Camino de Santiago - The Beginning

I was planning to sleep a bit and not worry about hurrying ahead. The day wasn’t suppose to be too hot, so I didn’t see the need to rush ahead ... well, it seems others had other ideas. The dorm was alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic by 5:30am, so so was I! I headed out alone into the dark and followed the signs I could see through the dark streets and up the start of a hill, which turned into a climb, which turned into a mountain, and then a mountain range. All in all we - the travelers of the day, strangers mostly - climbed 1,400 meters with packs ranging from approximately 4 - 12kg ... mine weighing in somewhere around 10.5 (in hindsight, WAY too heavy).

Gratitude – an unnumbered series of posts

I’ve been wanting to write and reflect on how grateful I am but felt like no matter how I wrote it, the end result would be a humble brag.  So let me start this exposé by saying I am grateful to have so much to humbly brag about and I am also grateful to have those around me who remind me that my reality is not typical and worthy of extra thanks and recognition.

This series was written while “stranded” in an airport.  I had woken up at ridiculous o’clock in the morning, had a lovely conversation with a gentleman on the bus who was dreading the coming day and his 16 hour shift.  Flew through security to arrive barely on time to receive a text from the airline informing me that my flight – which was scheduled to board in 5 minutes – was unceremoniously cancelled without explanation.  I spent the next 2 hours on the phone and in-line being sent always to the next customer service representative because whoever I was currently speaking with had some kind of “view only” software capability and hadn’t actually been trusted to serve customers.

Finally, at the end of the two hours, I resigned myself to my fated airport limbo, despite the fact that I knew I could rent a car and drive to my destination arriving two hours before my newly scheduled departure time.

Expecting a short flight without connections, I was woefully unprepared to spend 8 hours in the airport waiting for my next departure.  Frustrated with my predicament, I went in search of entertainment.  I needed a new notebook anyway so I decided to search one out and indulge in writing some of the backlogged blogposts that have been floating around in my brain.  3 stores later, I was approached by the sales woman.  It was a tiny store and her question, “Can I help you find something?” had more concern and confusion which put the emphasis on the fact that she clearly believed I needed help of some kind, but probably not of the shopping assistance variety. 

Knowing that I was clearly in the wrong store, I asked, “Do you know of anywhere in the terminal where I could buy paper?”  [Pause of confusion on both sides.] “… of any kind, but preferably of the notebook variety.”  Her face lit up!  “We have TWO notebooks!”  She’d clearly expected that they would never sell.

Exhibit A and evidence that I chose wisely (hint: check out the name of this Blogovel)

I brought the notebook to the cashier and handed him a 20 dollar bill.  The cashier’s eyes shot from my hand to the credit card machine, back to the cash in my hand.  Eventually something clicked and he took the money laughing at my excessively analogue interaction.  

Walking out of the store I was struck by the triviality of my frustrations.  Yes.  My trip was off-schedule and would take longer than expected.  Yes.  The delay cut into time with family.  Yes, this delay would also cost money for entertainment and food costs in the crazy economy that is an American airport.  

All-in-all though, I was stepping onto a modern marvel which would transport me hundreds of miles in a matter of minutes.  I had a plethora of things that have caloric value and resemble food at my disposal, safe drinking water, and the means to purchase additional supplies as needed.  Top all of this off with literacy, time, and space to write and the ability to interact in this environment as an unaccompanied woman, with relative safety and I had reasons to be grateful.  So there you have it.  This begins my series on gratitude.  As I start yet another transition and accumulate stories for future posts, I will leave you with some gratitude to keep you thinking and reflecting.  Thank you for being part of my community of readers, writers, and observers.

*Epilogue*

In the days that followed the writing of this blog post, I was subject to 4 flight cancelations, spent over 48 hours stranded in various airports and only about 8 hours flying.  When Murphy’s Law takes hold, find something to hold onto … apparently my something is airport security screened.

Blizzard Bliss

 Today seems like a good day to announce that this blog-o-vel will soon be approaching the equator.  Today is the best day, because so far today I’ve spent 2 hours shoveling snow.  By the end of my last round of shoveling, my clothes were soaked through and I was frozen to the bone.

It was wonderful.  I haven’t been that thoroughly cold, wet, and entertained by the snow for a very long time.  As much as I’ll be pleased if this is the last big storm I have to shovel, I was glad to have one more big day this year.  

Hot Cocoa is 20% more enjoyable on days when you're cold*. 

I’m reminded of a time approximately 10 years ago when I was traveling with a very good friend of mine.  She and I had been living in a desert climate where temperatures often soared above 100 °F (37 °C).  I can’t tell you for certain what the temperature was; it was so hot that all of the thermometers being sold in the local bazaars had broken because the climate exceeded their heat tolerance.  Community members told stories boasting temperatures over 50 °C, which seemed a tad hyperbolic.  Later, I scoured internet records and find at least one day there was a recording of 55 °C (131 °F).  That’s hot.  My little temperate brain never learned words that adequately describe that kind of heat.

She and I had dreamt of cooler temperatures.  We’d been in the heat so long that we couldn’t even imagine anymore what it would feel like to be cool.  We wished for it.  We dreamt of it without really being able to conceptualize it anymore.  Then we crossed a border. 

We had left the desert and it happened to be monsoon season in one of our destinations.  Neither of us had fully researched the local weather patterns and - it only being the first storm - we decided to push on through the rain.  In a mad dash we raced through the mud and the torrent of water and arrived sopping wet, covered in red clay at the border crossing just as the rain petered out.  It had stopped raining 30 minutes after it had begun.  Apparently that was the norm.  Clear all day.  30 minute cloud burst in the afternoon.  Clear or cloudy in the evening.  Brave tourists that we were, we carried on despite the monsoon and arrived 5 minutes before the rest of the border crossers, just that we arrived a hot mess.

Once we got to the other side, we found a cab and paid our fare to head back to the capitol. That’s where we encountered it.  Glorious.  Idyllic.  Air Conditioning.  It had been so long since either of us had been cool.  It was a marvel.  For a solid 15 minutes in the back of the cab we celebrated.  For the next 15 minutes we relaxed and enjoyed, and for the following 3.5 hours we froze. 

When we finally arrived at our destination, I couldn’t stop shivering and remember being so cold that my muscles ached, and it was hard to get out of the car.  She and I talked after the car ride and there were two things keeping us miserable for those 3.5 hours.  One was a very real language barrier.  The cab driver imagined himself a fluent English speaker, but neither of us was able to understand him nor he us.  That was really only a half excuse though as she and I are both adept at communicating even when we do not share a common language with the other person. The real reason we both sat in pain in that car, with very real physical responses to the cold, was that we knew it could be a very long time before we experienced such a marvelous chill again.

It is with this story in mind, that I try not to wish away the last remaining chill before heading to 2+ years of equatorial bliss.  

 *not a real statistic 

Perspectives not Places - Not Safe for All Workplaces.

I am going to use this picture as a symbol of varying perspectives.  When I first came upon this statue I was traveling with someone who lives nearby and explained that this piece was supposed to portray femininity and the beauty of the female form.  I was astounded.  How in all humanity could this be feminine?  Try as I might, I just couldn't see what he was seeing.  I even asked ... but clearly created by a man, yes?  He didn't know and the author was not identified on or around the piece.  Insanity.  I just couldn't see how this could possibly be a representation of the female form.

The Statue As He Saw It

Although the greater theme of this blog is indeed travel, the not so often referred to blog title – Worlds Unseen and Lands Unknown – came from a journal that I had years ago.  I knew that my travel wouldn't fill the book, but I suspected that there would be so many new places and differing experiences to perceive, each its own little world to explore.  Really not so profound when you consider it, but also nice to reflect on periodically.  My writing tends to be most frequent when I'm traveling because that is the easiest time to perceive these differences and learn from them.  

Over the past three years I have had the privilege of working with some pretty amazing people in an environment which fostered growth, learning, quality improvement and integrity while striving for excellence.  I worked hard.  I knew I worked hard, just as those around me did.  We put in some pretty astounding hours and supported each other.  In fact, I remember in my initial interview my soon-to-be manager even said something along the lines of, "here we have a culture of yes.  If asked to take on extra work, people say yes.  If asked if a project or improvement is possible, the answer is yes.  If asked can we make things better, it might take some time but people are committed and we will get to 'yes'." I think she was saying more here than she intended.  It is in some ways the American work ethic.  Through hard work, commitment and a little know how all things are possible.  While I do value all of these things, it is only after taking a few weeks to do NOTHING, and a few months to selectively volunteer my skills that I've started to realize just how much I was missing.  The chronic stress and 60 hour weeks, while productive, were also subductive.  I'll have to leave it to my geology readers to make sure I'm using that correctly.  What I mean is, in a culture where people with the flu at most take 24 hours off from work, some amazing things can happen, but amazing things will also be missed.  By giving ourselves completely to work (whether it is our passion in life or not) we miss so much that just didn't happen to fall within the original perspective in which we approached life.  

I give you, The Statue As I Saw It: