Where

Herd of elephants run toward the camera from the bush behind

Just Say No to the Ride

Since we were unable to go to Johannesburg and Kruger National Park due to my rehabilitation needs and the girls’ school schedule, we needed to find an alternative animal park somewhere else to satisfy one last fix of the African wildlife. We decided on Addo Elephant Park, which is about 45 km from Port Elizabeth and seemed to fiBaby elephant reaches for water at a waterhole standing at the mama's feett nicely into our plans to drive along the Garden Route and stay overnight in one of the costal towns in the Eastern Cape. Addo is a national park a little over 1,600 square kilometers in size. Zebra, lion, Cape Buffalo, rhino and of course elephants are among the large animals you can see in the park. Hippo also live there but are found in an area of the park only accessible by 4-wheel drive. We heard that because of its size it is almost guaranteed that you will see all the animals. Unfortunately, we still missed the elusive lions but watched as a herd of about 15 elephants came charging out of the bush to drink at the water hole where we had front row seats. Our favorite character was the baby bouncing (and occasionally stumbling) alongside the mother with its trunk flopping around uncontrollably and exuding pure joy (actually we read that baby elephants have little control of their trunk for the first 2-3 weeks of life).

While planning our route, I read about Knysna (pronounced with the K silent) and Plettenburg Bay two coastal cities close to Port Elizabeth who are regaled for their beauty. I booked accommodation in Plettenburg or “Plett” as you would say if you were a local. I was also told to check out Knysna Elephant Park or KEP, which is located between Knysna and Plett. It is a privately owned elephant rescue program that also allows tourists to walk with, feed and ride the elephants. According to the website and the elephant caretakers we spoke to while there, KEP is a rescue sanctuary and their prime goal is to care for injured elephants and provide a safe haven for elephants from other game parks who are threatened for one reason or another, such as an aggressive older rhino who is on the attack. Once the elephants are safe and nursed back to health, they are reintroduced into larger, private game parks. These rescue elephants never see tourists. The elephants that tourists meet are the nine that make up their “resident herd”. One of the trainers was keen to make a differentiation between an elephant sanctuary and elephant park whose prime goal, according to him, is for tourism and profit.

Even though the option to ride the elephants was enticing, Jacob and I knew right away that we did not want to support this practice. Abusive training protocols in Southeast Asia has gained much publicity in recent years.  From my research, I learned that elephants are not built to be pack animals and their backs cannot tolerate very much weight. I also read that many elephant tours in Southeast Asia use saddles perched in the middle of the elephant’s back and the elephants are forced to carry one to two people on long rides for up to 12 hours per day with little water. There was a story in April 2016 of an elephant at Angkor Wat in Cambodia that collapsed and died of exhaustion.  The practice in Southeast Asia to train elephants for tourism as well as perform pack-animal work for farmers is called Phajaan or “the crush”. Baby elephants are stolen from their mothers and undergo this abuse and torture to break them of their “wildness”. Smugglers tranquilize the baby elephant so they can transport it and often they will shoot and kill other adult elephants that linger over the collapsed baby. The “trainers” will submit the baby to isolation, starve them of food and water and use bullhooks to beat and prod the elephant into submission. In Northern Thailand, there are now a few parks whose mission is to rescue and protect abused elephants.  These elephants are already desensitized to humans and the park allows tourists to get up close and personal but not ride them.

Knysna Elephant Park does not use saddles to transport the riders. Instead, they use blankets and riders sit at the front of the elephant’s body above their shoulders where their backs are stronger. Additionally, the rides there are only 15-20 minutes long, which is more tolerable for the elephants. However, I still did not want to support riding elephants even if their way was more “humane”. As soon as the girls saw the other tourists getting ready to ride, they challenged our ability to hold steadfast to our decision with immediate tears and protests about how we are unfair and horrible parents. However, we are not parents who cave easily just to keep our children from experiencing disappointment. You know me, I of course think it is valuable for kids to experience the breadth of their emotions as well as understand that the world does not need to bend to their every whim. That is how they will learn that they have the strength to tolerate tough emotions and make responsible choices. Actually, this event gave us the opportunity to talk with them about the controversy and why we were choosing to walk instead of ride.Jacob and Quinn walk with their elephant ahead of Mackenzie and Amy's elephant

Our walk with the elephants was magical. I did not envy the riders one bit because all they did was sit on top holding onto the elephant’s trainer. They missed out on the relationship we created with our walking partners, Nandi and Thandi (mother and daughter). The trainer who was walking with Mackenzie and me told us that Nandi and Thandi have never been willing to accept riders and the trainers are of the belief that they will not force an elephant to do a job they do not want to do. As we walked, we got to look into their eyes, put our hand on their warm, rough skin and feel the wiry hairs on their bodies and trunks. By the end of the experience the girls had come around and understood that this experience was just as good if not better than a ride.

Still, after our walk, the memory that the trainers at KEP all carried bullhooks floated to the front of my mind. I started thinking more about elephant abuse and the training required for elephants to allow people on their backs. I wondered if KEP’s stated method of positive reinforcement was really all they use and if so, why the need for bullhooks? I watched how the trainer, walking with Mackenzie and me, used his hook to sort of push Nandi back into her line; he also used a strong voice like you would with a dog so maybe the bullhook is like a leash. I have an undergraduate degree in Psychology in which I learned all about positive reinforcement and how to get rats and pigeons to do tricks for me using food as a reward. I imagine this is what they do with the elephants as well but is this really humane? If elephants backs are not built to carry weight why do we think it is ok to put two adults up there even if their agreement is a bucket of fruit at the end. I then started to wonder about how much poking and prodding the elephants endure so that people can walk next to them? Is it really any better? I decided to ask Google about elephant abuse in Africa and guess which “sanctuary” came up in the feed? The owners of KEP also own and an elephant park called Elephants of Eden. In 2014 the owners were charged with and admitted to cruel and abusive treatment of baby elephants at Elephants of Eden but denied that the practice also occurs at KEP. Click to read for your self.

There are many businesses and organizations in the world that use animals in captivity to bring in money and raise awareness. It is pretty damn cool to be that close to an elephant or pet a cheetah but is my life going to be any less full if I just see these animals from a distance instead?  Is keeping animals in captivity the right method to bring about awareness and conservation?  Would people care as much about endangered species and land conservation if they didn’t get to see the animals in person and develop an empathetic connection?

Sally, the matriarch of the herd
Sally, the matriarch of the herd
These are multilayered, difficult questions and I really don’t have a clear answer. However, after all this research, what I do know is that if an elephant park or sanctuary offers elephant rides, it is best to steer clear.  These parks are keeping their “resident herds” well stocked, so to speak, which means that when a baby like Thandi is born at the park, they are “training” her early to be willing to allow people to walk and/ or ride her. True sanctuaries, like the ones in Northern Thailand, are rescuing elephants from establishments like these and offering a place for them to retire and have a better life not further abuse and hard labor.

Heart made out of lichen on a rock

Saying Goodbye

Today is our last day in Cape Town and the girls’ last day at Auburn House School. It is hard to believe we have already been here three months and that our time in South Africa must end.   We had lots of tears today at the school as we said goodbye and now at home it is sinking in that we really are leaving and the tears are flowing again. I asked one of the teachers today that if she knew ahead of time how painful it would be to say goodbye, would she have agreed to accept our girls in for the one term. She laughed and said “No!” and then went on to say how special they are and how wonderful it has been to have them be a part of the environment. I asked myself the same question this evening as I sat with each of my daughters comforting their tears. My emotional answer is ‘no’, I would rather avoid this difficult goodbye and protect my daughters from pain. The wise, balanced answer however, is ‘yes’. In spite of the pain they are feeling tonight, I would still enroll them in Auburn House School for the one term because if we had not, we would never have been a part of this wonderful, welcoming community of parents, kids and staff.Sign for Auburn House School with Table Mountain in the background

By the time our last month rolled around, the girls’ friendships were in full swing and each day at pickup time, more and more kids would ask us to arrange times with their parents for play dates. We knew we would never be able to coordinate each one in the short time we had left. This led us to the idea of hosting one big play date for all the kids in the Junior Primary (grades 1-3) who could make it to a park near the school on our last Saturday in town. In my experience, these things are typically hard to coordinate and often require more than two weeks notice, so I was blown away by how many parents and kids were able to come. I only wished we would have thought of this sooner because in that one afternoon we enjoyed easy conversations, made friends with the parents and understood why the girls so quickly fell in love with the community at Auburn House School.

I write this post tonight to say thank you to the principal and teachers for opening your doors and allowing the girls the opportunity to learn in an environment different from their own. They had a taste of two languages, Afrikaans and Xhosa (well three if you count the differences in terms between our English and the South African English). Perhaps you also saw the opportunity for learning and potential benefit of more diversity that a couple of girls from the United States could add to your classroom as well and for that, we are grateful.

We take our new friends with us in our hearts, the medicine of Table Mountain in our bodies and the warmth of community at Auburn House School in our spirits.

 

 

Oryx stands alone in front of a red sand due and blue sky

Namibia: Sand, Sea & Sossusvlei

When we left the green, grassy plains of Etosha and said goodbye to our last Wildebeest, I was not fully aware of the vastness of the desert lands that cover a large portion of Namibia. Some stretches of the landscape felt familiar and reminded us of Texas with its scraggy trees and tall grasses. Others, the tall red mesas and rocky ground looked like we could have been driving in Western Colorado, Arizona or Utah. However, as we traveled from Ethosha to Damaraland (an area that, after Apartheid ended, was renamed the Kunene region) and then on to the costal town of Swakopmund, we drove through deserts the like of which I had never seen before; deserts that make myths and fairytales.

Tan sand stretched in all directions with short bushes the horizon

Miles and miles of flat sand dominated the view out the windows of our trucks. The heat rising off the road tricked our eyes into seeing shimmering water on the horizon. As if in a storybook, I half expected to see figures traversing the barren sands on camelback.  In reality, the only tall object to break up the view was the occasional lone Ostrich with his fluffy black feathers blowing in the hot wind. Africa is one of those places where you have to keep pinching yourself as a reminder that you are indeed awake and not in a dream. One of my favorite images of our drive was on the road through the Kunene Region. We drove up and down dirt roads past random, single shacks made of driftwood and then, in the distance, we saw a woman spinning around and around; her billowy, brightly colored Victorian-style dress caught the sun with the hope that we would stop and buy one of the glittering crystals she had on display at her roadside stand.

The Kunene Region has over 45,000 ancient rock paintings tucked into the red, sandstone peaks; the most famous is called The White Lady and is found on Brandberg Mountain. Much of the time, the Desert Elephant is also found in this region. Their feet are wider than those of other elephants, which allow them to lumber through the sand and over rocks with greater ease. Sadly, we were unaware that they actually migrate long distances in search of water and move away from the heat of the Namib Desert in summer. Other than the elephant crossing signs on the side of the roads, the only evidence we saw of them were the broken trees left in their wake on the hike to The White Lady (it was a dangerously hot hike and should only be taken at daybreak during the summer or not at all).Elephant crossing sign with puffy clouds in the background

For most of our trip through Namibia, azure blue coated the sky; a blue equal to that of the famous blue of Colorado’s skies. However, as if passing through some invisible curtain, the sky suddenly changed to thick, gray clouds and the dry, hot wind became cool and sticky with moisture it had picked up from the ocean. We arrived at Skeleton Coast where the desert meets the sea. Low bushes growing in the sand were the only signs of vegetation we saw as we snaked through the dunes on black, salt roads. Swakopmund is a German colonial town that houses most of the people of this coastal area. We were told that more often than not the sky is overcast and gray but it rarely rains. There is a quaint, walk-able downtown with tons of tourist shops and cafes.

Walvis Bay, 20 minutes down the road, has a large wetland area where you can get your National Geographic moment and watch millions of flamingos munch on shrimp and algae; their zipper-like chatter fills the air. We watched them for what seemed like hours as they flew through the sky and landed with a run on the surface of the water. I had never seen them fly and so I was unaware of their gorgeous wings with a swath of pink changing to black at the tips of their feathers.Dozens of pink flamingos wade in water and fly in the sky

We stayed at a bed and breakfast in Swakopmund called The Alternative Space. This home, with its white washed walls and interior garden courtyard, was our oasis from our regular hot, dusty campsites. The description of the guesthouse on the itinerary from the travel agency said, “The Space is not recommended for persons who find pictures of nudity offensive”, which of course gave us a bit of a pause. In reality our hosts, Sibyle and Frenus, have a beautiful collection of paintings from local artists and their own photography adorn the walls like a gallery.   Frenus thinks of their establishment as one for the “upscale backpacker”; its aim is to attract those wanderlust people who no longer want to endure the smells and snores of hostels but also want to travel on a budget. It did feel like a luxury resort with the gorgeous spread of food provided at breakfast and the large, airy rooms with comfy beds. Our room was a sort of a “free-form” family room with no walls or door for the bathroom. A lovely claw foot tub sat toward the back of the room to signal the bathroom space and a single pipe with a shower-head hung down from the ceiling. It was liberating to take a shower out in the open with no doors to restrict your movement.

We left Swakopmund and drove back through the mysterious curtain into the hot desert. The road took us around Zebra Mountain where we watched a herd of zebras run next to the car and then across the road (remember that pinching yourself thing? Yeah, had to do it again). We landed at the Sesrium Camp just in time for sunset. Out of all the campsites, I think this one was my favorite. It was a large circle with a huge Camelthorn Acacia tree in the middle that quenched our thirst for shade. Our site was located on the edge of the campground and so we had an unobstructed view of the rocky field where Springboks quietly grazed in front of the mountains as the sinking sun washed everything in an auburn hue.Springbok grazing during sunset, red mountains in the distance

Sesrium is located in the Namib-Naukluft National Park and the main reason to visit here is to explore the red sand dunes that surround Sossusvlei and to see the ghostly trees of Deadvlei. The best time to venture into the dunes is either just before sunrise or sunset and many hikers climb to the top of “Dune 45” to take in the show. The sunlight at dawn and dusk paints the dunes in amazing purples, rusts and deep red and the acacia trees pop with lime green. If you have a bucket list, put this place on it. A 4 x 4 vehicle is a must if you want to make it all the way to Sossusvlei or for a small price, catch a ride with a large transport truck in the high season. We all piled into one truck, my Dad at the wheel, and bounced and slid through the dense sand — true four-wheeling style. I know my Dad was thankful for his expertise in driving through snow because we had a moment when we thought we were stuck and would be locked out of our campsite (I guess everything turns back into a pumpkin at sundown if you are not through the gates in time).

Words cannot adequately describe the beauty of these dunes. The wind blows the sand into artful designs and in some places, with the help of the long shadows creates the stripes of the zebra. Jacob and Mackenzie scrambled up and over several of the dunes to catch a glimpse of Deadvlei. I think Mackenzie could have cared less about seeing the skeleton trees.   She really just wanted to slide down a dune, which she did and then preceded to empty her shoes of the bucket loads of sand that had collected inside them.

red sand dunes at sunset, long shadows highligh the zebra stripes in sand
Zebra Dune (courtesy of Quinn)

Our last stop before heading back to Windhoek was in the Kalahari Desert. The Kalahari actually receives between 5-10 inches of rain per year so instead of a barren wasteland, it is filled with soft grasses, bright yellow flowering bushes and of course Acacia trees. The Kalahari also has its share of dunes and the locals call the space between them the streets of the Kalahari. We stayed at the Bagatelle Kalahari Game Ranch outside a town called Mariental. It was another cherished oasis and a free upgrade since the original booking was closed for repairs. We quickly found the outdoor patio, shade and cool drinks savoring our relaxation until it was time for dinner. The girls donned their swimsuits, jumped into the cool clean pool and rescued dragonflies and grasshoppers from drowning in the water. Springbok were of course in plenty and the owners of the ranch have even adopted one for a pet who came for a visit during dinner.

I am so very aware of how privileged I am to be on this trip and also to have parents who could come and share a piece of it with us. I love that I have a picture of my parents looking through binoculars into the game reserve searching for wildlife. I love that we shared the experience of the crazy rooftop tents, baboons, the scorching heat of the desert and the magical elephants. I love that I have a memory of watching them try to negotiate the overwhelming persistence of the sales people in the street and were duped (as was I) into buying too many carved nut ornaments. I love that they are home now telling their friends and family about their adventures with us (and hopefully getting us more followers… hint, hint.); proudly owning the Namibian stamp in their passports with the realization that they might need more stamps from other countries to keep it company. I know I do.

Mackenzie, Quinn, and Jacob riding horses in a line surrounded by red sand and green desert trees
Our last Safari
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

 

 

 

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

Travel with Kids: Health

Keepin’ It Real: Travel with Kids

Installment #3: Medical Mishaps

….and so I sit on the red twill couch in the sunny living room of our apartment in Sevilla, Spain. My knees propped up with pillows obeying the instructions of Dr. Ruiz from Hospital Universitario Virgen del Rocio, who, after painfully draining it, told me I was not allowed move my knee for at least 24 hours. Jacob took the girls to their art and theater class for me instead of going to his Spanish class this evening because the girls deserve to get out of this house and do something fun. Sitting quietly and obediently at a busy hospital for two hours is a lot to ask of an 8 and 6 year old.

The growing pain and inflammation in my right knee had been haunting the back of my mind since we arrived. Each time we travel to a new destination, my knees seem to get a little inflamed but then it subsides and I am able to keep up with our adventures. So, I thought this is what would happen here too. I ramped up my yoga practice trying to be gentle on my knees, not over tax them. I found an English speaking Physiotherapist/Orthopedist/Eastern Medicine practitioner nearby and made an appointment. I surfed the Internet for an Acupuncturist as a treatment supplement. All while the inflammation grew and grew. The increased walking here could have been the cause or maybe over the last 5 months I have not properly rehabilitated my knee. Whatever the reason, two days ago I could no longer walk without looking like Igor from the movie “Young Frankenstein.” My knee was so inflamed it looked like an over full water balloon ready to spring a leak at any moment then burst.

Jacob immediately relegated me to the couch and instructed the girls to push me around on a rolling office chair if I needed to use the bathroom. He went to stock up on food and walk by an Acupuncture clinic whose website made it seem like they were still in business; however, their email bounced back and the message I heard when I called could have said it is no longer in service but it was in Spanish and so I wasn’t sure. He returned half an hour later with food and news that the clinic was indeed closed down. We spent the afternoon trying and failing to figure out options for English speaking doctors in the area. When that proved difficult, Jacob took to consulting with Dr. Google instead and determined that:

a. I have some strange disease I have never heard of

b. fibromyalgia is causing the inflammation

We decided those weren’t the most hopeful of prognoses and went back to seeking an actual doctor. After a couple of phone conversations with receptionists, the Physiotherapist I had an appointment with later in the week, texted me at 10pm to tell me he could see me at his office at noon the next day and included the address. “Wait”, I thought, “this address looks different than the one on his website, better consult Google again.  Hmmm, it isn’t showing me Sevilla, there must be a mistake”. I sent him a text explaining my confusion about the location and thanked him for rearranging his schedule for me. Alas, his clinic was NOT in Sevilla it is in Madrid. He hasn’t practiced here in over 4 years. Great. That’s only a 4-hour car ride or 2 and a half hour train ride away! I immediately started to cry. The pain was getting worse and the fear growing that our broken Spanish would not be sufficient to get treatment and we would have to go home. However, now here I am less than 24 hours later, relishing the relief from the pain caused by pressure in my knee and feeling more hopeful that with proper rehabilitation we can continue our journey.

A Keepin’ it Real blog post about health has been bouncing around in my head for a while now. What better time to write it than after seeking and receiving medical care in a foreign country?? I must admit, I sat in the waiting room of the hospital looking around at the mass of people awaiting their care and witnessed myself experiencing many different emotions. I felt a lot of trepidation about the quality of treatment I would receive immediately followed by a feeling of shame for that thought to come into my mind. I felt relief that we were in Spain and not in Panama or Peru when this happened. There was a sense of hilarity at the situation. For instance, about every five minutes or so, Jacob and I immediately stopped our conversation and strained to understand the name and instructions being said over the loudspeaker. When we were finally called to “Rayos numero dos”, Jacob pushed me in my wheelchair, out into the hall around and around a pole, the girls following behind like obedient little ducklings, trying to determine what the instructions meant since all the doors in the hallway were closed. OH! Of course, silly. It means x-ray! At the moment of our realization, the x-ray technician opened the door to “Rayos numero dos”.

Finally, after the x-ray and initial consultation with a nurse, I lay on the treatment table in the third and final room of our medical adventure and I felt the feeling of vulnerability. No matter the country, no matter the facility, lying on a treatment table in an unknown place is vulnerable; however, I also felt trust. Trust that this man was doing exactly what his education and training had taught him. In fact, looking back, it seemed they were actually more careful about sterilizing my knee prior to the treatment than the fancy sports medicine doctor I saw in the States. I even got a little numbing spray on the injection site prior to being stuck with the giant needle.

Knees aside, the biggest unknown about long-term travel for me is health. How do we stay healthy? If we get sick, how do we get the medications and treatment we need? All blog posts I have read say everyone at one time or another will get travelers diarrhea. So, when Quinn came down with it in Lima I was scared we would be unable to keep her hydrated. Happily, that was not the case. Common sense was our best ally. Even the common cold can foul up plans for exploration. As everyone knows, if one member of the family is ill it is likely to get passed to all.

We battled this type of illness beginning in Urubamba, Peru. It was our first stay in a hostel and there were three other petri dishes, a.k.a. kids, staying there as well. One of which already had a cold. So, you can imagine the cold found its way into everyone in the house then followed us around through the Sacred Valley. Airplane travel is another kind of petri dish so we likely picked up another bug traveling from Peru to Spain. All told, at least one of us was sick for a full month.

Even with all the precautions and immune system boosting protocols, the risk of catching a parasite, virus or bacterial infection is very real. Up to this point in our travels, our experience has showed us that in Costa Rica, Peru, Spain and Paris, one does not buy medications at a grocery store but instead at a pharmacy. Usually, you have to speak to the pharmacist to explain what you need and she/he gets it from behind the counter, even ibuprofen and vitamins. In fact, in many of these countries a trip to speak with your pharmacist is your first course of action.  Doctors are reserved for emergencies or when the pharmacist is stumped. One time, in my broken Spanish, I asked the pharmacist for fish vitamins instead of fish oil…oops what’s the word for oil again?? How about the word for fish when it is swimming in the ocean and not in lemon juice on a plate?

Trust is a big factor when it comes to medicine in a foreign country. Can I trust the pill, treatment or advice I receive is the same or as good as what I would find at home, where I am more familiar? I think this speaks to so many issues of diversity. Can I trust the unfamiliar? Can I trust that another culture is as good as or even better than my own or that I just might learn something from that other culture? More aptly can I accept this as a possibility? The experience at the Hospital in Sevilla taught me that yes, I can and at times I must.

The only thing we have to fear is fear itself. – Franklin D. Roosevelt.

Our strategy moving forward is of course, mindfulness and preventative medicine. I need to accept that I have some sort of problem with my knees and listen to them, seek out rehabilitative advice and do it.  I don’t want to avoid travel because of the fear of getting sick. I don’t want to make judgments based on secondhand knowledge or assumptions. I want to ask questions and research to find out what is available so I can negotiate treatment in a way that feels safe.  Otherwise, I am allowing my fear to grow and fester to an unnatural size and creating a self-imposed barrier to potentially amazing experiences and people.

Some tips to stay healthy:

  • Listen to your body and rest when needed.  Traveling is tiring and when you are tired your body has less energy to fight off infection. The girls are perfect, at times loud, little gages of when we need to rest.
  • Vitamins are important.  We are now taking daily multi and “fish vitamins”. Every little thing you carry has to be weighed according to its importance and cost.
  • Eat more vegetable soup. We thought we could get our nutrients through eating healthy foods and follow the advice of smart travelers ahead of us, only eating fresh veggies we have washed and peeled ourselves. However, when you are bouncing around a lot preparing your own fresh veggies can get tricky and in some places the risk of parasites on those fresh veggies is very real so you end up skipping it.
  • Carry hand-sanitizer everyday.  More often than not, there is no soap (or toilet paper) in the bathroom; therefore, I carry around a natural hand sanitizer made from essential oils.

 

for the love of Gaudi

For the Love of Gaudi

Jacob’s question, “should we take trains today or buses?” replayed in my mind during our walk to the metro station on our way to La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona, Spain. The girls of course chose trains because they love going underground, putting their tickets in the ticket-taker and pushing the button to open the doors of the metro trains. I went along with the decision but wondered if a bus wouldn’t be the better choice to allow us to see more of the city on the way. However, when we surfaced at our station the “wows!” from my husband and children met my ears before La Sagrada Familia met my eyes. Once it did, a “wow!” escaped my lips as well. From across the street, the cathedral looked so close it seemed I could reach out and touch the spires that towered high above our heads. I would have missed this reveal had we taken a bus. This was just the beginning of the reveals that were in store for us that day.

Surprisingly to me, Mackenzie requested that we have a guided tour through the Cathedral. She must have developed a liking for guides when we were toured through the Catacombs in Lima. Mackenzie was like a magnet to the tour guide’s side often leaving us in the very back of the 15+person tour. When asked about it, she said she wanted to be the first to see what was next. Of course Jacob and I agreed to her request for the La Sagrada Familia excursion despite the added expense and I am so glad we did. Our tour guide, Bernat, was a wonderfully enthusiastic, well-informed guide who engaged the girls often during the tour. He looked at them with his bright eyes to ask them questions that they could understand and answer. This approach kept them engaged for the full hour-long tour and had Mackenzie chasing after him asking great questions like “if Gaudi’s plans were all burned during the (Spanish Civil) war, how is this building here?”.

sparkling ceilingEntering the Cathedral for the first time is an experience I wish I could have over and over again. Losing my ability to breathe and speak, I gazed up at the columns towering above our heads painted by the afternoon light that was shining in through the multicolored stained glass. The whole atrium was lit up like a rainbow. The ceiling sparkled like stars. In fact, we learned, Gaudi’s intention was to allow Mother Earth to paint the inside of the cathedral each day with her sunlight as it bursts through the stained glass. Gaudi’s art was inspired by nature. He paid homage to the colors of the earth as a way to depict the symbols from the bible. His plans directed builders to install one side of the cathedral with red and orange stain glass, a symbol of the passion and blood of Christ, and the other blue and green to symbolize the Holy Family. The colors evoke a sense of water, air, earth, and fire. According to Bernat, 3:00pm, our chosen time, is the best time of day to get the full effect of the sunlight in January.

Because his plans were burned during the war, they had to be reconstructed using the scale models he built.  Many did not believe his engineering and math would work but standing under the enormous domes his genius is clear.  Starting with the roots in the ground, the columns in the cathedral are like huge trees shooting up through the atrium and branching out to form the ceiling.  I am in awe of Gaudi’s ability to observe the geometric designs and engineering constructed by nature and his ability to transform that knowledge into his design.  It is heart breaking that Gaudi was only able to see a small portion of the church built before he died. He never saw his vision literally come to light; the stained glass was only added five years ago.  The goal for completion of the entire cathedral is 2026, 100 years after Gaudi died.

tower of a building designed by Gaudi in park GüellGaudi left his mark all over the city in the form of ironwork, furniture and art. Another of his famous additions to the city of Barcelona is Park Güell. Mr. Güell was a wealthy entrepreneur who became good friends with Gaudi and commissioned him to design the park, his family home and other buildings on the property. The buildings, bridges and landscape in the park for me are reminiscent of something out of a fairytale; specifically Hansel and Gretel come to mind. In the “monumental zone” section of the park, the section requiring tickets, brightly colored mosaic ceramic tiles cover many of the roofs and walls. It seems to me that Gaudi loved movement; loved to make his structures seem like they are undulating like the ocean or a flag in the breeze. Stark white columns contrast the colors of the mosaic tile. Outside of the monumental zone the fanciful, magical energy continues using the landscape and natural stone.  twisty columns line a walkway made from natural stoneThe bridges and columns scattered around the park look like the process of wind and water formed them. Again, Gaudi created movement with the columns as they twist up to the ceiling and create a spiral at the top. A mosaic of shades of brown stone are meticulously placed making the surface look like the scales of a dragon. I could spend hours and hours at this park. Really, one needs a full day to explore the massive expanse with secret little walkways and stairs scattered throughout.

I’m not sure if it is the nature of the culture and people of Catalonia, specifically Barcelona, or if Gaudi’s influence seeped into the people over time, but it seems that the residents of Barcelona are drawn to creating light, whimsical, storybook art that is caught in time. We were lucky to be in Barcelona for the holidays because we got to participate in the many activities in Plaça Catalunya. The girls made brightly colored origami birds, wrote their wishes to Santa on them and hung them on trees constructed of wood and twigs. We watched a silly show with clockwork characters, couldn’t understand a word as they were speaking Catalan, but the spirit was fun and engaging. We took from that show inside jokes that make us giggle even today.Clockwork clowns performing

I could write and write about the gems of Barcelona and Gaudi’s art. His work is so detailed and because he was a deeply devout catholic, some of the details had very significant religious meaning to him.   However, I feel I must hold some of it back. I wouldn’t want to take away the experience of surprise and wonder as you explore the city and lose your breath when your own “wows” slip out of your gaping mouth.