Renting a car in Triers was a great decision and gives us the opportunity of seeing the sights and taking routes not on maps. The price of gasoline is high, close to $8.00 a gallon but the distances are not and less than half a tank was consumed while traveling through 5 countries. Crossing the borders in Northern Europe is somewhat anti -climatic. Small blue signs, bordered by yellow stars announce you’re entering a new country in the language of the country you are departing. Seeing Luxemb(o)urgh posted as such is one of our favorites. The French add the o the Germans leave out. Entering the Netherlands from its most Southern spot announced the country with the French
” Pays Bas“,- the low countries -which makes a lot of sense. The Netherlands is not only totally flat but at times so below sea level that one wonders if the next raindrop would make the country overflow which of course does not happen since the Dutch mastered their sea and waters a long time ago.
Finding our way back home to Uden, the small town in the province of North-Brabant appeared difficult at first, especially finding my brother Ton’s home there. The town I was raised in no longer exists except in my memories, or with my eyes closed. The trick is learning the roundabouts. The country is swamped with these and as long as one knows which roundabout turn to take, the cities and whole country can be taken with ease. In case one does not know, keep on circling the roundabout until a decision is made even if it causes great annoyance to the other drivers who have to give you the right of way and will start tapping an index finger on their own forehead.
For Tom the changes in Uden were even greater since his last visit there was in 1980. The beautiful home Ton and his wife Fieke built, is on the same spot where years ago I picked strawberries to raise extra cash. Ton and Fieke have two young sons, Jip(13) and Abe (10) who excitedly awaited our arrival and found a new fishing buddy in American uncle Tom. While so much has changed in Holland and Uden it was good to see that which has not. On our first evening there, while sitting outside, thousands of young children walked by with their teachers and parents, the Udens Avond 4 daagse ( the evening 4 days walk). As a child I participated in the walk of 10 Kilometers nightly ( 6 or so miles) through the town and it was great witnessing tradition and hearing the same marching songs. Ton and Fieke gave us sound advice, get on a bike and find the old city back. So true. Each small town in the South of Holland has at its center a church and windmill and they remained. It was good to learn the new through recognizing back the old and our first couple of days were spent revisiting the places I lived, learned and played. The old market still meets on Monday mornings and we partook and tasted all our favorites, some of which can only be bought there. Fish still tastes the best when bought from an old wooden stand surrounded by screaming market men selling other wares like cheese, fruit and underwear, all side by side. We are at the utmost time here, niewe haring, asparagus and cherries all ripe , ready or caught in June and while losing our tans, fastly regaining the weight lost earlier on in our travels. We visited the small bar/restaurant Tom briefly lived above years ago and Marc’s BBQ still serves the best satay in town .Tom enjoyed it so fully he grinned and showed teeth ! The main form of Dutch transportation is still the old bicycle and my sister in law Fieke , daily peddles to the grocery store and fills the saddlebags. Jip and Abe, like the rest of their classmates, ride their bikes to school and consider themselves quite lucky to only have to ride a couple of miles each way. They have friends who daily ride two hours to attend school. Extra consumed cheese sandwiches are their form of energy. Children still learn four foreign languages simultaneously and 13 year old Jip already is quite fluent in Latin, French, German and especially English. During our Uden days we made side trips through the provinces of Brabant, Limburg and Gelderland. My mother Annie was raised in the town of Vielingsbeek, near the Maas (Meuse) river and as a young child my siblings and I had great freedom and adventures near this river and I enjoyed showing Tom around there where my fondest memories rest. The town still does not own a bridge over the river and it is the same ferry which connects the two shores. As a small 5 year old I imagined the land across to be foreign country and longed for the stuiver ( 5 cent coin) it then took to cross the river. I remember the excitement when the ferry man on rare occasions would let us ( my sister, cousin and I) cross for free. My early wanderlust was surely set then when waters were crossed and “foreign shores” touched? I remain thankful to the kindhearted ferry attendant who saw and recognized this in a child so young and the freedom we safely lived in those days. This time we crossed the ferry with our German rental car and kilometers down the other shore’s road found another ferry and had another short, but thrilling crossing back .
The weather was cold, wet and dreary and totally added to the reality of it all.
We drove up to Gelderland where the “Hoge Veluwe” National park is. I tried to explain heide to Tom, the landscape found in the park and the closest translation I arrived at was “ Heathlands”. At any of the three park entrances one has the option to park the car and travel the rest of the area with a free, white bike or pay the extra fee of continued car driving over very limited car roads. We opted for the bikes as most people do. Throughout the park there are 1700 “Witte fietsen” (white bikes) totally free to use over the many excellent nature paths. The bikes are quite simple, no gears/speeds which are not needed on an absolute flat surface and instead of handbrakes a step back brake system. Very basic and with fewer technology in place, less chance of break down. We were so impressed with the whole idea that we commented to the park attendant who replied “ Ja mevrouw” ( yes, madam) “ The museum is still 12 kilometers away and if everybody walks that far they would get tired”. We loved that reasoning, we are in Holland where walking 12 kilometers makes one tired but traveling the same by bike does not. We ended up biking over 40 Kilometers that day past great heath lands , stopping by the Kroller Muller museum and while maybe not totally exhausted definitely experienced saddle pain, better known as monkey butt. The Kroller Muller museum was one of the reasons for our Veluwe trip and owes its existence to Helene Kroller-Muller, the daughter of a German industrialist who married a Dutch man in the late 1800‘s. After attending an art appreciation course she became inspired to start her own collection and single handedly acquired over 11.000 art works. Her favorite artist was Vincent van Gogh and Helene was convinced he stood above the other major art movements through his method of expression, technique and humanity. Helene Kroller-Muller collected 91 paintings and approximately 180 other works on paper by Van Gogh, thereby amassing the world’s largest collection of his works. ( Exception Van Gogh family collection). When the Kroller-Muller family were threatened with losing their estate on the Hoge veluwe by the economic recession of the 1920‘s-1930’s they had the foresight to donate the entire collection to the Dutch State under the condition that it build a museum to house the collection on the estate which is now National Park “ The Hoge Veluwe”. What we consider the most impressive is the absolute accessibility of the museum. We wandered through after parking our white bikes and were free to lose ourselves in the museum rooms, returning often to our favorite Van Goghs while neither hushed nor shushed. Pictures without flash can be taken and outside in the gardens are great sculptures including Rodin’s “ femme accroupie”.

Together with Ton, Fieke , Jip and Abe we spent a day at the shores of the North sea and while no longer tempted to swim in water that cold, we had a blast walking and playing while windblown. It is a different shore with its very own beauty and nowhere can the sea so fully withdraw by low tide than on a flat Dutch beach.
Language has changed here somewhat over the years and the word Daag ( Bye) is now seldom heard and the most common greeting upon departure used is Doei. We can get used to that. What is strange to hear is the ease with which many Dutch people use American cuss words. Never have we heard shit with such frequency out of the mouths of babes and grown ups alike.

Our time in Uden has come to an end and during our final traveling days we hope to see much more of Holland while also spending time with my sister Thea , her husband Ruud and their 5 children.

Doei,

Tom and Els

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Tomorrow morning we plan on picking up a rental car in Triers and slowly head further North and spend a couple of weeks in the Netherlands visiting family and familiarizing ourselves wiith memories created many years ago while making new ones.

Auf Wiedersehen Deutschland,
Danke Theo und Inge, es war sehr schon gewesen .

Tom and Els

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The train from Dusseldorf to Merzig follows the rivers closely and took us first by the Rhine, then the Mosel before traveling next to the Saar and the 3 plus hours went by quickly while watching the landscape. We are far enough North in the Northern hemisphere to be aware of the long light now in almost summer and while the sun sets around 9.30, the long “ schemeren” (dusk) lets us see until past 10.00pm . The rivers are surrounded by green, grape carrying hills and later in the week we hope to ride bikes next to the Saar. Koln’s large Cathedral dome was visible from the train as well as some great other sights in the smaller villages.
My dad Theo met us at the train station and after 4 years of us not having seen each other was a welcome sight. Inge, who holds a very special place in our heart, was waiting for us at their home which was a good decision since our luggage would not have fit otherwise in their small, economic European car. While I have visited Theo and Inge before, it is Tom’s first visit to Saarland. Theo and Inge have spoiled us from the minute we arrived last Saturday, May 30, and continue to do so still. Waiting on their table was one of the greatest gifts ever, socks for both of us, hand knitted by Inge. I was down to my last pair which made the gift extra special. The socks are of many colors, the same colors we have seen on our travels. With each stitch love is added and for that we are grateful.
Resting was not an option and since our first day here the sights have been shared and seen. Saarburg, a small town close by, was one of our first stops. It offers a great view from it’s burg (old fort for protection). We have found and seen many more burgs and schloss and wonder if every German town has one. My dad and I share almost the same birthday which coincided with their favorite winery’s Keller tags (Cellar days) and we sampled great wines high up in the vineyard while overlooking the Saar and Luxemburg’s luscious wine fields across the river. The winery served great snacks along with the wine including my all-time highest ranked delicacy “ Nieuwe haring”. Raw herring, treated only with salt and imported from the Netherlands. Certainly a great way to celebrate being together.
The next day we drove down to the Schwarzwald, where Theo and Inge head for at least 4 times a year for Black Forest rambling. Germany’s Schwarzwald is tucked in its most Southern corner and borders Switzerland and France. The first hour was done on the Autobahn and it being a Holiday, (Second Pentecost day) like a Saturday and Sunday no trucks were allowed on. Trucks are never allowed in the fast lane where very efficient Audis, Peugeots, BMW , Porches,Mercedes and even Ferrari’s whiz by. Theo takes a French shortcut for the last part to get to their destination and it was fun to be in France for a couple of hours and even if it involved only one coffee stop it gave us a brief chance to see and hear the French language. Rivers and mountains still make natural borders between the European countries and for Theo and Inge a visit to either Luxemburg or France involves a mere crossing of the river, a few kilometers away.
The town where Theo and Inge treated us to a true Black Forest experience is called Tennenbronn and they consider it their home away from home. It is a small village, nestled deep in a Hohe Schwarzwald valley and one wonders if time indeed stopped there.
After unpacking we joined Theo and Inge on their traditional first walk to the tiny St. Mary chapel up in the hills where they light a candle each time upon arriving back to a place they love and the gratitude they have for their ability to still hike these hills.
We enjoyed tremendous weather during our 5 days there and each day we set off for a hike over hills, valleys and through deep, dark and silent woods. The trails offer spectacular views while wandering by historical landmarks. Stops were made to fill up our water bottles from spouts found throughout these woods which carry the cold, clear water from the melted snow higher up. No other food or drinks were carried since throughout the Black Forest Gasthauses offer local prepared food and drinks to the wanderers. It reminded us of our stops at the Teahouses in Nepal except instead of tea and Dahl-bhat the offerings now were large steins of cold Ketterer beer(the best) and platters of meat and bratkartoffeln. Theo and Inge are well known in the region and we were warmly welcomed at the Gasthaus for Vesperstube. The old farms found throughout the hills often serve double as a Gasthaus. These farms were built to suit the land, climate and life style and two roads lead to these. One road stays up to enter the barn which fills the top of the farm while the lower road reaches to the living area and stables below, all under one roof. Many of these uniquely pitched, red tiled roofs are now mounted on the sunny side with solar and photo voltaic panels to aid with the farms’ energy demand. Use of the constant flowing mountain water is done with small wooden mills. With last winters generous snowfall the landscape was a sparkle of many different shades of fresh and new greens mixed with flowers different from the spring flowers seen in other regions. Our favorite was the yellow waldwachtelwiesel, a shrub carrying tiny flowers with petals similar to a freesia. Other towns we visited in the region were Triberg which boasts not only Germany’s highest waterfalls but also the World’s first largest cuckoo clock, Schramberg, Hornberg, and Schonach. The air is amazingly clean and crisp which must have aided in our sleep as well as the constant hiking. In Tennenbronn there are two churches. One Catholic with the other called Protestant. Each church has their time to chime and the Catholic Church, starting at 6.00am announces each 15 minute passing throughout the day with the sound of the bells. The full hour deserves additional gonging. The last bells are rung at 10.00 pm and remain silent until the next morning. The Protestant church bells only sound twice a day but for a lengthy concert at 6.00 am and 8.00pm. The singing bells sound wonderful through the valley and aided Tom and I on a evening hike when we were no longer sure of the paths but knew with each 15 minute bell chime that we could not be far away. We wonder though about Europe’s use of the 24 hour clock while the church bells do not ding past 12 and repeat the pm cycle? That may be a blessing. Imagine the count. We walked to the small stores daily to buy only that what was needed for that given day. Stores are open from 8.00am until noon, closed for a 2 hour lunch and back open until 6.00 pm. Each store closes one other day during the week and all are closed every Sunday. Refreshing to see the Sabbath honored and as Gaby, the Gasthaus owner told us, the importance the Schwarzwalders take in spending time with family. Getting used to the hours is simple and one learns to do without if not purchased in time. We were a little mystified with the white chalking above the town’s houses wooden front doors and it was explained that the markings 20*C+M+B*09 were made by the visiting three kings on Three Kings Day. Local children dress in Kings clothing each year on January 6 and visit all in the village and leave these markings as gift blessing for the upcoming year.

Beyond eating and drinking the Schwarzwald fare we consumed much Italian Eis. Every little town has at least two Italian ice-cream stands and with Theo’s fondness for these we ate more Italian ice cream in Germany in one week than during our stay in Italy.
We have enjoyed our time with my dad Theo and Inge and it has been good to see firsthand the places they have talked about for so many years. In the early 1940’s , as a young man, my father was captured in Amsterdam by the German army and spent the remainder of World War 2 as prisoner and forced laborer in the town of Hornberg. The same town we visited last week. I once asked my dad why he would want to return to a place where he had been held captive and he answered that during those years, while still in his late teens, he vowed to return and walk these hills and forests as a free man and he does, often, now with his German wife Inge. It is a lesson in grace and forgiveness and for us it was quite meaningful to spend D-Day on top of a hill overlooking the picturesque and quiet town of Hornberg. Theo speaks Dutch and Inge German and at times when they simultaneously and excitedly speak their stories my brain becomes a bit confused, especially when Tom joins in the conversation. I know there must have been a switch crossover and am answering all in the wrong language when they give me blank looks. It never seizes to amaze us that Inge and Theo can perfectly communicate while speaking two different languages, at the same time.

We returned back to Merzig over the weekend and this morning, sitting purposely down to write about our week in Germany and listening to both the fallen rain and my father’s radio a familiar song came on. An old Simon and Garfunkel singing “ I‘d rather feel the earth beneath my feet“ and we truly second those words. Seeing Vienna, Rome and Florence sights all within a week, walking crowded streets and absorbing so many historical sights and ancient art can send one in a sensory overload. We have learned that for us, reenergizing occurs when we reboot. Get back in nature and watch the wonders unfold. We hope to have some clear days coming in the next week so Saarland can be explored more by bike and on foot. Germany can be cold and wet in June as we learned today when the temperature dropped to single Celsius digits and the fire was lit inside.

Tschuess

Tom and Els

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For Italian train travel, remember to ALWAYS validate your ticket on the yellow machine somewhere found in the station before you get aboard. We bought our train ticket to Florence at the Rome Termini Tourist Booth and they never shared this useful information. The Italian ticket police who came around on that trip leg were not amused by our lack of travel knowledge and showed little patience with ignorant tourists.
Thanks to newly made friend Aida on the train we now get it. The train tickets bought in Italy are totally open as are the Florence bus tickets , but they are not fully validated until clicked at the yellow box. Since checking is sporadic one could take a chance and re-use the same ticket over and over again and be vulnerable to potential, consequential fining, which was never our intent. We gladly pay the very reasonable bus and train fare but please make it more explainable at the onset so that angry ticket police stops waving the 50 Euro fine in tourist faces while muttering “ Stupid Americano” upon parting.
It is their temperament which makes the Italians stand out, not their patience.

For us , public transportation remains a great way of seeing a country while learning its culture and language. My take on the Italian language is that it is made up of English words with a vowel attached at the end. These vowels are anything but silent and I love repeating the words seen in passing, letting the consonants roll with a good vowel rip. Reading it sure is easier than trying to understand the fast speaking Italians but we are improving. They do appreciate our attempt and the “grazi “ sounds sincere. While the train tickets can be bought through vending machines, the Florence city bus tickets are bought at the Tobacco store. Not a good place to head for daily if one is trying to break the nicotine habit but sniffing the air around us, very few in Italy and Europe are concerned about the health hazard of smoking and continue to puff widely.

Florence is obviously not very influenced by the world’s economy since the lines(now called queues) to enter the sights, are very long, even this early in the season.
Mystifying somewhat. What is it that this city offers? The food is indeed good but the food is good anywhere in Italy. Florence claims to have been the backdrop to the birth of many men of genius whose designs and sculptures now mark the city’s small historic center as owning the largest concentration of artistic masterpieces in the world. We gathered this information of course from a Firenzi guide but are quite agreeable to the statement after spending days touring the Uffizi Gallery, Pallazo Vecchio, Santa Maria Novella etc.etc. I am slowly recognizing the sculptures by the lack of fig leaves. Florence center can easily be done on foot if one does not mind crowds, heat and noise. We crossed the Ponte Vecchio ( famous bridge) over the Arno river which separates some of the Florence sights and gratefully walked away from the crowds to climb Piazzale Michelangelo which offers a great and quiet view of the city. On the way back down I braved the crowds and once more stood in line for an inside view of an Italian Church, this time Florence Duomo, one of Italy’s most famous monuments and the world’s fourth largest cathedral. Earlier in the day we had seen a close-up of the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore’s, the Battistero and bell tower. In Italy, even while sharing a name, piazza and same unique nougat façade , the entrance of one does not guarantee the entrance to the other and all ask for a separate ticket and waiting in line.
Tom had seen the inside of the Dome before and happily bailed out while I walked to the end of the line only to see a very disturbing sight. Books and fellow travelers had warned us of the number of beggars gathered around Italy’s major sights which of course are the churches, and I observed the woman in front of me very uncomfortably protecting her purse while another, obviously upset and loudly gesticulating begging woman was demanding not only her attention but something else. Emphasis was made through lifting a shirt and baring a maybe lactating breast and while not understanding the cardboard sign the beggar held or the angry, non Italian, words spoken I assumed it to be an emphasis on having to feed a child, overall a disturbing sight. It all happened within seconds and the tourist in front of me was very bewildered, especially when upon non compliance, the parting act was a generous being spat on. While assisting her in wiping down the saliva I asked her why she had been singled out and heard from a co-waiter that she had made the mistake of making eye-contact. Up and down the line, in different languages, heads were nodded. “ Never make eye-contact!” Chatting more I learned that the woman spat on was Dutch and had no clue what had been asked of her and beyond becoming very frightened mentioned that the woman had made her feel guilty. I spent 15 more minutes in the Duomo’s line while it never moved forward listening to fellow tourists, my closest ones were from New York and Amsterdam who shared how in their own cities they never visit the sights marked out for tourists. I listened to the Dutch woman who again shared how the beggar, the begging episode, had made her feel.
I wondered, can some one else make us feel guilty or do we allow others to make us feel guilty?
Who makes us feel guilty?
The yoke of guilt can be handed to us but ultimately we make the decision to hang it around our neck.
It was during those 15 minutes I made the decision to no longer remain in line to pay and see a church , or any house meant for prayer while certain limiting conditions are in place.
We have seen many churches, mosques and temples during our travels. Whether it was the Torah, Bible or Koran the recipe for spiritual contentment, for hope, love and controlling human passion remains pretty equal. Their message is always straight from God but via a different messenger.
The twistenedness comes that it was in the countries where we visited neither temples, mosques , nor churches, there where very few claim to live within the Holy books, it was there where we found God’s basic message fully lived.
Love thy neighbor!

Granted, many churches here in Italy are filled with historic art we have not yet seen but from now on the only art we want to see is either created by nature or in a kitchen.
We are duomo’d, battisired and pallazo’d out.
The apartment we rented in Florence is owned by Italian chef “ Massimo” who a couple of years ago moved to Dallas, Texas, together with his American wife Kristy. They kept their Florence apartment as their home, while in Italy, and rent it out when in America. We found their listing on internet and it was the opening line, mentioning Massimo as an Italian chef which made us look closer. We had just finished reading “ Kitchen Confessions” by Anthony Bourdain, another chef, and while absolutely not making propaganda for a very outlandish and potentially “offensive for some “ book with his use of very imaginative words , we checked Massimo and Kristy’s listing closer through the sheer coincidence. Thank goodness we did. We enjoyed our time in their apartment. It is very close to the center of Florence and with its two (sixth floor) balconies let us live Italian. In the morning it is the balcony facing East which gives a peek of the city while slowly drinking a whole pot of coffee with a sun, not yet too hot . This same balcony is great later in the day drinking good Chianti wine while the West balcony (off the kitchen) can bake the laundry dry. Sunrises have been missed since the sun rises way too early now for our travel clock and the late setting sun is blocked by the other high rise apartments. Kristy wins the award for preparing the tourist to her home and city with all the information left behind. Trips were taken to see the Tuscan Hills and surrounding towns with easy daily jumps on buses or trains. Fiesole was a great sight. Next to Piazzale Michelangelo, it is considered the other famous hill that surrounds the heart of Florence. We liked it because it is definitely more quiet, the Franciscan monks were very inviting and opened up their monastery without asking for money or making us change clothes . In the heart of Fiesole we learned that it was here that Leonardo da Vinci in 1501 attempted his dream of human flight. On a clear day one can probably see forever or at least have a better view of Florence but alas, a clear day we did not have.
Pisa was another stop and we are debating between two words describing our first view of the famous leaning tower of Pisa on the Campo del Miracoli ( Field of miracles).
Endearing or comical? Either way, we burst out laughing. The leaning tower of Pisa is indeed still very much doing that and we are sure that Pisa is very grateful for the architectural error since there is not much else to draw these crowds. We believe this leaning is not limited to the tower but that the cup- cake shaped baptistery and matching, dazzling white cathedral are all slightly off kilter, or maybe we are.
Pisa is a quiet city to wander through after getting away from its leaning, crowded sight and like the rest of Italy has lots of terraces so legs can be rested and sips of wine taken . That was our course of action after the decision to no longer pay for church entrance. To view the inside of the Pisa church, tower and baptistery costs 25 Euros, somewhat around US$35.00 and a tad too ridiculous.

The Tuscan country side is beautiful , green hills, blue skies and the poppies have followed us here. Now that we know the travel rules and faithfully click our tickets to validation of course no ticket police has been seen since.
At our apartment Kristy and Massimo left cards for restaurants they recommend in Florence and we totally trusted a bone fide chef to send us to the right place in Florence. For an early birthday celebration we ventured out to Accademia Ristorante on Piazza S. Marco and Tom and I both agreed that it was the best meal ever consumed. Leaving the choice of our wining and dining to chef Gianni was another good decision and this birthday dinner will be hard to top. Each wine was carefully chosen to compliment the food on our plate and palate and everything we previously heard and read about Florence cuisine came through.

For our last couple of days in Italy we decided to head up to Cinque Terre , a coastal region not far from the port of La Spezia. On Christmas 2007, we received a bitter sweet present from Cinque Terre in the form of a calendar made up of pictures taken that year by my nephew Ben who died only months after he hiked the five tiny Cinque Terre coastal villages of Riomaggiore, Manorola, Corniglia, Vernazza and Monterosso.
Ben, we do not have your eye, or talent in capturing the beauty you did with your camera, but we gave it a try and are thankful for you letting us know of Italy’s most beautiful spot. The views of the coast are spectacular as is the rich flora. Our days in Italy have been quite hot and the swim taken in the Mediterranean Sea after the hike felt great.,

Friday we head by train back to Rome for one more night in our favorite B&B Cecare Balbo before catching a May 30 plane for Dusseldorf, Germany where we plan to hook up with my dad so our birthdays can be celebrated together this year.

Ciao Italy, it has been bella!

Tom and Els

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What can be said about Rome besides …Ahhhh.
Our plane landed late Monday night, it was delayed leaving Vienna. BTW, the Vienna airport is one great shopping mall and while waiting , there is lots to see with enticement to buy. We made reservations in Rome a while back at B&B Cecaro Balbo which included a driver pick up from the airport at an extra price but well worth it when arriving late in a city one does not yet know. The Rome airport is quite a ways out and gave our driver lots of straight stretches to reach speeds of 160Km while steering with his knees, after all when an Italian driver has his cell phone in the left hand he needs the other hand to gesticulate with. When in Rome, do as the Romans do, buckle up and take a very deep breath. We had no idea of Cecaro Balbo’s great location and were pleasantly surprised when driver Antonio suddenly started pointing out famous landmarks including the collosseum where he slammed on the brake, to avoid running a red light. At this so historical ruin the road has three lanes to accommodate the extra traffic but Tom counted 7 cars, side by side, all revving their engines to be the first out of the block and not surprisingly, our Antonio sped off first with a big grin. Had we hired the next Mario Andrettti ?
Our very small Cecaro Balbo hotel is in an historical building steps away from Santa Maria Maggiore church and an absolute treasure to stay in while in Rome. It appeared a little creepy at first, no sign what so ever and the only light came from a distant streetlight reflecting back from the cobble stones. Huge oak doors and a bell and after a ringing, the doors creakingly, slowly opened only to reveal a large marbled hall separated by a black iron gate. It felt like entering Frankenstein’s castle. With a pop the gate opened and from a side door a face showed still fitting the scene with words we did not quite understand except “ Stricklands?”. That’s how we met Glenn, and after three days at his place (we may have been be the only guests) are convinced it is the place to be in while in Rome and have already booked for our only night back in Rome next week. Glenn is originally from the Philippines and besides bringing us cappuccinos at 8.00 am every morning showed us what routes to walk and what buses to take so all the Rome sights could be seen. The weather was great, warm and sunny, almost too hot and after spending 8 hours touring the Colloseum, Arch of Constantine, the Palatino , Trevi fountain, Piazza del Popolo, Pantheon and most all the sites right of the River Tiber, we took a cool refuge at Cesaro Balbo. Within its quiet thick walls and slanted brick ceilings, double windows with louvered shutters, we took a three hour nap and now understand siestas. Later that night another approach was taken to see Rome’s sights and that is to comfortably sit back on a small terrace eating the best ice cream ever and watching it happen. The Italian men remain charming and I wonder how the Italian women put up with them. Parking and the fight for a spot becomes entertaining and our hats off to those who can park in footage designed for cycles, admitting that some of the cars are the exact same size as a motor cycle.
Our second Rome day was devoted to the Vatican City and while Tom was in Rome before and saw this sight upon his arrival in Europe in the early seventies, for me it was a first. If we had checked better we would have known that every Wednesday the Pope gives his address to the audience assembled in the square in front of St. Pietro Basilica . Leave it to us to be totally unaware, only happily surprised to hear the pope speak while entering the square and equally oblivious about needing a ticket do sit down and receive the papal blessing in Italian, German and English before listening to that day’s choir which was the Dutch women’s choir from Volendam all dressed in the authentic Volendam clothing. One can only smile and be thankful to all who hold us up in prayer and let us fly by the seat of our pants to know that our moment in time at the Vatican was right. It being a Wednesday may have added to the crowd with whom we were herded and hushed through the museum and Sistine Chapel. Hours can be lost there, or gained, but seeing the art collected by the Vatican , then or recent, and the crick in our neck awing over Michelangelo’s soaring dome is worth the pain.
St. Pietro Basilica is a church I have wanted to enter for many years. With my given name of Petronella and having been baptized, received first communion and confirmation in St. Petrus Kerk , Uden , the Netherlands, and consciously confirmed at St. Peter’s Episcopal Church in Conway, Arkansas, spending time at the grounding tomb was good.

Within our original Italy plans was a hooking up in Tuscany with friends Cathy and Charley. Even well made plans sometimes go awry without our control and while we will not share this time now, we look forward to sharing good time with them in the Holler and any place we find together.
Little more tid bit on why we are taking trains in Italy. While still in Santorini, Greece, hiking from Fira to Oia, Tom’s right eye contact lens started bothering him and he attempted a removal. Never, ever do this while still walking and never ever think the lens is out unless you can see it in your hand. During our crossing of the Aegean Sea, by ferry back to Athens, Tom’s eye slowly started swelling , shut down and only oozed.
Our first Athens trip, the second time around, was to the hospital minutes away from the London Glyfada Hotel. While we knew our hotel had pre- warned the clinic it was still astounding that the eye- doctor walked in the hall way, looked for us, saw Tom and his obvious need and took him in without asking for a name , passport or credit card number, and treated him strictly with the skills he had. After Tom‘s eye was seen to and patched the only English spoken was “ You! Back! Tomorrow”., which we did and again we were picked out of a crowded hall way by this doctor and seen to without any information, papers or any money exchanged.
Tom had a need which the doctor by oath fulfilled.
Truly unbelievable but experienced firsthand, in Greece when a tourist needs emergency medical care it is taken care off, even with us having insurance it was never asked for, no money was exchanged, a true phenomena.

Tom asked me to display all my medical discomforts on our travels, which I will even if they did not need medical interventions but were equally painful.

In Thailand I acquired travelers diarrhea, and now know why it is called such, it travels with you from country to country and can only be absolved through taking the prescribed drugs/antibiotics that were all along in my pack.
I broke two toes. The littlest ones on my right foot, on two different occasions, both involving marble steps while wearing flip-flops. Marble is unforgiving.
Broken toes heal on their own while the black and blue color is unnoticeable on a tanned foot.

Our next stop and stay now is the in the Tuscan hills where we have an apartment waiting in Florence.

Arriverderci,

Tom and Els

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When we first arrived in Austria last Friday it was so good to be able to read the signs and understand (mostly) the spoken German words. It was a little disconcerting that upon my speaking what I presumed to be quite understandable German, the Austrians would immediately answer in English . My German must not be what I think it is. I decided to stick with my guns though and kept conversing in German even while noticing the painful look on their faces. My German will not get any better if I am not allowed to practice. I do wonder how often I have done the same and discouraged others from learning Dutch by not allowing them to speak in a language foreign to them because it hurt my ears.

The highlight of our short trip to Vienna was connecting back with Helga, an Austrian woman whom we briefly met on a New Zealand beach in early February. At that time we shared a rainy ocean swim and our meal. Helga then mentioned for us to contact her if our travels would bring us closer and they did. We met Helga last Sunday morning at Schloss Shonbrunn , the magnificent summer palace of the Habsburgs and still kept in its shining glory. We could not have had a better guide to take us through the gardens and show us the views. Afterwards Helga drove us south to the city of Baden where the former Emperors family ’s Kur park and Casino are still drawing crowds to hear the music of Strauss and Mozart surrounded by the park’s greenness.
In Baden Helga showed us the specific Austrian signs which lead locals and tourists to homes where authentic made food and wine can be consumed in a comfortable, home/garten setting and Helga treated us to a Bunschenank. While we were sharing the great breads, spreads and wine Helga promised us to many months earlier we commented on the great fact of sharing meals in some one’s private back yard while bringing mans’ best friends, their dogs. The couple next to us, with their dog, overheard our conversation done in both German and English and introduced us to their language . Liz, born and raised in Kansas and her Austrian husband Otto showed us how both our languages together, called Germish , can be spoken well .
Liz and I had a great time passing back and forth the humor Americans have for those living in Kansas and we are adding Liz as another great Kansas person to know. Our Kansas friends Jeannie, Annette and Bill should know that now with meeting Liz the scale is favorably tipping for Kansas.

Tonight, while writing about our Schnitzel days, we already are in Rome but Rome wanderings will have to wait for another day.
It was Helga who showed us another way, another word for saying Schuss, auf wiedersehen, good-bye or tot ziens. All words containing that we have a hope to see each other again.
Helga gave us the Austrian word of Servus, an ancient word meaning that while we may not see each other again on this earth we honor and treasure every moment we spent together.

Servus Helga, Vienna and Austria.

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We ended our time in Santorini with that we did most of and that was walking. The island invites one to this, blasted as it was to smithereens by volcanic activity it leaves one side with sheer cliffs while on the other side gently sloping back to the sea, allowing black and red sand beaches for the tourists to bake on. Our most favorite walk was the 15km hike from Fira to the town of Oia, built along the rim of the caldera wall and known for a spectacular sunset. Walking through the narrow alleys, terraced on cliffs showed us the roof arches of Santorini, all whitewashed or painted the church blue and there to offset the other Santorini phenomena which is the hidden flat basins each arched roof carries to catch and utilize every raindrop which falls on this extremely dry island. Slightly tilted, each roof has a drain which carries the rare , fresh water to a cistern deep below each house. On top one could also see the stainless steel hot water tanks attached to the solar panels which gave us many good hot showers. It is amazing how an island without fresh water and limited rain days can maintain its greenness, flowers and grape crops for the Santos wine. We mentioned earlier the lowness of the grape bushes, barely 2 feet in height so as to be protected from the Santorini wind which is strong, fierce and as the few trees show, blows from one direction only.
We took the “See Santorini in one day” tour and had a reenergizing blast. The tour involved a visit to the prophet Elias monastery built on the highest point of the island in 1711 AD and of course the view was breathtaking. In the Athinios port we boarded the old King Thiras boat which took us first to the island of Nea Kameni which is still an active volcano and the walk around and on the volcano involves clambering on lava with lots of tourists and not all were sufficiently warned that on this hike no donkeys were available. Afterwards the boat sailed to the small island of Palia Kameni,where we were offered a swim in the green, hot sulfur waters flowing behind the active crater. This became quite comical. The King Thiras boat stopped quite a way back from the island and we were all offered the opportunity to jump in, swim through the very cold , early spring Aegean waters for 15 meters( give or take a couple of 100 meters) before enjoying bathtub warm, orange and white speckled sulfur waters and some of us did. That’s when true bonding starts with your fellow passengers; Chinese, Dutch, Australian, American and Greek all sound alike when only shrieks of pain and moans of joy are heard when the water temperature abruptly changes from 10 to 35 degrees Celsius. The swim back to the King Thiras became a race since only cold water was a certainty on the return. The island of Thirassia was visited next and we hiked up to the village of Manalos and wondered when the tour company will start warning tourists that their day program is quite a work out. In Santorini donkeys are of course ready and willing to take you up the 600 or so vertical steps with at least many more horizontal steps in between but even while knowing how it boosts the Santorini economy, we struggle with having these tiny donkeys carry our big bodies up. Port Athinos was built only 40 years ago when Santorini realized that the port of Fira was not conductive in attracting the tourists, not even the donkeys could carry all the luggage and there was no room for the winding road needed to carry the big buses and their load up which now is in place. It is in Athinios where the big ferries stop. Fira still has its port for the daily cruise ships and some years ago a smart business man built a steep cable car to take the tourist up and down which of course drew the wrath of the donkey owners. Lately a happy compromise has been reached in Santorini, the cable car owner gives twenty percent of his profit back to the donkey owners who sit waiting for the few costumers still wanting the authentic ride up the many steps.

What stands out for us in Santorini is not the sunset we watched in Oia with many others but instead the full moon slowly starting its arch over the Caldera nighttime blue.
It is the time spent in the village of Karterados, walking, waiting for buses, buying bread and seeing the town’s people white washing for the summer to come. It is in the greetings we received and gave back to those who recognized us as travelers who stayed on Santorini for longer than a couple of days.
Santorini is not only a place to live but a place to be and with both fondness and sadness we sailed yesterday back to Athens and spent one more night there, this time on the Southern Athens beach of Glyfada before flying to Austria tomorrow.

Let’s hear if the hills are truly alive with the sound of music.

Yassu and thank you Greece!

Tom and Els
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It is every year that many people die all over the world from different strains of the flu and its complications so we have decided to not add it as an additional worry to our travels but stay very focused on where the bus and taxi drivers are coming from out of narrow alley corners because they still remain our most immediate danger.

Returning to Athens, to Greece was very monumental to Tom and I. In the fall of 1973 we were here. It was our very first trip together at the prill age of barely 20 (Els) and almost 22 (Tom). We see our return as a successful completion of a trip around the world starting many years ago and that the next two European months are an extra. While our return to Athens almost 36 years later may be significant to us, wandering around the Acropolis last Saturday, seeing the Parthenon and Athena’s temple once again, monuments which more than any other epitomizes the glory of Ancient Greece in the 5th Century BC reminds us that in their grand scheme of time we are merely a dot. Spending the day retracing our steps we again became enthralled with the grace and harmony found in the Parthenon even while most of it was surrounded in scaffolding for reconstruction purposes. In 438 BC, in an attempt to achieve perfect form the Parthenon lines were ingeniously formed to counteract unharmonious optical illusions. “The base curves upwards slightly towards the ends, and the columns become slightly narrower towards the top with the overall effect of making them both look straight“.
Simply not much different from the grace and allowances we make in relationships so that harmony can appear.

We booked our Athens stay at the Apollo Hotel on Archilleos Street and while it boasted an Acropolis view from some of the balconied rooms we were so surprised when it actually did. Traveling as long as we have and booking on internet we have become quite skeptical. I have walked down to the reception desk upon arrival and showed them the picture advertised on internet only to say” THIS is the room we want to stay in tonight and where are you hiding it? ‘ En suite’ should mean the bathroom is attached to the room and not a flea infested , squatter toilet without paper two floors up. The Apollo hotel was great, the view was more than promised as was the walking distance to Athen’s great sights. With Tom only having been discharged from the hospital the day before we limited our wanderings and took many rests which in Athens are a sight in itself.. Again here, as in Turkey, they are at the early beginning of a hopeful successful tourist season and prices are still lower. For some unexplainable reason so far, last Saturday, May 2, none of the sights in Athens charged admissions including the Acropolis, Ancient Agora, Roman Agora and museums which was highly appreciated by us, even more so after traveling in countries where as tourists we usually were charged up to 10 times more. The money saved was of course spent on a very good meal and surrounded by street vendors we were highly entertained while the sun once again colorfully set over Athens. Street vendors carry their wares in sheets which make good displays on the ground and somewhere an extra set must be hid since the wares offered are immediately changed when the weather does, which quickly can in early May Greece .

Our trip in Greece this time is different. We are of course older but probably no wiser. In 1973 we landed in Rhodes and slowly traveled our way up by ferries to Athens while stopping and staying at the islands of Kos, Leros and Myconos. We remember the ferries very fondly, broke as we were then (and now) we traveled steerage which today is called economy class. In 1973 the ferry boats were not the luxury 8 deck monsters which now give us an idealic crossing of the Aegean Sea ,watching islands roll by while the American Extreme home makeover and Super nanny are shown on a TV above.
Then, in 1973, Tom and I snuck in the life boats dangling on the upper deck and enjoyed a calm crossing while in steerage it would not have been pleasant and now we wonder about all the rules we broke as 20 year olds.
This time our destination is one island only . The island of Santorini and while our ferry took us by the islands of Paros and Naxos only pictures where taken of them while they showed us other great places to come to and rest. Our first view of Santorini gave the impression of snow topped mountains and it was not until we were closer that we saw instead the white washed buildings of the villages perched high atop the cliffs. It was around 1450 BC that the volcanic heart of Santorini exploded, sank and left an extraordinary landscape. It remains possible that the volcanic catastrophe destroyed the Minoan civilization but neither this theory nor the claim that the island was part of the lost continent of Atlantis has ever been proven.

What is proven to be true is that Santorini is an absolutely delightful and colorful place to be in early May. Prices are cut in half to attract the early birds which allows us to have great lodging in Pension George, a charming, of course whitewashed, blue trimmed family run pension in the centre of the island, within walking distance of the capital town of Fira. George’s wife Helen is English which sure aids in communication. Just up the street from us is the best bakery on the island and every morning we take a short stroll and pick out our loaf for the day and together with the fresh feta and fruit from the store next door, accompanied by a bottle of Santorini wine it makes for a good meal on our balcony. The first morning in the bakery I was a little overwhelmed with all the choices of bread and wondered if the proprietor would let me tap the loaves and see which were crispy since our languages did not meet. During my somewhat embarrassing attempt to purchase a crispy loaf of bread a friendly villager walked in with great understanding of the English language who showed me the bread I wanted and now each morning I happily only point a finger and the bread of choice is there. Our first two days here were rainy. We somehow are destined to bring rain there where it is needed and in Santorini it has been rare and the vine bushes show the shortage. We gladly do our part to make the wine flow. Thankfully we can afford the rainy days and during those days Tom rested, healed even more but lost a cap on one of his molars. With the cap in hand we walked through the small town of Karterados and found the local dentist-office , mentioned by Helen from our pension and within minutes Tom’s cap was back in place. In Karterados the dentist still works by the first come, first served order and can afford to charge only 30 Euros for remounting a cap since the overhead is almost nil. He performed not only as the dentist but was the receptionist, dental hygienist and accounts payable. Tom paid considerably more the first time it was put down and it did not stay in place. Hopefully we now are done checking out local emergency dental and medical care.
We plan on staying 10 days here in Santorini and there is plenty to see and do. Buses are not quite running on schedule since the tourists are not all here yet but that makes it even more entertaining. We hopped on buses yesterday which were either an hour late or an hour early depending on the sounds around us, for us they happened right when we walked up not expecting anything and pleasantly surprised. We have as of yet not learned when one is supposed to pay for these bus rides. Invariantly the bus driver says “ pay later” and often we part from the bus and have not paid and wonder if later in the day when we do it all evens out. The island can be walked easily as we did today and after a 45 minute hike we found a black sand beach all to ourselves. The water is still extremely frigid but doable for a short time only to say that the salt of the Aegean Sea was tasted on our lips while enduring a brain freeze.
After now six weeks of traveling there where we did not understand the languages and it all sounded Greek to us, with pun intended now it does. There is something with the Greek language that makes it fascinating for those of us who do not understand it to watch. When words are lost, one pays more attention to the other forms of communication, facial expressions, body language, timbre, gestures and the Greek gives plenty. While the words exchanged could be as banal as “ honey, did you remember to turn of the lights” , their communication gives forth an intimidation, an aggression foreign to us.

We are surrounded by the colors of Greece, the intense blue of the Aegean sea with a sky trying to match daily while all are sprucing and white washing the immaculate houses for the summer to come.
It is a good place to be in early May.

Yassu

Tom and Els

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Last Saturday morning, after having arrived in the town of Pamukkale the day before, Tom woke up with excruciating pain in his left side and unable to keep any food or water down. I knew it was serious when at 6.00am he consented and let me call a doctor. Even at that time in the morning I found friendly hotel staff busy sweeping the courtyard and upon understanding my frantic…sick!…doctor!, a call was made to summon the local family doctor out of bed. Within the hour Doktor Sakir Bayur knocked on our door armed with the old physician’s bag which holds everything to check patient’s vital signs and administer basic lab tests. Enough anyway for Dr. Sakir to diagnose a kidney stone. Part of his diagnosis resulted from a test Tom may laugh about later but not yet today. During the exam the pretty good-sized and hefty doctor looked at Tom and while questioning‘“ Hurts” chopped him in the left kidney with enough force to leave Tom out of breath and stunned. My kidneys felt rattled just watching Tom’s pain. Dr. Sakir , wondering about Tom’s lack of response whacked him fitfully once more before Tom thankfully moaned out in pain. Armed with Tom’s passport he took off for the pharmacy and returned shortly with two shots and four other medications with instructions on how to take them and to return if pain stayed on for more than three days. His total bill for the house call, tests and all meds totaled to 210 lires, $ 140.00 Not bad and how great that in this ancient town the ancient art of healing still continues. The day before we had taken a tour of Pamukkale, a small town, nestled close by the ruins of Hierapolis and while in the far distance snow capped mountains can be seen, the purest whitest slope ever is at the end of the village street, at the bottom of the plateau where the ruins of Hierapolis can be wandered. Thermal spring waters have formed these fantastic formations of stalactites and the calcium deposits appear at times like frosted cakes with blue icing on top. The blueness is the mineral’s water absorption of the sky above. Our tour guide Ramadaz was very informative on the history of Hierapolis, first occupied by the Greeks, then the Romans before Byzantine’s and now Turkey’s influence. We have learned that when one does not speak the language and all explanatory signs are in the native tongue it pays to spend a little more, and join a tour to hear the history. More ancient ruins, cities, catacombs and history will certainly be displayed and divulged when we continue our travels in Greece and Italy but our tour of Hierapolis will always remain special through the sheer freedom of wandering it gave us and the color of the wildflowers dispersed throughout the hillside. It was the red of the poppies mixed with the purple, white and yellows of other flowers that more than the old stone spoke of: “ As it was in the beginning, is now”. At the top of Hierapolis the old theater can be found, extremely well preserved after all these centuries and earthquakes. The greatest gift any old theatre/arena can be given was granted here when a couple of months ago this Roman built Apollo Theater was the place for a rock concert. What a tribute and how right to not be afraid to use it properly.

Tom snoozed a couple of days in Pamukkale, sweating away his pain and discomfort and even the muezzins sky flooding invitations were not enough to waken his rest. During that time we were greatly taken care of by the Koray Otel family members. There could not have been a better place for Tom to have taken ill. The Otel is family run, with “Papa” the patriarch still close by the helm and throughout the day he would charmingly bring me flowers and fresh mint for my tea, always making sure that all our needs and wishes were met. His sons and daughters run the hotel while his many grandchildren play and learn. Whatever the family ate became our meal and without menus seen the fare was grand. In the morning endless baskets with crisp, fresh baked baguettes were served together with the standard Turkish/Mediterranean breakfast of sliced tomatoes, cucumber , boiled egg and various olives. On our tour of Pamukkale we met 5 South African women, a mother with her two daughters and their friends. It was while anxiously waiting for Tom’s recuperation that I learned that all four young women were medical doctors and sitting in our Otel’s courtyard they shared their insight and were able to explain more about the meds Tom was taking since through our inability of understanding Turkish not all was clear. While talking with them, the call of prayer was chimed through town and these young, very modernly dressed and Westerly educated female Muslim doctors pulled their scarves higher over their head and explained so much of their religion to me, It was to them I gave the book “Sweetness in the belly” and in gratitude they gave me the only book they had with them which was the Turkish to English 3500Word two-way dictionary. It has come in handy.

We decided to forego the scheduled trip to Ephesus after Pamukkale and instead after an extra day rest at the Koray Otel headed back to Istanbul. Tom bemoans the fact of missing The Artemis Temple and the House of the Virgin Mary in Ephesus because of his kidney stone and while I am sure they are a great site to see it would have meant missing getting to know the wonderful people of Pamukkale and their friendship. We took the overnight bus back to Istanbul on Monday evening. It is a shame to take those long rides during the night hours. They are very long, tedious and the dark shrouds the beautiful landscapes found throughout Turkey. Sleep is difficult to find anyway on the overnight bus rides with the interruptions for refreshments and bathroom use. There is no such thing as a free pee in Europe and we are close enough to Europe to have it already in practice here. Common fee for public bathroom use is 1 and means either 1 Lire, Euro or US dollar which is somewhat comical since their value is not at all alike. Throughout Turkey all three currencies are accepted and without following daily market fluctuations the prices are usually set like these; Ten postcards 1 Euro, $1.50 US or 2 Lira and that is quite close to what our exchange rate has been. When asking a vendor for a price and he holds up 5 fingers do not assume he means 5 lira because when money is handed over it suddenly becomes 10 lira since he was holding up Euro fingers!

We arrived back in Istanbul early Tuesday morning and Tom who had started to feel better had enough of a relapse in pain and discomfort that I took him to an Istanbul Hospital after another uncomfortable night. At the back of the Istanbul guide book all the hospitals are listed, all 16 of them and of course “ American Hospital “ jumped out. Even more so when the young Canadian man sitting next to me at the hostel downstairs while I am frantically trying to make contact with our insurance company, points out in the little book he carries “ Good hospitals worldwide“ that in Istanbul American Hospital tops the lists, the only one the list BTW. A taxi is called and Tom and I head to the American Hospital and upon arrival are a little mystified that all the signs are still in Turkish and every one keeps on speaking that language we do not understand and where are the Americans? We quickly are told that American is a name for the hospital ? So , what does that mean for all the other Istanbul hospitals by the other names: Armenian Hospital, Italian Hospital, International Hospital, German Hospital, Jewish Hospital, Florence Nightingale hospital and all the others. All kidding now aside, the Istanbul American Hospital is a hospital that any American city would proudly claim as its own. Tom’s treatment there these past two days has been admirable and the surgery to remove a lodged stone in his ureter could not have been performed better anywhere else. Nurse Fathima did her best to be understood and all failure was strictly our fault for our inability to not understand her language. As Tom’s
“ attendant” I received royal treatment including meals, showers and a good bed. Admissions/discharge worked with us and through any language barriers and we were so happy to learn that our primary American Blue Cross/Blue Shield was accepted and without delay paid with us only having to pay the much smaller co-payment due by our Travelers insurance which the Istanbul Hospital does not accept. Here all along we thought it would be our travelers insurance which would protect us but strangely that was the one not accepted.

It has been a week where al lot was learned. Walking through a sleeping village, waking up from its winter slumber while preparing for summer’s tourist onslaught is something I would not have wanted to trade. One learns a lot from a village and a country which sleepingly is arising to greatness. One truly learns a country and its people when misfortune happens and how it is dealt with. When we now hear the call to prayer we know why it is done five times. It is calculated according to the movement of the sun; the noon prayer time begins when the sun has just passed its zenith at one’s location and it therefore changes with seasons according to where one is in the world. Thus, there is not even a single moment without prayer being made throughout the world. Five stands for the pillars of profession, declaration of belief in God, obligatory prayer 5 times a day, the giving of charity, fasting from dawn to dusk during the month of Ramadan and the pilgrimage to Mecca once in a life time for those who have the means. What I will remember most are 5 South African women who explained when I asked them whether they needed to go to Mosque to pray when the muezzin called laughed and said they had an hour to find the place to pray and God did not live in buildings . It will be the words from Rifat Durune , from our Pamukkale hotel who upon our leaving was thanked for treating us as family and his simple reply:
“ That is what we are all called to be for each other”.

Tonight Tom is still a little sore but we are both very grateful for Turkey’s care of us both and its natural beauty. Reading through our little Turkish book we are slowly becoming wise to the language. One of our favorites is the numbers.
1 is bir (pronounced beer)
2 is iki(pronounced ee-kee)
See the fun that can be had while isolated in a small hospital room overlooking the great, ancient Turkish peninsula and the Bosphorous?

What we also learned is that gula-gula is an appropriate goodbye saying for those who are staying.
Those who are leaving say allahaismarladik

Tom and Els

Ancient city,ancient art. remains copyright of the author tomstrick1, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Our first Turkey sunrise was seen from the overnight Istanbul to Cappadocia bus and after a very long, sleepless night it was a welcome and beautiful sight to witness once again a bright red sun peeking over mountains. It was our first, clear sunrise in over a month since the sun is so overshadowed by smog in the Asian countries we have been. The overnight public buses in Turkey are quite comfortable, once one figures out which is the correct bus to board. We booked our Cappadocia trip through a travel agency associated with our Istanbul hostel and together with a large group of young travelers from all over the world we boarded a bus commandeered by a Turkish Al Pacino look alike who frantically tried to make us understand our transfers and who became quite frustrated when upon his order; “understand” all in unison shook their head. Being lost with the crowd is more freeing and enjoyable than being lost in the crowd and in great humor our trip to Cappadocia went under way. The bus ride is around 13 hours long and appears even longer if one has a cranky, old woman sitting behind you who is determined that you will be the only one on the bus not allowed to recline the seat. That was my luck and after an unsuccessful attempt to battle it out with sheer strength against 4 feet of veiled, distempered anger I used my wits and sweetly told the steward on board that my seat was broken and he put it in the reclined position under a barrage of angry retorts which continued with well placed kicks the rest of the trip.
Arriving and now spending three days in Cappadocia has been amazing. The area is set high above sea level and surrounded by the snow capped volcano’s whose eruptions formed this geological wonder. Spreading lava, together with lakes, formed a high plateau up to 100-150 meters in height. Today’s valleys were created through erosion and the harder, wider layer of rock on the top, called chimney rocks formed. Chimney rocks can be seen in other regions of the world but nowhere as densely formed as in Cappadocia. Human hands early on joined creation and carved these thick but pliable porous rocks and made them suitable for houses, monasteries, churches and underground shelters when protection was needed. Christianity settled in this region in the third century and a mystic monastery life began which lasted until the 12 th century when Islam took its place. The town of Gorame where we are staying in a delightful, family run, cave pension (Star Cave Hotel) is surrounded by hundreds of cave churches, all small and many used as schools before the 12 th century. We visited some and saw the ancient paintings on the walls which made them unsuitable for the Islam faith tradition. While some of the painting is very primitive and done by local church attendees many centuries ago, other church paintings are master pieces created by Roman artists. One of the cave churches we visited today, now well over 900 years since last used as a church, still carries in its domes and on its walls pictures of every biblical scene. These paintings have lasted through the years because of the natural make up of the paints. No chemicals were used since there was no existence of these in those times. The color red came from grapes, yellow saffron, blue ground lapis lazula, and green from ground shells. What will stand out more than anything we saw today was hearing a young Turkish, Muslim woman describe to us, in a very gentle voice, the biblical scenes portrayed so many years ago and still holding its color. What is equally amazing are how these formations, many years later, still offer its usefulness to the people who live here and not only as a tourist attractions. Centuries ago, human hands built pigeon houses and artfully built steps in the soft rock so that the pigeon droppings could be collected and spread as manure on the fields and around the grape vines. Today, these pigeon houses are still used for that exact same purpose and the wine, manufactured in the Cappadocia region is still stored inside the caves where the temperature is perfect without human intervention. As with all tours we have been a part of this past month, one does end up in the local industry and with their hopes up, cajoled into buying. In Cappadocia it was pottery and rugs and if we had the funds we gladly would have bought the pieces of craftsmanship we saw today. Even today, the red clay used for the pottery is still gathered from the river which runs through the region, and fitfully named the red river. It is the largest river in Turkey and flows into the Dead Sea. We have one more day here tomorrow and will use the time to hike around the region before boarding an overnight (drats) bus to Pamukkale region which also offers the beauty of natural wonders, this time in calcified, terraced hot pools.

Traveling these past couple of days with young people from Australia, New Zealand, Italy, Japan, China and Germany makes us realize how different it is to travel when there is at least 30 years difference in years. We listen to them and remember the ease with which we in the early seventies, as our young friends do now , threw on our backpack and the disregard we had then of where we would lay down our heads to rest at night and whom we had left behind. We require more rest, comfort and peace of mind now. In the book “ Sweetness in the belly” 6 year old Lilly asks her parents, nomad travelling hippies, why they have to move once again and her father’s answer is that staying in one place means that roots will be put down and roots grow. The child asks why that is so bad and the father’s reply; “It just makes the passage between places too painful. It’s all about the journey. You don’t want to spoil the journey by missing what you’ve left and worrying about where you are going”. If missing makes one a lesser traveler, we no longer are great travelers. Beyond missing our children’s presence we miss the normality of living life. The simple task of opening our own front door and finding the paper there and reading the news while enjoying a great cup of good brewed coffee. We now have spent many months in countries where tea is the norm. Our young traveling friends shared their journey time and we all bemoaned the noticeable inclined prices in Turkey and what can be expected when the Euro countries are reached. Some of our young friends were ready to head back to Asia where “ Life is cheap”. There are two ways to look at that statement depending on where the emphasis is placed.

Is life valued less there where lesser value is needed to live life?

Gule , Gule,
Tom and Els

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In Istanbul foreign tourists have to buy a Visa upon arrival. No paperwork is filled out, no one asks how long or where one plans to stay in Turkey, all the visa entails is an exchange of money (Euros) for a pretty stamp in your passport. Mine, for a Dutch passport cost 10 Euros and the identical stamp affixed in Tom’s American passport cost 15 Euros. Payable with a credit card. While waiting for our luggage I tried to exchange Indian Rupees for Turkish Liras, and was not surprised when that did not work. Turkish liras could not even be bought with a credit/debit card at the exchange, cash for cash only, and the only ATM was once again outside. All we wanted at that time was a 1 lira or 1 euro coin since that was what would unlock the chained dolly’s and we needed one for our luggage before hauling it through customs. Sweet revenge came when we wondered if a coin…is a coin..is a coin, and stuck in a 2 Indian rupee coin (worth an American nickel) and lo and behold it worked!!!
Istanbul is an absolute, delightful city. People of all walks of life live together in the mystery of the East and the practicality of the West. Our hostel is on the Historical Peninsula, steps way from the walls of Topkapi Palace and a couple of cobble stone streets up from the Bosphorus Strait which connects the Black Sea with the Marmara Sea and divides Europe from Asia. It is there where we headed to upon arriving last week. It was a great place to sit and be while inhaling fresh sea air and smelling the flowers which can be found throughout the old city and beautifully offsets the old, grey stone from the ancient mosques and palaces. We spent the better part of our first day inside Topkapi Palace, which was built in the 15th century but like a living organism it continued to grow and change. The palace was turned into a museum in 1924 with many treasures and relics stored inside. It was interesting to see side by side the arm bones of John the Baptist and inside jeweled casing the beard of the Prophet Mohammed with on the opposite wall, the staff which Abraham used to part the Red Sea. The biggest building, with 8 domes, houses the rich collection of old weapons, many adorned with precious stones. We walked inside the council room where the government held their meetings at which the Sultan could not be present but could listen through a window opened on a high point of the Harem section and covered with a curtain. The Palace has been beautifully maintained and the grounds were ablaze with the many colors of blooming tulips and pansies. Blue Mosque and Hagia Sophia are separated by a park where the tourists gather throughout the day and evening for tea, Turkish coffee and the great pastries from the many bakeries surrounding the square. The Blue Mosque is one of the most famous monuments of the Turkish and Islamic world and the only mosque built with six minarets. The interior is a big hall where the men still gather in prayer 5 times a day while the women kneel in a separate, enclosed area in the back. It is one of the mosques which wakens us each morning long before the sky’s lightening with the muezzins call. This ancient call to prayer beckons a sleeping city and throughout the day it is heard again, from all the mosques surrounding us. Prayer is part of the day, part of life and it does not disturb. We were outside the New Mosque during an afternoon prayer meeting and watched hundreds of men, as one, bow their heads to the floor and after rising, leave and continue on with their day before gathering again later in prayer. Hagia Sophia, once a Christian Church (for 926 years), a mosque for 481 years , now sustains its historical function as a museum. It served as an example, even if on the basis of ideas and it is a product of the synthesis of the West and East. Upon entering, high up a mosaic panel can be seen depicting Jesus and his mother and throughout Hagia Sophia there is blending of Christianity and Islam, wonderful to see.
Old Istanbul has lots of charm and walking the narrow cobbled-stoned streets even without stopping at the many museums, mosques, palaces and bazaars is highly entertaining. Many wares are displayed, especially the rugs and the walking- by tourists will be encouraged to stop and take a look. Not being fueled by desperation, aggression is not present here and with a friendly wave one can walk by. One of our favorite walks is by the water of the Bosphorus where a bridge within minutes can connect one with Asia. It is a great people watching place where especially on a Sunday evening families take a stroll and stop to eat a doner sandwich which is fast becoming a favorite of ours. It is refreshing to see men and women walk hand in hand with their children hopping close by. The Muslim women are dressed in full length coats with their heads covered in brightly colored scarves . We have seen few women donned in the full black with scarves covering their faces. On one of our walks, when taking a picture, a young man stopped us and asked if we knew the significance of the statue which picture we were taking and we did not. He happily explained while walking next to us, hand in hand with his girl friend and the pride this young man took in his city Istanbul, the cradle of civilization, was evident. He was a young student and while pecking a kiss on her nose told us of his plans to marry this beautiful girl after completing his studies and mandatory 6 month tour in the Military, even if her father would not approve. In one of the guide books we read, the tourist is reminded that Turkey is a laic country where the Turkish people enjoy eating, drinking and dancing and that religion and government do not walk together like some other Arabic countries. Istanbul draws many tourists, especially the young, and throughout we hear Bulgarian, Romanian, Dutch and English spoken as well as many other languages. The traffic once again drives on the right side and with our many months seeing it on the left , at first this came across as being on the wrong side. As far as we are concerned after seeing the traffic in Thailand, Nepal and India; Pick a side and then please stay on it!

Tonight we will board a bus and travel through Turkey for 7 days stopping in Cappadocia,Pamukkale and Ephesus before returning to Istanbul for a couple more days, where there is till plenty more for us to see and do.

Gule-Gule

Tom and Els

Bridging remains copyright of the author tomstrick1, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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New Delhi airport is comparable with any large, international airport in the world and runs very efficiently. Retrieving luggage, immigration and customs was a breeze and within minutes we found ourselves in the arrival hall where signs alerted travelers to be on the safe side, not be subjected to touts and buy a government approved pre-paid taxi ticket, which we did with our newly acquired Indian Rupees which cost 50 per $1.00 as opposed to the 80 Nepal rupees an American dollar can buy. Armed with a paid ticket from the airport to Hotel Ashiana in down town New Delhi we lined up for our taxi which arrived shortly. We assumed that our driver spoke no English since our greetings were not returned or any other attempts in conversation by us. After giving him our ticket we took off. Almost immediately he lit up cigarette inside the taxi which was surprising but after all we did not know the customs here. New Delhi around the airport area and outside suburbs looks surprisingly like any big American or European city with impressive, towering business buildings and apartment dwellings but the scenery changed abruptly when we neared the inner-city where chaos took over as did the stench of animals and people living on the streets. In the heart of the city, at an intersection of very narrow alleys our taxi driver who had not interacted or acknowledged our existence at all turned around and in plain English said” Get out. Cannot find your hotel. Get a rickshaw. “ We were stunned but refused to get out since a crowd had immediately formed around our taxi and attempts were made to open our backseat doors. Our backpacks were tied on the roof of the car. Quite a bit earlier I had locked my door and Tom later mentioned that right before our driver pulled his stunt, it was a passing child who pointed to the then still up lock- button and made a locking motion which Tom did. Not surprisingly, it was men dressed as Holy Men who where the most aggressive. Tom and I insisted to be taken back to the airport if our driver was unable to find our hotel and that under no condition would we get out. Tom advised the driver to find traffic police for assistance since maybe they could give him direction at which time our driver moved on with a “ No, police”. He was able to find our hotel after all and a combination of exhaustion on my part and the aftermath of the scary and intimidating experience sent me into a weeping spell. It did not help that the hotel was by far not the accommodation advertised on the internet so I booed that this was not where I wanted to be at Easter and I may have added that I was ready to deck the next “Holy Men” who came close. Tom did a great job comforting and reminding me that it was all part of the adventure. It is true, we set out for experience but how we want each and every experience to be enjoyable and pleasant.
It is very easy to let first impressions, good or bad, cloud the rest of vision. In Nepal we had our very first rickshaw ride which has cured us of taking another. While still in Katmandu we planned a trip to Durbar Square and after consulting with owner Bishnu decided on taking a rickshaw. He warned us to be sure and have an agreement of the price before taking off, advice we read over and over in travel guides, and mentioned the customary fee for a ride to the square. Immediately when setting foot in the alley rickshaw drivers surrounded us and we asked one how much. His price was 3 times more than Bishnu’s recommended price and we declined. Immediately the price went down. We agreed and off we went. Rickety is a good name for the bikes, they bounce, rattle and shake and most of the time my eyes remained tightly shut. Fear can do that! The bike had a handmade horn, cleverly crafted from an old Nivea lotion bottle. Our driver decided to stop along the way, hoping to show us additional sights but we insisted that it was Durbar Square we wanted to explore. Upon arriving at the square he declined the money and instead grabbed the Nepal guidebook out of my hand and said he would wait for us. That’s all good and well but our book he was not keeping and I grabbed it right back. Money again was declined and we wandered in the square after being stopped to pay the “foreigner entrance fee”. Blondes do stick out as do men with bushy moustaches and Australian hats. After an hour we were ready to head back and our rickshaw driver must have kept a close eye on us and showed up next to our side We gave him our hotel card with the address and strict instructions to go only there before we hopped on once again. He stopped in a narrow, busy alley quite a while away still from our hotel and demanded payment for the 4 hours we had hired him as our guide. We totally agree that being a rickshaw driver and pulling tourists down busy, potholed dirt streets has to be a very difficult job and in our hands we had enough to double the original price(roundtrip now) and quadrupled it for a generous tip. We had been gone one and a half hours in total. He wanted 24x more!!! What Tom knows and the rickshaw driver was fast learning is that I have a temper and will stand my ground and cunningly not taking us back to the hotel did not sit well. Soon a guard walked close by and the rickshaw driver took off in haste after taking the offered money .
I thought back on this after our first taxi driver experience in India. Even when paying close attention to the warnings and following recommended guidelines, tourists can and will face unexpected encounters, some more pleasant and entertaining than others. We spent two days in the heart of New Delhi. One afternoon we explored and wandered around and again we were overcome with the poverty displayed. There were quite a few puddles on the dirt roads while New Delhi has not had significant rain fall in a long time. After noticing quite a few males urinating on the streets, often not turning around but showing the full Monty, we kept our boots on even with the temperatures in the 40 degrees Celsius mark. We found a great restaurant around the corner of our hotel where the non-veg Thali included an egg curry with a whole hardboiled egg floating on top. It became Easter dinner and was great. We took a guided day tour of the city and saw many beautiful temples including Shri Lakshmi Narain ( Birla Temple) where throughout paintings describe the Hinduism philosophy of life. None of the temples we saw in New Delphi allowed you to bring in cameras or cell phones and upon entrance were placed in a lockbox and we were given the key. Our last stop was the Swaminaryan AkshardhaM, a very unique complex of Indian culture, set in a vast 100 acre site on the banks of the Tamuna River as professed by HDH Yogiji Maharaj in 1968. His vision was fulfilled in 2005 when this grand spiritual monument was blessed by his successor HDH Pramukh Swami Maharaj. It took 5 years to complete. Upon arrival, before parking, all vehicles are thoroughly searched, both inside and out. There are signs alerting all on what cannot be brought inside the temple, the list includes at least a 100 items e.g – No bombs(duh), gum, papers, documents, purse, weapons, drugs, cigarettes, toffee, shampoo(?), brush, comb, pen, etc….the list went on and on. Batteries had to be removed from cell phones and cameras and turned in separate. It probably would have been simpler to post that what could be carried in and that’s the clothes on your back, money (without billfold) in your pocket, one watch per group (yes) and women could keep on their jewelry. Hand frisking before entering. Since our hotel did not have a safe and our sense of security there had not been very high I carried in my little purse our passports/tickets and had no intention of parting with those so Tom and I decided to have one of us wait with my purse on the outside and take turns entering and seeing the site. Good decision however it meant that I missed seeing Tom wander through the complex dressed in a yellow Sari since his knee length shorts proved to be unacceptable. Swaminaryan AkshardhaM is beyond description. It beautifully showcases Indian art, wisdom, heritage and values as a tribute to Bhagwan Swaminaryan(1781-1830)a torchbearer of Indian culture. The carvings out of red stone and marble are so detailed that one could spend hours admiring the craftsmanship. The Holy footprints of Bhagwan bear the 16 sacred signs of God and water is continuously showered on them from four auspicious conch shells in tribute to his (Bhagwan Swaminarayan) inspiring life and work. Walking through the complex is meant to radiate peace, beauty, joy and divinity. I expected to see Alladin floating by on his carpet. This was the India of story books and the fables I grew up with. Upon leaving and only minutes away we again saw the slums and cannot help but wonder how a country which can build such grandiosity as the Sawminarayan Akshardham cannot take care of its people. Why built such an empty extreme while the people still live on the streets and try to find shade with rags over their head while digging through trash hoping for a morsel. Should peace, beauty, joy and divinity not radiate for them also? Our driver was ready to show us more temples but we realized we were templed out. We had seen the temple of all temples and it would have been like going to the county fair after having spent a week in Disney World.
The very next morning, Easter Sunday at 5.30 am we left by train for Agra, home of the Taj Mahal. The train ride was great, once we made it on, and can be highly encouraged as a mode of transportation between New Delhi and Agra. The trip took around two hours and while it does not offer much in views it gives a great people watching opportunity. We were pleasantly surprised by the service; newspaper, bottled water, tea/coffee and a full breakfast were served and it was not until days later we learned that we travelled first class. Our three days in the Grand Hotel in Agra have been good. The hotel caters mainly to Indians and appears to be the place to celebrate special events like wedding receptions. From our balcony we observed a Hindu wedding and as sneaky observers we took no pictures. Enormous firework displays and outside the gardens the groom was kept for hours while quite a celebration was going on for him alone. At the hotel we met Barbara, a delightful woman from Melbourne, Australia who is here as a guest and member of the wedding celebrations which will start today for the son of the Hotel owner. The event will take three days and we would have loved to see more close up but we will head back to New Delhi for our flight to Istanbul later today.
Tom saw the Taj Mahal, our reason for the India stop and I could see in his eyes how much the moment meant. It is monumental to touch and be close to this seventh wonder of the world, built in the 1600’s , also on the banks of the river Yamuna. The entrance gate of the Taj bears inscriptions of the entire chapter of Koran. The most amazing feature of the Taj Mahal is its proportion and symmetric construction. Standing in one of the surrounding temples arches the whole Taj Mahal will be artfully in view. Peeking over the side we saw 14 women who while squatted cut the enormous lawns with small hand sickles while subjected to a male who angrily pushed them on. The other life, once again. We spent the day touring the other sites of Agra including the 14th century built Royal Palace of Fatehpur Sikri. Legend goes that King Akbar had three wives, Muslim, Christian and Hindu, and none had born him a son. After a battle he stopped in Sikri, the dwelling place of Sufi Saint ‘ Sheikh Salim Chisti’, who was famous for his spiritual deeds. The King asked for prayer to bless him with a son and it is said that Sufi Saint sacrified his own six month old son ‘Bate Miyan’ and thus the soul of this sacrificied son was reborn in the womb of Empress Jogha Bai, the Hindu wife. The Tomb of Salim Chisti is a shrine where one can buy a wish and with this purchase comes a sari which then will be donated to Agra’s widows and we hope that will happen with the sari we bought. At the entrance we were again asked to remove our shoes and knowing that we would be visiting temples we had dressed accordingly. It is such a strange culture where I see the Hindu and Sikh women walk in their beautiful silk draped saris, often with their midriff fully exposed, sometimes even from the belly button up, while I have lost the right to bare arms. My sensuous shoulders have remained covered in India and the few shirts with sleeves that I brought are getting quite a workout in the 45 degree heat. While dressed according to culture we notice that in the sacred temples souvenirs can still be sold and while trying to listen to our guide and taking in the history I am being followed by a very persistent young man who continuously holds 7 bracelets in front of my face …chanting “ How much”. Ignoring only goes so far when both vision and hearing are blocked. No, no, no obviously was not working once again and I got to that point where I stopped and asked if payment would mean his leaving. Yes! I bought freedom and the bracelets are a bonus?

This past month has been a whirlwind of travel, we have seen so much and attempted to absorb cultures so foreign to our own. Health wise we are doing great. We each have dealt with “travelers curse” and learned that squatting toilets have both pros and cons. For hygiene purpose they are better than the Western “sitting counterpart” but after a 20 KM hike, mainly uphill, squatting is the last thing legs want to do. Eating strictly with the right hand since the left here is used for another purpose is difficult if one has been raised in Europe where food is never eaten with hands and where the fork belongs in the left with knife in the right hand. It helps that here in India knives are not part of the cutlery laid out at the table. One custom which we do not believe we will ever get used to is the early morning practice we heard both in Nepal and now India. It is the hacking, grunting, attempting to remove every additional fluid out of lungs and sinuses and with lots of retching spit the wad out, preferably in front of our feet. This is common for both men and women, especially in Nepal and seeing this from dainty, delicate, exquisitely dressed women was shocking. These past couple of mornings we have been spoiled once again and are reading the Agra newspaper in English. Election time is getting near here and on both mornings we read of potential candidates found hung without much additional information. We read about a family of 4 traveling late at night on their motorcycle after attending a wedding celebration. Father, mother and two young children, ages 4 and 6. The children both died with the parents wounded. It happened the night after we observed the wedding celebration in our hotel’s garden and with the many children present there we now wonder if we saw them before they,as a family and with their heads unprotected, left for home.

At one of the temples we read the following, one of Hinduism philosophy of life.
Therefore , without attachment constantly perform the (right) action which is your duty for, by performing action without attachment men verily reacheth the surpreme one. “Gita”.Namante India. Take care of your people.
Tom and Els

Impressions remains copyright of the author tomstrick1, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Upon landing in Kathmandu, Nepal, on March 31 we were informed to set back our watch one hour and 15 minutes from Bangkok time. Strange time change and when asking why, we learned it was to differentiate from India, which is 15 minutes West of Nepal since after all they are two separate countries as yes, they are. Kathmandu is the capital of Nepal and really the only large city left in the historical Kathmandu Valley and surrounded by the foothills of the Himalayas which because of the horrendous smog are seen only as distant shadows. Flying over the city showed us the crowdedness which we would experience soon but first one had to deal with Nepal immigration and the buy- upon- arrival visa which is a story in itself. It was almost at the last minute of our very pleasant Thai airlines flight from Bangkok that the paperwork for Nepal was handed out, including the Visa form which showed where a recent passport picture needed to be affixed. We had extra passport pictures with us but not that what was also required for admittance to Nepal….25 US dollars or Euros, since Nepal does not accept even its own currency for entrance. Obviously we were not the only tourists taken off guard at the foreign passport gate. Nepali’s and SAARC Countries were not subjected to the fee and happily walked through another gate while about 100 confused foreigners lined up at another gate wondering how in the heck we would find US dollars or Euros while so far from the countries where they are actually manufactured. I remained in line while Tom went on an ATM mission together with some very frantic tourists. Tom was even mentioned in the line as being the only one who was not losing his cool. True to form he calmly asked and did not appear upset in being sent left, right, upstairs, downstairs and eventually Tom walked through the Nepali passport exit gate and was not seen again for probably 30 minutes at which time I wondered if he found the solution to this whole dilemma and was waiting for me on the outside to join him. He eventually returned, with the correct amount in US dollars and the only ATM in the Kathmandu airport is indeed outside and I wonder how many chose not to return to pay the fees due, but of course on the way out of the country you are screwed since the correct papers for exit will not then be in your hands. Luggage was another matter. Before you can enter the area where your checked in luggage can be retrieved you have to go through security where they screen the hand baggage you brought in but do not check anything upon leaving with the rest of your luggage (?) Oh well. We were blessed to have the manager/owner of our booked hotel still standing outside with an ELS STRICKLAND sign held up high. Never before have I been so relieved seeing my name in print. Bhishnu, from the Katmandu View Hotel came through for us many more times during our ten days in Nepal.
Our inner city Thamel hotel was probably less than 10 KM from the airport but the sights, sounds and smells of Katmandu sent us in sensory overload long before arrival. I wonder if I would have ever complained about traffic in Bangkok, Australia and New Zealand if we had chosen to travel with the rising sun instead of the setting and seen Kathmandu first. Kathmandu traffic is beyond description but I will try. Very narrow, dirt streets, packed with pollution belching vehicles, low quality fuel, total lack of emission control and whether they have two wheels, three, four or more they are all destined to be there first and at all times will try to pass whoever is in front of them even if that means totally ignoring the left side of the street they were meant to drive. It is a given that upon passing the horn will be honked and since all are passing all, never waiting for even an opportunity, the incessant honking is an absolute lesson in futility. That is Katmandu and Nepal’s traffic in a nut shell. Most of the time the traffic is of course totally tied up and still, every one honks. Pedestrians account for over 40% of all traffic fatalities. It was during this drive we learned that electricity is only available in Nepal 8 hours out of every 24 and the hours while we were there appeared to be between 4.00 and 8.00am and 4.00 and 8.00 pm. Prime times? Power is still needed the rest of the hours, especially for the hospital located across the alley from the hotel, so diesel fueled generators operate during the off hour which adds not only to the noise but also the pollution and I learned to use my recently purchased Thai headscarf as a mask. Garbage covers and lines the streets and in the morning women sweep the alleys and on the spot the trash, including lots of plastic is burned. Our first hours in Nepal were spent exploring the narrow alleys of Thamel, lined with stores all ready to have us enter and see the wares. While years ago it was the tie-dyed hippies crowd which frequented Kathmandu , now it is the gore -tex hiking bunch it attracts evident by the merchandise displayed. Every other stand carried North face products, Mamot and trekking poles. While some enjoy the banter needed to bargain for prices, we do not. We learned that the prices asked are hugely inflated and through artfully negotiating on both sides one usually only has to pay a third of the original asking price. Not on our list of enjoyable moments, we truly prefer the ability to walk around, look peacefully at the items and see a price affixed which we either want to pay or not. In Nepal, like Thailand, that is not going to happen. Begging is quite common in Nepal partly because both Hinduism and Buddhism encourage the giving of alms. It is a very difficult, heart rendering dilemma ….to give or not to give… when encountering children on the street who point to a store and then raise their hands to their mouth. Feed me? We learned that Kathmandu has over a 1000 street children, lured by the easy money and that by giving you encourage a life style which serves no one, especially not the child. We learned of the various agencies in place assisting and supporting the children of Nepal who have been orphaned through the latest uprising, the insurgency which placed the Maoists in charge. Over 12.000 Nepali’s were killed and many more are still in jail while their children roam the streets. An organization recently formed is called “one Voice” and made up through efforts of Norway, the Netherlands, Japan and the USA. Upon our return we hope to assist the Nepali children and learn more about how to raise Kathmandu’s children’s living conditions while remaining loyal to the Nepali culture. The child who broke my heart was a little girl, at the most 4 years old. Sitting alone by the side of a congested, very busy street, tin cup in front. I squatted in front of her and asked. ” Who, my child, is looking after you”? Without any expression she stared back. I noticed a bottle of water next to her and a rag over the railing to protect her from the sun and knew somewhere close, someone was watching and would take the money I left in the tin, praying that somehow that little effort would help this little girl while knowing it would not. It is especially around the religious shrines where lines of beggars can be found, knowing where the tourists are often headed. Standing on a street corner, looking at our map we were approached by two “Holy men” who without asking planted a Tika on our foreheads and demanded significant payment for a “blessing” we did not request. It was frightening at first and while we have tremendous respect for the Hindu and Buddhist religions and respect their tradition , having two fake Holy men paste a large red dot on our forehead while unaware did not sit well with us. Let’s say the Tika, ticked us off and while walking quickly away I started rubbing it off while Tom pointed out that I had now successfully dyed my whole forehead red. We scrubbed each other clean with only our own spit at hand and learned to watch out for future Holy men. We learned that the true Holy men are in the temples and treat all with respect. At our hotel we met a couple from Belgium, Miriam and Arnold who have trekked at regular intervals through Nepal for over 20 years and days earlier finished a twenty day trek with their 5 year old son Arno. Quite a feat. They came within 500 meters of Everest Base camp.
Nepal is a country that needs to be seen and explored with an open mind. It is one of the poorest countries on earth and greatly depends on the tourism trade. Tourism has been down these past 5 years mainly because of Nepal’s political unrest and now by the trickledown effect of the World’s economy. Last year’s insurgency brought the Maoists in control but it was very evident during our stay that all is not well. On the day we had bus tickets for Chitwan Park, a supposedly 5 hour drive away, a strike took place which closed the roads in the whole country for the day. We were unaware and together with a young worker from the hotel walked to the bus station. We thought nothing of the quiet roads, only driven by motor cycles, since it was after all only 6.30 am. Our escort did not mention the strike until we arrived at the bus stop where many other tourists were waiting and learned for the first time of the boycott/strike called by a disgruntled opposite political party. It was evident that all knew in Nepal except the foreign tourists who were waiting in vain for buses which never arrived. I questioned why our hotel had not informed us of the strike and instead had us walk to the bus stop with one of their employees but remembered reading that the Nepali people love to please and it was evident that our young friend hated to be the bearer of bad news and had chosen to avoid the inevitable for as long as he could. We headed back to our hotel, a little disgruntled and disappointed with hopes to leave later in the week. Later in the day we walked briefly through Kathmandu but after seeing the streets lined with heavily armed and armored Military Police and groups of young people carrying opposition party and Maoist flags we headed back to our hotel and spent the day reading on the roof top. Ironically my book was titled “prisoners of birth”.
We took a three day guided trek and hiked through Shivapuri National Park up to Nagarkot and back to Bahktapur and are forever changed by the experience of trekking through Nepali’s beautiful hills and villages. We met our guide Jun the night before leaving. It is highly advisable to hire a guide, not only for the safety, security and understanding it offers but it also provides employment and brings money into the hill’s economy. Jun, is a very well read, highly intelligent and insightful young man who has guided tourists, clients as he calls them, now for 14 years. When he asked us where we lived we noticed a small smile when he heard America. We learned the next day why. He mentioned that not often, but at times he has guided American clients but they always said they were Canadians but still he knew through listening where they were truly from. He asked us why they would not have wanted to disclose, was it being afraid or ashamed? We told him that we could not talk for them, did not know their reason, but that we were neither afraid nor embarrassed to say out loud there where we lived. Friendship with Jun started immediately and he shared so much with us about his country’s history, struggles and disappointments. While still driving the chaotic streets of Kathmandu, on our way to the trek take- out point, Jun asked us “You live in America and now see Nepal. What does Nepal have to do”? Our reply was that America does not have the answers still his question stayed close in my thoughts during the next three days hiking. Nepal is second in the world with riches in water supply still the country does not come close to supplying electricity. Spending time in the villages while waiting for lunch at a teahouse gave us opportunity to observe wholesome living. In the village all have their part to perform and Nepal village life can teach us all about sustainability. Elderly women sat on the roof sorting the grain while others attended to the children who happily were doing what children do best….play and make noise. The younger women were attending to the beautiful terraced fields with their babies very close by just like the goats had their kids, the buffalos their calves, the chickens their chicks all within reach. Throughout the villages we were greeted with” Namaste” while hands were placed in respectful prayer with head bent. Often after our Namaste exchange the village children opened their hands and asked for “balloons, pens, chocolate, money?” signs of the tourists and Jun explained the wrongdoing to the children if their requests were met and we agreed. Jun himself was raised in a mountain village and his marriage to a girl from a nearby village was arranged at the age of 15. His marriage did not last. While a devout and sincere practicing Buddhist he believes all are entitled to find their own life partner. He moved with his son to Kathmandu a couple of years ago so that his son can have the advantage of a good, private school education which Jun supplies through his earnings as guide while they live together in only one small room. Education is very important for the Nepalese and children are taught English from Kindergarten on and we were amazed by the Nepali children in their ability to converse with us. After primary school all the subjects are taught in English only. Both private and government schools demand their students to wear uniforms and while the government schools are free, the uniforms are not which adds a financial burden to many. In Nepal, public display of affection between men and women is frowned upon and was never seen while there. What is very noticeable is the affection the men show for each other and men holding hands, or with arms draped over shoulders, even sitting on each other’s laps is constantly observed as well as the obvious love the women share for each other and usually walk with arms linked. None of this carries sexual overtones but does appear somewhat bewildering when raised in a society where usually men only slap each other on butts during football games and are afraid to show any additional affection in case it is misconstrued. Traveling Nepal allowed us to look closer at our own culture and life style. On our first day hike while covering 800 meters uphill mainly done over baked steps and watching the village women carry their heavy load up these steps after their weekly shopping trek to town I mentioned to Jun how in America women pay money to climb steps and described a stair climbing class. He thought that to be hilarious …Pay money to climb stairs which go nowhere? Yes and let me explain stationary bikes and treadmills. Jun taught us how to trek in the mountains and basically he slowed us way down and introduced what Tom now calls the Himalayan shuffle but it meant hiking for 20Kilometers uphill while never needing to stop for a rest. There is no reason to catch your breath when it is not first lost. Jun described the distant brick ovens seen in the valley and how the brick industry is one of their exports, with high quality bricks sent to Japan and China with lesser quality bricks manufactured for Nepal. He mentioned the same for all the products made in Nepal, high quality for the exports with considerably lesser products to remain. We noticed his boots which were not near the quality of ours while his feet equally deserved and I wonder when this country will learn to treat their own people with the same respect as they give to their visitors. It was noticeable at the teahouses that it was Jun who was always served last, long after us, while we shared the table and would not leave until Jun had finished his meal. The main dish in Nepal is called Daal Bhat and is basically white rice with lentil soup on the side. Sometimes curried vegetables and meat are served with it as well as a small dish of pickles; however they are not the pickles we are used to. Jun, like most Nepali’s eats this dish for breakfast, lunch and dinner, day in and day out. He ate it at every meal we shared and we asked him if he ever gets tired of it, bored with it? He looked at me bewildered. “Why? It is food”. I decided to join him one day and strictly eat Daal Bhat and was tired of it before the day was over and went back to changing it up with fried rice and chowmein and even that became tiresome. The choices we want in our diets and how we miss them when we cannot. We heard Sanskrit chanted outside the temples and at times we would stop in for a visit. We were careful to dress within Nepal’s culture but I was glad to learn that I did not have to hike in a skirt and that modest shorts are acceptable for men and women on treks. When stopping by a temple I asked Jun whether I needed to don a skirt and he simply replied it was not God asking women to wear skirts and to whom did I listen? It showed again the gentleness of his soul. If we ever return to Nepal it will be for trekking and it would be with Jun. We returned by bus to Bahktapur and in Nepal a bus never gets full. The roof will be filled with people and there is always room to hang on. With not even standing room left a mother entered with 5 children who stood so tight in front of us there was no way to even lose balance. The youngest child was a little girl around three who was wedged in tight. I patted my lap and held out my arms inviting her up. She was hesitant at first until her elder brother nodded his head and for the rest of our trip she sat silently in my lap looking out of the window and at times peeking a glance at me. When it was time for her to depart, she very gently placed a kiss on my cheek before folding her tiny hands and bowing while whispering Namaste. I was deeply touched. This Namaste had no strings attached. In Bahktapur there was a palace Jun thought we wanted to see, filled with antiques. All over Nepal, foreign tourists pay to enter to see the sights, cities and squares. This palace was $ US. 10.00 each and we decided Jun and his son would be better served with this money and declined and added it to Jun’s tip instead with the words that he had shown us Nepal’s true palaces and antiques in the valley’s villages and the extra-ordinary terraces which took centuries and generations to create and now feed the people well.
During our final three days in Nepal we were able to take the bus to the town of Sauraha, outside of Chitwan Park where we arrived at Hotel Parkland, very hot and sweaty after a 7 hour bus ride and met up with 5 outstanding young travelers. Sanna from Finland and 4 young Americans. We stayed together for the next couple of day’s hectic park adventures and enjoyed tremendously our time with them even if it made us miss our own children more. Sanna finished her studies in Social work in Finland and is spending time now in Nepal, working as a social worker and the stories she shared made us realize the hardship of especially the women and children in Nepal. Nicole, one the American women, teaches in a Katmandu private school and hopes to continue teaching in Nepal for a couple of more years. She finds it more rewarding than teaching in America since in Nepal the children still know that education is a privilege. Together we went elephant bathing which was not at all what we had envisioned. It was not standing in the river while gently pouring water over an elephant. We were on top of the elephant, no saddle or seat and the elephant took us down the embankment, into the river where it filled its trunk over and over with water and happily spouted it over us before rolling over and tossing us off. Naming this event “Tourist bathing “would be more apt. I asked our guide whether the river we now were splashing around in was the same river we canoed earlier in the morning and sighted crocodiles. Yes, indeed it was but he reassured us the crocodiles were down stream. That gives the same confidence as learning that the peeing section of the pool is on the other side of where one is swimming. It was wonderful to be once again removed from the city and able to see the moon and a starlit sky and awakened not by honking traffic but by the singing of exotic birds and elephants trumpeting the rising sun. One evening a group from a nearby Thuro village performed the age old stick dance and Tom joined them and became the star of the show. Very early, on our last morning in the park, we took a jungle ride, again on an elephant. This time there was a large padded seat with room for 4 . We had previously noted steps/ladders out in the nowhere which made no sense until an elephant was placed in front and we learned of their mounting purpose. Our jungle ride became quite intense when our driver (mahout) spotted a large rhino with her calf, pulled out a cell phone and started texting! Yes! Our mahout had a cell phone and coverage! That’s more than ATT has in Nepal. Obviously he made contact with the other elephant mahouts and the Rhino chase started in earnest. We no longer followed paths but went straight through the jungle while it was my face which tore apart the spider webs and sadly my glasses did not fully survive the assault. It all went by fast and briefly we wondered about the sensibility of it all. Do rhino’s not become very aggressive while protecting their young? Days earlier a guide on foot had been attacked and severely wounded by a charging rhino and here we were, chasing them through the jungle. We were right on their tails and at times the mother rhino would stop and turn at which time the elephant would be held back. Surrounding sounds made us aware of the other elephants involved in the chase and roundup and eventually, in a clearing the rhino’s stopped and looked dejectly at us, wondering maybe what would be next. We felt sympathy for the rhino’s but could hear that we were outnumbered and that for the others it had been an experience of a life time. On the more peaceful ride back many animals were sighted, including a couple of wild boars “Razorbacks”. Later that day we again boarded the bus back to Kathmandu. The drive offers great views of living by the river and the busy road. Small children walk inches removed from large trucks and buses, seemingly oblivious of the danger.
Nepal has two seasons, dry and wet and the times to visit are the months before either season has set in. For mountain trekking October and November were mentioned as the prime months while March and April are still considered good months since the heath and monsoon rains have not yet started. With temperatures in the Chitwan Park reaching near 40C degrees while we were there we wonder what the summer, wet times are like. Clothing was more relaxed and shorts, t-shirts and swimsuits were acceptable, thank goodness.

In the Kathmandu Post, English version, we found a poem written by 11th grader Aastha Khanel. While we do not know who she/he is, the poem beautifully speaks loudly about Nepal, now..

The Horizon.

I was up one morning,
And gazed at the horizon
I no longer see the reddish hue,
I find dark bloodshed clouds instead.
Nepal is a peaceful country
Where the tales, I heard long time back.
No longer doves fly across the skies
Vampire, bats hunt the silence of our night
Brothers against brother,
Dust to dust and ash to ash is what they believe in
Mothers are crying in agony
What could equal the grief of their dead ones?
I wish I had a Pandora’s box
I would open and let fairies come out
Make my land as I have heard in grand Pa’s tales
A land of love and peace.

Namaste Nepal. We wish you well. We wish you peace. Tom and Els.

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Tonight, after dinner we walked one more time inside this great room we have stayed in for the past week, it offers a beautiful view out back with riches and elegance but out front, right outside our door is the other Thailand where many live in poverty. We are glad to have seen both. Early tomorrow morning we depart back for Bangkok and go on to Kathmandu, Nepal where tomorrow afternoon we hope to glimpse a view of the Himalayas. It is time to trade our beach flippers in for our hiking boots and go trekking, once again.

Thank you Thailand,.
Tom and Els

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LA-KON, Tom and Els

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Tom and Els

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Sanctuary remains copyright of the author tomstrick1, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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G'day, Tom and Els

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Our last couple of days in New Zealand’s Southern town of Christ Church was magnificent. We stayed at Kiwi base backpackers on Bealy Street and were spoiled by great staff and accommodations; they even cheerfully gave us a ride to the airport last Saturday. We again flew New Zealand Air and I wished they would remain our airline for the rest of our travels. The extra legroom and service make a difference.
When Tom and I were married for 15 years, we playfully told our three, then still very young children, that for our 25th anniversary we wanted to be treated to an Australia trip. As added measure we reminded them yearly during their formative and growing years but alas, our 25th anniversary came and went and we were told by our kids that the gift did not fit within their high school budget and to start saving for it ourselves. Yesterday, upon landing in Sydney, Australia, now almost another 10 years past our 25th anniversary Tom and I shared a chuckle that at last we were there. Reading about Australia’s dimensions and our limited time here, 23 days, we have looked at that what we hope to see and knowing that when one tries to see all, a lot is missed, we are selecting our destinations carefully. Since we could not pick up our Wicked campervan until Monday we booked another backpacker hostel in downtown Sydney for the weekend after our great experiences with the hostels in NZ. We wanted to be close to inner-city Sydney and have comfortable and budget accommodations. Well, I am not sure why the saying is having two out of three ain’t bad, it is over half good. We are very downtown close to Hyde Park, the Botanical Gardens with the ancient government home, Rocks, both Darling and Sydney’s harbor and historical bridge plus the Opera house are all within comfortable walking distance and these past 24 hours we have walked and walked, absorbing a huge, very lively, both young and ancient city. The Maze Nomads Backpackers on Pitt Street is very affordable but we have become too spoiled over the years to a minimum level of comfort which sadly they do not meet. Posters were pasted throughout on the walls … Attention… Beware….THIEVES are among us, which did not raise our level of comfort however precaution was. Our lesson learned was to no longer wait until the last minute with booking when arriving in countries we know little of and only depend on a name which served us well in New Zealand.
Walking for hours in Sydney at night was interesting. Australia is as big as continental USA (no Alaska) and has a population of a mere 20 million. Four million however live in Sydney and I believe all of those under the age of 30 were out walking in downtown Sydney last night, a Saturday night. Most of the restaurants featured an Indian / Thai/Korea or other ethnic kitchen and we ended up sharing a great seafood Pizza in a Spanish restaurant close to our hostel. With our room being on the second floor we felt comfortable leaving the windows wide open, even needed to with temperatures in the muggy high Celsius twenties and slept with the background sounds of a city which stayed wide awake, all night long.
Like Auckland, there was a Sky tower which at 350 meters, proclaims to be as tall as the Eifel tower and offers a spectacular view of Sydney’s harbors, buildings and distant beaches. Earlier we walked through the many parks and gardens. It is good to see signs in parks stating to please walk on the grass and stop to smell the roses. Walking in the harbor was special this Sunday since it coincided with the Annual Sydney Classic Harbor swim where many took the plunge and swam 2 KM next to the grand Opera house. Above the harbor were hovering helicopters and later we learned that with a near fatal shark attack on Bondi Beach earlier the same morning extra precaution was taken for the many swimmers splish- splashing so near.
Walking into St. Mary’s Cathedral allowed me to share Mass there with many for a special service with Australia’s cardinal and next door in Hyde Park was the day long Sydney Cellar door market with great food, wine and live music to enjoy which makes going back to a room in which we only have to spend one more night, a day not half bad, but good. Tomorrow we venture out to the Blue mountains, where sunsets promises those colors, stars instead of neon light at night and bush walks where hiking boots are needed once again.
It’s somewhat amazing, Tom’s and mine fascination with Australia for so many years and now not let New Zealand stand in the way of our enjoyment, through having somewhat formed our Southern expectations.
I am learning the history here and again it was a Dutchman, named Willem Jansz, who sailed by Queensland coast in 1606, gave it a proper name( new Holland) only to have James Cook come floating by the Eastern coast in 1770, and rename it New South Wales. That name stuck and it is the territory where we plan and spend most of our time here with a little venturing in Queensland to see the Great Barrier Reef.

Written on Friday, March 5.
Monday morning we left Sydney, anxious, ready to part from city living and sounds. After picking up our new Wicked Camper we took off and without a good map ended up traveling south for awhile before backtracking to Sydney where this time we found the correct bridge for heading west. The Blue Mountains is one of Australia’s most popular holiday destinations and only a two hour drive from the coast. It is cooler there and the views of golden weathered rock- faces contrasts beautifully with the distinctive blue green of the mountain’s vegetation. The Blue mountain region is heavily timbered with eucalypts which constantly disperse droplets of oil in the air, causing the blue rays from the sun to be scattered more effectively and making distant objects appear blue. We camped near the quaint little town of Katoomba for a couple of days with short hikes during the daylight hours. We met up with a young Dutch couple, Wendy and Dennis who are taking a year break from their jobs and Dutch life to travel in Australia while working on farms and ranches in exchange for lodging. While drinking a cup of coffee in downtown Katoomba we ran into Alf, a Norwegian traveler whom we hiked with on the Milford Track in New Zealand last month. These moments of connecting with fellow travelers remain insightful. At the far end of the Blue Mountain National Park we found the Jenolan caves. Tom is far more into spelunking and walking underground in the dank and dark however, I found the time in the Temple of Baal cave very intrigueing with the high tech lighting and sounds system enhancing the magic of the helicites and the Angel Wings formed by water, lime, gravity and above all time. Recently it was learned that the Jenolan Caves are the world’s oldest discovered open caves and may date back more than 340 million years. There are many different caves at Jenolan to tour however the one I found the most interesting does not require a ticket. This one is called the Grand Arch and one drives through it as part of the High way, a natural tunnel. After the caves we traveled off the beaten path to Oberon and found a great camping spot by a little stream where the flat rocks made natural baths for us to clean up and cool of in. Autumn now has approached in Australia and while the sun remains very strong during the day the nights in the mountains are cool. Strange to enter Lent and Easter with brown, dried leaves falling slowly instead of the season we usually associate with Easter, the new life of flowers peeking through the ground. Before leaving the Mountain region, close by a town called Tarana we climbed up to Evan Crown Nature reserve. It was a 3km walk up through bush land where on the ridge great boulders are balancing. Evans Crown was an area traditionally occupied by the Waradjuri Aboriginal people. It was their special place of initiations and coroboree and it continues to hold high significance. Aboriginal communities have an association with and are deeply connected to the land. The land and all it contains is central to Aboriginal spirituality and contributes to aboriginal identity and are inseperate from each other. Evans Crown is out of the way for the tourist and it was a very quiet hike up through the reserve with huge boulders towering over and accompanying us. The lichen covered granite tors of Evans Crown peak at 1104 meters above sea level and give an amazing view of all directions and Australia’s vastness. We encountered three other people while there and we struck up a conversation with Dot, a woman raised in Sydney who now lives in the Blue Mountains. She retired from Australia Child Protective services and shared some of her work experiences and the changes Australia needed to make for the Aboriginal families. Trekking down the ridge we learned how quick one can become lost in the bush and literally bushwhacked our way down . Tom saw three kangaroos on the ridge but I am still waiting to see the first one. Signs, alerting drivers to possible kangaroo and wombats crossings are everywhere and in with our camper rental forms are warnings to not swerve for the animals instead hit them if unavoidable. Snakes and lizards the size of small alligators we have seen on our hikes in the mountains. Birds are amazing once again. Magpies and kookaburras have been numerous at the campsites and their laughing monkey sounds are hilarious.

Last night we arrived in Windsor, a city about an hour West of Sydney to spend a couple of days with Kim and her husband Garnet, parents of our friend and CASA coworker Katiina. Kim and Garnet are the most gracious hosts and opened their home to us. We plan on staying here a couple of days before heading up to Hunter Valley and afterwards to the coast. We are finding the Australians to be very much like their neighbors. Very outgoing, generous and helpful with witty humor throughout. Windsor is one of the 5 Macquarie towns which can be found in the Hawkesbury valley and was considered the Frontier of Australia until 1814 when the road to the West was built. Walking through Windsor’s museum the pride this community takes in its history and preservation of the past while promoting the future was evident. The town earliest inhabitants were English convicts who served out their sentences and became successful in the colony they were banned to. Australia’s eldest Anglican Church, St. Matthews, can be found in Windsor and still serves the community.
Entering a less occupied Australia limits the availability of internet as will our updates but we will catch up when we can. Our Wicked Campervan is slightly different here, a much older model but we do have more room inside to stretch our long legs at night. No more moon roof to see the stars but so far have not met any annoying sand flies or mosquitoes which prevented us from sitting out late at night in NZ. The “graffiti” is a tad more wicked this time. We are in the French Pooter camper and on one side a large French poodle is painted, tooting musical notes while on the other side a wicked girl is raising her skirt and letting out some stinkies. There are two wisdoms this time. Inside on the dash board there is the very wise John Lennon saying : “ Life is what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans”. If you want to know the wisdom on the rear of our van look at the photo which also displays the many places Wicked Camper drives around.
On a final note. Last night we checked e-mail and there was one from the Wicked Camper Company from New Zealand, thanking us for the rental and informing us that we must have been a tad more wicked than was allowed since they received a citation from the Wellington police regarding our license plate. It appears that on Monday, February 9 at 8.31 am our van was photographed speeding over the bridge while approaching Wellington. After checking the facts, that was indeed the day and time we were in the vicinity and we both remembered who the driver was….. Els. Yes, after all my writing and abhorring the New Zealand scandalous speed limit it appears that I was photographed doing 61 KM in a 50 KM zone. Mind you that I never even saw any signs in New Zealand except the 100km ones. Tom has had a great laugh as well as our son Tony and Wicked Camper informed us that they are charging our account another $30.00 for the hassle I am giving them to clear this matter and that the Wellington police will now issue the citation in our name. We are wondering to what addresses that will be sent to? I know there is a reason why I have always hated having my photo taken. At least when you are pulled over you know what may be coming and sometimes can talk your way out….This is so sneaky!

G’day all from Tom and Els

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I am sure that Australia’s wicked campers have their own wisdom and more may follow next month.
Wisdom was learned through the new sounds we heard this past month. Our very first can only be described as the release one hears when playing pin ball and setting the ball loose. That is the sound one hears in Auckland , Wellington and now Christchurch when suddenly all traffic stops, from every direction at intersections and for about 30 seconds after hearing this distinct releasing PING, an institutionalized , organized jay walking starts. Not a mere crossing from one corner to the next but diagonal. I loved hearing the sound, its release for freedom for the many walkers in the big New Zealand cities and felt like skipping across these busy intersections, accompanying the sound with a good laugh. While neither of us are city dwellers, Auckland, Wellington and Christchurch were manageable and fun with lots to see and do.
The sound of birds accompanied us throughout. Beach walks were shared with seagulls and birds whose sound and appearance I did not recognize. Especially during our Milford Track we learned lots about the birds native only to New Zealand and its wet-lands. Ross, one of the knowledgeable hut guides shared that years ago, in the late 1980’s the department of conservation wanted to get rid of the increasing numbers of rabbits in the wetlands and introduced the stoat, a weasel type of rat who, once brought to New Zealand decided to forego the chase of the rabbits for dinner and instead went for the easy prey, eggs of the ground nesting birds, like the blue duck and Weka’s. Within years these birds became sparse and now there is an intense trapping to rid the wetlands from the stoats, not native there and let the birds restore. One of the hikers asked the ranger why nothing is done about the sandflies, his reply;” That is how we keep the tourist population under control”. Nature left alone knows harmony. Depending on the region, we heard cicadas chirp to a volume not achieved on even the sultriest Arkansas summer night and buzzing of flies in swarms that made me run fast down the mountain only to learn that the monster flies are harmless and running down a mountain is not. The bleating of sheep, especially when I lost the trail and decided to go through their meadow for a short cut.
The many, many languages heard spoken while out on the tracks or visiting the towns. There are some which stand out. One was during the Tongariro Alpine crossing when 3 km before the trail’s end, at the sign stating this, a young man hiking with two others looked at his watch and said in Dutch” We are only one minute behind schedule. We can make this up”. Schedule? We are here on the most beautiful hike and it is timed? No wonder I have trouble living in Maui time, it is in my blood. The last 3km on the hike , I intentionally slowed way down, added stops to look around and give nature time instead of making time…..with the result I missed the shuttle bus by 4 minutes. On that same hike I traveled for a while with a woman close to my age, from Los Angeles. We both were huffing and puffing up the red crater wall and afterwards while resting on top sharing there where we were from. Upon hearing I was from Arkansas she remarked that she could not understand why one would want to live there so I climbed on my Arkansas high horse describing the beauty of the state I now call home. I stopped though and asked her if she had ever set foot there, which she had not. My next question was if she put her own blinders on or always let others do it for her. Our paths parted soon after. The nights in the bunk-huts on the Milford Track where around us we heard spoken Hebrew, Chinese, French, German, Dutch, Japanese , Norwegian as well as many different forms of English but when a hiker entered or left the bunk room too slow, in unison it was yelled in a language understood for all
” Shut door fast. No let in #^#@* black sandflies". We learned that snoring crosses all language barriers including sound and it is smart to have earplugs with you when sharing a bunk hut with 40 tired men and women. They may even muffle the sound of our own snoring. BTW, we finally found the repellant needed for sandflies in a small town called Okarito, simply named Okarito Sandfly repellant and it is a mixture of Citronella and sweet almond oil and smells suspiciously like Avon’s Skin so Soft but it oh so works.
The New Zealand ...f-sound was a new one to learn. No, not offensive but we were not aware that here when the W is followed by an H it is not the sound of our WHat or WHere instead the WH is pronounced as an f. This is very important knowledge when one is asking for directions to places like Whangerei, Whananaki or Whanganui since the nice man whom you are asking directions from upon hearing WHangerei will look you in the eye and say he has never heard of that place while you may be only minutes away.
The sound of an avalanche while hiking through Fiordland. Suddenly amidst absolute stillness we heard the loud clap of thunder with no clouds in the sky and understood the reason of the many signs advising us not to stop at certain places. Avalanches do happen here year around and the damaging results can be seen in Fiordland and while traveling through the Southern Alps.
Above all we will take the sound of water, heard in so many forms . The gentle lapping of the waves while walking along an endless beach and watching the snow covered peak of Mount Cook in the not too far distance. Bubbling brooks and the heavy streams we crossed after the rainfalls. Waterfalls throughout, rain’s amazing award. Violent surf which surfers dressed like penguins in their wetsuits do brave. Never before have I drank water directly from streams and known it to be safe and pure, cleansed only by the moss on the rocks from which it comes crashing down. Refreshing Alpine water at the great drinking temperature of 4 C degrees, I am not sure if I can go back to chlorinated, treated water.
When all is said and done though, describing all the great wonders nature has to offer here, from the soft rolling meadows and gracious Alps, the glaciers, waterfalls and always the sea nearby, New Zealand’s greatest asset is its people. Their conservatism comes through in the great care they give to their country, its beauty and protecting its natural resources.
Years ago, when I first moved to the US I was employed as the swim coach for a local YWCA. There was a small, six -year old girl on the team who was very anxious to enter her first swim meet and against my instinct, I did not feel she was prepared; I entered her in a meet. The big day came and she jumped in to swim her one pool length. I walked it, step by step on the deck, very close by and ready to jump in if needed and I came near doing so a couple of times while she slowly labored to the other side, embarrassingly behind all the other young swimmers. When she finally reached the other side and pulled herself up and out she looked behind her in the now empty pool and elated jumped up and down cheering “ Hurrah, I am the last one to win” .
I saw joyful living then and I see it here in New Zealand where one cares for their neighbor with honesty and humor intact. While in Franz Josef Glacier where indeed it had rained for three days straight I heard the woman in front of me at the Department of Conservation ask the ranger what one does in Franz Josef when it rains. His answer “You put on your raincoat, see the glacier and smile”.

As I have seen here on a card with the earth placed upside down while right side up
“When everything goes ‘arse up’ NZ’ers come out on top.

Tomorrow we plan to see the sights in Christchurch and eat once more a New Zealand meat pie. Another piece of good advice from our brother-in-law Bob who told us to stop and stop often for a scrumptious, flaky pie and the New Zealanders have surpassed the English here and do not limit these to steak and kidney fililngs. Together with an apple these pies have made many great meals for us here.

Apopo until Australia,
KO main kai atu ko maru kai mai ka ngohengohe: Give as well as take and all is well.
Tom and Els

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While our intent was to ferry over to Steward island, the bitter wind changed our mind and we started traveling North again and inward a couple of hours until there where we found more warmth and a beautiful lake and stopped for that day. Tom is the one with the map, and with me sitting back enjoying a sun doing the same, he announces “ Remarkables”. I full heartedly agree but Tom goes on and informs me that the mountain range surrounding lake Wakatipu where we have landed is so called. The Remarkables mountains. What a name for that which is! Waking up the next day with a peek from our camper I see only a very isolated “Remarkables” spot lit up by a sun I cannot yet see and wonder from where the light today is thrown and again have an endless walk, this time by a lake’s shore.
From there we headed into Queens town which is indeed a town fit for a queen. There now is a struggle between Te Anau and Queens town for my new favorite places to be. In Queens town we go straight to a Holiday Camping park. Three days without a shower is my max and while I enjoy the warmth of shower water and the other luxuries one encounters at Caravan Parks, in trading up we trade in the freedom of stopping there where nature is the greatest. It is here in the Remarkables area that I notice the remarkable of camping out in freedom where when there is another free spirit sharing your space, connection and conversation will be made, while in the caravan parks, where one's space is only the width of your van and you are surrounded by herds of white campervans no talk is exchanged while paths constantly cross in crowded bathrooms and kitchen. Do we lose ourselves in the crowd?
What was absolutely great in Queenstown after walking for hours in a town which offers hills and a harbor was the ride up in the gondola with Tom, dressed up in a pair of jeans and eating an absolute feast above Queenstown’s sun setting lights. Remarkable, six course feast where we ate so much that the gondola groaned on the way back down. It was on this ride down that I saw for the first time the Stellar Southern Cross, a Southern constellation Tom has been trying to point out to me for days but one can get lost when only trying to see that which others want us to see, we should instead wait until it is our time to see the Southern Cross.
For the rest of the night, the Southern Cross in its kite like appearance shone through our moon roof.

Saturday here. It is raining, not cats and dogs but more like elephants and rhinos. We decided to head up more towards the Western Coast and spend a couple of days in Glacier country which is also a rainforest and we were due for a catch up on rain. Yesterday afternoon the downpour stopped briefly to give us the opportunity of hiking to Fox glacier. Amazing sight to see and to be able to walk up to this ancient wall of ice. Close up one can hear the sound of a dying glacier and huge chunks of ice break off and are carried away in a furious flowing, milky stream , disappearing forever down the valley it created so many years ago. We spent last night behind the dunes of Gillespie’s Beach on the Tasman Sea. The wind was ferocious and the beach walk was cut very short before we holed back up in the campervan, listening the rest of the night to a fierce Southern New Zealand storm. Thank goodness for the great readings we keep acquiring. When we left we carried two paperback books with us, one given by a good neighbor, the other picked up at Something Brewing, a Conway coffee Shop. Since then we have been trading out and up. In Maui I read the Alchemist by Paulo Coelho and the Painted Alphabet, a great story on life in Bali. Thanks to our friend Maha, we acquired Kite strings of the Southern Cross by Laurie Gough and it is absolutely the right book to read while under the Southern sky. After each book read we leave it behind and pick up another. At camping parks, hostels and coffee stores throughout New Zealand free book exchange is found and with great international flavor. My next book is written in the Dutch language. TV has not been seen since leaving the USA and newspapers here limit themselves to news of the Southern Hemisphere and the only American news read was on Michelle Obama with whom New Zealand appears quite smitten. What I recently read in the paper was a remarkable article on a robbery which occurred in a local brothel. Yes, here they are licensed, law abiding and taxpaying. The article mentioned that the female receptionist who was robbed experienced quite an emotional distress but assured all that she was doing much better and the police was on the lookout for the perpetrator, a European male in his early 30’s. I thought that to be quite a broad description. Later that same day, while enjoying a picnic lunch by the lake, a man came sauntering by and struck up a conversation. The New Zealanders overall are the least reserved people I have ever encountered and I greatly enjoy the interaction while it gives me opportunity to ask who exactly the police is looking for when the only description given is… European. Simple he says… It means white. But you are white, I replied. Yes, he said. But I am a Kiwi. He then proceeded to tell me that there are only 4 kinds of people, Moeri’s , Kiwi’s, Aussies and all others are European. Remarkably simple and it is just as well that the crime rate here is very low.

Tonight we are in the township of Franz Josef in a nice, dry and warm backpacker hostel hoping for the rain to take a break again tomorrow and a chance to see more of the glaciers around.
Remarkable is what our trip is, day by day, sunset by sunrise.
Tom and Els

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We started the hike last Thursday after an hour and a half launch cruise on Lake Te Anau from Te Anau Downs to Glade Wharf. It rained, which was not surprising since it rains two out of every three days in this area. The boat’s captain slowed down his vessel and pointed out interesting views which included the burial cross on a small island as a memorial to Quintin Mackinnon who presumably drowned in this lake, four years after he together with companion Ernest Mitchel reached the head of the Clinton valley and crossed the pass and continued down the Arthur valley, today’s Milford Track which we now were ready to explore. At Glades landing we all stepped in and out of small tub filled with cleanser, to protect New Zealand’s unique waterways from unwanted organisms such as Didymo, a freshwater diatom (algae). While the total Milford hike is 53.5 km (33 miles) long, on the first day it takes all of 5 km to arrive at our first hut, the Clinton hut where we meet up with the other 38 independent/freedom hikers with whom we share a bunkhouse, common room and a small bathhouse which holds four commodes and 4 sinks with only (very) cold water. Our group was made up of 15 different nationalities and I heard languages spoken never heard before. The common language when we were together was a form of English. While the first evening we were as strangers and asked where others were from, before the next evening it was more about where we all were and by then we knew each other by name. On the trek fellow hikers would stop and offer their scroggin. I was glad to learn that it was another name for what we call trail mix and all carried a bag full to their own liking and make-up. I was mesmerized the first day with the wetlands, also known as wastelands through which I walked. Colorful carpeted, soft ground with knotty trees, festooned with moss and lichen, their branches veiled with green bridal showers. I would not have been surprised if the gnomes I read about as a child in the brothers Grimm fairytales had appeared and danced in the rains. That first evening at the Clinton Hut we also were introduced to the dreaded and much talked about sandflies. They are indeed the most obnoxious and irritating member of the animal Kingdom, by far surpassing the mosquitoes. James Cook, who thought himself to have discovered New Zealand wrote this about the sandflies in his journal “ The most mischievous animals here are the small black sandflies which are very numerous and so troublesome that they exceed everything I have ever met. Wherever they bite they cause a swelling and such intolerable itching that it is not possible to refrain from scratching which at last brings on ulcers like the smallpox”. Our boat captain advised us to befriend with someone from the UK whom the sandflies seem to like the most and there must be some truth to this with the English couple in our group appearing the most covered in bites. The topic around the table that first night was a sharing of what insect repellant worked the best. All agreed it was called Bushman but those who had it somehow could never remember where purchased. There are two options for tramping the Milford. Besides the independent/freedom hikers one can pay for a guided trek. This means that you are outfitted with a small back pack and all the rain gear needed and you do not stop at the huts instead at nice lodges where you are greeted with prepared drinks and gourmet hot meals. Real beds with soft mattresses and pillows to rest your tired head on at night in a private room and lots of hot water to shower your tired , aching and cold body with. Rumor has it that the guides will even give foot massages and in the morning after a hot breakfast lunch supplies are laid out for one to prepare their daily midday meal and that is all the hiker has to carry in their pack together with a change of clothes. Well, that was not the group we were in. Us freedom campers had the freedom to get up when we wanted and take off when we desired for the next day’s 16.5 km trip. Of course we also had bought the freedom to carry ALL our gear every day, including bedding, clothing and toiletries, utensils, cooking pans and food for 4 days. Plus all that is carried in must be carried out including all our rubbish down to the tissue used. In the end it comes down to what is affordable both financially and physically since both the freedom and guided hikers use their own legs to cross over the pass a vertical 1000 meter climb both up and down very rocky terrain. At the three freedom huts, Clinton, Mintaro (2nd night) and Dumpling (3rdnight) there is a warden/ranger on duty whose job it is not to clean up after us instead to give us the information on the safety for the next day’s trek and that what we may encounter regarding flora and fauna. These wardens/rangers were highly entertaining in their delivery of abundant knowledge once I realized that they were talking in English and learned to make a conversion in my head. Ross, Clinton’s warden was the tallest man I have ever met and when he mentioned that the crossing through some of the second day’s streams and falls could be done through water, waist deep, depending on that day’s rain fall, one of our shortest hikers very timidly asked on whose waist that would depend . Ross’ legs after all stopped at six feet. He grinned before acknowledging that it would be by his high set standards. Tom and I had seen pictures where hikers indeed crossed at waist level and had accordingly lined our backpacks realizing that rain covers would not be enough to keep our sleeping bags dry if we would have crossing as such. We were blessed with amazing weather for day 2 and 3. Absolute dry crossings both through the Clinton and Arthur valleys and on the morning we crossed the Mackinnon Pass it was right at the moment we stepped on the highest point that the sun peeked over the largest Eastern Mountains and burned the clouds from around us displaying the most magnificent view of both the Clinton and Arthur valleys which the pass divides. On the top is a toilet , a loo, which has such an amazing view that a large window was cut in the door so one can enjoy while taking a break(leak). Upon arrivial at the pass top, these were the only words heard, depending on Nationality. Stunning, awesome, wunderbar, magnifique… before all became still and filled their lungs with that which had taken their breath away. The three day hike takes one over uncountable suspension (swinging ) bridges and if it is over one of the Clinton or Arthur calm pools the clarity of the water at times makes one wonder if the water is truly there or an illusion. That is until one sees record size brown trout reverently swimming by or lumbering eels. At other times the water gushes and rapidly rolls over and under rocks, finding the fastest way downward. It is a hike which needs to be done slowly, not only for the rest knees and ankles need but also to see and hear the many birds, often native only to this area. Tom especially stopped often and pointed out Whio’s (blue ducks) and weka’s. We heard and saw Kea’s, New Zealand parrots with a definite attitude. We made many side trips to see additional waterfalls including New Zealand’s largest, the Sutherland falls which drops 580 meters in three stages and gives a great shower when standing at the bottom even while at least 100 feet from where it pounds on large rocks. On one of these side trips a couple of rangers needed assistance moving some of the boulders(ankle busters) on the path and asked for Tom’s help which he gladly gave and he probably would not have minded to stay a day or more to help with the Milford track. I did not mind the side trips as long as it did not mean I had to haul my pack along. My pack seemed to grow larger and heavier as the days carried on. Around me at night I saw the other hikers pull out gourmet meals out of these tiny packs. I am not kidding, meat and fresh vegetables sautéing in olive oil and made into sauces mixed with freshly cooked pasta in actual usable pots and pans. I had one pan about the size of a tuna can which heated enough water for about half a cup of coffee and a couple of sips of dried soup/meals. The next morning these hikers would beepop by me with their tiny magic pack. I want one of those! I saw one man, a true lover, who piggybacked his girl friend’s pack over his for two days since her feet hurt. I asked Tom if he would do the same for me, after all it was Valentine’s Day. He opted to buy me dinner instead on our first night back to Te Anau.
At the end of 33 miles we all gathered at Sandfly Point to meet the 2.00 pm boat which would ferry us over Milford Sound so we could catch a bus back to Te Anau Downs where our Wicked Camper was waiting. I had not thought it possible to find a place with more sandflies than I had encountered at the huts or on the track but indeed there is one and it carries the right name. Maori legend has it that Hine-nui-te-po , the goddess of death, visited the God Tu-to-Rakiwhanoa at sandfly point as he carved out Milford Sound. This place she found so beautiful she feared mortals would want to linger there forever. She therefore liberated a large species of namu, or sandfly with an injunction that they multiply and multiply they did. It is not a place to linger instead to hastily jump aboard. It had been an amazing 4 days, hiking indeed through one of creation’s most beautiful places and we were blessed with weather which made it very pleasurable indeed. The wettest our boots ever got was stepping in the cleansing tub at the onset. On the last day it rained quite a bit which made the crossing of the sound mystical and the bus ride back rewarding with the white water ribbons streaming down the great ice worn mountain faces of Fiordland.

It makes one wonder if it was here where Thoreau received the inspiration to write these words.” I especially feel the necessity of putting myself in communication with nature again, to recover my tone, to withdraw out of the wearying and unprofitable world of affairs. I wish again to participate in the serenity of nature, to share the happiness of the river and the woods”.

Your grateful trampers, Tom and Els

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Tonight we are packing our packs for the 4 day trek. While almost 10.00 pm here we are so far down in the Southern summer that the Earth’s rotation on its axis allows us to still have light to see from a sun which gives little heat and is a tad pale. In Maori legend, the fiords we are now ready to hike were created not by rivers of ice but instead by Tu Te Raki Whanoa, a godly figure who came wielding a magical adze and uttering incantations. Milford Sound (Piopiotahi) is without doubt his/her finest sculpture. We are waiting to be inspired by the fiord’s mood, whether teeming with rain, shrouded with mist or with sun glistening on deep waters. Trampers friend is packed for the feet, a natural wool product specially made for us by the zillions of sheep we saw these last two days to keep our feet happy, warm and blister free. We will catch up again late on Monday after the hike.

Apopo,
Tom and Els.

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In Waitomo Tom had an opportunity to tube through the wild waters in the caves. He had a grand time and gained additional information about the glow worms the Waitomo caves are world famous for. While as beautiful as the Southern stars by night, it is not worms which are sparkling by the thousands above your head inside the caves. It is really the excrement of maggots but would it draw the tourists by the swarms if it was known that it truly is only shiny shit that one has paid to see? (One really needs to hear this said by a New Zealander). Another glow felt was my skin after finishing the Tongariro Alpine Crossing on Sunday. It is an almost 20km trek through steep, active volcanic terrain. It was there where some of the most amazing scenes for the Lord of the Rings trilogy was filmed. While I have hiked craters in Hawaii, never had I smelled the minerals before, or saw their waters and the venting of volcanic gasses. Pictures were uploaded this afternoon but justice to the land and the experience they do not give. The smells around the emerald lakes were a little overwhelming as was the hike down the red crater. At all times I had to travel with my wits about so as not to end up sliding down by the seat of my pants which still happened more than once. While I wore a sunscreen with a 50 SPF and with already tanned skin from Maui I still felt the glow of skin heated by a sun through a thinning ozone layer. Tom stayed behind at the camp for this hike but I definitely was not alone on the trek. It is the hiking which draws many of the tourists here and I overheard many languages while traveling the path. The guide who dropped me off at the trails head promised me that if I was not back by 5.00pm at the other side the police would be notified and I would be listed as missing and looked for. Great assurance. His only other advice was to be mindful of the water we took. It was up to the hikers to bring and carry enough for the day but if we ran out there were two huts on the trek which gathered rainwater. If we needed this water we were asked to only take that so we could go on and no more so that those who came after us could have the same. It is a rule of life the New Zealanders consciously abide by and which we greatly appreciate.

In a little while we head to the ferry and will travel by the light of the full moon to our next destination. Early on Thursday we cross the Milford Sound and trek there for four days. I do hope my sunrise walks have prepared me well for the hiking days ahead. Yesterday on the Tongariro Alpine Crossing I was so grateful not only for that I am, but that I can.

Apopo, Tom and Els

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It is so easy to become locked in our own mindset, see our way as the only way, the right way. We now have spent our first week in New Zealand where the opposite of right is lived daily. An upside down world created right. Since Monday evening we have driven all over the most Northern part of the island, camping along the way. Driving is exhaustive here, and I am usually fed up with it after a couple of hours and can become quite crabby, as Tom can testify to. Partly because of the speed limit. It is a 100kilometers per hour, whether it is a motorway (there is only 1, appropriately named Motorway 1) or a winding mountain dirt road. There is even a beach road, yes a 90 mile long road on the beach where the sign said 100 Km. While driving to Cape Reinga , the top of New Zealand, we were stopped by a wrecker sideways on the dirt road. There was a police man close by who apologized for the delay but a car had gone off the side of the mountain and needed to be taken out. He mentioned that all the mates inside were fine but they had taken the road a wee too fast. Duh… I wonder why? Stop placing these signs of 100km everywhere. I have accepted they are speed limits, not minimum speeds so I go comfortably at my speed and gladly move over in the slow-drivers bay at any time to let the New Zealanders pass. I am still wondering how these gentle people behind a set of wheels can turn so quickly into maniacs. We have become accustomed to driving left, even entering the many roundabouts so opposite of than what we are trained to. We take care not to drive while tired since then there can be an ease to fall into automatic pilot driving and go back right. I no longer step in the passenger side of the car when it is my turn to drive and wonder where in the heck the steering wheel went off to. We will have to replace the wiper blades soon. Both Tom and I, when turning or changing lanes inadvertently set the wipers in motion instead of the turn signal. What I ,as of yet have not figured out is whether this opposite of right affects walking up and down stairs in crowds and where does one push the cart in the gocery store?
We no longer buy gas for our van, instead petrol which is sold by the liter. Children are returning from Holiday, not summer vacation, and we get rid of our rubbish. Cricket is played and when I hear this I no longer look around for a bug and the temperature is measured in the metric system as well as everything else. This system was not implemented here until the late sixties and take note America, it can be done successfully. Masks and snorkels are no longer rented, we hire those and fish and chips are not to go, instead take away.
Money is in dollars with the notes in 5, 10, 20 and 50’s and am sure higher ones too but have not seen them yet. There are coins for one and two dollars as well as 50 cents, 10 and 5. With the tax already calculated in, there is no reason for pennies which I have always seen as smart operating. At first glance prices seem very high here until I remember that we only paid 153 American Dollars to purchase 300 New Zealand ones which makes most prices equal or even cheaper. Except of course the petrol at $1.70 per liter.
The country site is beautiful. As one New Zealander pointed out to me” God took the best from all over the earth and placed it together here for the New Zealander to enjoy”. I must agree. While driving on The Northern Island and seeing the beautiful rolling forested hills it takes me back to the Ardennes in Northern Europe. At times the vegetation and roads remind us of Maui and the road to Hana. While seeing a beautiful white beach on the right, on the immediate left there can be the same gentle sloping meadows of England with sheep grazing. On the Largest Sand Dunes in Northern Te Paki visions of the Sahara desert come to mind. Southern France vineyards are scattered throughout and we passed sweet Iowa corn fields. Even a few of Kansas’ claim to beauty, great fields of sunflowers. Wildflowers add color throughout. I am told that the South Island to which we ferry next week is even more spectacular. I am appreciating the dry wit here which often accompanies the hospitality. While stopping for petrol at a deserted and very small station I asked the proprietor if he had a bathroom there. He nodded, and when I asked whether I could use this facility, his reply” What else would you want to do with it” before taking me to his own private quarters and showing me where it was.

We have camped out in our “Wicked “camper van every night so far. Mostly at designated camping spots and once by the side of Sandy Bay Beach, a little south of Bay of Islands. We were tired; it was almost 7 at night and saw a tent pitched by the side of the road with a young couple nearby and figured if they can, so can we. Another car stopped and a woman approached us asking if we planned on spending the night there and when we affirmed she said she would too, she would feel safe with us. That is how we met Helga Seefried, an Austrian woman our age, traveling alone. Like us she was tired of driving and needed a place to rest. She had not planned on camping that night and beyond a bag of oranges had no food. We had stocked up that day and had fresh baked banquettes, Edam and Brie cheeses and fruit so I made her a plate and poured an extra glass of New Zealand wine and invited her to our abundant spread on the ground. She was touched; “ Ah, you share your bread and wine, come to Austria and I will share mine”. This is our second invitation in Austria and we hope to see Helga there in April. She speaks excellent English and when at times the English word was not there for her we would move on in German. She was somewhat confused with the word “ Wicked” on our van and I could not find a German translation for it right away so wicked was changed to “naughty”. Friendships are formed when kindred spirits are found as I did in Helga. The next morning Tom and I were awakened to rain pelting down on our moon roof. I stayed in the van for awhile until boredom set in and decided to go for a very brisk beach walk. After a while the rain no longer mattered and the rolling waves looked tempting enough for a morning swim. Helga joined Tom and I in the ocean and burst out singing “ swimming in the rain’ to a familiar tune. Truly a woman after my own heart. We hugged goodbye and drove on North while Helga went South. This is what I hoped our camping would be like in New Zealand. The following night we camped on the shore at Taputaputa Bay, once again a wonderful white sand beach. The sand here is very fine and packs so solid that during my morning or evening walks even my heavy, big foot barely leaves an imprint. It is great for running and the ebbing waters leave very intricate and unique flower designs in the top, blond layer. Pulling only the white sand it leaves highlights perfectly done. I am used to looking up and around during my beach walks while Tom looks down and so it is Tom who made me aware of sand. We learned something else that camping night. By opening the window and letting in the sound of the surf we also let in the dreaded mosquitoes. Tom is my natural insect repellant, as long as he is around no bug will touch me. While I had been out shopping for groceries, Tom bought protection and he doused himself with a repellant which made me more attractive to the bugs. I became the live bait. Needless to say, it was a most miserable night. Tom’s repellant stopped working after 4 hours and I awoke to him fighting back and frantically slapping mosquitos against the van’s ceiling. The next morning it looked like a slaughterhouse. We have a bloody mess on our hands; the van’s ceiling now needs a good cleaning. The morning swim in the ocean that day felt great, even as cold as it was. The ocean water was by far colder than the unheated showers on the camp site but aided as a salve for my many, tiny red mosquito bites. We will spend part of this Holiday morning at the beach site next to our neighbors Catherine and Ian who are camping here for a year with their two young sons. Ian and Catherine met in London but decided to move back to New Zealand where Ian grew up so their sons can be raised here and enjoy the same ease Ian did. Both are very well educated, Catherine a teacher and Ian a business man but they now have taken a year off to spend with their children before they start school. They live very simple and are enjoying this time immensely. In Ian’s words “ I had fallen into that trap of working too hard. The more one has the more one needs “. For now all they have is their time together at the ocean’s side and it is all they need.

By one of the many beaches we have been at I saw this sign: “It seems the ocean did give birth to all the living things on Earth. It makes good sense for all of us to care for it and recognize its worth”. Living where we now are it does appear that the ocean gives birth to both the sun and the moon. New Zealand is intriguing and absolutely beautiful. The summer weather is mild, the landscapes spectacular and its people inviting. . What we miss are our children to share this with and phone contact. While ATT promised me that our phones would work here, that has not happened yet. We are learning more of the history and customs daily and I of course took great pride reading that the first European to sight this great country was Abel Tasman, a Dutch explorer and he annexed the country for Holland. It was not until more than 100 years later that Briton Captain James Cook’s cabin boy sighted this land and mapped it. I now know why the ocean here is called the Tasman sea, I want to visit the Abel Tasman National Park on the Southern Island and wonder about the Tasmanian devil. Hmmm.
We are slowly heading South towards Wellington, very slow, so not to have to spend too many hours on the fast and crazy roads. Tonight we plan and camp in the Waitomo valley . Tom is very excited about the opportunity to go black water rafting. No, not in black water, in the dark. The rafting is inside the Waitomo caves with the only light visible the headlight they furnish and glow worms. While very attractive to Tom, as a claustrophobic I am passing this event. Eye glasses are not allowed so I have a great excuse to back out.

Apopo, Tom and Els

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