Locations lost and found
The best way to fall in love again with your home town is to host a visitor from out of town. In any given week I might go to work, head to a strip mall, putz around my garden and pace within the dusty confines of my home. On a busy week, “going downtown means driving through and glancing to the right and to the left, the way one might view a cityscape from a fast-moving train.
However, when visitors are in town it's showtime. Suddenly there's motivation to fire up my dad's Mustang and show places known and loved.
This month my work is hosting 18 teachers from 16 different countries from throughout the world. Their schedule is busy with more than a week in local schools and almost 150 hours of academics, but still there are slices of time to see this and that.
One perfect day in Bidwell Park, the wish list included a place to park the car. We stood at the base of the climb, which looks daunting when you take the first step.
Monkey Face.
It had been so long I could not point out why the big rock got this name. From the base, no monkey is to be found, just a steep crag that looks like all the other crags in the area.
We took in the view from the top, which makes you wish you could fly. Dogs leapt in the green grass below and a few folks rode horses. We walked for nearly an hour, dazzled by the sparsely-scattered yet brilliant wildflowers, and headed back along Horseshoe Lake. Finally, from the northwest vantage point, the monkey's profile jumped into view, and I think he was laughing.
“I wasn't expecting this,” Masi from South Africa said when he saw people spread out every which way, climbing hills, golfing and riding their bikes. “I didn't imagine Americans liked the outdoors so much.”
I probably shared more than was necessary about the long-gone lady who donated the land to the community, how much people in Chico love playing softball and that the observatory is run by volunteers. Masi was more interested in stopping along the side of the road to watch the deer that were nonplussed by whether or not we found a parking place.
The next weekend, a different mix of international visitors piled into cars and headed to Roble Road to view the almond bloom. For this trip, my Uncle Jimmy and his wife Cheryl volunteered to be extra drivers.
The blossoms were only half unfurled, but to new eyes the orchards were nothing short of magnificent.
(We're fortunate we did not wait, because the upcoming rain may turn those blossoms to mush).
On that cold but clear day we silenced our happy chatter to listen to the quiet hum of an army of pollinators hard at work.
When you're three miles away from town, you might as well keep going and head to Llano Seco Wildlife Refuge.
Only several hundred snow geese were hanging out, off in the distance. I did not need to explain that sometimes we can see tens of thousands of white birds, floating beak-to-beak. Our visitors were plenty impressed when about 100 birds took to the sky in unison and circled over the cattle that were minding their own business.
A personal lesson was not lost on me. I do not need the excuse of visitors to revisit places I know and love.
Naturally, after any of these adventures outdoors, I found an excuse to take the group to Shubert's Ice Cream and Candy. After three visits, I can now confirm that our familiar ice cream shop is internationally appreciated.
Even a shopping trip to Winco can become an adventure when you're with people from another country. Asel of Kyrgystan and Mohammed of Sudan needed produce, cheese and bread. They have also somehow developed a fondness for American ice cream.
Shopping sounded simple enough until there is actually confusion in every aisle.
Some vegetables, for example, are sold by the pound, which is clearly indicated by the LB on the sign. LB means nothing if you're from a land that thinks in kilograms. Other fresh foods are sold as “each,” which requires a brief cultural explanation.
“If it says `each' look for the biggest and best,” I explained.
“What kind of cheese do you eat at home?” I asked my friend from Middle Asia, trying to simplify what was soon becoming a sensory overload.
“I usually eat white cheese,” she said.
This narrowed the options only slightly.
Provolone or jack, mozzarella — I chose not to educate my friend on the nuances of havarti or goat cheese with chutney.
“What kind of ice cream do you like?” I urged as we stared at a freezer that spanned half the wall on one side of the ginormous store.
“I like white ice cream with some chocolate,” Asel replied, which narrowed the choices to a mere 15. Mohammed's decision was easier. He chose the tub that said “Snickers” on the side, and Snickers is worldwide commodity.
We never did find the right bread.
“I would like bread with no sugar in it,” was a simple request.
We read labels until we were running out of stamina. Sometimes you can't find what you really want, even in a place with seemingly endless choices.