travel

Preschool Prayer

Five years ago – we decided to try for you. It was a long road. We longed for you. We prayed for you. We railed against God when you didn’t come and when you finally came, to say we were overjoyed, would be a gross understatement. We noticed your every detail, every feature, every grimace, every scowl, every yawn, we gazed at you in awe. You were pure love, joy and light.

The last three and a half years, though we didn’t think it possible, we grew to love you more – falling more in love with you every day. You are incredibly funny, you have impeccable comedic timing for your age, you are kind, you are feisty and fierce, you are imaginative, you are compassionate, you are so special and we are so lucky.

In your short life, so far, you have had many adventures and we have left you with grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, other family members and good friends. You have always adjusted pretty quickly and are pretty excited to experience something new, albeit cautiously. Tomorrow, you embark on your first very big adventure : preschool.

Your bag is packed and you are ready. My sweet boy, you are ready. And, though, when the moment comes, as so many other big moments in your childhood, it is dripping with the bittersweetness of one chapter coming to a close and another brand new beginning.

I will watch you, wearing your giant Lightening McQueen backpack, your crazy “Minion hair,” walk down the hallway with your teacher, through teary eyes and will be anxiously awaiting to hear all about your silly day.

I pray that God will protect you. I pray that you are kind, you remember your manners, you share. I pray that you follow directions. I pray you make good choices. I pray you laugh. Play. Make new friends. I pray that you have fun. I pray that other kids are kind to you and you to them. I pray that you learn and grow in your independence. And I pray that you feel safe and happy at school. And I pray you aren’t the first kid to pee your pants. (and if you are, I pray the extra pants I packed, still fit you).

I love you, love bug. Have a great day at school and I will be right here to pick you up at the end of the day.

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Categories: family, preschool, travel | Tags: , , , | Leave a comment

Happy Birthday, Little Girl

Good Morning, Little Girl and happy birthday. It’s a hard day for me as today would have been your birthday. I think of you every day and the sweet little baby you will always be to me. I only carried you in my belly for a few short weeks but will carry you in my heart for the rest of my days. When I saw those two pink lines – I instantly knew you were a girl.

On the day you left us back in March– I wasn’t sure I could ever go on – how would I “get over” you? How would I move on? And what I’ve learned was that those were never attainable goals of things I needed to do. I needed time and I needed to adjust to having my baby live in heaven instead of here with us. I was slightly comforted in the fact I wasn’t alone – that there are lots of mommas whose babies go to heaven all too quickly. And I was comforted by the image that God presented me with one night, lying in bed thinking about you.

To me, you are swaddled in light pink baby blankets, rocked in a rocking chair by your Great Gramma Halmhuber in heaven. I imagine the little girl you would have become; stubborn and sweet just like your big brother, your baby blues conning me into giving in to your every request. I pictured us having lovely tea parties, playing dress up and painting your nails. I imagine the crazy teenager you would have morphed into that I’m sure would leave me wondering how your grandma put up with me in my crazy adolescent years. I imagine the big joyful tears streaming down my face as I watched the woman you’d become walking down the aisle and someday holding your own babies.

I long to snuggle you and breathe in that baby smell and the sweet pinkness that encompasses little, tiny, girl babies. I long to comfort you in the wee hours of the morning, rock you in your room, and connect with you as you sleep on my chest. I long for your brother to know you, protect you and show you everything about this world we live in. I wish for your daddy to hold you in his arms and know that while girl babies are scary – he wouldn’t have our family any other way.

Tonight, Cameron, your daddy and myself (and your baby brother or sister in my belly) went to a park on Anchor Bay and released a pink lantern into the sky to celebrate your birthday and honor you, sweet baby. Cameron asked sadly, as it floated to heaven, “Is that lantern becoming a star?”

“Yes,” we replied. Our little star. We will think of you when we look at a beautiful night sky and remember how we celebrated your birthday.

And I know that while all of my dreams for you may not be realized, I do know that I will someday be reunited with you and hold you in your sweet pinkness and for now, that is enough.

Happy birthday, little girl, I love you.

Love, Momma

(from Pinterest)

(from Pinterest)

Categories: travel | 1 Comment

Choir Camp in the Nursery

It’s amazing that ten years ago while in college, I could stay up until two a.m. without blinking a sleepy eye. Today, while I’m usually awake at 2 a.m. it is preceded by a few hours of sleep. When I creep into Cameron’s room to change his diaper and nurse him, I try and keep the mood quiet, dreamlike so he will drift back into a sleepy slumber.

Most nights I am successful.

Every so often, he will require a little more effort on my part. If I put him back in his crib before he is ready, he lets me know, usually about the time I make my way back to my room and crawl under the covers. It doesn’t matter if I wait in his nursery to ensure he is soundly sleeping for 30 seconds or ten minutes. He knows when I get back to my room and snuggle under the blankets and just as I sigh with relief for my impending three hour nap, he murmurs a bit and then lets out his angry cry, “momma, I was not done cuddling you yet, come back.”

cam mad

So I dart back to the nursery, so Matt can keep sleeping (and yes, I’m tired but I realize the need for momma snuggles is fleeting). I pick up my sad little boy and put him up on my shoulder to comfort him. I inhale his lavender shampoo and kiss his hairy head. Some nights we rock, some nights we dance. But all nights are accompanied by my loving, quiet singing, albeit out of tune. I don’t think he minds though.

What songs come to mind in the wee hours? Matt claims the only songs he can recall in the middle of the night when he brain is clouded with exhaustion are inappropriate rap songs. One night I overheard him on the monitor singing Sublime, “ What I Got” editing the lyrics for our young audience. (To be fair – he can also be overheard making up his own love songs to our son when he draws a blank).

I, however, go back to the songs that always brought me comfort. Church songs, hymns, campfire tunes, Vacation Bible School ditties. I like to know all the words to the songs I choose and since those songs are shorter and have been in my life for more than two decades, I know them all by heart.

I open with the song, “Sing, sing it out loud.” It’s the song that most Choir Camp campfires began with and seems like the perfect opener to my early morning set. I usually follow with any song in a foreign language because it takes more effort and ensures that I will not drift back to sleep in the middle of the chorus. “Siyahamba ekukhanyeni kwenkos’” – the Zulu song that translates – We are marching in the light of God and “Alabaré, Alabaré, Alabaré A mi Señor” – Spanish for “We will praise the Lord” and my favorite” Ki mu nki maa nyi, Bu li mun tu al in a en sii go, Om ut ima gwo gu ku lung ‘aa mye, Bu li mun tu al in a en sii go”– the Lugandan song, “Everybody has a Seed to Sow.”

It’s been almost eleven years since I’ve been a choir camper but the songs are etched in my memories as if I were just singing them yesterday in my hot pink Choir Camp tee shirt, jeans, flip flops and French braids. It’s amazing to be able to sing these songs to my son and at the same time recalling the incredible friendships and memories from the five years I was a camper and three as a counselor.

And while his nursery smells of the pink Johnson and Johnson baby lotion and A&D ointment, not well water, bug spray and campfires. And the paint that covers the walls is a fresh gray and turquoise and not musty wood covered in cobwebs. And the floor is soft, white, plush carpet not gritty, sandy, cement that inevitably ends up at the end of your sleeping bag. Somehow – despite all that- sometimes at 2 a.m. I am transported back to a cabin at Camp Lael.

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I wonder if Cameron will love singing as much as I do. I wonder what his summer memories will be made of. I wonder if he thinks his momma sings off key and sometimes messes up the words.

Probably not.

For now, I am content knowing that his early morning feedings are accompanied by the songs that comfort me and by the songs that tell Bible stories that will help him to grow into a man of God.

Sing, sing it out loud
Sing it so everyone can hear,
Let it begin it’s ringing in every listening ear right now
Lifting our praise unto the one who brought us here
Lifting our hearts to Jesus whose name we gladly sing!

Categories: baby, camp, family, newborns, parenting, singing, travel | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

Our Oompa Loompa

On Sunday, Cameron was five days old and my milk finally came in but he refused to eat. I felt like a had two gallons of milk attached to my chest and he just couldn’t latch. After each feeding, we were both soaked with milk, frustrated and one or both of us were usually in tears.

Even though we were told that infants have tiny tummies and don’t need to eat a lot, I had a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I was unintentionally starving my baby.

I couldn’t wait until our pediatrician’s appointment the next day.

We got there and weighed him. He had lost a half a pound over the weekend and my little babe looked like an oompa loompa, he was tiny, lethargic and a sad shade of orange. The doctor asked about feeding him and I was so grateful for my husband because I couldn’t speak through my sobs.

Our doctor was incredibly kind and compassionate. He offered him two ounces of formula to see if he was capable of eating. He ate it in about five minutes – which was a very good sign.

We were then sent to get blood drawn to check his bilirubin levels. He told us to go home, feed every two hours and wait for his phone call to get our results.

The phone rang about five minutes after we got home. Cameron needed to be admitted to the hospital, bilirubin and sodium levels were too high. I was only five days postpartum, operating on very little sleep and couldn’t control my tears, I was sobbing in the backseat holding on to tiny orange fingers, while Matt drove us to the hospital.

We were admitted right away and shown to a room with an incubator, a twin bed and a pullout couch. It was going to be a long night. Cue the tears. Again.

They took the babe’s vitals, got him an IV, hooked him up to heart monitors, put on his baby sunglasses and laid him in his incubator on his billi light.
shades in incub
incubator

To see my tiny son hooked up to wires was beyond terrifying. My mind kept envisioning the worst even though every nurse reassured me that this was so common and he was going to be better in the morning.

How do you cope when your perfect baby is sick? What do you do when there is nothing you can do? I felt so helpless. I felt so sad. Melancholy, miserable, depressed. Only five days old and he had captured our hearts and became our world. The thought of losing him, heavy on our minds, was unbearable.

So we fought for him and alongside him. We prayed for him, for the nurses and doctors. We prayed for strength for each other. Matt and I held each other on the twin bed, trying our best to comfort each other.

Our instructions were to feed him every two hours –either formula or breastmilk. I had my heart set on nursing my baby and was afraid that if we gave him bottles he would never be able to nurse. But he needed to eat. I learned how to pump and were able to give him breastmilk bottles every two hours.

We settled in for a long night. We set alarms. I pumped and fed him. I pumped and Matt fed him. Repeat. We alternated guiding the tubes and cords out of the incubator so we could hold and comfort our baby boy while he ate.

They did another blood draw to recheck his levels. Nurses were in and out constantly checking, updating his chart, noting his feedings.

At 7 the next morning our pediatrician came in and was very happy with the progress over night. Cam was getting hydrated, fed and started having wet diapers and normal poop. I never thought I would be so happy to hear the words “normal poop.”

He set up an appointment with a lactation consultant for me that afternoon. She was patient and understanding. She taught me how to nurse and how to make sure he latched correctly. She brought her sensitive baby scale and we weighed him before he ate and after and it appeared that he was getting about 3 ounces from nursing. This time, they were happy tears.

I was finally nursing my son and bonding with him in a way I had dreamed about even before we got pregnant.

We were discharged that afternoon. We drove home and I had the confidence knowing that we, as family were going to be okay.

Categories: baby, family, newborns, parenting, travel | Tags: , , , , , , , | 5 Comments

A Shift in Defining Extraordinary

Our first photo as a family of three :)

Our first photo as a family of three 🙂

While the majority of my experiences on this blog have been about my experiences traveling – they all have one other thing in common – all of these experiences – whether good or bad – have been in some way, big or small, extraordinary.
When I first began writing – I swore I would remain true to my “roots of writing” and stick to travel topics and never become a “mommy blogger.”

And then I became a mom.

I had to take a hiatus from blog posting and just journal until I came to grips with the fact that I wanted to continue to write and share my stories. So while I may not be traveling as much with an infant, I am still on a journey and would love the opportunity to share my moments and days as I continue to seek something extraordinary.

All of a sudden I was a member of this group, this sorority, this incredibly exclusive club that I didn’t even know existed until a few days after giving birth to my son. After nearly 23 hours of labor, I was exhausted, overwhelmed and so weepy. What gave me strength in my first bleary eyed days of being a mother, were my voicemails, texts, facebook messages and emails from my best girlfriends and friends who I hadn’t seen in years just checking in. All notes were personal but all asked me the same question: how are you doing? And all offered the same kindness: if you need anything, I’m here for you.

You can read 100 books. A million blogs and countless message boards and still not know everything you need to know about caring for an infant or caring for yourself as your body has experienced something extraordinary? Yes. But also traumatic.
Being a member of this group has helped me adjust to life with my amazing son and am appreciative of all the other mommas checking in on me and I hope that in the future, I can be that compassionate and caring for other new moms. So to you, other moms in the club, thank you. And to those who will be moms, just know that we, as group, are here for you.

More to come on my life with a newborn as we journey through life together.

Categories: baby, birth, family, newborns, parenting, travel | 2 Comments

Battlefields and Base Ball Fields

Driving out of Washington DC was nothing short of a traffic nightmare. The drive to Gettysburg was only supposed to take 90 minutes but it took us closer to three hours. My co-pilot who had formerly been handing me Twizzlers, fell asleep. Bored  (because I had no one to talk to), hungry (because someone stopped feeding me Twizzlers), exhausted (from a whirlwind tour of DC) and frustrated (because of the unbearable traffic) I turned up my radio and belted out some classic Disney tunes (secretly and petulantly trying to wake my navigator).

As we neared Gettysburg, the traffic thinned, the speed limit dropped to 55 and the highway went down to two lanes. We drove through gently rolling hills and upon crossing the Maryland-Pennsylvania state line, the sky turned a dark shade of gray. It wasn’t raining but it wasn’t not raining. There was a heavy mist, so thick that at 2 in the afternoon, my headlights came on and I had to turn on my windshield wipers. On our way to the hotel, we drove through battlefields, lined with wooden fences – the mist casually, eerily hung on top of the fences, with the occasional vulture perched on top.

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We arrived at the wonderful Wyndham hotel of Gettysburg. We were warmly greeted by the staff at the front desk, checked in, took the elevator to the third floor, dropped our bags and fell into the white, fluffy, cloud-like bed.

Matt (my husband) plays in an 1860’s Base Ball club with the Royal Oak Wahoos. When his team was invited to the festival this July, I couldn’t resist an opportunity to travel (thanks to Wyndham and Women on Their Way) and he couldn’t say no to being immersed in history for an entire weekend.

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Following our nap, we headed out to check in for the festival and wanted to explore the charming downtown. We landed at Gettysburg Eddie’s– a baseball themed restaurant and host to the weekend’s festival. It was busy but well worth the wait. We devoured our meals; mine: the best fettuccine alfredo with shrimp and broccoli I’ve ever had, Matts – was apparently less memorable because neither of us remember what he ate – only remembering how good it was. The staff was friendly and quick and as we rolled our stuffed bellies out the door, we stumbled upon a walking tour – a historical ghost tour of the town of Gettysburg.

Our guide was a retired Fire Fighter from New York City. He played the part of a Gettysburg farmer from the 1860s. He stayed in character, led us through the town with an authentic lantern and gave us chills with every story he told- he told it with such authority that it was as though he had experienced firsthand. We hung on every word – cautiously looking behind us for signs (or crossing our fingers for no signs) of the paranormal. We heard stories of soldiers and Gettysburg citizens, homes that were haunted, bridges that hid the spirits of confederate soldiers trying to get back south and saw remnants of bullet holes from guns shot 149 years ago.

The next morning we got ready for the base ball (it was two words in 1860) tournament. The clouds hung heavy in the sky, threatening rain on the first game for the Wahoo Base Ball Club of Royal Oak in the Gettysburg 3rd Annual Vintage Base Ball Festival. But we stayed dry.

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Fourteen base ball clubs from the Midwest and East Coast competed in the gentlemanly game of 1860’s base ball at Hickory Hollow Farms; they pitch underhand, don’t wear gloves and wear period uniforms. The hitter is called the striker, the catcher – the behind, the pitcher – the hurler. They say things like, “Well struck, Sir,” when the ball is hit well and “Huzzah” when someone “tallies an ace” (scores a run). They mind their manners and except for the occasional disagreement – they act like perfect gentlemen. It’s base ball from a simpler time – in its truest form.

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The Royal Oak Base Ball Club has been around since 2004, founded by Jon “Preacher” Miller and Tim “Flash” Gorman. Every gentleman in the club has a nickname attributed to his career or hobby. It is truly a joy to watch base ball the way it was played back then.  The Wahoo’s had a perfect record at the end of the festival – they didn’t win a single game – but it can be agreed upon that every member of the club had the experience of a lifetime. And as for me, Innkeeper’s wife, I couldn’t be more proud to have been able to be a crank (spectator) at this incredible festival.

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“Happy Birthday”

 

For some reason hummingbirds have always reminded me of my grandma (my mom’s mom) who passed away just over two years ago. I have this vivid image of her, one Christmas, wearing a gray, crew-neck sweatshirt with a hummingbird on it. It may have been her only one – but it is emblazoned in my mind that she loved the little bird and every article of clothing she had was adorned with a hummingbird.

That being said, every time I see one, I think of her. A few months ago, I was with my mom in San Francisco and we went on a wine tour of Napa Valley.  At our very last winery, tired and tipsy, we wandered into the vineyard. Off to the side was this giant flowering bush and I saw something flutter. It took me no longer than a nano-second to realize it was a hummingbird; and how appropriate, on this mother-daughter vacation on Mother’s Day weekend, (almost two years to the day of her death) to feel the presence of my grandmother in the form of this tiny bird.

~the winery hummingbird~

Now, more than ever the two are linked: the memories of my grandma to the image of the hummingbird. So it is no surprise to me that when I spent the day at my parents’ Lake House in Port Sanilac, MI that a hummingbird graced us with her presence there as well.

Every summer, the women on my mom’s side of the family, get together to celebrate their summer birthdays. Having a birthday in March excluded me from this intimate gathering until this year when I had the day off work, a need to get away to the country, and a desire to finally swim in Lake Huron; one of Michigan’s Great Lakes.

~lake huron~

After our first venture into the icy, (50 shades of) blue, water, we sat on the deck to dry in the hot Michigan sun. There, while toweling off, I caught my first glimpse of the Lake House hummingbird. We collectively gasped, smiled and in unison pointed to the spot where she had been. She zipped up to the feeder and I scrambled to capture her on film memory card. She was fast and sneaky. And I missed her. But I was patient.

After filling our bellies with hot fudge cream puffs with Sander’s hot fudge (a Michigan specialty) we sat back on the patio, looking out on the gorgeous lake. Camera poised, the hummingbird came back and was ready for her photo shoot.

 

~so still~

 

The small moments of seeing this hummingbird with the women in my family (the women who have helped shape, support and encourage me – and the rest of my cousins) who represent everything good and brave and inspiring, was an incredible gift.

At the summer birthday party, my grandmother was present. Maybe she was saying hello – maybe she just wanted us to know she was always watching, protecting, loving us. Maybe she wanted to say she’s proud of us and that she misses us too. Or maybe, just maybe, she wanted to say, “Happy Birthday.”

~happy birthday~

 

 

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Perspective Gained

By the time I was in twelve, I had moved six times with my family. I had always hated it growing up but now, it’s what I attribute to my love of travel and inability to stay in one place for too long.

When my husband and I got engaged we were both living in Missouri – about five hours apart. I was in the incredible city of Saint Louis – amazing restaurants, a rich history, The Arch, life. I loved living there – there was always something to do.

Matt lived in Maryville. Podunk compared to Saint Louis. It’s a small rural town, in the middle of nowhere, just south of Iowa in the northwest corner of the state – home to the Northwest Missouri State University Bearcats. There’s a movie theatre, three really good restaurants and a bowling alley. When I visited it for the first time, I thought, this is cute but never imagined living there for close to three years.

But we did. At times it was frustrating that the nearest Target was 45 miles away and the nearest DSW was in Kansas City. It drove me crazy that Caribou coffee wasn’t just a 15 minute drive. I hated being 12 hours from Detroit – my “hometown.”

We moved back to Michigan during the summer of 2010 and were relieved to be back in “civilization”: Starbucks every mile, two Targets equidistant from my house, my dad just a call away to come over to help me install the dishwasher, old friends, convenience.

This past weekend, I was very fortunate to have the opportunity to head back to Missouri with Matt to stand up in one of my best friend’s wedding.

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About ten hours into our trip, we were beginning to get a little stir crazy – we needed some fresh air and some fresh tunes. As we turned off the interstate – we got on a small state highway – twisty roads, windows down, country music turned up, farm land on either side  of us corralling us home…I mean back.

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We pulled into town and navigated the small narrow streets to get to campus, our home base for the weekend. As I was driving through campus, a car was coming toward me, so I accelerated so I could get through the rows of parked cars first, he patiently pulled to the side, waved to me and gave Matt a tip of his hat, wearing a happy smile on his face.

Where was I? Had I forgotten all my manners? Had the “big city” made me cold, selfish? This is one of the smallest things that happened to us over the weekend – but it had such an impact on me. Here, at home, when we moved into our neighborhood, full of its own narrow streets, I was appalled at how other drivers navigated them – zipping in and out of parked cars, trying to get through first, using their horn relentlessly. I was sad that no one did the friendly wave or the tip of the hat. Where were our friendly neighbors? Where was common courtesy? And now look at me, what have I become?

The idiosyncrasies of a small town are many – but the good outweigh the bad. Our first night in town – we went to dinner and saw our old colleague and it was as if two years hadn’t passed. In Detroit – we could go out to dinner ten times and not know a soul. While our families were far away – we had built a different kind of family who sincerely supported us and genuinely loved us. While I was looking for beauty in big buildings and big cities – I missed the beauty of gently rolling hills, sunsets that spanned the horizon for miles, and the gorgeous farmlands. While I frequently cursed the small town – I now curse the traffic and that it takes me an hour to get to the bank, post office and coffee shop that used to take me ten minutes on a bad day.

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I never thought I would miss Maryville – and I didn’t until we went back this weekend. An incredible town, full of our loving home-made families and very happy memories. Reflecting back on our time this weekend I am reminded of this quote from Ernest Hemingway, “never write about a place until you’re away from it, because that gives you perspective.”

 

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Wine on a Precipice

After spending the day on the beach, Matt and I drove up the winding road in search of a winery. We had heard nothing but high praise for Santorini wine and need to see, taste, rather, for ourselves.

Because the island has a prominent volcanic past, there is a lot of ash in the soil which helps protect the grape vines from predators. This also produces a wide array of flavorful wines unique to Santorini.

~city on a cliff~

We saw a sign for Santo Winery and decided to pursue it. We parked in front of a giant wooden barrel, used for grape stomping and knew we were in the right place.

We talked to the friendly barkeep and decided to do the classic tasting, which included six different wines with an assortment of bread, olives and cheeses.

~wine on a precipice~

Is it possible that the wine tasted better because we felt like we were hovering on the edge of a precipice, surrounded by the pristine white winery, highlighted with the blue sky and that sparkling Aegean sea, for what seemed to be, miles below us? Maybe. It was probably the best wine we’ve ever had.

Then something captured our attention.We caught sight of this tiny sailboat, making it’s way across the island. It was so tranquil and such a different view than the myriad of cruise ships that came in and out of the port daily. And then the sun began to set on one of the most peacefully perfect days on our trip and in our marriage and we headed back to Apanemo to get some rest.

~perfectly peaceful~

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The Feeling of Blue

With summer fast approaching I am reminded of the absolutely perfect weather that found us every day in Santorini.

As I’ve mentioned before, I am sort of a planner when it comes to traveling. I love to plan, organize. I like knowing what I am going to do every single moment of every vacation. This trip was different. It truly was going to be a vacation. And Greece is the ideal place to vacation.

We woke up to the rooster crowing just outside our window at Hotel Apanemo – a twenty-five room complex in Akrotiri, perched high up on the cliffs, on the southwest side of the island of Santorini. We descended the flight of stairs from our one bedroom apartment and stumbled upon the dining room. We drank strong coffee, enjoyed tangy Greek yogurt and savored the fresh fruit all laid out before us on a beautiful buffet, with the Aegean Sea, far below us, as the backdrop to our breakfast.

~hotel apanemo~

While sipping our coffee, Matt and I talked about how we would spend our first full day on the island. We decided to take to the beach. We checked in with Spiros, the owner of Apanemo and he recommended a quiet, black sand beach. He provided us with a tiny drawing of the island that was to serve as our road map to the beach.

We arrived at Perissa beach and paid the cashier ten euros for two umbrella-ed chairs and set up camp for the day. We came equipped with music, books, drinks and snacks. I was about to put on my headphones and then paused. The crashing of the waves was an incredible sound and I thought that hearing the Santorini waves might be a once in a lifetime opportunity, so  I opted to listen to the music of the sea instead.

~perissa beach~

The water wasn’t crystal clear –but a deep, dark blue, highlighted with accents of turquoise set against a backdrop of a most impressive, quite literal, sky blue. The day was hot but we were protected by straw umbrellas and cooled by the breeze off the water. The sand was dark – not black like I was expecting – but strange all the same to be feeling the sand between my toes and it not being soft, smooth, and light in color like the sands of Lake Michigan.

~toes in the black sand~

As the day wore on, the wind picked up and the waves grew larger and larger. White caps were now highlighting the formally smooth Aegean Sea. We decided to take a quick swim before we were (read: I was) too afraid to get in.

It was cold.

It was exhilarating.

It was so blue.

Can something feel blue? Well, this water felt blue. Immersed in color, surrounded on all sides by different hues of blue – it was unlike any other swim I’ve ever taken.

After our brief swim we decided it was time for our beach day to come to a close. We packed up and headed to SantoWines – to experience the unique wines that Santorini had to offer…but that is a different story for a different day. (tomorrow, maybe)

Categories: beach, Photography, travel | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

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