The surprising adventures continue. The Colonel and I just returned from a week long trip to Idaho where we looked at various properties for sale in the quest to find our new abode. I can't wait to leave Florida. The weather has turned nasty and will stay this way for 7 months or more. It's hot and humid, morning, noon and night. The humidity is great for my skin, but that's about it.
The trip out there was quite excruciating. The flight was overbooked, as usual the airlines mess us poor travelling folk around, calling for volunteers to give up their seat on the plane. That really cheeses me off.
Idaho is beautiful. We stayed in a place called Sandpoint. There is a skiing resort there, beautiful lakes, friendly people and even great food. There was this one magnificent Lake that even reminded me of the beautiful Lake Como. The difference is that in Italy they build grand villa's around the lake and beautiful homes. In Idaho, there are moribund shacks on the lake front, with a junk yard for a garden, filled with broken down cars, tractors and so on. Not so much around Sandpoint, as it's a very trendy arty community, but move away from there and one goes into Texas chainsaw massacre country.
We followed our intrepid friend on a 3 hour drive to a house we wanted to see. As we drove away from Sandpoint the terrain became very much like that in Victoria. Undulating hills, cows grazing, fields growing crops. It was just like a country drive back home, with one unique factor, the massive number of derelict farm houses and barns, curious and rather lugubrious buildings in various states of disrepair. It is fascinating, even quaint at first, then after seeing so many it becomes disturbing. Add to this the pastiche of broken down cars, tractors, and car parts scattered seemingly randomly.
Fortunately, we were not lured into the barn only to find a big guy with a chainsaw waiting. The farmer, after giving the directions said, 'Be careful you could get shot going up there.' He insisted he was serious in response to the Realtor's nervous laugh. That really did nothing to assuage my fears of impending doom. I have seen horror movies that begin like this. Being the pusillanimous weakling that I am, I immediately insisted we turn back and be grateful we escaped with our lives before running into Ivan Milat's US cousin out there.
When I first walked in, I saw a mezzanine level with a stuffed small bear leaning over the top of the railing. I stupidly thought they had a pet bear, A blonde moment, until it was pointed out to me that the bear was 'stuffed'. How indignified an end for such a magnificent beast, and how embarrasing a gaffe for Chichi.
The trip out there was quite excruciating. The flight was overbooked, as usual the airlines mess us poor travelling folk around, calling for volunteers to give up their seat on the plane. That really cheeses me off.
I dislike the way people, when travelling, act like a flock of sheep. In their compact seats, looking at nothing most of the time, staring at the back of the seat or towards anyone who dares to move. It's horrid being at the front of the plane, getting up to give one's aching posterior a rest, only to see HUNDREDS of pairs of beady little eyes staring. It's quite disconcerting and you can forget about pulling out the grundies that have disappeared into one's nether regions.
I once pretended to be having an Ebola style coughing fit on a plane just so that no-one would sit next to me. Some joker sat down just as I burst into a particularly offensive volley of coughing, sounding as though I were bringing up a lung. Sitting next to me is more crazy than a person who pretends they have Ebola just to get some extra room. Or is it?
Idaho is beautiful. We stayed in a place called Sandpoint. There is a skiing resort there, beautiful lakes, friendly people and even great food. There was this one magnificent Lake that even reminded me of the beautiful Lake Como. The difference is that in Italy they build grand villa's around the lake and beautiful homes. In Idaho, there are moribund shacks on the lake front, with a junk yard for a garden, filled with broken down cars, tractors and so on. Not so much around Sandpoint, as it's a very trendy arty community, but move away from there and one goes into Texas chainsaw massacre country.We followed our intrepid friend on a 3 hour drive to a house we wanted to see. As we drove away from Sandpoint the terrain became very much like that in Victoria. Undulating hills, cows grazing, fields growing crops. It was just like a country drive back home, with one unique factor, the massive number of derelict farm houses and barns, curious and rather lugubrious buildings in various states of disrepair. It is fascinating, even quaint at first, then after seeing so many it becomes disturbing. Add to this the pastiche of broken down cars, tractors, and car parts scattered seemingly randomly.
We reached an area in the vicinity of the property we were looking for. Driving up steep, gravel roads we saw house after house that looked quite shabby with junk yards surrounding them and in quite remote locations. Our Realtor stopped to ask a farmer working on his tractor for directions. I thought this was a bad move. I started to hum the tune of the 'Dueling Banjos' from the movie Deliverance. I was sure this moment was going to end with the words, 'Squeal like a pig'.
Fortunately, we were not lured into the barn only to find a big guy with a chainsaw waiting. The farmer, after giving the directions said, 'Be careful you could get shot going up there.' He insisted he was serious in response to the Realtor's nervous laugh. That really did nothing to assuage my fears of impending doom. I have seen horror movies that begin like this. Being the pusillanimous weakling that I am, I immediately insisted we turn back and be grateful we escaped with our lives before running into Ivan Milat's US cousin out there.
The Colonel had his trusted hand gun and assured me that we would, 'Go down fighting' and that it would be a two-way range. Did that make me feel any more safe? NO.
We visited one property up near that mountains that was also quite good but with a hefty price tag. The house was nice, if one can look past all the stuffed animals filling up the place. It was like a museum of natural history. I can't imagine being alone in there at night or trying to watch a spot of telly with all those glassy eyes staring into space. I am not as afraid of stuffed animals as I am of manniquins though, that fear is almost pathological. Can I blame that one on ADHD or is it just strangeness?
When I first walked in, I saw a mezzanine level with a stuffed small bear leaning over the top of the railing. I stupidly thought they had a pet bear, A blonde moment, until it was pointed out to me that the bear was 'stuffed'. How indignified an end for such a magnificent beast, and how embarrasing a gaffe for Chichi.
The front room was large with a clear story. I looked up to see HUGE moose heads mounted on the wall. Unsettling but I had seen Moose heads in just about every house we visited. I turned around and in one corner, mounted about halfway up the wall was a huge mountain goat. It was standing on some rock feature, looking down at us. I hate goats even when alive. They have devil eyes, truly they do. Next to it was some kind of wolverine creature. The whole room had stuffed animals all over it. It was macabre. Even the kitchen had a puma over the doorway and a whole host of deceased critters, littered all over the house. The Colonel and our two Realtors thought it was all very impressive, while I was trying not to be sick or run from the house screaming.
The owner of the house told us that his wife had shot most of them. How charming. I didn't meet the little lady and am grateful for that. I feared that I might be shot and stuffed and stuck up on the wall as an exotic species.
Look out Idaho, Countess Chichi is coming to town.
I managed to pick myself up and recover from this slight contretemps and got through the rest of the day, only to get home and realise that I had been wearing two very different earrings. My hair is back off my ears, 'showcasing' the ill-matched pair, one big brilliant cut, the other smaller, square and old mine cut. Very noticeably contradistinct. So these people I had just met must have thought I was a complete imbecile. Talking about food, covered in crumbs, with un-matched earrings, how embarrasing can things get?
