and what a way to go….you will hear much more about this trip later as I’m still unpacking. I went with my daughter on a Backroads Hiking Tour of Southern Patagonia. It was spectacular in so many ways: sites, hikes, food, wine and guides. And the other guests were delightful. What fun, so much laughter, so much help and so much camaraderie among people who had just met. Will try to get my blog up and running again by next Monday.
This last weekend my extended family celebrated the life of the matriarch of our large family, Mom. She died just short of her 94th birthday and lived a rich, colorful, warm and tremendous life. Nine of my twelve siblings were there along with children, grandchildren, spouses and friends. Even with the tears it was a joyous occasion filled with love.
This weekend I am lucky to join my daughter Molly in a trip of a lifetime. We’re on our way to Patagonia to hike the glaciers. I will be back in two weeks. Happy Travels to all of you!
Recently drove out of my way and waited for at least an hour in a border traffic jam to visit Gilbraltar. Guess what? No passport stamp…they just waved me through. While I didn’t really have directions on how to get there, for once, it was easy, because that “rock” stood out and over everything, giving even me no chance of getting lost. As I collect countries I’m pretty sure as a “British overseas territory” it’s not likely to increase my numbers, but then, I sometimes set my own rules as I count Wales, Scotland, and England as separate nations.
Once there, I wasn’t sure what to do other than take the cable car up top to see the monkeys and get some postcards. Typical English food has never really been “my cup of tea.” Beautiful views all around, and it was fun seeing the coast of Africa.
I was facing a 10 hour train trip from Bucharest to Sofia in a filthy stench filled, eye burning car with toilet facilities that rats would avoid. Once across the border, four Bulgarian women commandeered my compartment. The matriarch looked to be in her 80′s and the other three could possibly have been her granddaughters. While they appeared friendly, there was a danger lurking in that now crowded space.
Normally younger people have been taught some English in school but I quickly determined that while these ladies knew many things, English was not one of them.
Within minutes I was scrutinized via universal sign language about my lack of travel companions, about where I was from, and about money. As they furtively chattered among themselves, I gathered that they were choosing which course of action to take with me. The fact that I had purchased a first class rail pass for countries that did not offer that service proved that I was a fairly easy target.
I pretended to read my book as they ostensibly discussed me while eating their lunch. I refused to acknowledge that I was being asked for money even when the old woman put her bandaged feet on my lap to exhibit her desperation.
I struggled with my intuition. Was I being paranoid? Was I just imagining that these women were gypsies who were looking for immediate gratification? As I crawled deeper into my small corner I realized that I could not even go to the toilet and leave my backpack behind. Instead, I sat there, uneasily battling my need for safety with making a possible un-PC judgment.
Within a few hours time the conductor came by and asked me rather bluntly, “what are you doing in here with them? Go and sit anywhere but here.” I was out of there so fast that he had to grab my bag for me.
Despite my newfound safety, I still had difficulties making myself use those unsanitary toilet facilities!
The State Department issues warnings about traveling to certain countries, sometimes more specifically to particular areas within or around their borders. Upon checking the list, one might never venture out the front door.
I wonder sometimes if other nations are scaring their citizens enough to keep them from coming to the U.S.A. I remember a few years back when thugs were carjacking tourists driving rental cars at the Miami airport. I know that busses in Las Vegas used to give warnings over the loudspeaker urging passengers to watch their pockets and purses.
My first trip to a danger zone was when I went to Zimbabwe in 2001 as the soldiers were emptying grocery shelves, the government was doing everything they could to crush the opposition and their currency was failing quickly. My trip was to see the wonders of the world and Victoria Falls was on my list. I was dumbfounded when the first Westerner I saw asked what the hell I was doing there. All in all it was an okay time, hotels and food were pretty cheap and I stayed out of the big cities.
Since then, I’ve made a point of being more aware and checking the Canadian government advice as well. And my daughters work at a global company that follows political climates pretty carefully and they will pass on information if I’m going somewhere sketchy.
The second time I went to Egypt it was in the middle of the Arab Spring. In fact KLM had cancelled half their flights and there was daily action at Tahrir Square along with an army presence. Good news was that there no lines whatsoever at the pyramids.
I went to Sri Lanka with one of my daughters when there were still bunkers in use along the roads….and 2 bombs went off within a few kilometers of us while we were in Colombo. But we were told they wouldn’t bother the tourists, it was political. Okay I guess.
I’m planning a trip to Beirut. I can’t wait as I like Lebanese food, heard they have great wine and some pretty terrific sites. I will stay away from the Lebanon/Syria border.
My goal was to survive my encounter with Kilimanjaro, not conquer it. I was in Moshi, Tanzania where I met my guide. I was ready. I was nervous. And I was alone.
Frankly, I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing here as this trek was not a life long dream of mine, but, I was in good shape and I was competitive. My previous research had me going up the “coca-cola” trail, also known as the Marangu Route, because it was known to be the easiest. It is generally considered undemanding for children who drink sodas — unlike the “whiskey” trail for the certified climbers who can handle the ruggedness!
If all went well I would reach the summit on the morning of my 58th birthday. The drama of that was important to me.
As I disembarked at the Park Entrance I was introduced to my “team”: Eugene, my guide; Julius who would serve me food and provide a bowl of warm water for washing twice a day; George, the porter who carried the week’s food for the team; and Johnson, the cook.
Day one was a relatively easy hike, only 3 hours and a high of 9022 feet. There were huts placed at three strategic intervals along the trail, allowing a protected sleeping area for hikers, guides and porters. That night taught me about coldness, midnight hikes to the toilet and the lack of privacy.
The next day we trekked a good five hours which brought us at least 5600 feet higher. I began to feel the effects of high altitude. A dull headache became my constant companion.
It was getting considerably colder. I was aware of my lungs, and I worried about altitude sickness. Experiences and knowledge were handed out freely by other hikers and I learned more with every question I asked. I had no desire to take diamox but I didn’t want to succumb to altitude sickness. As it was, the malaria pills were messing with my stomach. I was worried about how little water I managed to drink and was concerned that my appetite was diminishing. After listening to advice, some conflicting, I decided if I suffered from high altitude, rather than take anything, I would just call it quits and go down.
We had climbed to about 15,500 feet at that point, at least 1000 feet higher than I had ever ascended before. Rather than quitting for a respite, Eugene, my guide hit me with another option:he had heard of another climber completing the trip successfully on this fourth day and he thought I was strong enough to do it too. Nevermind that the majority of hikers do not do this for a REASON.
Supposedly it was easier to climb the “scree” (lots of nothing but gravel that moves) during the wee hours of the morning when it was still frozen, and this plan also allowed the climbers the chance to view the sunrise from the top of Africa. Oh well, why make it easy? Eugene gave me thirty minutes to change into my warmest layers, eat a quick lunch and meet him at the onset of the final charge! The plan called for five additional hours to reach Gilman’s Point and then another hour and a half to get to Uhuru Peak.
Unfortunately for me I hadn’t even remembered to bring Tylenol. My head was hurting, my breathing was labored and I was extremely bored with the continued slow digging in of each heavily booted foot. I struggled with the internal demons that were trying to convince me to quit!
After three hours of the grueling drudgery of baby steps, slight slipping, breathing dust from the unsettling of these grisly grey impediments I was cussing the mountain. I couldn’t believe that no one had told me how horrible it was; loose rocks, loose rocks, and more of the same over and over again. I was positive we were not making any progress whatsoever.
Struggling for close to five hours found me atop of some big boulders. My thighs winced in pain. I was totally unaware of the cold until I pulled off one of my mittens to locate my camera. After a few moments we were standing on top of Kilimanjaro. There was a sign telling me I had reached the summit of Gilman’s Point (18,645 ft). The healing of the moment was amazing.
All the pain dissipated; I could breathe and smile simultaneously, and my legs were still under me. I asked the way to the other peak and said I was ready to go. Eugene strongly suggested that time was no longer on our side and perhaps we really needed to go down. He took my picture and we turned back down the way we came up.
Martha Stewart had climbed higher than I did. Not only that, she probably did more than just throw her sleeping bag on the mat, she probably had mineral water, brie and Belgian chocolate in her backpack.
All my pains revisited with renewed force. Defeat weighed heavily on my lungs, stomach and legs. I wanted to sit down, rest and cry but the night was beginning to envelop us. The moon was almost full, I was still 57 and I was miserably depressed. My competitive spirit took me on a great adventure but came up short of my expectations. It was a lonely trip down.
On the way, I passed four young strangers who wished me a happy birthday. They had heard about my quest from one of my many new friends I had met. I was beginning to feel better. It was a long hard day but by 3PM I collected my certificate from the park personnel.
Leaving the park, I requested that instead of the prepaid hotel I had booked, could I please go to a place that accepted credit cards, had no mosquitoes, furnished a hairdryer, and featured wine on the menu?
My goal is to visit 5 new countries every year and I have done so now for over a dozen years. I also do repeat visits to some nations as they are just too large to cover in a single visit…like China! I have been there 8 times. I thought I was short this year but then remembered the trip to Swaziland and Mozambique! Will have to get that story on paper soon.
Early last year I went to both Qatar and Bahrain and then the trip I erased in my mind due to a senior moment in late March down in Southern Africa. I wasn’t sure what place would take the number 5 spot until I found a really cheap fare to Bermuda.
I know that islands in the Caribbean are an easier target than many places I’ve travelled…but I was saving those along with my first ever cruise when I slow down a little more. One of my sisters agreed to go with me and we had a very nice time. And they really do dress like that!
And apparently I can’t add as I also added Uzbekistan in 2014…need to update my list!
Destination weddings…what fun especially if you’re mother of the bride. I’ve watched as friends of mine have walked around with a big notebook, a file box and shaky nerves, all so their daughter would have a “dream come true”.
Talk of weddings, dresses, photos, meals, cakes and such have never been a top priority for me and so I was surprised that a child of mine wanted a glamorous ceremony. She, very thoughtfully, took me out of the loop.
Erin decided on Cabo san Lucas, a place I’d never visited. All play and no work for me! My only concerns were an air ticket, find someone willing to share the cost of the all-inclusive hotel and a present. Airline miles to the rescue. I had enough to gift the bride and groom round trip first class tickets plus get myself down there in coach!
The wedding was held at the Westin ( they celebrated their first anniversary already!) and a bridal coordinator came with the package. Since the couple were older and successful they were not asking for any parental aid, allowing me to enjoy all the amenities of the beautiful sun-filled resort from swimming to sipping, from beach-combing to imbibing, from exercising to guzzling, and just plain eating and drinking.
Paradise!
I’m off to the Andalusia area of Spain and will try to take some decent photos although compared to so many of you I’m hopeless! Guess you can’t live vicariously through me, you’ll have to make the trip yourself someday!
Looking forward to seeing Seville, Cordoba, Granada and maybe even Gibraltar, all for the first time. One of my younger brothers went to a year of college here years ago and has spoken highly of the people, food and fun (although I understand there are many incredible sites as well).
I meant to study my beginning Spanish a little more and time got away from me….if I’m lucky my smile will get me through the tough spots. Hope you all have a wonderful Holiday Season.
Luang Prabang, the jewel of Indochina, is a small village in Laos that UNESCO plans to keep that way under its World Heritage program. The ancient royal city surrounded by mountains is at the junction of the Mekong and its tributary, the Khan River.
The tasty food, great markets, warm climate and exhilarating massages add to the natural splendor. There are no big hotels, no street beggars, just a few cell phones, a couple of cars and almost no abandoned “wats” (the Thai word for temple, typically a Buddhist one). There are dozens of temples and approximately one monk for every 30 people living there.
Transport troubles in this rural paradise were like umbrellas opened on sunny days: unexpected but everywhere. Driving was unstable; one bounced over the dirt roads, avoiding roosters and dogs running amok. While bicycles were the main mode of travel there were also the motorbikes with carts, a couple of private cars, and of course the slow boats.
My daughter and I had no intention of going all the way to China but we did want to see the Pak Ou Caves where, over the course of hundreds of years, people deposited countless numbers of Buddha images.
The regular boat tours included visits to a whiskey making town and another that made paper; neither of which were on our agenda. The guide books suggested hiring your own driver to allow freedom of time and sights. We climbed aboard an oversized shell with a few worn pillows added for comfort and hired a captain for the entire day with plans to venture up and down the Mekong River with a side trip to the Kuang Si Waterfalls.
Erin, my daughter, was the first to notice that our boat was the only one on the river that employed a first mate, the captain’s wife. Even more surprising was that she was very busy bailing water from the back of our vessel. Unfortunately she had to stop every time the motor sputtered and stopped.
We sensed the potential for problems but when the motor cut out for the fourth time we recognized trouble! If the current had its way we would be back at our starting point in less time than we had already spent on the water. Our driver struggled to get us to shore with a small paddle where once again he failed to fix the motor.
While he labored away I strained to stay calm as it was clear I was in no position to save us. Finally, the wife climbed up the bank and started yelling. Just when I thought our plans for the day were cancelled, we were rescued by a larger boat going to the grottos.
The cliffs housing the treasures jutted out over the river hiding two caves, one atop the other, and truly did hold an innumerable number of Buddhist icons both large and small.
The rescue boat captain informed me with a combination of verbal and physical cues that his plans were different than ours and suggested we take yet another boat back.
Approximately thirty minutes from town, the skipper pulled into shore and indicated that we should get out. I was a little nervous because we had paid up front and did not have a receipt. We were visibly confused.
One passenger, recognizing our concern, spoke in Thai to the driver who responded in Lao. She then asked in French if we spoke French. I responded that I spoke a little but failed to mention that I understood presque rien. What I understood was that we were to get off the boat and take a tuk-tuk back into town.
Miraculously our first driver who apparently swam across the river, appeared dripping wet in his underwear. He must have explained our problem, as we continued down river where the other passengers were deposited and we continued on our way to the Kuang Si Waterfalls, a magnificent site with pools, stairways and thundering mists.
We climbed up the stairs towards the falls until we no longer felt safe and witnessed the power of this beautiful raging perpendicular river. Tourists and locals bathed in the pools, spicy aromas from the various food stalls mingled with the fresh scent of forests, and local arts and crafts hung from string lines; this was a spot where nature merged with commerce in a tranquil manner.
 | Molly G on Fun and Games |
 | Agingadventurer on Transformative Choices |
 | travelling_han on Transformative Choices |
| Agingadventurer on The TCC |
| Harley Crocker on The TCC |
