The betrayal of Afghanistan

For six months in 2007, from March through August 2007, I worked in Kabul, Afghanistan, helping a national government ministry there with various communications functions, via a United Nations contract. 

I researched and edited reports for donors, I got our program's vast photo archive of work with Afghans online so other agencies could use them for their reports and online, and I did workshops to help my Afghan women colleagues improve their communication skills.  

It was a time of hope in a surreal setting. It wasn't safe for a foreign woman to walk around on the streets of Kabul, but there were about six restaurants that the UN considered safe enough for staff to go to (and about half a dozen more that staff also went to). I worked primarily with Afghans, in an Afghan workplace, not a UN compound, not surrounded primarily by foreigners. A headscarf could be loose - an unmarried woman could still show her hair beneath that scarf. Not every woman was in a burqa - none of my Afghan co-workers were. I bounced around in a UN SUV on bomb-pocked dirt roads to work at about 6:30 a.m every morning, and went the same way home at about 5 each evening, six days a week. We often passed men playing volleyball in the dusty dirt outside a bombed-out building. I spent most of my days in front of a laptop, writing copy: reports, press releases, video scripts, web site content, etc. Sometimes I was in meetings, sometimes I was walking within our walled ministry compound, trying to track down some Afghan official to interview for a report I was preparing about a dam or a winterization program or some other rural development project. I rarely got moments away from work or my guest house, but I did get a few: a day at a lake, two days in Kandahar, all day in beautiful Panshir, an afternoon in the Kabul history museum near Darul Aman Palace... 

I won't say I loved it. I didn't love it. Some days, I hated it. It was hard, lonely work. I missed my husband and my dog. I missed walking. I hated the polluted air. I was appalled at how dogs were treated (the Koran, by the way, teaches to care for dogs). I was offered an extended contract and said, "No way!" 

But I loved working with Afghans - all these young, educated, hopeful people who went all in to improve their country. Their hope and assumptions about the future were infectious. I took photos of them, I blogged about them, I stayed in touch with them all these years. They went all in to make their country better and to believe their country was embracing Democracy, and they were already living a life oh-so-different than anything the Taliban would ever allow. 

When I left Kabul in August 2007, Lonely Planet had just published a guidebook to the country, I had written and published a guide online to shopping in Kabul, so foreigners could support local businesses, especially women, and I told my husband I would take him to Afghanistan in probably five years, because the country would be safe enough for us to go for a visit. 

All these Afghans who believed they could build a modern country - not like the USA, not like Canada, not like something in Europe - they wanted something like Lebanon in its heyday, or like Egypt at various times in the 20th Century: a modern Islamic state, where the religion was valued and practiced openly but also where women went to school and had careers. They wanted the country to look more like Tajikistan or Uzbekistan. They did NOT want to be "America" - they wanted to be Afghanistan. And they worked towards that. They lived it, every day. And the USA celebrated that, publicized it, bragged about it. 

A few years later, I watched one of my colleagues get a comment on his Facebook page about being Pashto, in contrast to Tajik or whatever, and he responded, "I am Afghan." It warmed my heart. 

And the way my Afghan colleagues have lived in the last 15 or so years, the way the USA and other countries have encouraged them to live, is now going to get them killed. 

Here I am in Oregon, 14 years later. I've spent days and days compiling information and doing online research and writing the state department and my elected officials, trying desperately to get the magical paperwork for my assistant and her family, and another woman I worked with, so they can get out of the country. I'm writing letters, sending emails, posting online, filling out forms... and it just does nothing. I'm also scrubbing photos off the Internet, including photos of me with some representatives from an Afghan media channel when they visited Portland and a blog applauding my alma mater back in Kentucky for honoring an Afghan journalist. 

My former assistant has four young nieces that she's responsible for, and she's terrified the Taliban is going to take them away, because that's what they do. They hide in their house. The US press says, "oh, the Taliban says women will be able to go to school, they will be able to work in separate workplaces!" while the Taliban tells women and girls they must stay in their homes - and far worse. 

I get messages from my assistant each morning and each evening so that I know she's still alive. 

I just can't believe we have abandoned the people who believed in us and have lived the lives they've lead, because we, the USA, the Western World, said, hey, we've got your back, go for it! All these uplifting media TV stories over the years about Afghan women over the years, because they formed a bicycle riding team or a soccer team or a skateboarding club - all of those stories now have the potential to get them killed.

The evacuation did not have to happen this way. Leaving Afghanistan did not have to happen this way. Trump didn't involve the Afghan government in any negotiations with the Taliban, signaling to everyone: they are powerless and meaningless. Same for women: Afghanistan has women leaders, and they were left out of all conversations. The military thought contractors and lots of equipment could create an Afghan army - and they never considered talking to Afghan young people, or any women, about what was happening, they poured money into contractors bank accounts instead of regular people's. Yes, Biden inherited a mess he could not fix, but he has to be held accountable for his role in this disaster of an evacuation, starting with the sudden closing of Bagram airbase, which was such a colossal mistake, and no plan for mass evacuation. The arrogance and denial of Biden and his administration about how things would end in Afghanistan cannot be forgotten: 

The Taliban is not the south—the North Vietnamese army. They're not—they're not remotely comparable in terms of capability. There's going to be no circumstance where you see people being lifted off the roof of a embassy in the—of the United States from Afghanistan. It is not at all comparable. 

Biden during a July 8, 2021 press conference.

And it's going to be sooner rather than later when we start hearing about how the USA is going to give the Taliban money despite their rapes of women and murders of journalists and ethnic minorities - it will be something about "fighting terrorism" and "we can't expect them to change overnight" and blah blah blah. All sorts of excuses. All sorts of empty excuses for not really pressuring Afghanistan in any meaningful way to restore women's human rights. 

Why will any person in another country believe a US military person, a US diplomat, a USAID worker, a Peace Corps member, or any citizen of the US who says, "Hey, trust me! Let's work together! Let's be allies!" Why should they believe the US ever again?

Bases in Germany, Italy, South Korea, Japan... good, long relationships with people in those countries, starting when they were war-ravaged and needed to rebuild and needed that long-term commitment. But not Afghanistan.  

I'm just gutted. I'm completely gutted. And ashamed. 

September 1, 2021 Postscript:

Educated girls grow to become educated women, and educated women will not allow their children to become terrorists. The secret to a peaceful and prosperous Afghanistan is no secret at all: It is educated girls.

Shabana Basij-Rasikh, @sbasijrasikh on Twitter, in "I founded a girls’ school in Afghanistan. Don’t let our stories disappear as they have before."

What our grandparents' ration books say about our social contract

Wise words from my friend Julie. She posted this to Facebook. Paragraph breaks is mine:

A couple of years ago I visited with a dear and amazing cousin who was clearing out the apartment of her mother who had recently passed (a truly incredible woman, but that's a whole other story). Among the keepsakes she was sorting through was a book of rationing coupons from WW II. 

I had heard of these, of course, but never seen or held one until that moment. It was so poignant and powerful to look through them. There were coupons for butter and sugar and other household items; some were missing -- presumably spent by her family back in the day. Of course I was not alive then, but from what I've been told by family members, people proudly participated in the rationing effort. They pulled together in community and sacrificed for the war, denying themselves for the greater good, and feeling a great deal of pride about serving the cause. Many, of course, made the ultimate sacrifice, of their own lives, or those of their children or spouses. My mom lost her father to the war at the tender age of 9, and very nearly lost her oldest brother as well, who was shot down behind enemy lines and barely avoided capture. 

Anyone who knows me knows I'm no blind patriot -- I fully acknowledge that as a country we often fail abysmally to reach the aspirations set forth in our Constitution, and the toxicity embedded in our systems sometimes seems too much to bear or overcome. But something I am mourning right now is the prevalence of a warped belief by a significant minority of Americans that making even small sacrifices for the safety and well-being of our larger community is somehow a personal or patriotic failure, or worse. That wearing a mask, or social distancing, or getting a vaccination is "unAmerican." This is so upside-down. As flawed as being "American" can be, historically there is honestly nothing *more* American than sacrificing for the greater good. We can start with George Washington's requirement during the Revolutionary War that his troops be vaccinated against smallpox, which let me tell you did NOT involve walking into a nice clean Walgreens, having your arm swabbed with alcohol, and getting a quick little jab by a professional with a sterile, safe needle and a vaccine that had been rigorously scientifically tested. It was a dangerous, painful and ugly process and without it we would have lost the Revolutionary War. 

Fast forward to today, when a dear friend picking up take-out from a restaurant had a man attack her and literally threaten to rip the mask off of her face, because "we don't wear masks here." Some folks have been convinced that being selfish and endangering others is patriotic. It makes me so sad. I can't imagine how to heal it.

We love Lucy

I've got some bad news, but first I want to say that Lucinda the dog is comfortable and happy and, as I write, she's laying out in the sun in the backyard, looking very content.

Today, I learned that, very probably, Lucy, our beautiful, gorgeous brindle girl, has Degenerative Myelopathy. Now, I want to emphasize that, right now, she's very comfortable and, as I write this, she's walking just fine, and getting up and down just fine. But that was not the case this morning, and a visit to the emergency vet gave us this diagnosis. And it means our time together is not going to be quite as long as you would expect when your dog is only seven years old. 

Degenerative Myelopathy is a neurodegenerative disease in dogs, and it causes a progressive and irreversible deterioration and loss of function of the nervous system, especially the neurons in the brain. In essence, it “short circuits” nerve pathways from the brain to the limbs so that, over time, the dog loses its ability to feel or use its limbs. 

This could take a year. This could take as much as three years. This could happen in months. It usually happens over six months. We just don't know.

The good news is that DM is not painful, in and of itself, and it can be quite gradual. But there is no cure for this disease and it is fatal. Most owners choose to euthanize their dogs when they can no longer take care of their bodily functions, rather than allowing the disease to progress all the way.

We are, of course, devastated at the news. 

For the next four-eight weeks, we have to deprive Lucinda of what she loves most: walking and interacting with other dogs and all her human friends. We have to see how she's doing and if this was just a first sign of her disease, one that will slowly progress, she's going to get to resume our walks. But no more hiking, since we need to always be ready for the possibility we have to get the car for her. And no more playing with other dogs, at least not the dogs she loves most, because that could risk injury. The vet told me specifically: "no more sprinting." 

I'm now home, having been at the emergency vet for five hours. They saw her almost immediately to make sure she wasn't about to die, then did a more thorough examination three hours later. Stefan had to carry her to put her into the car, and she was gurneyed into the examination room after they tried to walk her through the lobby. For at least three hours at the clinic, she was lethargic, couldn't stand, and her eyes were half-closed, because her brain wouldn't open them wider. And now, she's walking through the house, bright eyed, like it ain't no thang, all medded up and wondering what the fuss is all about. 

Huge shoutout to Tanasbourne Emergency Veterinary for having tables and chairs and big gazebo covers all around the sidewalk of its office. I had had the wherewithal in the panic to bring the dogs' beds, so we were comfortable, in the shade - but I had no food, and my phone had 10% power, so I had to turn it off and use it only to tell Stefan when to come pick us up (he works quite nearby the clinic). It was just me, Lucy, Kobe (our guest dog for the next several weeks), and my thoughts for five hours. Not a good Monday. But I was glad not to have to be in the lobby. We were on the side of the building and left quite alone, and it was nice.

Huge shoutout also to Kobe, who just grooved along with it all, perfectly content, happy to be included. Got in and out of the car on command like he's been doing this with us for years. 

So, I won't be going on that big motorcycle trip in September after all, which is incredibly sad, as it's for Stefan's 50th birthday, and we were so, so looking forward to this. I hope he will still go and enjoy the Colorado dinosaurs without me. But I'm not going anywhere for a while. I've got a Mexican princess to look after. She's now on her bed next to the couch, enjoying the sedatives. I think I'll take some. 

Tuesday, August 24 update: She's fine today, the day after. Walking around like there is nothing wrong at all. We're not crating her, as the doctor suggested, but we are keeping her on the sedatives and not taking her for walks while she's on those meds. And I've reconfirmed I'm not going on our motorcycle trip, which is devastating, but not as devastating as this diagnosis. I'll be very, very sad to miss this trip. I would be shattered if she took a turn for the worse in the three weeks I'm gone. I'll consider it a gift if she's fine for all of September. 

I've learned that "The variable presentation between breeds suggests that there are environmental or other genetic factors responsible for modifying disease expression" from this resource. So her lack of good nutrition in the womb could have, indeed, contributed to how this disease has manifested. "Genetic testing remains the only reliable way to detect neurological disease associated with this mutation prior to death." We're going to get her a genetic test - ordered it today - and if it turns out that it's not DM, then I think the only other thing it could be intervertebral disc disease - which is also lousy. But given her droopy eyes yesterday, in addition to the back legs, I just don't see how it could not be DM.  It's not common in greyhounds, and we are relatively certain that's her dominant breed. In one study of 33 greyhounds tested, 3% had two copies of the mutation and were at-risk. However, maybe her dominant breed is boxer, and if that's the case, in one study of 3934 boxers tested, 29.9% were carriers of the mutation and 57.4% were at-risk/affected. And, no, I'm not getting a genetic test for breed - everything I've read says those are often inaccurate and meaningless - you would have to do tests from at least three different companies to see if they all said the same thing. And, honestly, now, it really doesn't matter. Her breed is Lucinda of Northern Baja, California, Mexico. 

Happier?

Are callous people happier than me?

Are people that learn that their neighbors need something and can completely ignore helping at all happier than me?

Are people that pass the buck happier than me?

Are people that avoid the news because "it's such a downer," or can watch it and not feel anything - sympathy, compassion, sadness - happier than me?

Are smug people happier than me?

I wonder. I really do. 

Are people who shrug and say, "Not my problem," happier than me?

I wonder.  

We went camping in June!

 For the first time in more than 15 months, we journeyed somewhere and stayed overnight and did not sleep in our own home. And for the first time in almost two years, we CAMPED. 

We didn't go far. Just 120 miles from our house. We booked two nights at Blackberry Campground, along the Alsea River in Siuslaw National Forest, Oregon. It was GLORIOUS. Yes, State Highway 34 is right there next to the campground, but there's hardly any traffic at night and well into the morning, plus, our campsite was right next to the Alsea River, and therefore, we slept like logs. It's a beautiful campground and we will definitely go again. I chose this campground because the one that I really wanted to check out at Alsea Falls was booked out.  

We took State Highway 47 from Forest Grove to McMinneville (which we've done a million times), then South on 99W through Amity, then right on Bethel Road, through Perrydale (where we watched the eclipse). Then to Dallas, and then on beautiful 223, which is just lovely - we rode it for the first time a month earlier and couldn't believe it took us that long to find it.  

Two miles south of the tiny community of Pedee, Oregon, on Polk-Benton counties border, there's a lovely roadside stop: Ritner Creek Covered Bridge. It's pedestrian-only now, and there are picnic tables inside and babbling Ritner Creek below. According to the official web site, 

In addition to its original use as a highway crossing over the creek, residents for nearly 80 years have used the Ritner Creek Covered Bridge for weddings, community picnics, dances and as a shelter from the rain.

We continued on 223 and then it was on to State Highway 34 and to Blackberry Campground. State Highway 34 is lovely, by the way. 

I almost hestitate to tell this, because I don't want everyone else booking the site... but campsite #14 is the best for motorcycle travelers: it is separated from all the other campers by both the day use parking lot - which this time of year, no one uses, because the river is too low for boats - and you are right above the river, and that's a wonderful sound at night, and because you have this fantastic unused parking lot to park your bikes and because you have the day use pit toilets almost entirely to yourselves! The campground wasn't full at all, but we were so so happy we booked in advanced, because it took any worry about arriving late and not finding a spot and, added bonus, we got the best site in the entire place.  

I brought street-vendor-sized flour tortillas, a can of black beans, a wee bit of salsa, an avocado and the last of our grated Mexican cheese, so we could have street tacos that night and mini-breakfast burritos (I brought six eggs too) that morning. Both meals were SO simple to make on our little backpacker camp stove. I'm really proud of my campground cooking skills - I think I am a great mix between deliciousness and convenience. I have no desire to spend an hour cooking while I'm camping. I'm not there to work. 

We got up early on Saturday and were able to leave to begin exploring quite early. I love staying in a campsite two nights instead of one, so that we don't have to bother with packing, we can leave it all and head out and explore and then come home to a setup campsite, ready for us to cook and enjoy the evening and sleep. We headed back onto Highway 34 and headed to the coast. The road goes along the Alsea River, and many of the street names off the road, up into the mountains, are very intriguing like the Alsea Riveria. There are some folks with beautiful houses along that river. I'd love to know just how high the river can get - when we were there, it was low enough to walk across (but I wouldn't advise it). 

My speedometer had stopped working somewhere after McMinnville, so I was worried about my speed, but Stefan said I was eerily always going the speed limit. I have said for years my nickname should be Speed Limit. It blasted us with rain at one point, but then, it stopped, the sun came out, and all was well. 

We turned left and headed South to Yachats. It's the usual not-attractive Oregon coastal town, but it was so surprising and, well, nice, to enter the town and be greeted by people on either side of the street with Black Lives Matter signs. It's a brave thing to do in Oregon! 

And now I've seen most of the Oregon Coast. And can say, with authority: there are way, way better routes through Oregon than the Oregon coast. That said, I will also say that the area around xxx is the prettiest part, by far, of the Oregon Coast. But the rest? You can skip it. 

I saw National Forest Service Road 5590 on Google Maps, making a loop, listed as 18.7 miles, and it looked doable for me on my KLR. I knew it was some kind of "main" forest road, since it showed up so prominently on Google Maps. It starts off as Yachats River Road from 101, and, in fact, it is mostly paved and lovely. You trade the coast for a lush green river valley, which I prefer! Early on at one point, you come to a fork in the road, and one sign tells you to go to the left, on a gravel road, 9 miles to 101, and the other says that Cape Perpetua is to the right, 11 miles. We were very confused, because Stefan says there's no way it was just 9 miles to the coast in that direction. A look at the map shows he's right. So, maybe someone scratched off the 1 before the 9? Anyway, I could see a Forest Service Road sign for 5590, going uphill, and up we went. The road was still paved, which was a shock, and after probably half a mile, we saw a sign for Keller Creek Day Use Area. It was a great place to park the bikes and have a look around. There is a sign there and an information board that has been updated with COVID info, and it has been mowed in the last few weeks, so it is still open, but it doesn't appear on GoogleMaps, which I find odd. 

Keller Creek Day Use Area has an area that looks like it would be perfect for swimming on a really hot day. I fear the locals regularly tear the place up, otherwise, it would be great for camping. It showed signs of recent damage.

A white Suburu outback with California plates went by, and the lone male driver looked at us like, "Is this really a road?" But he continued on. And so did we. I was stunned - while the road was barely wide enough for a car, the road was mostly paved! But when it stopped being paved, it REALLY stopped. When it stops being paved, it's wretched - in the rain, it would have been terrifying and dangerous. The conditions of this road must change frequently, per logging trucks and the rain. According to the Forest Service web site, the road was closed through May 15 and stationary logging equipment would be blocking the road - which, of course, we did not know because we didn't check first. But that explains the parts of the road that weren't there. I'm so glad I took that offroad riding class a few years ago - I never could have ridden this otherwise. I just would love to know why the road is mostly paved. Again, it's a very narrow road - had we met a car coming down, I don't know what we would have done. 

We never saw the white Subaru again... There is nowhere on the road where you can pull over and take in the view or rest, so I was really glad we had stopped at Keller Creek. 

The road brings you to Forest Road 55 eventually, which takes you to the well-paved road for regular passenger cars that goes up to Cape Perpetua viewing area, that looks down on the cape (it will be obvious to you when you hang a right for this road). 

Next trip, maybe we will do Ten Mile Creek Road / NF 56 which is connected to a slightly bigger loop than the aforementioned Forest Road: it becomes NF 5800 / Klickitat Trail Road, then becomes Cummings Peak Road, which is what we took on our this trip back to the coast on the aforementioned loop. 

While I'm not much for national forest roads unless someone has told us it's well-maintained, both of the aforementioned loops stand out so prominently on GoogleMaps, in contrast to all of the other roads, I knew they had to be okay. Here's a screen capture:

One thing about doing these roads: it's important to first look at updates on the Siuslaw National Forest, web site or the US Forest Service Roads web site regarding whether or not the forest service roads you are interested in are open or not. Turns out the forest service roads we took were closed for a few weeks because of logging and re-opened only recently. 

Less than six miles from our campground was East Boundary Road, which is also National Forest Service Road 5800. A guy in a parking lot (we meet a lot of those) told us it's possible to go from that road all the way to where we were, and a look at the map checks out. I just doubt I'm good enough for such a ride. 

Anyway, back to the Cape Perpetua Lookout: it's common for the parking area at the top to be full, and we were hoping that by parking at the overflow lot down below we would get out of paying the day-use fee. We're not opposed at all to day-use use fees, but two things: as near as we can figure, each of these sites wants you to pay at each site, and in one day, you're likely to go to six or so sites. That's $30! Added to that, each motorcycle has to pay - so, a van full of 10 people pays $5, two motorcycles with two people pay double. NO. We weren't ticketed, but I think that, indeed, we were supposed to pay, even given where we parked (there are self-pay stations everywhere). 

The lookout is totally worth the stop. It's breathtaking. No stop at the site is complete without seeing the Stone Shelter, a small, rustic one-room no-frills structure was built around 1933 by the Civilian Conservation Corps. It's meant to be a place where you can view the cape and the ocean and be protected from the elements. The CCC also built many of the trails and campgrounds in the area that are still in use today. During World War II, it became an observation station, looking for enemy boats or aircraft.

We didn't wear masks at this site. The wind was blowing, it was cool, and Dr. Fauci says we're fine outdoors and vaccinated, so we went for it. It's the first time I've been around people and not had a mask on. It felt so weird, like I was being a bad person. 

We ate outside at Yachats Brewing + Farmstore. Stefan loved his pulled pork. My vegetarian burger was... boring. I was trying to be healthy. Vegetarian burgers need SO much sauce and fixings to taste like anything. We're still not ready to eat inside, despite being vaccinated and what Dr. Fauci says. We don't drink and ride, and the only soda they had was their own, but it was so good, we had two glasses each! Yachats Brewing was the only place we saw in Yachats with outdoor seating, and we didn't see a park or anything where you could eat takeout (any picnic tables were in places where Oregon State Parks wants you to pay $5 a motorcycle to visit). We SO wanted fish and were really disappointed not to have it. 

We rode some more, further South, took more photos. But I was getting tired and cranky. We never saw a sign for Thor's Well, though we passed where it was supposed to be three times. It's an old sea cave that has collapsed, creating almost a “drainage pipe” to the ocean. It’s a seemingly bottomless hole that thrashes and sprays water as the waves crash in and out. Since it's on every map online and in print, we assumed there would be a road sign for it. Nope! I have read all about it online now and I still have no idea where you park to hike down to it. 

Going back North on 101, just as we passed the entrance to the Cape Perpetua campground, traffic came to a standstill. There was a crash up ahead. Took about 20 minutes of just sitting there to clear. We never did find out if it was motorcycle-related or not - there were several Harleys parked on the side of the road but I think they just didn't want to sit there waiting. That's another thing about 101 - if there is a wreck, the traffic shutdown can go on for miles and miles and miles - there's no way to detour. 

Stopped at a grocery for beer and cookies (we suddenly want cookies any time we go camping), then got back to the campsite and heated up some canned soup. Stefan was stunned that, after easily finishing off my little box of wine from the night before, I couldn't finish the second little box that night. I was so tired. It was a great day, but I was completely wiped out. We kept thinking we were about to get rained on before we were done enjoying the fire and the evening, but we didn't. It did rain in the night - it was a wonderful sound, in fact. 

The next day, we were in no rush to get home, so we took our time eating breakfast. We left the cookie package out while we walked around the campground and when we got back, realized the birds had successfully torn open part of the bag! The tent was dry despite the rain the night before, so we packed up and headed back to Waldport. We got gas and then headed North on 101. 

Stopped at Seal Rock, Oregon. No seals, but very pretty vistas. And the town itself would have been a great place to stop, especially the completely outdoor fish house, which was oh-so-ready for business, but at 10 in the morning, I wasn't yet ready for lunch. 

At a stop light, I saw a big brown sign - that means something scenic or historic - that said there was an "outstanding" sight: the Yaquina Bay Lighthouse. A lot of lighthouse sites are oversold and not all that great, but I wasn't ready for our trip to be over, so, what they heck. Well, THIS one did NOT disappoint! The lighthouse at Yaquina Bay is well worth the side trip! Sadly, both the exhibit at the visitor's center (but not the bathrooms) and the inside of the lighthouse are all closed because of the pandemic. But the scenery is absolutely magnificent. I realized then that, at last, I was having a great time at the Oregon coast. Only took 13 years to finally say WOW, I LOVE this!!!

I told Stefan a few times that I was disappointed I had lived in Oregon for 13 years and still hadn't seen seals. I saw them in California back in the 1990s a lot. But even in all our trips to Astoria, I'd never seen them. I had resigned myself to the reality that I was not going to see them. As I looked out at yet another viewpoint, I looked down at the beautiful gray rocky coast and... there they were! SEALS! Hurrah! Found the point where you can go down to the rocky beach and have a closer look (but not TOO close). I was so happy! I could have sat there all day, in fact. It was glorious. 

We pushed on. It was my first view of Newport, which is a really sad, depressing city, at least the stretch where you drive through. Added bonus: lots of Jesus signs and a billboard telling you evolutionary biology isn't real. Yeah, we drove right through. What a shame we didn't realize Otter Rock was a road we could take for a few miles pushing North instead of 101. 

Foodies love to hate on Moe's Seafood Restaurant. Welp, sorry foodies, but it's the best fried shrimp I've ever had. The fish in the fish and chips also never disappoints. The clam chowder is decent as well. We got takeout and ate out on a park bench in Lincoln City. Then we walked down street in ever-increasing wind to what turned out to be public beach access, with not only the actual sea, but a sea of seals on Salishan Beach, the beach on the other side of the sea. But we didnt' stay long: it was horrifically windy and a couple of folks looking addicted and desperate had me wanting to leave ASAP. 

101 turned inland, we got rained on and there was some gnarly wind (thankfully, a headwind rather than a side wind), and at last made it to Beaver, now in the pooring down rain. I've been to Beaver a few times, but from there, we either turn right from wence we came in the Nestucca River Valley and head up to Tillamook, or we turn around and go back. We stood under an awning, hydrated and put on our rain jackets. I texted our dog sitters to let them know we'd be late - the rain was pouring now and it was really slowing us down. 

We were hoping Nestucca River Road was open at last but, alas, it's not, so you still have to use the Bible Creek Road / Bald Mountain Road detour. By the time we got to the top of Bald Mountain, it was pissing rain. It was a deluge. We stood under the awning of the information sign in the parking lot at the viewpoint (but not the one up by the pit toilet) and felt miserable for a while. But it wasn't getting any better. We were also IN a rain cloud. I have never actually been IN a cloud. We headed down the narrow road, oh so carefully since my viser is crap and I had to have it open in order to see in the deluge. We got back down to Nestucca River Road and, by the time we got to Carlton, there was a break in the rain. 

We made it home before dark, which is an absolute requirement for me anymore. We were reunited with Lucinda and there was great rejoicing... 

Wow, I just wrote a travel blog! It's been so, so long... 

More about our travel adventures: www.coyotebroad.com/travel/

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• Unfollow me on Facebook if you are a FB "friend"; unfriend me entirely if you want to REALLY send me a message.
   
• Don't read this blog, or any others I write.
   
• Don't follow me on Twitter. Don't read my tweets. You might even want to block them. 

It's really that simple: if you don't like me, just ignore me online. No need to comment with a passive-aggressive or dismissive statement on something I'm excited about. I probably already sense that you are bothered by me, so I don't need yet another reminder. 

No, you aren't going to shut me up. 

Maybe my prolific online messaging annoys you. Maybe you don't like how freely I share my political views. Honestly, I really don't care. But I do care when you feel the need to comment on something for NO reason other than to be snarky.  

I have to wonder about you people who are so bent on undermining someone just because her personality annoys you, just because she rubs you the wrong way. You can't stand it when they are enthusiastic about something. 

How do you know if I'm talking about you? Go look at your social media posts and comments. How many of them are about something you think people will be genuinely interested in, how many are about something nice about your life, how many are you trying to be helpful, and how many are a negative post or comment, something passive aggressive, or one of those "Well, actually..." statements? 

I'm starting to feel sorry for ya. I'm really not worth a hater's time. Surely there is someone out there MUCH more worthy of your negativity? 

Also see:

Breaking her spirit.