Monday, October 1, 2012
Kathmandu, That's Where I'm Going To
It's a little unnerving to look at your flight information and see an exclamation in the details proclaiming "This flight arrives two days after departure." Two days of airplanes and airports is a lot, but I've survived a three day greyhound ride, so I put it to the back of my mind and get to the terminal on time.
Do you have your connecting flight information? I stare at the ticket guy blankly. Sure, it's in an email, being beamed all around me, but the airport doesn't have wireless. There is a Starbucks every third gate, but no wi-fi. And isn't it the airlines' job to keep track of that? I bought one flight, not three. Well without proof of an onward ticket, you might be deported as soon as you land in China. My mind races. Surely I can conjure up a flight number or city name or anything-- wrong. My trip to Asia is collapsing before my eyes. But Walter at the ticket counter, the first of many representatives standing between me and Nepal, steps up to rescue me. He leaves to get his iphone, and I chafe at the fact that my technological reluctance is stabbing me in the foot. Sure, I could have just written the information down, but I'm not that organized either. I'm starting to see why smartphones are so popular-- you can only be as dumb as your phone.
So I make it to Shanghai, leave customs, collect my bags and reenter for a domestic flight to Kunming (population little less than New York), where I will again leave and reenter the airport for an international flight. This is the coldest airport I have ever been to; you can see your breath, I have a nine hour layover here, it is one in the morning and one hour into the city. So me and my new airport companions grab some KFC and crash in one of the airport restaurants. No one questions it. The next morning a merciful three hour flight brings us to Katmandu.
Relief gives way to panic. I don't have cash for an entry visa, and neither debit card works at the sole ATM. Again, I am saved by a stranger. If Karma is real, I am quite in her debt.
Do you have your connecting flight information? I stare at the ticket guy blankly. Sure, it's in an email, being beamed all around me, but the airport doesn't have wireless. There is a Starbucks every third gate, but no wi-fi. And isn't it the airlines' job to keep track of that? I bought one flight, not three. Well without proof of an onward ticket, you might be deported as soon as you land in China. My mind races. Surely I can conjure up a flight number or city name or anything-- wrong. My trip to Asia is collapsing before my eyes. But Walter at the ticket counter, the first of many representatives standing between me and Nepal, steps up to rescue me. He leaves to get his iphone, and I chafe at the fact that my technological reluctance is stabbing me in the foot. Sure, I could have just written the information down, but I'm not that organized either. I'm starting to see why smartphones are so popular-- you can only be as dumb as your phone.
So I make it to Shanghai, leave customs, collect my bags and reenter for a domestic flight to Kunming (population little less than New York), where I will again leave and reenter the airport for an international flight. This is the coldest airport I have ever been to; you can see your breath, I have a nine hour layover here, it is one in the morning and one hour into the city. So me and my new airport companions grab some KFC and crash in one of the airport restaurants. No one questions it. The next morning a merciful three hour flight brings us to Katmandu.
Relief gives way to panic. I don't have cash for an entry visa, and neither debit card works at the sole ATM. Again, I am saved by a stranger. If Karma is real, I am quite in her debt.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Lualualei
At the horizon, the water is a ribbon of the darkest blue; closer
in
it sweeps to a brilliant turquoise and whitecaps at the last moment to
punch against the rocky shore. Here and there the spray plumes into
the air, or wrestles through holes in the rock, or pools up in jagged
baths to await high tide. Beyond the water's reach, a narrow swath of
parched grass and ground too hard packed for tent stakes. Finally a
highway and its steady stream of traffic and white noise, a sewage
treatment plant, and more parched grass on the brown mountains that crowd Oahu's west coast.
Its an unlikely spot for a campsite, let alone one that costs $20 a
day; but much of this side of the island is unlikely. The Nepali coast
of Kuaie [sp] is one of the rainiest places on Earth, but here it is
only green when the trade winds shift to bring winter rains. Most days the wind here just wafts the smell of shit.
The people I've met are surprised I would come to the west side and
shocked that I would travel alone. They insisted I share the campspot, but asked I move my tent; they travel in packs here. Five giant Coleman tents, a canopy to hide from the noonday sun, tables, chairs, lights, music, coolers of beer and trays of food, hordes of playful children and enormous adults. This Labor Day is all about family (and drinking once the little ones are put to bed), and I have the fortune to be an awkward extension of that family for a few days. Though we share little in common, the warm attitudes are genuine. This is Aloha, a sentiment of respect that grows strong here in the self-described "ghetto of Hawaii", but one I've run into time and time again over the past two months.
A friend in need is a friend indeed, but a stranger in need is a
friend waiting to be made. It often takes more courage than effort to
help someone far from home; let us all be a little braver.
it sweeps to a brilliant turquoise and whitecaps at the last moment to
punch against the rocky shore. Here and there the spray plumes into
the air, or wrestles through holes in the rock, or pools up in jagged
baths to await high tide. Beyond the water's reach, a narrow swath of
parched grass and ground too hard packed for tent stakes. Finally a
highway and its steady stream of traffic and white noise, a sewage
treatment plant, and more parched grass on the brown mountains that crowd Oahu's west coast.
Its an unlikely spot for a campsite, let alone one that costs $20 a
day; but much of this side of the island is unlikely. The Nepali coast
of Kuaie [sp] is one of the rainiest places on Earth, but here it is
only green when the trade winds shift to bring winter rains. Most days the wind here just wafts the smell of shit.
The people I've met are surprised I would come to the west side and
shocked that I would travel alone. They insisted I share the campspot, but asked I move my tent; they travel in packs here. Five giant Coleman tents, a canopy to hide from the noonday sun, tables, chairs, lights, music, coolers of beer and trays of food, hordes of playful children and enormous adults. This Labor Day is all about family (and drinking once the little ones are put to bed), and I have the fortune to be an awkward extension of that family for a few days. Though we share little in common, the warm attitudes are genuine. This is Aloha, a sentiment of respect that grows strong here in the self-described "ghetto of Hawaii", but one I've run into time and time again over the past two months.
A friend in need is a friend indeed, but a stranger in need is a
friend waiting to be made. It often takes more courage than effort to
help someone far from home; let us all be a little braver.
Monday, August 20, 2012
The Most Beautiful Day
Opened eyes and heart, and the clouds did part.
Snowy black peaks and the most verdant green hill, blue/purple lupine and strange green snow peas with white fur whose leaves trapped dewy diamonds. A glacier that echoed the rainbow, curving into the distance, all its cracks and contrasts lit up. A lake with tumbled icebergs, a lowland and its lazy river. Intricate brown cliffs and the solemn blue of Kachemak Bay, turned to gold by the setting sun. Halibut Cove lagoon with its green waters, black beaches and Disney perfect islands. And beyond the bay, beyond the Spit, past Homer and Cook Inlet, a ring of volcanoes rising from the orange and pink clouds.
And I realized the price of such beauty, is being so far from home.
Snowy black peaks and the most verdant green hill, blue/purple lupine and strange green snow peas with white fur whose leaves trapped dewy diamonds. A glacier that echoed the rainbow, curving into the distance, all its cracks and contrasts lit up. A lake with tumbled icebergs, a lowland and its lazy river. Intricate brown cliffs and the solemn blue of Kachemak Bay, turned to gold by the setting sun. Halibut Cove lagoon with its green waters, black beaches and Disney perfect islands. And beyond the bay, beyond the Spit, past Homer and Cook Inlet, a ring of volcanoes rising from the orange and pink clouds.
And I realized the price of such beauty, is being so far from home.
End of a Season
Within minutes of being dropped off on the Spit I was invited to the Texan's birthday. Corwin wasn't there yet, just his tarp and driftwood teepee; but it wasn't really his birthday, just his last night in Homer. His birthday cake-- a six foot hole in the sand stacked with ten pallets-- was lit before he got off work, so by the time he showed up with a case of beer in each arm there were a dozen drunks arguing who was sober enough to drive the truck down to the docks for more wood. Tom Cod and Jackson, Kentucky and River, Danno and Joe Maze. The season is winding down, the gang is breaking up. Soon all that will remain is Joe's notebook of drunken quotations. It's a rough life working fish for beer money (Kentucky got himself arrested for "three hots and a cot") but my guess is, these Spit Rats will be back next year: "if it ain't broke, it's not broken."
The Hitchhike Diary
Anyone can hitchhike, but who picks them up? Our guess was old men and young women. Let's see!
1) Young girl taking care of her grandmother for the state; turned around to come get us when I shrugged defeated (which I don't remember) 2) Old guy who worked as the pit boss at Capitol Speeday; told us about guiding at Denali and hunting fox with shotguns attached to the wings of an airplane 3) Faye the firedancer-- picked us up a total of three times due to an accident on the highway that literally stopped all trafffic from Anchorage to Denali; we got to see her and Carly perform at the Brown Chicken Brown Cow show 4) Molly, who works at a nonprofit educating old folks about Denali; invited us to the Greensky show, and a week later we closed down the Spike 5) Caroline-- Molly's neighbor who always picks up hitchhikers and inspired Molly to make room for us; we camped on the beach in Talkeetna and feasted at the Roadhouse before her yoga retreat 6) An older native woman who drives her grandson to work on the weekends, when the spur bus doesn't run 7) James and his girlfriend; the first couple to pick us up. Gave me ice cream and called Faye about any upcoming bluegrass festivals-- small world! 8) Brian, who owned land in four states and was actively searching for the link between Anchorage's missing people (four women at last count-- I saw a woman on the city bus stopped by police because someone thought she was one) 9) DJ and Jolene who shared their Red Hook IPAs with me and let me ride a $2000 bicycle for the first time 10) Animal, guy with mustache, Dylan and the girl; this group shared their PBR on the way to Whittier and lived to fish 11) Lyndsy and Kelly, seasonal workers from Gird who had already worked, picked up a hitchhiker, delivered gas to a friend, found me and now were ready for a drink! 12) Guy who owned three sub shops (gave me a free day-old) who liked the west but not Colorado 13) Mike, who loved Colorado and restored the airplane hanging in the Anchorage airport; he both drives and flies without a license 14) Will Davis, who was part of the second group to ever complete the Traverse summit of Denali back in '79. A fellow English major who was sailing around the world until he met a Brazilian in Panama, and made me think maybe that degree isn't so useless after all.
1) Young girl taking care of her grandmother for the state; turned around to come get us when I shrugged defeated (which I don't remember) 2) Old guy who worked as the pit boss at Capitol Speeday; told us about guiding at Denali and hunting fox with shotguns attached to the wings of an airplane 3) Faye the firedancer-- picked us up a total of three times due to an accident on the highway that literally stopped all trafffic from Anchorage to Denali; we got to see her and Carly perform at the Brown Chicken Brown Cow show 4) Molly, who works at a nonprofit educating old folks about Denali; invited us to the Greensky show, and a week later we closed down the Spike 5) Caroline-- Molly's neighbor who always picks up hitchhikers and inspired Molly to make room for us; we camped on the beach in Talkeetna and feasted at the Roadhouse before her yoga retreat 6) An older native woman who drives her grandson to work on the weekends, when the spur bus doesn't run 7) James and his girlfriend; the first couple to pick us up. Gave me ice cream and called Faye about any upcoming bluegrass festivals-- small world! 8) Brian, who owned land in four states and was actively searching for the link between Anchorage's missing people (four women at last count-- I saw a woman on the city bus stopped by police because someone thought she was one) 9) DJ and Jolene who shared their Red Hook IPAs with me and let me ride a $2000 bicycle for the first time 10) Animal, guy with mustache, Dylan and the girl; this group shared their PBR on the way to Whittier and lived to fish 11) Lyndsy and Kelly, seasonal workers from Gird who had already worked, picked up a hitchhiker, delivered gas to a friend, found me and now were ready for a drink! 12) Guy who owned three sub shops (gave me a free day-old) who liked the west but not Colorado 13) Mike, who loved Colorado and restored the airplane hanging in the Anchorage airport; he both drives and flies without a license 14) Will Davis, who was part of the second group to ever complete the Traverse summit of Denali back in '79. A fellow English major who was sailing around the world until he met a Brazilian in Panama, and made me think maybe that degree isn't so useless after all.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
Hot Lava/ Cold Water
Traversing a glaciated wilderness means fording glacial rivers. Not true rivers; rather streams that break apart with no rhyme or reason, crisscrossing over each other at random across a mile of water-smoothed rocks. But some hikers are hydrophobic, or at least fear the sting of water so recently frozen. With watershoes on, fording is safe but the sting stays with you. Times like these you wish you could just leap across... and, well, sometimes you can.
Jeff was the hot lava master back at work, jumping from mat to mat and never touching the tiled floor. Some things never change. Machete in hand, he would charge forward and leap swollen rivers with a single bound. Some of us were born with shorter legs however, and my feet may never forgive me.
Jeff was the hot lava master back at work, jumping from mat to mat and never touching the tiled floor. Some things never change. Machete in hand, he would charge forward and leap swollen rivers with a single bound. Some of us were born with shorter legs however, and my feet may never forgive me.
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