TRAVELING AROUND THE WORLD: Our Tales of Delights and Disasters (10 page)

Another warm shower, washed clothes and a glass of wine made the wet, cold day take on a remarkable shimmer of accomplishment. The difficulties were quickly forgotten. Dinner was great – grilled salmon – and dessert was pancakes – and ones with a history. The original owner of the hiking company and the man who first built a lodge at this site apparently became frustrated with unruly hikers who impatiently wanted their pancakes (one of the only foods that could be easily prepared at that time). Out of frustration, he threw the pancakes at them. The tradition continues today. The guides made pancakes and while still hot in the skillet threw them overhead to a hiker holding a plate. The trick was to catch the pancake without dropping it. Shockingly, I caught my pancake between my plate and my shoulder. Mike, however, was not so lucky. He jumped and dodged but missed the pancake. No worries – he ate it anyway – with the assortment of toppings (peaches, bananas, whipped cream, chocolate and syrup) provided.

The last day was still drizzling but it seemed to be becoming fine. We hiked downhill over rocks and along an easy gravel path through more forests. Birds flitted past too quickly to identify. It was a pleasant walk and the heavy trees kept the rain off so that we no longer needed hoods and heavy clothes.
Thankfully.
By noon, the final hut was in view. With a tremendous sigh of relief, the backpack was removed. It is amazing how good that feels. We sat in the sun (it had finally become fine) and ate our sandwiches. As we ate, the Japanese group walked up the trail toward the hut. Our roomies came rushing forward repeating, “Roommates!” They wanted our picture together!

We snoozed on the bus back into town with a short stop in Glenorchy for a celebratory drink, French fries, and presentation of certificates. It was a festive time in a country pub, but everyone was ready to be back and take a shower. We met many nice people in our group. Kathy and Erik from Minnesota were the only other Americans. There was a group from Australia, the tour group from Japan, and a couple of blokes, Mick and Peter, who were sheep and dairy ranchers in Australia. We shared good laughs with them and swapped sheep stories – now that we were experienced sheep shearers!

I loved the peace and quiet of the mountains and the stunning scenery along the Routeburn Track. I’m glad for the chance to experience the wildness of New Zealand, the magic of the rainforest, and the craggy mountain tops. And I’m glad to have done it with Michael. We’ll always have this memory together as our last event before returning to the U.S. Now we turn our attention toward home with mixed emotions. But you know – it’s becoming fine.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Rainbows and a Tsunami

Hawaii. I had forgotten how beautiful it is. It’s been almost thirty years since either Mike or I were here. Tall rugged mountains covered with lush, dense, tropical vegetation dropped precipitously to white sand beaches fringed by palm trees. There the beach met a tapestry of blue waters. Mike laughed at me as I turned first one way and then the other uttering, “Stunning. Simply stunning.” And it was. My friend, Barbara, has lived here for the last sixteen years. She was the perfect reason to stop over for a few days. And Mike and I were glad that we did, in spite of the tsunami. Yes – of course – we were there for the tsunami. This made the third and hopefully the last disaster.

But first, more about Hawaii. I’m thrilled to say that we were on Oahu for five days and spent
no
time in Honolulu. Barb lives on the North Shore near Haleiwa in a charming cottage by the water. From her back porch, we could see the mouth of Waimea Bay with the sea crashing into rocks. Her neighbor was kind enough to let us sit on his porch for an unobstructed view of the sunset. What could be better?

While some may be disappointed in us, we enjoyed doing
absolutely nothing
– no tours, no sightseeing, no Pearl Harbor, no luau. We explored the North Shore and came to love its casual charm, character and relaxed atmosphere. Kamehameha Highway runs along the coast next to the water. White sand beaches, including famous ones like Sunset and Pipeline, are strung along every half mile or so. Big waves crash to shore while surfers bob in the water waiting for the perfect opportunity.

Each morning, I ran along the bike path between the road and the beach. From the path, I saw life on the North Shore unfold. There were young mothers walking their toddlers in the sand; young men biked to the beaches with their surf boards tucked under their arm; old Volkswagen buses held surf boards and fit, tan young men with sun-bleached hair; teenage girls walked casually to the beach in skimpy bikinis. Along the roadside, hand-painted vans that had seen better days sold shrimp, fresh fish, fruit, smoothies or shaved ice. It was all part of the live-and-let-live lifestyle.

And it rained a little each day – sometimes a light sprinkle and other times a downpour. Neither lasted long. Mike and I learned to continue doing what we were doing rain or shine. With all the rain, rainbows are common and always a treat. One day we saw six rainbows! Another morning, while running (in the rain), I saw a startling rainbow that was completely visible over the ocean. Its colors were vibrant and lively. People pulled their cars over to photograph it or to simply stand and stare.

With all the rain, there are also waterfalls. Barb lives a stone’s throw from Waimea Valley, so we walked over, through the lush gardens and to the falls. It’s odd how one’s perspective changes. We’ve seen so many waterfalls that the Waimea Falls – while lovely – looked quaint after the gushing cascades of New Zealand.

We drove to Kaena Point and watched kite surfers pulled by parachutes over the waves – jumping, twisting and flying along the water. It looked like great fun. I know it’s sacrilegious, but we never got in the water. I know… We were tired from all the travel, and didn’t have the energy to deal with sand and surf. Plus, I could watch the water and waves all day and be happy. The waves are so peaceful. I honestly felt no need to be
in
the water. All I wanted was to
watch
the water. One morning, while I was watching the ocean, a whale blew a spout of water, and seemed to stand on its head flapping its tail in the surf.
Fun.

Mike and I went for a walk through the woods but the trail led onto the beach. Shoes filled with sand so there was nothing to do but give into it; take off the shoes and step into the warm sand. I sunk up to my ankles. The sand felt wonderful; both gritty and soft. Funny how it can be both at the same time. With a light breeze blowing, and the sound of the surf and waves, it was an ideal walk.

Another day we set off for a 2.5 mile loop trail on the windward side of the island. We found the trail and started climbing up the hillside. After the rain and snow of the Routeburn Track, I thought this would be a piece of cake.
Wrong.
The recent rain turned the trail into slippery mud. Roots and moss-covered rocks made the walking slow and tricky. But it was beautiful. We walked through a forest of Norfolk pines with their fingers of needles tiered up the tall trunks. My dad was in Hawaii with the Air Force years ago. I remember him talking about the Norfolk pines. He loved them so much that he bought a small one that my mother tried desperately to keep alive in a pot in our den. I understand why he loved them and I also understand why that little tree wasn’t happy in Central Texas. Here, the wind blew through these trees. It was so different from the wind in the pines of Cotignac. This was a deeper, roaring sound as the heavy trees swayed. There was also ironwood or Australian Pines with droopy, eight-inch-long long needles. While we walked, Mike and I were caught in a heavy downpour that made the already slick trail even slicker. Between steps, we tried to appreciate the rain in the forest. Those eight-inch-long needles captured the rain so that a small drop hung on the tip of each needle and sparkled in the light. It was like a pine-tree chandelier. It was lovely until you walked into it and all those drops dumped on head, shoulders or back. He and I were drenched by the time we returned.

Our last day, we drove around the island, past the volcanoes of Koko, Diamond Head and Punchbowl to our hotel by the airport. Due to our early morning flight to Los Angeles, we chose to stay nearby that night. It was a very good decision. Thankfully, Mike turned on the news after dinner to learn of the huge earthquake that had struck in the waters off the coast of Japan. The footage of the tsunami that hit Japan in the quake’s aftermath was unbelievable. And – the tsunami was making its way through the Pacific Ocean with Hawaii in its path. (Let me just pause to say – I am
done
with disasters – government overthrows, earthquakes and now a tsunami.
Done.
) So we sat, powerless, in the hotel room and watched the news for hours. A six-foot, sustained wave of water was predicted for all of the Hawaiian Islands. It was expected to hit at 3 am. In the meantime, the tsunami warning sirens sounded every hour starting at 10 pm until 2:40 am. People in low-lying areas designated as evacuation zones were evacuated immediately for higher ground. Unable to access the evacuation zone maps with the hotel’s slow Internet connection, Mike asked the hotel staff. Thankfully, we were not in an evacuation area, plus we were on the fourth floor. Nonetheless, we were a half-mile from the airport which is directly on the coast.

All was probably fine, but, once again, it was unnerving. Just as I would fall asleep – with our clothes lying at the end of the bed – the siren would go off with a loud wail. The road in front of the hotel was closed, the Governor was on the TV from the emergency management center, and the spokesperson from the Pacific Tsunami Warning Center was giving updates every half-hour. Another sleepless night. At 3 am, we watched the camera for Waikiki Beach that was broadcast from the traffic management center. And, we saw… nothing. There was a bit of water rise but that’s all. There was still danger as the energy from the tsunami was not fully dissipated, but it wasn’t to be the big event as predicted. Thankfully
.
Barb’s house was in an evacuation area. We were not able to reach her; however, she told us about the previous tsunami-warning last year. She evacuated to high ground then, so we were confident she did the same this time. I talked to her later and she and her house were fine, although she had a stressful night.

The next morning, we flew to Los Angeles for the weekend with Mike’s daughter, Linnea. We had a wonderful time with her, got much needed sleep, ate great food, and – there were no earthquakes!

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Back in the USA

We’re back. I can no long ignore that fact. Technically, we were in the U.S. once we landed in Hawaii. But Hawaii has that delightful otherworldly feel. And so it was that landing in Los Angeles brought our return to my attention with brut force. Tears filled my eyes when we touched down. I’m not quite ready to be back.

Don’t get me wrong, seeing Linnea at the airport was a wonderful sight. Now we’re on our way to Texas to see my mother, George and friends. That’s all good. Plus, I can’t wait to see our dear friends in Annapolis. I missed the people who fill our life but I’m starting to mourn the end of this experience.

Mike and I both noticed little things, common before but now unusual. For example, we keep expecting to go through passport control. At the Los Angeles airport, it seemed odd to just walk off the plane into the city. Didn’t anyone want to check something – anything?
Guess not.
Linnea whisked us off to our hotel although “whisked” may be a slight overstatement as we traveled a ten-lane freeway for the first time in a year. All around were enormous cars and trucks. They seem gargantuan by the world’s standards. What is it that we have that others don’t have that we must carry around with us? Our car, which seemed large in Europe, now looks like a Mini Cooper, which, until now, seemed like a normal size.

I stood in line at a fast-food restaurant for the first time in months and fumbled with my U.S. bills. How odd that these bills felt strange. Plus, they are the same color and size – not a well-thought-out system. After staring at my money, I handed it to the impatient, fast-food worker who reluctantly answered my questions. I was one of those pesky customers. It’s not like there wasn’t bad service in France, but, honestly, it happened rarely. As my French teacher explained, sometimes it’s less a difference between the U.S. and France but more a difference between city and country living. I think, in many cases, she’s right. In Cotignac, we knew the butcher, the café owner, the family who ran the Spar market and our favorite market vendors. Fast food literally didn’t exist. I’m still adjusting to the timing of meals. Mike keeps reminding me that we no longer need to allot one and half or two hours to eat out for lunch. Right.

We stayed at a charming hotel in Santa Monica facing the ocean. It was beautiful. In the mornings, we looked out over the beach and ocean. I watched groups of twenty to thirty runners jogging on the path. In France, I was the lone runner. Here, I had company!

Our hotel, The Georgian, reminded us of our hotel facing the Mediterranean in Nice where we stayed on our last night in France. However, as we went from one fabulous restaurant to another over the weekend, I noticed that I felt distracted by conversations at adjacent tables. Everyone was speaking the same language and I understood what they said! That, too, was new and different. Then there was the constant presence of Blackberries. Everyone was spinning that little ball, punching on teeny keyboards, or talking (sometimes far too loudly) into little microphones dangling from their ear. It’s not like we didn’t see cell phones in France but it didn’t seem so pervasive. And you would never interrupt something as sacred as a meal with a Blackberry.