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The year that was

December 31, 2010

The Husband and I had just finished hiking Mount Sinai.

Our trek was made in the dark, starting around 1 a.m., with a bedouin as our guide up the mountain. We reached the peak in time to hunker down, wrap ourselves in heavy blankets and watch the sunrise. Then, hungry and exhausted, we walked back down again.

I wasn’t focused on much more than putting one tired foot in front of the other. Suddenly I noticed my husband was lagging behind.

When I looked back, he was crouched next to a little girl. Her eyes were red and her expression was pinched and panicked.

“What’s wrong?” my husband asked her.

She was sniffling too much to speak.

“Did you fall?” he said. As much as we both wanted to run down that mountain and get back to our hostel, my husband was being patient and sweet.

The girl took a few deep breaths, then rattled out a string of words, none of which I understood.

“Parlez-vous francais?” my husband asked. “Español?”

She tried communicating again, and a few words clicked in my head.

“She’s Russian,” I said. “And I think she lost her parents.”

“It will be OK. Come with us,” my husband said slowly. He explained with kind eyes and a gentle smile what his words couldn’t.

She followed us down the trail. I gave her an orange. She clutched it to her chest and offered me half a smile.

As we passed people on the trail, my husband desperately looked for someone who spoke Russian. Finally, a multilingual tour guide was able to help. With a couple of phone calls, her parents were located and the girl was reunited with them.

That incident crystalizes what has made 2010 such an extraordinary year for me.

I am so grateful for every moment of my entire life that has led me to this place.

I am grateful for the adventure of climbing mountains in the dark.

I am grateful for the stillness of watching the sun pop out over layers of blue peaks.

I am grateful I married the right man.

I am grateful for my husband’s wide open heart.

I am grateful for the opportunity to see more of this fantastic world.

I am grateful for meaningful interaction with other people — sharing a moment, using smiles to cross language barriers, making a connection.

Above all, I am grateful for the fresh slate of 2011 and all the richness and beauty it will bring.

Happy New Year, everyone. Here’s to 365 days of awesomeness for all of us.

Africa’s ubuntu

October 23, 2010

There’s an old saying that a single straw from a broom can be broken, but together they are strong.

The Africans call that ubuntu, the philosophy that we are all part of an interconnected web, rooted in acts of kindness and generosity. It means that the way we treat others is more important than our individual accomplishments.

Basically, you can’t be human all by yourself.

I’m seeing ubuntu everywhere as I travel throughout South Africa.

At Bulungula, a woman shared a piece of bread with her son, who in turn, tore it into four more pieces and gave it to his friends.

Inside a local shebeen (bar), the revelers happily slung a paint can full of sorgham beer my way, offering me a sip.

In Johannesburg, a generous couple fed me, opened their home to me and basically treated me as if I was family.

While trying to find the correct minibus in Durban, my friends were told the correct bus was located several blocks away. “Hop in,” the minibus driver said. “I’ll take you there.”

Those simple acts of kindness are hard to resist, and I’ve found myself being a little more open, letting my guard down more than usual. I finally gave in completely yesterday in Durban, when a man approached me on the street. He pointed at my oversized, reusable Nalgene water bottle.

“Can I have a sip?” he said.

It caught me off guard, so I asked him to repeat what he said.

“Your water. Can I have a sip?” Then he elaborated, “I have been eating the peanuts. They are very salty.”

He was a worker who shuttled people into the minibuses all day long. He worked on a block far from any cafe, restaurant or store. There really wasn’t any other water nearby. And even though the wary, distrusting part of me was screaming no, I handed the bottle over.

He drank nearly all of it, handed it back and beamed in delight. Then he said, “Sala,” which is Zulu for “Stay well.”

On bravery

October 22, 2010

I didn’t feel very brave when we encountered two puff adders flinging themselves across the hiking trail in TsiTsikamma. The deadly snakes were either in the throes of passion or the throes of violence — or perhaps a sadistic combination of the two.

Deborah walked right up to them, mere inches away, where snake venom could easily meet toe.

I was too nervous for that. As much as I wanted to get closer to the action, I couldn’t seem to make my feet go. So I stood back, relying on my camera’s zoom function to snag a few photos.

I did not feel very brave then. And because I endlessly compare myself with others, I wondered what was wrong with me. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I spit in danger’s face? Why was I such a wuss?

I thought about this for a long time, long after we made a wide path around the sexing snakes and walked away.

I’ve decided that courage wears different faces. Even though I can toss my worries away long enough to skydive, I don’t necessarily have the same kind of courage it takes to get within inches of unpredictable reptiles.

I also think this trip takes a lot of courage. Sometimes simply asking directions of a stranger, trusting them to send me in the right direction, can be an act of bravery. Sometimes it means walking into a laundromat, a post office or a grocery store when you don’t speak the language. Sometimes just venturing out of my hostel feels like the most brave thing in the world.

And that’s OK.

80 days later

September 25, 2010

It’s been 80 days since I ventured away from home and set off on the road.

In that time, Phileas Fogg made it all the way around the world, while I’ve only been through one continent. But, oh my, what a trip this has already been!

In that short period of time I’ve:

Been cleansed by a shaman.

Learned to shoot a blowgun with an Amazonian tribe.

Got cuddled by dozens of monkeys — and bitten by one.

Slept (poorly) on 9 overnight buses.

Hiked the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu with my husband.

Seen mummies, dinosaur footprints and the world’s largest salt flats.

Stayed out all night in Buenos Aires.

Had a Bolivian woman urinate on my backpack.

Seen pink dolphins.

Drank pisco in Pisco.

Flown over the Nazca lines.

Attended my first football game.

Spent the night with a family on Lake Titicaca.

Answered the eternal question — can bikini bottoms double as underwear?

Nearly purchased a rum distillery.

I’ve learned a lot about myself while traveling, but mostly I’ve learned a lot about the world. I still marvel over the fact that every day brings me to streets I’ve never seen before, surrounded by people I’ve never met, in places I never knew existed.

Before I began this trip I wondered how travel would change me, and now I wonder how it won’t.

Here’s to the next 80 days!

Peru wrap-up

August 13, 2010

Some call Peru “the catalog of the world,” and for good reason — the country boasts a little bit of everything.

I started this trip with some knowledge of that diversity, but I was still in awe of what I found. From deserts to thick rainforest canopies, Peru really does have it all. It’s a downright magical place.

I think I’ll always have a special place in my heart for this country. Not only is it the place where I leapt out of my old life and into my new career as round-the-world adventurer, but it’s also where I spent my honeymoon.

Together, The Husband and I tackled the Inca Trail, and he cheered me on when things got rough.

Together we explored the Amazon and saw things we never could have imagined. He also nursed all my bug bites with “dragon’s blood” from a shaman, including a few welts from a spider who was determined to know me intimately.

And together, we just spent a lot of time enjoying each other.

I know there’s value in solo travel and in traveling with your friends — both of which I’ll get to know better as this trip progresses.

But there was something particularly special about starting this journey with my new husband — and learning how love can grow even bigger in places we never expected.

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