A couple days in Denver

25-27 August 2012

I immediately missed the convenience of the little Albuquerque airport when I landed in busy Denver, Colorado.  Getting to the rental car proved to be a much lengthier process requiring me to take a shuttle bus blaring Christian rock to which the other bus riders sang along.  I felt a little out of place. I was also surprised at the landscape as I looked around.  I had pictured Denver to be a city surrounded by green hills and snow-capped mountains.  The area around the airport is flat, brown and arid.  I almost wondered if I had gotten on the wrong plane.

After waiting at least thirty minutes in line at the rental car office, I was getting antsy to start exploring Denver.  When I got to the front desk, the woman told me that I could either wait awhile for my compact car or take the Ford Explorer she had ready right now.  Although the green conservationist within me cringed at the idea of driving a massive, gas-guzzling SUV, I had had enough of Fox Rental car for one day so I sold out and caved in.

I had procrastinated on reserving a hotel room that night in Denver until the morning of my departure. I had hoped to get a room in the same hotel where the University of Colorado was putting me up the following night, but thanks to my slacking, the hotel was fully booked.  While driving from Sante Fe to Albuquerque airport that morning, I had done a quick google search to find a hotel.  Yes, I realize Googling while driving is not the safest maneuver, but its what I did.  I even managed to find a hostel in downtown Denver for just $39 per night for a room with a shared bathroom.  The man on the phone didn't even make my leave a credit card, he just promised he would hold me a spot.

My Google maps lead me a bit astray on the way to the hostel, taking me to the south part of Broadway, just about 3 miles away from downtown.  It turned out to be a cool neighborhood with lots of bars, eateries, hippie cafes and even medical marijuana shops.  I had skipped lunch and was starving at this point so I pulled off to grab a slice of pizza at a place I had passed.  Being a New Jersey pizza snob, I wasn't too impressed with the pizza slice.  I was, however, quite impressed with the man who I saw walk out of one of the bars wearing an outlandish costume of very short 1980s gym shorts, a T-shirt with Bill Murray’s face on it, and a matching sweat band.  It looked like these Denver folks knew how to have a good time.

Eleventh Ave Hostel was right in the heart of downtown Denver, as it had been described.  When I walked into the lobby, I began having serious reservations about my decision to stay here though.  Maybe I should have paid more attention to the reviews I’d read online that spoke of one traveler’s experience acquiring bed bugs there….

The under-construction lobby of the hostel reminded me of a run down post-office with drab colors, yellow fluorescent lighting, gray furniture, and sketchy patrons.  In one of the couches, there was a very thin and anemic looking older black man, sullenly sitting there staring into space.  A short and stout mentally retarded man with coke-bottle glasses paced around the lobby holding a glazed donut with sprinkles while talking to himself.

I was greeted by a man wearing a nametag that read “Mark H” when I walked up to the front desk.  I recognized him as the same man I spoke to over the phone with his unmistakable raspy smokers voice. He was a middle-aged man who had clearly lived a rough life.  His thinning hair was slicked back into a greasy little ponytail, his skin dyed a nice yellow hue either from the years of tobacco exposure or perhaps the a bit of jaundice from the drinking. His right arm had a large scar on the forepart, an injury that rendered the limb barely useable.  I wondered what kind of accident had caused the wound; perhaps a late-night bar fight, an aggressive attack dog, or maybe a former job on a factor line.

Mark H was friendly enough and remembered me from the phone.  He was one of those people who likes to use your first name a lot in conversation.  I told him that I’d like to see the room before I committed to staying in it.  I was really just buying myself a little more time to decide if I wanted to cut and run to the closest Best Western I could find.  He walked me upstairs through long corridors with red wooden doors, slightly reminiscent of the hotel in “The Shining.”  I spotted a few European tourists in the hallways and felt a bit more at ease to know that the hostel wasn’t really a half-way house for recovering addicts and semi-homeless folks.  The room was clean enough and for $39, I figured why not.  I handed over my credit card, $5 deposit for a key, and another $3 to rent a towel.  Mark H promised it would be the fluffiest one he had.

I was ready for some exercise after sitting in airplanes and cars for the last few hours and I was anxious to be out in the late afternoon Denver sun.  As I was changing into my running gear, my phone rang.  It was my cousin, Drew.  Drew lives in the Boulder area and we had been talking about the possibility of meeting up while I was in town.  Drew told me, “I am parking right now.”  When he said this, I assumed he meant he had just pulled into his own driveway when in actuality, he was parking down the street.  When he heard from his dad (my uncle), that I was in town Saturday night, he figured he’d better head down since I wouldn't be here long and just drove to downtown Denver.  Fortunately, he just so happened to have parked his car a few blocks from my hostel, even though he hadn’t a clue as to what part of town I'd be staying in.

We took a walk through downtown Denver which was light up with afternoon sun.  There were some architecturally interesting art museums and a beautiful capital building.  Outside of the capital, there were bleachers and other festivities being set up.  Tomorrow, this spot would be the finish line for the ProAM cycling race, a professional ride that summits many mountains in Colorado over a 10 day period.  I was happy to see that Denver had a downtown that appeared thriving even on the weekends, unlike many cities.  This place was really growing on me.

For dinner that night, I met up with an old college friend, Erin.  Erin had been one of my closest friends during the 6 month period I spent studying abroad in England.  We hadn’t seen each other since around 2003 and certainly a lot had happened since then, namely her getting married and having a new baby.  She picked a trendy and delicious restaurant called Colt & Gray where hipster-type servers brought us hand-made cocktails and lots of delicious things to eat like foie gras terrine, beet burgers, house made charcuterie, and cheesecake in a mason jar.  Erin and I still had lots in common after all these years, including a love of food.

In my gigantic SUV, I followed her to her house after dinner.  The city was busy with nightlife that Saturday.  I spotted quite a few brewpubs I’d love to come back to on the way and was happy to see many people using bicycles for transportation too.  I got to meet Erin’s husband, his sister, and the cute baby.  Erin was excited that I could possibly be moving to Denver in the near future.  She told me she had a friend who ran a CrossFit gym and that I could go hiking with her other friends.  Matt’s sister was talking about her recent “fourteen-er.”  It appears that in Colorado, there are lots of people who keep track of the number of mountain peaks over 14-feet that they summit.  There are about 53 of them in the state.  She had most recently done 2 peaks in one day.  I was ready call home and tell them I wouldn't be returning to Texas any time soon.

Before I left for the evening, Erin asked if I was sure I didn't want to stay at her house on the air mattress that night.  She thought my hostel experience sounded a bit sketchy, and although she was right, I was excited for my possible adventure that night.  Back at the hostel, I found a parking spot in the dark, graffiti covered back alley.  A few smokers sat on the patio and I could hear the loud music from the bars nearby.  I was thankful for earplugs.

I am happy to report that I made it through the night unscathed and without bedbugs or scabies (as far as I can tell).  I woke up to a beautiful, cloudless morning.  I got into my running clothes and found the closest café that Yelp reviews promised would have a great espresso bar.  I washed down by raspberry scone with a latte while I planned out a running course. 

Sufficiently caffeinated, I set off towards Cheesman Park.  I realized my pace was fast and my legs felt strong, but I was struggling to breath and violently thirsty thanks to the altitude in the Mile High City.  There was a rose garden with on a hill with views of mountains beyond so I took advantage of if to catch my breath.  From Cheesman Park, I ran down to City Park which was quite a bit larger and also apparently preparing for the ProAM ride to pass through it that morning.  I got in a good seven mile run, and although my lungs were burning, it felt good to run in the cooler and dryer weather while I toured more of Denver.

I said goodbye to Mark H, the man with the donut, and the 11^th Ave Hostel.  Before leaving town, I picked up a fruit and yogurt smoothie from a health food shop called, Parsley.  A sign on the wall implored you to cut up your American Express card as an act of defiance against corporate greed.  They even provided the scissors.  Juice in hand, I started my drive up to a town called Longmont, not far from Boulder.  I was heeding the suggestion of my friend, Luke, who told me I should check out the Oskar Blues taproom there.  It promised dozens of locally brewed craft beers and live bluegrass so he knew I’d like it.  I also figured I could visit with my cousins a bit more as I’d learned last night they would be right down the street.  My friend Shan Shan met me there and we shared a huge plate of barbequed ribs and pulled pork, drank good beer, and caught up while listening to an impromptu bluegrass session complete with fiddle, mandolin, bangos, and even an Irish stepper.

After lunch, I visited my cousins Drew and Seth at a test kitchen down the road.  They are trying to start a business making “mochi.”  I always thought mochi was just the fluffy white sweet rice candy that one can find in frozen yogurt shops as a topping, but it turns out there is more to it than that.  They showed me around the industrial test kitchen while they waited for their brown ride to boil.  Later they would make it into a sort-of paste and eventually it would look like a flat thin square that one could use like toast.  In the storeroom of the test kitchen I also saw a lot of other health food items, like granola, gluten-free cakes and chai tea, in various stages of production.  The whole place smelled wonderfully of cinnamon granola.  I hadn’t seen my cousins since our grandmother died in 2010, so it was good to catch up.

As I drove back to Denver that afternoon, I enjoyed the rural beauty of Colorado.  Expansive farmland and horse corrals led up to massive mountain ranges.  This was the Colorado I had envisioned.  I wished I had more time, but I had to get back to Denver for a work function that evening.

The University of Colorado put all of the interviewees up in a cute little boutique hotel in the affluent Denver neighborhood called Cherry Creek.  There were tons of shops within walking distance, including a very bustling Whole foods. I picked up an excellent cortado at a very hipster café which used Intelligentsia coffee beans.  I got back to the hotel just in time to meet the rest of the group for an awesome dinner at a nearby Italian restaurant using mostly local ingredients on their menu.  I saved room for dessert and met up with my friend, Casey, at a very popular ice cream spot.  The place is an open-air creamery that serves its ice cream out of a circular building that looks like a giant, old fashioned milk jug.  After waiting in a very long but quickly moving line, I ordered a mix of peanut butter pretzel and banana chocolate chip ice flavors.  Somehow in 24 hours, I had managed to visit with 3 friends, and 2 family members, run 7 miles, take a drive through the country, listen to bluegrass, and eat and drink lots of wonderful new things.  I was satisfied.  It was now time for the work portion of my trip to begin!

Southwestern Excursions

23-25 August 2012

Southwestern Excursions

From an airplane, New Mexico looks like another planet.  The brown and arid land is dotted with occasional bushes and vegetation.  The expansive flat land is interrupted occasionally by mountain ridges as far as the eye can see.  Albuquerque is like an oasis in the midst of it all. 

In this sleepy little airport, it took me less than five minutes to walk from my airplane to the front of the airport where I easily found the shuttle to my rental car.  The middle-aged driver eagerly lifted my suitcase on the bus, said hi, and asked me where I had gotten my interesting necklace from.  Once we all boarded the shuttle bus, the driver came over the loudspeaker and introduced himself as Bill.  He informed us that the ride to the rental car area would take about 3 minutes.  He went on to give us the statistics on Albuquerque including the weather forecast, how many miles of visibility we had today, the exact time of tonight’s sunset, and the population of the city.  When he lifted my suitcase off of the bus again, he said, “I really would have liked to talk to you more.”  Normally A comment like that would have seemed sleezy coming from a middle-aged married man, but he did it in such a genuine way as if to say, “You just seemed like an interesting person with whom I would like to have a conversation.”  I would come to find that this genuine and open sense of friendliness was common in New Mexico.

After a long day of work and traveling, I was in need some caffeine.  Right across from the University of New Mexico campus, I found a café called Satellite Coffee.  The shop and its patio out front was full of students, hipsters and aged-hippies; some were discussing their studies, others were smoking marijuana.  I asked an older couple to watch my laptop while I went to the bathroom.  The woman said that she would tackle anyone who tried to steal my computer. 

After completing a full day of interviews at the University of New Mexico, I set out to explore Albuquerque some more; if there was a possibility I might live here for 2 years, I’d better get a feel for it.  I changed into my running clothes after the interview was finished and set off to find a trail.  I drove east out of Albuquerque and headed towards the mountains; in about 20 minutes I arrived at the foothills.  There were miles of paved running/biking trails along the road.  At that higher elevation I could see the city below and dessert beyond.  The sky was bright with the afternoon sunlight and dotted with impressive clouds.  It took me about 30 minutes to drive about half of the perimeter of Albuquerque.  I finally parked my rental car near a park that runs along the Rio Grande river where there were many more miles of running and biking trails.  Being used to Houston humidity, it was wonderful to take a run in the cooler and drier weather.  My pace was faster than it had been in the Texas heat, but I did feel a little short of breath in the 5000 feet altitude of Albuquerque.

I had dinner plans with my friend, Nancy, that night.  On the way back to the hotel to shower, I took a quick drive through Old Town Albuquerque which is full with old adobe buildings painted in rich browns and reds. 

I met Nancy on Central Ave, which is also known as the old Route 66.  For miles, this road is full of restaurants, shops, bars, and other industry.  Most of the buildings have a retro or southwestern design and funky neon lights that remind me a little of the older part of Las Vegas. I drank an Albuquerque-brewed IPA at the bar in Nob Hill where I met Nancy and her brother and sister-in-law.  On the way to the gourmet taqueria where we ate dinner, they all kept running into people they knew, old friends from highschool and so on.  Albuquerque may be a city but it feels like a close community.

We ended our night at a club set inside one of the oldest buildings in Albuquerque called Casa Ascensia.  It has been a long time since I have gone out “clubbing.”  While I waited in the long line to get in, wearing jeans and a shirt, I felt grossly overdressed.  The barely-twenty-one year old club-goers around me were quite scantily clad even from my liberal perspective.  It seems that the new trend is spandex micro-mini skirts or high-waisted 1980’s style short-shorts, even for the obese girls.  Trendy clubs with cover-charges and dress-codes are not my scene, but I enjoyed catching up with Nancy, dancing to some 1990s throwback music, and watching the drunk kids go by. 

I considered catching up on sleep the next morning, but decided life was too short to sleep in and got up early to drive to Santa Fe.  I had always heard Sante Fe was a magical place and so I didn’t want to miss out on an opportunity to visit it.  Albuquerque was quiet and sleepy when I hit the road around 7:30am.  I could see about half a dozen hot-air balloons floating through the sky over the dessert.  After grabbing a coffee Michael Thomas Roaster, at a small café their roasts their own coffee beans, I jumped on the highway.

Santa Fe is a quick drive from Albuquerque; with a speed limit of 75 mph, one can arrive in Santa Fe in under one hour.  There were some stunning desert vistas along the way contrasted with bleak looking Native American reservation land.  It had been quite a few years since I had driven through the beautiful southwest.  Every time I do, I am taken by this feeling of openness, adventure and possibility when I see the long straight road stretching for miles ahead and surrounded by beautiful nature. 

When I arrived in Santa Fe around 9am, the town was still waking up.  Before the hoards of Saturday tourists arrived, I got to walk through the small but beautifully preserved adobe city as the sun light up the warmly-colored earth-toned buildings.  This year, Santa Fe is celebrating its 400 year anniversary which is almost hard to believe considering how well-kept the structures are. 

I had brunch at a restaurant called Pasqual’s Café, that I had read had one of the best New Mexican breakfasts in town.  As a single diner, I had to wait about 15 minutes to get a seat which was at a large community table in the middle of the small restaurant.  The man seated to my right was an older hippie, with his long white beard and red and green colored Hawaiian shirt, he looked a little like a desert Santa Claus.  The waiter approached him and said, “Hi Jim!  Are you going to have the usual?”

I turned to Jim and said, “So, I guess you’re a regular here?”  He told me that he has been coming to this café for 23 years.  I decided that I should probably order whatever he was having to eat.  It was called the Huevos Montelunos which had tortillas, eggs over easy, beans, red and green chilli sauce, green peas, and sautéed bananas.  It was delicious!

The couple seated on my left were in town for their son’s wedding later that day in Los Alamos.  The couple was from Los Angeles but hoping to retire in western Montana soon.  The man told me he was getting in touch with his artist side, that he had just written and published a book.  Turns out, his father was a famous actor in the 1950s, a heart-throb named Glenn Ford and so he had just written his biography. 

My flight out of Albuquerque was at 3pm so I didn't have much time left in Santa Fe.  I spent the last hour checking out a small artist fair and the jewelry and craft merchants located in the central square.  Most of the vendors were Native Americans selling turquoise jewelry. I couldn’t help but buy a variety of their wares.  They weren’t very open to my attempts to bargain a price, but I didn’t really care.  I can feel good about financially supporting the Native American efforts.  Before I knew it, the town clock struck 12 noon, signaling my departure back to Albuquerque.  If I jumped right in the car, I would have just enough time to make my flight to Denver.  If only I just had more time to explore....

Tents, Pit Toilets and Bovine Neighbors

14-18 February 2012

Tents, Pit Toilets and Bovine Neighbors

It was a long drive from the Dhakpo monastery to the campsite where we would spend the next five nights.  We slowly descended through the Kullu valley to a lower elevation, eventually ending up on road that circled the perimeter of a large reservoir.  After about 4 hours of driving, the caravan of cars stopped at a pedestrian only suspension bridge and we got out and walked the last mile to the campsite.

We could see our bright yellow tents from afar; they were set up in a neat row near the bank of the reservoir.  The campsite was located about 500 feet below the level of the road.  We all carried our heavy bags and suitcases down a narrow dusty trail, pausing to let a herd of cows pass us.  I was thankful to have a backpack I could carry easily on my back instead of a suitcase.  It was humorous to watch some of the others attempt to wheel their suitcases down the trail.

It was a beautiful afternoon, and we all settled into the campsite.  I was pleased that the weather at this lower elevation was at least 10 degrees higher.  Feeling quite sedentary, Karen and I decided to do some strength training like sprints, squats and push-ups on the edge of the water.  It was great to feel hot and sweaty instead of numb and shivering.

Throughout the course of our five night stay we worked four clinics.  The first was about a 45 minute drive away in a more remote section of the valley.  It was a beautiful site, surrounded by terraced fields and stone and thatched roof buildings.  The weather was gorgeous that day and we sat outside as we interviewed our patients.  There was a brief interruption of our clinic when a big local politician arrived for a rally.  There were firecrackers, horns and lots of fanfare.  The patients and our translator all momentarily left to listen to the speech.

I had quite a few interesting gynecological cases that day instead of predominantly primary care issues.  At the end of the day, we were even sent a male patient.  This was the first time I had seen a penis, in a medical setting, since medical school.  I quickly called Max, the ER resident, over for a consultation about the man's penile lesion-I was way out of my league there.

The second clinic was located 40 minutes away in an even tinier town than the first one.  Our examination tents were set up next to a small farm lot.  We ate lunch on the roof top of a box-like building.  I was really getting spoiled on the concept of an outdoor clinic--seeings patients while basking in the sunlight.  Why can't we do this at home?

The other two clinics were located at a school within walking distance of our campsite just near the foot bridge we had crossed on the first day.  The school site offered a great view of the reservoir and valley as it was set higher above the level of the water.  The school children were very curious about us the first day.  The giggled and posed for pictures, clearly we had distracted them from learning.  My gynecology exam table was placed in a dark smokey room the size of a closet.  The room was normally used as a kitchen and it had no electricity so we needed a camping headlamp to do exams.

On that day, our group provided a lunch for all of the school children and locals who visited the clinic.  A man had come down from one of the local Hindu temples to help prepare the meal and was wearing a special outfit.  I spent awhile in the "kitchen" which was just an abandoned building, watching the meal preparations.  When lunchtime finally arrived, the children sat on the ground, neatly lined up in rows.  They were served heaping mounds of rice, at least the amount of 4 servings.  They were also given lentils, a fried yogurt dish, and a salad.  Many of them had seconds.  It was probably one of the largest meals they had had in a long time.  It was also apparent why most of them had vitamin deficiencies and cavities from their unbalanced high glycemic index carbohydrate-laden diet.

The second day of our clinic at the school site, we had a small turnout of patients.  The villagers told us that there had been a suicide in one of the nearby towns.  A 23 year old man had hung himself and they'd found him that morning.  He had a one year old child.  They were preparing for his cremation.  When there was downtime in the afternoon, the children performed a song and dance routine for us.  Apparently it was a dance that is often done at Indian weddings.  In return, they asked us to perform for them.  Mandy, Karen, and Jess did some kind of aerobic dance routine for them to the tune of some '90's music playing on an iPhone.

In the afternoons and evenings, we got creative with different ways to entertain ourselves.  For some people, I think it was difficult to feel entertained without television or internet so a few resorted to drinking cheap vodka and rum in their tents or by the water.

During the afternoons, we might sit around on our camping stools, reading our respective books.  It was refreshing to finally be able to spend time reading a book for pleasure and not for study.  One afternoon, half a dozen of us visited the local Hindu temple where a man in some sporty sunglasses gave us a blessing.  The blessing consisted of some orange paint on our foreheads, sweet water to drink (or in our case, pretend to drink), flower petals, and sugary sweet rice puffs.  There was usually an afternoon cricket game being played in the large field by our tents.  The Americans were learning how to play the game from Ravi, the drivers, and the local kids.  Karen and I did yoga one afternoon by the water.  Another day, Jess and I went for a run along the main road.  In a matter of 2 weeks, I had already lost a lot of endurance and what would have normally been a simple 5 mile run turned into a challenging event.  The hill climbs didn't help either.

There were Hearts and other card game tournaments.  Some people went into the kitchen tent and helped the cooks prepare the night's meal.  One night we celebrated one of the medical student's, Shaneel's, birthday.  Ravi had brought birthday cake mix from the US and the cooks did a good job preparing the cake in their rudimentary propane-powered oven.  We drank beer and played music in our dinner tent and even had a little dance party.

There were periodic visitors to our campsite, both human and animal.  Besides the boys coming for a cricket game, some of the other villagers would also walk through the campsite, curiously looking at our tents.  Many times they were in the process of herding cattle.  Other times, the cows showed up alone; they didn't do much besides stand there and poop.  A few dogs took a liking to us, in fact one shaggy black dog ran along with Jess and me while we went out on our run.  He was a very good companion.  There was a little girl with a unibrow who we spotted many times at our site.  Sometimes she was collecting sticks, other times she was kicking cow piles around.  She always seem to show up out of nowhere, it was actually kind of creepy.  She seemed a little "off."  Max was even a bit frightened.

I enjoyed the camping experiences, overall, but was also glad to go back to some of the daily "luxuries" that we take for granted at home.  I had not had a proper shower in about six days.  Our version of a bath or shower was a large bucket of hot water in a "shower tent."  It was difficult to even get all of the soap off of the body, it was cold, and at the end, there was dirt and grass on my feet.  I had gotten used to squatting over a pit toilet, also known as a dirt hole, to go to the bathroom, but my knees were starting to feel sore.  There is something wonderful about a proper western toilet.