenery.

We ended up at Palagetto winery which Sara had selected as we wanted something traditional and intimate. Surrounded by greenery, tall trees, and little flowers, it was the perfect country setting for wine and company. We entered the front doors and were greeted by our hostess, Gina (Cannot remember her name, so I invented one. She looked like a Gina to me.) She escorted us to a room off the main where a round table set for seven awaited us. Surrounded by oak barrels full of wine, it was as if we had become a part of the operation and were settling down for a break from a morning’s work.

The family tradition has been passed down to the daughter of the owners, Ariana, and at the tender age of 28 she is making her own mark on her parents’ legacy with new wines using new methods. We were treated to both wines, traditional and new, which they served with cheeses and bread and their honey which they also made onsite. We tasted the white wine as well as red. We ate and drank as if we belonged there. All sumptuous and we had a difficult time tearing ourselves away from the lovely atmosphere. And all that wine. The poor souls among us who weren’t wine drinkers, had to donate their glasses to worthy causes like me…and their spouses, although, how could you not drink that wine? Dude. It was WINE. IN ITALY. That’s like going to a Chinese restaurant and ordering a hamburger. IT’S JUST NOT DONE.

_{Inside the winery with all of that wine…}

_{The reason for my existence. I love Tuscany}

I don’t think I need to elaborate on the enjoyment of the wine tasting. My only regret is that we couldn’t stay longer, like a day or a week. Tented out in the vineyard, maybe? Ugh.

From there we went on to San Gimignano. A small walled city steeped in a history I can’t remember and fraught with shops and restaurants. The wine was great and probably inhibited me from completely downloading the history of the town into my memory, so you can see a bit of it here.

Sara booked us in a small little hole in the wall off the beaten path for lunch, Il Feudo. It appeared as if it had been a church at one time. The original brick gave the space an antique vibe with the white tables and chairs setting it off nicely. The floor was a grey tile with white pillars seeming to hold up the ceiling. Paintings adorned the walls with built-in coves containing statues which brought the idea of a church basement into view. Quaint and bright with great food, we enjoyed our lunch. And if you are wondering if I had wine with lunch, do you even know me?! Italy. Tuscany region. Lunch. So much wine, so little time.

Sara returned to retrieve us, and it was time to head back to the ship. I hated leaving Tuscany and all that wine to just sit there. I mean, can we take a barrel or two with us?

No. No we couldn’t and as dismayed as I was to just LEAVE like that, no farewell toasts, no drunken slurring of That’s Amore, we had to head back sober and with all faculties intact or face the alternative of not getting back on the ship to finish our Italian journey. For me, the debate was real, but I was with other people and hated to have Hubby get on that ship and endure the last few days alone. Without me being there to pester him and entertain him with all my wobbly walking and graceful pratfalls, he would miss me! Maybe.

So ended our Italian Wine Tasting and Touring. I will need to go back as there were way more wineries needing my attention. I need to wander through the vineyards, taste the grapes, pour the wine, and drink my face off. Isn’t that what happens in Tuscany? We drink, we eat and drink and eat some more? Wander the countryside barefoot in a flowing skirt and large hat in the hot sun, wine glass in hand waiting for the handsome farmhand to…

Wait. Sounds like a new idea for a book. Gina and Tomas, ill-fated lovers who are destined to be together under the Tuscan sun, the only thing standing in their way is the Vineyard overlord who refuses to allow his daughter to marry a lowly farmhand. She boldly decides to strike out on her own. She and Tomas will start a new winery with new methods that will challenge her father and all his traditions…

OOoohhh…

_{The gals with Sara, our tour guide extraordinaire.}

If you are planning a trip to Italy, I highly recommend a tour guide like Sara. You can book her here. She was very thorough, full of history and a joy to be with!

Ciao!

1Jun2023

The Barcelona Bike Ride From Hell or How KJ Beat death

Posted in Misguided Musings by KJ Ivany

It all started on a cool cloudy day in May. We boarded a flight in St. John’s heading to Barcelona, Spain. Our excitement overrode any sense of impending doom and we gleefully headed into the open sky with high expectations and a sprinkle of vacation bliss. Well, most of us. Hubby experienced heightened anxiety right up until the full flight took off and we could stretch out for the night. I guess his sense of impending doom is more advanced than the rest of us.

Landing in Barcelona the following morning took some determination and willpower. Our urge to find the nearest bed was strong, but we knew if we gave into the temptation, our first day would be ruined. We fought the tiredness with the ambition of a Christmas shopper on Black Friday and made the most of our time in the Spanish city. We changed quickly and headed out into the sunshine for some exploring. And drinks.

One would think that after so many years on this planet that I would have developed the basic skills needed for survival: keeping my head above water in case the ship I’m on decides to hit an iceberg, staying upright when traversing uneven terrain, slaying and cooking woodland creatures in case of a wanton plane crash or getting lost on a hike (the latter being more plausible). But no. No, I missed all the basic training everyone else seemed to get before hitting adulthood. No, Debbie I can’t hunt and kill wild game and pretty sure I don’t want to; I can’t skate or maintain my balance on slippery surfaces; I have a hard time with heights and pretty sure I can’t navigate my way through a forest with nothing but the sun and the gross moss on trees to guide me. I’d probably pick the poison ivy and bring it home as a centre piece. As for the childhood traumas around double Dutch, (I skinned out my face when I nose dived onto the pavement), swimming lessons (they told me I would never be a swimmer. I am, I love to swim. The only skill I have managed to maintain) and riding a ten-speed bicycle, I thought I had recovered adequately. Maybe not. I never managed to progress to the expert ten-speed guru that all kids my generation had become, which leads me to the first of my European debacles. The Tour De Barcelona. An e-bike event that sounds lovely on the outset. Winding our way through the streets of Barcelona, strolling through the parks on our way to Olympic Stadium, visiting the mountain to take in the panoramic views of the city. Ahhhh….NO. NOPE. More like a terror driven escapade that included playing chicken with oncoming traffic and a physical altercation with a chain-link fence. NOT RELAXING, PEOPLE.

When the idea of an e-bike tour was first proposed, I thought, erroneously, that it would be a great way to experience the city. A leisurely ride taking in the sights, no stress, no dodging people, or buses, or fences…ugh. We ventured out to our meeting place at the bike shop the next day with our tour guide Mirko waiting there for us. He fit us for our bikes and my first thought was, “how hard can this be? I got this.” Until I didn’t. I fell within the first seconds of trying to pedal. By the time everyone had gone off on their merry way, I was still trying to gain my balance and my dignity. Both were shot. Since our guide was a nice understanding gentleman, he took me back to the shop to refit me with a bike better suited to my special needs. Fat tires, low to the ground and a seat that could fit three of me. There, that’s better. I began to pedal and after a few tries, I managed to not crash into anything so of course, let’s head out onto the busy streets of Barcelona! Sure, why not?! Dying sounds fun.

*_{The bike shop and the lane leading to the bike shop}*

_{My special bike with the big seat and fat wheels beside the cool kids’ bikes.}

Barcelona has well-defined bike lanes that wind through all their streets. As beneficial as it sounds, for people like me, it remained terrifying. Traffic whizzed by on my right, scooters and bikes passed me on my left. I was bombarded by traffic on both sides of me and panic took over. I remained transfixed on my party ahead while concentrating heavily on staying upright. Hubby remained behind me lest I lose sight of everyone and end up lost. He was not wrong. He also consistently shouted instructions reminding me to, “pedal! Steer! Watch out for that bus!” Yeah, that bus almost got me. I crashed into the flimsy barriers they have defining the bike lane from the road and a bus almost took me out. No wonder Hubby promised he would never follow me on bike tours, again. No worries, I think the next e-bike tour suggestion will be met a hard “no” and an alcohol induced rendition of Life in the Fast Lane. I landed on the barrier as he was shouting at me to, “get up!” Do you know how hard it is to hoist a bike from the ground while your leg is still ensconced on the other side of the metal frame while trying desperately to stay alive from all the cars, bikes and scooters careening at you? Gee, that was fun. Almost invigorating as I felt the bus breeze my face when it flew by.

I managed to get back on the bike and willed myself to be calm. The self-talk was alive and well with me berating myself for not being able to do a simple task like ride a bike. I have a new appreciation for cyclists, and I promise to not give you the finger every time you cut me off when I’m driving my nice safe car.

We continued winding through the streets until we finally hit a section of wide road that led us through parkland. It was quieter and more conducive to my kind of riding. Nothing to crash into or avoid, and wide enough for even me to skirt around pedestrians. I was getting the hang of this. We stopped at an outdoor bar, where we bought water and parked our bikes. We didn’t need the alcohol to add to the whole, I’m-gonna-die-in-the-streets-of-Spain-on-a-fucking-bike thing going on. We crossed the street and headed into the funicular, a gondola ride to the top of the mountain to take in the views of the city. No bikes allowed. Thank, fuck.

After the ride, we headed back to the bikes and the thought struck me. I had to ride back to the bike shop, back through the busy streets and steady traffic. The thoughts of me having to dodge buses and bikes had me feeling stressed. My arms tensed and my hands were sweaty. As I was heading downhill on a dirt road out of the park, we were met with construction. I tried to slow down in the narrow passage between a fence and a dump truck but sped up instead. I had nowhere to go, and I panicked. I veered left and straight into the chain link fence. What was that?! My inability to maintain any sense of balance and direction was frustrating. I backed out of the fence, with the construction dudes looking at me questioningly. I half-smiled and said something like, “Who put that fence there?” and started again. It was a hill and I felt like I was careening to my death. Really, it was a little slope. An incline worthy of a slight speed bump. It was fine. I was fine. But I was still rattled.

_{I see you, Buddy! Stay in your lane! Ugh.}

Once I navigated my way out of the park, I took a deep breath and eyed the traffic. Fuck. It looked like the Grand Prix had descended upon the city. How am I going to ride my little special needs bike through that?!

I started again and maintained myself until we stopped to look at the cotton trees. Yes, cotton trees brought in for the Olympics. I was half listening, to be honest. I was still panicking over the traffic and my fatal attraction to speeding buses. We started again, only this time the way to the bike shop seemed shorter. We turned a corner, and we were back on the narrow cobblestone street of the shop. How did that happen? I didn’t die?! I didn’t get run over by a bus or suffer traumatic brain injury from getting sideswiped by a runaway scooter?! I had conquered the bike! I was victorious! I couldn’t get that bike away from me fast enough and gladly handed it back over to Mirko who I assured, “would never see me on any of those things again.” I think he was as relieved as I was. Virtually unscathed but traumatized, I survived the great Barcelona Bike Ride from Hell. I then went drinking.

The next episode will be my great escape from the hateful trains in France and how they wanted me dead. Or at the very least, maimed. Thanks, France.

Yay me.

*_{Views from atop the Museum of Natural Art}*

*_{The relaxing park that led to my introduction to the chain link fence.}*

1Sep2017

Pepe Le Pew Is My Spirit Animal

Posted in Misguided Musings by KJ Ivany

As far as vacations go, this last one was full of heat, humidity, a dash of crankiness, a little drunkeness with a side of wayward walking AKA falling on my ass. Again.

Although in saying that, I truly wasn’t drunk when I fell. Honestly, I wasn’t. It probably would have been better had I been as drunk as a skunk. (By the by, WHO THE HELL THOUGHT UP THAT PHRASE? How can a skunk be drunk? I swear that’s how Pepe Le Pew was created. Some guys were sitting around trying to get a good idea for a new cartoon character and some drunk French Canadian guy was there and they all went “HEY! WHAT KID WOULDN’T LIKE A HORNY DRUNK FRENCH SKUNK?! LET’S DO THAT!” And THAT kids, is how all great cartoon characters are created. The. End. ) At least I would have had a good reason for falling down in the first place instead of the usual I’m-a-klutz-and-have-a-hard-time-balancing-on-actual-feet kinda person. Ugh.

Vacations around these parts, or SLS, the ‘Hood, ma peeps that live near me…you get the drift, as vacations go we tend to party together, so if one fam decides to vacay it’s inevitable that more will join in. That was the case this time as well. One made plans, then another joined in and then it was Bestie’s birthday and how could we not go for that and then another joined in…so really, it was a ‘hood gathering in a hot tropical environment. Plus alcohol. Of course, it’s our ‘hood we’re talking about so OF COURSE THERE’S ALCOHOL. Oh, yeah and the kids were there too. Hey kids! Nothing to see here, go back to watching Pepe Le Pew…

After a lovely dinner and A LITTLE WINE, CALM DOWN we went to Bree’s abode for cake…and MAYBE a little more wine. As we were walking out onto her expansive, yet viewless patio (unless you count the roof top of another building a view, then yes, it had a view. The LEAST they could have done would to have thrown some nice plants out there, maybe strung some lights…a few decorative chairs. COME ON PEOPLE, GIVE BREE SOMETHING TO SEE!)

Anywho, unbeknownst to me the patio was two tiered. The second level had the smallest of edges but I somehow managed to find it and my wedged sandled foot rolled over it like a car tire over a drunk skunk. Yes, it was slow and painful. It was like I was watching a movie in slo-mo only I was the actual person doing the falling. Twit. I could feel myself starting to descend, but could do nothing to stop it and hey, did I really want to? At some point I had the presence of mind to ever-so-gently place my precious iphone on the barren side table just sitting so quaintly to my left…as I was ever-so-slowly falling on my ass. When I finally landed, thumping squarely on my bum, I just sat there for a second to digest what just went down. Me. I went down. Bestie turned and yelled if I was hurt, her daughter were desperately trying not to laugh and I was still incredulous that I had done it once again. I’VE FALLEN AND I CAN’T GET UP. SHIT.

anigif_enhanced-buzz-17297-1368614295-2

As I stupidly sat there on the cement patio contemplating the statistics of me falling at every vacation in the history of ever, I took in my surroundings. And waited for the bleeding and pounding headache to start, because let’s face it, that’s usually what happens. When none of that happened and Bestie was trying to help me up and her daughters were trying desperately to get out of my way frightened I may end up taking them down with me again, I was able to fully assess my injuries. Or astonishing lack thereof.

I scraped my knee, my elbow and hurt my dwindling pride. My foot seemed okay at the time and I jumped up to save what shred of dignity I had left, which wasn’t much.

I later limped to my room across the hall. And awoke to a swollen foot, pain and the inability to walk more than a few feet without sitting down.

Excellent vacation!

It was all a little much.

A week later, my foot has almost healed completely. The doctor said there is nothing broken, (besides my fragile ego) and I will live to fall another day.

There’s a story from my childhood that, once while we were at the cottage one summer day, I was heard outside calling “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty.” When everyone came out to investigate and see the cat I was calling, I was rushed inside and the door was soundly shut.

Apparently, I was calling a pretty little skunk over to play with me.

Wonder if any of his relatives are still staggering around looking for a drinking buddy.

Here kitty, kitty, kitty….

Pepe Le Pew

8Apr2015

Conquering Fear

Posted in Misguided Musings by KJ Ivany

As most of you are aware, my plight into the dark abyss of fear is not foreign to me. Unfortunately, it’s been like a weight on my back for several years, shortly following the demon ride of all time, Soarin’. Disney has a foul sense of humour. They installed a ride intended for families and small children to enjoy epic vistas, a flying naturalistic view of land and water…and golf.
At the same time, they subjected the masses to ‘hang gliding’. WHAT?! This ride, apparently, is to “Experience the Golden State like never before while “hang-gliding” over landscapes as varied as they are beautiful. Feel like you’re flying—and even smell what you’re seeing as you skim rolling waves, powdery ski slopes, majestic redwood forests, fragrant orange groves and familiar landmarks like the Golden Gate Bridge.” Ahh, it sounds so innocent and lovely. THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE?! I don’t remember FLYING OVER THE GOLDEN GATE BRIDGE! AHHH. I probably had my eyes shut in a frightened panic thinking I would surely crash into one of the steel components. Because, when you’re me, that isn’t a movie in front of me…it’s fucking real. As for the orange groves, they spray orangey stuff at you intending for you to ‘have the full experience’ when really all it did to me, was make me sneeze and jolt me almost to my death. From 6 feet in the air. What? It could happen…Could have hurt my ankle or bruised my ego or something….
Really, it simply subjected me to a dangling terror-filled journey into scenic vistas of golf courses and orange groves at perceived heights of 30,000 feet, whilst suspending me randomly in mid-air with a wanton frail looking belt and my own warped sense of minimal security. *sigh* DAMN YOU DISNEY. I think I cried through the entire thing. It was at that moment, I realized I was having a major panic attack ON A KIDDIE DISNEY RIDE. So, simply put…I decided riding on anything that left my feet dangling in mid-air with no security belts, major shoulder straps or helmets made of steel, was beyond my realm of possible feats. The end.
Until, Epic Ladies’ Trip 2012 and Jamaica ski lift ride from the other side of hell….the Jamaican jungle. I can still hear one of the ride operators in an attempt to fill the ladies with epic joy while we were dangling haphazardly several hundred feet above any kind of terra firma, yelling “HEY LADIES! HOW’S THE RIDE?!” All the while, me swearing profusely under my breath and sobbing in quiet hysterics with white knuckles gripping the steel bar fearing my ultimate descent into the jungle with nothing to soften my landing but the large fern leaves of all those very tall trees…ugh. In defense of the ladies and the tour operators, I did not even THINK to research the ride to Magic Mountain to see HOW THE HELL WE WERE SUPPOSED TO GET UP A MOUNTAIN. DUH…IT’S A MOUNTAIN. So, totally my fault and I managed to live through the ride up…tear stained and partially broken, but alive…and the ride down. Pretty much the same thing, only we were headed downwards, so logically, we were falling anyways. That’s how my brain works, people.
It was this latest vacation with Hubby that I decided enough was enough. Two trips with panic attacks were two trips too many. I needed to conquer this fear of flight. At least, attempt to conquer it. So when the opportunity arose to book a trip on the Oasis of the Seas, we took it. And when Hubby declared he was going to ride the zip line on the boat… I volunteered to take pictures. That was going to be it. Then he suggested I try it. I laughed at him and MAY have said something like “you are fucking crazy. HELLO. SOARIN’. DANGLING IN MID AIR” Then I thought about it. I looked at videos. LITTLE KIDS WERE GOING ON THE ZIPLINE. Surely, parents weren’t subjecting their children to death defying antics like a Zipline without precautions? Right? RIGHT?! AND, they were wearing helmets, and most importantly SAFETY BELTS! Hmmm…
After a bit of soul searching and arguing, mostly with myself, I convinced the weak and terribly frightened Kayjai that conquering a fear born from an innocent Disney ride, surely cannot be that bad. AND, If I happened to plummet to my death, what better way to go than in the Caribbean on a huge cruise ship above a burger shop that sold burgers and deadly milkshakes? Really, I would probably die more from the milkshake, than from the zip line…maybe.
We both stood in line and I managed to cross the zipline in epic Kayjai fashion. No, I won’t show you the video, because, well, my reaction at the end of the ride was…special. The smile was plastered to my face, I was stunned into silence and I was wearing a helmet…it wasn’t a fashion forward moment. I’ll let you imagine it…
Here’s the shot before I got to the top.

See how excited I am?

The greatest trepidation I felt, was putting my feet at stage 3 on the steel bar with the operator telling me repeatedly to ‘let go.’ I’m sure he was about to pull me from the whole thing when I did just that. I let go. I let go, forced my eyes to stay open and slid down the ride. I didn’t fall. I didn’t panic. I let go. The fear was replaced with joy. I extended my legs laughed at myself and made it to the other side with a huge relief and accomplishment. And possible whiplash at missing the landing mat and hitting the spring…it wasn’t pretty, but it was done.
No tears were shed in the making of this moment. Well, maybe a few at the sheer joy of accomplishment.
Fear is a powerful emotion and if you let it, it can take over. Don’t let it. Conquer your fear and see how strong you really are.
I dare you….let go.

Kayjai

I am your inconvenient truth

Tag Archives: Vacation

Tales of an Epic Vacation

European Adventure Episode 3 – You Gonna Drink That? Tuscany is My Motherland

The Barcelona Bike Ride From Hell or How KJ Beat death

Pepe Le Pew Is My Spirit Animal

Conquering Fear