Sister City.

“There are no foreign lands. It is the traveler only who is foreign.” – Robert Louis Stevenson

If you ever find yourself sitting at an airport with enough time to see beyond the end of your boarding pass, you'll notice that the airport has a sort of hum to it -- at least every one I've been to. It is a constant noise, regardless of how busy it is. A kind of energy and constant movement, a place of hellos and goodbyes. As a kid I often thought about it as an extremely happy place and a terribly sad place -- all at the same time. My sister and I were always traveling to someone and away from another - the product of split parents.

Over the years, as we traveled back and forth, we saw a lot of things. We got stranded in the Little Rock Airport once and saw a college girl, on her way home for the holidays, call home to tell her parents that she decided she wasn't coming home for Christmas because she had met a man at the airport bar and they were going to go to Vegas instead. To this day I wonder if they went.

We would get bored on layovers and stage dramatic scenes in the terminal, pretending to be total strangers in a hurry, traveling in opposite directions. At high speeds we would collide and bags would fly and we would tumble over one another and end up sprawled out on the Dallas Airport floor in hysterics.

We were strategic, my sister would talk loudly and pull out all of her coloring books in an effort to keep people from sitting in the row with us. That way she could have the window, I could have the aisle and no one would sit in the middle - it often worked.

We were good kids, we were always polite and beyond a few moments of laughter, we were respectful to those around us. But for those few hours of freedom, where I was in charge, well let's just say we made memories.

Regardless, I took my responsibility for getting us to our final destination very seriously. I kept us on a strict schedule, we were on time and first in line. My sister, on the other hand, was not so concerned. I think my parents knew that if she were in charge, we would eventually get from Phoenix to Little Rock, but not without a layover in London.

So many years later, when I boarded a plane to Seattle, Washington, I knew I was in for a treat. My sister moved to Seattle in August. She had been there only a month or so when I arrived for my first visit. The thought of her on her own in a brand new city was hilarious. The girl is smart and on top of her game but I couldn't help but picture her doing cartwheels around the city.

I had never been to Seattle before either and I couldn't wait to see what she had been up to. We spent the weekend on the move, she wanted to show me everything. Everything. We saw her apartment in Bellevue and went to the nearby restaurant she likes - White Ginger - great happy hour! We walked the city and went past her office and to little shops she knew I would love. I'm a sucker for paper, stamps and ink supplies.


She also took me to downtown Seattle. When I think of Seattle, I think of fish. Flying fish. I'm sure this is attributed to the Travel Channel, but when I think of Seattle, I think of Pike Place Market and the men who throw fish. So that's exactly what I expected to happen.

We walked to Pike Place. It was fabulous - the famous sign, street performers and what seems to be a mix of locals and tourists. And then the crowd split and there they were. Fish. 

We took a few pictures out front and then headed over to see the fish market. The guys yelled and people stood around and watched. But no one threw any fish. Perplexed, we stayed a bit and waited, still nothing.

So a little disappointed we headed over to see the other parts of the market. Not far from the fish was a huge display of flowers. They had big bouquets and little bouquets, in all sorts of arrangements. It was unbelievable! We decided we had to buy some for her house. But, who would get to carry them? You guessed it, we decided we had to buy two. And when we saw the price tag: $10 for an arm full of flowers - we couldn't resist! Besides, this was my way of becoming a local - locals buy flowers, not tourists.

Another way to look like a tourist, run into people you know.  My college friends, Katie and Jessica showed up at Pike Place, much to mine and Katie's surprise. My sister and Jessica had planned for us to meet up and it was such a treat!

After a glass of wine with the girls, my sister and I decided to try one last time for flying fish. We headed over to the market once more. We decided to get crab legs to take home for dinner. A young man helped us pick them out, as well as some little googly-eyed shrimp. As we stood at the counter paying, a man behind us yelled something. Suddenly, the man at the counter reached down and pitched a big fish over our heads - fish juice flying. We screamed with excitement.

"We're making dreams come true," the man said, making us laugh even harder.

He handed us our seafood and as we turned to leave he yelled again, and the fish flew back over our heads and we just laughed with excitement all over again.

It was so Seattle and I loved it.

On Sunday when she took me to the airport, I could feel the tears in my eyes. For the first time we were going to the airport, but she wasn't going to come with me. I would say goodbye to her this time. I am so proud of her and so impressed that my little twerp of a sister is out there conquering the world on her own - I always knew she would. But to see it, that's a different story.

We said goodbye and I boarded the plane. I sat down in an aisle seat. A few minutes later, I shook my head as a woman sat down next to me -- in the middle seat.

The Details:
Pike Place Market
Seattle, Washington
http://www.pikeplacemarket.org/

The Herb Box.

All this moving has made me hungry! And there is something universal about arriving at a new destination and finding some great place to eat.

Luckily for me, I didn't have to go at it alone. My friend Katie is a true local. Though she is probably one of the most well-traveled individuals I know, she knows Cave Creek and North Scottsdale like no one else!

We'll call her the "tour guide." Travel advice numero uno: find someone who knows or at least looks like they know what they're talking about. No one knows a city like a local. And likely they don't even realize how well they know it. That's the fun part really. I can read all sorts of restaurant reviews and advertisements but when a friend says it's good, it usually is.

Now granted, I'm not traveling. I'm very much living here. But I got to thinking about all of the things I've written about. And most of the time, I write about my travels. About the not-so-ordinary parts of my life. Which is fine and all, but what if I put that much emphasis on the day-to-day life. Maybe, I would find that my everyday life is not so ordinary after all. A theory. I'm testing it out.

Anyway, Katie and I went over to The Herb Box at D.C. Ranch. I've heard the restaurant mentioned before, so I was delighted at the prospect.

Now, I don't think that I would consider myself a foodie. Probably more of an atmosphere junkie. I like to go out and try new restaurants, and don't get me wrong, I love a good burger like the next girl, but I genuinely enjoy being in a place that is interesting.

Character - this place really has character. You walk in and the decor is chic and trendy. But what I love about the place right off the bat is that it looks like someone went around town and took folk's dining room tables and placed them in the restaurant. They're beautiful, comfortable tables. Nothing corporate or stream lined here. The place is very welcoming.

And you think you've seen it all until your eyes meet with the sweet bakery case in the back. Yes, you guessed it. Dessert.

But now that I've heard they have red velvet pancakes, I may go back for brunch!

The Details:
the herb box
Market Street, DC Ranch, Scottsdale, Arizona
http://www.theherbbox.com/