Photographic evidence

Haha. I forgot we made this nod to Pietro when we visited Four Corners later in the trip. Pretty awesome alien drawing, don't you think?

Italia!

Hello my friends! So as many of you may know, Lizzie and I are going to take a little side trip this year (before what is going to be an epic 50-states jaunt to Kansas) to Italy. In honor of our upcoming European travels, we thought it time to share the story of Pietro.

While in Santa Fe during our New Mexico/Colorado trip, Lizzie and I had dinner at a delicious Mexican food restaurant (I still recall the blue corn chips and salsa, fondly) and then decided to see what the Santa Fe night life had to offer. Though it wasn't snowing like it had been in Colorado, it was pretty damn cold, so we rushed down the street, when suddenly the sound of a large brass swing band caught our attention. We followed the sound, Pied Piper like, and it led us to a bar, which was sunk into the ground, sort of like with the "Cheers" bar. We went down the stairs, and were quite surprised to see that the band outnumbered the clientele. There were only three or four people, and the band played one more song, and then left (as did the rest of the clientele). Lizzie and I didn't feel like going back into the cold, and just decided to stay and gab. We made friends with the bartender, as we often do, and he even offered to share his soup with us. Spotting the Mylanta amongst the bottles, Lizzie and I declined, and boy are we glad we did.

Oddly enough, as we were sitting there, the bartender kept making phone calls, and strange men would come into the bar, give us a curious sort of look, and then disappear into a back room. Eventually, Pietro showed up. He sat down next to Lizzie, adjusted his fingerless-gloves (hobo chic) and started to talk to us.

Pietro (and honestly we weren't sure if this was his actual name, or if we made it up. It doesn't really matter, I suppose) was from Italy, very handsome, as you can see by the picture, and apparently had been hopping from port to American port, working pleasure boats for the wealthy. Lizzie finally asked him what he was doing in New Mexico (and note: he appeared to be in league somehow with the bartender, and obviously been here before) and he said (in an Italian accent)

"Oh, you know, I have been to Roswell, to, you know, see ze aliens"

(NB: I can only imitate two accents, French and occasionally Irish. When I write in Pietro's voice, imagine me doing a French accent while trying to do an Italian accent)

Lizzie goes, "Oh, aliens, huh?" (Pointed look at me). "Did you see any?"

He smiles his handsome smile. "Yes, I did. They let me take pictures. Would you like to see them?"

Lizzie nods emphatically. "Of course."

And then Pietro showed off that hilarious sense of humor we'd get to experience to the extreme a little later.

"HA HA HA HA," he said, "Zee aliens do not let you take their picture!"

BOOM, ROASTED.

Lizzie and I, properly told in quite the "Oh Snap" moment let Pietro enjoy his hilarious joke, while we enjoyed the hilarious joke that it's weirder to think that "aliens" would let you take their picture than to believe that aliens really exist.

Anyway, Pietro, ever the charmer, told us of his plans to go back to Milan. He flirty flirted, and then yelled to the bartender:

"I like these girls! Hey! Do you have anything to put in girls' drink to make them sleepy?!"

(Use the Italian accent again)

And the record, she spins off!

Oh, Pietro. I'm sure many women find the concept of date-rape drugs charming. Right. Seriously, does that work for you? We decided that it was time for us to move along, but before we did, we asked Pietro if we could take his picture (to find out if he was an alien). He decided that the picture would be much better with me in it, and as Lizzie snapped the photo, he dragged me in and made his best Duck Face, while I made my best "holy shit are you for real?" face. Then Lizzie and I ran (not walked) back to Mod Maude, giggling the giggle of the horrified for pretty much the rest of the night.

Anyway, we sort of expect that we'll run into him when we're in Italy, because that's how things work with us. We're currently checking into international laws with regards to taser imports, just in case...

Cowboys and Outlaws

Our first clue that the Cowboy Bar and Restaurant was going to be fabulous was that the door handle was a rifle. The place itself was pretty big inside, with a bar, a juke box and some tables up front, some more tables and a pool table in the back. The bartender was probably in his early to mid thirties (though it's hard to tell--people get weathered up here real fast). His name, amazingly, was Rex, and as we interrogated him, we learned that he was originally from Tennessee, but moved up here to be a ranch hand. What exactly was Rex's job as a ranch hand, you ask? Well, Lizzie asked, and she kept asking, and eventually our dear Rex blurted out that he inseminated the cows. Lizzie required a more indepth description of his duties, and apparently there isn't much romance, but a series of vaccines to bring the animal into heat, and then some turkey baster action. Rex administers the shots, and it's up to the ranch owner to do what Rex called the "Tail end of the job". I'll say. Anyway, Rex turned thirteen shades of red while telling us all this, but it didn't keep him from making our drinks strong. Then again, maybe he made them strong to shut us up, as if that would work (note, I asked for a whiskey sour, and he was confused and said 'we have margarita mix', so I just mixed it with tonic water instead. Yeowza).

As we continued to converse, Rex alluded to some fugitive action that had gone down recently (apparently the Cowboy bar and grill was also where Butch Cassidy was arrested years ago for horse theft), and Craig Johnson had also mentioned it, so we asked for the details. My Dad is going to love this. So apparently one of the three fugitives (referred to as the newish Bonnie and Clyde) after stabbing a man 51 times ("Fifty-one times," said Rex, "That' s so...so much rage...it's so..." "Personal?" I add) escaped to Meeteeste, and ate in THIS VERY BAR. He was sitting in the seat Lizzie was in, and Rex couldn't get over how lucky they all were, because this guy could've easily killed them all. He had asked Rex not about cow insemination, but rather about how many folks in the bar were carrying fire arms (all) and had tipped well after getting smashed and not eating all of his chili burger. He went to church on Sunday, singing and all, and was arrested the next day outside the Cowboy Bar and Grill. Rex thinks he was tired of running, but was grateful he hadn't decided to shoot him in the back of the head and rob the till. We are too, Rex.

We continued to chat (and drink) and toward the end of the night, after playing some awesome music on the jukebox (my favorite being Elvira by the Oakridge Boys), we decided it was time to leave. Our friend Rex took this opportunity to tell us that there had been tons of bears around, and to be careful walking the block home (it was around midnight now). We joked and said "So, if we see a bear we run?" and he said "No! Never run! Try to make yourselves look big!" Not a problem after the myriad of fries I'd eaten that day. We shook hands with Rex (who was still shaken up about the fugitive not shooting him) and took off into the dark. When we got to our motel, I being the more sober of the two of us (for once), got the key ready. I saw a small black furry thing running away (it was about dog-sized) and said "at least it's not a bear" but then, because I shouldn't say things like that, saw a GIANT BLACK FURRY THING coming toward us from the woods. We didn't wait to find out what it was (Elk? Bear? Mountain Man?) and we pushed in and shut the door behind us.

Phew.

Sunday morning we did not, unfortunately, go to church, but rather had breakfast at Lucille's, Lucille, in her time, was enamored of ferrets, because her diner was full of ferret decorations including a taxidermied ferret. Mmm. Made my oatmeal go down so much better. After Lucille's, we hit the road, and after 7 hours of driving through some pretty treacherous weather, we arrived in Salt Lake city. At one point the rain was coming down horizontally--it looked like snow. Our flight leaves early tomorrow morning, and we land in Boston sometime after 8, if everything goes well. See you all soon!

Midnight at the Oasis

Adventures! So Saturday morning we left Bozeman, none too soon because it was oddly pretentious, and the attitude we were getting from some of the residents was giving me the rage. We stopped in Columbus, MT for lunch. Columbus was on fire. Not all of it, but there was a huge wild fire going to town on a parched mountain off the highway. The pine trees looked petrified. (ha ha). Columbus is a teeny tiny town, population of like, fifty, four of whom were in the "steak house" we stopped at. There was a Father and Daughter at one table across from us, and behind them were two men. They all knew each other, and were chatting, and Lizzie and I eavesdropped as we nommed our delicious burgers. When Dad (who was about 75) went to go to the bathroom, we learned from Daughter that she was upset because her Dad had taken up with the local ho, Modine. Apparently Modine was having Dad drive her around, and even drove Dad's truck without a license! Shame on you, Modine! Daughter is trying to get Dad to leave his apartment and move to assisted living to get away from that tramp. God speed, daughter. On another important note, the young man acting as manager of the "steak house" had a giantic belt buckle on that said "Git R Done", which was magical.

We escaped Columbus (and that ho, Modine) and made it to Wyoming. We drove into Cody, which is an adorable little western town named after, of course, Buffalo Bill Cody. Here you could buy a pair of cowboy boots for the low, low price of $3500, try on some chaps, and drink your iced coffee so fast you get a stomach ache. Guess which one of the three Lizzie and I did? After Cody we made our way to Meeteetse, as an author Lizzie fancies (Craig Johnson) was giving a reading.

Meeteetse is another teeny little town, population 350, on the Greybull river. It boasts two motels, the one we stayed at being the above pictured "Oasis" (the other was "Vision Quest". Yikes). Also within its one-block downtown is a couple of restaurants, and an oddly out of place fancy chocolate/coffee shop, called "The Chocolatier", where the reading was.

The Chocolatier is apparently a big deal, and is run by a rather fetching cowboy looking chap, though he seemed a little too into his own big-fish-in-little-pond status. The reading was fun, the author a good story teller, and very charming. We met his wife, who is, oddly, from Connecticut, and who went to Wellesley College. One of the characters in Craig Johnson's books is a woman who swears like a sailor, and that particular trait is based on his wife. Us New Englanders like to cuss.

After the reading, we went to the gas station/convenience store to pick some stuff up, and the clerk asked us if we were staying at one of the ranches. We said no, and she said "Apparently two English girls took a puppy from around the corner" and we were bemused that she thought us English. Then we were like "Who takes a puppy?" Anyway, there wasn't time to dwell, as the Cowboy Bar/Restaurant across the street was calling us. It requires its own post...

This Tree is Petrified

Don't be scared, ancient redwood tree...

Waterfalls and Hot Springs and Bears, Oh My!

Hello dearies! We're in scenic Bozeman, Montana, kicking back with some delicious Bacardi Silver Raz procured from the local CVS. That's right, friends, out here in the Wild Wild West, one can buy booze at the CVS.

We started the day in less delicious circumstances. We had stayed in Yellowstone Park at the Pioneer Cabin (hmm) and for some reason the heater wasn't working, and I froze my metaphorical balls off. It was probably 45 degrees out overnight, and the tile floor was so cold I couldn't walk on it in bare feet. Lizzie and I threw our things together as quickly as possible, sadly motivated more by the desire to escape the cold than by our can-do attitude. We had breakfast at the lodge, and then made our way up towards the north end of Yellowstone. Everything was so beautiful it was sort of ridiculous. More stunning canyons, unbelievable vistas, pristine lakes, as if nature was going to the prom all the time or something. We stopped at Tower Falls, which was gorgeous. Unfortunately we couldn't hike to the bottom, because of some flood damage, but what

we were able to see was killer. After Tower falls we hit the Calcite springs, which were super cool as well. Our last stop in Yellowstone was Mammoth Hot springs, which is at the north entrance. It's another geothermic formation, with all sorts of cool looking terraces carved out by the steaming water. Despite my stupid cold, I managed to climb up to the tippity top (mouth-breathing for part of it, but hopefully no one noticed) and sadly for me, the view at the bottom was more interesting than the view at the top, and there was a parking lot at the top terrace, which is cheating if you ask me. After the springs, we were ready to head up to Montana, but I went the wrong way and we drove west for 20 miles instead of North for 5. On the upside, on our little detour we got to see this pretty cool bear. Rarr.

We did eventually make it to Montana, and Bozeman is adorable. It thinks it's quite a bit hipper than it really is, with its coffee shops with free wifi, but hey, any city where you can buy toilet paper and alcohol in the same store is pretty urbane.

Did someone ask for pictures of dioramas?