As most of you reading this know, I'm a flight attendant. I've been flying since the beginning of 2001 and I totally ♥ it. Love it! There just isn't anything like climbing onboard with 150 of my favorite people and walking the aisles handing out snacks and smiles. And a drink here and there ;-)I also love to travel. When I started working as a flight attendant, I was living in Vermont where Doc had a regular job teaching medicine at UVM, and our kids were one and four years old. My girlfriend, M, and I were hired as a job share team, two people filling one full-time position. The agreement was we both had to fly at least one trip a month, but we had to fly full time between the two of us. So we'd get our schedule and divvy up the trips between us.
When we started, M was single and this job was her livelihood. So she naturally wanted to work more of the hours than me...which was just fine with me. There were actually a few months when I'd fly one day and then I was done till the next month. I could work the first day of May and the last day of June, and be home with the kids the rest of the time. It was amazing.
Notice I said could. I could be home the rest of the time...but I wasn't.
Since we were a brand new airline when I started, it was relatively easy to fly standby...which, let's face it, is the BIGGEST PERK EVER! I've had a lot of different jobs in my life, but none of them come anywhere close to having the perks that being a flight attendant does. It was absolutely the perfect match for the wanderlust-riddled gypsy in me. Since Bunch & Gator weren't in school yet, a typical scenario would be I fly my trip for the month, come home, collect the kids, and then take off for a week or two to visit family and friends strewn all over the country.
It was the perfect stand-by flying situation. New airline = at least a few empty seats on nearly every flight, no school or work conflicts to constrain our flexibility, kids who travel well, lots of fab friends to visit.
And visit we did! That first couple years before Bunch started kindergarten, we went on a trip somewhere every single month. I owe a debt of gratitude to the wonderful people who would drive out to pick us up from airports at random hours and host us for our stay. Good times, good times.
That was 7 years ago. Since then we've grown a lot. Our network of cities has increased dramatically, and the number of people in this country who are aware of our feisty little start-up has increased exponentially.
Through the years I've learned that the best time to fly standby to any city is right when we begin service to it...before the local residents really catch on and start buying up all the seats. I've also learned that if you're interested in flying to or from Salt Lake City, it's next to impossible to do so, because we have a few thousand crewmembers here...and there just aren't that many flights to/from this city to accommodate all the people hoping to use their flight benefits. And to top it off, SLC flights are sold out more often than not.
This has truly been the SINGLE BIGGEST DRAWBACK about moving to Utah for me...we have almost forfeited our flight benefits by coming here for medical school. It takes being extremely flexible, patient, and lucky to get to or from this town as a stand-by customer. And you'd better hope you're trying to fly on the second Tuesday of an odd-month ending in the letter Y when a transit of Venus is occurring! It's just that hard these days.
We've had loads of botched attempts. The kind where you check on Friday to see how the flights look for a quick weekend get-away, and there are 85 unsold seats on the return flight. So you head out only to find out on Sunday that there are 2 seats left and 518,397 other people also listed standby hoping to get on. So you bite the bullet and purchase one of those last two seats because you HAVE to get back for work. Such are the breaks.
But still, I can't complain. Most people don't get even ONE free trip in their lifetime. We've had dozens. And I'm just endlessly grateful for the many ways this job has blessed my life.
I've never actually mentioned my airline specifically by name on this site before, though there's enough info scattered about that your average toddler could have figured out by now that I'm not at one of the Big Six, nor am I at Northwest, Southwest, Eastwest, or Westwest.
That leaves about one other option. We're a newish airline, only 8 years old, but we've won lots of awards, prestigious ones too, for our outstanding customer service, in-flight amenities, and even our classy designer uniforms (ha!). We've had our share of tough moments and growing pains, but overall, we've kind of been the darling of the airline industry from our inception, and our
crewmembers really are committed to doing the best job possible. We like our company, and we want it to be around for a long time. A very long time.My airline doesn't fly as many places as some of the older, more established airlines, so perhaps you haven't heard of us. And I recognize that there's a good chance we don't fly to your city. But maybe we do fly between cities that someone you care about would like to visit.
So with that, I'd like to announce the first-ever BLUE JEULS GIVE AWAY! (queue the herald angels singing)
Since I've had the joyous life-experience of trying to travel standby, one lucky reader here is going to have the chance to experience it too. I have a Round Trip Buddy Pass that I'm going to give to the winner of this contest. This pass is good for travel between any two cities in our network. Buddy passes are for STANDBY TRAVEL, so if this doesn't appeal to you, please don't feel the need to participate!
For the uninitiated, standby travel means that you are NOT guaranteed to get on the flight of your choice. It means that after all the full-fare customers and employees have gotten on the flight, if there's still a seat available, you can get on too! And then you can enjoy jetting across the country (or just across the state) to any of our 50+ destinations. Surly you or someone you know lives in one of these areas...and you could be on a trip to visit them. Or have them visit you. Or have them visit their Uncle Fester...
Standby travel isn't a good idea for any of the following situations:
- Attending your best friend's wedding
- Getting to the interview for your dream job
- Visiting a loved one on their deathbed
- A quick trip between inflexible commitments
- When flying during the holidays or other high-traffic times.
- etc.
- You have more time than money
- You're planning to visit friends or family who are flexible with your arrival/departure dates
- You don't need to be back for any significant events
- You have a few days of flexibility on both ends of your trip
- Any needed car rental and/or hotel accommodations are flexible/refundable
- You're interested in going somewhere during low-demand months (eg. September and January)
- You can behave yourself and go with the flow when/if things don't work out. Like you're sitting on the aircraft already, just getting settled in, when the agent calls your name and asks you to bring your things and come to the front of the plane. It could happen.
Last time I checked, it was between $400 - $500 for a round trip flight from CA to the east coast. So it's a pretty good deal if standby is something you're up for.$15 plus taxes each-way for a short-haul route
examples: SLC-LGB-SMF, PWM-JFK, or CLT-JFK
$30 plus taxes each-way for medium-haul routes
examples: SYR-MCO, JFK-FLL, or MSY-JFK-BNA
$45 plus taxes each-way for long-haul routes
such as FLL-OAK, JFK-SEA, or SLC-LGB-BOS
SO! To participate, leave a comment on this post sharing your BEST, WORST, or MOST MEMORABLE travel experience ever.
Entries must be submitted by 9:00 pm Pacific Time on Wednesday, September 17th. Only one entry per person, and the winner will be selected and posted here. So dig deep. Give me your stories. I can't wait to read them!
22 comments:
[First of all, let's see if this whole 'comment' thing works...]
BEST TRAVEL EXPERIENCE EVER: Hard one. I'd say my best was a trip to England/Scotland. The flights were all easy. Our flight to London/Heathrow was quite late then there was a problem with the luggage, but our driver waited for us anyway. He gave us an interesting description of London transportation history on the way into town. We had a wonderful two weeks traveling about England and Scotland on the Tube, Trains, and Taxis, then had a perfect (timely and easy) flight home. One of our favorite vacations.
WORST TRAVEL EXPERIENCE: In 1995 we flew to SLC for a friend's wedding, which we felt compelled to attend even though we couldn't afford the trip. The wedding reception was unbelievably tacky. The weather was bad. We just didn't have a good time, and weren't happy to be back in Utah not too long after having graduated from school there and feeling great about leaving that state behind "for good" (sorry). Anyway, our flight was cancelled and we got stuck in a gross hotel with no clothes, as the baggage had already been checked. The next day we had to spend about 7 hours waiting for a flight home, while missing work we couldn't afford to miss. The whole thing sucked and sticks out in my mind still.
MOST MEMORABLE TRAVEL EXPERIENCE: We spent two weeks in France in 2004 and decided to take a day trip to Bruges, Belgium. We took a tour bus and had a nice ride to Bruges while learning about the French and Flemish history of the area. We then had a nice walking tour of Bruges and were told to meet back at a certain time - or so we thought. Turns out they left without us and we were stranded in Bruges. Neither of us speaks French or Flemish; somehow Spanish wasn't doing it so we searched for English speakers. Rob conned his way onto another tour bus into Paris. We laugh about being stranded to this day and think of it as quite memorable.
Last summer my husband & I planned to travel from Salt Lake City to Malaysia with our 18 month old son who decided, 3 days before traveling, that he would get sick and vomit a half-dozen times every day. On the day of travel we were so grateful that we wasn't vomiting anymore and also that we made it through security without our Pedialite being confiscated (which only happened after momma made a fuss and called over a manager). Finally, on board I decided to take some Dramamine to combat my tendency to throw up on airplanes. Bad idea. Our flight itinerary took us first to Phoenix and then to LA where we waited for a 1:40am flight to Asia. As we waited for our next connection, our trooper of a son couldn't take it anymore and exploded in 3 different diapers, soiling 3 different sets of pajamas. Thankfully my husband is a saint and attended to each mess as I was passed out on the floor from my motion sickness medication. To make matters more exciting there was trouble with the plane and we were delayed several hours, sitting on the floor, exhausted, attempting to dry the soiled pajamas and keep liquids in the body of one dehydrated little boy. Honestly the rest of the trip is extremely hazy and I'm sure we only managed by following the directions of our wonderfully solicitous flight attendants on Malaysia Air. They made sure I never carried a bag on or off the plane or had to lift a finger (which is convenient because I don't believe I had the energy to lift anything that heavy). I only vaguely remember the first few days in Malaysia as filled with the whines of a grumpy, jet-lagged, constipated one-year old and complete disorientation. I guess traveling isn't for the faint of heart and honestly every trip (especially with kids) has been a memorable adventure that I wouldn't trade for the world.
hello Blue girl ... thanks for coming down under and clueing me up re mast head photo ... and yes keep us in mind for house swap possibilities ... although the start of the reef is approx seven hours drive from here - it is in this state just up a bit ...
My worst even flight experience ... a Otter Sea Plane from Brisbane off sealed tarmac and landing in the sea off Moreton Island - the landing was soooo hard I thought we'd hit concrete .. And Otters are soooo noisy !!
My best ever .... nearly all my other 101 plus trips ... I love to fly.
FYI if I was to win may I pass it onto my brother - he lives in Willmington with friends all around the states so I am sure he would be grateful ... he needs some cheering up - not to play the sympathy card but his ten year relationship to the all american girl has just gone kaput !
come by again soon le
Are you fer real? This is so cool. I love contests!
Most memorable travel would be 4 years ago when Brett and I traveled 12 hours to Maui with baby Sammy. When I had 5 other little monsters at home competing for my attention traveling with my honey & baby was heaven. Baby Sammy slept and nursed the entire trip. We cuddled up next to Brett's strong arm and enjoyed our long voyage. Aah, to have time like that again with just one child. Just one baby. Having a big family has endless perks but one on one time is something cherished and sometimes hard to come by. If I win a trip, I'd like to take one of my kids on a get away to NYC to visit a dear friend. It would be so fun! Thanks for listening.
Talk to you soon.
Love, C.
My memorable trip was flying to Hawaii with the entire family, including my 9 month old granddaughter for the wedding of my daughter. We had a blast on the plane and passing the baby around to everyone to keep her entertained. When we finally landed in Maui, MTV was there taping asegment of Meet the Barkers, and my girls were on the show.
I have a question for you.....if someone was interested in becoming a flight attendent how would you direct them?
Thank you for the contest and your response..
Okay, probably my best experience (seeing how I only have a handful) would be January 16, 1999. My boyfriend, soon to be husband, was working in San Diego. He really wanted me to come and visit him in there so his boss decided to fly me and his wife there.
I started my flight in Salt Lake, met my husbands bosses wife in Las Vegas and then flew onto San Diego. Okay, I have to tell you about this woman. She is petrified of flying. We had to sit on the very front row, with our backs facing the opposite direction of flying because she gets sick or something. It was awkward sitting by her for so many reasons. She doesn't really talk, her leg was shaking, and she looked like she was going to explode at any minute, and I don't mean figuratively either. She was making me very nervous.
The reason it was so memorable was what happened after we arrived. My boyfriend (husband) and his boss met us at the airport. We all hoped in the truck and they took us to Coronado Island Beach. We got out walked around the beach and let me tell you, I love the beach, the air, the smell of the ocean, that light mist that come from the waves, ....ahh.. I can smell it now.
So then my boyfriend called me over to read this story he wrote on his laptop. He put this shirt over me so that I could see the screen clearly. The story was about us, and how we found each other, and feel in love. At the end of the story in big bold letters was written "WILL YOU MARRY ME?" I swear I just about fainted. It was an amazing weekend. The best part about it was the fact we got pictures. Lots and lots of pictures. Pictures of me with the laptop on my head, of him proposing, of us standing together after I accepted his proposal. . . if only you could go back to such a wonderful moment...
So, that's my most memorable flying experience. Hope it qualifies...
My WORST travel experience (this will be long):
It starts out well...
Two years ago, my best friend (K) and I traveled to Orlando for a conference in early April. We were unbelievably excited to be going to Orlando, and left a few days early to go to Disney World for a day, and enjoy the wonderful Florida weather. We needed the break, as we had had a difficult year...me at my job, and she, personally, as she lost both her grandparents within two months of each other.
Our flight to Florida was full of anticipation...and screaming children. We didn't think about the fact that we would of course, be on a plane with lots of children...all of whom were looking forward to Disney World just as much as we were. We were able to get through the flight, and came out with a memorable quote from the family behind us - Child: "Daddy, is that Disney World?"
Father: "No Son, that's a nuclear power plant."
It starts to turn...
We arrived at the hotel (one of two conference hotels...and we were told we really needed to stay in the official conference hotels because everything was so spread out in Orlando, and we'd be unable to get around...ha!) and discovered that we did not have wireless. We were already paying two hundred and some dollars a night, and they wanted an additional $20 a day. No way to check our email (which was essential for us to keep in contact with our staffs back at our jobs), so we were slightly upset. We did know though, that once the conference started, we'd have free internet, so we decided to make the most of our "non-email controlled days."
We were sharing a room with two of our colleagues (I'll call them S and H) in order to make things cheaper. We all enjoyed a nice dinner that night, and before going to bed, S told us that she did sometimes snore, but if she got too loud, to wake her up and she would stop. Ok, we thought, nothing too bad. We'd all slept in the same room as snorers before right?
We were all so tired from traveling that we passed out. K and I woke up early to head out to Disney World and spent the ENTIRE day running from park to park on our one-day multi-park tickets. We had tons of fun and spent too much money. But, hey, it was Disney World!
That night we were ready to get some sleep. S and H were already in the room and we showed them all the fun things we bought. We then went to bed and were happily sleeping when I suddenly started to hear extremely loud snoring. Wow, I thought to myself, she does snore. And I don't mean a light, if you roll over it goes away snore. I mean like a Freight Train right next to you snore. Not being one to feel right waking someone up, I reached for my ipod and put it on...typically it drowns out any noises and I can fall asleep with it. Well, I could hear the snores over the music. I started laughing at the hopelessness of it, and felt the bed shake beside me. K was also awake. Neither of us could get to sleep. We must have stayed up about two hours before we finally got tired enough to fall asleep even with the noise.
We woke up the next morning rather tired. We were looking forward to some good food for breakfast. We went downstairs to the lobby and discovered that the cheapest breakfast was at Starbucks...and that would be about $7 (muffin and drink). Wow, we were going to go broke. There was NO where else to go though. We did not have a car and the buses only ran from one conference hotel to the other...or to Disney. We were stuck spending our money on the expensive food. They really strand you if you stay in a certain hotels in Orlando. Make you pay a fortune for your room and don't give you any benefits whatsoever.
That night we returned to the room early, in hopes of falling asleep before S. Well, no, that didn't work, as S came back to the room and woke us up moving around. She immediately fell asleep and we were kept up again. It was frustrating. And how did I know K was still awake? The initial tossing and turning, the head under the pillow, and of course the shaking bed that signified the hopeless, I can't believe it laughter (everything I was doing).
The conference started and our friend H was interviewing for jobs. About a day in to her job interviews, H, K and I talked about the fact we were getting no sleep. We were barely eating, as none of us could afford the food, and we weren't getting sleep. H would come back to the room to try and destress between her job interviews, but couldn't ever seem to get time to herself (downfall of sharing a room with 3 other people).
It gets BAD...
About four days into our trip, and the only good night's sleep K and I had had was our first night in Orlando. We decided to drink some alcohol, because what better way to get tired and sleep then drink? That didn't work. We were still woken up. We put pillows over our heads, our ipods on as high as our ears could take it...but nothing allowed us to sleep. None of us had the courage to say anything because S is such a nice person. But every single one of us but S were sleep deprived, hungry and starting to see our good moods turn bad.
Our mood started turning from happy to be in Orlando, to wanting to return home as quickly as possible. We were grouchy, hungry and tired. Additionally, we were going broke. Our last night in Orlando, we were supposed to meet up with one of our friends who we hadn't been able to talk to much...he ditched us, and we ended up going to Planet Hollywood ourselves. Well, Planet Hollywood was quite busy and we ended up back at the bus stop shortly before the last bus left to go back to OUR hotels. Every other hotel had several buses left. People were trying to push us out of the way, and by this point I was not going to miss the bus to have to pay a cab. I pushed through the screaming kids and bossy parents, and somehow we squeezed on the bus...and stood for the 30 minute ride (this was not my best moment...my patience at this point was shot).
When we got back to the hotel that night, we talked to our roommates and somehow S's snoring got brought up. She couldn't believe we hadn't told her that she was snoring. In reality though, we didn't know what telling her would do...she would have continued to snore. We asked if she ever used Breathe Right strips...she said no because they made her look stupid. We had to laugh. Who cares what you look like when you are sleeping??
Anyway, we didn't get anymore sleep that night. We could not wait to get home. We waited in forever long lines to check out. Forever long lines to catch a bus to the airport. Forever long lines at the airport. We again had children behind us on the plane. Our plane was delayed for several hours. We left Orlando in 80 degree weather and arrived back in Ohio to snow. Snow! In April! By the time we arrived in Ohio, K and I were barely even talking to each other. We had had our hair pulled and seats kicked. We were tired, hungry and just plain annoyed.
Two of our staff members picked us up at the airport, and I'm afraid we weren't the nicest to them. We pretty much growled for them to stop at McDonald's so we could get a cheap meal with a lot of food.
Slightly better though...
Upon returning home though, our staff had decorated our doors and welcomed us home. I can't complain about that part.
I slept for a long time when I returned. I ate a lot too.
K and I spent the conference this year in a room to ourselves, at a non-conference hotel. There were several cheap places to eat around us and we got a ton of sleep.
We hope to not repeat our stay in Orlando ever again (although we are hoping to go back in April next year).
Sorry for writing your ear off!
The worst: Two years ago we crept to the airport through a church-canceling February blizzard. We spent extra hours at the airport, even spreading out a little blanket we had and encouraged our girls to try and sleep if they could. We finally got on the plane close to midnight. The fun was only beginning...we didn't have seats together. Brie was across the aisle, Megan was across the aisle and back a row. I don't remember where Rachel and Jake were, but I will never forget the woman who sat next to me. She had thick, scabbed sores on her face, neck and hands. I hid my surprise and settled in hoping we could take off soon. I felt like I was in a shoebox. We started waiting and hoping for our chance to leave the tarmack. Because of the winds and all the previously delayed flights, we were 20th or 30th in line to take off. They dimmed the cabin lights but the air was hot and stuffy. No food or drink was served. People tried to sleep. I remember dozing briefly when my kids were settled, but waking periodically to check on my children. At one point around 3 am, I looked back seeing that Megan was silently crying. "Oh Honey! Are you okay?" She replied, "I'm thirsty and I want to get off the plane" "I can't do anything about the plane, but we can get you a drink of water!" After the water she fell asleep again. I looked back at the woman next to me. My stomach turned. She was facing out the window, but her left hand busily found the rough edges of her scabs and peeled them from her neck. Smooth, raw, red patches on her cheek stood out where other scabs had been. I tried to turn away as pity overpowered the impulse to ask for another seat. The night wore on, I dozed, I woke and comforted my children, and tried to ignore the continuted progression of the scab picking next to me. The crew finally timed out and they brought us back to the terminal. The woman next to me had pulled every single scar off of her hands, face and neck during the night. I couldn't wait to get off the plane. We pulled ourselves together and ran to the customer service counter to see what our options were. The children never cried, but they asked us plaintively if we could go home. I discovered that I have left the DVD player on the plane, so as they waited in the huge line, I ran back to the plane to retrieve the player. Once we sat down and discussed the situation with them. We could either try and get another flight, and keep trying to get out and be with family, or we could go home, but the trip would be over. They wanted so much to be with family, they wanted to keep trying. As we waited four hours in the customer service line, Megan fell asleep awkwardly on the end of an end table. Jake and I worked the phones to see what other options might work. We finally had an opportunity at the ticket counter to change our flight, and found that we could actually fly out of Philadelphia on a Southwest flight if we could get there in two hours. A friend came and got our family from JFK and we hurried across the two states to make it to the other airport. We had only minor problems with the other two flights, and mercifully made it West a day and a half after we started, but the adventure didn't end there. As a result of the stress and exposure, Meagan came down with a double ear infection and was down for most of the trip.
I laughed out loud when I read Wolf's post about her worst travel experience because I was intending on writing about the exact same conference.
These are the things I learned on that trip...
Orlando= the seventh layer of hell despite the feel good happy go lucky travel commercials.
All roads in Orlando are somehow named Inernational Blvd and it is impossible to find the correct one that you are supposed to be on. This is evidenced by my hypoglycemic friend and colleague bursting into tears as we tried to find somewhere to eat, having to pull over our rental car (which we named Blinky) and swap drivers before she had a nervous break down or ate my soul.
It is also evidenced by the 15 other cars pulled over on the side of the road as the driver (usually a man) stares at a crumpled and badly dog eared map while the passenger (usually a woman) jabs angrily at the road she thinks they are supposed to be on. In these cars there are usually 2-3 children either conked out asleep with drooling faces plastered on the windows -or- hitting eachother in the backseat causing the driver to crumple the map into a ball and yell obscenities -or- standing by the side of the road looking car sick while the passenger pats them on the back.
We were actually fairly happy with our hotel other than the frightening lizard that appeared on our door step every morning and me nearly breaking my ankle when my heels got caught in the cobblestone.
My friend B and I took a half day from the conference and went to Epcot...which happens to be one of my least favorite places in the world. B had never been and I was trying very hard to be a good friend and accompany her. She somehow thought there were a lot of rides at Epcot....like a lot of rollercoaster type rides. There are not. We wandered around for hours in the blazing hot sun and she remembered how much she hates sweating SO we stopped for over priced food and beer at the British Pub and that was the end of our sweaty Epcot experience. I think it's interesting that they have little stands selling margaritas etc. about every 20 minutes and even more interesting that people pay 75 dollars to essentially go on a pub crawl with no shade anywhere.
Probably the best part and the worst part of the conference was the day we went to the beach. It was a gloriously wonderful sunny day and the beach was quiet and there was a FANTASTIC little open air restaurant down the beach that had THE BEST hamburgers I've ever had in my life... B got the shrimp...and they were enormous and very muscley but still tasty. We also got ohhhhh maybe a few to many alcoholic beverages. But it was hot. And we were thirsty. And that's my excuse.
After all that food we thought it'd be a good idea to take our innertubes that B had thoughtfully bought (think little plastic pink and green floaties) and hang out in the waves for a while. We may or may not have been a little too tipsy to notice that while we were chillin in the ocean, we were also floating about a mile and a half down the beach from where our belongings actually sat. We also may or may not have forgotten sunscreen and had to do our presentation the next day looking like sad sad little lobsters.
What makes the trip the worst...and most humerous is, instead of a snoring roommate...I had a farting one. B will absolutely kill me if she ever finds out that I posted this, but dear sweet lord. You remember the delicious but muscly shrimp? Apparently it caused some horrible reactions in B's system...because from a dead sleep I woke up to horrendous noises and a smell to beat all smells. At first B tried to be discreet...but it was far too obvious that something was terribly terribly wrong in Orlando :-) From that point on, there was nothing that we could do but sit in our room and laugh at the powerful odiferousness that was eminating from my usually classy and feminine friend.
All in all, we had a great presentation, cemented our friendship and spent a good amount of money that we'll never ever see again.
I just Looove contests, and I also Looove the airline that you work for - you/they ROCK!
So, anyway, I came here by way of Lorrie's comments - because she rocks, too.
I actually have 2 memorable (at least to *me) stories.
1.My son is now 13 and doesn't read blogs, so perhaps he'll forgive me. But when he was little,like potty-training-little, we had a travel incident. Anyway, he developed a "stomach bug" the week we were traveling to Florida for vacation. He was new to potty training and very proud of his accomplishment, so No Way, No How would he consider wearing pull-ups for the flight down. Of course, he Had.To.Go., just as were were approaching our destination and the FA made the "please return your seat trays and backs to their upright position" announcement and activated the fasten seat belt light. Uh-oh. This was an Emergency. I got the evil eye and more from the FA (I know, she has rules to follow, but what could I do?) My memory is fuzzy, but I think she actually radioed the pilot and we circled before making our approach for landing. How embarrassing.
hmmm... i haven't traveled much (something i hope to remedy someday... i've even thought of trying to get on as a flight attendant (yes, really)) but when i have i have always loved it.
recently i picked up my things in one short week and drove a girl from texas to virginia who had just given birth to a beautiful baby... and placed him for adoption. since i was up there (near D.C.), i decided to catch the metro in Vienna and hop on over to College Park (MD) to visit a good friend who had just moved there a couple of months before. my return flight was booked... the night before i left. haha! i left College Park with almost four hours to go before departure time. I thought three hours would be plenty of travel time. I'll think harder next time. I *barely* made it to the airport in time to check in and get to my terminal. But let me tell you what happened along the way...
My buddy doesn't have a car so we walked from the second story of her shared house - me in really sturdy but painful leather flip flops (what was i thinking?) with freshly steamed (straightened) hair, jeans and a PINK pajama top, and she in short shorts, flip flops, with pulled back bed hair - down to the metro about... mmm... 8 blocks away. we hug at the top of the stairs leading down to the metro and i'm on my way. whew!
at the bottom of the stairs i realize that the uncomfortable rubbing of the strap on my foot from the sturdy but painful flip flop i mentioned before has not only rubbed me raw... it's rubbed me raw! i have an open wound. GROSS.
i board the metro and take it all the way back to Virginia (or close) where i walk out to catch a bus. i dont have a bus number nor have i ever taken a bus from a "major" stop like this (more than two buses stopping at one place). i find what i think will be my bus's stopping point and check the times. good. only 45 minutes to wait. i think i can make it.
five to ten minutes later the bus arrives. woohoo! maybe i'll be able to grab something to eat at the airport. i'm starving.
the bus arrives at the airport and it's *30 minutes* to take-off. oh shit.
i walk as fast as i possibly can into this airport and try to figure out where the hell i'm going. can't figure it out. i stop to ask directions with another woman who was on the bus (who proceeds to yell at the guy at the counter and storm off - great! thanks, lady) and then practically run through the airport to catch my flight.
remember there is an open wound on my foot. OUCH.
my memory is kinda fuzzy but i know it was somewhere in this mess that i pick up a package of chocolate chip cookies to soothe my aching stomach, see D.C. tshirts and feel it necessary to buy them for my siblings, and THEN notice the 3-hr line to get into the damn terminal area. i think this all may have happened before asking directions. i'm not sure.
anyway, they called for single flyers and told us to follow them. follow-the-leader? i rock at this. let's go! oh shit! slow down! where'd they go!? aaaah!
i twist around ticket counters, fly down escalators, and mow over line holders. yes, i make it back down to where i started to go through security and try to figure out AGAIN where in the hell i'm supposed to be going.
some time later, i get there and they haven't even started boarding. i only know this because two minutes after catching my breath, they called for the first of the sets of passengers. (that guy i asked was no help at all.)
i board the plane, get cozy, and look forward to take-off. it's my favorite part. landing is awesome too. and so is all the in-between stuff.
some time later we land in chicago. sweet. i stay on the plane as we're just a connecting flight. the boarding is fast and easy and we're off again in a jiffy.
next is kansas city. having never been to kansas city, i thought i'd just pop out and grab something to eat.. maybe starbucks and coffee cake. i'll just see what's close and choose. "what's close?! you're in kansas city you freak." i wish someone had said that to me. i walk out of the holding area and am delighted to see starbucks. nothing else but at least they have starbucks. i go up, order my drink and go down...
... to go through security again!? WHAT?! this is weird. who are you people? you understand my flight leaves in 15 minutes don't you!? yes, i know this is my fault but damn it. why do you have to be stupid?!
turns out security in kansas city is just as lame as their airport design. you're practically in the terminal holding area while you're going through and most of them aren't even paying any attention to you. i was done in under 30 seconds. sweet.
board the plane again and head home. dallas. oh how i miss you. again the flight was pleasant.
i remember landing in dallas and feeling really fulfilled. i had just traveled for the second time on my own. and it was awesome. and not all that planned. and THAT was awesome.
i dont remember who took me home (oops) but i'm sure i told them all about my trip and how awesome it was. because it really was. i love flying.
there was also the time i went to visit my friend in ohio (flew into pittsburgh) and we drove down to kentucky and i flew out of louisville (a two hour drive from owensboro where we were staying). the only thing i'll say about that (because i know i've said alot!) is that pittsburgh's airport is insane. i walked out and forgot where i was. i went shopping and got a call on my cell phone, "laura! where are you?! are you okay?!" "oh yeah. did you know they have tree oil hand lotion here? it smells awesome!" "laaaauurraa!" *blush* "sorry, honey, i'll be right there."
yep. that was an awesome trip too.
oh and there's the time i went to canada. (dallas to atlanta to boston to montreal there. buffalo to atlanta to dallas back.)
and actually, i think that's all of my flying experience. tada!
(yes, i realize you are less than impressed...)
My best travel experience was going to Belize, Central America over 20 years ago. It was life changing.
My Worst...
We recently went on a long awaited trip to Disney World. We left out of BTV traveling with two kids under the age of 2 with only minor delays in airline departure. Despite traveling with two kids, we made it to MCO in great shape. Then we went to get our luggage. One of two suitcases had arrived- the other one hadn't. Turns out whoever checked out luggage out of BTV checked the luggage into BTV...hence, the luggage never even left BTV. Someone caught one piece of luggage and that's why it made it to MCO. Long story short- two days later while still wearing the clothes we originally left BTV in, we finally received our luggage full of clothes and toiletries. It took literally tracking down the phone number to the airline desk in BTV to get someone who could find our luggage (still sitting there), and get it to where we needed it to be. The wonderful, well-planned trip, was then topped off with everyone getting sick, being at the Disney parks in the middle of Tropical Storm Fay, and staying two nights in the most filthy place I have ever stepped foot in. We were happy to go home after a week of being there...just to get the kids back to some kind of normal schedule. The return flight couldn't have gone smoother until yet again, we arrive back home to the BTV airport. We go to get our gate-checked items and guess what? The destroyed our brand new, $300 double stroller. What a way to end a difficult trip! We are still trying to work out reimbursements with the airlines for the stroller, and money for the items we had to buy while our luggage was "missing" for so long.
Here's a long one about our trip to climb the Grand Teton in late August, 1987...
I don’t want to write.
I want to scream.
Scream from the tips of my toes.
Until I crack and can scream no longer.
Until all my energy is drained.
And I fall because my legs are worn tired.
Then,
I can start all over again.
Be more selective of what I let inside.
What I learn.
Stay away from the things I have to unlearn later.
To understand only those things that will benefit me.
I want to sit on a high peak and cry.
Cry my energy…
Into a river that will reach the ponds below.
After all the tears have dripped out of my body,
I want the heavens to open
And shake droplets of higher energy
Into my soul.
I want to dance
Out the confusion I have pulled into my mind
By knowing too much to ignore
But not enough to let go or act.
I will start again,
As a child
With nothing inside,
But knowledge.
Now, I must learn how to use it.
- July 27, 1987
For years they talked about it. Finally, in the late months of 1986 Dad and Rick decided it was time to introduce their girls to the pitches of the North Face. Although Dad had no knowledge of my spiritual plight, he reminded me weekly to “get in shape,” for the long hike with heavy backpack to the Lower Saddle and then the technical climb to the Summit.
I liked to walk alone, hike alone. Physical journeys were easy to share with friends, but I was in a place that I needed to find my own spiritual path and found myself solo in this journey. Many years before I was introduced to Charlie in a book by Blaine M. Yorgeson called Charlie’s Monument. Although severely crippled, Charlie took one rock a day to the top of a nearby hill to build his monument, the story held a poignant lesson about life, love and overcoming adversity. I felt like Charlie.
Although my body was not crippled, my mind and actions had become disabled by the distance I had created between how I was living and my source of truth. Over the past few years I had somehow found ways to ignore thoughts that beckoned me to take a long hard look at myself and what I had become. After all that I was doing, life was still fun. I had many friends, was not addicted to any substance, and could rationalize my escape at any minute. I felt in control.
Somewhere deep in my heart, I knew the truth and could not validate my actions in any argument or debate. My ideas of freedom were perplexed. Although I blamed my actions on searching for individuality and escaping the chains of religious oppression, the reality was that I was continually ignited by the ideas of fun, action, popularity, mystical depths and even displaced love that all led me into a complete state of confusion. I was lost.
Invisible boulders were piled in my soul making me too lethargic for quick change. I knew my plight, but the known was much more comfortable than the unknown of true expansion and authentic freedoms. Earlier in the year I reached the pinnacle point when the disadvantages of my actions began to outweigh the benefits. The place where I came into complete resolution that the life I was living was not at all connected to God, my family, nor any other member of my internal community. I felt disconnected and alone and it was from this place that I slowly entered the path of reckoning.
The entrance was natural, but lonely. I stopped participating in much of the fun I had come to know. When I went with friends, I found myself sitting in the middle of a group, but feeling like I was far away from any personal connection… like I was captured in a bubble while the party roared around me. While they were playing beer games, seeking places to hook up, and dancing as if nothing mattered, I contemplated if I could ever be content again while I drove them home, cleaned up throw-up, and cried about messed up relationships.
I am sure that Dad did not realize that his instruction to “get in shape,” was actually a catalyst to one-by-one build my mountain-top invisible alter. One hike on a Sunday afternoon, another on Tuesday morning at sunrise and still another on Friday evenings led me straight up from my house to the top of the front twin of Salt Lake’s northern set of Twin Peaks at 6200 feet high. From my home, a thousand feet lower in elevation, I had to make the top of the first hill to see the large boulders that scattered the top of the cone shaped monument, as if giants had also been inspired by Charlie.
As I left my home with no water, no supplies, no backpack, I knew that I could make the round trip in an hour if I hurried, but never planned anything too soon to allow plenty of time for contemplation and meandering descent. Each time, I walked out of my front door and up the sidewalk four houses to cross the last street to the steep hill. I knew that I could add a couple of minutes and follow the dirt roadway west a few yards to then go up a trail, but I had done this so many times before that I intuitively picked up my pace at the last house and ran across the street and up the short steep cut in the mountain to find a more level plane on the natural slope. There in the middle of the same sagebrush and wildflowers I was introduced to as a child, I began the walk straight up, knowing where to meet the trail.
I rarely looked around in this first part of my familiar ascent. My heart intimately knew the pattern and recognized the increased effort as soon as I took the first step up the slope. It knew the timing and anticipated my quick rest at the first plateau. Every time, whether I thought about it or not, I turned around as the land leveled to view my city, my home, my playground. I could see the edge of the reservoir, many familiar homes, and into the crevices that we knew as our gullies. As I looked back at where I had been, my thoughts gravitated to my early explorations that were so pure, so new and so connected.
As I turned around to hike towards my growing alter, the untouched land expanded and I could see past the deep ravines to the beautiful red rock of upper City Creek Canyon. The geology seemed a little out of place in this Northern region of our state, but more beautiful against the diversity than its abundance in Southern Utah. A quick chuckle always snuck out as I could almost see us at the end of Junior year in Mark’s open Jeep stuck between our secure maneuvering and a cliff. With the nose towards the drop off, we wondered how we got into such a tight spot, and how we would ever get out. After spinning our tires enough to discuss leaving the Jeep there and walking out, somehow we found enough stability to eek out of a very tight and steep dilemma.
That experience, like many others, was definitely not one of my alter stones and I was secure in my knowledge that I would never have to sacrifice all fun. In fact, as I peered around at the land and the scenery below all kinds of memories bubbled to the surface, reminding me of my very full life. This assurance gave me strength to carry one more invisible stone to the mountaintop alter.
Every hike I released something different, but rarely understood the scope of my silent placement. Many times I stopped at the bottom of the front Twin and wondered if the final ascent was worth the extra time, as if I actually contemplated giving up. Instead, I kept going, rarely using the same path to the top. As I climbed over the large boulders sprinkling the peak, I took deep breaths and then finally reached my monument. With pure gratitude, I turned around and sat. It was at that moment that time ceased to exist and I could reach past humanist approaches into heavenly solutions. What stuck me as strange was that all I had to do was hike with intent and peace awaited me at the top.
One alter stone was all I could offer each time, but it was progress. As I descended back home, each time I felt more and more secure in my spiritual direction. Running down was easy as I repeated to myself, “Nose Over Toes,” all the way to the top of our cave. Peering inside quickly to seek memories, I usually didn’t stay long before I ran down the trail to the back of Marilee’s house, past the old Pigeon coup, and onto her side patio. Sometimes I stopped, other times I hollered inside the sliding glass door a quick “Hello,” and kept walking down her steep wooden steps to Tomahawk Drive below, where I walked the rest of the way home on the road.
A few afternoons that summer, Dad rushed home in the late afternoon to quickly change into his climbing clothes for technical rock climbing training at Pete’s Rock. This free standing massive boulder sat on the edge of Salt Lake’s eastern bench overlooking the valley from Wasatch Drive, a different viewpoint than my usual perspective. Pete’s Rock offered many degrees of climbing difficulty where Dad could reiterate his lessons on always wearing ropes in technical areas, how to wear a harness, how to tie knots and everything we needed to know when we were “On Belay.” It was when he taught about On and Off Belay that his eyes turned completely serious and the father speech thickened with memories of lost friends and rescue missions.
He could almost make the drive from Salt Lake to Jackson Hole with his eyes shut and we knew when to start looking out the window for each landmark along the way. The burger counter next to the city park in Afton, Wyoming was always on our list of stops. We watched for the Star Valley Cheese Factory, Elephant Hill and the first view of the Snake River right after Alpine Junction to tell us “How much longer…” By that time, we were too old to even ask once.
Once in the Snake River canyon, we knew we were nearing Jackson Hole. We never stopped long in town, and this trip was no different. As always, we followed the scenic byway straight through, turned at the park, and met our last stretch leading to the Moose turnoff. Usually, I was comfortable in looking back and forth as we approached. But, this time, I anxiously watched the road, knowing which turn would validate my memory of the Grand Teton and its neighboring peaks.
As we made that turn, there she was, even taller, steeper and pointier than my imagination recalled. “There’s the Grand,” Dad said. “Just think in the next couple of days, you will be standing on top.” From that perspective, just south of the range, it is easy to see which peak is the Grand and as I peered at the top point, all I could think about was, “How am I going to do this?” I knew intellectually that it could be done. Dad had proven it to me many times. But, all that kept going through my mind were the questions, “Was I strong enough to make the long journey?” and “Was I ready?” My thoughts interwove with my nerves to create an imagined wall that may have overcome my will if Dad was not there to pull me along. To him, this was a sacred opportunity to share his knowledge of this range, overcoming hardship and understanding victory with his two daughters.
As I fixated on the summit, a song kept rolling though my head, “Just take one step at a time, nice and steady, you’re on your way.” One step at a time – that is what this would take. I thought back to my preparation for this journey and realized that not only was I on a quest for adventure that was somewhat driven by Dad’s intent, but that I, personally, was seeking complete reinvention of body, mind and spirit that was somehow connected to this mountaintop pursuit. It was all beginning to make sense.
As we meandered in through Moose, across the Snake River, and into our well known territory of Jenny Lake, I felt calm in my return. Lupine Meadows was in blossom, the ranger cabins looked unchanged, and the small surface rocks on the road looked like the same ones that I picked up as a toddler. The creek behind the log structures wandered through the exact turns giving sustenance to the dragonflies and river bugs that I seemed to know well. I was home.
That evening offered time and space to renew our relationship with the Teton landscape. I felt peaceful to be back in a place that I could call my own, a place that my friends in Salt Lake did not know existed in my heart, a place that I shared only with my family and Teton associates. The wide open basin, the rolling waters, the reflective lakes, the towering range, and the abundant wildlife – they were all a part of me – a hidden part of me that I sometimes unknowingly escaped.
From my view near Jenny Lake, the changing angles of the mountains did not clearly highlight the Grand as I realized that I could not tell which one actually towered from that perspective, although it had been clear from my earlier southern vantage point. It also struck me that this very personal journey was not going to be accomplished with my school friends, but with my dad and my sister, joined by Rick and Paige on their own father-daughter pursuit. Although I loved and admired Dad, over the past couple of years, I had adhered more to peer pressure than I had sought his council, and after many years of complete avoidance, Jenny and I were finally searching for our connective strengths.
I remembered back to my journal entry just a couple of weeks earlier…
“I want to sit on a high peak and cry.
Cry my energy…
Into a river that will reach the ponds below.
After all the tears have dripped out of my body,
I want the heavens to open
And shake droplets of higher energy
Into my soul.
This remembrance offered the possibility to make my intent reality. The high peak in my spiritual yearning at the end of adolescence was none other than the one I had viewed from 7,000 feet below beginning in my first summer of infancy. It was also the same one that my father had shared many intimate experiences with its walls and crevices. There, sitting under the shadows of the Teton Range, I thought about the cyclical nature of life. I would begin to return to a life of rebirth in the same place that I first found heaven on earth so many years before. My ascent to the top of the 13,770-ft summit was reachable from my own Lupine Meadows and I would begin the following morning.
We arose at sunrise, gathered all of our necessary supplies for the next two days and made the quick drive across the open field to the crowded parking lot at the trailhead. Once out of the car, Dad hollered the last checklist as we made sure that we had enough food and coverage for any type of weather as he reminded us that snow, sleet, wind and rain can roll in at any minute on our climb to the summit. I looked up at the clear blue sky and wondered why I had to carry my winter coat, but did not take on the fight.
The first steps onto the well defined trail were flat with evidences of civilization seen in half buried logs and manmade simple bridges. The cottonwoods, willows and blue spruce offered a tunnel of protective cover leading to Bear Alley. As we walked I looked for the discerning color and leaves of the huckleberries to grab a quick snack along the way. I had been taught since early in childhood the difference between the edible and the poisonous berries and had become a natural huckleberry hunter. There were not too many along the path, due to human and bear consumption.
The first part of the trail seemed familiar, as we intimately knew the native landscape of the lower slopes through our hikes to Cascade Falls and around the other Teton Lakes. As we made our way towards Garnet Canyon, we reached a fork in the road at about a mile and a half, and another a little past our three mile mark. Dad didn’t hesitate through the turns and we fully trusted that he knew the way. As we traversed the switchbacks across large boulders, similar to the slated rocks at the top of King’s Peak, Dad drew our attention to two baby bears in the distance as he reminded us to watch closely for the protective mother.
Not long after seeing the bears, dark clouds rolled in with swiftness dropping misty rain on our humid bodies. We stopped under a tree in one of the traverse bends to pull on our rain jackets and continue along the trail as Dad kept assuring us that The Meadows was not too far away. Over the years, we had heard The Meadows referred to often and I looked forward to experiencing the area myself. Just the sound of it conjured up ideas of heavenly beauty. I imagined thick green soft grasses on a large plateau surrounded by tall mountain pitches. The meadow would certainly be alive with rolling waters, moss covered rocks, abundant wildflowers and more than any of its external graces, would offer a place to rest after a steep and heavy hike had wearied our feet and legs.
Step by step as we slowly approached the area, my imagination conjured private hot pots for soaking my tired legs, low lying fruit on broad stand-alone trees to quench my itchy throat, and pillow soft dirt covered with a layer of thick green cover beckoning to me to stay for a while and rest. Finally, we approached…reality.
The Meadows greeted us with a small log bridge making it possible to cross the runoff from the roaring Spalding Falls cascading through the mountain’s steep side. My imagination served me well with visions of abundant green grasses. I knew at least that much about necessary facts behind a name. Instead of soft pillow dirt, the tall shoots spiked over giant boulders scattered throughout the curvaceous canyon that held a few huge rocks to remind us of the natural laws behind the range’s existence. The tall trees that lined the mountain side’s crevices, looked like the flat green areas in my previous thoughts on first sight, but as I sunk my eyes deeper into the view, I realized their individual character and sprawling evergreen limbs filling the shadows. As my eyes adjusted to their character, I began to see their great height in relation to the surrounding mountain.
I could not see any private hot pots, in fact there was not much privacy within The Meadows. I was surprised by how many people had made the same hike that I had just made to settle in the last green space along the pathway to the summit. Some were basking in the mist of the falls, others were setting up camp and still others were coming down after accomplishing our goal. It was them that I yearned to ask if the glory was worth the hard work.
We sat for just a few minutes to take a quick drink and look back through Cascade Canyon at the Teton Basin from our new height. The flat land below seemed unconnected to our new perspective as I thought about the many times I sat in that same valley peering at these crevices without seeing any sign of humanity. The lesson of perspective began to seep into my understanding without any use of words.
Relaxation in The Meadows was short lived as Dad and Rick reminded us that our daily goal had not been met as they prodded, “We’re not too far from the Lower Saddle. Let’s keep going.” After repositioning our heavy packs, we marched up the trail’s switchbacks, past Spalding Falls, through the glacial debris of the narrow moraine, finally stopping at the base of the horizontal Lower Saddle headwall that literally felt like a wall.
The affects of gravity on my heavy pack suddenly sharpened as I looked at the task in front of me. Dad hollered to Jenny to come and take the rope as I watched with doubt. This wall was so steep that somewhere in the history of the hiking to the Lower Saddle on this great range, planning and effort was actually executed to install a permanent rope on the horizontal rock. Jenny slowly walked over, grabbed the fixed rope and then turned around with a sarcastic look of doubt. After none of us told her that there was another way, she looked up and started to ascend. Dad quickly looked at me, “Your turn. We will rest on the saddle for the night.”
I didn’t look back. As I grasped the rope I wondered if the extra weight on my back would overturn my footing. This same thought echoed through my mind as I took step after step, grasping tighter and tighter as I grew more tired. I was relieved when I finally reached the top of the relatively short rope that felt much longer than its actual length. By that time, I was focused on the Lower Saddle and didn’t turn around to watch the others. Dad was close enough behind me that I kept walking, knowing that he would adjust my direction if I got off course.
Finally, our first day’s goal was in sight. After hiking up 5,000 vertical feet over a seven mile stretch, my legs spoke with exhaustion at the exact time my eyes saw our long awaited overnight shelter. The Exum hut looked different than I imagined, but was just as welcoming. When I reached the middle of the bench and could see clear into both Wyoming and Idaho with a quick turn of the head, I started to realize that the glory of the hike included a deeper understanding of widened perspective.
Well above the tree line, I remembered my thoughts as I stood among the greenery overlooking the sagebrush plains. My perspective at that point only held part of the overall vision. Now, standing on the Lower Saddle, I could see in multiple directions, lands I had never approached from below and I realized that my next two days would offer a whole new lesson that I was only beginning to understand.
Dad approached the hut like an old friend, not even slowing for a short stare. He opened the door and hollered to us to bring in our packs as he reminded us that we were very lucky to get the hut. Most people have to carry their tents in or sleep in the open air, but his and Rick’s connections to this range gave us the in we needed for the increased comfort of cots and a small sitting area for dinner.
The inside of the hut was unassuming and reminded me of the many tents we had stayed in over the years, just bigger, arched and with no windows. The curved roofline designed for the heavy winds that blow year round on the ridgeline, was high enough for bunks and felt like a safe cave. I pulled out my winter coat, rain gear, warm clothes, sleeping bag and dehydrated dinner packets and organized my gear to get ready for the technical portion of our journey that would begin the next morning in the dark at 4 a.m.
After organizing my belongings, I pulled on my jacket and walked outside. The wind was blowing, but we were high enough above the tree line that there was nothing to gage its velocity by sight. The only forms of plant life within view were thick patches of moss and tiny wildflowers growing in between the wide cracks of the rocks as if they understood their short lifespan on this high mountain ridge would only be for a couple of weeks in August. Our timing made us fortunate to see them in full glory.
As Dad heated water in the hut for us to puff our Styrofoam looking flakes into something edible, he hollered directions to the most spectacular latrine I had ever seen. Just under the lip of the Idaho-side ridgeline was a toilet overlooking the vast landscape. I laughed out loud as I followed the trail to the front of it. The back was sheltered from view, but the front was wide open. It felt very strange to find such privacy among the wide open sky and land miles below and I found myself looking around for spies in the sky and on the empty mountain ridges.
Evening’s air snuck in as the sun dropped to a parallel view from our mountain ledge at 11,600 feet. It didn’t take long until Dad, Jenny, Rick, Paige and I were all inside the hut to escape the escalating winds and settle down early for rest before the morning’s debut. That night I fell asleep earlier than I had in years and must have been gone even before the twilight darkened.
Dad shook me gently, “Come on, it’s time to get up.” I woke up to his headlamp staring me in the face with thick darkness throughout the rest of our cozy cave. As I sat up, another single light turned on haloing Rick’s head as I watched him stir Paige from sleep. Dad had already alerted Jenny to the time and as Dad and Rick shuffled around the hut, we stayed put in our bags for as long as possible. Finally, after gentle prodding, we emerged and pulled on our warm clothes over our long underwear and ate a quick backpack breakfast.
“It’s going to be dark and cold for a while, put on your winter coat and gloves,” the Dads reminded us. “And, you will need your helmet on before we leave the hut.” We bundled up, strapped on our helmets, pulled on our on headlamp over the top and quietly walked out of the hut and into the windy eerie darkness. One by one we silently walked behind our Dads as our lamps lit our individual paths. We did not even question their control of our movement. I understood without doubt that Dad’s and Rick’s experience with this exact route offered security and was not worth underestimating their knowledge. The risk of stepping outside of our single file line was not worth individuality.
As I followed through the darkness across the mountain’s saddles, the sun began to warm the Eastern sky at about the same time that we reached the first narrow ridge line of our ascent, known as Wall Street. Dad and Rick planned our timing perfectly to insure that we were the first to cross this busy section without interruption from other climbers. They told us that had we waited for the sun to rise to leave the hut, we would be waiting for others throughout our climb. Our early rise offered the security of open pitches, but we would have to remain on task to make sure others did not feel the need to pass us, thus making our final descent to Lupine Meadows more difficult by sundown.
Wall Street was named well. Not as a similitude to the stock market, but the fact that the tall mountain wall meets a wide street leading right up the mountain. This portion of our morning climb was quite spectacular as the sunbeams reached through the Eastern land finally touching our faces as we neared the end of the easy to follow passageway. Dad went before Jenny and me and made the leap easily across the gap between Wall Street and the next area known as the Golden Staircase. I didn’t think much of it until I saw Dad turn around to spot Jenny over the open air. She hollered as he grabbed her and told her to push off the rock.
As soon as I heard her, I looked over to see that the gap did not show a bottom as I watched her safely jump to the other side with Dad’s help. Dad waited patiently for me to approach the extremely exposed 500 foot drop that showed jagged rocks like distant teeth. “Look up at me and take my hand,” he said. I looked down at my glove and imagined it sliding off my fingers as he gripped. “Should I take off my glove,” I asked. “No, you’ll be alright. Just don’t look down.” I inched closer viewing my fall in my mind and wondering how they would ever get me out of the mountain’s jaws. “Don’t look down, honey. Just take my hand.” I timidly stretched forth my hand and as I did so, he leaned in and grasped me tightly and while pulling calming said, “Jump.” I sprung with complete faith in my father’s grip and as I came down could feel my heart leaping out of my chest. “Good job,” he said. “Now let’s keep going.” I didn’t even turn around to see my accomplishment.
Up the mountain we continued at a quick pace. Once we reached the chute known as the Wind Tunnel, I grew nervous again by just the name, but made it through unscathed. The climbing was not extremely difficult so we were making good time even with the common breaks to rope up at any chance of exposure. Dad shared stories of his many ascents up this same route and told about many who sprint up the mountain rarely stopping to rope up. These stories where always ended with safety warnings and memories of the funerals he had attended for those who chose freedom over safety on this and other world renowned expeditions.
Dad and Rick knew the Exum Route like it was charted on the rock. We did not miss a turn as they led us up the steep pitches, across snow banks and over obstacles. As we approached the long awaited Friction Pitch, Dad and Rick assured us that we were on time and should summit around noon. Dad led the pitch with Rick on belay and Jenny and I on one rope headed up the steep walls. Right at the end of the Friction Pitch’s 120 foot section of smooth granite was an exposed area that was barely flat enough to hold Jenny as she waited for me to bring up the end of the rope. As soon as I got to her, Dad called down to Rick to belay Paige.
I sat with Jenny on what felt like a Velcro slide as we waited for Paige and Rick to approach. Single white clouds floated towards us at amazing speeds to meet us at eye level. We looked at each other and laughed nervously. “This feels like the Twilight Zone,” she said to me. I had never felt such eerie depth of exposure. There I was with my sister who I was just beginning to find common ground and we were given a joint experience of complete and utter out of this world amazement. We sat in a timeless state absent of earthly rivalries and deficiencies as if it was our first shared perspective since my birth. As I look back at this experience from my current perspective, I realize that it was during that summer that we began to understand each other in a different way than our previous patterns and our adult relationship began to blossom into real sisterhood.
We nervously sat on the open granite until Paige and Rick reached our perch and then yelled up to Dad that we were on our way to him. The clouds continued to roll in quickly and Dad and Rick began to get a little panicky. “Hurry, we need to summit before storm clouds approach,” they warned us in knowledgeable tones. We moved as quickly as we could, not stopping for a rest or even long enough to get a drink. We were battling the weather and even in August, it was known that planning for fast moving storms was critical. There was virtually no way to plan for its unpredictable approach, and in some ways no way to control your safety positions with the exposure. As we hurried through the V Pitch and then towards the summit my breathing began to tighten at about the same elevation that it had when I was younger on King’s Peak. Before it got out of control, I remembered Dad teaching the much more innocent me near the summit of Utah’s highest peak about natural reactions to high elevations and did not let my weakness approach as it had then.
Finally, after a day and a half of extreme fear, persuasion, weariness, and accomplishment found step after step, we met our summit. I was tired beyond measure, but felt secure in my glory. It was there that I answered my own question that lurked in The Meadows, “Was the glory worth the work?” With the humility of realizing that my original questions was distorted, I found in that moment that the Work was the Glory and it was at that realization that divine hope pierced through my soul.
The clouds were still rolling in, so Dad and Rick got us moving faster than they would have under a clear sky. They did allow enough time to take in the 360 degrees of spectacular vistas and gain a little rest for the descent. Although I realized that our goal was not complete until we made a safe return to Lupine Meadows, I understood that the upward battle was behind us and found new internal strength to return home.
Dad had previously told us of the 120 foot rappel from the top of The Grand with excitement as he promised that it would be a reward for our hard work. Rappelling was one of the skills that we worked on at Pete’s Rock in Salt Lake, but the distance we practiced was not comparable to the distance we would drop that afternoon. There were a couple of different options of where to land. One would take a little longer for each of us to get down, and left us hanging in open air longer than the other. The longer rappel would need both ropes, thus making it only possible for one of us to go at a time, but we would rappel further down the mountain and closer to coverage.
Dad and Rick took a moment to analyze the sky and weigh the options of which rappel would protect us all without leaving someone over exposed. They didn’t take long to determine that we needed to hurry and get down as fast as we could, the sky was darkening and moving towards us from the Idaho plains, but their experience with the speed of approach made them both determine that it would be best to take the long rappel route, but we could not let fear slow us down. We each had to overcome any personal vendetta with heights and go for it. There would not be time for coddling.
Dad rappelled with ease down the wall of the rock first to help from below, while Rick stayed on top to assist from above. We were sandwiched in between years of experience, which gave us the bravery to move swiftly. One by one, Jenny, Paige and I, fully harnessed and clipped into the locking carabineer leaned against the thick rope that was hugging our back while we tugged with our right hand to ensure that the tension would tighten and hold our weight. As I stepped off the summit of the mountain backwards and released a portion of the friction to let the rope glide against my gloved palm I took a deep breath and turned around to look at Dad who returned my quick gaze with his wide grin as he yelled, “OK, turn around and come down.” I yelled back, “On rappel,” and stepped back.
I moved quickly with my feet against the rock and my butt hanging in the harness as I released the hanging rope with my right “brake” hand as quickly as my brain gave me the courage to slide down the rope without feeling too out of control. My nerves were not too jumpy until I reached the bottom portion of the route where the mountain sunk inward and my feet could no longer guide my movement. As soon as I could not touch earth, my conscious knowledge of the rappelling process ceased and my brake hand clamped up out of fear as I hung from a rope in between Rick and Dad swaying back and forth, but not making progress to the bottom.
“What are you doing, honey,” Dad calmly hollered upward. “Release the rope and keep coming.” Without thinking, I responded, “I feel like I am going to fall.” As Dad calmly told me to release the rope, I let a little out to see if I was strong enough to hold my weight without my self imposed mental anchor that the rock offered my feet. After realizing that the tension was similar to how it had been from the top, I released the rope and made it to Dad without another word. As he helped me release the rope from my rappel device, he yelled, “Off rappel,” and the rope immediately was pulled back up for the next to make the straight shot down.
The storm clouds were moving in quickly and as each of us came down the long rappel route, the others watched the sky for signs of lightening, the one element that could be immediately life threatening. There were a few strikes in the distance, but not close enough to demand halting our progress to look for safety. As soon as Rick landed on the ledge, he moved quickly to unhook as Dad coiled the rope with speed. While watching dark clouds rolling in to attack, we threw the equipment in the packs, tied on the rope and in a single file line, began our foot descent in heavy silence.
As we moved through rock chutes, trails and ridgelines, we did not stop for a moment to observe the breathtaking storm scenery over the open plains. As we made our way towards the Upper Saddle, cold air came blowing in at high speeds and as we finally made the turn to see into Wyoming, thick chunks of ice began to hit our covered heads and bodies in force. Dad and Rick offered energized encouragement with quick bursts of “Keep moving,” “Watch where you’re going,”or “This will pass.”
It was cold, wet, and difficult to see too far in front of us, so I kept my eyes focused on the person in front of me and the uneven ground. A slip here and an overstep there, had me a little uneasy, but there was no time to worry. Our minds were too busy to converse other than to ask the others if they were OK after a simple slip, bump or fall. We kept moving as the hail stones turned to snowflakes. Luckily, we rappelled most of the major technical areas and there were not too many places that we had to slowdown for safety reasons.
As we moved down the mountain, the storm clouds began to break and allowed the sun to peak through the huge sky with majestic streams of light. As the sun approached, the snowflakes warmed to raindrops and eventually melded with the humid air until our raingear turned into personal saunas. We continued to move downward, only stopping for moments to shed clothing, eat a quick energizer, or reposition equipment. The long hike to Lupine Meadows would take effort to make by dusk and the dads had made this trip so many times before that they knew the time landmarks.
My body was adjusting to the elements, and although I was tired, I had no major physical excuses to slow our movement. I was more focused on reaching our final return. As we approached The Meadows back down the permanent rope line, my perspective of the steep basin had changed. What was a simple imagined let-down on first approach, now held great beauty. The tree line mixed with the simple greenery and wildflowers next to the fast moving stream offered immediate comfort as if I had been away from life form for much longer than one day. I finally felt like I was on my way back home.
We traversed down sets of switchbacks showcasing open scenic areas with interspersed ponds that pooled the high mountain rains and runoff as they peacefully held the previous storms and winter’s melting ice. Descending through Bear Alley the huckleberries where full of childhood memories of all of the experiences with my family that The Tetons had given me. As I made the final turn on the wide path towards Lupine Meadows, I was drawn to large reflective raindrops scattered on the thick green leaves that were thriving in the mountain air and tree coverage. The last stretch of trail began to show more signs of human intervention with the elements as I stepped on the first half-covered log and could see manmade bridges beckoning my return.
Then, the most prophetic experience in my young life rose from the basin ground through the trees as I noticed a thick colorful rainbow arching above Lupine Meadows. As I return to that day from my current perspective I realize that it was at that moment that I knew the power of heavenly droplets seeping into my soul and that my dream of the month earlier had been fulfilled miraculously.
I covered my face with my hands as I thought about the plane ride with 3 goofballs-allowing one adventurous eyeball to peek between the index and middle fingers-seeking out the adventure. I was actually looking forward to busting through the challenge as a family...man I love having a family-I can just see me being one of those moms that takes her family to ropes courses and hikes to Mount Everest because it's fun to "be a family" and "have a challenge..." as my kids roll their eyes at me the whole way (hopefully they won't).
Ok, the plane ride-the hardest part of the whole plane experience was definitely in the airport. Picture this-Dave walking with Mason's thrown of a car seat slung across his back while pulling our big suitcase with one hand and pushing Porter in the umbrella stroller with the other and then there was me with our backpack on my back pushing the double stroller with Mason and Bennett inside...fully laden with STUFF or ALL sorts. It all became very apparent-our stuff-when we very ungracefully twodelled (I just made up a word...doesn't it paint a picture) through security. I announced to the innocent bystanders behind us that hopefully we wouldn't be on their plane, they just laughed-being amused by the show. Dave frantically filled up 10 buckets with our STUFF, sent the baby carrier through, the stroller, our bags, jackets, cell phones, computer, shoes (yes we had to take all shoes off-which is so not fair) then take Bennett out of his carrier and we finally twoddled through the security gate. After we gathered all the crap, we continued on our journey through the airport. When we found our gate, we were a little embarrassed because we knew the people sitting there were thinking, "oh crap-they are surely on our flight." I could just imagine that they all wanted to scramble to the nearest gift shop to sop up the remaining earplugs that were available, but nobody moved an inch (they were afraid-very afraid). After figuring out our seating arrangement that included both of us with kids on laps and Mason in his car seat next to one of us, we went and ate sandwiches at the nearest deli that for the price had to have included a secret golden Cheeto that they must have stuck in my backpack somewhere. The kids were great at the deli so things were going smoothly. Finally we boarded which was like going through security all over again and we were so exited that after settling in with the baby in my arms and Porter and Mason with Dave, there just happened to be an empty seat next to me.....yea....what a blessing...just what we needed...oh
wait----NO-----next thing I know there is a prancing, young, skinny, drunk, tootaloo-laden metrosexual who made himself real cozy----in MY empty seat.
Soon after I got over the empty seat heartbreak I refocused on the task at hand...making sure the boys were gleeful and somewhat silent. In preparation for our plane ride we had been telling Porter about the "plane rules-" using quiet voices, staying in our seats, being able to get a "special" present from mommy and daddy if he was quiet, etc. Of course we had all the right ammunition we needed in our backpack full of puzzles, Mason's toy snake, dvd player with Baby Einstein and all the Pixar movies, treats galore (always works as a last resort bribe), magnet storyboards, Matchbox cars, sticker books, books of other sorts, Dave ended up sitting with Porter and Mason on the row right behind Bennett and I and the boys did quite well-with Dave's help of course (what a champion). My favorite part of the ride, which made it all so worth it was when Porter was looking out the window while we were taking off and was saying all sorts of things like, "WOW, LOOK MOMMY, WE'RE GOING SO FAST." I wish I could have bottled up those facial expressions and tucked them away in my hope chest. As a parent, you get to experience the icing of life all over again with each new experience. What a treat.
In hopes to encourage the time to "fly" by quickly, I found myself conversating (made-up word?) with him about everything from medical school to the LDS church. He was 20 years old and I could tell that he was a little loose, liked to swear a lot, was a little confused about his gender preferences; after all, he did ended up being fun to talk to-if I know one thing about a person...I usually can't help but ask a hundred other questions to fill in the necesary blanks as I ponder them as a whole-who are they, what makes them run, what do they love to do, where do they work, do they go to school, what religion are they-it's all so exhilarating-(really another possible whole blog conversation) I love love love meeting new people! I've noticed that each new person I meet paints a better picture of the world and what's in it-the intrigue is from my dad for sure. I also got to answer questions about the church, which doesn't happen all too often. During our conversation he tried to cross my words and also asked me the typical questions that were somewhat educated. He assumed I was a polygamist which I quickly refuted and proceeded to tell me that he thought "John Smith" was an impostor of some sort. It's really funny because after answering his questions with 3/4 confidence...tough doctrine questions that I felt were leading us down a squirrelly path that I couldn't tread with 100% confidence anyway, I found myself wanting to give him the "BAM" answers that would knock him off his feet and SURELY convince him that I was right...then when these answers didn't give the desired effect I was looking for, what DID end up leaving him with no more ammunition was when I said this...and THIS I DID KNOW, "I govern my life in a way where I make decisions that honest and truly make me happy, make my soul happy, lead me towards happiness. This gospel that I know to be true feels good to my soul and ALWAYS leaves me with true feelings of happiness. You can always tell if something is good by the way you feel DEEP inside. I believe these things because I feel the truth when I am following them. THIS is why I believe." He understood them..how can you argue with that? That was my most convincing argument and always will be...aside from the arguments, and the statements and the controversy and the non-believers, THE TRUTH IS SO SIMPLE...it leads us to true happiness.
All in all, we escaped the whole plane experience without major incident, with wondering thoughts about the gospel and a stronger resolve to, in the future, be more well prepared to answer with even stronger resolve. And as always am thankful for a great husband that handles our kids like a champ in sticky situations and for tasty treats that pacify the curious minds of the young.
My most memorable travel experience is when I went to San Rafael, California for the first time. I absolutely loved it there (I am from Kansas) and especially enjoyed seeing Alcatraz.
Fun Fun Fun!
And you are such a love for making the toffee. We all enjoyed it-- though I certainly ate more than my share. ;) I wrote a long travel post on my blog but this is enough for the comments section.
We arrived in Talin, Finland at about 2 a.m Walking down the main street, we saw throngs of night clubbers headed home. One very drunk girl asked Erik, "What time is it?" and in his perfect Finnish he replied, "Time to go home. Can we come with you?" They invited us to their apartment, fed us, and set us up with one of the softest beds of our trip.
Having lived overseas, I've flown quite a bit, and my best & worst travel experience occurred all in one instance while living in South Korea.
Or perhaps I should say, the trip was fabulous, but the before & after were horrendous.
While teaching ESL in S. Korea, one of my roommates and I decided to take a four-day weekend and hope over to Hong Kong, shortly before the handover from Britain to China. Since payday was going to happen during that very weekend, we asked our director if he would pay us a couple of days early. "No problem," he said. However, when the day arrived, he was no where to be found. We spent hours hunting him down and finally cornered him into going to the bank with us and getting our pay. Whew! Problem #1 overcome.
We then when home to pack, when roommate #3 decided to return from a drinking binge--looking back, RM#3 probably had alcohol poisoning, but we didn't know that then. RM#3also brought two easily-irritated, drunk nationals into our home. When RM#3 holed up in the restroom, "ill," these two guys refused to leave, and were bordering on becoming violent. We demanded that RM#3 come out and boot them out, no matter how ill. These two guys finally left, and we locked the door. Problem #2 overcome.
However, RM#3 continued to stay in the restroom long into the night, until we finally began to bang on the door and demand an exit. When RM#3 did finally leave, what was left behind was disgusting. Every hole in the bathroom was clogged with, uh, "illness." It was one of the worst things I've ever seen. It was all over the walls, the sink, the washer, the toilet...I could have strangled RM#3.
With only a few hours left now until our early morning departure, and utterly exhausted, we spent the next 1-1/2 hours using up every paper towel and plastic bag in the house to clean out the room. I would gulp air, hold my breath, and clean as long as I could, then stick my head out of the door, gasping in fresh air. It was truly horrific...but we finally got it cleaned up. Problem #3 over with.
We made our flight from the south up to Seoul, but made our flight out of Seoul only by the grace of fellow travelers who let us cut when a slow-moving, 1/8-mile security line that didn't exist 10 minutes earlier threatened to keep us from our gate. Problem #4 averted.
However, once we landed in Hong Kong, we could not have had a nicer time. Adventure after adventure, wonderful people, food, shopping, and landscapes captivated us, and we were able to squeeze in every item we had placed on our itinerary.
Our flight home, however, was turbulent enough that I genuinely--despite much experience traveling--questioned whether we would arrive at our destination. My stomach began to get a little queasy, but we did finally arrive in Seoul. Return problem #1 overcome.
However, our return flight landed late, and we missed our connecting flight--the final one of the day. So we headed outside to queue for a taxi, which would take us to the bus station across town. It was so late at this point that the lines were long waiting for the few remaining taxis. Disreputable taxi drivers kept trying to 'book' us to take their taxis--for triple or quadruple the price. Finally we got a 'real' taxi and arrived at the bus station just in time to catch the final bus south for the night. We had a five hour ride ahead of us (instead of the planned 45 minute flight). It was nearly midnight. Return Problem #2 overcome.
The queasy feeling that had started on the plane turned into a full-blown stomach virus by the time our bus ride was over. It didn't matter, however, as I still had to head to my class at 6:30 a.m. I'd had no sleep and was very ill, but there was no way my director would have believed I was sick the day after vacation if he hadn't seen me. So I suffered through three hours of teaching (doubled over) and then collapse. Return Problem #3 endured.
The befores and afters of this trip were really, really awful. The only consolation is that my visit to Hong Kong was truly a once-in-a-lifetime experience. As bad as before/after were, this was still the best vacation I've ever had.
Blessings,
J-Dub
(Found you from a comment you made on Pioneer Woman's site.)
P.S. Sorry for the verbosity...but so much went wrong!
This is a "Best and Worst" combo.
So, we have this tradition in our family that when our children turn 8, that they get to go on a trip with Dad. I dont get to spend as much 1:1 time as Id like, so this is a treat for me and them. This April was Jake's turn for he and I to go on our trip. Jake was actually 10 (as opposed to 8). His trip was delayed for a number of reasons, one of them being a move from Cincinnati to Seattle, but I digress. Anyway, we decided to go on a trip to Hawaii. Yes, it was a bit extravagent as a father-son outing, but we had gotten pretty good deals on a condo and airline tickets through Alaska Air. So, Im pretty busy at work Friday morning and getting mentally "ready" for our trip which was scheduled to leave Saturday afternoon. I look online at Yahoo headlines and read that a couple of airlines just went bankrupt and cancelled service - ATA and Aloha Air. I vaguely think, "huh - what a bummer" being spring break and all, but I'm OK with my tix from Alaska Air.
Then, it dawns on me, I look closer at my iteniery and, yep Alaska Air to Reno, then ATA from RNO to Hawaii. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARrrrrrrrrrgggggggg....
bummer...
What now?
So.... I get on the phone to Alaska Air and ask "what are my options" Bottom line ATA was no longer in service and we checked every airline, every flight from Seattle to Hawaii was sold out, overbooked, or cancelled - All Airlines, any connection from anywhere remotely close to Seattle. I could have left Wednesday, but wouldnt be able to get back until the following Thursday, which wasnt exactly going to fit with my work or Jakes school vacations, or our condo.
So... do I cancel or try to pull a rabbit out of a hat?
Talked to Laura and she was such a sweetie, said to figure something out - vs. just cancelling the trip.
So, I first checked the condo group - they were accomodating enough and actually had some availability in another location - Atlantis - Paradise Island, Bahamas, starting tomorrow (Sat) if we'd like it.
Yes, why not I think.
The next step was to get airline tickets.
Have you ever tried to get same day tickets to the Bahamas, spring break week?
Ka-Ching.....$
So quite a few dollars later I had two ticket to the Bahamas (via NYC) on Jet Blue! The flight left today (Friday) at midnight! A redeye to boot. So instead of having a day and a half to prep - I now had about 4 hours to rush home and get myself and Jake ready to go to the airport.
We rapidly got our stuff ready and headed to the airport right past bed-time. Jake was a trooper and was pretty happy that he had his own TV for the long-overnight haul (yeah Jet Blue!). When we got to NYC at 8am on about 46 minutes of "sleep" we were both exhausted.
Four hours later we boarded our connection headed to the Bahamas-and a few hours later arrived to begin a wonder, fun-filled vacation with my son at the Atlantis resort.
This quickly became the "best" part - we snorkled, fished, swam with dolphins and sharks and bonded as father & son! What started out as a disaster turned into a wonderful vacation full of memories. I wrote about some of them in my April blog posts...
To be fair the flights themselves were uneventful in general, but it was one of the most harried and stressed out trips I'd ever started. In the end, however, other than the severe damage to my credit card, all was well.
JetBlue actully helped save the day!
Wow, so many to choose from. I chose this one because it will answer your 9/11 post as well.
There is one thing about 9/11 that I always feel guilty about. For like 1/2 a second when I watched the first tower fall on TV I had a very selfish thought.
One day, many years previous, I was standing on top of one of those buildings. I was with a feller I was dating at the time. He had given me this ring - no, not one of those kind of rings, it was just a little silver ring. I had actually seen him wearing it once and I thought it was really cool so he gave it to me.
We had planned this trip to NYC and before we went I had sort of decided I didn't like him anymore, but had to make the best of it until the trip was over. So we are standing upon that tall, tall building that day and he (the mystical lover of symbolism that he was) said to me, "You see that lady out there (pointing to Statue of Liberty out in the harbor)?"
Me: Yes.
He: Today is your Independence Day.
At this point he took the ring from me and attempted to throw it off the building (such a statement, no?!). My first instinct was "Are you stupid? That is going to kill someone down on the sidewalk from this height!" But it missed the edge of the building and was lodged in the gravel that separated the fence from the edge of the building.
The relationship ended soon after the trip, but for many years after that I would smile to myself every time I saw the twin towers knowing that I had a really, really cool ring on top of one of them. In a way, I had ownership of those buildings. They were sorta mine.
When the tower started to fall on September 11, 2001, I spent about a millimeter of a second worrying about my ring. I then gave myself a metaphorical slap on the face for being concerned about something so trivial when thousands of lives were about to be desecrated.
Many years later I reconnected with this boyfriend. We became best friends again. He and I had been on many marvelous adventures together in our younger days, and we love to recount the days we used to float around the globe together. When I told him about my 9/11 experience and the ring he told me that he had had the same exact thought. The ring.
Sometimes I think about that ring and wonder what happened to it. Perhaps it was pulverized into dust or hauled off into a landfill. I wish it had been the only thing destroyed that day.
I would have to say that my most memorable travel experience would have to be one of my more recent trips.. a trip to Morocco with 5 of my girl-friends. We went with one mission, one goal in mind: to ride camels. And ride camels is what we did. We trekked across the Sahara Desert, rolled down a sand dune that appeared to be larger than Machu PIcchu, and slept amidst the large desert bugs with 20 other random travelers while drifting off to sleep to the sounds of a bongo drum at a nearby camp-site. It was pretty amazing, felt as though I were in a movie!
Going away often brings me home. Travelling has become a piece of my inner landscape. A trip to the Holocaust Museum in Boston, climbing on a bike through the La Sals at 8,3000 feet where I sign stand with the words "Heaven's Overlook."
Post a Comment