Letter to My Sister from Paris

Gregory here

Ok so I have not been anywhere near as good about posting as I would have liked this year.  I just seem to not like writing.  I hope in time to get better at getting my thoughts down.  I have been told I am lazy and impatient (I need a more positive way to say this by the way.)  It is difficult to write when your brain jumps from thought to thought so quickly.  This post was inspired by a note from my sister who asked about my trip and how it was going.  The thoughts seemed to flow forth - I can only assume that is because I was telling someone who really wanted to know and also it was someone I really wanted to tell.  I am not sure what that means but enjoyed the results.  I hope you do too.

Kim: Greg, how are you/where are you? can't believe you're 3/4 into your journey!

Gregory: As for the trip, I am almost overwhelmed with the desire to see and experience more.  CouchSurfing seems to provide the best experiences.  And extremely similar to GlobeAware, in the opportunities to be part of peoples lives and get to know people from the area.

I have always been fascinated by the pattern of roots and trees.

And now, I am starting to see the natural patterns in the growing natural world (lightening, water, even in fire in Costa Rica still looking for wind) and I am desiring to see the way that same natural pattern applies to humans.  I believe this is what Uncle Robert does - applying behaviors to data and relating that to bell curves looking for patterns and especially things that fall out of that pattern.  This Pattern is what I see existence to be.

I have not done as much studying as you, more importantly I have not retained what I have read.  I have seen a difference in what I feel is expressed.  The Yin and Yang/Positive and Negative/Good and Bad.  I do not see any of these as truth, there is only the Creative and Receptive.

It is all things.  So many people get lost in trying to prove whether or not we are alone in the universe. Just as the small part is a representation of the whole in so many growing things so are we to the universe.  We are not alone we are just a finger or a sensual receptor of the universe.  The whole is just so big we feel disconnected from it(if we could see the feet and the hands at the same time maybe).  I think the social sites, like MySpace and FaceBook, are evolving to fill in the separateness.  To attempt to feel more connected and aware of what is going on in the world.  To try and give us all a better chance at knowing what is going on so we can be driven to take part - to contribute - to effect the whole.  GlobeAware is definitely one of those programs.  A chance for people to get out of the house, out of their normal work/sleep/eat pattern and to have a new cultural experience. To share a another way of looking at life and in turn appreciate the life they have already.

I wish I had the knowledge retention you seem to possess.  Have you come across another male that has the same level of knowledge retention as you do?

Rebecca and several other woman that I have dated have had exceptional knowledge retention.  It is very possible I have not gotten to know as many males as females.  The minutia in knowing themselves seems greater in women.  A few males I know seem to be able to call upon knowledge from many different sources internal and external.  I can only assume this stems from so many males focusing on doing rather than feeling ( to provide in order to be loved).  I know I come across some extremely amazing moments and knowledge kernels that seem to inspire a sense of wonder and knowing but I seem to lack the ability to be able to hold on to it and apply that to other parts of my life.

I can not tell you how much I have loved this trip.  The largest and most important aspect being the removal of myself from all influential people and places in my life and allow myself to have my time.  I am realizing more and more the things that make me happy and the things that keep me driven.  I may not have a house, I may not have a wife or a child and maybe someday, I will.  But I am not going to try and plan these things out.  I work towards the things I need and want everyday.

Over the past several years I have pulled further away from being tolerant of listening to the present state of world affairs.  Part of this has been my personal test to see if it takes an active ability to stay connected in todays connected society.  Part of this is my own dislike of the time required to stay involved as it takes so much time from the things I really want to do, to actually experience life not just read about it.  I know that each one of us has to pay attention to our needs and realize if our desires are too much.

My woodworking instructor told me the way to be happy seems to be
To Make Something
To Cook Something
To Grow Something

Also, just the other day on a TED talk, (happy planet index) I learned of another way to work towards happiness.  I really like this one.  I am thinking about putting this on a serving bowl to be used at the dinner table.  And in this same vein, I am also considering using it as a fund raiser, which at a certain donation level you receive a hand painted pottery bowl with these happiness principles.  It would certainly support the first step...
1. Connect - to those you love and love you
2. Be Active - get out of the house
3. Take notice - of yourself and what is going on around you
4. Keep Learning - stay curious
5. Give - give back in a way you can to those around you

In short, this trip has changed the way I look at life.  I do not know where my life will lead but I know now that whatever happens is the right thing to happen.  There is no coincidence - only serendipity.

I seem to feel better about myself when I am able to get my thoughts written/typed down.  It allows for the connection/s to grow with myself and those who read my words.  Which would be step number one on this last method of pursuing happiness.

Love,
your Brother


*****
SO a touch scatter brained but it is on paper - or screen
On another wonderful side note this is a TED Talk that we seem to discuss again and again on this trip.
The Riddle of Experience Vs. Memory

Biking to Paris (deuxième partie)

August 14, 2010 to August 25, 2010

The Photos

August 14 ~ I’m gonna kill a rooster (and the noisy neighbors near us)!  Early start, LONG day and we didn’t let the afternoon drizzle slow us down.  Almost forty miles, with two miles OFF track.  It is determined that Gregory has to sleep O-U-T-S-I-D-E, outside.  It is not determined if he gets to sleep on the ‘porch’ and out of any potential rain or plain old outside.  It is determined that he does NOT get a sleeping bag as I plan to mold it into a boy shape and cuddle it.  Finally see sixth gear (and 26 mph!) on some long swooping downhills followed by not terribly strenuous uphills.  A really great stretch of road which we enjoyed so much, we completely missed the turn leading to the 2 miles offtrack.  We hit France around 6pm almost immediately after we got back on track.  It is pretty wild NOT to know when you change countries as we are not using a map, per se.  We stop in Maubeuge for dinner at one of the busiest eat in/take away places I’ve ever seen.  They have a kriek, St. Louis, despite 2 previous bad experiences I take a chance and order one.  It was very tasty and I really wanted another one, but the service was slow enough that it was easier to pay the bill and leave then try to order another beer.  Gregory noticed a fellow patron was inspired to try the kriek also.  I hope he enjoyed it as much as I did.  Camping appears to be nearby so we head that way after food and find a quiet spot to pitch our tent.

August 15 ~ Resting day, both knees really hurt.  I’ve quit griping about it in the journal but it’s definitely a hinderance.  We have a weird wet walk to find almost nothing open on a Sunday.  Have my first eclair and if France doesn’t have eclair rehab, it should.  Decide on sandwich makings from a mini grocery and hope for dinner at last nights place.  It continues to rain to varying degrees so we ‘campout’ in the reception/lounge area of the camp ground.  A woman comes in offering cakes to the receptionist and then to us.  We decline but then end up at her camper for a cup of coffee ... which turns into 7 hours of talking over coffee, tea, dinner and more tea.  They are Janet and Sydney from Manchester (or thereabouts).  We talk about everything from all of our histories.  Sydney gives Gregory an atlas for France, where he becomes completely immersed in the awe of cartography and the places we can see.  Janet commiserates with me about my knee as she had twisted hers getting out of her camper not that long ago.  She offered me some of her anti inflammatory gel, so I gave it a shot.  An absolutely wonderful couple who brightened a really dull grey day.  Gregory and I do the dishes and then depart for home to baby wipe showers immediately followed by breaking of tent supports and two punctures in our rain fly ... did I mention it rained all day, was still raining and seemed like it might continue raining indefinitely.  Gregory rigs it so that we won’t drown in the night and we worriedly head to bed.

August 16 ~ Gregory, in my slightly less wet shoes, bikes to the local ‘Home Depot’ for copper tubing to fix the tent supports while I use the hair dryers in the shower room to dry his totally soaked shoes and socks.  Once he finishes fixing the tent, we switch shoes and I work on drying mine.  We spend the rest of the day charging computer batteries, reading and resting my knees while it rains and rains and rains.  We venture out into the rain for the dinner we planned the night before, lasagna, steak and more kriek.  Gregory says it can rain till 5 am then it has to stop and I think it pretty much does.

August 17 ~ Up and mostly packed by 9:30, but then spend an hour eating left over groceries so we don’t have to carry them.  While packing and eating we meet a guy from Antwerp who repairs hail damage to cars.  An extensive traveler and one of the few people we’ve met who had been to Dallas.  The day starts out with a sprinkle, which becomes a deluge, petering out to a sprinkle ramping up to a deluge ... are you noticing a pattern.  Very few stops today because not that many things are open for business on this particular portion of path.  In the end we bike 55 miles, wear out 3 knees and Gregory is amazing at my stubbornness concerning deviating from the trail for food, warmth or shelter.  Eventually he puts his foot down that we have to stop.  So we end up on the edge of a field overlooking a construction yard and the road for tomorrow.

August 18 ~ Day of REST.  Gregory goes to the nearby town and luckily finds provisions.  More reading than either of us has done in a while and a very early bedtime.

August 19 ~ Standard start time, up by 8 (or so) on the road by 10 (or so).  Send Gregory to town for breakfast fixing with the plan to pack up the beds while he is gone.  He does his before he leaves and I’m nearly done with mine when he gets back, good thing he helped.  The store isn’t open so we make do with what little we have, six pieces of Melba toast, a Bounty bar (like a Mound) and four Ibuprofen, split between the two of us.  Stop for tea at the first place we see that is open and are told that food is just around the corner, but off the trail.  I leave the path under duress to find a decent mini grocery around two corners where we acquire great sandwich makings and stock some provisions for later.  Arrive to Noyons around 3, make our way to the tourism office asking for a cafe with internet and recommendations for camping.  We get info for both, but the internet cafe doesn’t pan out.  End up at a Turkish grill room, where a friendly but extremely lonely guy somehow recognizes we are ‘from’ Amsterdam.  The food is good and plentiful, especially since we ordered one meal to share and ended up with a meal each.  Initially the bill was more than Gregory expected, but once I told him we got the drinks for free (a beer and a coke) he stopped griping.  Since the tourism person had been wrong about the internet cafe, we decided against her advice on the camp ground.  The booklet, she provided, listed two in Carlepont, one mentioned having internet and the other didn’t.  Completely led by our desire to FaceBook and catch up on over a week’s worth of e-mails we head down a quiet road ending in a nondescript camp ground.  We ring the bell for service and immediately ask about internet.  We are told that the book is in error.  Since the grounds weren’t that appealing and we had passed a sign for Les Araucarias not very far back, we decide to take a chance on it instead.  So glad we did because we got a great tent space with a picnic table, free WiFi and hot showers for a mere 4 Euro each.  We internet till it’s dark and we are cold, grab quick warming showers and watch half a movie before drifting off to sleep, forty miles closer to Paris.

August 20 ~ Rest day and catching up on internet.  Camp ground cafe has satisfying breakfast, lunch and dinner so not much movement today.  Finish the second half of last night’s movie followed by sleep.

August 21 ~ We thought we ordered breakfast the night before, but it got lost in translation.  We need to work on the definite sound of our voice.  Fortunately we had chocolate croissants from provision buying on the nineteenth, paired with large cups of coffee, just about enough to get us moving.  However, we don’t move far.  A planned trip to Noyons for groceries turns into only buying fruit and 3 hours at the sporting goods store for unplanned upgrades to the bikes.  We were specifically looking for stronger longer (harder faster) rear tire racks to better support our panniers.  We ended up with new front tires, new valve stems on front and back*, clip-less pedals and bike shoes.  Altogether an expensive day ‘in town’ and a giant increase in my worry about being able to bike any real distance literally stuck to my bike.  Dr. Gregory assures me that the change in my form will “help disperse the load of peddling over more muscles hopefully helping my knees.”  I especially like the hopefully in that previous medical statement!  After spending so long at the store, we opt for a Mc Donald’s lunch nearby and then bike home with my feet incased in ‘tiny prisons’.  More internet followed by a delicious roast chicken and giant bowl of green beans, YUM!  While we were eating, a German family came to see if the cafe was still open.  Once they established that food was obtainable, we chatted briefly with the mother about biking around Europe.  She has plans to bike for half a year, but the ages of her children and taking the time off from work have kept her from doing it ... Yet!  Also when we were in town today I bought a hat, promptly tore it apart to make it better and hope to get it put back together before we leave which will be who knows when!

*Not sure how it escaped our notice but we had been traveling since Minderhout on the ninth with mismatched valve stems and absolutely NO way to air up our back tires.  Fortunately, this information came to our notice and we changed them all to Schrader before it became an issue.

August 22 ~ We are so close and yet so very far from Paris.  It’s only about 2 days ride and we seem to be stuck mentally and emotionally in Carlepont.  Neither of us can figure out our lack of forward progress.  I spent the day transcribbling this journal into blog material and Gregory spent the day working on bike routes from Paris, France to Piedmont, Italy.  It would have been a great day to move forward, but we just didn’t have any momentum.  We do get early showers complete with hair washing so that both heads have as much time to dry as possible.  After dinner, Gregory strikes up a conversation with a Dutch couple, Joost and Damiët, who are camped near us and are also biking.  I interject sparingly as I am still pecking away on the computer.  Eventually, we all head to our various beds as it begins to drizzle.  We still have NO idea what tomorrow will bring.

August 23 ~ Tomorrow brought rain, pain and hunger.  We laze in bed till nearly 11, trying to let the rain finish and figuring out the plan for getting to Paris.  We can’t tell how much rain is to be expected and eventually decide to stay one more night with an alarm set for an early start tomorrow.  I decide we should bike into Carlepont (approximately 4 blocks away) for breakfast items from the bakery.  However, the bakery had other ideas as it is closed up tight.  Gregory meanders over to a place where several cars are parked and I attempt to follow him, with disastrous results.  A simple move into the parking area turns into falling off my bike, hitting my right knee HARD and having a concerned old French man peer out at me from his car window.  I attempt to assure him that I’ll survive and he drives off as Gregory comes back to check on me.  No blood, no foul.  We start back towards home, when alas, our short ride in drizzle turns into a slow ride in the rain, thereby soaking our pants.

August 24 ~ Early Wake, Early Start.  Practice release of clips without falling down.  Start out going the wrong direction because I didn’t understand that our camping spot was ‘on the path’ and because I thought we would go by the bakery on our way out of town.  We missed a turn for a beautiful forest path because it looked like a residence, fortunately we didn’t have to backtrack too far.  Twenty miles into our day we arrive in Pierrefonds and get to wander around the Château de Pierrefonds.  A beautiful castle that Gregory refused to buy for me.  After NOT getting our bikes stolen, we stopped for lunch.  Gregory orders the second item on the menu, Andouillette (which we have since decided is French for do not order).  The server tries to warn him off the idea, but Gregory adamantly states he’ll be fine ... he wasn’t.  It was GROSS and completely inedible.  It tainted everything it touched and some of the things it was only in the proximity of, including poor Gregory’s upper lip.  So we end up sharing my Croque Monsieur, which wasn’t exceptional or big enough to share.  Back on the road and French farmland BLOWS!  And the wind is an awesome power against two little bikes and their drivers with no trees or foliage to break the current.  Stop for dinner sandwich fixing but wind up with pizza and wine in the bellies instead.  No luck finding camping so we pitch our tent in a field beside a forest right in the flight path of Charles de Gaulle airport and a big full moon overhead.  Only one more day of cycling expected.

August 25 ~ Fitful sleep for me but Gregory says he slept fine.  No lazing in bed today so I pack away the sleeping bags and pads (see I helping).  Immediate start cycling UP a long tiring hill followed by a fast, fast 28.6 mph downhill.  Stop for eclairs and coffee.  I do way too much walking in my new cycling shoes!  Some wind (but not nearly the gale of the farmland).  Gregory predicts rain an hour from Paris and I threaten to run him over if it does.  It sprinkles on us a little, but not enough to make me run him down.  Oh and yeah, we made it to Paris.  Heading to see Gregory’s friend Jordan, we cycle through the courtyard of the Louvre and take a gander at the Eiffel Tower.  Jordan and Annie, who just got back from vacation in Finland, welcome us to Paris and Jordan walks with us to a nearby hostel pointing out shops and places of interest along the way.  After finding out the hostel price, the plan is to find camping tomorrow and camp until my mom arrives (more or less).

*I’m now up to date (kinda, sorta, but not really)!  It is weird to have the ‘blog’ so current.  I’m not sure if I will continue writing the day to day recap, either for myself or for the blog.  We’ll have to wait and see.

Biking to Paris (première partie)

August 3, 2010 to August 13, 2010

The Photos

Right before we left Amsterdam, we stayed with Cathelijne and Renée.  A couple we met in Guatemala, who live in Amsterdam.  We got to talking about how awesome it was to meet once and then again so much later and so far from the original spot.  Then Cathelijne pulls out her journal to see what it said about the meeting.  It wasn’t even in there, BUT it did inspire me to track more of the day to day of this amazing bike trip we were undertaking.  So in an attempt to give you, our loyal readership more current information than you have been getting from us, I’m going to transcribe that journaling here for your enjoyment.  I think I will leave it out of the sequence, as other posts finally get written and then possible comment on this portion of the trip in a separate post once I get to it chronologically.  Blogs you can expect to show up later: Costa Rica, Panama, Trinidad and Tobago and Amsterdam.  I guess it’s hard to live and write about it at the same time.

However, as the editor of this rag, I reserve the right to change my mind.  I also reserve the right to add details that I didn’t write in my journal at the time.

August 3 ~ Biking to Paris Day 1  Late start, after several stops to get new center kickstands and food and mailing a package and who knows what else.  Arrive to Amsterdam’s Central station close to 12 or 1 and start the route I found online.  The first result in a Google search of ‘Bike route Amsterdam to Paris’.  After biking around the city for a month, I really thought I was ready to undertake such a trip.  The first day showed me how wrong I had been.  It was hard work, damned hard.  Compounded by the fact that suddenly my derailleur quit changing gears for me.  Now I don’t have much biking experience, in fact I don’t even know how to properly use the gears, but I do know that biking all the way in first gear is going to wear me out.  Despite this hiccup, we have what feels like a long day of biking, accomplishing about 30 miles, to arrive in Utrecht.  Fortunately Cathelijne and Renée suggested a campground for us, unfortunately nearly everyone we asked directions of didn’t know it existed.  Eventually we follow a little old lady though a city park to the road the campground is on.  First night in our new tent, with our comfy sleeping pads and cozy sleeping bags.  It all works perfectly and we sleep cool and snug all night long.

August 4 ~ No Movement.  We wake up to bunnies nibbling nearby and a pond full of ducks and geese.  Spend almost all day in a bagel coffee shop to internet for bike route GPS manipulation and Flick’r uploading.  This gets us completely caught up on photo uploads before an indeterminable amount of time without internet.  The bike shop very close by fixes the shifty cable and tells me that it got snapped by the other repair shop that put on the awesome kickstand.  I’m hoping this trip is not a bike shop to bike shop tour of the Netherlands, Belgium and France.  I also buy bike caps to cover our seats which are super squishy and don’t require us to wear bike shorts but are showing wear.  We head to a great little bar for dinner and then to the movies to see Inception.  What a great movie.  Dutch movie theaters are strange though, because they have assigned seating and despite buying our tickets fully an hour before showtime we got crap seats!  Also at a really intense moment of the movie ... there was an intermission!  Great timing as the line to the restroom testified, but still weird.

August 5 ~ Leave Utrecht.  Long painful day of biking.  Getting out of cities seems to make Gregory tense and hurried.  This does not help when I’m immediately confronted by steep hill climbs and both knees hurting.  Not sure why I am having knee pain but I am.  I put the ace knee wrap I bought after walking across Golden Gate Bridge on my left knee and it seemed to help some.  During late afternoon stop in Gorinchem to rest in the town square, we see a fellow biker with a really cool trailer.  We follow our GPS breadcrumb trail to a ferry dock.  We have NO idea of which ferry we are supposed to take and end up on the same ferry as the biker we had just seen.  Gregory strikes up as conversation with him as we shuttle ‘up’ the river to a tiny Dutch fort outside of Woudrichem.  Bad Breath Albert, our fellow biker, says he’s headed to a campsite relatively close by so we hitch our wagons to his trailer and head there.  After setting up our camp, we head into the tiny fort town to find some dinner.  Looking at the map, it seems the fort is quite separated from the town of Woudrichem, either way it is all of 12 streets and nearly no places for food.  We end up with stinky cheese pizza and thank goodness I have some lunch leftovers as I’m NOT a stinky cheese fan.  Ice cream close by caps the night ‘in town’ and we head back to our campsite.  Albert invites us to a cup of tea, so we spend a little more time talking travel, bikes and GPS’ with him.  While Albert and Gregory wander off to compare breadcrumb trails, I meander over to a couple enjoying their dinner on a beautiful rattan mat.  They are both medical students from Ghent, Belgium and are headed to Amsterdam, also on bikes.  Eventually Gregory shows back up and we all have a great little chat about jobs, dreams and travel.  Eventually our twenty-eight miles of biking calls us to our beds and we say our goodnights.

August 6 ~ Early start.  My left knee is still braced and hurting almost immediately.  We finally eat the 3 sandwiches that Cathelijne made us.  One cheese, one lunch meat and one *Surprise* Hagelslag!  Hagelslag is like high class cup cake sprinkles, but better.  It kinda tastes like Betty Crocker frosting, which everyone knows you can easily eat a whole can of in one sitting.  It’s a Dutch treat usually sprinkled over buttered bread.  Arine in Costa Rica told us it was a ‘must try’ and we had eaten a couple of handfuls out of the box, but this was our first official and correct ingesting of Hagelslag.  It was such a wonderful treat on a morning when we weren’t able to find a cafe for breakfast.  Thank goodness Dutch weather had been cool and we had a great little insulated food pack that came with the bikes.  Yesterday I popped the valve off my front tire.  I was attempting to percussively maintain a bothersome noise and got my foot caught in the front tire.  Immediately after coming to a stop we hear a pop and a hiss.  Damn.  A passing cyclist directs us to the closest bike shop, at least a kilometer off track, and we limp over.  The teenaged boy working at the bike shop was concerned about the wobble he found in my front tire and wanted to disconnect my front brake to reduce the drag.  At the time I didn’t allow it but right after breakfast today, Gregory decided it was better to have no brake than have the drag on the tire.  While crossing on a ferry, Gregory attempted to move his bike and broke several spokes on the back tire.  Once again we hobble to a bike shop.  This place is not on our GPS path but wonderful anyway, repairing the broken spokes and recommending stronger back rims.  We would have replaced them then and there but being a small town bike shop he just didn’t have the supplies to do the job.  He also fixed the bent left pedal I had discovered that morning, which probably was NOT helping my knee.

*On an unrelated note Gregory stated his resentment that I don’t take pictures of him or even of the events we endure.  I’m literally at a loss for how to respond or knowing how to make a change.  I barely take any pictures at all, certainly not any of myself and rarely any of him.  I thought he was content taking his long arm shots.  I am shocked and disheartened to know that he isn’t.

We make it past Breda to Camping Liesbos and get literally the LAST available tent camping space.  A mere 22 miles of pain and biking.

August 7 & 8 ~ No biking today.  Internet and blog writing mostly and yet still no actual blog to show.  We do discover that Dutch soft serve tastes exactly like frozen whipped cream.  Very yummy.  Also discover one of the reasons the camp ground is so very packed.  They have an annual event similar to karaoke that seems to be a big deal.  Gregory checks it out and reports back.  [It] “seemed quite silly but the group involvement was amusing to watch.  Apparently last year the contestant who won the event was NOT from the Liesbos inner circle and created quite a stir … so [even if we had gotten there in time to sign up] we were not allowed to enter the show.”

Random Conversation

Rebecca ~ “I don’t think drinking soup from the bowl is couth”

Gregory ~ “Couth, what do you mean couth, we’re in a trailer park”

August 9 ~ Biking again and with sharp knee pains.  I think at this point I have switched the Ace bandage to the right knee, but I didn’t make a note of it so that last sentence is pure speculation.  Seems like it will be a slow going day of not very fast or far.  Just as we turn a corner, I tell Gregory I need to rest.  We sit down and Gregory immediately hops up and runs into the field across the road.  It’s a strawberry field and my Gregory Rabbit raids it three times.  Those were the absolute BEST strawberries I have had in my entire life.  We later pass a packing plant with accompanying fields for Hoogstraten Strawberries and then shortly later a strawberry vending machine by the same company.  We marvel at the differences between the 3 euro berries and the 4, deciding that we easily ate 3 pints of 4 euro strawberries for nothing.  In Minderhout, the first town we come to, just about the first shop we see is a bike shop.  Not wanting to miss a single stop on the Repair Shop tour, we glide in to see if they have stronger back rims.  He does and even gives us a deal on the price.  Gregory gives him carte blanche to upgrade tires as well and we drift off to find food, drinks and entertainment for the approximately 2 hours we are told it should take.  We discover that we are now in Belgium, nearly nothing is open in this town on a Monday but the ibuprofen is stronger than in the States.  We read in the ‘park’ outside of the church until time to go ransom our bikes and with new back rims and better tires, we hit the road again.  A thirty-six mile day finds us sharing an unspectacular 27 euro meal in Zandhoven then doubling back on our route to camp in a field rather than travel an additional 8 km off track to find camping.

August 10 ~ Early morning awake, but late start back on the road.  We have a fight that goes strange stemming from Gregory’s perception that I’m not that helpful setting up and tearing down camp.  We ‘enjoy’ an 8 euro American breakfast consisting of overcooked eggs, fatty greasy bacon, undercooked cream sauced potatoes and barely toasted white toast... One of the most unAmerican things I’ve ever eaten.  As we are leaving, a woman asks me where we are from and where we are headed.  I quickly tell her the story of two crazy Texans touring through Central America, magically appearing in Amsterdam and then deciding to bike to Paris.  She seems impressed by it all and wishes us luck.  Thirty-six miles later we have a great dinner with camping nearby and wonderful free hot showers.

August 11 ~ Leisurely morning and stroll into Grimbergen looking for coffee, breakfast and WiFi.  Easily find croissants and bready breakfast products.  Barely find coffee.  Don’t even think about asking for WiFi.  At the pub for coffee, I notice they have Lindeman’s Kriek on tap.  Being one of my favorite beers, I have to snap a picture of the tap.  This causes a short conversation with the owner about how good it tastes and then a “Wait one moment, I think I have a something special for you.”  Something special, turned out to be a Lindeman’s Kriek bar mat and I was tickled pink to receive it.  Coffee, followed by reading in the square outside of the church leads to Gregory suggesting we check out my first European church.  Impressive and weird are the best words I can think of.  I liked the fact that the statues were carved from wood and that I could pick out a wool pelt on some saint before seeing a lamb in the arms of some other saint.  We share a very melty lasagna then wander home with enough groceries and snacks for the rest of the day.  We have a brief chat with Ian, a fellow camper from Scotland on holiday with his kids, about camping, biking and ferries from Bruges.  Just before he leaves he comes back over with some Scottish Rock candy to get us through the sugar dips when we are biking.  All in all a great day of rest and reading.  I think we’ll do it again tomorrow!

August 12 ~ I walk back into town looking for a hairdresser and the grocery store.  The hairdresser was closed, but sandwich makings and snacks were easily acquired.  While I’m gone, Gregory makes friends with a guy from the Netherlands who is driving, camping and biking.  I missed the initial introduction and story but apparently he had lost his bike key and thought he was going to have to drive home to retrieve his duplicate.  Fortunately, once the office opened after lunch the missing key had been found.  They talked about various biking things and then he left for his night biking excursion into Brussels leaving Gregory and me to our reading and resting.

August 13 ~ Slow morning but great progress of thirty-six miles.  As evening comes so does rain.  We follow the GPS down a dead end trying to figure out why.  Just as I tell Gregory to turn around and we will go to the restaurant we passed, Low and Behold, a campground.  We race the rain to set up our tent and just make it.  We go back to the ONLY restaurant we saw in town, to be told that they were booked with no available space.  It sounds like total bullshit but unwilling to force the issue (and not speaking a lick of French in the French part of Belgium) we grab canned ravioli and other miscellaneous items at the mini grocery store.  Read until dark and then sleep.

More to come, sooner rather than later!

the Gringo Trail

March 21, 2010 to April 9, 2010

The Photos

Guatemala was the first place we began to meet other travelers who had just come from “that really great place."  So we talked to them and wrote down their suggestions and began the initial planning of where to go next.  That next location became Antigua, Sacatepéquez, Guatemala.  Especially since we were really close to Semana Santa (Holy Week), the biggest celebration in Guatemala.  We took a bus to Guatemala City and spent a couple of nights in a nice but unremarkable hotel in a not so nice but also unremarkable part of town.  While we sussed out the best way to get to Antigua.

As usual there were several modes of travel available from Guatemala City to Antigua.  The two main contenders became the direct shuttle for tourists or the more adventurous option of the ‘chicken bus’.  Not feeling particularly touristy, we grabbed our gear, hailed a taxi and shortly found ourselves on a garishly painted, radio blaring, haphazardly driven and eventually over packed North American style school bus, with about 100 of our new ‘closest friends' ... did I mention it was crowded!  Not wanting to separate from our packs and not really fitting into the ONE seat with the size of my backpack, the ‘conductor’ attempted to charge me for two seats.  I quickly rearranged my worldly possessions into the most uncomfortable configuration I could manage to save the extra fare and get that 101st customer on the bus.

Once we got close to Antigua, it seemed we had picked both the best possible and worst ever time to arrive.  A bus that normally would have taken us directly to the city centre could get no closer than a mile out parked behind 30+ other chicken buses, with more coming in, on the side of the road.  So we shouldered our backpacks and began the long hot walk into Antigua.  As we neared a decision point, we met a tourism representative who wanted to ‘help’ us find a place to stay.  His ‘help’ entailed bad mouthing the hostel we had been recommended and advocating that we stay with a Guatemalan family he knew.  Despite being tempted by his offer, we were not enticed by his pushiness and the only real benefit he provided was a Xeroxed map.

We found our hostel fairly quickly and despite the crowded city were able to procure a series of beds for the initially short length of our first stay.  Yes, you read that correctly, our first stay.  When we arrived it was still at least a week to the Holy Week celebration that we had come for.  Despite the pleasantness of our chosen hostel, it made more sense to take a quick jaunt over to Lago Atitlan and then come back for the festivities, so we did.

Lago Atitlan, and the cities surrounding it, endure as one of our most enjoyable stays both times we were there.  Yes, you also read that correctly, we enjoyed it so much that we came back to it after Easter.  However, let’s do this remembrance in some kind of orderly way.

So back we go to Antigua to experience one of the strangest religious customs (other than the church in Chamula, Mexico) we couldn’t have imagined.  First envision walking down cobbled streets where every 10 feet or so a group of people work to create a beautiful piece of art from colored sawdust, flowers, flower petals, seeds, grasses, reeds, candles and other items I’m sure I didn’t recognize.  Visualize these beautiful alfombras (meaning carpets) being trod upon by a procession, at least three city blocks in length, of purple robed men and boys waving censers, carrying framed and lighted images of saints and martyrs, pulling the generator cart (to power those lighted images), two sets of musicians playing sombre marching music and even some men dressed as Roman Soldiers.  The focal point of this procession is a GIANT wooden platform with statues of saints, angels and the central figure of Christ carrying the cross.  A platform carried on the shoulders of more than 80 men, with a constant rotation of fresh shoulders.  A platform with statues whose sheer height is so large that a separate group of men walk beside it with long trident like poles to raise the power lines above the highest points.  A platform so long that turning a narrow street corner involves the subtle backwards and forwards motion we associate with parallel parking in the tiniest of spots.  Now imagine a second platform, slightly smaller but still impressive, carried by at least 40 women dressed in black, with a statue of the virgin Mary.  Try to realize the uncountable number of backup players this procession required in additional people waiting to step in and replace anyone who becomes tired as they work their way through the streets, slowly and methodically for approximately 24 hours.  With that many people involved in the procession you might expect no one to be watching but each street we saw was absolutely full of spectators.  As Gregory puts it ‘This swaying Jesus caterpillar galleon working its way through the streets across the oceans of intricately designed sawdust carpet is a site to behold.’

One of the other reasons we had ventured to Antigua was it’s proximity to Pecaya, an active volcano, and the story we had heard about camping nearby and viewing it at night.  So once the festivities of Semana Santa were over, we quickly booked our excursion through the very hostel we were staying at, Ox Base Camp.  Our small group of 5 adventurers and one guide set out on a sunny afternoon with loaded packs and freshly bought hiking poles (a thriving business amongst the children of the local village and an enterprise more in renting than in actual sales!) to hike to a spot just beyond the edge of the lava field.  We set up our tents with sleeping bags and rested till almost sundown before we began the awesome experience of the final ascent up the lava field.  The stark comparison of black lava to green fields of flowers and trees.  The crunch underfoot that sounds like walking on eggshells or broken glass.  The popping sound as it erupts so close and yet so far.  None of these things prepare you for the sheer alien nature of a mountain spewing molten lava from it’s pores.  Breathing it’s sulfurous breath in your face.  While you stand on porous ‘ground’ that is literally being eaten away from underneath and melting your shoes in the process.  Nothing can top the experience of defying all that unnatural nature by nakedly spinning fire you have lit from that lava.  Gregory adds ‘One of the more frightening experiences of my life!’

So sated by our adventure we returned to camp and then Antigua, again without any idea of what to do next.  Fortunately we did not flounder long, as we met Aaron, a fellow traveller, headed to Lago Atitlan.  Since we had only seen a small portion of the area surrounding it and I had read that it had a decent dive spot for pretty cheap, we hitched our traveling wagon to his and set out once again for Lago Atitlan.

The group opted for the cheaper and more adventurous route of chicken bus, only this time the adventure was more adventurous and much more costly.  I had been carrying a sleeping pad I purchased in San Francisco because I am a fairly delicate sleeper.  The additional bulk of this pad essential created the space of two backpacks on my pack.  Not wanting to be charged for additional seating or sitting uncomfortably for the entire ride, Gregory persuaded me to detach it from my pack and place it into his care.  He put it very securely into the luggage rack above us and we started our journey.  Unfortunately, we were not on a direct bus to our destination and in the rushed change of getting off one bus and down the street to catch the next one, we all forgot about my sleeping pad until the bus was out of sight.  I lamented the loss and we all laughed about the eventuality of it all and hoped that it ended up in a good place where it would be appreciated.  Shortly thereafter I reached into my pocket to get my camera, to snap a random roadside picture, when the true cost our trip was discovered.  I had been pick pocketed on the bus ... did I mention it was jam packed!  I lost my camera and my backup wallet where I had been keeping an extra credit card and the larger amount of money so as not to flash it around.  In the long run, the ride with all the bus transfers cost the same as a shuttle would have and I lost over $500 in stuff and money (mostly stuff!)  I was fortunate not to have lost my debit card or passport, but still felt fairly violated.

The area surrounding Lago Atitlan was absolutely beautiful.  The weather was sunny but comfortable.  The flowers were in brilliant bloom.  The lake water, it’s reported, was cool and refreshing.  Aaron hung out with us for quite a while, and with him we kayaked to nearby San Marcus.  The excursion across was good fun and exercise.  Exploring San Marcos and finding a new wonderful hostel was great.  Then we started the voyage back across the lake.  After a full day of power boat traffic the lake was now a roaring, rolling tempest.  Gregory valiantly guided us back home with constant words of encouragement and insightful uses of paddling techniques, not to mention humorous banter as we eyed the ‘Guatemalan vultures’ circling our boat waiting for us to give up.  I’m positive he could have easily made the voyage without my extra weight and ‘help’ but I sure wouldn’t have made it without his positive attitude and cheerful repartee ... did I mention I can’t swim.

After a full night’s sleep, we packed our bags and returned to the little town of San Marcos to stay in an amazing hilltop hostel called Xamanek.  As you might have guessed from the description it was not an easy place to get to but it was well worth the pilgrimage as the view was spectacular.  We snagged a great open air loft bedroom, slightly separated from the rest of the dorm areas and woke up to sunlight, birdsong and a beautiful view of the lake every morning.  This made it really hard to leave Guatemala but leave we must and sooner than we wanted to even though it was for a very good reason.  However, one more exciting thing had to happen before we could go.  One night we came home to find our lovely hostel locked up tight with all our stuff still in our room.  After checking all the doors, Gregory climbed the tree next to the building and let me in.  We spent an extremely restless night expecting some kind of trouble for breaking in even though our stuff was still there.  When morning came, we promptly packed up and left.

There are just a few things I have left out of Guatemala and so they go here!

We didn’t go diving as I thought we would.  Some of that was the trauma of kayaking and nearly ‘dying’.  Some of it was my inability to want to learn to swim.  Most of it was deciding that the lake was just not exciting enough to make diving enjoyable for Gregory.

We did spin fire for our dinner at a restaurant in San Marcus.  We didn’t get any pictures because we were performing.  Some people in the crowd said they would send us pictures but that hasn’t happened yet.  We were also offered a share of the tips from the musicians but that didn’t manifest either.

We ran into Kim and Will (from San Cristobál) the first time we were in San Pedro.  I got to hang out with them for most of a day while Gregory went cliff jumping.  When Kim mentioned she was planning to cut her hair, I imposed upon her to cut mine as well since I had previously admired her pixieish haircut while in Mexico.  It was one of the best haircut memories I have, partially since halfway through she said “Oops” and partially because it turned out really great.  We meant to meet up with them again, but when we got back they had moved on.

Kim introduced us to a really awesome jewelry maker named Leah.  Leah makes swirly twirly rings and things from forks and semiprecious stones.  I found a stone I liked and asked her if she could make me a ring that was more swirly than twirly and she said she could.  We almost didn’t get a chance to reconnect before we left but after fleeing the scene of our break in, we spent one more night in San Pedro.  I found her late in the afternoon, she showed me the ring, which I loved and she polished it off to be picked up later that night.  In retrospect I would have had her make me a bracelet instead since I can’t seem to make big rings and traveling work together.  But ce’st la vie!

Next up ~ A swift journey straight to see one of our most favorite people!  Where we helped unearth the Mother Hearth and experienced Ayahuacsca.

Ghosts in Mexico

March 16, 2010 to March 20, 2010

The Photos

Leaving Mexico certainly elicited more excitement than getting in.  For one thing we delayed a day or two to become travel ready (but you’ve read that sad tale already).  We arrived at the bus station with little time to spare and headed to Palenque, Chiapas.  In Ocosingo, Chiapas approximately two hours into our five hour voyage, our bus slowed and then stopped.  Initially of course we had no idea why or for how long we would be delayed.  When the driver shut off the engine, we realized this was no short stop.  Noticing the vast number of smaller transport vehicles backing their way up the other side of the two lane road should have clued us to major happenings.  Eventually we disembark and wander up to discover the problem.  Zapatistas have closed down the road, with a rather intimidating 2x4 full of nails, in protest of the privatization of the jungle and the eviction of the locals from their land.  Initially we think waiting it out is our only option but once we find out that the projected wait ranges from 2 hours to a literally unknown quantity of time we start thinking about other plans.  Fortunately for us, some fellow travelers beat us to this thought.  I am kicking myself for not remembering their names, but she started feeling sick and the wait on a now unairconditioned bus increased her discomfort so her boyfriend found a taxi to Palenque for $60.  Split between the two couples it was as much as the bus had cost but relieved our impatience at the wait and uncomfortableness in the heat of the day.

Palenque seemed in the process of being completely rebuilt.  We can’t be sure that the increase in construction will cause the tourist boom they obviously expect but the city will definitely be able to handle it IF it happens.  Getting to the ‘city’ and finding a hotel amenable to the now four traveling companions wiped two of us almost completely.  So we rested while our cohorts saw the ruins.  We all bought tickets to Flores, El Petén, Guatemala, shared dinner and a tequila shot and retired for our morning shuttle.  Six A.M. came early, as bleary eyed we made our way outside the hotel to wait and take bets on which approaching vehicle was ours.  My aunt used to contend that the best way to make your food come at a restaurant was to light a cigarette, so I facilitated the arrival of our bus by taking off my unreasonably cumbersome backpack.

Eight of us, as 4 sets of couples, made the shuttle ride to the Mexico Guatemala border.  Our arrival at the border seemed filled with confusion.  Neither Gregory or I spoke enough Spanish to fully figure out what needed to happen.  We think that we were supposed to get a magical form filled out in Palenque saying we had paid the appropriate amount of money, 25 dollars, to leave.  Also adding to the confusion was our lack of a passport stamp saying when and where we had come into Mexico.  Not having the proper forms or even any Mexican money, thoroughly confused the man behind the counter and eventually he just washed his hands of us.  He stated that he didn’t know what trouble we would have in Guatemala but we ceased being his concern.  We walked down to the end of the road where we expected a 30 minute boat ride on the Usumacinta River.  Again confusion struck.  Our driver was nowhere to be found and none of the boat taxies were owning up to expecting a group from the tour company we used.  Eventually someone came to our rescue, paying the ferry man and sending us up the river into Guatemala.

Thirty minutes later, we trudge up a steep muddy bank into Guatemala.  The ferry man responsible for paying our next shuttle driver deftly passed that job on to one of the other tourists among the two boatloads.  Our group of 8 remarkably doubled in size as we wait for our next chariot.  It eventually arrived with just barely room for all of us and our baggage.  The next untold number of hours were spent on just about the worst country road one could imagine, in a 20 passenger shuttle van that had made the trip several times more that the shocks were warrantied for.  With a little bit of Gin and Vermouth we would have been perfect martinis ... thoroughly shaken.

Eventually we arrive at the immigration office of Guatemala.  We let a little more that half the group go before we went in.  Giving us plenty of time to try to figure out how much trouble we were in for not getting stamped in Mexico.  The consensus was that we were not supposed to pay anything (that’s what ALL the guide books said).  Each group of people heading in was adamant that they were going to fight it.  Strangely each group came back out paying their fee and moving on, a true testament to the power of bureaucracy.  We of course had no desire to be difficult and when it was our turn we were very friendly, apologetic and tractable.  After being reprimanded for knowing better but not doing better, we paid our five American dollars each, were duly processed through and allowed to continue on our journey.  Hugh sighs of relief, followed by sardine-ing back onto the bus and continuing more countless hours (on eventually better roads) to our destination.

About an hour before we reached Flores, the translator put on his tour guide hat and became quite adamant that he schedule the rest of our stay in Flores.  Unwilling to be railroaded into tour packages and hotel stays we listened patiently and rebuffed him graciously.  Fortunately there were enough people willing to be scheduled that he left us to our own devices.  Our arrival in Flores was halted by several attempts to procure cash, the better to pay for our prearranged tour packages.  If it hadn’t been so very frustrating, I sure we would have found it amusing.  Finally we arrive, to be ferried around to the ‘best’ hotels around (or at least the ones with the fattest kickback).  None of the offerings entice us, so we break off from the group and just begin to walk around.  An old man sitting by the road asked if we were looking for amigos and not really understanding what was being asked (yes we knew it meant friends, but we had just left the ‘friends’ we had ... hence the confusion) we followed his indicated direction to a great hostel called Los Amigos.

Our first night was in a shared room with a couple completely crashed out from a hot day exploring Tikal and since we were so exhausted from the agonizing drive we likewise crashed.  The next days and nights however were remarkable.  We moved to a tree house type room overlooking the common area, talked to plenty of travelers to get more suggestions for destinations, uploaded pictures while downloading movies on their blazing fast internet and ate wonderful vegetarian meals.  Our chosen hostel had similar tour packages for the Tikal ruins and we eventually planned an early morning wander without tour guide based on the information we had gathered from our fellow travelers.

This time 6 in the morning seemed even earlier as we piled into a bus headed to the Mayan ruins.  Gregory and I had agreed that we would go as deeply into the jungle ruins as quickly as possible then slowly wander our way back to the front and thereby avoid the sheople mentality of the guided groups.  This ended up being a brilliant plan and for the most part we were the only ones at the majority of the temples we explored.  ‘Disaster’ did strike towards the end of our adventure when with the help of a communication error we were separated for a couple of hours.

My version of the story... I left Gregory listening to a tour guide because he was hot and tired and I still wanted to explore the back side of the main plaza.  I thought he would stay in the general area I had left him in, so when I came back and he wasn’t there I went into only a slightly panicked mode.  I attempted to calmly stay near where I had left him thinking he had just wandered as I had and would come back.  I felt fortunate that I had remembered to bring a book and with some people watching and some book reading I fretfully passed a completely unknown quantity of time.  Eventually I decided that he wasn’t just wandering nearby and wasn’t coming back so I tearfully headed towards the exit without any more site seeing and fervently hoped that an obvious waiting spot would present itself so that we wouldn’t further miss each other.  Fortunately, at the gate our paths crossed and neither of us was lost for ever in the jungles of Tikal.

Gregory’s addition ~ Rebecca’s version is essentially correct, but I will say that before we parted ways unexpectedly the plan was to head toward the front gate to leave, when I could not find her, I went to the front gate.  When she didn’t turn up as I expected, I began asking people if they had seen my Purple French Mushroom and had just begun to head back to the last place I had seen her when we found each other.  

Happily reunited, we returned to our hostel and planned a day of rest and relaxation.  This included a pampering visit for a massage and steam bath from a flyer in the hostel.  I cannot honestly say what I expected but I can say that the experience was an experience.  I went first for the massage and at Gregory’s urging requested an hour long session.  The unimposing little Guatemalan man was only able to offer a limited amount of small talk and shortly the massage commenced.  Initially it was interrupted by at least one phone call and a trip to secure an open window shade.  However, eventually it proceeded as one expects.  That is until he flipped me over on my back.  Gradually it became apparent to me that one hand was doing more probing than massaging and after arguing in my head about was and wasn’t appropriate in a massage I said, “Please Stop.”  This was met with an increase in pressure and feigned incomprehension.  My “STOP” was repeated louder and with more force, which resulted in stopping of the pressure but NOT removal of the hand and the act of not understanding English.  Immediately, I moved to the offensive with a more forceful “ALTO” and he removed his hands from my body and began to appease me.  He complemented my body and beautiful skin but I remained firm in my stand to NOT have him touch me again and the so called massage was over.  He left the room and I prepared to change places with Gregory who had been in and out of the steam bath in the next room.

My hour in the steam bath was spent reliving the scene and trying to come up with the best Spanish delivery of the story to Gregory.  Eventually I landed on the phrase ‘Tu pagar por el feliz terminado?’  To which I expected a ‘no’ and the follow up phrase of ‘incluido en hora masaje!’  However, Gregory is hardly ever predictable and the verbal exchange went nothing like I expected.  We showered quickly and prepared to pay and leave.  The increase in the time made the expected price misunderstood and unarguable but eventually we gave him enough money that he determined we could leave.  Except the adventure was not over yet, as he insisted on giving us a ride back to our hostel.  We had been prepared to take a TukTuk back, but he was adamant.  So we get into his car and start down the road, only to run out of gas a few blocks away.  Glad to escape and not feeling particularly bad about abandoning him, we scrambled out and grabbed the next TukTuk for home (which in case I haven’t mentioned before home is where ever our stuff is at the time).

Next up... Death Defying Adventures, Crime and Religion!