Thursday, April 29, 2010

April 29, 2010

Although I booked air travel for the four of us last fall, I wasn't able to choose our seats at that time. We are flying with KLM from Amsterdam to Tanzania, and the airline doesn't allow seat selection until ninety days before the flight. Of course, the seat selection became available during the Icelandic volcanic eruption so the KLM website was slammed.
On one flight, I was able to reserve four seats together in the middle section of the plane. Not the best location, but at least we will know our neighbors for that twelve hour leg. On another flight, however, the seats only came in groups of three. What to do??? I finally booked three together and one across the aisle in the same row.
Seat selection is a big deal in our competitive family, and deciding who gets the window, who has the aisle, who is stuck in the middle and who is sitting next to whom can be complicated. On a recent trip, our youngest daughter's seat assignment was a few rows back and separate from the rest of us because of the credit card miles I cobbled together for the flight. She survived - she is the youngest and used to being left out (oh the angst of it all =O)- but the flight was not that long.
Twelve hours is a good length of time on a plane especially in seats with very little leg room. We will head to the hotel where our suitcases are stored for a quick shower and change after we finish climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro, then it's off to the airport for our flight. I'm already anticipating the need to do a few laps around the plane to stretch my muscles. I wonder if that will be allowed? I can always disguise the laps as necessary bathroom trips. I am a woman in my middle years after all.

Monday, April 26, 2010

April 26, 2010

I doubt I will ever be one of those light packers - a traveler who journeys to Europe or Africa with just a carry on bag. Traveler's guidebooks assure me I should be able to get by with a few interchangeable tops and bottoms. The black camisole with the khaki skirt or jeans and a pair of flats, the white long-sleeve blouse with the khaki shorts and sandals, the black camisole layered under the white long-sleeve blouse worn with simple black pants and the flats, the black jersey dress that can go to the fanciest dinner and the cathedral with the thin cotton sweater that would also look great with the jeans, the khaki shorts or the simple black pants. Oh yes, I mustn't forget the one splash of color scarf or piece of fun jewelry that will pull everything together.
Here is my method of packing - pile everything I might possibly want to wear on my bed. I do practice some selectivity at this point only choosing clothes based on the season I will be traveling to. This is also the time when I dig in my closet searching for those treasures I purchased months or weeks ago specifically for the trip.
Then, I tackle the pile - my own personal Mt. Kilimanjaro, the dizziness without the altitude. I can be ruthless, limiting myself to two skirts instead of five, one dress instead of three, four sleeveless tops instead of ten, three swimsuits instead of six (yes...I do have that many swimsuits, I have a hard time getting rid of them but that's another subject).
When I am finally done, my suitcase is packed and THERE IS STILL ROOM, I pat myself on the back and tackle other pre-departure chores.
BUT, the packing sadly does not end there. The white sweater, or blue swimsuit, or adorable cover up is calling my name, insisting on NOT BEING LEFT BEHIND, and I lose all reason and add it to my suitcase.
We are allowed 35 pounds of stuff for our Mt. Kilimanjaro climb, including our sleeping bags, sleeping pads, clothes and favorite snacks. I don't believe I will have a problem staying within that limit as the clothing options for the climb are quite specific - four layers of non-cotton material.
Where I will get into trouble is packing for the safari and the village visits where the clothing guidelines are more general, and I already imagine that totally impractical jacket calling my name, begging to be allowed on the trip of a lifetime.

Friday, April 16, 2010

April 16, 2010

Mt. Kilimanjaro is called "the roof of Africa" and is one of the largest volcanoes in the world. The mountain has three cones or vents - Shira, Mawenzi and Kibo - and was formed more than 750,000 years ago. Although now dormant, Kibo is the most recently formed cone and is thought to have been active as recently as a few hundred years ago. It is located, along with other large volcanoes in the Rift Valley - famous for the discovery of the remains of hominid ancestors including Lucy.
Movies and books about the prehistoric earth have fueled my imagination, and it's easy to picture volcanoes spewing lava and gases and the earth shifting in cataclysmic movements sparking fear in ancient beings.
Then, the earth moved under my feet on April 4, shaking the ocean front bluff where I was hiking, making me feel as if I were balancing on a tilting skateboard. A couple dashed past on the trail - they looked scared - but I'm not sure where they were planning on running to safety. The undulating stopped, and I learned later I had experienced a 7.2 earthquake centered in Calexico, Mexico, about 100 miles southeast of San Diego.
The other day, a volcano erupted in Iceland beneath the Eyjafjallajokull glacier. (I listened to a report on the eruption - hoping to learn how to pronounce the glacier's name, but the on-site reporter did everything he could to avoid saying it!) The volcanic ash cloud was so large it could be seen from space, and as it drifted over Northern Europe, air travel screeched to a halt stranding many. Volcanic ash apparently does not mix well with airplane engines or windshields. The television news report said the last time this particular volcano erupted - in 1821 - the eruption lasted for a year.
We no longer walk barefoot on the dirt every day or drive a cart on a rutted path or ride horses as our usual modes of transportation. We live in air conditioned/heated houses, drive in cars with anti-freeze and defrosters, sheltered from the most inclement weather. Many of us get our fresh fruit from pyramids carefully constructed at the local supermarket by produce workers. When I was a teen, I tried to milk a cow on my great-grandmother's South Dakota farm, and failed miserably. The thin, warm white liquid tasted funny to me.
And yet, the earth shifts and slips, a tidal wave surges, a volcano erupts and thousands are killed or injured or forced to stay put. We are reminded how fragile we still are despite our modern advances, how easily the rhythms of this active planet can disrupt and frighten us. How puny we really are.

Friday, April 9, 2010

April 9, 2010

Raising children is perhaps one of the most challenging undertakings. Nine months of gestation hardly seems enough time to prepare. After more than twenty five years of parenting, we are about to become empty nesters as our youngest heads off to college in the fall.
Those with multiple children know that each child is different, and not always ready to take on responsibility at the same age as the others did. As parents, we tire of diaper duty, and we wonder "is he or she ready to be toilet trained?"
Our child wants to walk to his or her friend's house to play, and we debate "is he or she equal to the challenge of navigating those blocks alone?" We warn them not to talk to strangers along the way and order them to call us the minute they arrive.
Some parents don't believe their child is ready to drive at 16. I know I will never forget the three times I slid into the passenger seat, buckled my seat belt and braced myself for each of my daughter's first whirl around the high school parking lot.
We are also called upon to gauge whether our offspring are equipped for first sleepovers, week-long camps and dating.
But what about more dangerous, uncommon challenges?
I recently read an Associated Press article about a thirteen year old who hopes to become the youngest climber to gain the 29,035 foot summit of Mt. Everest. According to the article, the teen hopes to eventually tackle the seven summits - the highest mountains on each of the seven continents. He was the youngest American at age ten to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro, and has successfully summitted three other mountains including Mt. McKinley.
My first, cynical reaction was "well, he will get into any college he wants," but then I wondered about the wisdom of his parents. Obviously, they know their child better than I do. But how much can a thirteen year old understand the risks of climbing a mountain that has killed many?
There is a reason the legal system defines those eighteen and older as adults, requiring hearings to determine whether younger teens should stand trial as adults. Recent studies have postulated that our brains are not fully developed until twenty five, and, as parents, we have been warned our children won't grow out of adolescence until their mid-to-late twenties.
Although I would never allow my children to climb Mt. Everest at such a young age, parents might be appalled to discover my youngest was SCUBA certified as a PADI diver when she was eleven. PADI will certify divers as young as ten.
SCUBA diving can be an extremely dangerous sport. Did my youngest always follow the rules? No. Did she understand the dangers of SCUBA diving? Probably not.
On our first dive trip, we got separated on a shallow night dive. Other young divers bounced off the sandy bottom and shot to the surface. A rapid ascent from a deep dive can be fatal.
I guess we all need to make the judgment call for our own children, and teach them to be responsible risk takers if there is such a thing. I know I don't want my daughters to be scared of life.
I hope the young climber survives Mt. Everest.

Friday, April 2, 2010

April 2, 2010

Trekking poles and a Tanzanian visa. Alliteration might be overused and a cliche, but I still like it!
So, I sent off for our Tanzanian visas last week. Many countries require a travel visa besides just a passport, and Tanzania is one of them. This process turned out to be a little more complicated than I expected.
First, passports valid for six months after travel are required and my husband needed to renew his passport which was set to expire in the middle of our trip. We also need our passports for a Memorial Day house building trip to Mexico, so I am biting my nails on this one.
We sent off the application, old passport, payment, required photos at the end of February. Finally, the new passport arrived in late March. Hooray!
Next, more passport size photos - two per person - were needed for the visas. This involved "encouraging" four busy people to get their pictures taken in a timely fashion.
Another complication: our youngest is 17 and a minor who requires a notarized letter from both parents to travel internationally. It doesn't matter that she will be 18 when we go to Tanzania.
At the post office, I was so happy to have all the required documents - four passports, eight photos, notarized letter, four applications, a check and a self-addressed stamped envelope. In my euphoria, however, I filled out the wrong box on the sending envelope and had to start over. BUT, the deed is done, and now my fingers are crossed (at least the ones I am not biting the nails on) that all will be returned soon with our official visas authorizing our Tanzanian travel.
Which brings me to our trekking poles.
Our Mt. Kilimanjaro hiking leader says we all must bring trekking poles. The first days of the climb will take us through a rain forest and the trail will be slippery with mud. Our final day might involve crossing snow slick gravel.
I used to never hike with trekking poles, but that was before I discovered how wonderful they are. Many with trekking poles passed us on the Mt. Whitney descent and I couldn't figure out why until I tried them myself on a backpacking trip.
I joke with my family that I would most likely still be on the top of Sawtooth pass in the Sequoia National Park mountains if I had not had trekking poles.
I've already shared one of my fears: steep downhills. The west side of Sawtooth Mountain is basically a gravel slide with no discernible trail. I was so happy to have my trusty trekking poles to help steady me as I slipped and slid down the loose rocks. They were certainly cheaper than the helicopter that would have been needed to airlift me from the mountain pass.
Trekking poles are also great for crossing streams. I don't like to rock hop. On Mt. Whitney, my daughter very lovingly guided me with her firm grip from wobbly rock to wobbly rock. Now, with my trekking poles, I can ford the streams on my own.
My husband and I checked out various trekking poles at a local store, and ended up ordering poles for ourselves online. They arrived last week.
Maybe I should uncross my fingers long enough to give them a try - or maybe our Tanzanian visas will show up soon.

A final view of Mt. Kilimanjaro

A final view of Mt. Kilimanjaro

It's Official

It's Official

At the Roof of Africa

At the Roof of Africa

Crater

Crater

Glaciers

Glaciers

Barafu Camp

Barafu Camp

Looking back at Karanga Valley Camp

Looking back at Karanga Valley Camp

Morning Send Off

Morning Send Off

Barranca Wall

Barranca Wall

Top of Barranca Wall

Top of Barranca Wall

The Dining Tent

The Dining Tent

Trail to Lava Tower

Trail to Lava Tower

Shira Camp

Shira Camp

Machame Trail

Machame Trail

Machame Gate

Machame Gate

Half Dome cables

Half Dome cables

Towering Tree

Towering Tree
this is a former house plant that I tired of, I didn't want to throw it out, so I dug a hole for it in the dog yard. It's thriving despite me.