Antarctica Info

My two amazing adrenturer sons are both working at McMurdo Sataion for a USA contractor in Antarctica this year.  I remain in awe.  In addition, here is an interesting link to the equivalent activity for Australia.

A little knowledge is a …

Granada flag

Ice crystal photos

Check out the photos of outback ice crystals listed in the blogroll. These followed a freak ice-fog last night.

Of course this has nothing to do with Rucksack Journal. Apparently I need two blogs!

Goals set before the trip started

I had a few goals for this trip. Here is how they worked out:
1. Have an enjoyable 30th anniversary trip with Leslie, on a par with our 25th * After a horrific start (leaving her waiting at the airport for 8 hours), we recovered quickly and had some wonderful experiences … this was a 6 on a 1-10 scale.
2. Understand some of Hannah’s current life * Wow! We had adventures together and expressed our love for each other … 10
3. Have a solo trip experience * I saw and did things that I could have never have done with a travel companion. Going into this, I was anxious about my ability to pull it off. As Hannah said about her own skydiving experience, ‘If I can jump out of a helo at 10,000 feet, I can do anything!’ If I can spend 9 days backpacking in Europe like a 20 year old (at age 61), I can do anything … another 10
4. Learn about olives * I wanted to learn about olive agriculture. Well, I saw olive trees and hiked through a terraced (defunct) mountainside orchard. I ate a variety of olives and olive oils in 3 countries on 2 continents. My appreciation for olives is greatly enhanced … maybe … 3
5. Get Portuguese corks for Nate and Ingrid’s wedding wine * A total bust, although I did learn a little about cork agriculture. … 1
6. Go to Segovia’s birthplace * A bust of sorts. Every time I asked people about this, they tried to send me to the town of Segovia in northern Spain. Perhaps I was asking wrong or perhaps Segovia was just his stage name. Or, perhaps it was like my attempts to drink Fosters beer in Australia … Never heard of it, mate. The closest I got was when Leslie pointed out a music store in Granada. The proprietor said that Segovia’s recordings were not good (too low tech), I ended up buying a two CD set by Narciso Yepes, ‘La Guitaria Clasica Espanola’, which I really enjoy. In addition, I have a new-found interest in Flamenco guitar. Hard to rate … 4
7. Camp on a remote stretch of Portuguese beach * A total bust, camp grounds were closed … 0
8. Use and improve my Spanish language skills * This and much more. I first ‘looked over the edge’ of Spanish as a college sophomore, based on the statement of my roommate Gary Napier, who said it was easy (he was studying both Spanish and Arabic, now I understand why). I dropped out during the 1st semester. For the last 2 years, I have been listening to Pimsleur Spanish Language CD’s. Apparently, I have no talent for learning another language, but with Hannah’s encouragement (and the chiding of some people I met on the trip), I am motivated now. I am going to be generous and give myself … 7
9. Learn about Berber culture * Another bust, but now I am motivated. Interestingly, none of the Arabs I spoke with had any information about Berbers. I suppose it is similar to asking me what I know about the Miami tribe of Native Americans who inhabited Indiana 300 years ago. By the way, Berber was not a name used by native African people then or now. It is a variant of a Roman term used to reference barbarians … 0
10. Read “Travels with Charley” by John Steinbeck * Now on page 251/275, mostly read during travel time and since getting back to USA. I felt that there were too many adventures calling my name to take time out for a book that I could read anytime (a little like my attitude toward sleep on the trip). However, the book is well worth reading. Here are a few well-turned phrases/ideas that I underlined in my used book:
a. Introduced me to the Spanish verb ‘vasilar’, meaning to go somewhere without greatly caring how or if I get there, although having direction.
b. ‘Localness’ is going, but not totally gone in USA. I thought about how that camel also has its nose in the tent in Europe (in the form of the EU and the Euro). How long before there is a standardized language?
c. In a Greco painting in Madrid (San Pablo con un Libro), Saint Paul has just closed a book and is using his finger to mark the last page read. On his face is the look of wonder and trying to understand; maybe understanding is possible only “after” the book is closed.
d. On his occasional ‘just checking in’ calls home, he experienced, for 3-4 minutes having a name and the joys and duties a man carries with him like a comet tail.

e. The conclusion of the book was weak, in my opinion, but Steinbeck did have this interesting observation – Some trips end before the last mile, some trips continue long after the last mile.  In my case, even though I am back in Indiana, it seems that my trip is continuing.  I am still learning from the trip, and expect to for a long time, as I research things I was exposed to, many for the first time. 
11. Come back with a heartbeat * There were a few situations when I thought this might have been at a slight risk; e.g., the taxi ride from Cueta to Tangier with Mohammed, climbing the rock outcropping in Sines and almost every time we walked along the narrow street near our hotel. Clearly … 10

Reflections on Spain

Reflections:
I loved Spain, more specifically, I loved Granada (Malaga was disappointing). I learned to enjoy and expect the siesta break, although I seldom rested. I quickly learned to relish the tapas bar-hopping scene. Futbol is important there, need I say more? The Arab influence is more prominent there than in Malaga or in Portugal. Realizing that I have a significant blind spot, Granada is a prosperous and hip college town, Spanish (with Arab overtones), with wonderful weather, surrounded by mountains to the north and the sea to the south. I could go on and on (and probably will), but there are a few negatives: many walls are covered with graffiti, the narrow streets are dangerous for pedestrians, the cost of living seems high (except beer and public transportation).
Other:
Camping was a total bust. Worse than that, my pack was prohibitively heavy. I would have done much more hiking, if I had planned for a 20-pound pack and hostels. This another lesson that I seem to have to relearn and relearn, but I wish I had picked fewer destinations, gone to them and stayed (I believe that I spent 1/3 of my waking hours on buss/trains).

Lest these comments sound overly negative, this trip was a wonderful, action packed, life-altering experience, that will have ripple effects for years. The high point was sharing this experience with Hannah.

November 13, 2007

A knock on my door … YIKE! I slept through my 4:30 wristwatch alarm, it was 5:25. I quickly got my pack and came down the 3 flights of steps. The same clerk was still there. She indicated that she would call my cab. I drank a little hot water and tried to clear my head of sleep, a slight hangover and my on-going cold. That young woman had saved me from an untold amount of hassle, had I missed my 7:00 flight. Unfortunately, I was so spaced out, that I failed to tip her. I have a ∈5 bill that I intend to send to the hostel for her, since I do not know her name. There was no traffic at 5:30. The young male driver seemed to enjoy the 15 minute trip to the Malaga airport in his 5-speed, Fiat cab, through roundabouts and the occasional off-road bit, at 120KM/H … F1!, ∈17. Thanks to getting my boarding pass the day before, I moved through the airport process fairly quickly. I had my final café con leche, croissant and outstanding jugo de naranja (OJ) in Spain, then into seat 10A for the 2.5 hour Air Europa flight to Paris (just paid ∈3.2 for a small cup of ho-hum coffee and a 33CL bottle of water! I expected to pay nada). I was wearing my Morocco Futbol jersey and some young Arab men said ‘Moroc’ in an encouraging way as I passed them in the Paris DeGaul airport. There was a true ‘cattle herding’ feeling to the Paris DeGaul airport passage. The worst part was the lack of any downtime. I had wanted to send all my paper Euro money to Hannah, so she could buy a new 1GB chip for her camera and have a party with her friends. I also wanted to mail a card to Nate, but no-go. I boarded a huge Airbus 330, 8 across in the cheap seats, less than ½ full. From that point I assumed that it would be ‘just another’ Atlantic crossing, and it was (38,000 ft, 11,582 m; -85 F, -65 C; 556 M/H, 901 KM/H). Leslie picked up me and me mochila at the Indianapolis airport.

November 12, 2007

Up at 6:30, which seemed to be extremely early to the clerk from the night before, packed up and then walked a few blocks into the rising sun and onto the beach. It was beautiful and we both said that we wished we had another day to spend there. Taxi to the airport, we each got window seat boarding passes (Leslie for today, me for tomorrow). We parted at the security checkpoint, just as Leslie struck up a conversation with a young Spanish female travel companion. While drinking cafe con leche and eating a croissant, I let the fact that I was back on a solo part of my trip settle in. With no particular plan in mind, I was again reminded of a new Spanish verb I had learned; vascilar – to travel with an ultimate destination in mind, but no plans. I took the bus to Estation Autobuss, but stayed on the bus one stop too many. As I was walking back, I stopped in a market with fruit vendors and bought 2 bananas, 2 tangerines and a pomegranate. At the station I locked my pack in a locker (€3, it took 2 tries), then went to an Internet shop to search for a hostel, since I did not want to stay in the same hotel. Found one in the nearby town of Torremolinos. The only bus was leaving in 20 minutes (so much easier than Morocco!). Got the €1.5 ticket, my pack and soon was getting off at Torremolinos. Much more tourist stuff than I had seen and NO free tapas (bought a good sausage and bean one for €1.5). The €21 hostel was OK. For the 1st time, I needed my own towel (I had pitched the one I brought, back in Granada to make room in my pack). then kicked back on a nice sandy Mediterranean beach. It was overcast and cool at 16:00. Jogged a short distance in the sand/serf and collected a few shells. Saw an impressive sand sculpture as I left. Walked around the town looking for some ‘action’, nada. Estoy perdido otra vez. I met a dance instructor with bright red hair and her student. They were waiting in front of a studio for a dance lesson time, and had time to talk to me. We chatted for quite a while, she said, … ‘your legs are strong, but your mind is lazy, you have had plenty of time to learn Spanish’ … Ouch! They directed me to a train station. I got to the platform just in time to jump on board. As a result, I did not have time to buy a ticket, expecting to buy one on board. My stop was only 2 stops away. We passed through 2 tunnels, then I got off; so far so good. However, around the corner, a turnstile prevented my exit without a ticket. After watching all others comply, and not knowing what else to do, I leapt over the turnstile, just like in a B-grade movie! After my life of crime, I decided to reward myself with beer and food (Cuzocampo beer (yawn), ham and cheese sandwich, olives, tremocos (called altramuz in Spanish), then back to the hostel and free Internet. Added a page to this blog, sent e-mails to others to prove that I still had a heartbeat. Confirmed my 5:30 departure time with the young, Asian, female, Spanish speaking desk clerk (having no idea how important that would turn out to be!). Slept soundly on a ho-hum mattress with a body pillow, windows open.

November 11, 2007

After our usual breakfast, we walked to the Cathedral for Sunday Mass and hoped-for organ music. The mass was in Spanish and lasted 30 minutes, including communion. I understood a few words, including a frequent reference to ‘Senior Christos’. Jesus? Like every church service I have ever been to, the parishioners were mostly old people. There was no organ music. Back at the hotel, Craig suggested that we go to see the actual Sacromonte. After a lengthy €1 bus ride, the route headed up into the foothills of the mountains. We got off at a dilapidated monastery and hiked on dirt paths to a peak far above Granada and La Alhambra. This brought us to an abandoned, terraced olive orchard with a cistern and other indicators that it had been a significant working orchard at one time (25 years ago?). We also noticed lots of rosemary and picked some. After we ‘took the summit’, led by Hannah and a few pictures, we started the long downhill walk, back to the hotel (after stopping for food at a roadside café). Back at the hotel, Leslie and I made our final preparations for leaving Granada. At the taxi stand, we had our final gelato, and then Leslie, Hannah and I all took turns crying. We really did not want to leave. After various taxies and busses, Leslie and I made it to a nice €65 hotel near the Malaga, Spain airport. It was in a very up-scale residential neighborhood, 3 blocks from the Mediterranean beach. We had the final bittersweet dinner of our Spain vacation (salad, olives, spaghetti, bread, wine, beer) and then slept well.

November 10, 2007 (cont)

After La Alhambra, a little downtime. I jogged along the east bank of the River Darro below La Alhambra, on a paved path that turned into a dirt trail as I went north. I expected a fairly flat course, but instead it rose to at least 100’ above water level. I got the impression that this was some kind of tourist attraction that had run out of funding. There were occasional blocks of stone bearing metal plaques engraved with Spanish language text of various authors, the only name I remember was Emily Dickerson. The trail became paved again and I could make out a cul-de-sac and small stone building in the distance. As I approached, I saw 10-15 young hippie-types performing some sort of strange ceremony/ritual. It was all a little weird and I decided to make a u-turn and get out of there, just in case they were looking for a human to sacrifice! Back at the hotel, we all headed out for tapas, including one that served both Guinness and Stella Artois (the beer with the tag line … reassuringly expensive). Then on to a place that advertised Flamenco. Throughout this trip, I had been turning up my nose at Flamenco, preferring Segovia-style classical guitar. Fortunately, I went along. We were entering the bar as the whacked-out, dred-haired, druggie crowd was clearing out. The different and more mixed Flamenco crowd of 85-100 filled the windowless, cave-like room. There was a €10 cover charge and we were definitely packed tight, with seating on tiny flat folding chairs and many standing. I struck up a conversation with a male Arab/Irish CLM student from USA. He understood Flamenco and explained some aspects, advising me to pay particular attention to the guitar and the clapping. This really helped enhance my enjoyment, based on a little ‘insider information’. Soon the music started; a longhaired, 50 year old male acoustic guitar player in a white shirt, a 40 year old ‘rhythm’ guy who clapped and sang, a 25 year old Asian female violin player and a 30 year old costumed Asian dancer. They did two 30-minute sets. This was not a tourist attraction in a hotel lounge, but a much more genuine event by performers who clearly loved their craft, surrounded by a wildly appreciative audience, all conducted in a gypsy cave. I truly enjoyed it, and it reinforced my growing feeling that I would be glad to live in Granada.

November 10, 2007

Feliz cumpleanos, Roberto! Hannah made one of her delightful, custom designed birthday cards for me, hope I can get it home intact. Up at 7:00, Craig and I walked up the steep hill to the La Alhambra ticket office, arriving by 7:30 for the announced 8:00 opening of the ticket office. Then, we waited 1 hour in line to actually buy the tickets for an 11:00 – 11:30 palace visit time-window. Back down to the hotel, collected the girls, out for café con leche and rolls. We all attempted to board the 20 passenger red Alhambra bus for €1, the girls made it on, Craig and I did not. Another brisk 30-minute, steep, up-hill walk. Finally, all together and inside, it was grand.

A personal note: Near the end of the La Alhambra visit, I experienced another of several near-miss toilet/WC close calls in Europe. I don’t notice this in the US very often, but because of the way my internal plumbing works, when I have to go, I HAVE TO GO! For example, there are no toilets on short-haul trains or busses in Portugal or Spain. On the 30-minute train ride from Lisboa to Setubol in Portugal, I finally had to enter the ‘air-lock’ between the last 2 cars and irrigate the tracks at 60 KM/hr! In any case, at La Alhambra, I was near that point again. I had confided in Hannah and she had gone ahead of me to ask in Spanish for directions to the WC. Thanks to her, I made it with about 15 seconds to spare. Perhaps I need to become a better planner.