Amy

View from below as Jacob and the girls climb the steep staircase on the side of the mountain

Nursery Ravine Hike: It’s Not for Babies

South Africa is one of the most biodiverse places on earth and home to Kirstenbosch Botanical Gardens. There the country’s unique vegetation flourishes and the Nursery Ravine hike begins. From the entrance of the gardens, you follow a cobblestone path lined with huge clusters of tall, thick bamboo reeds and fig trees. The long branches snake upward to create a canopy overhead.  At the fork in the path, continue straight and the canopy suddenly opens revealing the first of many long, wide green lawns surrounded by shrubs, flowers and more trees. Towering above it all is Table Mountain. The gardens are located on the backside of the mountain where you can see the three major peaks: Castle Rock, Fernwood and Devil’s Peak. The trio radiate a powerfully entrancing energy that draws you inside.

View of the city along side enormous castle rock
Castle Rock

Fernwood Peak is my favorite.  The top of the peak is as tall as it is wide and the rock juts out of the fynbos in a sheer, steep cliff. The layers of sediment are shades of gray with a scattering of green from the brush that hang onto the rock with a tight grip.

Our neighbor once told us that many people come to Cape Town for various medical procedures and the wind and air here are often described as the “Cape Doctor”. I think of this every time I see Fernwood and have an urge to be as close to her as possible. When my physiotherapist told me about a hike that starts in Kirstenbosch and leads up to the top of Table Mountain, I was an easy sell. She explained that the trail would eventually lead to the cable car on the other side of the mountain; a ride down would drop us at the stop for the double-decker Red City Tour bus that would then take us back to our car at Kirstenbosch. Based on my research it appeared the whole experience should take about five hours.

I worked hard building the strength in my knees and a month later, during the school holiday the perfect time was upon us. The winds were finally calm and the sky a clear blue. We packed our snacks and lunch and set out unknowingly into our twelve-hour day (yes, you read that correctly…twelve hours, not five). We entered the grounds of Kristenbosch at about 9:30am, followed the map and immediately began our uphill climb toward the Nursery Ravine trail.   My PT made it clear that we should follow the Nursery Ravine and not Skeleton Gorge. Skeleton Gorge is much steeper and has several ladders one must use to scale the walls of the cliffs. Nursery Ravine has only one. She assured me that once on top the trail would then “gently undulate” toward the cable car.

The Nursery Ravine trail is more like a long staircase ascending up the side of the mountain for 1,903 ft. (580m) though a forest of tall trees. Step after step this staircase follows the rocky Nursery Stream, which in summer is a trickle but in winter (lucky for us) was flowing in a long beautiful waterfall. water splashes over mossy rocksOnce the trees clear the reward is a close up view of Castle Rock (the girls thought it looked more like a multi-layered cake). The trail takes you right along the side the monstrous rock, which had patches of bright green moss seeping with water. Quinn led the way for most of the two-hour ascent, living up to her nickname of Mountain Goat. We stopped frequently to rest, take pictures and assess our progress (Less rest time and you can make it up in one hour). Once we reached the top we celebrated our success with lunch, long views of the city below and the view of the ocean stretching out in the distance. We all felt ready for the undulating trail that was promised.

The trail, however, did not level out until after another two hours of hiking up, over and through the rocky terrain. On the upside, the unexpected, non-undulating part of the hike allowed me to finally get my feet on my beloved Fernwood Peak. I stopped every now and then to breathe in the beauty and allow her medicine to flow up through my feet. Really, this mountain is that powerful. Jacob usually gives me a loving eye-roll when I talk about nature in this way, but even he agreed the energy was palpable.

Jacob and the girls stand on top of rocks in front of Fernwood Peak
Fernwood Peak

Just as when we explored Machu Picchu, I was in awe of the girls’ ability to stick with our hike. They were led by their curiosity instead of glued to the spot by the awareness of their tired legs. Don’t get me wrong, there was a time or ten when the glue tried to take hold but that was when Jacob and I came to the rescue. We have learned that shaming and yelling at our kids (hey, I’m not proud of those moments but every parent has them) does not motivate them to persist at whatever they are trying to accomplish. Positive parenting wins the day every time. We often used snacks to entice them to push on and in the last hour of our six-hour hike (when the trail was finally undulating), Jacob used humor and games to keep them moving forward (I, myself, was lost in the music of the frogs and auburn colors of the fall fynbos).

The signage for most of the trail was severally lacking but once we reached the tip top of Table Mountain, the National Park Service finally marked the way with little yellow feet painted on select rocks. Jacob, in his stroke of genius, named these marks “energy feet”. One step on the marks and both Mackenzie and Quinn sprang into action.  There were also low, wooden bridges scattered throughout the trail that elevate hikers over rocks covered with slippery moss.  After Quinn took a spill that sent her sprawling, Mackenzie quickly understood the purpose of our energy game and came to Quinn’s rescue by wisely naming the walkways “healing bridges”. That was all it took; Quinn’s bruised knee was miraculously healed and she was on her way again.

Once at the cable car station, Jacob and I sipped happily on a cold beer while the girls ate a free candy ring from the gift shop. We took in the eagle-like view of Table Mountain with its rippling edges that drop into the cornflower blue ocean.

Rocks with tufts of grass growing in between, the ocean in the distance
Top of Table Mountain

We reached our destination about an hour later than what was planned but we all had a feeling of pride and achievement. After our rest, we found the end of the hour-long cable car line (need I remind you that this was a holiday weekend, oops). Luckily we met a very nice family and so while Jacob and I were entertained by conversation, the girls were entertained by watching a couple of Rock Dassies (small animals who are a distant cousin to the elephant.) hop across great gaps between steep rocks (an action that indicates they may be adrenalin addicts or evolved without depth perception).

Once at the bottom of our cable car ride, we found our Red City Tour Bus and picked a perfect yet chilly seat on top. Off we went, making the best of the six o’clock hour and rumblings in our tummies (our snacks long gone) by naming our ride the “sunset tour”. There must have been a nagging doubt in Jacob’s head that made him pull out his phone and look up the tour bus route. Suddenly an, “oh, crap!” came from behind me. “Amy,” Jacob said with exhaustion in his voice, “we are on the wrong bus.” “What?” I asked stunned, “There is more than one bus line?”

Why yes, yes in fact there are four. This bus line would neither take us back to Kirstenbosch nor to our car. No, that bus left over an hour ago and was the last one of the day.

I immediately felt shame and panic that I had totally screwed up. I was in charge of this little excursion and it had already been way longer than I anticipated. Travel is a constant test of one’s ability to pay attention to details and thoroughly read all the information before setting out on an excursion and sometimes things happen. Sometimes you take for granted that an outing appears straightforward or that another person’s assessment of what you and your kids can handle is accurate. There is no use stewing about it; flogging yourself does neither you nor anyone else any good at any time but especially when traveling. Plus, these we-survived-it stories are the ones that make blog posts and create laughter when shared with friends, right? After a quick chat with the bus driver it was apparent that our only solution was to find a taxi back to Kirstenbosch. Thankfully, our tour bus tickets were not wasted, they are good for two weeks from the date of purchase and the driver did not scan the barcode when initially got on, whew!

This crazy excursion reminded me that sometimes we get things right and sometimes we don’t but we always go away a little smarter about how to make this crazy journey with our kids work. So, here are a few ways we have become a bit more travel savvy:

Ten Tips for Foreign Travel with Kids:

  1. Understand that travel is slower. Do not try to pack everything in. Either plan for a longer holiday so that you can space out all the places you want to go or prioritize the important places and be ok with it. Remember, no matter how hard you try, you can never see it everything.
  2. Pack lots of snacks and a little extra just in case.
  3. Pack lots of Band-Aids, antiseptic spray and antibiotic ointment. It may seem obvious but don’t forget hats, sunscreen, plenty of water, tissue and toilet paper.
  4. Use positive, motivating games to keep your kids engaged in the present moment (helps cut down on the frequency of the question “are we there yet?”), for example
    • Count the Stairs
    • Ask them to find their favorite bug, flower, tree etc
    • Let them take turns as the photographer
    • If in a safe spot, let your kids take turns as the leader
  5. Rest, rest, rest and remember to stay in the moment too.
  6. Get them engaged in the planning, where they will go, what they will see, etc. Give them an outline of what the day will entail.
  7. Read about the history or science before you go and talk about it as you are there
  8. Have them carry their own little purse or bag with small toys or coloring stuff inside
  9. Remember that play is the way kids work out their stress and their triumphs. Find a playground when things are tough and you won’t be sorry.
Pink Protea with feathery petals

Freedom

Wednesday, April 27th was Freedom Day here in South Africa. To honor this time, the girls were given the week off from school. I took the week off from writing and have been suffering a bit of writer’s block as I attempt to get my head back in the game. Until then, I will share that I have been consumed with learning about the history and social politics of South Africa. As soon as we arrived here I began to learn more about Apartheid. The first book I read is titled: Kaffir Boy: The True Story of A Black Youth’s Coming of Age in Apartheid South Africa by Mark Mathabane. I am now reading A Long Walk to Freedom: The Autobiography of Nelson Mandela.

It has been interesting to read these books and at the same time watch the political race in the US from across the ocean. I have found myself drawing parallels between the current political rhetoric in the US and the history of Apartheid (translated as “apartness”) in South Africa. It is hard not to see the fear and “separateness” creating more division in the US. When I read about the recent laws that were passed in Mississippi and North Carolina against the LGBTQ community I am reminded of the legislation that was created to marginalize and oppress many South Africans. I know we do not all share the same political views and my intention is not to get on a soap box (this blog is not for that purpose) but want to share with you some of my recent readings that have deeply inspired me. The struggles for freedom in South Africa have made me think about the ways the United States might work to bring community together in all our glorious differences and unite by our shared humanness.

“The Time for the healing of the wounds has come.

The moment to bridge the chasms that divide us has come.

The time to build is upon us.

We have, at last, achieved our political emancipation. We pledge ourselves to liberate all our people from the continuing bondage of poverty, deprivation, suffering, gender and other discrimination.

We succeeded to take our last steps to freedom in conditions of relative peace. We commit ourselves to the construction of a complete and lasting peace.

We have triumphed in the effort to implant hope in the breasts of the millions of our people. We enter into a covenant that we shall build the society in which all South Africans, both black and white, will be able to walk tall, without any fear in their hearts, assured of their inalienable right to human dignity-a rainbow nation at peace with its self and the world.

~excerpt from Nelson Mandela’s inauguration speech on May 10th, 1994 (taken from the ANC website)

Our Deepest Fear

Our deepest fear is not that we are

Inadequate.

Our deepest fear is that we are powerful

Beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness

That most frightens us.

 

We say to ourselves

Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,

Talented, fabulous?

Actually, who are you not to be?

You are a child of God.

 

Your playing small

Does not serve the world.

There’s nothing enlightened about

Shrinking

So that other people won’t feel insecure

Around you.

 

We are all meant to shine.

As children do.

We were born to make manifest

The glory of God that is within us.

 

It’s not just in some of us;

It’s in everyone.

 

And as we let our own light shine,

We unconsciously give other people

Permission to do the same.

Our presence automatically liberates

Others.

 

~Marianne Williamson

This just in:  Quinn lost her first tooth today and happily shouted to all who could hear, “THIS IS THE DAY OF MY LIFE!”

Go With Love,

Amy

Single giraffe stands in the green bush with storm clouds behind

Rhinos and Wildebeests and Oryx Oh My!

It was the large piles of poop that gave us our first clue. As soon as we drove through the gates at the Namutomi entrance of Etosha National Park we saw the grassy, brown mounds and then moments later, the giraffes. Mackenzie and Quinn were riding with my parents so I had to imagine the level of squeals that were erupting in the car behind us. Three of theses beautiful animals, with their big, loving brown eyes, tall graceful bodies, and knobby knees were munching leaves by the side of the road. Did you know Giraffe’s preferred diet are the leaves off of Acacia trees with THE deadliest looking thorns? They twirl their tongue around the branch and use their top lip to pull off the leaves, taking care to slide their mouth down the branch in the direction the thorns grow, like smoothing a feather. Oh, they get those daggers in their tongues sometimes but their saliva has natural antibiotics to help heal the wound; nature always seems to think ahead. We arrived at Etosha after a grueling 5 hour drive, which also happened to be on Mackenzie’s birthday. We determined, long before we left the States, that birthdays should last a week (well, they should, shouldn’t they?). If we have to be traveling on the actual day, at least there will be a celebration to look forward to in the near future.  However, the wish for a Giraffe sighting on her day? Check.two giraffes eating leaves from acacia trees

Because of the timing and trajectory of our world travels, we came to Namibia during the rainy season (January-March are the wettest months). The downside of the rain is the increased risk for contracting Malaria and the majority of the waterholes, which have dried up during rest of the year, are full of water. Because of the abundance of water, the animals spread out across the approximate 22,000 square kilometers of the park. The upside to this time of year is that prices drop, there are less people and you get amazing skies painted with rain clouds. The shrubs and grasses in the landscape turn a radioactive, neon green against the steel, gray sky quivering in anticipation of a storm. Oddly, during our time in Etosha, we never had a day get interrupted by rain. It clearly did rain at some point during the day or night because some of the roads were muddy and barricaded by ponds. However, we never had to hunker down inside and wait out a storm. I also don’t remember being very bothered by mosquitoes and believe me, I was on high alert. They are tiny little pests, not the large ones we have in Colorado or the bird-like ones that live in New Orleans. No, these guys are microscopic but they give themselves away by their high-pitched buzz in your ear.

Etosha Salt Pan with storm in the distance
Salt Pan at Etosha

**Travelers Tip**

You can get more coverage if you use lotion repellant instead of spray. We went for the variety with 30% deet due to the risk of malaria. I couldn’t stand the thought of putting that on our faces so I used a spray I concocted from adding 30 drops of DoTerra’s Terra Shield repellant to water in a 3 oz spray bottle of the pump variety. Seems like it was a winning combination**

Poop would continue to be our clue that a large animal was nearby during our self-drive safari on day two of our Etoshan adventure. Of course you know every time I saw the mess in the road I had to sing a Wizard of Oz inspired song (only to receive big eye rolls and sighs from my husband): Follow the poooopy road, follow the poooopy road, Follow follow follow follow, follow the poooopy road. After packing a lunch and buying a booklet from the visitors’ center, complete with animal and bird identification guide and map, we headed toward our next destination. For the safety of  visitors as well as the animals, you are required to stay in your vehicle as you drive around the park. The drive from Namutomi to Okaukuejo (Oka-Kway-yo: meaning woman who has a child each year), our next rest camp, was only two hours. We did it in five. There are so many secret little meandering roads that take you out to the desolate Etosha Salt Pan and wind through lifeless plains with the dry, fossilized looking shrubs. There are also fields with soft grasses dotted with flowers and flitting birds.

As we passed through the varying terrain we caught sight of herds of the country’s beloved Spring Bok with their delicate faces and small, twisted horns.  We also saw many groups of Oryx (my favorite) joined by an adopted Wildebeest (a close second and correctly pronounced Wild-e-beast). Zebra and Giraffe were also in abundance and never failed to give us a zing of excitement when we saw them. Guided by our instinct, we took one of those secret meandering roads and while scanning the brush in the distance, I gasped when I sighted our first Rhino. I understand that zoos provide much needed education and conservation efforts to the world. However, after seeing this beautiful, rarely sighted White Rhino with his huge, sharp pointed horn enjoying his peaceful habitat, I wondered about the necessity for zoos. Rhino’s horns are shaved off when in captivity and the zoos I have visited seem to always keep them in small, barren enclosures. We learned that they are shy, solitary creatures. I am sure I will never be able to see another Rhino in captivity without thinking of this one, the Black Rhino we spotted on our night safari or the one Jacob and I got the pleasure of watching take a bath in the waterhole at our rest camp.White Rhino in the brush

We continued to roam around the park, stopping to watch the golden and teal colored Bee-Eater birds as they gracefully dipped through the air and stared in fascination at the Secretary Birds giggling at how they really do look like they are wearing the garb of politicians of the 1800s. Rolling by the fields at a slow crawl, we squinted and tried to determine if we were seeing an Ostrich or just a fluffy tree (to fool their predators in this way is clearly part of their adaptation for survival and we lovingly coined them Ostrich bushes). Soon, I spotted the poop in the road again as the skies began to darken with a storm and the shrubs popped with that magnificent green. There they were, the elephants. I read several times from other travelers in Africa that the first time you spot an elephant in the bush it is magical. Magic does not even come close to describing the energy they radiated. The air around them was electric and peaceful all at the same time. Like that deep, releasing exhale of breath as you sink into a steaming hot tub, seeing them was a feeling I didn’t know my body needed until they appeared. They were silvery white, almost ghost-like against the green trees.  I can see why so many religions honor the elephant; the way they move through the environment with deliberate steps and seem to know something otherworldly that I can only hope to just taste. Even writing this now, I can find that tingle, that goose bump, armhair-raising shiver I felt as we watched them from our cars.

We drove through the gates at Okaukuejo high from our safari experience. We checked in, found site number 14 and set up our camp; each of us chatty with stories and “what was your favorite part?” questions to ponder and discuss. The girls and their Omi crashed into beds that night while Jacob, my dad and I picked our way through the dark to the water hole, hopeful of more wildlife sightings. The light shines all night on that water hole. Why on earth any animal would choose this stadium setting to quench their thirst is beyond my comprehension. It is lit with lights as powerful as the sun and promises to reveal the location of prey to their lurking predators. Turns out, with the abundant choices of water holes in the rainy season very few animals do come to this water hole. I wonder, though, during the dry season, do all the animals share this stage together like a home base temporarily halting their game of predator and prey?  Like the ancient tribes around Taos, New Mexico when they bathed the mineral rich waters of Ojo Caliente, do the tribes of animals stop their warring while they nourish their bodies in the refreshing, healing water hole?

While we didn’t see Rhinos battling or elephants drinking, we did see the sneaky jackals and heard the raucous twittering of the social weavers in their GIANT nest in the tree above our heads (took us awhile to figure out they were birds, I was convinced they were some kind of rodents). Whispering together with my two favorite men on the bench as we expectantly watched the waterhole was a great ending to a more than magical day.

Waterhole at Namutomi at sunset
Namutomi Waterhole
peach flowers bloom on a shrub with mountains in background

Fallen for Cape Town

It is autumn here in South Africa.  This season must be a secret Capetonians never tell.  The Swallows have flown from their summer nests back to the UK and full time residents bask in the glow of the autumn sun.  The Fynbos (shrub-land) of the Western Cape shows pops of bright colors from the fall blooms, renewing its claim to the name of Garden Route.  The vineyards begin their metamorphosis from green to amber and finally to rust creating a quilt of colors on the hillsides. The ocean goes from frigid to freezing making feet ache when they touch the water.

The winds are always lurking here in Cape Town no matter the time of year but, as we have been told, are slightly calmer in autumn.  When they do come, the Northeasterlys or Southwesterlys (I’ll learn the difference one day) rise up in a fury. Sometimes they bring sheets of rain that blow across the house in loud bursts. We woke one night to the powerful carwash noise of the rain surrounding the house, pulled the blankets to our chins, and stared up at the ceiling expecting the roof to go spinning off into the sky.

The Davi family at the top of signal hill, posing in a giant postcard.
We were almost blown off the top of Signal Hill.

It is strange to go backwards in season from the end of winter to the end of summer.  Instead of new buds and spring fever, we are watching the leaves change, sunlight wane, our kids go back to school; the flu bug sneaked into our bodies.  Bed-time, dinner-time, and morning-time have become more strict and structured.  We engage in conversations with other parents at school about the coming of the winter season and the enjoy-it-while-you-can talk of the present day’s warmth.  It is so familiar a routine it is almost like we are at home.  Almost, until someone comments on my American accent or I have a double take when the menu reads, “come take a squiz” (as far as I can tell squiz = look).

Autumn for me is a time to bring to light ideas, goals and changes that have been manifesting throughout the year.  At this point on our journey it is hard to know which seeds have grown and which have just shriveled up and become part of the compost. Still, it is tempting to allow the harvest energy to work its way into my psyche, to root around and look for the changes in us that are ready to give nourishment. I laughed out loud this morning as I read an article from a fellow travel blogger who was lamenting her children’s lack of awareness and continued need for “stuff” to make their play exciting. Her kids failed to understand the issues of poverty and could only whine about boredom at the neighbor’s house due to the lack of toys. Whew, that was a validating read. I feel less disappointed in Quinn’s stomping, screaming, snot-flying temper tantrum in the parking garage after I told her she would need to wait to wear her new shoes. It had been a long day and she is just a kid after all and as the blogger concluded, how can I expect her to be at the same intellectual level as me? I’ll keep watering that seed, though.

At first, Mackenzie didn’t like the comments from her new classmates on the way she has “weird” names for things. She didn’t appreciate the giggles she heard when she said trashcan instead of bin and eraser instead of duster but I am elated at her experience of being different. I am grateful for the opportunity to help her learn and understand that her way of speaking is not better or worse than her new friends and vice versa. Jacob and I get to encourage her to have fun with the differences. Her assignment is to gather up the new terms she learns and teach them to us. The theme of oppression and power over groups of people due to differing religious beliefs, skin color, or desire to overtake the land has been poignant. I know these huge abstract concepts are marinating in her brain because she notices them and asks questions about them when we see the acts and effects of oppression depicted in artwork or alive in the shantytowns (which, are more like cities in some places).  These are experiential opportunities for her continue to flourish in her understanding of how to be a human living in love and respect.

sculpture at top of signal hill that reads "your respect is my strength"

For Quinn, she is cultivating her sense of self and discovering her knack for humor.   The Montessori environment was the exact thing she needed to feel safe and confident in returning to formal school. The shelves and materials had the familiarity of past experience; I could feel her sigh of relief on the day we toured the school. Her challenge, however, on her first day was to learn how to navigate the new social environment without her sister. Even though they are in the same classroom, Mackenzie wanted to make her own friends and play separately from her sister. Day one was a painful reality for Quinn that she has to make her own way but for me, it’s a valuable lesson toward self efficacy. Now, of course, she comes home with stories of bringing her new friends into “QuinnWorld (a world that is invisible to outsiders and you need a lollypop to enter).

I know it’s too early to fully realize all of the changes that are going on in each of us. We are still in the planting phase of this “gap year”. Our true harvest time will be when we return to the States at our projected time of autumn in the Northern Hemisphere. I am aware that I have never been very patient with the working phase of project development, the extended tension of the in-between place, or the unknown. I want to see the results of my exercise now; the business to flourish before it is even launched; have the knowledge before the process of learning.  I also know it is valuable to stop, lean on the rake, wipe the sweat, catch your breath and notice the pride you feel about the work that you have already accomplished.

…and so, here is another song lyric to guide your day and mine:

 

“Let it flow, let yourself go, slow and low that is the tempo” ~Beastie Boys

 

 

 

Sunrise across the ocean

Morning Meditation

This morning I take a moment to watch the sun rise. Its color like a ripe summer peach, lights up the sky with pink and gold and clouds of purple.

I take a moment to listen to the chatters and squawks of the resident birds and watch the black outline of flocks flying over the ocean to the sunrise.

This morning I take a moment to smell the cool, peppery earth and trees damp with dew.

To feel the gentle tickles from the breeze as it blows the wisps of hair, escaped from their messy bun, across my face.

This morning I take a moment to taste the warm, nutty bitterness of my coffee.

The energy in my heart wakes, aliveness flows in my veins, my feet root into the earth and into the present moment.

Pura Vida

 

 

 

family of warthogs

Nine in Namibia

On the day before my oldest daughter’s birthday I laid in our rooftop tent, pen in hand trying to capture our first couple of days in Africa. I realized while I wrote that at the same time nine years ago, I was in the 20-somethingish hour of labor. I try not to remember too much about how many actual hours it took from the start of the first contraction to when she finally entered the world. It was many, way more than 20. Stubborn that girl, plain stubborn. Along with that stubbornness, however, she also possesses knowledge of who she is and what she wants. It’s all I want for her; to know thy self. Isn’t that the key that once found, will unlock the world? The best weapon we can have against the meanness and pressure of adolescence and high school is to know how to listen to our own opinions and have a strong sense of belonging, especially in our own skin. My job as her Mama is to help her continue to grow in self-awareness as well as cultivate an ability to advocate for herself. It is because of that self-advocacy that we arrived, nine years later, in Namibia, Africa.

My parents took us up on our suggestion to join this leg of our trip. We met them in Frankfurt and then flew the ten hours to Namibia together. The reunion was so sweet; once Quinn spotted her Popa at the gate, she flew down the airport hallway and crashed into his open arms. Mackenzie landed in her Omi’s arms and was immediately covered in a thousand kisses. I would do that scene over and over if I could.

My own desire to go to Africa started when I was Mackenzie’s age.  I watched movies, read books and looked cravingly at photo after photo of this continent until well into my adulthood. I began the sales pitch to my parents back in July; enthusiastically painting my vision of Africa for them as we sat around the campfire at our favorite family camp spot. To further entice them into joining, Mackenzie happily added that Africa was her chosen place to celebrate her birthday. My parents gave me my appreciation and need for outdoor adventures, which I hope I am also passing on to my daughters. My mom loves to tell the story of camping with my dad when she was eight months pregnant. How she fished with my sister on her hip and me in her belly; got sick on hotdogs and marshmallows. How my dad dug a hole underneath the tent with the hope that this little streak of genius would allow her to comfortably sleep while resting her heavy, Baby-Amy-filled belly in the hole (didn’t work, but what a guy). I remember my excitement at receiving my first backpacking pack, baseball hat and fishing pole for Christmas when I was ten. I logged many a wilderness mile with that pack on my back, hat on my head and pole in my hand. What a gift to add a camping safari in Africa to my bank of outdoor adventure memories with them and for my kids to have those memories with them too.

Our research and planning landed us on a self-drive tour through the country complete with 4 x 4 trucks supplied with camping gear and two-man tents harnessed to their roofs. The girls were giddy when they saw the pictures of the trucks, enamored with the idea of how the tents open up on the roofs and a ladder drops to the ground for them to climb into their kingdom.

white 4 x 4 truck with popped up tents on the roof
No snakes or millipedes up here!

The eleven-day route took us from Windhoek, the capital and largest city in Namibia, north to Etosha National Park, west to Damaraland and then to the coastal town of Swakopmund, south to Sesriem and the red sand dunes of Sossusvlei then finally to the Kalahari Desert before heading back to Windhoek.

The time change and driving conventions were the first challenges to overcome when we arrived in Windhoek. As we ventured out to find groceries for our trip, I watched through finger-covered-eyes as Jacob wrestled his brain into driving on the left side of the road while simultaneously yelling unheard warnings to my Dad to, “stay left!” . The travel agent through Cardboard Box who arranged our trip, knew what she was doing when she booked our first night in Windhoek at a bed and breakfast.  After our heart stopping tour of the city, we relaxed on the veranda with a beer while jet lag seeped into our bodies.  My mom and I suppressed secret giggles as my Dad lost his battle, his neck too tired to hold up his head.

Once we got on the road the next morning, I felt like we were on some kind of crazy theme park safari ride. Our trucks running in a track, taking us to the perfectly timed and choreographed mechanical warthog by the roadside with the bright blue bird perched on his back. Like the Jaws ride at the Universal Studios of my childhood, a lion would come bursting out of the bush at any moment. However, one turn of the knob on the radio and the car filled with the sound of a DJ speaking an African language complete with clicks and I realized that the warthog was real and this was no theme park.

Our first stop was Waterberg Rest Camp. After the long hot, dusty drive, the girls were desperate to find the swimming pool. This must be the most picturesque swimming pool in the entire world, or at least in the world I have seen. Two big circles of clean water were surrounded by Acacia trees and situated at the base of an iron red cliff. Thousands of dragonflies zoomed high in the sky overhead. We sat in the grass with cups of crisp, white wine, inhaled a bag of salt and vinegar potato chips and watched while the girls delighted in their splashes. I looked around at this scene and tried to get my brain to accept the place where my body had landed.swimming pool with Mackenzie and Quinn playing

Back at our campsite, an entire family of warthogs greeted us. At least ten of these beautifully ugly creatures were snorting around in the grass, completely unaffected by our sudden stop and gawk. We laughed at the size of their heads, which take up most of their body and snouts that take up most of their heads. That night I was happy to be kept awake by their very strange donkey-like snort as they defended their territory from the screeching baboons. Literally, their sound is a hee-haw, snort snort.

Because Namibia has a population of two million in a country roughly the size of Texas, the darkness outside the cities is like no other darkness I have ever experienced. Before setting off, we were warned by a fellow traveler to “have your torch handy” because once that sun sets, it is immediately dark. However, with the darkness came the stars! It was like someone spilled a pound of salt on a pitch black tablecloth. Not even in the darkest, clearest mountain sky in Colorado have I ever seen this many stars. We sat with our heads resting on the back of our camp chairs and looked up into the sky. The more our eyes became accustomed to the dark, the more the stars appeared. The familiar constellations were lost in all of the extra stars invisible in other places, in other skies. The Milky Way was truly milky.  Mackenzie did not want to go to bed when her sister crawled up into the tent.  It was one of those moments when you watch your child mature right before you.  She “oooed” and “awwed” with Jacob, me and her grandparents and I silently noticed my emotional dichotomy, both excitement for her growth and nostalgia for her infancy.

The conversation between the warthogs and baboons continued the next morning in the trees all around our campsite. The baboons made their appearance in the adjacent site just as we were packing up our things. They walked through the site, tails held high with an air of superiority. Their body language told us clearly that they were in charge and the trashcans were part of their territory. They noisily flipped off the lids to peer inside, expectant of breakfast. My Dad bravely moved closer for a picture as my mom slowly backed further away and jumped into the truck not sure she wanted to be so close. Once packed, we all piled into the trucks. Wasting no time, the biggest of the group bounded into our site and hopped up on the braai, giving us all a safer photo op.Baboon sitting on the outdoor grill at the campsite.

With Etosha National Park and Namutomi rest camp plugged into the GPS, birthday cake waiting quietly in the refrigerator for its adornment with candles later that evening (let’s face it, this really was more of a version of glamping rather than camping!), we headed down the first of many dry, dirt roads. I watched as the landscape flew by and marveled at the billions of clouds in the sky and the long views of the savannah. I said a silent prayer for Mackenzie to receive her requested gift of a giraffe sighting on her birthday and secretly hoped for that scene of the lion bursting out of the bush. I giggled to myself as I remembered the interaction we had with some young American girls on a bus in Sevilla. One of them declared to Mackenzie, “how many kids can say they turned 9 in Africa?!” Mackenzie astutely answered, “All the kids that live in Africa?”

This planet is better off since she arrived and I will always be impressed by her intelligence, humor, creativity, confidence and ability to catch every detail. While I never got my lion scene, I could never have prepared myself for the many incredible scenes I did get to see throughout our safari. Watching Mackenzie turn 9 was just one of them.P1040197

Silver elephant in the green brush with a stormy sky

This Side of Amy: Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Over the last six months of travel to six different countries, it has been one decision after the next. Some days I wish more than anything we had a pocket travel agent. A little tiny person we carry along who finds the best housing, the best flight for the best price, the best transportation, the best restaurant complete with food my children will eat and so on. As anyone who has ever planned a vacation knows, travel requires many decisions, and sometimes once you get to where you are going, as they say, the best laid plans go to waste. That means you are required to make new decisions on the fly, which can be overwhelming, especially when hunger, exhaustion and hyper kids cloud the access to your rational mind. But hey, this can also be part of the fun, right? Sometimes the new plan works out even better than you could have imagined.

We’ve been doing great so far, with all these choices in front of us. However, in the last two months not only have we been faced with the above list but also with big journey altering decisions.   Our choice to make a long stop in Cape Town was really made by my knees, which created more complicated decisions to be made in a hurry. Decisions about my health, treatment, continuing on after treatment, finances, long term car rental in a location that absolutely requires a car to get around, a long term apartment we can afford. Should we find a school for the girls so they don’t have to sit around with my knees, and me? Then, which one should it be, will it work into our budget? Which doctor do we listen to about surgery, which physical therapist do I go to? Do we apply for an extension on our visa in case I need more time to heal or do we trust 3 months will be enough, what if it’s not and we didn’t extend our visa and I do need surgery? What if what if what if what if what if!!! The whole of the last 2 months has been based on what if….

Calgon take me away.

Someone else tell me what to do, what is the RIGHT way? I need The Universe to send me a real sign, I mean a literal sign that says, “Amy, if you do a. b. c. and d. all will be wonderful and all your dreams will come true”. Like a frickin’ fairy godmother to sing a bit of bippity boppity boo and poof it’s done. Why doesn’t that happen anymore? What has the human race done to chase off sweet cuddly godmothers with rosy cheeks and magic wands?

And then, my sweet daughter comes in the room with a card in her hand from her game, the kind of game that has cards with only pictures and you make up a story, and she tells me, “this is your card mama”. Guess what the picture was? It was a picture of a green field with a stormy sky and the sun starting to break through the clouds. Just like the sky we saw this morning as we came down the mountain pass on the way to see the second-opinion-doctor. The sky had giant thunderhead clouds with beams of sun bursting through in beautiful yellow rays shining down on the houses below. Oh, you mean that kind of sign?

The other day, we stood on the top of Signal Hill, a vantage point to see the whole of Cape Town, Lion’s Rock and Table Mountain. As I took in the experience of seeing the massive, sheer rock wall of Table Mountain, I was washed with a knowing that I will heal in this place that this mountain and the whole of the area is emanating with radiant, loving, healing power. All along our travels, we have been to places like this. Places that filled me full with energy from the earth. So much so that I could neither catch my breath nor articulate my words. The Valley of the Gods in Utah, Machu Picchu in Peru, the La Ceiba jungle in Costa Rica, the brush with the elephants in Namibia and now I get to add Table Mountain in Cape Town to my list of power places.

In these places, I can literally feel the planet radiating energy. It buzzes in my veins, tingles in my hands and feet and fills me a sense of connectedness to myself, to other humans, to the earth, to The Universe. I bet you have felt these kinds of places too. Maybe you have felt the resonance on a mountaintop when the view and wind take your breath away or on a quiet walk through the woods smelling the herbaceous, earthen path. Perhaps when sitting on a beach feeling the sea spray and warmth of the sun on your skin or in your own home when your kids or grandkids crawl up on your lap and give you a kiss on the cheek for no reason.

Tonight, as my head is spinning consumed with the unknown, with the decisions that are still left to make. I remember how I felt up on Signal Hill and I remember that my fairy godmother is right here, right inside of me. If I can quiet myself for just a moment, get out of my own way, really take in the energy of these places and these moments and listen, the best decision will rise up from my intuition. It’s the quieting the self that is tricky. My head is so damned chatty. My pleaser persona scrambles up my true emotions and needs. It creates fear instead of love but I’m learning…I’m learning. Therefore, I leave you with this snippet of a tune to sing for the rest of the day:

“All we need is love, love. Love is all we need. Love is all we need” ~The Beatles

 

(By the way, I’m still working on the pocket travel agent; so far Google will just have to do.)

 

View from tower of Plaza España

Five Things to Love about Sevilla

As I made my way along the river that flows through the city of Sevilla, Spain to my morning Spanish class, I watched a flock of white birds alight across the shimmering water. The beauty of that scene filled me with love and gratitude for my presence of mind and for walking in the morning light on this river path, in this new city. River of Sevilla with Tower of Gold in background For me, especially in my work as a therapist, I have learned that remembering to be grateful for things in your day, even the simplest of moments, has a way of connecting you deeply to that moment.  It brightens the colors of the scene, sparks a feeling of happiness, combats even the darkest moments, or the moments when anxiety has a vice grip on your heart and lungs. Gratitude is powerful. I am grateful for gratitude and I am grateful for our time in Sevilla.

In thinking of the many ways to write about Sevilla, a simple formula comes to mind:

Five Things to Love about Sevilla, Andalusia, Spain (in no particular order):

1) The Orange Trees:

In each new city, I always find myself riding in the backseat of the taxi, Jacob likes to be brave and practice Spanish with the driver and I don’t mind managing the girls. The benefit of the backseat is that I get to listen and try to decipher the conversation while I watch out the window, taking in the scene of our new surroundings. As we ventured from the main train station to our apartment in the Los Remedios neighborhood, the orange trees immediately caught my attention. They line all the streets. They are filled with dozens of oranges. What do they do with all these oranges? Are you permitted to pick them and eat them as you meander down the sidewalk? What happens when they fall off? Is there a river of oranges that are smashed on the street or used like soccer balls on the sidewalks? What is it like in spring when the trees are blooming?orange trees in a park filled with oranges

I was certainly struck by the way they provide the perfect accessory to the city’s collection of Moorish buildings with their rounded roofs and walls accented with hand painted ceramic tile. Like glass balls in a Christmas tree, the bright orange fruit brings color and magic to the green leaves and branches. A walk down a sidewalk or path lined with these trees is like a scene from Alice in Wonderland. It is likely that the citrus trees also produce a bit of a hazard to the unknowing passersby. Jacob watched a woman leap to her feet from her peaceful sitting position on a park bench, after a large orange fell with a “thud”, mere inches from missing her head.

One evening, while we watched him make freshly ground beef for us to use for our dinner of meatballs and pasta later that night, a butcher answered my questions about these mystical oranges. I learned that in the spring, the city is filled with the sweet smell of orange blossoms. You can pick the oranges but it is not recommended, as they are muy fuerte (very strong). There are even some fruit sellers who pick them by the bushel and sell them at their stands for very cheap. I suppose you are paying for someone else’s labor and trained nose. When they start falling off the trees there are custodians out every day shoveling mass amounts of these fallen orbs to avoid the smell of rotten fruit from over taking the city. I did see the fun of using them for a game of kickball and it is impossible not to have a few dozen smashed in the street.

2) The Food

Of course you know I am going to write something about food! Really, I only write about it if it is worth mentioning. In some cities the really good fare is hidden in the expensive restaurants but in Sevilla, you are not required to break the bank in order to find delicious taste bud temptations.

There are many popular, traditional dishes in Sevilla. Some restaurants stick close to the original style while others have modernized versions or have new creations all their own. Spaniards throughout the country love their pork and Sevilla is no different. You can see whole legs complete with hoof (sorry my vegan and vegetarian friends, it’s the reality) of the coveted Jamón Ibérico hanging in the windows of the neighborhood carnicería or held down to a bar top by food-appropriate fancified vice grips. The bartender, chef or party hostess (yes, we have heard one does not have a complete kitchen in your home in Spain without this tool), slices the cured meat into thin strips that look very much like pancetta. It is served tapas style piled high on a stark white plate. Order it with a matching plate full of Queso Manchego, a bowl full of the local olives, a caña (small glass of beer) and wham! you are in business. Another of our favorites of the traditional fare is the Espinaca con Garbanzos. Now, neither Jacob nor I usually choose stewed greens of any kind especially not cooked spinach. However, if done correctly (some restaurants are better than others) the spinach has a great balance of smoky, savory spice while the garbanzo beans help keep the texture from being, well you know what cooked greens can be… slimy. How’s that for a description? Scoop it up on a slice of toasted baguette and the crunch completes the experience.

On our last, day in Sevilla we went to La Chunga and ordered another typical dish, Solomillo al Whiskey. Wow, you need to like roasted garlic for this one and if you are with someone you plan to kiss later, you better share. It is thinly sliced, grilled pork loin placed on top of roasted potato slices of the same thickness delicately glazed with an olive oil and whiskey sauce. Happily dropped on top are whole cloves of roasted garlic that you open up with your knife, discard their papery wrappers, and slather the golden goodness all over the meat before shoveling it into your mouth. Drooling yet?

The last food review, actually restaurant review, (there were so many great ones, but I had to choose) was our favorite, a must-go-to if in Sevilla, Puratasca. My favorite kinds of restaurants are those that are unassuming, simply decorated and allow the food to speak for itself without all the fanfare and starched service. Puratasca is one of these (they don’t even have a website). Hidden behind a large red awning, typical of many establishments around the city, in the Triana neighborhood, (tricky to find, I promise) is this little hole in the wall. You must make reservations or arrive RIGHT WHEN THEY OPEN for either lunch or dinner as they have about 5 tables inside. On warm days they have more seating outside.   We hustled (as fast as the girls allowed) to get there right at 1:30 when they opened for lunch. With no reservation, we were seated along side the bathrooms but really never noticed because for the entire meal, we kept our mouths full and attention on the fireworks sparking across our taste buds (girls included).small beer with cheese plate in the background

There are two dishes that pop into my brain as I remember our experience there: the simple cheese plate and the arroz meloso con setas, parmesan and white truffle oil. Anyone who knows me will remember that I do not like mushrooms. I won’t even go into my disdain for them, BUT this rice, made in the style of risotto was incredible. It was creamy but countered with the sharpness of the parmesan cheese, balanced by the earthy truffle oil and thankfully the setas were chopped to a size that their texture was not bothersome (one of the characteristics of mushrooms I do not like).  The cheese plate was a simple presentation of hard and soft cheeses of the region on a plate covered in butcher paper with a smear of berry jam and sprinkling of toasted walnuts. Classic, creative and just what I love.

3) Spanish Class

Language is incredible. You could dedicate your life and career to learning the origins of languages. How did the first languages split into the over 6,500 known spoken languages around the world? Like the first person to perfect the chemistry of a loaf of bread experimenting millions of times with different combinations and quantities of ingredients to finally reach into the fire and pull out bread. Then, sharing the discovery with neighbors who taste and request the recipe, perhaps improving on it and sharing it once again. This is language to me; a compilation of thousands and thousands of years of points and grunts that eventually developed into the chemistry of language of naming things, actions, and concepts paired with person to person engagement, throw in a little evolution and migration and you have languages.

When you cannot speak the native language of a country it feels like there is an iron wall between you and the people of that location. I can see where one might develop a sense of fear of those who speak a different language, practice different rituals, or live by different mores. To never fully engage in conversation, learn about differences or share areas of similarities, might drive one to create their own conclusion about a given culture positive and negative or might even prevent some from traveling at all. It makes sense, the frustration that comes from the inability to ask for the things you need or share the things you have to offer but finding a way to walk through that fear to the heart opening experience of new cultures and people for me, is worth a little anxiety.

Learning a language different from your own is no joke. I know there are those out there that say “oh, I learned to speak 5 different languages in a month! Just follow this easy recipe and voila…”. I’m not sure that is realistic for me and most people but I have found that by trying to learn and speak at least a little bit of the language in a given country opens people up to you who might otherwise have dismissed the interaction once the language barrier was discovered. Plus, you get to tell hilarious stories about your language follies. My favorite language mishap, and believe me I have MANY, has to do with the words mujer (woman/wife) and mejor(better). My ears can hear the difference but my brain struggles to differentiate between these two words when I try to use them in a sentence. I am constantly saying woman when I mean better. So, when the x-ray technician at the public hospital in Sevilla spoke to me very quickly, I managed to say “hablo pequito Español, pero mi esposa habla mujer”. Hopefully I did not insult her by saying that “my husband speaks woman”.

With all that being said, our choice to participate in a Spanish language program in Sevilla was an obvious one. We chose a company called Sevilla Habla. Not only did it fit our budget but they also offered morning and afternoon classes, which allowed Jacob and I to switch off attending class and taking care of the girls. The teachers were fun and also serious about why we were there. I have concluded that this is one of the best ways to meet people from all over the world while traveling. I suppose there is also the option to stay in a hostel but let’s face it after you reach a certain age sharing a dorm with ten other people just isn’t that fun anymore. Jacob and I would come together at the end of the day full of energy sparked by hilarious stories about class, the fun we had with the other students and our mistakes. The emersion class was the best way to optimize our retention by listening, thinking and speaking in Spanish for at least three hours/day. Obviously, it is not realistic to take a class in every country over our year of travel, our budget just won’t allow it but we can try to pick up a few phrases.   Who knows, since Jacob is the language guru of our family, perhaps he will be one of those people who learns to speak 5 different languages and touts the ease of it when we return.

4) Natural Rhythm

Sevilla is one of the cities in Spain that holds tightly to the siesta schedule. Locals use the two and half to three hour break in the middle of the day to pick up their kids from school, enjoy a leisurely lunch (it is the biggest meal of the day), and take 20 minutes to close their eyes and rest. My Spanish teacher made a point to discuss the misperceptions of the siesta in one of my classes, making it clear that it people do not sleep for 3 hours but rather take the time to regroup, be with family or run personal errands. The school day for kids runs from 9a.m.-1:00p.m. They take a siesta for lunch and then return to school at 3:00 p.m. dismissal is at 6:00p.m.IMG_1986

There is a misconception of Spaniards being lazy and to which perhaps the siesta contributes.  Does the definition of hard work have to mean a schedule of working 8-9 hours straight in a day?  To me, the siesta seems to allow for the balance between personal needs and employment needs. I would have killed to spend two hours in the middle of the day with my kids and husband and have my employer doing the same. There are some down sides to this way of life, of course.  I could schedule doctor appointment as late as 8:00p.m. Good for me, but how bout the doctor?  Typical dinnertime is anywhere from 9:00p.m to 11:00p.m. Eating that late is probably not very healthy but dinner is usually light, tapas style.  The possible downsides are really just a change in concept of how to organize a day and despite the late dinner in general, Spaniards seem to be pretty fit.

It amazed me how easily we slipped into this Spanish schedule. Before leaving for Spain, Jacob and I were warned about the late dinner times and how we would have to train our kids to stay awake if we wanted to go out. Maybe something slipped through our filtered water or is sprinkled on the all the food but the schedule felt so natural to us like we had lived there for years. The girls and I were typically in bed by 8:30p.m. in the states, but in Sevilla, 10:00p.m. for the girls and 11:00p.m. for me felt like the just right time to hit the sack.

5) Flamenco

Haunting. Impossible footwork. Improvisational. Deep, passionate expression of emotion. These are some of the ways to describe Flamenco. While I was in college, I took a beginning ballet class. As a break from the plies and rond de jambe our instructor brought in a flamenco dancer to teach us some of the “simple” rhythms with our feet and hands. I remember feeling completely befuddled by how she could hold one rhythm with her hands and perform a completely yet complimentary rhythm with her feet. My ability to dance is one area in my life in which I feel the confidence to express myself, but this style was out of my realm. Flamenco is not just baile (dance) it is the combination of dance including the clapping (palmas) and snapping (pitos) rhythms, guitar (toque) and voice (cante).   While the performers know which songs they will perform, they often improvise and feel their way through the performance together instead of following sheet music or choreography.

Some say Flamenco was born in the caves of Andulusia where performers were forced to hide their otherworldly, passionate displays of music and dance.  Now out in the open, there are many Tablaos around Adulusia and abundant in Sevilla who host performances for tourists. I have a feeling that these are the “pretty” renditions of the art, that if you were able to really engage with the Flamenco culture you would have an entirely different experience. Jacob was able to catch a glimpse of the more authentic, rougher and spontaneous Flamenco. He was invited to go with an Israeli friend from class whose wife was in Sevilla to train in Flamenco. He stayed out until 4am moving from one venue to another witnessing at least a little of the authentic Flamenco. Shoulder to shoulder with patrons of the bar, he watched all ages perform from the Flamenco trainee to the seasoned old women singing with the ghostly vibrato.

Toward the end of our time in Sevilla, we brought the girls to an evening show at Casa de la Memoria. Kids had to be at least six years old to attend presumably because the dancer expresses strong emotions often anger. I wish my Spanish were better; I would have loved to understand the words of the songs about oppression, love and death. Perhaps this was a show for the tourist but this didn’t diminish the spellbinding performance. Coming out my trance after a Cante Grande, I noticed I had been holding my breath. I turned to Quinn to ask what she thought and she responded matter-of-factly caught in her own trance, “I have no idea how she moves her feet so fast”.

Our experience in Sevilla is often our choice when we ask each other the favorite part of our trip so far and so to conclude, I write her a letter:

Dear Lovely Sevilla,

Thank you for your openness, your orange trees and beautiful river. Thank you for your playgrounds, your kids programs and Flamenco. Thank you for your twisty streets filled with history, the Real Alćazar de Sevilla and your horse drawn carriages.  The lively people and Churos dipped in hot chocolate. Park Maria Lusia and Plaza España.

Some day, somehow, we will be back.

 

This Side of Amy: Simon’s Town, South Africa

We are now in Simon’s Town, a small village near Cape Town, South Africa about 15 minutes away from our first apartment in Muizenberg. I get to sit at the kitchen table in this stunning house and write my post about Sevilla. As I do, my eyes drift from the computer screen over to the ocean view out the window. My heart leaps with the hope for a view of a dolphin and then falls as the ocean reveals only a dark rock in the near distance. How many times am I going to fall for her trick? Or will that rock turn into a dolphin if I stare at it long enough? There are also Great White Sharks in these waters. Is it the mixing of the Atlantic and Indian oceans that draw them to this bay? Or do the flocks of seagulls that circle in the air and drop like bombs into the water in their death defying fishing technique bring the sharks salivating for a taste of bird? There are professional shark watchers, paid to sit atop the mountain and scan the sea for the Great Whites. The property manager told us that just last week the siren blared shouting at the swimmers and surfers to get out of the water. My eyes widened as she spoke but she just shrugged it off.

Ah, just another day in Cape Town.

This will only be a temporary house for us. Initially, we planned to stay only a week in Cape Town but due to unforeseen circumstances we now plan to stay for three months. The owner of the apartment we stayed in for the last several days had already promised it to other renters for the week after our stay and then would be returning to it themselves after their three-week holiday in New Zealand. Due to the Easter Holiday, it was an incredible challenge to find affordable accommodation. The city is also hosting a large marathon for the same weekend; therefore, the best we could find for the dates we needed was an apartment 40 minutes from my doctor and the girls school and it is unavailable until the 24th. Leaving us homeless for four days.

Acts of kindness come in many different packages. The rental company said they had a house we could use and offered it to us for the same price/night as the much smaller apartment we would be moving into on the 24th. They were battling with the electricity company as the ownership of the house had recently changed hands. It was a risky agreement, book the apartment for the 24th and hope for the electricity to come on in the “stop gap” house. However, now we are here in this huge house the management company kindly opened up for us. It is decorated with antique, colonial fixtures and has way more space than we need; although, the girls have already spread into all of it. They made quick work of exploring this house, running out onto the porch to tell me all about it before I had even stepped foot inside. It is strange to think that this house feels like more space than we need since it is smaller than the house we sold in Denver. I am grateful for my change in viewpoint.

While our stress to find housing to fit our budget and timing was very real, the barbed awareness of my first world problems pierces my consciousness as we drive around the city passing from gorgeous beach homes to corrugated tin shantytowns. I am filled with a growing curiosity about Apartheid and how much its impact on the people here still lingers. I can’t help but assume it is significant when I watch from across the ocean the continued struggle for equality in my own country of the US. The amount of sadness I feel about how horrible humans can be to one another fills me; a victim of my own cognitive dissonance, my mind focuses once again on the beauty of the ocean scene and my eyes drift back to my writing about lovely Sevilla.

 

Shadow of Amy and Quinn reflected on the red dirt of the Soussusvlei desert in Namibia

Musings from Muizenberg

In three days, we will have been on the road for six months. First, I want to thank those of you who are following along and sending us messages of encouragement and support. I have received a lot of loving questions about “the knees” which makes me feel cared for and grateful. I was never much of a “Facebooker” until we began our travels. It has now become my lifeline to our many friends and family members. If you love or even like a little bit of the blogs you are reading, please share them with your own circles on Facebook or forward our website to your friends who boycott Facebook. We would love more followers.

I thought I would take a moment and give you all a real time update on our whereabouts. We are currently in the city of Cape Town in beautiful South Africa.  As you know, I have been battling problems with my knees since we left Colorado. While in Namibia, the swelling gave way to a lot of pain and so we searched with spotted internet service, and found an orthopedic surgeon in Cape Town. After undergoing MRIs on both knees (wow that was intense, who knew how difficult it would be to stay perfectly still for 20+ minutes/knee?), his assessment is that I have broken up cartilage that is irritating the knee joint and causing the inflammation and pain. I must have a piece in my left knee joint that is preventing me from fully straightening it. His recommendation is arthroscopic surgery to “clean out” the cartilage in both knees. Apparently the right knee is the worst and I am even missing bits of cartilage on that side. Because of this news, we have opted to stop here in Cape Town to receive the needed treatments. The long flight from Spain to Namibia (10 hrs) taught me that when inflammation is running amuck it will fill up your whole leg, is really painful and takes several days to subside. In my case, the swelling in my knees has been ever present for the last 5 months. Traveling back to the US is not only very expensive on such short notice but it is also a 35-hour journey.

Here in Cape Town, I will be able get treatment and proper rehabilitation. Our visa allows us a 3-month stay and we have found an apartment to rent for that time. We can even apply for an extension if needed (which I am pushing for so we can explore the many nature trails and mountains of the Cape once I am healed). We have found a very sweet Montessori school called Auburn House School where the girls are enrolled and will start the new term with the rest of the students on April 5th. This was at their request and they are very excited. It will allow me time to catch up on writing and Jacob to continue to work on his plans for his own career goals.

That is the Real Time update for today March 19th, 2016. Happy Birthday to my nephew Roarke who turned 12 on St. Patty’s day. We are sending so much love to Jacob’s family as they celebrate Shirley Martin’s life at her memorial service today. She was a kind, hilarious, beautiful woman, mother, sister, daughter, grandmother and friend to many people.

Keep watching your inbox for our blogs. In queue are more words from Mackenzie and Quinn, my take on Sevilla and our amazing experiences in Namibia.

As they say here in Cape Town,

 

Go Well.