Heartbeats and Homecoming

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At this point, just past the halfway marker of 2008, I can already say that this year is one of the most epic of my life. From January to May I have spent two glorious months in Korea, months that topped all other 24 prior months spent in the country single-handedly without effort; experienced the true meaning of happiness on one of the world's best kept secrets, the romantic magical island of Gili Trawangan; found my own inner strength and the beauty of slowing down in Bali; explored religious relics and my independence in Yogyakarta; played like a 7 year old AND like a 20-something in the world's greatest playground, with the world's greatest brother, in Walt Disney World; rekindled old friendships and re-aquainted myself with my hometown; bike rode my way around the continent's center of music and met some of the most amazing people I've ever known in Austin, sipped pints in hole in the wall after hole in the wall, soundtracked by local stellar honky-tonk in Nashville; rocked out to an 82 year old legend of blues, danced to one of the world's most popular djs and watched the world's biggest comedic performance of all time all in one amazing weekend at Bonnaroo in Manchester; survived a 48 hour cross-country (more like all-around country) Greyhound bus ride to Idaho; planted flowers in Billionaires backyards in Sun Valley, cowboyed-up at the Stampede; hiked to the center of wilderness and swam in an icy lake in Kananaskis; rode tripped my way to the Okanagan and on to Vancouver to watch world class fireworks, celebrate Pride and tip toe the rocky shores of the Pacific with my two gritty guys, traced the Pacific coast a little further south to wander the streets of Seattle, take in a seaside sunset dinner, and soak up the sun on the beaches of Vashon; drove my way back up to BC to be a part of a truly breathtaking music festival in Salmo; replayed the past with old friends in Okotoks; fell flat on my face in love with a city and the people in it and the scenary around in and the company I keep in San Francisco. And now, in the twilight hours of the summer, I find myself only a few kilometers from the equator once again, only this time in the continent of South America, in the busy city of Quito, days away from a 5 day journey into the heart of the Amazon, weeks away from the imaginary isles of the Galapagos.

It's hard to imagine a more perfect way to kill 8 months.

It's also hard to capture the moments, the emotions, I have experienced over this time as well. And to top it off, my procrastination has added the complication of memory transformation due to the passage of time and change in conditions of my internal life, my perspective, my heart.

Regardless, even the passing of a moments can alter the way we perceive an experience at the time we experience. You do what you can with what you remember. And maybe the way we remember our 'memories' is the true way they are meant to be. After all, we create our reality, and our stories are not only told by us, but first translated by our initial impressions.

So, in a nutshell, my impressions:

Walt Disney World, FLA -

Upon returning to the great continent of North America after only a brief visit for the holidays over the past few years was actually less threatening than expected. It is warned, as an expat living abroad, that reverse culture shock is just as bad, if not epically worse, than the shock undergone when moving to a foreign place to begin with, reason being that the expectation of the unfamiliar is given when leaving and coming home is supposed to be a release from the unfamiliar, soft warm and comforting. But when you leave for a significant period of time things inevitably change. And you yourself change, making the way you once lived in a place no longer as relevant, no longer as comfortable. And maybe my own acute awareness of this fact softened the blow. Or maybe home just didn't change as much as I expected. But I was fine. I felt fine. Although, admittedly, it felt like an extension of my "adventure".
But once I stepped foot in Disney World, the place that is supposed to be an escape from "reality", I felt utterly overwhelmed. This was due to several reasons. One, I had no set "reality" to escape from, having lived in Korea for the past two years, and been floating around Indonesia for the past month or so prior to arriving; two, the uber-consumerism and consumption that I feared of North America when I was in the backcountry of Bali was represented at its brightest and biggest in every direction and in every way all around me; three, my boyfriend who I missed dearly and thought of constantly was in Nepal trekking his way across the highest pass in the world whilst I stood in line for a roller-coaster ride set in the center of Mt. Everest, and the line wove its way through "Nepalese buddhist temples", "Himalayan trekkers hostels", and "Asian country side", all seamlessly reproduced to create the most realistic experience of the Himalayas in the comfort of central Florida. However, despite all these strange and unusual factors, it still represented to me what it always had, on every other visit I had ever had in the past (all 10 separate Disney family vacations of my childhood); enchantment. Everywhere is music, everywhere is magic, everywhere is laughter and happiness and joy and memories and love. True, once you are an adult you are more aware of the young ages of the staff, the irritation of parents having to wait another 3 hours to take Johnny on Flying Dumbo, the way people push their way through crowds to get a better spot in line or a better view of the fireworks. But still, it is difficult not to let it roll off your back. It is Disney after all. And the best part, Kyle and I were well over the legal drinking age. Magic Kingdom by day, Pleasure Island by night. We ate and danced like rock stars, and we rode those rides like there was no tomorrow. And we even managed to snag ourselves a companion who was a regular David Attenborough of the gay Disney bionetwork, knowing all the ins and outs of the parks through research for his gay travel guide. The golden decision of the trip- to attend the private princess and pirate party. For an extra 50 bucks we owned that park, riding rides like Splash Mountain and Pirates of the Carribean and the Haunted Mansion handfuls of times almost alone, completely wait free. After returning home my brother and I were safely satiated of all that is Disney, but grateful for the bonding time, and the revelry. And maybe even a little taste of "home".

So once returned and settled into my "new room" (the room I had wanted my whole childhood, tucked neatly away in the corner of the basement, that my parents ended up giving to my brother, to which I have yet to get over) that my mother had set up for my 6 week stay I had nothing to do but wait. Well, work and wait. And work I did, back at my old bar, serving all the old regulars, waitressing with all the same gals. It was a total time warp, but surprisingly in a nice comforting way. Some of them had left, had traveled, had done things. Some of them hung off my every word when I related stories of the previous years abroad, finding something inspiring in their context and planning before my eyes journeys they themselves were suddenly ready to embark on once and for all. After all, if I can do it, a simple bar wench, why couldn't they? I whole-heartedly supported their discoveries. And although it felt great to socialize, to renew old cameraderie, I couldn't help but be keenly aware of the slow passage of time until that fated day when I would no longer have to fantasize about the mysterious city of Austin Texas, before I wouldn't have to conduct a romantic relationship over Facebook (that is only a slight manipulation of fact, sad as it may be that Facebook has taken over the world).

But eventually it was no longer a castle in the sky. Eventually I was on that plane....seemingly, and maybe ironically, on my way 'home'.

Austin, TX-

I had an important playlist for this plane ride. The music that had kept me company, that had given my life its audio landscape for the past few months, that seemed to soundtrack my "new life", was vital to this journey. I was nervous, I was scared, I was excited beyond belief. And as Flight of the Conchords crooned "It's Business Time", the plane touched the tarmac and I was finally in Texas...if only my legs would take me into the terminal. My reunion was a sweet one, a comforting one, and a relatively smooth one considering the buildup. I literally felt....home. Over the course of the next 10 days I got to experience Austin exactly the way I had wanted to for so long, through the eyes of Adam. I met his family, played in his playgrounds (Barton Springs being an oasis in a sea of Texas heat, and a beautiful and funky one at that), danced in his haunts (The Beauty Bar saw more of us than it expected, or than we intended, but the music just kept calling us back), listened to his friends and friends of friends and friends of Austin rock out, hung out with his homies (sorry, alliteration...not my fault), floated along the Guadalupe, partied deckside with his sister and her posse on the "lake", and visited all the places that mattered in some way to him (the UT campus being one of the most impressive). It was in intimate look into a city that I know completely understand why is venerated by those that grow up there, and a view of it top to bottom by bike was a nice added touch. All in all, Austin and all the people in it impressed me even more than expected, which says a whole lot.

And back on a plane, days later, to Tennessee. No rest for the wicked....

Nashville, TN-

Though brief, Adam and I spent a night in the fascinating city of Nashville, the other white meat of the live music world in America. Instead of the rock-indie-alternative scene I experienced in Austin we bar hopped for a bit downtown, listening to local country and bluegrass. We also had a brief but awkward stop in Coyote Ugly for touristy kicks. Note- don't go to Coyote Ugly before midnight unless you are abnormally drunk early in the evening and comfortable with being dragged up on a bar to dance in front of a handful of awkward, drooling (maybe even pawing) patrons. We didn't stay long. We ended up attending the official Bonnaroo pre-party where we rocked out to Lez Zeppelin, a homosexual assembly of women who owned "Black Dog".

And in the morning, back to the airport for the shuttle ride to the country's biggest music fest.

Bonnaroo, Manchester TN-

I'm glad we took the shuttle, I can say that. Watching all those pathetic souls stuck on the highway in endless gridlock made me throw up a little in my mouth. And there we were on a big comfy bus cruising right past the mayhem. However, we did have our own mayhem to attend to upon arrival. Thankfully we had purchased a big green hockey style bag before leaving for Nashville. Otherwise we would have tents and fans and matresses and food taped and tied to us everywhere. The one problem, however, was that the bus dropped everyone off at the edge of the camping abyss. And we had about eight thousand pounds of stuff to carry to a site yet determined. So after trying our darndest to inch our way along, taking turns with handles here and beer bags there, we hopped on a little golf cart taxi and found our way to the front, right near the entrance, in view of the main stage. We splayed our stuff about, hauled out the tent Adam's dad had so thoughtfully purchased for our summer o' fun only to find out it was fit for one single man mountaineering his way up Everest. We squeezed in the matress, and somehow ourselves, but that was it. The rest of the gear had to be tucked under the flat of the test outside. We put our best faith in mankind that it would remain there for the four days, and set off for the grounds. The Bonnaroo set up was impressive. On the first day we enjoyed the carcophony of lyrics and acoustics from bands like What Made Milwaukee Famous, MGMT and Vampire Weekend. The people were colorful, the ferris wheel a'spinnin, the food was delicious, and everywhere was sound. However, by the next morning, it was evident that something needed to be done about our domestic situation. As good as both of us might have been coping, as we have stayed in our own fair share of sketchy facilities around the world, to ultimately enjoy the experience we needed a good nights sleep and a sanctuary during the day away from the chaos and the heat (we had a pretty decent megafan to, at the very least, kiss us with cool air amidst the sweltering humidity of the day) so I serendipitously found a $70 steal of a deal and set it up when I snuck away from Adam for a moment to procure an afternoon surprise. It was one of my better ideas, and they are few and far between. After that, everything was downhill. Stephen Marley, Jose Gonzalez, Tegan and Sara, Minus the Bear, Chick Chick Chick, Bela Fleck, The Raconteurs, MIA, Chris Rock, Zach Galafanakus, My Morning Jacket, Metallica, MSTRKRFT, Tiesto, Pearl Jam, Iron and Wine, Ozomatli, Cat Power, Ben Folds, Death Cab for Cutie, Levon Helm, Jack Johnson, Sigur Ros, Chromeo, Kanye West (a whole other story involving set malfunctions, a 2 hour late laser show that ended up being performed in the light of dawn, and a giant crowd chanting "F&*$ Kanye" for the remaining 24 hours), GHostland Observatory, BB King, Allison Krauss and Robert Plant and, of course, Widespread Panic. And let me tell you, they do not disappoint. Adam and my psychadelic experience of the ultimate jam band, the ultimate Bonnaroo experience, was one that will live down in my own personal history as a few of the best hours of my life, under an almost full moon and a raining sky of glowstix. Magical. Getting back on the shuttle the morning after at 5, after having packed up the site in the dark dying of lack of sleep and a 'hangover' was less than glamorous, but worth it all the same. Too bad the cops wouldn't let us sleep on the benches at the airport. But alas, you can't win em' all.

And then it was a cab ride to the Greyhound where we began what we thought would be our great cross-country American adventure. Boy were we in for a treat.

Nashville to Twin Falls ID, by Greyhound-

The stops included:

Clarksville TN, Madisonville KY, Evansville IN, Mt Vernon IL, St Louis MO, Kansas City MO, Salina KS, Limon CO, Denver CO, Laramie WY, Rock Springs WY, Salt Lake City UT, Ogden UT, Burley ID, and THEN Twin Falls ID, to mention a few...

Originally I book this for two reasons. a) It is cheaper than a flight, and cheaper seems to be the name of the game for both of us unemployed (I book this while Adam is in India with little discussion on the issue. In retrospect also with little forethought). b) With all the stops across different terrain, and me never having explored America in the central or western regions before, I figure it will be a great view of the country out a window. After all, I love watching the world go by on a bus. Why not do it for 2 days!

I'll tell you why not. There is first a certain type of American citizen that rides the Greyhound, and they generally are not the type that order cafe lattes at Starbucks or spend their Saturdays with their kids at the museum. That is not to say anything less of this type of person, so don't get me wrong. But in some circumstances things like hygiene and undeveloped general social skills make for a long 6 hour trek to the next bus station let me tell you. Second, though you would think the fact that Greyhound is such a long established company and means of transportation means that they would not only have a system for doing things but an efficiently functioning one at that. I assure you they have neither, and when 12 of us were left behind in the middle of the night in Kansas City with your bags still on the bus and the doors locked on the station so you can't even flag it down, and THEN being accused of being careless and screwing things up for THEM while buddy calls his friends on their cell phones to track down the bus driver's number, you see clear as day that you should have spend the extra 40 bucks and flown to your destination in a 20th of the time and saved yourself the trouble.

Having said that, It WAS an adventure, a story to tell, and now I know better.

Sun Valley, ID-

Katie picked us up in the wee hours of the morning in Twin Falls, shivering and exhausted beside a phone booth, next to a closed gas station on a random corner of the city. The main problem was that this random corner was actually a different random corner than the one listed on the website, and she had been driving around with the window down, paging us the old fashioned way. But finally we were on our way, through the rolling foothills of Idaho in the dawn of a new day with our old friend from Korea. Strange how things come back together. We arrived at her parents place just in time for the morning rush. As Katie tucked us into her bed and set off for a day's work we could hear the assembly of gardeners forming outside the window. That assembly would include us the nest morning, but for now...rest. Katie came and had lunch with us and we met more of the crew, and later were taken to the house she was house sitting in a little "third and fourth home" community (neither Adam nor I had heard this term before Sun Valley, and will probably never need to use it again outside the context of the town). There we set out our sleeping mats on the floor that would be our home away from...well, our home, for the nest two or three weeks. We began planting in the morning and on Saturday departed for a weekend of camping at Redfish lake and to watch her friend compete in the local triathalon. The scenary was spectacular, and the hike we took on Sunday breathtaking (including a dip or two in the icy lake). The following weeks including a lot of sun, dirt, weeding, catching up on Lost Season 3, playing, bike riding (the trails in Ketchum and surrounding areas are utterly astounding...completely comprehensive tours of ever inch of the local terrain), ski lift riding and socializing. Though Adam and I needed to make the money while we were there, it was a great place to work, to catch up with a friend, and to explore. When we left we were tired, but with a new perspective on Idaho as a state and a place to visit. Utterly astounding, and understandable why so many famous people have found their getaway there.

Home again, home again, and this time with extra cargo.

Calgary and area, AB-

I was nervous to go to Austin. Not only had it been months since I had seen Adam, but I was about to be introduced to all things that made him who he was, all the things he loved before I showed up in his life, and all the people who loved him and were ready to do what it took to protect him if I didn't fit the bill (or, at the very least, point out that someone like me could never deserve a person like him and I was foolish for even considering coming down there and impressing them all). Granted, our imaginings are always magnified and manipulated by our fears, and Austin welcomed me (at least, I think) with open arms (as long as, I am told, I don't think I can just move there and expect it to be 'my town' because it's NOT...it's theirs). This time, circumstances in reverse, there was no fear to be had. I had absolutely no doubt that every part of my life, ever person in it and every place I loved, would be grateful to have Adam in it and around it. But after the spectacle that Austin proved to be, I was a little apprehensive that Calgary, and maybe Canada itself, would fail to impress someone who came from a place like that, and had spent the past few months in places like Dharamsala and the Annapurna Pass. But it was Stampede time in Calgary, and it was in full swing. So at the very least, Adam could see the city in character....at the very least.

Without going into detail, everyone loved him. That was a given. But the real test was the morning we headed in to the grounds. I parked the car in the south end and took the C train, mainly so that I would have to pay the $25 it cost to park near the grounds, and also so that he could experience the Stampede the way he should. No let down on public transit. As the doors opened for the train a stumbly girl in a cocked pink cowboy swung around from the pole and said "wellllcome to our traaaaain!", her pub crawl tshirt littered in clever sayings like "ride me like a bull" and various shapes and sizes of penises drawn expertly here and there. Her friends were slumped in the seats adjacent, snapping their heads back and winking at the guys ogling them down the car. "Welcome to Stampede" I say to Adam, and we set off for downtown. My friend Jamie, an amazing entrepeneur and politician of sorts who owns and runs the Airdrie/Cochrane radio station and a media business exclusively in charge of covering the seasons chuckwagon broadcasts had gotten us free seats for the chucks and the grandstand show, a part of the stampede often overlooked by locals as it is expensive and "touristy". Most of us from Calgary go for Nashville North, the big beer tent and party central, or the midway rides, or the Casino. But the heart of the Stampede is the rodeo and chucks, and there we were, in the eye in the sky, meters away from Joe Carbury (the voice of the Stampede, toted for his catchphrase "and theyy'rrrre off!", on his final year of broadcasting after 45 years of service), hanging with the CBC camera man and taking in the view as the sun went down over the city and the golden light of dusk illuminated the stands. The grandstand show was also pretty spectacular, and although it was tricky to see all the fireworks from under the stand covering, they were spectacular nonetheless. Then Jamie was kind enough to drive our boring, poor selves back to the car in his little two-seater sports car as we raced away from the debauchery that a night of Stampede partying would have been. I felt old, but I guess that what happens when you age. The next day we meant to get to the grounds earlier to do the midway and all the other little eccentricities of the Stampede but got caught up in a patio pre-drinking party and singalong. It ended up being a MUCH cheaper, and more entertaining way to spend the afternoon. We made it in time for a ride on one of the sketchier contraptions (and not dying), and checking out the fireworks from the Indian Villiage, where we didn't realize until leaving that we were the only white people inside after the hoop dance and rain dance performances had ended for the day.

Prior to the Stampede Adam's friend, also from Korea, Helen (who was in town for the Stampede from Saskatchewan) met up with us to do some sightseeing and Korean reminiscing over bulgogi and kimchi in downtown Calgary. After a little sleepover we headed up to Banff, in less than ideal weather, to take in the sights, some chocolate from the candy store, teddy bear hugging at the Spirit of Christmas store, and a soak in the Hot Springs. It was cloudy, and a little rainy, but they got the gist. Banff rocks, no matter what the weather. We even wandered the halls of the Banff Springs hotel for a while for some photo ops. And though we "said goodbye" to Helen with the expectation we would meet again on the grounds, as per usual it never happened and we went our separate ways. We spent some time over the next week or so hanging out in Okotoks, meeting friends, attending local baseball games, visiting old places of employment, and took a time out to explore the mountains on a camping trip. Actually, one of the most magical places of my childhood was a little lake up in the middle of nowhere in Kananaskis called Tombstone, of which I never thought I would see the likes of again. But I had found a trail map to get to the backcountry campsite of the same name and, although there was no indication on any map of lakes being anywhere near the site, my intuition told me otherwise and we packed up our gear, bought our permits (after getting semi-lost on a spectacular and death-defying mining road to get there), and set off for the campsite. The trail to get to the site was only slightly familiar (it had been 13 years, and we were hiking it in the opposite direction), but was totally awe-inspiring. I couldn't help but finally feel the pride swell up in my home, in my most treasured of places, and the apprehension that Canada couldn't stand up was relieved completely. It was, after all, one of the most beautiful places I had ever been in my life, and it was just out my back door. It took us a few hours to find the site, but once there we found an exceptional spot with a view of the valley most people would kill to see just once. It was our backdrop for the evening. After setting up camp, we left our stuff to the mercy of the wildlife and followed a trail that seemed to lead toward a mountain in the near distance, a ridge that seemed to pull on my heartstrings. And although Adam no doubt had his suspicions our adventure would lead to nowhere, my intuition proved reliable and within a half hour we were standing in front of a lovely pristine lake, high up in the pass, far far away from any sign of civilization. Enjoying the scenary, and happy for me to have succeeded in my hunt, Adam grinned and played with the water, unaware that the real prize lay just ahead over the adjacent ridge. We climbed, we found, we swam in its icy breath. And after enjoying it to our fullest capacity, we made our way back to camp. Mission accomplished. And soon after the camping expedition Adam and I set off for the next leg of our grand Western Canadian adventure - a road trip to the west coast through the beautiful Okanagan.

Vancouver BC -
Mom was no doubt a little apprehensive about us taking her car, a car that has little highway experience and had been "shaking" as of late. Nonetheless she handed over the keys and we departed for the Pacific on the beautiful Number 3 highway through Kelowna. Though Adam slept for a good portion of the trip, I myself was able to reconnect with a landscape I had been long distanced from, and he got his occasional view of the peaks and valleys that make up the interior of British Columbia. We stopped, after about 7 hours on the curving mountain passes, in Kelowna to spend the night. Unaware of the "high season" prices we naively try to get a room in a motel for "cheap"- ie. we go to the sketchiest looking motels on the main strip only to find the lowest price available is $120 (a little less, and I mean a little, with a AAA membership). Luckily, we found the Kelowna International Hostel, a little place full of character, close to amenities, and very affordable (especially in lieu of the cost of other accomodation). After a sunset dinner atop the Earl's overlooking the lake, and a full night's sleep, we were fresh and ready for the last leg of the journey to the west. We arrived in Vancouver mid-afternoon and spent a considerable amount of time navigating our way down the one way streets in the Davey-Burrard area of downtown (despite the ease of the trip to the city itself). Finally we were able to settle into my brother's place, to take things out of bags, to relax.

We spent our days in Vancouver exploring, wandering the streets, running through Stanley Park. At one point we got caught up in a rainstorm which promptly ended our run, but initiated some forest exploring, where we found some beautiful hardwoods growing out of the base of other trees. Really, really cool. My dad also paid us a little visit on China's day at the International Fireworks competition. Thinking we would "grab a good spot" we sat on the Patio at the Sylvia Hotel, right on the water front, hours (and by hours, I mean about 10 hours) before the fireworks were to commence. It was a lovely afternoon, but the fear of drinking too much wine and spending way too much money pulled us away from the bar and onto the grass with the rest of the hoards of onlookers (about 300 000 in the general area), snacking on popcorn and sipping on beer in the warm glow of the Canadian sunset. The fireworks, in the end, were worth the wait. We also did a little off-roading (well, off-trailing) on the rocky cliffs alongside the ocean. My old man, once again, was impressive, and led the stony way.

Seattle, WA-
At the end of the week, after some serious QT with my brother David (at least a little), we set off for Seattle to visit Adam's mom in Vashon. The one problem was that she wasn't there. AT the very least, our own place for one night was a good excuse to go see the city I had heard only amazing things about. We left by car on Saturday afternoon, thinking it would be a low point in traffic, only to get stuck at the border for almost 4 hours. Idling, stop and go, and cramped legs made Shawna cranky. But we survived (I didn't kill myself OR Adam- the poor innocent bystander, and he thankfully did not kill me). We were on the ferry to Vashon by 10:30. Having our own space was much needed, and the island held all kinds of charm to boot. A walk on the beach and then a day in the city was just what the doctor ordered. Seattle's hilly streets, music museum (awesome place, check it out www.empsfm.org/), and seaside restaurant sunset view knocked me right on my ass. I loved every bit of Seattle, even if our experience was short lived, and colored in the rosy hues of a rainless few days.

Shambhala; Nelson, BC-
In reality, this deserves its own blog. Actually, every stopover does. Unfortunately, I have been so busy living my life that I have not allotted enough time to properly document it. This is probably a good thing, but it comes with its consequence. At the end of the day, however, Shambhala cannot properly be put into words anyway. We arrived on Wednesday in Salmo in the evening after a day of driving, all the way from Vashon, across the state of Washington and over the border just shy of the the town, held up only by the border crossing guards who meticulously searched the car, chatting in a friendly way the whole while as they opened this and peered into that. It was tricky to justify the large sombrero and skull in the back seat, along with other Shambhala costume items, after explaining we were not attending said festival but we had heard of it and all its insanity (and yes, I have no doubt that they found our tickets at some point during this explanation, but chose to say nothing). We met Sean and Shanna at a little sketchy bar in town, exhausted and enthusiastic only about finding a bed to sleep in. We followed them to Ymir (a very small hamlet near to Salmo) to the beautiful Ymir hotel, big and ancient and covered all the way up and down each creaky hallway with art and artifacts from every culture possible. There we slept, had a glorious bath, and prepped ourselves for the day ahead. It was a long, LONG wait in line (7 or 8 hours if I remember correctly) on the side of the highway to get into the grounds. But once we were there, and the tents were set up, and the tarps and flags and pillows were set out, all that was left was enjoyment- an patience. The first night was meant for chilling, eventhough I wanted to do anything but. We watched a drum circle, tried to peek into the closed stages (specifically the Fractal Forest) to no avail. The excitement would have to wait.

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