Hiking Camelback.

Here is the photo-essayic (sp) journey:

Breakfast in Nashville, right by Vanderbilt's medical campus. Thanks to Bets who found "Provence Bread's & Cafe". This is a fun little college street, remininscent of the main street in Grove City or in West Chester, PA or a North Jersey town like Montvale. Here you find a bookstore (I'm resisting tempation to browse), one or two bars, a music club, some furniture and jewelry shops.

The air is hot and sultry. The my server is generous. He and his wife made the cross-country trip from Texas in a VW van. He even offered me a place to stay. No. I have yet to drive through Memphis and Little Rock today. Expected destination - Oklahoma City. Katie G.'s "Aunt Barbra" is kindly hosting me tonight.

Cheers. Off I go again. 700 miles left for today. Around 1800 left for the trip.

Au Revoir. Tchau. Bye, bye. Etc.

It is time for a new phase of life – graduate school at Thunderbird. Last Tuesday I found out that I was accepted with scholarship. This Tuesday the movers arrived. Them movers finished loading the truck at 1:00pm. I was on the road 9 minutes later. As I write this, I’m in a hotel in Kingston, Tennessee. I’ve traveled around 480 miles. Only around 2,000 left.

The past week had been a complete flurry. I’d traveled back from visiting my folks after dad’s heart attach and packed up my 2,500 pounds of household goods in a week. That said, waves of love and support from friends and family has been overwhelming. I’m so blessed. Last night (Monday), a baker’s dozen gathered on our back deck to wish me safe travels…. ouch. I have to stop saying “our”. It really isn’t mine anymore. Amid the champagne and ice, I promised to blog my cross-country journey. So – here goes.

Adventure day 1.

I shot out Interstate 66 and then down Interstate 81, until I-81 became I-40, in Knoxville. Triple A’s TripTik describes Interstate 81 as follows:

“Sweeping views of farming country convey a sense of calm along this stretch of road. Dairy cows gather on hilltops creating the perfect country scene…Captivating scenery coupled with outdoor activities for every season make this [park] a great way to experience Tennessee’s natural beauty.”

I didn’t stop at the park. I stopped at the gas station. Did you know that some gas pumps from the ‘50’s still work? Come to Tennessee and see. I knew I wasn’t on the east coast anymore when I pulled up to the pump and noticed that – first – there was no credit card swipe option. You were required to go inside to pre-pay for case. Second, there was an elderly grandfather chap loitering outside. Third – when I went inside to prepay the attendant (who was in back using the restroom that I couldn’t use because it “didn’t work”), she told me I didn’t have to prepay. Rather, I could go back out to fill up. So I did…or rather I tried. First I started at one pump and realized that it had only 1 octane level – the more expensive level. So I moved to a different pump. I tried pumping again. Nothing happened. Confused, I went inside to the attendant. A lady was in front of me, purchasing her evening entertainment – a six-pack of Budweiser, a bag of Cheetos and a pack of Marlboros. There was a huge whole in the back of her shorts – so large I could see about an inch and a half of her underwear line. (I

4 grandma/grandpa types were gathered around a folding table inside the convenience store. They were there to celebrate Dorothy’s birthday. This tiny gas station was the hub of social activity in this tiny corner of Tennessee.

The attendant looked at me and said “Oh, hon, you gotta lift the little lever on the side. It mixes everybody up.” So back out I go. 3rd attempt to pump gas. I lift the lever, the entire pump starts shaking, but the gas is coming out to feed my car! Finally. I go back inside to pay. All of a sudden the bathroom is working and I’m allowed to use it.

Off I go again. Who would every have thought that a gas station could be so exciting.

Mining and metal works generates most of Peru's GDP. Peru is one of the top three producers of silver in the world. You see this in the churches, which have ornate silver plated alters. You see silver in the numerous jewelry stands sprinkled through out the markets. Cusco, the rainbow city, had a particularly special way of inlaying geometric patterns of semi-precious stones like turquiose, mother of pearl, purple Spondylus and lapis lazuli in silver.

Textiles are also key to the Peruvian economy, particularly alpaca. Our tour guide took us to a shop which helped us identify the different types of alpaca - baby alpaca, alpaca with silk, alpaca with wool and "maybe" alpaca. Besides being a bit of a sales pitch, this little lesson helped us be less like lambs among the vendor-wolves on the street, when we were shopping for family and friends.

The next day we were taken to an alpaca farm, where we were given lessons in the different types of alpacas, how to differentiate an alpaca from a llama (I kept mixing them up). We got to feed the herd. It was as exciting as the petting zoo when you were three.














Then, our guide showed us how the sheared wool would be boiled to give it color, before being spun into yarn. (This Finally, we saw the woman weaving. Yes. It was a bit of a-put-together-Peruvian-history production but it was interesting. The alpacas were so amusing with their wool flopped over their wild eyes. It gave them an air of comic aloofness.























While some of what we were shown was pure tourist show, there were elements of that show which infiltrate the daily life of a Peruvian family. They weave. They actually do use their own garments and blankets. They embrace bright colors, which lend a sense of perpetual fiesta to their world.

If I was told to choose between mountains or beach, I don't know what I would do. In 2000, my brother, Paul, and I summited our first mountain - Sacagawea - in Montana's Bridgers. In 2001, I took my first dip in salt water. It was only the cold dark water of the Long Island sound, but for me the ocean was a whole new world of adventure. Since that time, I've swam in Hawaii's warm Pacific waters, the calm warm Gulf of Mexico near Destin, the cold tumult along California's Route 1 and various spots on the Atlantic up and down the east cost. Assateague, Duck, Sunset Beach, Belmar, Sandy Hook...the list goes on.

But I haven't neglected Mountains either. Sometimes to the chagrin of my knees, my little stubborn limbs have plodded up and down paths of every major mountain range except Asia's Himalayas. In the Colorado Rockies, it was actually my horse Bone's limbs that did the work, looping through valleys, along plateaus and up steep inclines. In Africa, my safari car labored over the Great Divide. (The power steering decided it was just too strenuous and gave out. My poor driver.) Paul and I rented bikes and cycled the mountain trails surrounding Lake Interlaken, in Switzerland. Earlier that week, we had been strolling through Huemoz, peering across the French Alps to Mount Blanc. Later, we hiked to the highest point you could go on the Matterhorn, before the climb became technical. I've scrabbled along a fair share of the Appalachian trail and sipped Chianti on a Tuscan hillside. Of course, I can't forget Yosemite, the Sierra Nevadas, or Rwanda's Virungas. Each place was beautiful in it's own way. But, in my mind, nothing compares to the Andes in Peru.

A friend turned thirty over Thanksgiving. Not one month after returning from Africa, I was on the plane again. This time, traveling to South America with 5 friends. I loved the Andes. (I also had the advantage of living in high elevation in Africa, so being at 13k feet didn't bother me at all. I'm afraid my friends didn't fair so well.) What can I tell you about the Andes? Their emerald peaks are both sharp and warm. Our troupe spent one day hiking the last part of the Inca trail and another wandering Machu Picchi. The spectacular vistas of the Inca trail are lined with history...storehouses without roofs, alters to sacrifice virgins, over 400 steps older than 500 year old. But these aren't just ancient artifices. The Incas were particularly attuned to constructing architecture in symmetry with their environment. In addition to being aesthetically placed, the location of each building had astrological import. Temples would be perfectly aligned with the rising and setting of the sun during the summer solstice or the winter equinox. I will never forget the beauty of Peru's Andes.

The following paragraph in Hochschild's book reminded me of some embarrassing moments learning random facts about Zanzibari spices and their respective reproductive (or not) properties:

Like many indigenous peoples, inhabitants of the Congo basin had learned to live in balance with their environment. Some groups practiced what was, in effect, birth control, where couples had to abstain from sex before men left on a hunting expedition, for example, or as long as the woman was breast-feeding a baby. Substances found in certain leaves and bark could induce miscarriages or had contraceptive properties. All these means of population control, incidentally, were strikingly similar to those which had evolved in another great rain forest an ocean away, the Amazon basin.

In Zanzibar the air is full of spices and my spice tour guide took great pleasure pontificating upon the many properties of their spices. These ancient medicinal plants are still revered and used today.

Woman apply a certain herb to their skin before they go dancing. Why do they apply it? For the obvious reason - to attract men. Unfortunately, I forgot the name of this plant.

Then the Zanzibari male declares he doesn't need viagra because he has ginger root. Boil ginger root in water. Drink the broth. Voila. All good. Don't you want to buy some for your husband or your boyfriend? No thank you. Persistant guide. Picture Grace - very awkward social situation.

Next. We come to the plant used by woman to cause abortions. I really should remember what it was, but I'm afraid I don't. Henna? No. Aloe? Maybe.

Then, later, when touring Stonetown, my notorious guide introduced me to a man sitting in a doorway, selling little red berries. Envision little, tiny candied raspberries and you'll be just about there. My guide declared I should try them. Did he eat them? No. Did the salesman eat them? No. Who ate them? Only woman. They are supposed to help during pregnancy. Again, awkward social moment...which is pleasant to laugh about now, months later.