Rose Bowl, episode 2. In which Mari does the hula pie.

When my biological clock decided it was time to tick-tock past fifty, I was more than well-prepared with plane eTickets, TPIR reserved-seating tickets, and Nobu table-with-ocean-view reservations booked as far in advance as the powers that be would allow (that was thirty, not thirty-one, days if you recall).

And while Mari's 50th birthday technically landed on our August calendar, so did back-to-school and thus we were open to exploring a new-to-us Southern California fleamarket a couple months later when the weather would be (we hoped) a bit cooler and our experience more comfortably cooperative than 2016's mid-September steamy perusals at the Long Beach flea.

Occasionally, Mari will make a special request while I am trip planning, and I'm all about honoring a request and fulfilling her dreams... Yada yada yada.


Yada also includes a 25th proposal anniversary re-proposal at the top of the Eiffel Tower on Valentine's Day a few years ago if you recall. 

This time, Mari made her request while we were celebrating my 50th birthday. On our way up Pacific Coast Highway to my sunset birthday dinner in Malibu (I know how that sounds, but I'm owning it) Mari and I made a spectacularly surprising foodie favorite discovery.

We sighted our favorite restaurant along the way to Nobu. It wasn't exactly the site of our favorite restaurant because this was our first time driving PCH, but it was a new-to-us location of a favorite, Duke's Waikiki, where we had enjoyed one of our most memorable meals over seven years prior while celebrating our 20th anniversary.

We later learned that there are three Duke's locations in Southern California as well as two additional Hawaii locations, all of which honor Duke Paoa Kahanamoku, five-time Olympic swimming medalist and champion of the sport of surfing.

The restaurant chain's main site has a nice tribute to Duke and a timeline of his accomplishments which include heroic and humanitarian efforts.

Visit the site also to explore the menus at the different locations because if you are in SoCal or Hawaii, you'll want to add a relaxing meal of fresh seafood in an amazing oceanside setting to your travel itinerary.

dukesrestaurants.com

Mari and I exchanged cameras with a friendly young couple celebrating their own special dinner for this photo with a life-size statue of Duke himself.

I was fired up to share Mari's celebratory "Hula Pie" that was generously provided by our friendly server. Although I was tempted to lick the plate clean and drop it into Mari's purse for a shanghaied souvenir, we behaved ourselves and made a quick stop at the gift shop on the way out and purchased a pair of souvenir plates to enjoy with our own celebratory treats at home when overcome with travel cravings.

Like a couple of expert fleamarketers,

we are never hard-pressed to find a gift shop.

Our Rose Bowl fleamarket experience, dear reader, what can I say?

We would have been overwhelmed had I not explored the site before our visit to get the "lay of the land" and had it not been for the color map (and great scrapbook embellishment) thoughtfully provided at the market entrance.

Now, about that other thing...

You know, that thing I don't like talking about...

You know how I feel about paying to enter a fleamarket, but at least there was a plethora of free parking surrounding the stadium and plenty of friendly staffers to guide us to that perfect parking spot.

Although unfortunately unable to find any online discounts or coupons for admission, I did learn that all admission tickets must be purchased in person with cash on the day of the monthly flea.

Take a date because if you pay your $18 admission for two with a Tubman (still trying it out) you'll receive a crisp two-dollar bill in return along with your souvenir color map.

Visit the helpful site to plan

your own visit as a shopper

or to apply to be a vendor.

rgcshows.com/rosebowl.aspx

Trusty souvenir map in one hand, beautiful birthday girl with empty market tote in the other, I steered Mari into the heart of the vintage section to begin our Saturday morning hunt.

The colorfully eclectic and charmingly disheveled booth above yielded our first purchase of the day. Three of our six vintage tomato juice glasses are pictured here and have already been put to good use on a few weekend occasions.

More stories and rescued treasures from the Rose Bowl next time.

Rose Bowl, episode 1. In which we return to California.

There's a story, of course.

This photo was years in the making. The monthly Rose Bowl fleamarket landed with a huge wonderful blip on our radar long ago when we first started getting serious about fleamarketing. It was probably some show or other on HGTV or the Travel Channel and it probably had something to do with Lara Spencer, that creatively crafty temptress.

Mari and I were particularly tempted by the Rose Bowl flea last year when I was planning my 50th-birthday-California-here-we-come-weekend that included a taping of The Price is Right and a visit to the monthly Long Beach Antique Market. If you recall (California, here we come, episode 1), we did not visit the top-of-the-list Rose Bowl flea because my mother scheduled her Caesarean (me) a week too late back in 1966, but we had an amazingly overwhelming first fleamarket experience at Long Beach nevertheless.

It was Mari's turn to turn fifty-and-fabulous this year, and we made sure the trip calendar worked to our advantage (even if it was two months after the big day). 

When I turned thirty, I celebrated by "treating" myself to a long-fantasized convertible (which, if you recall from last year's California series, lasted 19 and a half years and was unfortunately not replaced by winning a brand new car on The Price is Right).

When I turned forty, it was a long-dreamed-of visit to London (and amazingly mystical Stonehenge) that scratched my Anglophilic itch that had its origins with Lady Diana's 1981 wedding.

Most recently, last year's (losing) bid to be a pool table winner on The Price is Right served as the marker of my 50th birthday milestone. It was also the first time I had traveled to California, but I knew it wouldn't be the last.

Here's a photo of Mari a few weeks shy of forty.

We were in Las Vegas for the first time and I couldn't think of a better location for her to scratch her own adventurous itch and celebrate a birthday milestone so I arranged a tandem skydive.

No, silly reader, had I been the other half of the tandem it is doubtful anyone would still be alive to write these fiercely finessed words.

A trained professional joined Mari on her first (so far) sky dive and a very proud (nervous) husband waited dutifully (sanely) on the ground with camera at the ready to snap this photo.

While Mari thought about revisiting her 40th birthday daredevilry as she turned fifty, our visit to Los Angeles/Santa Monica/Malibu last September for my big 5-0 inspired Mari's own 50th birthday California celebration.

Planned precisely (I wouldn't have it any other way) to coincide with our long-dreamed-of, top-of-the-list, and highly-hyphenated-and-anticipated Rose Bowl fleamarket, our second California 50th birthday weekend celebration included a few revisits and a few new adventures as well as a mojo-blast from our foodie potato past.

Before my gobbledygook gets too far-flung, here's a quick view from the flea.

We've been waiting a very long time to enjoy that spectacular SoCal view!

Here's another view which includes our birthday girl doing her best to fill up her favorite market tote.

More next time from the enormously expansive and ever-overflowing flea that is the second Sunday of every month Rose Bowl Flea Market and Market Place.

In the meantime, visit the official site for a quick browse.

rgcshows.com/RoseBowl.aspx

The Roosters. In which a collection roosts.

I thought it was about time to take the boys out for a walk so I'm letting them strut their stuff this week.

I'm not sure how or why or when the rooster collection happened, but (as many of you are thinking, looking around your kitchens) it just happened.

Visit Pinterest or eBay or Target or Wal-Mart or your parents' or grandparents' home or any fleamarket or antique shop in any state or in any country (including Iceland, as you know) and you will find roosters weathered and spanking new in the form of feathery figurines, plumed decor, or emblazoned on a wide variety of utilitarian items like kitchen towels.

I realize roosters are a very common collection and because of that it is easy to get collectibly carried away.  Trust me.

While undergoing our home addition a few years ago, we nearly doubled the size of our kitchen, but I also managed to lose the roost for one of my favorite collections when I made the decision to eschew upper cabinets.

The roosters had perched peacefully above the uppers for years and the collection had grown significantly (dusty) although without much significance. In other words, not all of them had a good story. They were either gifts or inexpensive finds that would excite me because they would help "fill up the space," a space I no longer had.

Sometimes (insert collectible name here) are hard to resist and sometimes they just seem to follow you home (or show up under the Christmas tree).

When you make the decision to become a collector you are often enabled along by thoughtful friends and family who see your collection as an opportunity to gift you every possible farm animal iteration available and soon your collection overflows its display space. 

Fortunately, losing my roosters' roost happened while I was reading Marie Kondo's The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up and I was more than ready to purge.

I would like Marie to know that each and every member of my roost today brings me joy!

I'm taking this opportunity to coin "roost" as a collective noun for a collection or gathering of roosters.

Deal with it.

My roost began when I was a college student and I moved into my first apartment at Turtle Creek in South Bend (there were unfortunately no turtles, but there was sort of a creek, especially after a heavy rain or the first spring thaw). My mom gifted me that previously pictured Barcelos rooster (London, episode 9) which I suppose was a significant symbol that I may not have fully appreciated or understood at the time. My apartment was my first home and that tiny galley kitchen was its heart. The hand-painted hearts that highlight every Barcelos rooster reflect that nostalgic notion and the Barcelos' appearance in every Portuguese kitchen is a reflection of tradition, family, and love.

Those of you dear readers who have been following my secondhand travels for a while realize that Barcelos is not the oldest feathered friend in my (too) many collections. That honor goes to the twin weather owls purchased and rescued from my St. Teresa's Christmas fundraising kit (The Owls, episode 1). Barcelos, however, has more than enough sentimental value to ensure his roost's priceless position for a lifetime.

Barcelos is looking pretty good for 31!

Every once in a while I'm tempted by a friendly feathery figure while waiting for a Cracker Barrel table, but now that I've purportedly passed my younger and more vulnerable years, I'm (mostly) able to resist the temptation to add any more unsentimental tokens to the roost.

Mr. Hoosier joined the roost nearly five years ago during a Chicago-Indiana-Michigan visit during which I had my moment meeting Alice Walker at the American Library Association national conference in Chicago.

This 9-inch tall, dark, and handsome fellow was picked with pleasure at Picker's Paradise just outside Niles, Michigan.

You may remember that Picker's already has great sentimental value, if not a seemingly misplaced apostrophe (Chicago-Indiana-Michigan, episode 1), so you can imagine that my cast-iron Hoosier rooster is a most welcome member of the family.

Comrade Петух is the most recent roost addition.

The 6-inch wide, hand-painted, flamboyant folk figurine made the transatlantic journey with his recently pictured Kolaportið fleamarketed friends, but was discovered in a touristically-wondrous mega souvenir shop in St. Petersburg (along with a few souvenir bottles of vodka).

Петух is about the right size for a measuring cup or even a soup shot of borscht (or other savory souvenir libation), but has yet to be pressed into domestic service.

Like my beloved Barcelos, Señor Gallo is also a roost veteran.

Mari rescued him when her mom completed her own roost purge about a decade ago and he has been happily transferred to our home where his well-worn patina helps brighten up the inside of the antique display cabinet.

El Señor may have a little chip on his right toes, but he doesn't have a chip on his shoulder about it.

True collectibles wear chips

like a badge of honor!

Murano Gallo may have had his humble beginnings on Italy's island of Murano, but was discovered during our World's Longest Yardsale travels somewhere in Tennessee or Kentucky nearly a decade ago.

I thought MG would be more at ease with his fellow signori in the kitchen rather than drawing unwanted attention to himself among the uniformly rotund millefiori paperweights displayed in the living room.

Remind me to take the paperweights out for a blog spin.

It's always fun to discover a cross-collectible that has a place in two beloved collections. (Killing two birds with one stone didn't seem appropriate while romanticizing roosters, but would have been pretty clever.)

MG is not the only glass rooster in my kitchen roost, however.

This final favorite is a two-inch blown-glass blob that was cleverly and artfully formed into rooster-shape. With pointy posterior at one end and colorful comb at the other, my most delicate member of the roost was originally intended as a Christmas ornament, but I just couldn't bear to tuck him away for an 11-month hibernation until the following Christmas season.

Plucked from New York City's Bryant Park Christmas Market during our visit to Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade in 2008, Christmas Rooster suspends from an ornament holder inside the display cabinet with all the boys' attention turned towards him. Not to worry, he owns his flamboyance and is more than comfortable with the attention.

My roost of roosters is once again roosting its roost and the brothers are keeping colorfully careful watch over their designated corner of the kitchen despite all the feather-ruffling excitement of our photo shoot.

I have a brand new (to us) and long dreamed-upon fleamarket to share with you next time as well as a bit of a makeover to celebrate my 100th episode. Hope you will tune in!

Happy New Year. In which I put my feet up.

A quick but most sincere New Year's wish for you, dear reader.

Let us continue our search for the best in 2018...

the best in others,

the best in ourselves,

and the best bargained memorabilia to enrich us all, every one.

Here is one last item fleamarketed at Kolaportið from a native Icelander, a talented craftswoman who proudly weaves her talent in bold and colorful cozy creations.

Walt Whitman once wrote, "the press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections" and I have often meandered the majesty of this world with those words in mind and those hopes in tow.

It is my resting winter tootsies, however, wrapped in their colorful Icelandic wool booties, that I hope are currently spreading comforting warmth far beyond my own home.

Afoot and light-hearted I take to the open road,
Healthy, free, the world before me,
The long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.

Henceforth I ask not good-fortune, I myself am good-fortune,
Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing,
Done with indoor complaints, libraries, querulous criticisms,
Strong and content I travel the open road.

The earth, that is sufficient,
I do not want the constellations any nearer,
I know they are very well where they are,
I know they suffice for those who belong to them.

(Still here I carry my old delicious burdens,
I carry them, men and women, I carry them with me wherever I go,
I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them,
I am fill’d with them, and I will fill them in return.)

For the continuation of Whitman's "Song of the Open Road", visit the Poetry Foundation site.

poetryfoundation.org/poems/48859/song-of-the-open-road

Iceland, episode 7. In which we fish and chip.

I wanted to wrap up our visit to Iceland by tying up a few loose ends and linking you to a few recommendations.

First, I want to highly recommend our wonderful inn, the Reykjavik Residence Suites and the amazing Port 9 restaurant that provided our nourishing foodie breakfast every morning.

My only warning is to remind you (unlike the website) that there is no elevator, so you are on your own with whatever-sized luggage you have chosen for your adventure.

Yes, that was the preamble

to a cautionary tale.

I took that first luggage-laden step with a little too much gusto and not enough spring and you could hear my knee pop down to the harbor. My ambulatory expeditions were unfortunately characterized by a sophisticated (some might say "sexy") little limp throughout our entire stay.

rrsuites.is

The second image I call "View from (near) the Top."

It occurred to me that I hadn't shared any of our views from the observation decks atop Hallgrímskirkja Church. Mari climbed the extra two flights to the exterior observation deck for this colorful view of Reykjavik while I remained on the 12th floor videotaping from the observation area open to those of us with clumsily popping knees.

And now for a drumroll...

the best fish & chips ever...

Icelandic Fish & Chips!

My previous favorite was at Brighton's Bankers Fish Restaurant (London, episode 12) which is now a very close second. (If you recall, however, the cod and haddock at Bankers is sourced in Iceland.)

Located near the harbor, the bright, colorful, and very clean bistro was most welcoming and most welcome after our full final day. Maybe it was the organic spelt batter that put this one over the top, but the jalapeño dipping sauce didn't hurt, either.

While doing my due diligence online I let out a little whoop-whoop when I discovered that there is now a location in midtown Manhattan. It's now on my list!

Check out the site for the temptalicious full menu.
fishandchips.is

Mari and I were treated to several beautifully bright days during our Icelandic stay and our final full (fleamarket Sunday) day was one of the best.

We enjoyed a visit to the Reykjavik City Museum's Settlement Exhibition following a quick lunch of fleamarketed lamb hot dogs. The engaging and thoughtful exhibit lays out Iceland's history on the very site of its earliest settlement.


Visit the museum site to learn more and to plan your visit.
borgarsogusafn.is/en/the-settlement-exhibition

After enjoying the educational tour (exiting through the gift shop, of course, where a colorfully tempting cookbook of local cuisine and a volume of Icelandic poetry joined my souvenir satchel), Mari and I joined a very spirited fray on Bankastræti Street in full celebration of the summer weather, street water slide included. It was, after all, at least 60 degrees!

These last two marvels are bright and beautiful Sunday afternoon harbor views. We couldn't have asked for a better natural summer spectacle to conclude our visit.

Finally, where would I be without this parting shot? Thanks, again, to my traveling companion for riding shotgun so spectacularly.

I'll be back to begin a new adventure with you in 2018.
I think I'll begin with the fleamarket that has topped our list for many years.

Whether you are traveling near or far, by plane or by car,

enjoy the many gifts (and regifts) the holidays have to offer.

Iceland, episode 6. In which nature abounds.

I love this photo.

As ever, there's a story and there are many reasons for my simple but sincere declaration of love, but you already know all that.

This was at one of the first scheduled stops during our Saturday tour, at Seljalandsfoss Waterfall.

Our guide told Mari to stretch out her arms then snapped this souvenir photo while I was recording footage for my iMovie and trying to avoid the precarious clash of electronics and mobile mist.

Seljalandsfoss is a popular tourist stop and for good reason. I've said this previously, but popular tourist sites are popular for good reason, but they are also crowded for the same reason. You need to understand that you can always carve out a little corner for yourself so you can have your own moment.

When I see Mari's broad smile and infectious excitement in this photo I easily erase the hundred or so other tourists surrounding us that morning.

If I look carefully, I can see a line of tourists walking behind the falls in the nebulous mist at left, but that's their moment.

As we traveled the Ring Road that scenically circumnavigates Iceland's circumference, Mari and I saw pretty much what we had expected: a lot of everything.

Iceland's varied and variegated landscapes merged together during our ten-hour tour in dazzlingly lush greens, saturated blues, and eye-popping pops of wildflower color.

Our frequent stops for impromptu photo shoots never disappointed.

This is both of us (thanks, Sergei!) a safe distance from the splash zone of Skogafoss waterfall, our next stop. This majestic beauty is the result of two glaciers butting heads a safe distance away.

If you are touring on your own, you'll want to make a delicious stop at the incredible cafe at the Hotel Skogafoss. Incredible for the spectacular view of the falls and for its hearty local cuisine. If you successfully climbed (and descended) the 370 steps up to the top of the falls, then you deserve a hearty bowl of the meat soup or beautifully grilled Arctic char. Even if you admired the view from the splash zone as Mari and I did, you still deserve a lunch break.

One of my favorite stops on the tour was at the Dyrhólaey lighthouse, sitting above the previously pictured black sand beach. Having always loved lighthouses, I was thrilled to discover that this unusually modern beauty was celebrating 90 years of service.

In my younger (and less physically vulnerable years) I had climbed the 228 steps to the top of Atlantic City's Absecon Lighthouse for some amazing views, but the red-capped Dyrhólaey is unfortunately not open for climbs.

Mari caught this little guy roosting (meditating?) quietly nearby with her camera (or whatever it is that puffins do quietly when alone in the grass).

Reynisfjara, a second black sand beach with its amazing natural backdrop of columns and stacks of natural basalt that have for centuries inspired many an Icelandic troll myth, inspired us for some memorable photos as we reached the end of our southward journey.

Although my collector's gaze wouldn't be in full attack mode until the following day at Kolaportið, I did manage to secure an addition to one of my oldest and dearest collections that tropical (at least by Icelandic standards) early summer afternoon.

I have been collecting beach sand since my earliest summer family visits to Jersey and Portuguese shores and the mysterious glisten of Reynisfjara black sand was a welcome addition to a waiting bottle at home.

The sand bottles are currently on winter hiatus and will be out on display again next summer.

Remind me to give them a blog moment.

 

This final photo is the view towards the beach from Vik's Reyniskirkja Church (above). It was the last stop on our colorfully comprehensive coastal tour. While our tour was by no means comprehensive of all the natural wonders Iceland has to offer, it was a journey replete with a beautiful bouquet of an eclectically fertile landscape.

I look forward to sharing some final photos and stories from our short, but very memorable trip to Iceland next time.

Iceland, episode 5. In which we explore and browse.

Lest you think all Mari and I did in the exotic land of Naddodd, Ingolfur Arnarson, and Leifur Eiríksson was knick-knack shop at the flea, do laundry, and eat burgers, I wanted to share another favorite photo. Mari and I spent a fantastically full Saturday touring the South Coast with an expert guide who filled in a lot of history and local information between locations.

When our airport shuttle bus left Keflavik International and began the 30-mile trip to Reykjavik, we began seeing acres and beautiful acres of these remind-me-of-Texas-bluebonnets wildflowers. We later learned from Sergei that these purple wildflowers were called nootka or lupine. When we sighted this abundantly lush field of nootka waving us over for a private photo shoot during our Saturday tour, we asked Sergei to pull over.

The fact that you can also see the brilliant white glimmer of an icy waterfall with volcano and glacier also in the distance will alert you to the fact that the Icelandic landscape is alive and ancient yet constantly changing.

Over the hundreds of miles we traveled in the capable hands of our Russian transplant tour guide that Saturday, we were treated to a lush and colorful kaleidoscope that no single photo could possibly capture, but our striking floral selfie comes pretty darn close.

Once again (Paris, episode 10), I successfully relied on the Viator site to search for and book an international tour.

Although we were initially wary of a private tour and of spending the entire day in the hands of a stranger, our confidence in TripAdvisor's reliable listings and the glowingly positive (all 5-star) reviews for Sergei's (owner of Top Iceland Tours) knowledge and friendly customer service, gave us the confidence to take a chance.

For more details on our tour and to book your own personal tour, visit the site.

viator.com/tours/Reykjavik/South-Coast-of-Iceland-Private-Day-Tour-from-Reykjavik-by-Jeep/d905-19155P2

Before I get too far along in my prismatic memory landscape, let me return to our Kolaportið fleamarket adventure one final (maybe) time. Among the local craftsmen displaying their creative talents was the proprietor of this booth where Mari and I were awed by the commemorated spiritual beauty of these delicately carved walrus tusks. (I should have known better, but) I asked the talented artisan and very convivial vendor the cost of the grinning figure at left (I especially love the charming Chiclet smile), desperately wanting to add the folkloric figure to a bubblewrap pouch and ultimately my own eclectic souvenir collection at home.

Even without currency exchange translations, there were still too many zeroes for my budget.

With the promise of a return visit and a hearty shake of the hand, I was on my way to browse the rest of the market.

May Chiclet Warrior stand stoutheartedly until my return!

Another souvenir item I was unfortunately unable to knock off my list was an Icelandic dictionary.

A creature and collector of habit, I cannot get away from my love for language (nor for books) even when traveling. You may have noticed quite a few used books on display (or simply stacked and inviting precarious perusal) throughout my souvenir market photos. While I would typically enjoy browsing (or unstacking and re-stacking Jenga-style in this case) for a bargain, I was sticker-shocked to find most used books going for $25-50. 

That's 5,000 króna!

(or a dozen Nutella donuts)

Among the select souvenirs we are currently enjoying are a few remaining sticks of "Midnight Sun" scented incense I plan on reordering from the Hidden People Iceland website. Be sure to stop at the colorful and wonderfully-scented booth to view and learn about all the natural and artisan-crafted products on display (even the packaging and wrap is beautiful).

hidden.is

If you do have a few hours on a Saturday or Sunday afternoon and want to meet some wonderful locals (from parts near and far), if you are still looking for the perfect souvenir for yourself and relatively inexpensive gifts and treats for friends and relatives, or if you are in need of a place to warm up and perhaps walk off your Friday night burger or fish fry, then you will want to ink Kolaportið fleamarket onto your itinerary.

The fleamarket building is steps from colorful Reykjavik Harbour and surrounded by enough shops, restaurants, and pubs to keep you fueled and frolicked all day.

More on our fabulous (non-fermented) fish fry next time.