Worldy Wanderings

I do not travel for the cities, or the sights, or the food; I travel because I know that a friend is waiting somewhere on the other side of the world, and I must make my way to meet them.

2012 held many travels for me: I started the New Year in Houston, on a multi-person pilgrimage to visit my college roommate, and ended the year in New York City, reconnecting with two ladies who  shared a magical half year with me in Paris many, many years ago. The extreme differences between the locations, the experience, and most importantly, the people, cannot be overstated.

Over the years, I have been blessed to cast a "wide net". I have been given opportunities to see new places and try new things. My memories have become a kaleidoscope. Colorful, rich, ever moving.   Several of my friends claim to recall a particular chapter in their life through music they loved, others through a favorite t-shirt they wore. One guy even told me that he thinks of his past in terms of which watch he was wearing (the rubber, water proof, colorful rock climbers' favorite, no less). The watches defined his sport obsession of the moment.

When I think of a year in my past, I inevitably characterize it in one of two ways:

1. Where was I working?, or
2. Who was I visiting?

This probably says a great deal about my personality, and I won't pretend to know what exactly that might be. Worst possible interpretation: workaholic with an occasional Skymiles problem. 

There are worse things.

I firmly believe that sometimes you are pulled--by a spontaneous desire, or fateful coercion--to certain places, and all to experience one particular event. If my normally controlled, planning-oriented self had waited the responsible 6 months before running across the pond for school, I would never have met or bonded with two incredible women. One from Florida, the other from the bustling mayhem of New York City.

Similarly, if professional dissatisfaction hadn't set in during 2010, I might never have spent months living in the tundra of Minnesota, half-hiding in the guest bedroom of one of my best friend's home. Without that experience, our friendship would have never reached the sort of complex state that allows us to communicate in simple texts, over the divide of continents, time zones, and life experiences.

I travel to build bridges--not to places, but to people. To encourage the sort of friendships that will likely define my life; to meet the friends whose influence will change the way I participate in the world around me. And when I return home, I create a new bridge for them to travel across. Together, the planes, the trains, the automobiles take us further into ourselves, rather than farther away from our roots.

 So, why do you do the things you do?

Seven Summit Climbs

Let the title speak for itself. Seven mountains. Seven weeks. An experiment in natural endurance and dedication. A work in progress. With comparative images from by gone hikes.

Or an intense need to punish one's own calf muscles. Whichever you prefer.

 

Dragon's Tooth 2011

Dragon's Tooth 2012

Sharp Top 2011

Top Three Above: Sharp Top 2012

Tinker Cliffs 2012

Apple Orchard Falls 2012

Apple Orchard Falls 2012

Buzzard's Rock 2012

Oh to "Big Rock Candy Mountain"!

New adventures! I might not be able to leap from a high travel bridge and bungee jump (not for lack of trying), but I can discover open air trains in the wilds of West Virginia!

Don't laugh. It's a commitment people.

In the charming town of Cass, West Virginia, time seems to have slowed. Not stopped exactly, but moving with the sort of lethargy and contented quiet found only at historical landmarks and inside quaint little museums. I offer as an example the home of Earnest Hemingway in Key West. But with fewer felines. Or perhaps the lighthouse museums of the Chesapeake Bay area.  But with fewer sea gulls (thank goodness! hate those things). Or any other little topical structure that shares stone/ivy/assorted greenery creeping up its stone steps and wooden lattice work.

The object of the day trip to Cass is very simple: you are there to take a nice little open air train ride. Simply walk into the recreated train depot, chat briefly with the costumed attendant, wait for the whistles to sound, and climb on board the open air cabins for a little coal-engine trek through the woods. And if you are a member of my family, a.k.a. very very friendly, you befriend the adorable sister-brother twin toddlers peeking through the wooden slats as the tracks rush beneath our feet. And you might also feel compelled to learn the life story of the quiet Park Ranger assigned to your caboose. Who, as it turns out, is a native of the area and very knowledgeable about logging camps (even if he knows nothing about trains).

Granny, Mom, Aunt Connie and I were very excited. Despite the fact that I was on one of those senior bus tours (Abbott Tours, thank you for my name tag), and that our trip was sure to be a fast one, I was ready! Trains! Let's get into character!

Purchase conductor's hat. Check.
Bring licorice and coffee onto the train for sharing. Check.
Keep your ticket handy. Check....we wouldn't want to be "off boarded", now would we?
Offer seat to kind grandparents with the twin toddler set. Check.
Check your pocket watch for the time as the whistles blows.
...........ok, I forgot that accessory...

I also forgot thermal underwear. It was FREEZING. By the time we made it up the mountain, with the train backing its way up and Mom and I breaking the wind from our perch on the caboose, I was a pop sickle. And not cherry flavored. I was one of those Americana striped ones that has melted and then been refrozen, sticking to the paper in uneven, oddly colored clumps: I walked as if my knees were locked, my legs were gnarly branches, and my teeth chattered in time with the whistle blowing. Unattractive, I assure you. But I kept on talking to strangers!

All in all it was worth the cold: not only do I think that the quaint little town (it had a numbered map showing were the loggers lodged, where the post office was, etc.) was picturesque, but I befriended every Park Ranger on that train. The best of which let me, through some very persuasive wheedling, to climb over the railings with Mom's camera and capture some footage of an approaching train in the "switchback."

For those of you who aren't familiar with this term, it is a clever and simple section of track that is laid to avoid trains circling around a mountain in its attempt to ascend. We simply trekked along an extra 1000 ft of track, laid in a large Y fashion with the left fork descending and the right ascending the mountain, and reversed course. We paused in our descent to allow for an oncoming train to use the Y in wait, and allow us room to pass. It was curious. I wouldn't want to be the one who had to manually operate the "switch" on the ground. Apparently, they get left behind once a week. And, much as I enjoyed the day, West Virginia is not my future home!

Australians Make Bluegrass...well, that is new?

I consider myself mildly cultured; I don't assume that stereotypes are always accurate (i.e. that people who like country ARE country), but I respect the fact that they exist for a reason. If it didn't have a high prevalence rate, then it probably wouldn't be a part of the collective set of "probable truths." An example: techies are smart. When was the last time you met someone who has attended a LAN party in his youth, and that person wasn't a competent sort of fellow? Point made.

Back to the topic at hand: I have traveled; I have a nice array of books (stop snickering friends: understatement is necessary here!), and I think they provide some insight into the world we live in, and the diverse people and attitudes that make it up. All of this together makes me feel pretty good about myself! ::little grin of contentment:: But then, a new combination of characteristics pops up and surprises you! And it forces you to recognize how very little you can predict the ebb and flow of popular culture.

Example(s):
Appreciation of Lady Gaga's Meat Dress
Cowboy Madonna
The phenomenon that is Dancing with the Stars
The effects of Space Jam on an entire generation of my peers (I still have that soundtrack on tape...)
Japanese culture's obsession with Paris Hilton

Ok, these are admittedly very extreme examples. But they explain the "idea" of what I am getting at. Smoosh two things that you think are in direct opposition with one another together...and you get something that has some incredible lasting power. As it turns out, I was just WAY out of the loop and there is a whole culture dedicated to "newgrass". Both in the States and among the Aussies ::sheepish blush of ignorance::

I was the very appreciative recipient of some comp tickets to see a recent performance by the Australian native band, The Greencards. They were free, it was at an adorable outdoor venue (interpret as tiny), and I thought, "Sure. I never go to concerts anymore. It could be fun! And because I am always working, let's network!" How silly of me. I was not prepared  for the musicianship that confronted me; the trio of Aussies and an American (the fiddler was MIA!) controlled their instruments with an incomparable grace and competency. Not only were the strains haunting, lively, and impossibly complex by turns, but the band members were so well synced that the impromptu "battles" between guitar and mandolin seemed a natural extension of the melodies. It wasn't until the sweat was dripping from foreheads and the mandolin player cursed at a missed chord that anyone in the audience knew that we were privy to a friendly display of competition.



Mandolin, Kym Warner; Bass, Carol Young; Guitar, Carl Miner; Fiddle, Tylar Andal (missing)

The venue was intimate, and so the performance was intimate. But the lead singer was a dear, and she quite literally fostered a conversation with the audience. I think the die hard supporters were actually directing the song choice at one point (but as a new listener to the progressive blue grass and observer of the band's kinetic energy, I just can't be sure). The Greencards are now independent artists; once supported by a label that helped foster their popularity, the band apparently chose to seek fan support and creative license in order to make the music they so loved. And while I cannot support the idea of a "lonely island" all of the time--after all, the desire to stand alone or defend one's territory in my professional field is the quickest way to lose a war by "attrition"--in this case, I am thrilled with their decision. Sisterita and I have listened to the album 3 times in quick succession. And when payday comes...can we say purchase plan?

Highlights of the Brick by Brick album:
Tale of Kangario, Loving You is the Only Way to Fly, Heart Fixer

Help support this talented ensemble, and connect with them on Facebook or by their website.