Aloha Amsterdam!

I left for a quick juant to Amsterdam last week Monday. Swept up in a romantic bliss point sailing on Europa from Antartic to tropical waters, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to reunite with my shipmates (never thought I'd use that word again) and welcome Europa home.

Jenny, and Europa in the distance.

Going through the lock.

To be honest, the trip to Amsterdam was a mixed bag of emotions. On the one hand, in the haven of our sweet Airbnb flat, Rachel, Jenny and I laughed, conversed and grew our friendship. I reveled in the excitement that comes with bringing a ship home, and Jenny and my impromptu dance party brought cheers and smiles from the ship as they went through the lock in Ijmuiden. On the other hand, I was made aware of intense drama surrounding one of my close friends from the ship after I left on Ascension Island. Sadly, this served to shake my character of trusting all people. Or maybe it showed me that my snap perception of certain people is usually too simplistic. In any case, I feel like I lost a friend who filled me with energy and adventure. 

Canal boat cruise with Europa friends. Copious amounts of wine was drunk (mostly by me).

When I reflect on the experience that I had on Europa, and the people I met, it makes me feel alive and grand. A ship is a mini cosmos. Personalities, stories, personal baggage, all swirl in this intensely close atmosphere. You must depend and trust in one another in order to keep the ship moving and hearts soaring. Why would you embark on months of time at sea if it weren't for some form of love? Love of the sea, of wild places, of the strangers you will meet who are seeking answers like yourself. The compressed timeline of existence, spending 24 hours a day in a confined space with other people, accelerated and deepened friendships. You share these wildly romantic experiences with each other: sunsets over the ocean, encountering impossible to believe wildlife, dancing under the stars on an open, rolling deck. My heart swells just thinking of the dreamlike atmosphere of pure joy. But, it can also induce restlessness and boredom if not tempered, which I believe was the downfall of my friend. 

In the two months I was onboard Europa, I became closer to myself and was able to make decisions for my life unencumbered and uninfluenced by anyone else. I feel a sense of circle made whole by seeing Europa come home. Meeting again friends who I was parted so dramatically when I was injured and taken from the ship on a hospital boat. I also realized (and I already knew this from my time in the Navy) that the sense of closeness established on adventures and travel doesn't always translate to real, deep closeness. Sometimes it does, and I have many lifelong friendships because of it. But, sometimes the sense of excitement and connectedness has an expiration date. It is no ones fault and it isn't necesseraily connected to superficiality. You can love someone in a moment of life, and not know them the next. It doesn't detract from the beauty of those moments of love. So, yes, in the end I am sad about my friend...but more so I am blessed that our friendship existed in such a state of happiness. 

Parents in Paris!

In the wise words of a woman I greatly admire, Audrey Hepburn: "Paris is always a good idea." And so I find myself in the City of Lights as my year of travel draws to a close. This is an energetic place, and gives me waves of dizziness when I feel the crush of Western tourists all clamoring to see the iconic sights. This is certainly an adjustment from the solitude of the wild places I have been, it is an urban jungle. But adjusting I am, and much do I owe to my family for easing me into that. 

I stepped off the train in Paris Est after an uneventful ride from Frankfurt. Immediately I was impressed with the sheer numbers of people dashing here and there. Walking up Rue Strasbourg, as it eventually transitioned to Blvd. St. Michel, I felt like a lumbering beast with my mochila next to the chic Parisians and well dressed tourists. I was even scammed out of 30 euro like a true travel moron by a "deaf woman" who seemed professional enough with the exception that she was continually blowing kisses at me. As she ran off with my money, and I realized what had happened, I looked down to see this:

I felt somewhat soothed. My old Camino friend, the yellow area, paints itself wide and far across Paris, leading the pilgrim or curious tourist to all the major cathedrals. This one leads to Notre Dame.

Checking into the Select Hotel on a quaint pedestrian plaza directly in front of the Sorbonne, I chilled out and waited for my lovely parents to arrive. And arrive they did! Talking a mile a minute, keen to set out immediately to explore and jonesing for crepes. It felt like a part of me was home when we were reunited, and although I have been in remote places this year, a part of my heart and conscious was always directed towards the good people I love. 

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity, reminiscent of the Rick Steves' vacations of my youth. I smiled at memories of Ethan and I backpacking around Paris and London, always wearing our heaviest coats, no matter the temperature, to lighten the loads of our packs. Walking past Cafe Flor, my parents pointing out the table we sat at so many years before, I could still smell the cigarette smoke of the female patron who sat next to us, more concerned with her lap dog than almost dropping ashes onto my plate. 

The same marker outside Notre Dame that Kelsey and I walked past when we began El Camino nine months ago. Woah.

The Pantheon.

Shakespeare and Company bookstore along the Seine.

Over the weekend, we walked the city streets, dropping into the Pantheon to contemplate the final resting place of such people as Voltaire, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, Victor Hugo, Emile Zola, and Pierre and Marie Curie. We mixed culture with the Parisian pastime of shopping, strolling through Rodin's sculpture garden and through the trendy Marais district. Indulging in classic crepes, L'as du Fallafel, dainty sauces, croissants, baguette with a touch of butter, and bold coffee. All things indulgent, all things French.

On Monday and Tuesday, we got our tennis on, watching the gladiators of the sport throw it all down on the court. Our first day was four matches of doubles tennis, lightening quick and fascinating with the teamwork between the pairs. There were certainly more smiles from the players during these doubles games, as the two could work through the ups and downs of the play with each other. The next day we saw Maria Sarapova duke it out against Spanish upcomer Garbine Muguruza, seemingly faltering in the first set, to assert her experience and dominance in the second and third. Next, was Novak Djokovic against Milo's Raonic. Watching him play was like a dream, such skill and grace. As a once removed tennis buff, really only following the game through my parents, it was a thrill to see it played out live. Maybe the U.S. Open 2015?

Nosebleed seats, but still wonderful.

The next day, Mum and Pop headed to the Loire valley and I moved into my home for the next month:

Thank you, mahalo, merci to my Uncle Joel and Aunt Karen for the generous gift of this apartment for a month in Paris. I am inspired. 

Steps from Rue Jacob and Blvd. St. Germain, it is situated in an incredible part of town. In any direction from the flat is a world famous museum. Boulangeries, cafes and open air markets dot the area and there is an air of chic with high end stores next to Sorbonne student influence of art house theaters and art supply stores. I will admit I felt a bit lonely being on my own in this bustling city. It is a truth that the loneliest times can be when you are alone surrounded by people. I never get a sense of loneliness on long hikes or walks in the woods. But isolated by my lack of French speaking skills, overwhelmed by the sheer number of tourists and daunted by the expense of EVERYTHING, it felt like such a different experience than much of my other travels. Despite my loneliness, I set about taking long, long walks through the city, eating tomato and mozzarella sandwiches and taking restful naps in various parks.

I took myself to an Arcade Fire concert, one of my all time favorite groups. I loved knowing and singing to their entire lineup.

My parents returned on Friday and my spirits rose. They loved their time in the Loire valley wine region, lugging back a suitcase considerably heavier with wine than when they left Paris. That last night before they headed home we splurged on dinner at Le Grand Colbert, made famous by the movie Something's Gotta Give. We even sat in the exact spot as Diane Keaton, Jack Nicholson and Keanu Reeves. Full of wisdom and kindness, they helped me sort through my feelings of being lost in this city. I felt invigorated when they left yesterday, with a renewed sense of soaking it all in during my month here. Undoubtedley this city is monumentally beautiful, inspiring the most capable and artistic minds of history. I will endeavor to look past the commercialism and on to the magnificence. 

From Rue Cler, Sacre Coeur, scoping out the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe and Champs-Élysées, Luxembourg Garden and the Tulleries I am exploring bit by bit, with much more to come. Tomorrow I head to Amsterdam to welcome home the Europa after their year wandering the world's oceans.

Random Queen of England drive by. 

Paris from the dome of Sacre Coeur.

Reunion with my Aloha Amiga

I left Jordan, returning to the vibrancy of Jerusalem. Meeting a new hostel friend, Dan from Australia, in the lobby of Abraham Hostel, I used my newfound knowledge of the city to guide him through Yehuda market and the Old City.

A cousin to the falafel, "sabich," is stuffed with all the goodness of tahini and tabbouleh, but instead of falafels it has eggplant and egg. Dan and I feasted.

Wandering through the old streets I had explored with Kelsey, I returned to meditate no less than three times at the Western Wall during the 24 hours I was in Jerusalem. Catching a bus to Tel Aviv the next day, I met up with Dahlia at her place off the chic Rothschild Street, and laughing through our adventures of the past couple of weeks, we walked to Old Jaffa to have dinner with two of her friends.

The next day I indulged in good food with Dahlia and her father and uncle, Bob and Rich, (twins that went to high school with my dad!) and also in some retail therapy. After months of wearing the same clothes, no makeup and just my trusty Hawaii ring, I treated myself to mascara, a new dress and earrings. After all, I had my next adventures in Europe to dress up for.

I stayed with Dahlia two days, embracing her incredible energy and adventurous spirit. She is on to Dublin for 11 months to work for Google, and I so hope my travels will cross paths with hers before I return to the U.S.

Bright and early on May 21st, I flew to Frankfurt, Germany to visit one of my dearest of dear friends, Maria.

Words cannot begin to describe the unique and blessed relationship I have with Maria. Outwardly, we are so very different. Where we are from, our religion (although, I do not claim one), our families, etc. And yet, she is a source of wisdom, and strength from which I draw so much reassurance. We met years ago, stationed on our first ship, USS PORT ROYAL, out of Pearl Harbor, Hawaii. We survived the most stressful years of our lives together on the ship as roommates and confidantes. To witness her growth into a beautiful soul, mother, friend, woman...I am so very proud of her. As it happens, Maria's husband Nicholas, is on a long deployment and it came at a wonderful time that I was able to travel to spend nine fabulous days with her and her girls Genevieve and Evelyn.

I felt rather mom-esque, helping with everything from bath time, making lunches (cutting everything into toddler sized pieces), grocery shopping, and playing baby catch at the bottom of slides. I have never considered myself great with kids, so to have Genevieve snuggle up to me, and Evelyn stop crying when I held her felt truly magnificent and magical. Ahhhh, so this is that motherly instinct.

Genevieve make over in my random scarves.

Maria and I spent countless hours discussing life, love, loss and the search for all that is good. Despite our best efforts, we never did manage to end our conversations until midnight or one in the morning. Often it was little Evelyn, crying in the night, who forced us to shut up! The freezer was stocked with ice cream, the pantry with chocolate, and sipping wine we caught up on the last few years of our lives. 

Purchased from a Jamaican man in the old city of Frankfurt.

After the simply perfect transition of crazy go-go adventure, to the slow gentle pace of Maria's, I headed to Paris to meet my parents, and embark on my next adventure: life in the City of Lights.

And a couple of additional developments:

I found out that, unfortunately, I was not accepted to U of Michigan's Ross School of Business. This year there were record high number of admitted candidates that accepted their offers from the first two rounds of applications, and there were only a few spots for third round applicants like me. I was given some encouraging words from the Admissions Office, and will look to reapplying this coming year for a dul degree.

With that, I have decided to start grad school this Fall at U of M's School of Natural Resources and Environment for an M.S. in Environmental Justice. After some soul searching, an enlightening and life affirming conversation with my brother, Ethan, and the advice of a few wise people in my life, I am ready for the next epic chapter in my life. 

Life is sweet.

Wadi Araba to Amman

The plan was hatched sipping tea and taking in the panoramic view of Petra and the surrounding landscape of Wadi Araba. Having walked up to view the ruin of the Monastery with Keksey and A.J., I wandered into a small tea shop that stirred strong nostalgic memories of Nepal. Benches covered in brightly colored pillows, a 360 degree view of nature in all her glory, and a warm cup of tea. Abed, a local Bedouin (he even has a picture in the Jordan Lonely Planet playing the ut), immediately drew me in with his bright eyes and charismatic conversation. Also enjoying some tea was a Spanish man by the (apt) name of Jerusalem. 

View from Abed's tea shop.

The conversation started benign enough, commenting on the plethora of clearly homemade tattoos covering Abed's hands and arms. Proudly, he told me he had done them all, and inquired as to whether I wanted to come by his village the next day to have him ink my arm. When I demurred by explaining my plan to head south to the touristy Wadi Rum, he just shook his head. Why was I going there? To hike? Because I was better off staying in Wadi Araba and going hiking with him. Things progressed pretty quickly from there, and it wasn't five minutes later that both Jerusalem and I planned on meeting Abed in his village the next morning to set out into the desert for three days. 

Looking out over Wadi Araba.

Excitedly, I told Kelsey and A.J. of my plan, as they were leaving for Israel the next day. Kelsey wisely advised me to play it safe on my crazy desert trek with two complete strangers, and make "good decisions."

The next morning, after hasty and heavy hearted goodbyes with Kelsey, I carefully packed my mochila for my desert stroll, leaving some heavy unnecessary items behind. Catching a taxi to Abed's Bedouin village just outside Wadi Mousa, I met him and Jerusalem outside a small market. It all felt very surreal, making conversation while packing water bottles and fresh veggies into our packs. I clearly had the largest and heaviest pack, but I was not deterred, hoping that my time trekking in Spain and Nepal would have prepared me for the strain. 

The next two and a half days and two nights were a wonder. 

Wadi Araba 2014

The Good:

1. The indescribable beauty of the desert. On par with the Himalayas for most awe inspiring place I have ever been.

2. A magnificent connection with my surroundings. We saw zero other tourists or backpackers, and only a handful of Bedouin goat herders.

3. Sleeping under the open night sky, an endless twilight courtesy of a full moon (speaking of moon, receiving my Arabic name of "moon" from Abed)

4. The thrill of finding springs of water and drinking directly from the trickling source. Oh oasis!

5. Discovering early on that Jerusalem is a 20 year veteran of the Spanish civil police and he has a wife and two daughters. Also, being able to communicate with Jerusalem in Spanish when the need arose.

6. Abed's skill at creating delicious, healthy meals composed mostly of fresh tomatoes, cucumber, spices and pita.

7. Learning how to make cardamom chai over an open fire, and drinking it at least four times a day.

8. Watching a simultaneous full moon rise and sunset on an open ridge.

9. Being pooped on by a bird (I hear this is good luck).

10. Making it back in one piece.

Abed and Jerusalem.

The Not So Good:

1. By far the most dangerous trekking I have ever done. Think scrambling hands and feet over scree and boulders with fairly sheer drop offs into the valley. Then magnify this with an ungainly 30 pound-ish pack. Scary.

2. Abed's determination to get me to fall in love with him. 

3. Spiders, scorpions and snakes.

4. Struggling to keep up with two fit dudes. A few times I completely lost sight of them for endless minutes, and had to follow my instincts to find them. 

5. A fairly nagging preoccupation with thirst and wanting to chug my precious, rationed water. 

The Ugly:

1. Abed's henna job. Good thing I didn't go for a tattoo.

2. Slipping and falling on a scree hill, and in my desperation, breaking my fall with my bum knee and ripping off all the new skin into a bloody mess.

3. Immediately consuming a Fanta and two KitKat upon my return to civilization.

Henna on my birthday!

Exhausted, filthy and utterly at peace with myself (as only nature and walking can make me) we returned to Wadi Mousa on the afternoon of the third day. Jerusalem and I parted with Abed to the lovely Rocky Mountain Hotel, where we feasted on a delicious Arabic dinner and drank prodigious amounts of water.

The next morning, I woke early to begin a journey to Amman on King's Highway via Shobak Castle, the Jordanian side of the Dead Sea and the Jordan River site of Jesus' baptism.

As close as I could get to the Dead Sea with my gnarly leg. Also it was over 100 degrees, but Middle East modesty compelled me to cover up my slightly see through (only clean shirt left) shirt.

Jordan River.

A group of Christians on the Israeli side preparing to be baptized. On both sides, soldiers stood at the ready for any riffraff.

I arrived in Amman, and promptly found food before passing out until the next morning. I slept in and was awakened by a new hostel roommate. Manuela, a Portuguese-German physician traveling around Israel and Jordan came bursting into the sunlight room with energy pouring off her. She immediately invited me to share a taxi to the northern town of Irbid and the ancient Greco-Roman ruins of Jerash. Meandering through the stone pillars and worn paths, we laughed about love, life, and the possibility of moving to Jordan and finding Bedouin husbands to roam the desert with. It was so wonderful to chill with another girl in the days since Kelsey left. Back in Amman, we sought out a famous hummus and falafel landmark and lingered for a few hours over tea and pita.

Manuela with the classic Jordanian dessert of knafeh from Habibah.

This morning, I said goodbye to my new friend, and headed to the Israeli border at King Hussein/Allenby bridge for my last few days in the Holy Land. To beautiful, splendid Jordan, I shall be back...

Dead Sea, Gamechange, Petra

Last Friday night, Kelsey and I had an authentic and touching family Shabbat dinner at Jared's (our Jerusalem guide) house. It was even vegan! It was a perfect way to spend our last evening in Jerusalem. There will be more on Jerusalem in another promised post, but I can definitively say that my time in this city of wonders has been the one of the most enlightening and wonderful in my life. 

We took off early from Jerusalem on Saturday to our destination, the Dead Sea. After a fairly uneventful desert drive we arrived at the David Dead Sea Resort. We figured after a couple of weeks of hostels we would pamper ourselves with a proper hotel. Sadly, David did not deliver. Within two hours of our arrival, we had canceled our two follow on nights and were plotting an adventure to...Petra!

My knee gash prevented me from floating around in the salty water. I did sprinkle water on it to test it out and immediately regretted the decision.

Sunday morning, we groggily dragged ourselves to Masada at 0430 to hike the Snake path to the top of the desert mountain fortress for sunrise. Masada, built by Herod the Great around 30 BCE, was the site of the Roman siege of 960 Jewish rebels in the First Jewish-Roman War in 73 CE. Rather than being taken captive, the besieged Jews committed mass suicide the night before the Romans breached the fortress walls, garnering admiration from the Romans that discovered them. The sunrise walk was so worth it.

Leaving the Dead Sea, we continued south towards the beach city of Eilat and the border crossing to Jordan. Prepared for long lines and mass confusion at the border (as we had been warned), we were pleasantly surprised to find a free parking lot at the border, and exactly two other tourists crossing at the same time. We breezed - as relative a term breeze is - through seven passport checkpoints, and found ourselves whisked towards Petra, our taxi driver Issa, explaining the landscape  and history. 

Over dinner that evening in our hotel, we met A.J., a native Vermonter living in London, who was visiting Petra before attending a wedding in Israel. Bright and early the next day, Monday, we took Petra by storm for an epic 11 hours of hiking, climbing, gasping in awe, and general wonder.

Petra, here we come.

The Treasury appears dramatically around a bend at the end of the 2 km canyon walk to Petra.

Classic shot.

The Monastery.

Heaps of camels.

Built as early as 312 BCE by the Nabateans, it is a sprawling, unimaginably beautiful city built in the rose colored mountains. The city was abandoned and lost in the 14th century and only rediscovered in 1812. How amazing would it have been to stumble on this place!

Lunch on the ruins.

That night, Kelsey and I had dinner, recapping this most amazing journey we have taken together in the Holy Land. The closest of friends, with Kelsey, I can speak spirituality, growth, fear, love and life. This second trip this year with her has been such a gift, truly. I miss my friend already.

Up next...a hike in the wild desert.