Fun fact: Before this trip, I hadn’t been back to New York since exactly a year ago, the day of my graduation.

As much I would love to say that the fortuitous timing was pure kismet, I had actually wanted to visit much, much earlier — back in winter, actually. But then I went to Europe and fulfilled my vacay quota. And then friends from New York started flying out to SF to visit me, and these visits would always end in hugs and somewhat baseless promises of, “I’ll definitely come back to New York and visit you!”. Days of should-I-or-shouldn’t-I whenever I started searching for transcontinental flights on Kayak/Priceline/Travelzoo/whathaveyou turned into weeks, which turned into months. Soon it was the beginning of May, where I was dangerously approaching the one-year anniversary of my departure. Giving up any and all pretense, I finally cut the cord of self-restraint, purchased the tickets to New York on a whim, proceeded to email all of my college friends, and started counting down the days until May 16th, the (freakishly early) morning I’d leave for the concrete jungle.

(credit)

Maybe it was serendipitous that I landed in New York and saw the Empire State Building lit up in shades of Columbia blue and white in honor of all of the students who had graduated from my beloved alma mater. It doesn’t exactly help that a certain song always plays in my head every time I arrive in New York. Or the fact that it’s all too easy to believe that coincidences like these will align up so perfectly in this city.

ANYWAY. I don’t want to wax nostalgic and sappy with my 2389483 feelings about New York (and trust me, 2389483 feelings is a lot. Plus East Coast time has messed with my sleep cycle, so I’m not even remotely coherent enough for that.), but I will give you photographic evidence as to why this weekend was easily one of the best weekends ever. And I have been lucky enough to experience some really awesome weekends, so congrats, New York. I owe you one.

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You know all of those Christmas songs they play on the radio during the holidays (“Let it Snow”, “White Christmas” for starters)? And how they always conjure up images of white, powdery snow? And how wonderful and magical and delightful it is? Even when, in all actuality, it is cold, wet, and ultimately a pain in the ass when it inevitably gets into your boots? Despite the false sense of fluffy comfort that snow often lulls us into, the fact remains that winter has always been inextricably linked with snow (at least, coming from a Midwesterner-turned-East-Coaster), so it came as a source of confusion when I went to college, only to realize that half of my friends (most of whom had grown up in sunnier climates) had never seen snow before.

I, being the jaded veteran to snowy winters, often kanyeshrugged at my friends’ visceral reactions to the first snowflakes on Columbia’s campus (“SNOW!!!!!!!1111″). And, you know, I thought my blasé attitude was totally merited — until this topic of snow was brought up at work several months back. I thought Columbia was strange, but being in the company of people who had lived in California their whole lives was a total eye-opener altogether. However, as I tried to rack up memories of white Christmases in a vain attempt to prove that not everybody has been deprived of snow, I mentally came up with a list of winters past. But then I realized that I couldn’t mention the Christmas before, because I had been sweating bullets and enjoying the sunset at Angkor Wat. Nor could I mention the year before, because I had spent Christmas riding elephants in Bangkok. Or the year before, because I had just arrived in Sydney. Mid-conversation, I found myself at a loss for words, as I had to actually stop and think about the last time I had a holiday season with snow, and I eventually came to the stunning conclusion that I have not had an actual white Christmas since …

… wait for it …

… middle school.

Case in point:
2010: Vietnam, Cambodia
2009: Thailand
2008: Australia
2007: Florida
2006: Mexico
2005: Indianapolis … and it didn’t snow! Hah!
2004: Las Vegas
2003: Mexico
2002 and before: HAHAHA COME ON. All I remember was that I was in middle school and therefore, I was an irritable, pubescent teenager with a crotchety temper, an unhealthy addiction to Neopets, and an alarming tendency to rage over petty middle school drama on her LiveJournal. Anything from this time period will remain forever blotted out in my memory.

That said, if the past 8 years are anything to go by, it’s that I am presumably fated to spend the holidays in a place that Does Not Snow. Luckily, this hasn’t served as a source of bother for me, because (a) warm weather? Bring it! and (b) I don’t really buy into stereotypical holidays anyway. So obviously, it made perfectly logical sense that the 2011 family Christmas trip would take place in Bali, with a bit of time to spare in Kuala Lumpur and Singapore.

See, since moving to San Francisco, I was essentially in a bit of a rut up until December, travel-wise, seeing as I’m the type of person who demands a temporary change in pace every 3 months or so, lest I go stir-crazy. Besides a two-day work offsite to Monterrey and a visit to my relatives down in San Diego, I had essentially been in the same city (and okay, surrounding area) for nearly six months. And for somebody who thrives on expeditions and excursions, I was going nuts.

Now, enter Bali. Tropical island, lush, green, bursting with fauna — about as far removed from San Francisco as you could get and very much worth the eight hours of flying.

To paint a portrait of Bali requires lots and lots of green paint. No matter where you are on the island, you’re constantly immersed in a thick blanket of greenery, and for somebody who’s so used to urban landscapes and wide open seascapes (none of which are green in the slightest, at least not in a visual sense), it’s a marvel to stare outside your car window just to soak in the scenery. That, and green is my favorite color, so.

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One of the perks of living in California is the abundance of scenic routes; having driven from San Francisco to San Diego via Highway 1 many years back, I can personally attest to the beautiful mountains, valleys, trees, and waterfronts that go on for miles. However, seeing as I’ve been living in cities ever since, I’ve become extremely averse to driving, and thus, opportunities to leave the city seem few and far between. So when my friend visited California two weeks ago, who were we to pass up a drive up to Napa?

For those who have no clue what/where Napa is, you should watch The Parent Trap (yes, the Lindsay Lohan redux) and jog your memory.

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