The Ocean Blue

A lot of the travels I did with my mother was on board cruise ships. In 1994, I think my mom tried to get my sister and I to start communicating by taking us on a cruise. It was the three of us, on a ship from Vancouver through to Anchorage and then a train thru Alaska to Fairbanks.
(This was one of the larger cruise lines, not the 3-day jobbies. Fifteen hundred passengers.)

Now, I am not a gambler, cannot stand Broadway styled shows, not one for movies, and after the novelty wore off, was not inclined toward eating 24/7. As one can imagine, I got bored pretty quickly at night. I ended up finding a place where I could watch the water as the ship plowed through it but stay warm ( a vent that was attached to something inside the ship, putting off warm air.) I would put on my music in the headphones and sing or write. I got told I was actually overheard many times, a voice drifting through the wind as we charged up the Inner Passage. I kept my voice down after that.....

Alaska wasn't my first choice of places to go to. We had talked of Ireland, and as I am very attached the British Isles, it was my preferred choice. We ended up in Alaska though, something I grew to appreciate more each day. The first time I was on deck and saw a whale surface to breathe out in the open water, I was hooked. I have always loved the ocean, but this was a new perspective. Stopping in a lot of places I have been to , especially aboard ships has proven boring to me. I really don't shop, and one can only see so many churches before it gets really old. NO ONE is that devout. Luckily, in Alaska, there aren't a whole lot of those sort of things to see. We did end up in one small wooden Russian Orthodox church, at my sister's request. I think she was a little disappointed at its distinct lack of grandeur. That is Alaska for you. That show "Northern Exposure" was actually pretty close to the truth about the smaller towns.

I have a little attachment to Ketchikan actually. My mom's grandmother, her second husband, and two of my grandmother's sisters lived in Ketchikan in the late 1930's. I have pictures of the town then, from the docks looking up to their house, and at the house looking into the town. It wasn't nearly the semi-bustling minitropolis it is now. And don't visit if you have trouble climbing stairs; half the "streets" are in fact long stairways leading up the steep sides of the hills that make up much of Ketchikan.

Two little stories about the town and then I will let you go for this time:

First, the name is Tlingit (pronounced cling-et) and means "the screaming wings of an eagle."

Second, this place should offer some solace to Bill Clinton. My step-granddad was a captain for the US Geodedic Survey, commanding one of the ships in the area. He brought the then president of the U.S. into the town of Ketchikan, Mrs. President also along for the ride. The President of the United States, despite having his wife in the same town, on the same SHIP with him, got off board, and went straight to the reknowned whore house district. This is a point of extreme pride on the part of Ketchikaians (?!). They will regale any who ask with that tale as often as they can. I know who brought the ((@!?<>&@!! into port and even have a photo of the ship. You see? Clinton wasn't a bad guy, just a normal president!
Incidently, you can even see the exact house this slob went to. The whole red light district is now a well-known tourist attraction. And tourist trap too!

Those places that call

Well, I am feeling guilty for not continuing here, so I will give it a go. I think I will pull up a subject that inspires rather than one that is sequential. There was an article in the newspaper today about a tragedy in one of my favourite places in the world, Costa Rica. This little country in the middle of war-torn Central America has no army, has one of the highest educational levels in the same area of the world, and some darn nice people. Amazing coffee too.
What a beautiful place....now, I love forests and mountains, and volcanoes and oceans. Not everyone can take the true experience. I find a certain invigoration from being in places that remind me very definitively how incredibly small and unimportant in the grander scheme of things I,...we,...really are. Some part of you can come alive when walking in a place where, were you to lose your guide, you would become part of the food chain in a heart beat. And good luck to you beating the odds. They will NOT be in your favour.
Even in December, Costa Rica is heavy with humidity. That odd creature sits on your back,even inside in the air conditioning. It is like living so close to a living creature : one has to breath in its scent with each inhale, feel its presence somewhere in the confines of your home 24 hours a day. I have only experienced that feeling once before, and that was in New Orleans. There they admit to the true life of the creature, knowing they have to live with it daily. Rumour has it that is why the natives eat so much of the local food over standard fast food. They know how to fight the beast off: sensual satisfaction. It's really just the heat, you know. It is just that it is so much easier to have someone else to blame later.

In Costa Rica, this thing permeates life itself, even in San Jose. One is living so close to the earth that the creature is almost a part of you. You have seven active volcanoes in your back yard...and front yard, too! The land is tremendously fertile because of the volcanos, so plant foods and shelter is provided for, even for the poorest. The rearing of meat for food is widespread but getting more numerous are those who buy from others. Still, the creature will not let you forget what lurks outside your window.
It is those of us from the outside that have to come to terms with this relationship. "You can stay here if you show me some respect." I've heard the trees and lianas whispering this as we tourists grazed along the mere edges of a rainforest more vast than some small cities in this country. I wonder what would happen to one who didn't. It is hard to imagine anyone walking in the Moranco wilderness perserve and failing to walk out without understanding the nature of Nature a little better. She is truly in charge, do not be fooled. We are but arrogant pawns, making a noise, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing, to quote someone or other.

The silence in places like this is deafening. Your own blood rushing through your ears becomes a roar, and you wonder if you are hearing things or your mind is playing tricks. It would be easy to get turned around, confused. The trees grow irratically, there is no true path, just a person in front who knows this land as if he had been born from her breast.
He blessed each in the group before we walked in, leaving anything negative behind, and letting the forest know we came as friend, not foe. The heaviness in the air was such that we took his actions as normal. Who were we in the face of this vastness to question one who was actually Her shaman? His word was our law, his leadership our preservation. Were we to lose him, we probably wouldn't see home again. Following was simply not questioned. There were none among us who wished to challenge the thought. No city street ever felt this dangerous. I understand something of the explorer now -the amazing rush of adrenalin when you find yourself facing potential death. It is truly a way to remember you are alive. And you come out the other side a little less gripy about all of life's little inequities; you beat the odds today. You walked out of a jungle unscathed, one with no police or EMS or fire department. You got out of a place that saw you for that few hours as just so much food not yet consumed. For now.

long time gone

I have been a bit neglectful here of late. There have just been too many other thoughts vying for attention. My latest exploits of travel have managed to be uneventful, or frustrating, so I have gone to other things to make myself feel better. I will get back to this train through the countryside of my brain soon. There is much I have done and much yet to do
out there beyond Route 66.

I will only say one thing before I leave for now: Alaska.

Okay maybe a couple more. Iceland.
And Costa Rica!

to the north wind....

I turn my face in retrospect. Traveling is a passion of mine, but there are times when I wonder what it is to stay in one place my whole life.
Pardon the poet. She is feeling a bit wistful this eve, when the rest of the world sleeps.

Back home

Well, as much s I love traveling and seeing new places, there is nothing like being in my own home, with my stuff and my bed. Cats too. They weren't too upset with me this time. Too short a trip I guess. The fish,however, is still ticked off. He's a feisty little Cichlid anyway.

I have seen more of the Heartland (aka Midwest) than most of the folks who live there. I am a big city kid, and cannot imagine living in Smalltown USA. Lord knows there were enough of them along the way. No insult to any who find that comforting and do-able, but not me. I must admit,I find that odd too, because I hate crowds. I just think I need more access to the world in general through culture and interaction. Admitting I am from one place for the whole of my life would seem criminal. That is how nomadic I am.
I have always thought that a modified Winnebago would be ideal for me, were I financially independent. Turtle with a well-loaded shell, I guess.
That way I get my own bed and kitchen (I love to cook) but I can move when the mood strikes.

Ah well.
Now I can take my time, review this journal and go back to seeing things through a child's eyes.

I'm going mobile...lalala...

One of my favourite songs by the Who...

Leaving in a day or two for a week long trip with my long time bud Casey.
Another entry into this blog, though after the fact, as I do not own a laptop. Should the opportunity arise on the road, maybe an entry. Otherwise, see ya!

Tornado alley

The next traveling I remember was during the move to Washington, D.C. There was a day in Missouri when we pulled into our camping spot, set up camp and the other kids went down the hill to the lake there. I had my standard ear infection and couldn't go with them. The tent was up, dinner was being started, dad mixed drinks for himself and mom and turned on the radio. I don't remember all the details of the announcement, but the stress level in camp went up immediately. I understood later in life that the radio had stated there were tornadoes in our area. We ate dinner inside the tent ( unheard of! too messy)with the sides of the tent banging in the rising wind. I was young, and apparently being kept on a "need to know" level, but I could tell something wasn't normal. We packed up the entire camp after eating, shoved it haphazardly into the trailer, clambered into the station wagon and took off driving.
I fell asleep, normal for a kid in a car, and only remember waking once. Everyone but the dog Tricksey (my brother Bill's spelling of Trixie...) was gone! I looked across
the road from where we were parked and saw they were all in a cafe. Dad needed coffee to keep driving. I was indignant for a moment at being left out, and then fell asleep again.
When I woke up we were in Dodge City.
Dad slept quite awhile and to give him some rest, we went out sight seeing. It was styled on an Old West town, and I was really pretty bored by everything but the horses.
Somewhere along the line, we took a stage coach ride, and they did a mock hold-up. There is an embarrassing picture of me standing there white as a sheet from being scared by the incident. Today, they'd call that child abuse; back then they called it fun! Ha.
I swore to go back someday and kick that hold-up guy in the shins. It is probably a bit too late for that now, considering this was in 1964.
Speaking of that, my sister and cousin kept a spiral notebook journal on this trip(ah, teens)that I had for many years before my mom decided to send it to the cousin. Most of it was fairly typical of teenage girls, but I was always struck by the presence of ticket stubs to a Beatles concert. Granted, I was a little kid, but I do not remember
them going to any concerts while we were traveling. I will have to ask my sister about those details at her son's wedding in about a week.....

The Beatles were, of course, a majour influence of mine, along with a lot of other British Invasion music, but that all belongs in my music blog. Let's leave it at this here: they changed the world. They certainly changed mine.

Much of the travels at that time were a bit blurred. There were places where we made lots of friends and others where we spent most of the time together as a family around the camp fire. There was always hot cocoa in the morning, and marshmallows at night. We had a three room tent we called Ethel, and a canopy we called Sam (I have a very strange family...) We slept in Army issue feather filled bedrolls, on top of blow-up mattresses that I hated the smell of. (The mattresses were made of rubber and smelled exactly like the anesthesia mask used on me when they took my tonsils out. Makes me nauseous to this day.) There were two old Army trunks full of cooking things and foodstuffs, and an ice chest for perishables that I actually still have. Odd, isn't it, the things one remembers
from youth. The feel of certain things in my hands can take me back to those days in a flash.

I remember my cousin and sister, again in teenage mode, deciding when we were camped near a lake one time that they needed to wash their hair. They got into their suits, grabbed the shampoo and headed for the lake (an ecological disaster by today's standards!) About five or ten minutes later, the most high pitch, blood curdling screams came from the general direction they had gone. Turned out the water in this lake was probably around 60 degrees. I didn't know enough to laugh back then, but I still get amused by it today. Needless to say, no one else in the family decided to try going for a swim.
This was the trip we ended up camping in some friends' of my parents' backyard. We were in Rome, New York, at the home of Col. and Mrs. Waters. Between their brood and ours, the total number of people was around sixteen, and there was only one bathroom. Fun times indeed! The teens got to stay outside in the tent and I slept inside ( I am the baby by 7 years.) It wasn't the first time I had felt left out and was not to be the last, which no one understood of course. Unless you've been in that position, it is tough to comprehend. There is a picture hanging in my home that came from that trip. One of the Waters did a drawing of sixteen fuzz-ball creatures, one of which was running for a turn in the bathroom. I was the little pink one standing in the middle, looking a bit lost. I write about it now,'cos when I and my sibs are gone, few will understand that drawing.
A break now, to recollect my thoughts.

Continuing

In Yellowstone, we got to see Old Faithful go off, which was cool considering it went dormant for many years afterwards. I suspect we didn't do nearly as much as there was to do there, as we had to get to dad's next job, but I have never forgotten the beauty of that place. The Grand Tetons were huge and breathtaking, especially when I was so small,
but for some reason I remember Yellowstone more.

We were moving to Washington state, Fort Lewis to be exact, and I got to have a mountain in my front yard for the next couple of years: Mt. Rainier. Turns out that Rainier is actually a dormant volcano. Well, possibly not quite so dormant actually. After what happened with St Helena, no one looks at Rainier quite the same. I always liked having that lone mountain looming over the house when I went to school (kindergarten) or out to play. His head was often in the clouds, but he was always watching over me.

I only remember actually going to Rainier once in the time we were there. My mom's parents came to visit and we drove up to the ice caves (man-made.) The station wagon, necessary for the number of people on the trip, did not like the snow, or the elevation.
i know we were delayed, but can't remember if we were stuck in a snow bank or the car just over heated.
The caves were neat, but the visit was pretty short and I never got back to Rainier before we moved again. I would like to. I have a picture of it seen from probably Seattle on a bulletin board at home that makes me wistful. Dad got promoted while we were in Washington, and the drive mom had to make to the ceremony was harrowing ( I remember mom's stress level and the car sliding, but not much more)but I don't know if it was up the mountain. My physical encounters with Rainier are limited as of now, but I hope to change that. More about that corner of the US later.

Where this all started

I am a third-generation military brat. Oh, pardon me, these days we call ourselves Nomads. My family is so mobile it is surprising we ever lite anywhere for very long.
My mom was born in China, my dad in Oahu. My oldest brother was born in Salzburg, Austria, and the other two sibs were born outside of Washington D.C. on Ft Belvoir.
I was born on a Naval base in Charleston , S.C., which is really odd,'cos Dad was Army.
I have never seen Charleston really, and lived at least 5 places before I was 10. The others got most of the moving though, 'cos Dad was a lower officer then. Higher ranks don't move as much.
I was very lucky that my parents had a sense of adventure. We camped from post to post instead of just driving there. I have seen much of the US, including places like the Grand Tetons and Yellowstone, and learned to love the outdoors due to this. I never developed the silly fears of the wild some people have, and never got an aversion to getting dirty that keeps some of my friends from camping. I cannot thank my parents enough for the experiences, because they have continued to lead me through this life on the path of adventure.

Some of the things that stick out in my memory about those days are thus:
having to get a cabin at Yellowstone, because it was snowing in July. It was me, my sister, my cousin Claudia, mom and dad, my two brothers and the dog. We were all crowded
into a one room cabin with a wood-burning potbellied stove. It was pretty warm in there
but the howling wind and restless dog kept us up much of the night. The snuffling of a nosy bear outside in our garbage pails didn't help either. I suppose now that he was why the dog was restless!
In the AM there were bear paw prints all around the cabin. We ate at the restaurant then started through the park. My sister and cousin decided to get out of the station wagon
to tempt fate when a small(!) black bear stopped traffic. When he showed interest in these tasty little teenage morsels, they squealed and ran back to the car. He investigated us, leaving a paw print on dad's car window we didn't wash off for months.

The paint pots and other boiling sites of Yellowstone fascinated me even then. I developed a love of such things that has led me to go where I can look into the maw of volcanos and the like to this day.

I miss it.

I am something of a gypsy at heart, though one that appreciates the comforts of having a home to go to. I get itchy feet, and want to go to exotic places,to walk on beaches and in forests and on mountain tops. I get restless about the mundaneness of living and want a jolt to remind me why I put up with the bills and the routine.
This journal is to be about what I remember from past travels, a lot of which were with my now deceased mother. We had a similar spirit of adventure, something I haven't found in another yet, and I do dearly miss her companionship in this. Maybe some reader will
come along who can see the world the way I do. It would be good to walk the uncharted path again with someone who understands spontaneity and adventure.