Garden State Horseplay

Way back in November of two thousand and nine, when we started planning the trip, we always figured that once we actually started traveling, we wouldn’t reenter the US until our year of travel was complete.  Die-hard, global travelers might even consider it cheating to do so, discrediting our so-called round-the-world jaunt based on this backtracking technicality alone.  But after realizing that direct flights from Buenos Aires to Paris were substantially more expensive than the same flights stopping through New York, we jumped at the chance to spend a little time at home for the holidays.

Sorry, discrediting, die-hard backpacking community; we wanted to hug our moms.

For ten glorious days, we called the Garden State home again, and we spent a short time in Manhattan hanging out with friends. While in the Big Apple (I’ve never called it that before), our primary concern was securing India travel visas from the Indian consulate in Midtown. This two-day bureaucratic nightmare consumed the better part of our two afternoons in New York, and among other things, saw us waiting on a sidewalk in the bitter cold; sitting for hours in a steep, drafty stairwell; thinking, at one point, that we wouldn’t get visas at all; listening to an unprovoked consulate rep tell me, “You better wait outside,” while adding, “I don’t want to see your face up here”; walking across the street to pee in a karaoke bar; thinking about doing some karaoke but not wanting to lose our place in line; spending some more time in a stairwell; realizing I would have had plenty of time to do like three songs, easy; then, finally, getting our visas, just before we had to catch our train back to New Jersey.

Does India have karaoke?

Food and Family

Due to South America’s lackluster cuisine, not to mention (but I will anyway to add emphasis) the few instances when my stomach felt like it wanted to turn inside out, I arrived home weighing close to twenty pounds less than I did when we left.  I was starving and I needed to eat. EVERYTHING.  Cynthia was pretty disgusted but also kind of amazed.  Burgers and chicken wings; cupcakes and udon; egg sandwiches and late-night Brother Jimmy’s BBQ; bagels (Oh, the bagels!); fresh pasta; a slew of heaping home-cooked meals;  and a few slices of East Village pizza (that I later ate on a couch while watching six consecutive episodes of Modern Family).  Back in Princeton, a steady drip of leftovers kept me stable throughout our days there.

Since our onward flight wasn’t leaving for Paris until Christmas day (cheapest), we celebrated the Christmas holiday the weekend before.  My parents drove in from Cleveland and arrived with a treasure trove of Midwestern delights; the best of which included two cases of “Christmas Ale”, my favorite seasonal microbrew made by Cleveland’s own Great Lakes Brewery, along with a cattle car’s worth of cookie-tins, filled with my Mom’s famous homemade treats—an assortment of gingersnaps, chocolate brownies, and mountain of powdered-sugar cookies known in my family as “sand toots”.

Needless to say, I gained back most of the weight.

But, as admirable as it was, there’s more to this post than just my shameless gluttony.

The highlight of our time home happened to come in the form of a gift, given to us during our family gift exchange.  I guess it’s not surprising that a gift could create a most-cherished memory.  Heck, growing up as an only child, I’ve been the recipient of some pretty mind-blowing gifts.  The first one that comes to mind is the Nintendo Power Glove—that “cutting-edge”, glove-shaped video game accessory introduced in 1989 that, although a complete piece of crap and taken off the shelves months later, looked REALLY cool and was featured in a blockbuster kid-flick that same year called The Wizard with Fred Savage (also an idol of mine at the time).

As great as it felt to slip those satin-smooth, technologically worthless, rubbery Nintendo Power Glove fingers over my hand on that cold, Cleveland Christmas morning, that was nothing compared to what I got this year.

Horsing Around (and providing context)

One of our favorite stops so far has been Pucon, Chile, where, after waiting for days for the weather to improve, we eventually climbed an active volcano.  Before climbing, we spent one day mountain biking to the water falls of Ojos del Caburgua—a few-hour journey through the rolling green hills of Chile’s Lake District.  Along the gravel path leading out of Pucon, we pedaled through acres of farmland dotted with sheep, goats, cows, and horses.  After crossing a particularly narrow bridge over the Trancura River, we dismounted our bikes, relaxed, and took in the view.  Cynthia snapped this shot to capture the moment:

You may or may not have initially realized, but this horse is pretty excited (that’s not a fence post!).  Embarrassing as it is to admit, yes, we were well aware of his arousal before we took the picture.  We’re not proud of it.  Nope, not at all.   But you have to admit, it’s pretty hilarious.

Afterwards, when posting our pictures from Pucon, we showed considerable maturity and restraint (far more than now, at least) by not adding a caption to bring attention to it.  We figured it might be fun to see if anyone would find it.  Kind of like a ‘Where’s Waldo’, only with a horse penis.

Despite the whopping thirty-three views that the photo received on Picasa, no one said anything.

You’re Kidding, Right?

Our Christmas dinner in Princeton was another feast.  The main dish of lamb was supported by a fine assortment of green beans, “cheesy” potatoes, salad, and wine that we’d brought back from Argentina.  For dessert, we finished things off with another family favorite: the apple/caramel cheesecake.

After dinner, we all headed to the living room to exchange gifts.  It soon became apparent that our parents had given us way too much stuff: guidebooks, Kindle gift certificates, socks, a knife, etc.  Most we could use for the second half of our trip.

One gift from my Mom was a bit bigger than the rest, so we decided to save it for last.  As you can see in the picture below, it was a large, rectangular object.

I thought maybe my parents had framed my college diploma which—on the surface at least—seems like a thoughtful keepsake, but coming from my parents, I thought it might be a subtle hint at the income-producing purpose of my degree; an urge to finish up the trip and get back to work.  But it couldn’t be, they insisted the gift was to both of us.

We unwrapped the right-side of it first and saw a portion of a nature painting.  Tearing more paper off revealed the side of a white shed; another swipe showed the hanging branches of a nearby tree.  Just as I started to recognize the image, another fist-full of wrapping paper revealed the head of a white horse…

My heart dropped.

We hadn’t even finished unwrapping yet, but we knew: it was the horse penis picture, blown up to near-poster size and rendered to resemble an original painting on canvas.

Cynthia and I burst out laughing.  I mean, it was that picture, sitting in my lap, looking like a beautiful, long-lost work of Degas; a work that revealed his previously unknown, twisted, equestrian sense of humor.  However, here in Princeton, it was our twisted sense of humor on display.

In that moment, as I tried to regain my composure, red in the face with embarrassment, many thoughts went through my head.

I marveled at the continuation of a running theme that occasionally sees my life dip into the depths of awkwardness only ever witnessed in Ben Stiller movies.

Knowing my mom to be the occasional prankster with an unmatched sense of humor, I had to give it to her.  What a genius, I thought.  Forget framing my college diploma to prove the point.  What better way to highlight my alleged immaturity than to literally enlarge physical evidence it!  Then again, I wondered, maybe she thinks it’s just as hilarious as we do and wants to immortalize it by having us prominently display it as art.

I panned the room.  Everyone was staring at us, completely puzzled.  Across the coffee table, I glanced at my Mom’s look of utter confusion.  “What? Do you not like it?” she said, seeming quite sincere.

I wasn’t convinced, but I could hardly form a complete sentence to challenge what I thought to be her fantastic acting skills: “C’mon…Mom…..you knowwww. Give it up…….you.”

But her blank look said it all.  She had no idea.

A Happy Ending

Over the next few minutes, all the pieces began to fall into place.  The actual facts, however, are no less astonishing.

I started things off by pointing out the uncircumcised focal point and the circumstances surrounding the photo’s genesis.  Hearty laughing ensued, much to my relief.  Just as suspected, my mom had, in fact, been completely unaware.  Out of the literally thousands of photos we’ve taken so far on our trip, she whittled her favorites down to just a few before consulting with close friends and family to decide on the best.  Equally unaware, all of them agreed—this was the one.

“I thought it was a fence post,” she said.  The room roared with laughter.

I must say though, now looking at it from a (much) different perspective, I have to agree with her.  It’s a striking photo with good composition.

At some point in the future, when we get a house, maybe we’ll hang it on the wall of a bathroom, giving visitors a chuckle when they least expect it.  Or maybe we’ll hang it in a home office and glance at it now and again and recall the improbable and entertaining circumstances that brought it to be.

What we are certain of, however, is what this picture now represents: a warm, thoughtful, and accidentally hilarious welcome home; a holiday celebration filled with great food, friends, and loving family; and a mom with a good eye for photo composition and a bad one for horse penises.

Good times.