Lost in Translation

We have been broken into teams and sent out to Thamel, Kathmandu's tourist district, on an "Apprentice" style scavenger hunt. Each team has received 500 rupees and a list of items to purchase for the lowest price possible. The team which obtains all of the items, which include things like an unusual fruit, something to teach with, something someone might purchase during a "gap yar", and something sweet, and manages to haggle well enough to spend the least, wins. 

My team consists of people who have not yet had the chance to exchange currency or purchase a Nepali sim card, and is running behind because we have to take care of these tasks first. We have no real chance of winning this challenge, but we decide to do our best and have fun with it. 

We make our way through the busy streets of Thamel, alternately trudging through thick mud, or stumbling over uneven cobbled surfaces. Street vendors approach us trying to interest us in their hand carved stringed instruments from the mountains, miniature chess sets, versatile wire trinkets, and tiger balm. The man selling tiger balm refuses to take no for an answer. He follows me for about ten minutes before finally giving up.

Store fronts display trekking supplies, golden Tibetan singing bowls, colorful clothing and wall hangings. On the streets further away from the center, live goats are tied to a post, eating some vegetation that has been placed in front of them, and chickens are jammed into wooden cages. Not far away, a recently butchered goat hangs in a store front. We turn our heads as a man finishes skinning it.

A toddler, 2 or 3 years old, sweeps the floor of a shop with a bundle of straw switches almost as tall as he is. 

Dogs are curled up under store fronts, napping. Occasionally, one hops up to follow us, sniffing at our legs. They stop to lap water from brown puddles. 

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The narrow streets are noisy, congested with honking vehicles. We frequently move out of the way as motorbikes and small cars fight their way through, competing not only with each other, but with the many pedestrians.  

We stop to spin Buddhist prayer wheels at a small shrine before returning to the hostel with our photographs and purchased items.

Buddhist Prayer Wheels

Then I see something that stops me. In the center of a four way intersection, a man sits in the mud. His black hair is long and unkempt. Swarms of people and honking motorbikes rush past him. He looks up at them, but no one looks down at him. There is mud on his chin. He pulls his knees to his chest, encircling them with his arms. His gray feet, caked with dried mud, are flexed, toes pointing toward the sky. 

I keep looking over my shoulder trying to process what I'm seeing, but we are moving too quickly away for me to understand. 

"We are all one  family," echoes through my head. 

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Namaste

We Are All One

I was headed down the ramp to board the plane when I noticed an older couple had gotten separated from their other family members, so I paused and stepped aside to waive them through.  The gentlemen protested at first, but I said, "So you can be with your family." He smiled and replied, "We are all one family, including you" before going ahead, and my heart smiled.

So many important and brilliant people have advocated travel and the experience of different cultures that I know I'm not really contributing anything new to the conversation, but I do believe it's true. Leaving our comfort zones and experiencing the world from positions of vulnerability and confusion can be frightening for most of us, at least it is for me, but it is one of the best ways to understand the world as well as gain a better understanding of ourselves. The most valuable thing I've gained from the limited travel in my life is becoming acquainted with interesting, deep, curious, kind, and grounded people. I've expanded my world by connecting with its residents, and to me, that's how life becomes richer and fuller.

Coming into Nepal resulted in a greater sense of culture shock than anywhere I've ever been. Reading about places in the world where it isn't even safe to brush your teeth with the water and where electricity and water and other basic comforts and necessities are not guaranteed to anyone doesn't compare with actually being in those places and experiencing what others regularly lack. To be honest, Nepal is a difficult place to get used to being, but I know for certain that after I return home, I will have a greater appreciation for the creature comforts I have always taken for granted.

For those of you who have traveled extensively, this is not going to be news to you, but for those of you who have not, I'll try to detail what kinds of things are different in Nepal than what we are used to. First of all, if you're squeamish, toilets are going to be a challenge. If they are traditional Eastern style toilets, you will need to squat to use them and hope and pray you do not lost a shoe. If they are Western style toilets, things are a little easier and familiar, but you may not flush your toilet paper as it clogs the toilets. Where does it go after you wipe?  In the trash can. It should go without saying that this get unpleasant over time. In many bathrooms, there are spray hoses and no toilet paper at all. You can go ahead and use your imagination on that one, and if you figure out how people get out of there all clean without soaking their clothes, please explain it to me. Go ahead. I'll wait...

During the monsoon season from June through August, it rains almost every day, and it is hot and muggy. The result is that even after you have showered, it is difficult, if not impossible, to get dry and stay dry. Once dressed again, you will most assuredly begin to sweat profusely anyway. By the way, the shower you have taken is most likely very cold.

Water must be boiled before you can consume it or brush your teeth with it, and visitors often use antibacterial gel on their hands, even after they have washed their hands with water, in order to avoid contracting any illnesses.

The streets are congested and dirty, and a traveler will be thankful to be walking once he/she has had the opportunity to ride in a car. The rules of the road are not clear, but if I were going to guess, I would say that it's mostly a survival of the fittest sort of situation. The most aggressive driver who survives has the right of way. As a pedestrian, you should also watch out for all possible vehicles. Once you hear the horn beep, the vehicle is already about to hit you.

Electrical wires line the streets and wrap around poles, appearing as easy to sort out as a can of worms. It comes as no surprise that there are frequent power outages.

All of this is not to paint a negative portrait of a place that is a very young democracy, closed off from the world until the early 1950s and difficult to travel to and from because of the mountains surrounding it. I would also not discourage anyone from going there, but one should always travel with open eyes. It's best to know what to expect so that you can accept it and maintain a positive attitude in advance.

I did not come to Kathmandu for a vacation, though. I came to work with others and talk about education and how to provide the best possible opportunities for children all over the world to learn. After all, we are all one family. More later.

Namaste

All You Wanna Do is Ride Around, Sally

Listen: some people over share, even strangers. I'll do a little of that myself in this post. Even when you aren't traveling by your own power, you can still be exposed to interesting characters. For long after our family bike trip to Rhode Island, the kids amused themselves by imitating an unfortunate couple from a campground somewhere in Ohio or New York. "IRV!! I need my MEDICATION!!!"

We packed up the tent this morning and got ready to travel to Petoskey together. We couldn't find an open space at a campground, so we had to find a hotel, which was fine with me because I believe camp bathrooms serve mostly to build character. We did have a beautiful site next to a lake, and there was an artesian well the locals spoke of with uncommon enthusiasm. I filled the water bottles with the magic elixir, which I assured 

David would rehydrate him better than any other water, returned to the tent, and announced,  "IRV! I need my MEDICATION!!" 

David had ridden into camp about 45 minutes after I had  yesterday, looking haunted by the mountains he'd conquered along the way. I tried to make him feel better with a personal sized cherry pie I'd purchased along with some fresh cherries at a roadside stand. 

I was excited about visiting Petoskey today because we were planning a bike ride along the path on the Lake Michigan shoreline. 

I know. I shouldn't be riding, but it was Petoskey, and I figured trails wouldn't be so bad. A little over 17 miles later, I felt exactly how wrong I'd been. I'm 95% sure my elbow is sprained and 100% sure I will be off the bike for quite some time now. I suggested that David get a black armband to match my elbow brace so people would think we were protesting something. 

Ordinarily, we can find a movie to see in Petoskey, but today there was nothing, so we found a winery/brewery instead for some tasting. A group of young ladies from the Ojibwe tribe were there taking their 80 year old grandmother out, as they did once a week. The lady next to us explained that she had been raised by her mother off the reservation, but as an adult, she chose to move onto the reservation against her mother's protests. I appreciated her respect for her elders and her desire to make her world a bigger place through learning. 

Our visit to Harbor Springs was such a drastic contrast to the values she talked about. We walked around the marina, as we usually do, and checked out the yachts. Beautiful as everything is in Harbor Springs, I don't think any of those yachts or million dollar homes could make me as happy as I am taking in nature on a perfect summer day. 

Tomorrow we're off to Cheboygan and camping again. Between the two of us, we owe this hotel $700. 

Being Flexible... Or Not

A few people have told me that after reading this blog, they were inspired to go ride their bikes. This makes me wonder whether they really read any of the blog or not or if maybe some of my friends are just not critical readers. Maybe it's me. Perhaps I've done something to glorify getting lost in sketchy places where the residents have domesticated dangerous, prehistoric animals. Or getting stranded with a flat tire in freezing, torrential rains.. Or fighting headwinds up mountains while being chased by ferocious, hungry dogs. I could go back and read my posts, but I'd rather not see all the errors I've made while writing through the brain fog that develops after a 60 mike ride. Whatever the reason, if you're going to ride, be prepared for occasional or possibly frequent disappointment. Today, I am disappointed. 

After setting up and waterproofing camp in Cadillac last night (a big storm was expected, and it didn't disappoint), I spent a sleepless night in part due to the storm and cold, but mostly because of pain. 

The truth is, I don't know what it's like to ride a bike without pain. Shoulder and hand and neck problems have made most long-ish rides very uncomfortable, testing my endurance at times. We have made adjustments to my bicycle so that riding long distance might not be so difficult, but there is always pain. The falls I took last week while practicing riding with clipless pedals exacerbated the problems, so there I was, awake all night. 

After talking it over with David this morning, we agreed to change our plans and make this an assisted ride. I'll drive the truck ahead and set up camp, riding shorter distances on my bike where  I can, and David will ride alone between campsites, unhindered by a heavy trailer behind his bike. 

Yeah, I'm disappointed,but when it was cold and rainy and windy this morning, I was thankful it wasn't going to be a ridiculously rough day on the road. 

We drove to Traverse City instead of riding and set up camp with a cushy new air mattress in the tent. Then David bought me a cookie at my favorite TC bakery and made me feel better. On the bright side, I will still get to enjoy some bike riding without the pressure of how many miles there are to go. And hopefully I'll heal up enough soon to take on those harder paths again. 

Peace and Mosquitoes

At the end of the school year, it is difficult to quiet the mind and learn to focus on fewer things at a time. To ease the transition, we left the bicycles at home and ventured into Michigan's Upper Peninsula for a few days of quiet; camping, reading, and sightseeing with limited electronics. (They are kind of handy when directions are needed.)

The cabins were clean and warm

Our campground's website advertised 440 acres of walking trails, bike rentals, and a heated in-ground swimming pool, among other amenities. It turns out no one had any knowledge of walking trails on the site, there were no bike rentals, the swimming pool had not yet been filled, and they failed to mention what they had most abundantly: mosquitoes. We did have a clean, warm cabin, though.  After regular showers in bug repellant, we were mostly able to fend off the blood sucking pests and settle down next to a fire each evening to read our books. It was refreshing to concentrate on one book, one set of ideas, for hours at a time. We discussed going to sit by the empty pool to read in the sun at one point, in hopes of escaping mosquitoes. I wondered if the gate to the pool might be locked, but then I remembered that as a former participant in the Warrior Dash, I had the necessary skills to jump the fence. Before we could carry out our plan, they started filling the pool.

There was still plenty of beauty to enjoy. Delicate ash moths fluttered from the campfire, alighted on our coats and knees and books, and disintegrated upon contact. Small drops of sap rained down on us from the maple trees, which sheltered us from the occasional showers of actual rain. When we were quiet for long enough, focused on our books, a bold ground squirrel repeatedly invaded camp and retreated, probably hoping we might drop something to eat.  The thunderous music of water rushing into a swimming pool blended with the incessant hum of mosquitoes played for us night and day...  Okay, maybe that wasn't great.

A visitor on David's breakfast plate.

A trip to Grand Island did nothing to save us from the mosquitoes. We caught the ferry (a.k.a. pontoon boat) across the bay to the island and had just enough time (three hours) to hike and explore before making it back to the ferry dock for the return trip at 3:00. Had we not made it back in time, it would have been us, armed only with some trail mix, some chips, and a couple granola bars, battling the elements of a dark, at times swampy, forest, possible bear encounters, and billions of mosquitoes over night. Before heading to the island, there was plenty of literature available to read to prepare for bear encounters. Its casual tone had me excited about the possibility of seeing a bear. "If one is observant, one may see a bear..." Even the parts about avoiding a "negative bear encounter" were encouraging, making me wonder if it was a good idea to boost visitors' confidence about their odds of survival in the described situations. I have no idea how many bears we may have missed, but millions of mosquitoes tormented us throughout the 6.7 mile trek around part of the island. There were no warnings or survival advice about these. Fun fact: black bears can run up to 30 mph, but I believe mosquitoes are faster. 

When waves crash into the center of this, it sounds like thunder, so they say.

Our other major excursion was a boat tour of the Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. We had the option of taking a sea kayaking tour for this, but it was too chilly for us non-Yoopers to attempt. Even though on the day of our tour it got up to 70 degrees on shore, and people were wearing t-shirts and sweating a little (don't judge - you don't know how cold their winters are!), it was a good 20 degrees cooler on Lake Superior. Once we passed the protective barrier of Grand Island, and the wind picked up, even our sweatshirts didn't seem to be enough to keep us warm. I learned that no one lives on Grand Island year-round, the area receives 250 -280 inches of snow every year, and the bay between Munising and Grand Island freezes over with 4 to 7 feet of ice in the winter. It is a harsh place inhabited by people who are much tougher than I am. Even so, small, determined trees grow from the cliffs of Pictured rocks, hanging on for life even in the face of violent, relentless Lake Superior winter winds, reminding me that even in harsh places, fragile things can exist and thrive. 

Waterfall down Pictured Rocks

A tree clings to life like this for 60 years

Instead of visiting Marquette today to rent bicycles and ride some trails, we came home a day early. Riding in 50 degree weather in the rain is not our idea of fun.

As we drove back home though the U.P. today, we came upon a group of 8 - 10 bicycle riders, shoulders hunched over their handlebars in a cold, driving rain. I couldn't help but feel for them, knowing what they were going through. All that wishing for relief from bone-chilling saturation. Ultimately, I knew they would be okay.  While it's true this can be a harsh place at times, we aren't as fragile as we sometimes imagine ourselves to be.  Still, as I write this, I hope they are some place warm and dry tonight, feeling tough for having ridden through the storm. That could have been us today. That could be us in a couple of weeks. 

On the Psychogical Benefits of Aspercreme

First of all, I stand corrected. Alex pointed out to me that having faced down 23 spiders at once (spiders with five o'clock shadow, cigarettes dangling from their fuzzy little lips, all of their names ending in a vowel...) would make it easier to deal with one spider in the future. Alex is tougher.

We made it to Petoskey by lunch time on Wednesday in a quick 24 mile ride. This gave us plenty of time to wash the laundry before going out to see a movie. The goal was to get a good night's rest before the long ride to Traverse City on Wednesday. The tough part about riding to and around Petoskey is that it has gigantic, steep hills. Also, we suspect there is a perpetual mid-latitude hurricane swirling around the area with its eye centered on the city, since we always have bad weather trying to get there. Throw in some bears, and you've got the place your mother always warned you never to go. The nice part about riding around Petoskey is that there are a lot of nice trails for cyclists, keeping you safely out of the rush of traffic.

As planned, we got up early Thursday morning and headed out in the cold to Traverse City. The Canadians felt the need to send us some 40 degree weather overnight. (Thanks a lot, Canada!) It did warm up and turn out to be perfect riding weather. For future reference, though, 31 is not a desirable  road to take. Occasionally there is a nice, wide shoulder to ride on, and there are some great farm markets along the way at which to stop for a healthy (or not - your choice) bite to eat. But much of the road has a narrow shoulder and a ton of traffic, and many of these people are in a tremendous hurry to get somewhere. It's kind of like when a snowstorm is headed for southern lower Michigan, and everyone races to the convenience stores to stock up on Camels and Pabst Blue Ribbon. Narrow shoulders + high traffic= stressful riding.

The ride to TC was 64 miles. Longer rides require a different mental strategy.  It's helpful to be aware  so that when you're spending too much time focusing on the burning sensation in your muscles, you can readjust so you don't miss out on the landscape you're passing. I think I missed a lot yesterday. With long distance, high traffic, and hills came more neck and shoulder and hand and everything pain, which I found very distracting. Once we had camp set up in the evening, I pulled out the container of Aspercreme I'd been carrying the entire trip. Alex didn't think it would help, but I decided to try it if only for the psychological benefits of having treated my aches somehow. Alex was right. Aspercreme just made me itchy and delivered no psychological benefits.

The main lessons we've learned on this tour are to get your bike checked out with a mechanic before a trip,  even if you've been riding and it seems fine, and don't go riding in cold and rain unless you
have the proper gear to wear in such weather. And also, Aspercreme has no benefits.

The first long distance bike ride in our family was taken by David and Alex just after Alex had finished 7th grade, so it is only appropriate that this last family ride before Alex goes to college would end with David and Alex riding to Cadillac to get the truck while I wait at the state park (which is packed and currently smells like bacon). They took off early this morning for the 44 mile trip, and finally unhindered by a heavy trailer and packs, they expect to make good time.

There is no laundry facility here at the park. We learned last year that the  closest coin laundry is four miles away. It's only four miles, right? You could ride a bike there. But I think I'll wait for the guys to get back with the truck. I'm ready to go back to my pampered lifestyle.

Things That Make You Tuffer

As we were recovering from today's short, but miserable ride, Alex pointed out that we were stronger today than we were yesterday because we had a miserable ride, even though, in his opinion, today's ride wasn't as character building as that one from Mio to Harrisville.

 Alex's philosophy doesn't seem to extend to encounters with spiders. We stayed at a quiet campground in Cheboygan last night after a perfect day of riding from Rogers City. The campground in Cheboygan was much smaller, and it was the first place we've stayed where no one has spoken to us. The residents didn't come out of their big, fancy motor homes except maybe to let their little dogs out, and the weather was beautiful, so???  The first thing we always do after a long day of riding is hit the showers, and here's where Alex was accosted by a menacing gang of spiders. The "big one" seemed to be the leader. It waited for him in various places (dangling above his head in the doorway, just to welcome Alex, it seemed), and sometimes gathered its minions for an even more impressive display of power.

I think Alex was pretty happy to leave that campground, even though we left in cold rain. Our goal was to make it to Petoskey today, which would have been about 48 miles. But the rain never slowed, and the temperatures never rose. 18 miles in, we stopped at a gas station, soaked and chilled to the bone, water pooling in our shoes. David kept checking with us along the route to see if we were ok or miserable. In that situation, what can you say other than okay? It's not like we could just call off the ride. I was reluctant to get back on the bike, but the plan was to ride six more miles and stop for lunch. I changed into a dry shirt and pulled on an extra pair of pants.

Six miles later, we arrived in Indian River, where David suggested we get a hotel room, order pizza, and save Petoskey for tomorrow. He got no arguments from us. I was thinking along the way that I would suggest never riding on days like today again, ever. You really need warm, waterproof gear to do that. And people who want to ride on days like this, well, nobody likes them.

So far we haven't encountered any spiders here, but I have some good ideas about how to help Alex build someone character in the future.

Tomorrow we're off to Petoskey to the hotel we always end up in after bad weather rides to Petoskey. Stay warm and dry, everyone!