#1 Transitions
Back Home
Chores
Appointments and ‘to-do’ lists orchestrated our time back home. The list was 5 pages long even before we landed, ranging from the simplest ‘remembering’ of bringing back a larger-eyed sewing needle to the more daunting task of finishing our photo album.
Many chores
are ‘hometown only’ tasks, like sawing off the ends of my sunglasses so they
don’t hang-up in my helmet straps; sewing a new red rip-stop mini-handlebar bag
for my aero bars; or mail ordering replacement gear. And of course, Bill had
a long list of computer chores, including downloading software from the internet
without paying by-the-minute connection fees. Yes, easy access to the internet;
use of our sewing machine; a telephone that always works; and a convenient
washing machine make for some revelry while back in town tending to our chores
and reconnecting with friends.
After some
wincing at the dentist, the rest of our medical appointments were good-news
only. Our dietary vigilance last year dropped both the size of my rear-end and
my cholesterol level back down to where they both should be—whew!
Then I was
thrilled with the Costco ophthalmologist’s report that the insect hairs embedded
in my cornea last May in
Delights
Knowing where to
shop for great food at great prices is one of our “at home” treats. And sharing
a language with the clerks creates the all but forgotten opportunity to crack
jokes at the check-out stand. Laughter with others is one of the things we miss
when traveling as humor is easiest with a mutual command of a common language.
Hugs and laughter are among the delights in catching up with friends and family.
We also enjoyed meeting for the first time the friend’s of friends that were
added to our email list during the year and with whom we subsequently
corresponded. Visiting friends gives me a chance to get what a friend describes
as her “fur-fix,” which is petting other people’s dogs. Petting stranger’s dogs
isn’t ritualized in
Hearing of the ‘travels’ of my emails after I launch them is one of the other delights of these get-togethers. I’m always amazed at how many people pass my journals on to others and at the different ways people choose to fit reading these tomes into their lives. There is the friend that sometimes saves them for a soak in the hot tub, the friend that prints them out for reading while waiting for a child at an activity, and the latest, most startling image: the friend that downloads all 8 pages onto his hand-held computer (PDA) for later reading on its 2” screen while in the clean room at work. I was speechless (and honored) by the thought of him reading all 32,000 characters on such a tiny screen.
Being in our own culture and hometown is comforting and easy. And we felt even more at home with the sight of all-season cyclists darting about in yellow jackets—yellow is a decidedly un-European cycling color. The Europeans definitely go for more dignified or fashionable colors and not the glaring safety-yellow fancied by Pacific Northwesterners. Our roots are definitely in the land of safety yellow, sensible shoes, outdoor wear on the downtown streets, and customer service.
Ah, customer
service is a wonderful thing. To ask questions, to ask “What store might have
what I am looking for?” and to get problem-solving help from the retailers is a
joy we only know in the
We were deeply
touched during our many public transportation rides by the City of
All of the buses and light-rail trains are fully accessible (and bike
accessible); most of the drivers are extremely patient with their passengers
needing assistance; and the number of differently-abled people on the streets of
The good news and bad news about being back home is reconnecting with more ‘stuff’. The sewing machine and our remaining stash of Velcro, elastic, cord, fasteners, and fabric give us the long anticipated thrill of sewing new accessories to make life on the road easier. We work on an assortment of little things: a bright yellow sash to increase my visibility; better ankle straps for keeping Bill’s cuffs out of the bike chain; and customizing modifications to purchased garments and accessories.
But then there is the down side to reintroducing ourselves to our possessions, like discovering that the only drill of our collection of 3 that we didn’t sell has died in storage and we now need to buy a new one. Or that I could use one of those 4 bike racks we sold when downsizing to replace the splintering rack on my town bike (“But hey, you can’t save everything”). It was indeed rude to discover that our stuff is still disintegrating even while we are away. And then there was the agony of having our laptop suddenly go on the fritz. After the initial horror and sense of betrayal, we were grateful to be back in the land of customer service where it was relatively easy to do the diagnostics by phone and quickly receive a new battery via Fed Ex.
Stresses
Our trip back home is a concentrated experience of appointments, visiting, doing chores, and on-going lessons about ‘stuff.’ Both the failures of our ‘stuff’ and the need to get so much done in our short stay let us re-explore our relationship to stress as well. Just becoming calendar-oriented is stressful. Once back on the road, we will hardly look at a calendar ‘til next November when we start scheduling appointments again. Between now and then we’ll keep track of the day of the week primarily for the purpose of making our Sunday night voice mail update and planning our grocery shopping in “closed on Sunday” countries. But while at home we look at our calendars multiple times a day and carefully coordinate each additional appointment with the other person’s calendar. When abroad, our daily time commitments will mostly be limited to getting off the road before sundown and getting on the road the next day early enough so we can again get off before dark.
Another stress that gets concentrated for us is the discovery of additional favorite products that have been discontinued during the last year. The “not to be found” items were Bill’s favorite bike saddle; the best-ever bite valve for our drink tubes on our water bags; the preferred brand of wind-block glove-mitts; and getting the last of our now-discontinued tires. And then there was the last minute discovery that the ‘new improved model’ of cleats for our pedal system was incompatible with the old style spare parts we carry and no new spare parts were yet available. Given the shortness of our shopping spree and the precision with which we have made these gear selections, each unavailable item is a momentary crisis requiring quickly formulating ‘Plan B’ and perhaps ‘Plan C.’
Each trip back home involves a certain amount of hair-tearing while we struggle to locate specific possessions. We downsized and moved in a hurry 2 years ago and didn’t get really organized (or get familiar with our organization). We have our remaining treasures stored in 2 different locations and we still get a bit confused as to whether the missing item is in the mess before us and we can’t see it, or if it is stored at the other site 10 miles away, or perhaps we downsized it and just don’t remember. The ‘case of the missing bank checks’ was the most disturbing this year, but it took a long time to find the (now defunct) electric drill stored in the box of bike supplies, and a few missing items turned up just before we left town. On one hand it would be nice to stay an extra month to get better organized and yet on the other hand we could spend the rest of our lives preparing for play instead of having fun now.
Surprises
Last year, our
first year back, Bill struggled with remembering that the
I always marvel
at re-encountering the ‘memory pods’ I unknowingly leave behind when I travel: it happens when I round a corner and remember that just up ahead is a steep
hill, a beautiful view, or a place we waited out a thunderstorm. Fragments of
memory pods began appearing before we touched down in
“Ah the Dutch.” They made a strong impression on me our first season of cyclotouring as they are avid travelers (like the Germans) and we met many Dutch cyclotourists that year. My experiences with the Dutch during roadside exchanges and when watching the ever-cheery Dutch families in the campgrounds quickly evolved into a stereotype of them as an outdoors-loving, athletic, and determined people. Their kids scamper around the campgrounds in high-topped rubber boots and they seem to approach the world with a zest for life and the outdoors from a young age.
Subsequently, some Dutch have informed me that there is definitely another stereotypical Dutch tourist that is happiest on a sunny beach with a beer in hand. Nonetheless, my eager and athletic version of the Dutch stereotype was rekindled by the people lingering at the gate and further reinforced by the sturdy, girl-next-door look of the bright-eyed KLM flight attendants.
Another
memory-pod was triggered as we crossed the
Anti-Americanism
Despite the crescendo-ing sounds of war drums, we have continued with our
travels as planned (except for by-passing
It has been “So
far, so good” with that strategy. We haven’t felt that our reception in
Rome: an unlikely place to encounter American acquaintances.
It’s a Small World
Our first full
day back in
Last year we had
a “small world” experience with the Polish cyclists that we only said “Hello” to
as we passed at the entrance to the campground in
Our first
year out our “small world” experience was meeting a young man from our hometown
in a French campground and subsequently crossing paths with him in a Viennese
internet shop and at an intersection in
The next day in
Bill signaled me to be alert, stuffed his hand in his pant’s pocket with his ‘walking around’ cash and used the other hand to cover his fanny pack (leaving him little with which to grip with on the overhead bar). He was sure he had at least lost his eye drops but assumed nothing negotiable was taken. When we were off the train and well clear of the subway crowds he took inventory: nothing was missing, including the eye drops. The thief was not only highly skilled but very selective. Our faith in these nifty fanny packs was reaffirmed and the lesson learned was a cheap one. I really had expected that in our 18 months of travel with these bags that we would have returned home for the night at least once to discover a frayed strap indicating a foiled attempt at slitting the fanny pack strap on some crowded bus or metro but it hasn’t happened yet. This is the first security challenge of which we are aware.
The Ups and Downs of
It only
took a stroll through the
Jet Lag
We are slowly
learning how to cope with jet lag, which given that my finely-tuned biologic
clock is offended even by changes on and off daylight saving time, is a major
obstacle for us. With each flight between
Our first year I came armed with as many strategies as I could find: yoga poses for jet lag, acupressure points to use in flight, homeopathy “No Jet Lag” pills, melatonin, a schedule for sun light exposure and scrupulous avoidance of alcohol and caffeine. I used all the recommended techniques and still felt lousy for weeks.
Then we added a lay-over on the east coast for 3 nights to adjust to the first 3 of the 9 or 10 time zone changes. It should have helped but didn’t clear the jet lag fog perceivably.
Recognizing
that we had 2 problems, not just one, we decided to take a new strategy and
primarily confront the inevitable sleep deprivation and worry less about
resetting our clocks. This approach has paid the biggest dividends. We napped
for a couple of hours after arriving in
Using a total of 1 or 2 Benadryl's a night has been enough to totally eliminate the tortured sleep we have the first week in our jet lag recovery. Our brains are still a little disconnected feeling from the time change but at least we aren’t adding hours and hours of sleep deprivation to the grogginess. I suspect it will still take weeks for us to feel 100% but more of those weeks will be at a higher level of functioning because of the additional sleep. So now our latest jet lag strategy is Benadryl for sleep and melatonin for our clocks. I’d love to hear your suggestions if you have jet lag coping strategies that have worked well for you.
In the Groove
We are enjoying
the greater ease that being more seasoned travelers is giving us—and also
learning how to build in more ease. Both this year and last we stashed our bikes
in
Bill
installed the bulkiest of the gear (the tires, seats, and stems) out in front of
the
What better way
to ‘culture immerse’ in any country than by mailing packages at the post office.
I do consider myself an experienced shipper--one that is hard to defeat--and our
first trip to the post office in
A better known experience in Italy.
The second trip
to the post office to mail duffel bags and bike parts back home didn’t go quite
as well. When I walked in, the clerk’s face was etched with a permanent scowl
and she sat rigid at the counter like one of the many Roman statues. I dutifully
showed her the box label to initiate the game and she presented the familiar
form to be filled out—but she wouldn’t give it to me. All I could translate from
the muffled shouting behind the glass barrier was “ten.” “Ten-what?” I didn’t
know. I knew calculating shipping costs wasn’t that arbitrary, so it couldn’t be
10 Euro’s. Finally I flashed a 10 Euro bill at her to break the stalemate and
she finally gestured that she wanted a 10 cent coin. I was stunned: in all the
form-filling-out I have ever done in the
I held my breath as she slammed my box down on the mechanical scale, hoping she would remove her large purse and book before recording the final weight of my package. After disappearing for some time, she seemed a little too pleased to indicate that I had to complete yet another form but in triplicate, which actually meant filling out 3 copies of the same form. I was relieved that a line was now forming behind me as I completed the forms and an exasperated regular customer was rolling his eyes—I was gaining leverage in the situation.
The clerk was a pro at this obstructionist game: she stumped me with another “first” which was demanding the weight of the contents without the box. I didn’t try too hard to suppress my amusement at the total lack of utility of that piece of requested data. Surprisingly, she offered a number and we had our first cooperative experience together.
There was more rustling of papers, rechecking the rate charts 3 or 4 times, retracing the numbers she had written on the forms and other seemingly irrelevant bits of activity but I sensed we were approaching the end of this 25 minute ordeal. I felt a ripple of excitement when she finally she presented me with the shipping charge. But just to flex her power one last time, she carefully and repeatedly reviewed all of the security features on the 50 Euro bill I handed her—something no one had ever done before. I imagined that if I had had suitable coins to present that she would have bit into them test their authenticity.
Though I was tense from containing my impulsive reactions to her rudeness and shenanigans, I was pleased that the package was on its way without provoking a single “Not Possible” that we heard too often at Italian post offices the first year.
Getting around in Grecian style: on a ferry.
Our overnight ferry ride from Ancona, Italy to Patras, Greece was on a beautiful year-old, lightly-laden ferry with a capacity for 1500 passengers and it was steady as rock. We slept well and had no motion sickness at all--a first.
We were
surprisingly calm and undeterred when the clerk on the ferry told us that we
couldn’t put our bikes on the shuttle bus between the 2 Greek ports and that
there was a huge festival going on so the train and regular buses would be
swamped. If we had been in the
We decided to
risk the $30 and bought tickets for the shuttle bus from a different ferry
clerk. Bill’s reconnaissance assured us that the bus would be nearly empty. The
driver shrugged when we dumped our panniers and I mimed that we had bikes. Bill
went back for the bikes and the English-speaking agent said “Not possible.” But
before I could even protest the 3 men from the ferry and bus company
were arguing in Greek. “Yes!” I knew from past experiences that the balance was
shifting in our favor: men arguing about our bikes almost always ended up in us
getting our way. We presume that it is because reasonableness carries more
weight than rules do in these regions and what we were asking under today’s
low-season circumstances was entirely reasonable. Luckily our gamble paid off
and we got to use our $30 tickets and made it to the
On
After a night in
Less-familiar ancient Greek pots.
In
In Rome our
picnic lunch entrees featured popping open a couple of cans of beans or on the
gourmet days, spooning beans mixed with canned, grilled bell peppers and green
olives out of a plastic bag. In
Copies of the ancient Delos lions.
The highlight of
our visit to
In talking with her, I realized that I had been slinking around
Dora clearly had a different perspective on the world political scene as she instantly offered her hope that the war would start soon. She was the first pro-war person I had spoken with but I was intrigued to discuss the war with someone not intent on blaming us (my imagined and as of yet unrealized fear.). We were delighted that Dora accepted our invitation to have dinner together that evening so we could continue the conversations. Some of the interesting opinions and tidbits that she shared were that:
-the political parties control the Ministry of Education resulting in Judaism being the only religion mentioned in
Israeli schools, which she believes only adds to their problems
-she laughs at her mother’s worries for her safety when traveling out of Israel as in Israel she is accustomed to bombs
exploding on a daily basis
-she is lingering in Greece to avoid being in her homeland when war breaks out and said that she has talked to other
Israeli’s that are holing-up on other Greek islands for the same reason
-
-she
believes that most Israeli’s have given up hope of peace in the
-she believes that the Arab world doesn’t really care about the Palestinian’s themselves but is only concerned that
the Israeli’s will desecrate the Moslem holy sites
-she
believes that the
Can't pass-up the ruins.
We are now on
Love,
Barb
