All posts filed under: Travel

on failure

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The silver lining of being failed by people you care about is that you learn to count on love instead of on people. It takes time, but slowly — slowly — you learn to be buoyed along by the love that floods the universe, that shows itself around sharp corners and airlifts you to a grassy patch when things get really muddled. That sort of love occasionally prefers an 11th hour arrival.default When others fail you, know that they are simply human. And know that more love is available and on its way, packed inside molecules you’re only just about to breathe in, caked with the dirt on your shoes, dissolving in your coffee mug, transferred via secret handshake, or… riding in on a donkey cart. It’s coming, it’s coming.

on going places

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I went to a place where the food is friendly, the people are delicious, the sea is properly drawn, and the sun cooperates. I went to a #1 destination for cloud enthusiasts. I went to a place where the gelato is done right, the cafe con leche is perfecto, and even the barcodes are snazzy. I went to a place where the art astounds, and the locals are friendly… And spirits (and cliffs) soar. I went to a place where the ham is good and the cheese is better, and the wine is more or less incredible, and I tried to relax… And be inquisitive, as a proper tourist might (without being too obvious) … I was rewarded with open arms, sights for days, and A++ hospitality. Such that all I can say is… photos from Barcelona and Monserrat, Spain

on kenya (ii)

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Headed down into the Great Rift Valley, the view is hard to grasp; it’s the kind of view that tells stories upon stories, but above all the story of your own smallness. Because in all your perfection, you’re nothing compared to its vastness. I love those kinds of views–they are both astonishing and soothing, and they give explicit directive not to take life so seriously, considering the long view of things. We entered the valley at Hell’s Gate, rumbling through shrubby plains lined by enormous, wind-blown cliffs. The animals of my childhood storybooks traipsed about, and I pointed in glee again and again. Below, bottom right, there is a small brown bump headed over that low fold in the landscape. It could be anything; it is a warthog (my very first). Hell’s Gate is nothing if not hike-worthy, and we headed into The Gorge, led by a young Maasai tour guide named Richard who was lovely, and patient, and a fantastic contrast to the weathered surroundings in his bright red cloth. we made it all the way to The …

on kenya (i)

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On Mt. Kenya, more specifically; 3 hours north of Nairobi, many miles into the sky. It was surreal, full of contradictions, and the absolute opposite of dusty, red, sweltering Bamako. It was cold, and foggy, and drizzly, and lush, beautiful, and green. We were lost among the trees, and it was wonderful. There were horses grazing freely, along with cows, dogs, and elephants… There were wildflowers blooming through the mist… And constant conversation between remarkable people at this conference among the clouds. There was zebra print and muesli, and crackling fires for the chilly evenings. There was Tusker beer and old stone hideouts waiting for visitors. There were grand verandas, courgette soup for 40, and elephant skulls guarding doorways. There were wet treks to meetings, and steaming hot chocolate, and the best breakfast for miles… And stunning views of mountaintops shrouded in clouds, tucked behind layers upon layers of leaves. Castle Forest Lodge Mt. Kenya, Kenya castleforestlodge.com

on moving

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to move: to pass from one place or position to another.  A notedly simple, and full, description. Uprooting is a wild choice, not by definition prudent nor foolish, though it could be either and is, more likely, both. I once moved a distance of half a city block, and carried my belongings over dozens of trips in suitcase-sized loads, like the would-be runaway child that couldn’t, quite. Of the organizational challenges pursuing me, the most interminable is the issue of stuff. I’ve long been a purger; I haven’t too many things. And yet, I have too much, and must make choices. Which isn’t impossible in and of itself, except that the stuff we carry relates directly to the lives we live, and a largely-unknown life is difficult to provide for. Oh, there are sure bets: underwear enough, toothbrush and floss, sensible shoes, a bucket of insect repellant, Pepto Bismol. But I’m meant to forge ahead on a separate continent with only two suitcase-sized loads to start, and I’m intent on fulfilling that charge, so things keep falling into and …