I wasn’t sure what to expect or how I would feel on Friday.  Clearly, the impetus for the wedding was baby blakspring.  This is not to say that we don’t love each other but marriage is a big step and certainly not one that I was in any hurry to make.  In my mind Friday was going to be more utilitarian than celebratory.  I figured everyone would have a nice time, especially since we were going to a really great restaurant after the ceremony, but other than getting the license and booking the restaurant I hadn’t put much thought into the day.

But Friday turned out to be such a beautiful day and so many things touched my heart, and when I woke up Saturday morning I felt so blessed.  Both of our families took care of so many details that I would have not even thought of.  To surprise us, Ron Russo’s mom called the restaurant to order champagne for a toast and, along with my mom, ordered a beautiful and delicious cake and took it to the restaurant the day before so that Ron Russo and I could feed each other the first slice.  His mom also thought to get me a beautiful bouquet that went with my dress perfectly (and camouflaged my belly), and my mom reminded me that I need to get thank you gifts for our guests.

Though the ceremony at City Hall was your average City Hall ceremony, having about a dozen family members with us, all dressed up and excited, made it very special.  The ceremony officiant was a bit of a grouchy old lady who spoke quietly and gave the impression that she’d done one ceremony too many that day.  After the ceremony, we walked over to the South Street Seaport where Ron Russo’s brother (who was also our photographer) snapped tons of pictures of us.  Random people on the street were clapping and congratulating us and wishing us good luck; one woman called after us, “I want to get married too.”  While we posed for a photo with the Brooklyn Bridge behind us, two little girls took pictures of us.  I told Ron Russo that we should walk around New York each week dressed up like we just got married because it was so fun to see people’s reactions.

At the restaurant we had a few more family members show up for a total of 20.  Everyone had a great time, the food was delicious, and at the end of the night when I stood up and thanked everyone and made a little speech about how happy we were, diners at the tables around us clapped along with our family.  Afterward, we went with our siblings and cousins to one of our favorite local bars.  It was kind of funny to be so dressed up, mingling with hipsters and rockers, and playing darts (which I lost as usual) and erotic photo hunt.

Our wedding was small by most standards, there was nothing extravagant about it, and yet it will probably be one of the happiest days of my life.  There was a lot of laughter that day and funny moments that I will never forget, because they made the day unique:

• Padre calling for cars service in the morning, not realizing he was calling the Chinese restaurant.  Imagine two people whose first language is not English, both with very different accents, trying to figure out what the other is saying
• Ron Russo and I facing each other by the podium.  As the officiant starts speaking, Ron Russo turns to face her and she asks, “What’s the matter?”.  Ron Russo is a bit flustered and says, “Nothing.  I never got married before” and turns back to face me.
• realizing that I had accidentally canceled the champagne that Ron Russo’s mom ordered, when I called the restaurant mid-week to confirm.  The man said that everything was on track and that the three pre-ordered bottles were ready.  I told him I didn’t order any bottles and made him cancel.  Luckily, I mentioned this to Madre (who was in on the plan) and the bottles were re-ordered.
• knowing I was officially part of the Russo family when I became the recipient of the gag gift (a bottle of very stinky, very cheap cologne that Papa Russo had gotten l5 years ago as a present) that has been passed on for years.  The smell was still on my hands the next morning even though I’d washed them several times.

So there you have it.  We are officially ball-and-chained:

Next to our hotel was a large store which sold clothing, furniture, and housewares.  Or at least that’s what I saw displayed in the window since Ron Russo refused to step foot in it on account of the name (and the fact that I threatened to photoshop him next to the name):

What really excited me about this trip was that we did two side trips outside of Amsterdam, so that I finally got to see what the Netherlands is truly known for, namely tulips, windmills, and clogs.  Our first stop was the gorgeous Keukenhof Gardens, only open two months out of the year.  Since it had been a cold spring, the gardens weren’t in full bloom but still beautiful nonetheless:

Slavic cultures scare their children with the Baba Yaga, a witch who lives in a hut standing on chicken feet.  I almost fell over when we came across it in the gardens:

The next day we went to Zaanse Schans, a sort of Dutch Colonial Williamsburg.  I had expected it to be cheesy but it was actually pretty cool.  (Though the cheese shop was cheesy since it was wall-to-wall cheese that made me wish I was a cheese person like Ron Russo, who elbowed his way through a gaggle of Russion grandmas to get to all the samples.)

The highlight of the town are the windmills, which have been preserved in their original state:

Each windmill produces a different product like oil, mustard, or pigment for paint.  Going inside was quite the treat, to see the various gears and whatnots working:

I really enjoyed the clog factory where we watched a pair of clogs get made in three minutes using special machines (as opposed to about three weeks the old-fashioned way):

Of course the three-minute clogs were very basic, unpainted with no frills.  The exhibits in the clog factory not only showed the history of clogs in Dutch life and culture but also unusual ones, like these clog rollerskates and iceskates:

And then there were some uniquely decorated ones like these “Dutch Fisherman Fantasy”:

Ron Russo won’t admit it, but I know they were his favorites.

Probably not.  But this was my first time climbing and I’m so glad I did.  The views were amazing and the workout I got from all those stairs was not too shabby.  But I really loved that there were various “exhibits”, images of the tower from yesteryear, and this fake elevator operator:

One of my favorite spots in Paris is the Rodin Museum and Garden.  Since Ron Russo and I had recently been in the Philadelphia Rodin Museum, we skipped the indoor museum itself and strolled through the gorgeous garden which has numerous statues.  There is also a lake with a lovely view of a derriere:

Then on to underground Paris, to the catacombs, where I hit Ron Russo with 300-year-old bones and released the Bubonic Plague on us:

But lest we get too dark and dreary, here is some fun stuff, like this French version of Operation:

And what is probably the creepiest advertising campaign for Orangina - sexy, bikini-clad animals like a giraffe and this zebra:

But it was at the Pere Lachaise cemetary where we snapped Ron Russo’s favorite photo.  While looking for the graves of Jim Morrison and Richard Wright, we came upon this unfortunate fellow:

Now you can think about your own name and realize that it’s really not bad.

I don’t think I’ll be going online too much and there’s a good chance that I won’t post anything till I get back.  In the meantime, here’s just a bit more from Costa Rica from a super-procrastinator.

The town of La Fortuna was by far my favorite.  It was two main streets, a church, a park, and the volcano in the background.  The park was a great place to relax in the evening, eat ice-cream, and watch families and couples stroll around:

The highlight of the trip for me was doing a canopy tour, aka ziplining, through the trees and over valleys:

The last zipline was 1 kilometer long (!!!) and done “superman” style.  At first it was so close to the ground but as soon as you passed a bit, a huge valley fell out beneath.  It felt absolutely like flying and was probably the most exhilirating experience of my life.  I can’t even begin to describe how beautiful it was.  I took a photo of Nadine, the German girl we’d met on the bus, as she was about to take off:

Flying out of Tamarindo to San Juan, we were at a teeny-tiny airport.  When our cab driver pulled off the main road and drove along a dirt road only to drop us off in front of a single open-air building we thought it was a joke.  Then these funny planes came in for a landing:

I was scaring Ultra that this was ride back to san Juan:

Actually, our plane was a 12-seater:

There was also another plane from a different airline that took off right before ours.  We kept waiting and waiting until finally we were informed that we were over the weight limit and that our bags couldn’t go with us.  The real reason we were over the limit (which the pilot later confirmed to me and Ultra on the side) is that there were two really huge passengers on our flight.  It was either them or the bags so off we finally went bagless.  (Luckily our bags arrivied later that night because we had a 6:00 AM flight the next morning.)  Ultra and I snagged the best seats, right behind the pilots so we got to see all their instruments and then the approaching runway:

Even Ultra, who is scared of heights, loved the plane ride.  I would definitely do that again.

Ultra and I took a day-trip up to the Cano Negro area near the Nicaraguan border.  On the way there we stopped by a restuarant whose owner has been breeding iguanas for years and boasts an incredible iguana tree:

Once we got to our destination, we took a boat ride along the Rio Frio and it was just teeming with animals and an amazing variety of birds.  At first it seemed like there was nothing much there but our guides used their eagle-eye vision to spot so many creatures.  They’d stop the boat and point into the trees or along the water while us gringos looked around confused.  Then, finally, we’d see a vulture in a tree, or the creepy big eye of a caiman with the rest of it’s body submerged.  In a few spots, the caimans were out sunning themselves:

I was paranoid about monkeys after having run-ins with two different ones on two different continents.  Luckily, they were all pretty far away in the trees so I didn’t make it three-for-three.  We saw white-faced capucin monkeys and heard the wild grunts of howler monkeys, which sounded like they must be big as apes but were fairly small in reality:

Birds were everywhere and by the end of the day, we were pretty good at recognizing what kind they were.  Of course by now I’ve forgotten their names so I can’t identify this one, but it’s pretty cool how it has a fish in it’s beak.  We watched it bang the fish on the tree and manipulate it around till it finally had it in a good position and down the hatch it went:

One of the coolest things I saw that day was, again, something that I would never have recognized.  It looked like lumps of bark on a tree but was actually one of the smallest species of bats.  They hung, asleep, in size order and shivered slightly when we made too much noise:

But the animal that I was most hoping to see was the sloth.  I had seen some on TV recently and they were so freakin’ cute.  Also, I always tell Ron Russo that if he was an animal, he would be a sloth.  (When he reads this he’s gonna say, “Really librarian, really?  You just had to write this?”.  I guess I did because documenting farts is just not enough.)  Our guide Jamie had spotted a lone sloth in a far away tree but it looked like it could have been a beehive or some random lump.  Using his binoculars I was able to see it better but it was still pretty lumpy.  Jamie said that the chance of seeing more was pretty slim, but then on the drive back he spotted two more in two nearby trees, one of which had a baby.  I saw them really clearly through the binoculars and it just made my day.  Unfortunately, my photo still looks like a lump:

Besides animals, Costa Rica has beautiful and exotic plants.  I have no idea what this one is but it’s really cool:

The walk through the cloud forest near Monteverde was amazing even though rain poured the whole time.  It was so quiet and pristine and almost other-worldly.  There were no animals, just plants, trees, green as far as the eye could see:

Our trip from La Fortuna to Monteverde included a shortcut by boat across a lake:

By the end of the trip we were ready for some sand and sun.  Our homebase was Tamarindo, aka Tamagringo, which was disappointing.  It was all dirt roads and neon lights with U.S. franchises and the subtlety of Vegas.  Even the beach was so windy that we literally had to wrap ourselves in our towels and sarongs because being pummelled with thousands of grains of sand hurt.  The next day we went with two Germans to nearby Playa Conchal, where the wind didn’t blow and trees along the shore offered shade.  On our last day in Tamarindo, we skipped the beach and snuck into a fancy resort where we lounged about reading books and swam in the pool.  It was also a nice place for a photo:

And then we came back to the snow - WAH!

But I think I did well this year.  I officially bought the last of the gifts yesterday, though about half were ordered last week through Amazon.  (Online shopping - what a blessing.)  The hardest to figure out were the padres, because they pretty much don’t need anything.  And they can be picky.  When I gave madre a Cadbury chocolate bar with hazelnuts and raisins straight from London, her first response was, I’m sorry but I only eat dark chocolate.  You see, not easy.  And how many sweaters and turtlenecks can the woman get?  And how many tools can padre get?  So this year I went a different route and got them tickets to 1964, who are supposedly the best Beatles tribute band in the world.  Padre should love it because these guys dress up as the Beatles and do all the pre-Sgt Pepper stuff, which are his favorite.  Madre will probably like it because it will be a night out at Carnegie Hall and the seats are pretty darn good.  (And don’t worry if you think I am ruining the surprise.  The padres don’t know about the blog.  Hell, they probably don’t know what a blog is.  And if all goes well, they never will.)

In between the Christmas frenzy, I’ve been trying to stick to my Couch-To-5K running program.  I finished week two on Sunday and feel like my endurance and stamina have gotten better.  Unfortunately I might have to take a break this week between Christmas festivities, various plans, and working extra hours on Long Island.  (Although it is nice to trade in my usual teenagers for cutsey toddlers and this drunk guy):

I did go ice skating Monday and boy do my calves feel it.  Does that count for something?  Although lately it’s one step forward two steps back with all the junk food that comes out in late December.  It seems like everywhere I go I am bombarded with chocolates, cookies, popcorn, and every other manner of delicious sugar and savory fat.  Geez, I just said “savory fat”.  Excuse me while I go smack myself.  Or stick my fingers down my throat.

Let the good times begin!

The one place that I ended up in quite accidentally was the Tate Modern.  I had been walking along the Thames when I realized that I was passing by the Modern.  On a whim I popped inside for what I figured would be an hour tops, and ended up going floor by floor for almost three hours.  There was so much inspiring and exciting art to see.  Cubism, Surrealism, animation, pop art, old Bolshevik propaganda posters.  I felt like Alice in Wonderland.  I even managed to sneak in a few photos, including this cool installation by Jeff Koons:

Art was literally everywhere, from this awesome display of photos from Bob Dylan’s 1966 tour:

to the British Library which had an amazing exhibit of 19th century photos from around the world, as well actual cameras from the 1800s:

Other things I’d never seen on my past visits were the reconstructed Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre:

the home of Sherlock Holmes:

and The Clink Prison Museum, which was the original “clink”:

I made sure to walk around my favorite neighborhood, Camden Town, which is like NYC’s East Village.  Ultra and I had stayed with friends in Camden Town back in 1997 and were in love with all the tattoo parlors, squatter kids, and Dr. Martens stores.  As with the East Village, Camden Town has cleaned up and become super-commercial, with way more stores and vendors than ever.  But it will always have a special place in my heart:

I’d never been to London in the winter.  Luckily for me it wasn’t too bloody cold, but the sun did set at 4:00 P.M.  The downside is that I don’t much care for walking around in the dark and my camera doesn’t take the best night shots.  But the upside was that the city was lit up and gorgeous.  Everything made me smile, from this marquee of Priscilla Queen Of The Desert:

to decorated buildings on trendy Oxford Street:

But my favorite night spot was hands-down the London Eye:

It shone against the dark sky so beautifully and reminded me why it is I love to travel so much.

Unfortunately I didn’t have a chance to go in and examine it properly.  Maybe next time…

Some people figured out my costume.  Others thought I really was pregnant, and freaked out when Ultra (who was dressed as a cavewoman) hit me in the belly repeatedly with her club.  The confusion also led to interesting comments:

1.  Ay mami, there’s alcohol in there?  ‘Cause you really shouldn’t be drinking.

2.  Guy approaches me at the bar

Are you really pregnant?

Yeah.

For realz?

For realz.

Guy turns around and walks away.

3. Are you really pregnant?

No.

Do you want to be?

4.  Guy trying to dance way to close to me.

Watch the baby , as I cover the pillow protectively

Yo, that’s hot.

5.  My favorite was a woman who was not fooled by my protruding belly.

Mami, come here.  This is all wrong.  Tuck it in at the bottom.   She stuffed and fluffed and finally, There you go.  Now you look pregnant.

Thank you random lady in a basement bar in Greenwich Village.  I gotta do this every year.

So let me give you, my favorite blogosphere peeps, something a little different.  Let me tell you about a train, and a 40-something-year-old coal mine fire, and some very silly graffiti.

Sometime-commenter Ron Russo, who has just a wee bit of an huge obsession with trains, invited me along for a train chase.  And since I like road trips and needed a break from thinking about nothing but volleyball, I decided it might be fun.  It might also be a great opportunity to make fun of him and call him a train nerd.

There were originally six people going on the train chase but they started punking out one by one till it was just Ron Russo, his brother, and me.  At about 8:00 am on Saturday I was half-wishing I’d punked out too.  I was sleepy and cold, the weather was rainy with more rain, and at one point it started snowing, making me dream of a one-way ticket to southeast Asia and a boogie board.

Eventually I warmed up a bit, stopped being a baby, and decided to try and enjoy the experience.  Ron Russo and his brother, who apparently have spent their whole lives chasing trains all over the United States, knew the Reading & Northern train’s whole route, from Port Clinton to Jim Thorpe.  The train headed out at 9:00 am and the chase was on.  The brothers drove like madmen, staying a few minutes ahead of the train, stopping at different locations near the tracks, and video recording the train as it went speeding by.  At one point, I was given a video camera and filmed the train through the car window as we drove alongside it.

It was actually pretty fun, what I imagine being on The Amazing Race would be like.  The train was much cooler and more impressive than I was expecting.  There was something exciting about hearing it approach and seeing a giant cloud of white smoke before the locomotive even came into view.  I managed a few photos, though they didn’t come out very well:

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Just for the hell of it, we decided to go to nearby Centralia, a virtual ghost town with a population of about nine (yes, as in one less than ten) due to a coal mine fire that has been burning since 1962 with no end in sight.  We walked along deserted old roads and what used to be streets, many of which had long cracks running along them, smoke seeping out.  One stretch of the road was literally covered in graffiti from one end to the other.  If there was one uniting theme in the graffiti it would have to be the penis.  There were penises as far as the eye could see.  Even graffiti that clearly did not originally have anything to do with penises had a penis added to it.  It reminded me of the ending credits in Superbad, though not as creative.

I decided to take some photos but only managed this:

and this:

before my battery died.  And I know you are thinking, What a liar.  There isn’t a penis in sight. But you gotta believe me that there were loads and loads.  I’m just the genius that forgot to check on the camera battery the night before.  And if you ever find yourself in Centralia, you will know that I speak the truth.