We stayed in Boulder, when we visited Rocky Mountain National Park. We could have camped. We had reservations in the park, but reports of avalanches and deep snow dissuaded us from that idea. As it turned out, these were only back-country conditions and we would have been fine. By staying in Boulder though Anne and her sister, Jay, were able to arrange a rendezvous.
Jay’s family was flying into Denver, on three separate planes and they were on a tight schedule to get to Fort Collins. It was Saturday and Boulder’s normal Pearl Street weekend hubbub was intensified by not one, but two festivals. We first tried parking in a close by parking structure. We circled up eight stories and then circled back down eight stories only to find a lot full sign had been put out in the interim. We eventually parked and found the restaurant, which was willing to make a reservation for seven. Our table was called and as we were being seated, when Jay, et. al. appeared. The sun, stars and moon must have been perfectly aligned or at least got into line, bent by the wills of Anne and her sister.
The Dushanbe Teahouse comes from Kazakhstan, Boulder’s sister city there boxed up the place in several hundred crates and shipped it all to Colorado, where it was reassembled and has been a going concern ever since. Its decorative artwork is quite extraordinary. I especially love the interior ceilings. We actually ate outside, because Saturday afternoon is dim-sum day.
Yesterday, the annual 4th of July potluck picnic was held on the beach. This year, the adjacent old cabin hosted the event. Even so, logistics was an ordeal and was made even worse by the hot sun and sand. I think that the afternoon here was hotter than Saint Louis. Our retreat could have been a disaster, if not for the intervention of Dashie, a true angel of mercy, but now all is well again.