10 travel tips

I have the magnificent good fortune to have a job that requires occasional travel to the Caribbean. Although this has created a good bit of stress for me, it is also an incredible experience that allows me to enjoy my wanderlust while maintaining a (fabulous) relationship with my Adam. I leave for my first trip to the Dominican Republic in less than 2 weeks, so for me, that means I'm starting to pack.

Having spent months living in the woods of California and carrying all of my belongings on my back, I'm aware of what it means to travel light. I have spent a good deal of money on gear that is meant to make travel easier, and I'm lucky that I have plenty of skills and knowledge about packing to be prepared.

Some new things that make me a bit worried: contaminated water, malaria and dengue carrying mosquitoes and the threat of hurricanes and flooding. Of course, we had to filter all of our water in California, but we didn't have to worry about fresh fruits and veggies. We also had the pleasant experience of being eaten alive by mosquitoes (we went over Mosquito Pass several times that summer). Only once have I experienced the rains that come with hurricane season, my second time in Puerto Rico. But all of those things together create a new situation for me. I'm also slightly nervous about being vegan in very rural communities. Should make for an interesting challenge. I'm bringing luna bars and nutritional shakes, so I shouldn't be deprived.

Some things I'm thinking about as I pack:
1. It's going to be wet. No doubt about it. That means everything, especially my underwear, goes in ziplock bags. In addition to keeping things dry, they also make packing much easier. Decompress the air and the bags slip in nicely. We'll have vehicles to keep our belongings dry, but it's just good to be on the safe side. I'm also bringing a lightweight rain jacket and pants. My sandals will be fine, since it will be hot. If it were cold I'd bring waterproof boots, but I'm not concerned for this trip.
2. It's going to be hot. We've been getting humid 90+ degree days, but it could be hotter in the DR. I'm happier if I have fresh clothes to change into, but I need to limit space. That means I'm bringing quick drying materials that will allow me to use two outfits, one to wash and one to wear. This also helps because I have to spray my clothes with insect repellent, but there's only enough spray for about 3 outfits. The spray lasts through several washes. I should be just fine.
3. I will need field work clothing and resort clothing. We're doing a two day training at the resort, then field work for a week, and then 4 more days at the resort. I need versatile clothes that will be appropriate for a more professional setting as well as doing informal interviews in poor communities. That means one or two dresses/skirts for the resort, and a few pants/long shorts that will keep me protected from mosquitoes, and not too hot, while maintaining a modest appearance.
4. I need space for lots of supplies. That means I'm being skimpy with my personal items. I'll bring a small bottle of liquid castile soap (for body, face and hair) and my creme leave-in conditioner will work as a hair product to tame my curls. Toothbrush, toothpaste, FLOSS!, sunscreen, insect repellent and deodorant will be about all that I need. I will probably also bring a small bottle of water and about 10 drops of tea tree oil. I use it on blemishes and cuts as an anti-bacterial solution. It also smells good! Tea tree is  AMAZING for foot funk, if you're hiking a lot. Soak your feet in water and epsom salts and mix in some tea tree. Foot funk be-gone!
5. I'm probably going to get sick. I'm going to take anti-malarial medication (chloroquine) and I've been vaccinated for Typhoid, tetanus, Hep A and B, and all the other required vaccines. But I nearly always have stomach issues when I travel. We got a zpack prescription, but I'm also bringing Immodium and chewable fiber tablets. A coworker who traveled to Africa said she had anticipated diarrhea, but not constipation. Hence, the fiber. I'll also bring plenty of ibuprofen since I'm prone to sun headaches and I'll bring some 24-hour allergy pills. We're supplying first aid kits for all of our teams, so other items will be included in that.
6. On a long trip, I'm going to want to look pretty occasionally. That means I might bring mascara, concealer and my perfume stick. I use a great roll-on perfume oil that I can find at most food co-ops and other hippie shops. I use "Egyptian Goddess" but there are other nice scents, like Vanilla and Patchouli. I may also bring some jewelry, because it's a big part of how I express myself. I notice that I can sometimes lose touch with my Emily-ness when I travel, and it's nice to have a pair of earrings and a necklace that feel like "me". I think of it like a talisman of sorts, protecting me from getting lost in this wild world.
7. Comfort is key. Therefore, I'm bringing only comfortable shoes, clothes that I like wearing and some creature comforts like an i-pod and a good book. Comfort for me also means a good pair of sunglasses and lots of clean underwear.
8. Nothing goes as planned. That's why I like to be prepared for any situation. We might end up in the middle of a tropical storm or someone might get seriously hurt. No matter where I go, I bring some rope, my pocket knife and extra underwear (how many times has that come up now?). Some people are resourceful, but the key to that is resources. You can't use it if you don't have it. My time in the wilderness made me aware of how much we depend on Nature's mercy, and I don't take for granted that we are all still alive today because of the survival skills and instincts we depend on daily. This sounds very morbid, but I just think it's practical to think about ways that I could be more prepared in scary situations.
9. Routine is important. I am horrible at this one. When I travel, I get wrapped up in the newness of everything and forget that the Emily at home really needs some morning peace, and lots of sleep, to function properly. I usually eat at certain times and I'm very particular about balancing my meals. I am sensitive to eating too many carbs, not enough fruits and veggies, and especially getting enough water throughout the day. I drink more water than anyone I know, and I sometimes skimp when I'm traveling because it's expensive or because I forget that I need to keep that normal hydration level up. I also need to remember to brush my teeth and take more showers than I'm inclined to (when possible). 
10. Bring some tea! Although the DR is going to be ridiculously hot, it doesn't hurt to bring a few bags of mint tea. I might brew it at night and then I'll have a refreshing cool drink for the next day. This is especially important because all of the water needs to be boiled in order to be safe (or bottled or filtered). I like traveling with tea because you can ask for free hot water almost anywhere and have a nice beverage. This is wonderful in expensive airports. It's also a good idea to bring your own mug because often they give you hot drinks in styrofoam, which I try to avoid. Tea is great for making friends and helping people feel comfortable. I'm a big fan. Keep it in a ziplock bag!

With all of that put into coherent sentences, I will now commence packing! If I think of anything else, I'll make another post.

*I thought about including something about language, but since I'm fluent in Spanish I'm not too concerned. I think it's beyond crucial to learn a bit of a language before you go somewhere that English is not widely used. It's for your own comfort and for the sake of the indigenous folk who have to deal with your lack of competence to function in their country. Learn how to say things and to ask questions, but also learn what the responses might be. If you need directions someplace, but never learned "left, right, straight" you'll be useless. That is all...

breadmaking.

One of the things I have been doing to stay active while I search for a job is--and this is so cliche--bake. I've never really been much of a baker, since I don't like following recipes, but lately I've had such a sweet tooth, and I don't feel like bundling up to get some store-bought overly-processed cookies. Since I've been unemployed, I've made several wonderful batches of snickerdoodles, ginger cookies, scones, and even coconut cupcakes and shortbread. I've also made more than a couple of delicious loaves of bread, including French baguettes. I made those today, and they are delicious! The catch is that once you have some fresh out of the oven, the cooled bread just doesn't taste as great. And Adam surely can't get enough!

Anyway, I'm glad that I've had this time to get to know baking, and, especially, to make some delicious vegan treats that people simply adore. Brianne told me that the ginger cookies were hands-down the best vegan cookies she's ever had, and Charlie said that the coconut cupcakes were perfectly moist. I'm very proud to share these cruelty-free treats, and to have them enjoyed by all!

Baking bread used to be a mystery to me. The power of yeast seemed to be nearly godlike, having the ability to turn water and flour into gooey, expanding, airy dough. My mom used to put her bread dough in her KitchenAid mixing bowl with a towel over it in the front of our minivan to rise. It was pure magic. "Learn to bake bread" appears on my List of Things To Do alongside "Learn French" and "Hike to Machu Picchu". It's THAT huge for me. I feel that when I'm kneading dough, I'm connecting with millions of women over centuries and millennia who have mastered this art of nourishment. If I have nothing else in the house, at least I have a few cups of flour, a tablespoon of yeast and some salt, sugar and oil if need be.

I happened to have that same sensation of connecting with women when, in the backcountry, I would wash my clothes on the rocks in the cold river. Nothing makes you feel more indigenous than standing naked in the rushing water, rinsing the dirt from your day's activities off your clothes and letting them dry on the rocks while you scrub your shivering body. I used to throw everything in my sleeping bag case and hoist the heavy load onto my head to hike up the big hill back to camp. It really is the easiest way to carry such a load.

When I get fed up with life's complications, I like to think about simple, sustainable practices our species have carried on since the birth of our history. Despite the fact that we demand phone interviews, letters of recommendation, writing samples, electronic AND paper applications, and freaking NY State Drivers Licenses, life for human beings is really much simpler. We are not meant for the bureaucracy of this modern age. We were meant for more earthly purposes:

Create a home, create a community, bake bread, break bread.

We make things so much more complicated than they need to be. You can, of course, extrapolate and use these things as metaphors. Buy a house, start a family, make dinner, eat together. But I would encourage preserving the former and ignoring the latter. Except that you can eat more than just bread! I wonder sometimes how I can live in this world. It's hard to drive a car, take a hot shower, live in a house too big for its occupants, mow a lawn and send text messages when I have known another way. I have known what it's like to move exactly at the pace of my own footsteps. I have known cold dips in wild rivers and soothing baths in natural hot springs. I have lived in a tent with the wilderness as my living room. I have maintained trails and restored meadows. I have sat for hours around a campfire, writing songs and talking dreams with people who loved the mountains as I did. It's hard to take these things for granted.

Most days, I just want to move to a farm in a place that grows food year round. I want to "make a living" by building a life. Provide for my family by growing food that I then cook for them and serve. Put in a hard day's work and actually know what the weather was like that day. I want to move at the pace of my footsteps.

There are lots of reasons why that is not going to happen, at least not anytime soon. First of all, it's horrendously cliche and idealistic. And very privileged. I do believe in urban population and keeping the wilderness wild. I think cities are horribly designed and once cars become obsolete (okay, scarce) I will very much enjoy city life. There are great things that come from putting community within walking distance. I'm getting off track.

In the end, I'm thinking today about what is important in life. And I'm thinking about bread.

Baking bread is grounding. So is eating it. And washing clothes, and taking naps, and sitting still, feeling the earth between your toes. What have you done today that really grounds you? That makes you remember that you are a human being, with a long history of living off the earth? What makes you feel the stillness? What makes you feel whole?

I'm asking myself all of these questions, and thinking about the next good thing I will put into the oven...

peter

I remember him standing there like a break in the mist, or the shadow under old trees & I wish I had known then it is the place we cannot go that needs our touch most.

One of Us.

Someday, the light will shine like a sun through my skin & they will say, What have you done with your life? & though there are many moments I think I will remember, in the end, I will be proud to say, I was one of us.

for peter

"Listening Well"

He had the gift
of stopping time
& listening well
so that it was easy
to hear who
we could become

& that was the future
he held safe
for each of us
in his great heart

you may ask, what now?
& I hope you understand
when we speak softly
among ourselves
& do not answer
just yet

for our future
is no longer the same
without him

[Brian Andreas]

wild rivers, steep cliffs and storm clouds on the horizon

in early july, i had an itch to get back to upper relief valley. we had worked that trail up and down, from relief reservoir down at 7,000 feet all the way to the whitesides meadow junction and back. the steep climb to upper relief became routine, and i had enjoyed our daily hike through a patch of mountain sagebrush. now as we turned toward the lunch meadow trail and inched our way closer to our final camp at emigrant lake, i felt the urge to return to something familiar.

we left in a group of six, my friend grace and i the only women. our supervisor, brian, also joined us on this weekend trip. we made the easy, familiar way through hot, exposed granite stairs and cool, shaded ponderosa pine paths. john, our foreman, had described how to find an old ccc camp, down in lower relief valley near the base of granite dome, and we found it easily.

the next morning, i woke to a crisp clear sierra nevada sun. it was early, and the light was still blocked a bit by the mountains that rose up around us in all directions. checking in, i saw that i was the first one up, as usual. i grabbed my journal and my turquoise beanie and scrambled up the granite rocks near our camp to get a better view of the rising sun. i knew i had at least an hour before anyone else awoke, and so i began some sun salutations. my body was sore from a week of trail work and a fast hike with all my weekend gear, but it felt good to stretch out my tired muscles. it had been two months since i joined the crew at our strawberry camp, and i'm sure if i could have looked at myself in a proper mirror, i would have been shocked by the tanned, muscular girl in front of me. nothing can make a girl prettier than abundant sunshine, fresh mountain air and miles and miles of hiking for months on end. that morning, stretching and breathing the crisp alpine air, i felt beauty emanating from me, from the depths of my soul. it was time to write.

as often happened on our weekends, i was soon joined in my solitary morning by owen, or professor ridings as we like to call him. in fact, there were many times when i was startled by his presence; he had awoken and was meditating twenty yards from me on another rock. sometimes our eyes would meet and we would simply smile, and return to our private thoughts and meditations. this morning, he sat in silence for a long time. he had suffered and fought so much in his life; i thanked the universe that this morning he knew peace.

after a quick breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, and my failed attempts not to wake everyone else up, we all slowly made our way to the river, and those magnificent waterfalls.

the water was freezing cold. snowmelt. it fell fast over several pools that were walled in on both sides by steep rocks. we played in the crisp cool water for more than an hour, swimming under the falls and taking pictures as the water pounded down around us. it was slippery and the whole time i was there, i felt on the edge of danger...deliciously risky. life in the wilderness often feels that way. we are wild creatures in our deepest core, and survival instincts begin to show themselves in the face of wild rivers, steep cliffs and storm clouds on the horizon...

as the morning slowly crept towards noon, justin, mike, owen and i found a small plateau of brilliant white granite on which to sunbathe. i had spent so much time with these boys that i felt only a bit bashful in stripping completely and lying fully nude on the hot rocks. they did the same. we lay there for an hour, drying off and warming up after our exhilirating time in the waterfalls. sometimes the wilderness gives you too much time to think. especially on a saturday afternoon smack in the middle of a summer in the mountains, i blissfully thought about nothing. not a care in the world...

eventually our stomachs beckoned us back to camp. the boys headed down the rocks to follow the river back, but i had to cross over the falls to get my towel. i made it across the water without too much trouble, but i found myself in a tough position. the spot where i had left my things was a bit downstream, and although i had climbed down from this point, it was much more difficult to climb back up. in my sandals and underwear, i scrambled up a few rocks, grabbing roots and small cracks in the granite to help myself up. eventually though, i was almost entirely cliffhung, sliding on an angled platform. there was barely enough room for me and my sandals did me no good on the sandy rocks. precariously, my heart beating fast and thoughts of imminent death racing through my mind, i loosened my sandals and slung them around my wrist. using my bare feet for better grip i awkwardly reached for a handhold on the rocks above me. somehow, thanks to my survival insticts, i made it up to the top of the rock face, and sat panting in the hot sun. and for the second time that day, i thanked the universe for her mercy and saving grace.

gathering my things and carefully climbing the rest of the way down the granite rocks, i noticed some dark stormclouds building up. we would not escape this storm, i knew.

the rest of the afternoon was spent under a tarp, in sleeping bags, listening to music and laughing at dumb jokes and silly stories. grace, mike and i had become pretty close and we had fun waiting out the rain in our makeshift shelter. not much rain fell that evening, but by the next morning the rain was inevitable, and we wondered when we should head back to our camp.

rain fell around ten in the morning, and by noon we figured there would be no break. loading our already damp packs on our backs, we started out on the relatively short hike home. by the time we reached the stanislaus river crossing, the rain had been falling for hours, and the river had risen significantly. it was too high and too fast to cross. we waited by the river, heating some water for hot chocolate and using what dry wood we could find to make a small fire. we had no idea what to do. john had advised us to wait it out if ever we found a river too high to cross. it would be better to return late than to attempt such a dangerous crossing. but it was pointless to wait. besides, we were hungry.

at brian's suggestion, we swung on our packs and hiked back about a mile and half up the trail to a wider point in the river. it would be slower and shallower, for sure. but would that be enough for it to be safe to cross? brian, our resident "captain america", dropped his pack and inched out into the river, testing the current to decide whether we could cross. he determined it was possible, and we prepared to cross. the boys went first, with very little trouble. then it was my turn. at five foot two, the river was more than waist high on me. the boys made a sort of assembly line to pass my pack over to the other shore. we sent across grace's and brian's as well. as soon as i stepped into the swift river, my feet went out from under me. by this point i probably weighed no more than 115 pounds, and could not get a grip on the slippery rocks beneath me. brian grabbed me and tried to straighten me out, but it was hopeless. i could not get a firm stance in the river, so the men passed me down the line, gripping me by the lapels. zach yelled, half jokingly, half worriedly, for me to stand up. i laughed and looked at him hopelessly. there was no way i could. they safely passed me off until finally i reached the other shore. they saved my life. and we all were in fits of laughter. grace fared a bit better, though not much. finally we all gathered on the opposite shore, tried to dry off and then began the cross-country trip back to camp.

it was a rough hike, scrambling over rocks and slipping on slimy, mossy logs. at one point i was lost in a patch of tall bushes next to the river, stepping into deep pools and getting caught on pokey branches. we were all tired and wanted to get home, so we scattered and then got frustrated when others went in different directions. at last, we made it to the trail that would take us back to camp.

despite the danger, despite the setbacks and despite the unforgiving nature of the wilderness, we managed to live through these trials not only safely, but laughing all the way. we survived because of the intense commitment we had to each other, and because of the individual fires that burned inside each one of us. we had a personal desire to survive, and a collective desire to succeed.

i never made it all the way up to upper relief valley that weekend, nor anytime for the rest of the season for that matter, but i made peace with that reality. the first moment i had seen upper relief was etched in my brain forever, and no doubt it would never again be as beautiful. you can never go back to those moments. especially if you're looking for something that was there before. we must live each day to the fullest and take what we can from the time we have. no use looking for what was there before.

i finished desert solitaire today, and i'm happy and sad, feeling empty and full, all at once. it was wonderful, albeit tough for me to get through. mostly because i didn't want it to end. i didn't want him to have to leave arches, to go home and wonder, when he goes back, if he goes back, will it be the same? will he be the same?

i sat in a cafe for an hour, eating a croissant and sipping on delicious coffee with lots of cream, and i pondered these questions. of course, i don't plan to return to the backcountry to do all the same things, to be with the same people and see the same sights. i know it would be different, just as i would be different. but in some ways, the wilderness that i left behind is more dependable than anything i could hope to find here in civilization. and the girl that left the mountains was more confident, more energetic, more alive than the one sitting here now. if i did return, i would be older, wiser. i would look at the time i have there in a different light, knowing how precious it really is. if i returned, i would know better than to ever leave again...

if only...

my saving grace (which is also the bane of my existance) is my routine commute by foot around the city of rochester. today, i tried to catch the bus home from teen city, but, realizing i was really early for the bus, i decided to walk part of the way. that turned into ALL of the way. it was just easier, faster, and cheaper than waiting 20 minutes in the cold for a bus that would take 2 minutes and cost me a dollar. my hands weren't numb, so i continued on. i'm proud that i walk everywhere. it's actually not as cold as riding my bike, i've found, since the wind blows so cold on my face. and it gives me time to think. too much, maybe.

i, like ed abbey, like to be alone. my sister is gone with charlie to seattle until next week, and i'm starting to savor my solitude, and the silence it brings me. in silence, in solitude, i have room to stretch my brain. to think long and hard, and sometimes to think of nothing at all. mostly to daydream, a skill i honed from needing something to distract me from 2000 ft climbs up a mountain with tools on my back. i had lovely daydreams while hiking. when it got REALLY bad, i would just think of those damn sheep that surrounded gage and me and woke us up on the morning of the summer solstice. the thought of those sheep would make me smile and even laugh, even on the most grueling hike to work. now, i think of a lot of memories of the backcountry, and dreams of returning to the sierras. i plan wild escapes in winter to warm places with no people, just me and the sky. i can almost smell the sagebrush and juniper and cedar, hear the wind blow through the canyons and taste the dust from the trail in my mouth. i can feel the mountain air. i also think a lot about trails we worked for weeks at a time. i go over in my head every turn in the trail, every incline, switchback, obstacle and view, picturing each step as if i had taken slides of the whole way up the mountain. i don't think i could ever get lost in that part of the stanislaus. i probably know it better than the back of my hand (who ever studies the back of their hand, anyway?)

i started out just wanting to mention that i finished desert solitaire, and that i wished ed abbey had offered me a better handhold out of this hole i find myself. "a hole as deep as my regret." i wish he hadn't left me hanging on the hope that he would return, so that i might return, and find things not necessarily the same, but more familiar than this strange world in which i find myself now. i wish i didn't have to read about all those beautiful arches and rivers and sunsets, and then return to this icy white jungle. i wish i didn't have to wake up at 4:00 in the morning tomorrow. peace...

let there be peace and peace and peace

have i mentioned that i love sunday mornings? i really love them. today i'm thinking about a lot of things. i'm listening to andy mckee, a favorite from this summer. one sunday morning, one of our last at our relief reservoir camp, and the last time that we saw peter, we all sat around eating breakfast in near silence, drinking tea or coffee and listening to andy mckee's happy acoustic guitar instrumentals bouncing off rock faces and enormous pines. the fire was down to a low crackling and clouds drifted slowly across the sky. we hardly EVER had clouds, and it would eventually rain that day. but at that moment, in the clear july sun, we were completely at peace.

i sit here this morning with my coffee (made in a french press, not cowboy coffee) and listen to andy mckee stream through my laptop. i am alone, and indoors. but i am still happy. i'm about to go to church, and i can't wait. kaaren is preaching today and it's sure to be inspiring. the theme for this month is "think", and i'm looking forward to this challenge. i'm glad that spending time with this church is turning out to be everything i hoped it would be, and more. i love the ministers, and feel inspired in everything i hear and see in my beautiful little church across the street. i couldn't be more blessed to have found these people at this point in my life.

i'm going to finish my coffee, get dressed, bundle up, and take a little walk up to church. i love sunday mornings...