>Assuming that I'm not planning a new life in a foreign country after election day, Husband and I are heading to California for an end-of-the-year trip. The scheme is to fly to Los Angeles on Christmas Day, spend two-ish days wandering amongst the bronzed and the implanted, then drive up to Ventura to hang out with Suebob on my birthday. From there, we shall continue up the coast, stopping in Solvang ("Scandinavian" tourist trap), Pismo Beach, and San Luis Obispo (Bubblegum Alley!!!), and taking a night tour of Hearst Castle. A search of the internets for a place to stay near Hearst Castle made me gasp.
"What?" Husband asked. "Are you OK?"
I sprang up from the couch. "OH MY GOD!!!!! We can stay in a yurt!"
Husband's face transformed into a question mark. I sighed. "You know - a yurt!" Except that he obviously didn't know. "It's a part tent, part solid building thing," I expounded.
"Why do you know this?"
Good question. I have no idea why I know what a yurt is. Although Husband then accused my family of being a roving hippie clan, we never went anywhere more exotic than Burbank to visit my great uncle and great aunt. It's always interesting to try and trace back to when you first learned about something, and I'm drawing a complete blank on the yurt. The only explanation I can up with is that I must have read about it somewhere. Yurts are hardly common in the suburbs of Chicago, so I've certainly never seen one. However it worked its way into my subconscious, I am psyched for our yurt stay.