Words from Portland

ME: Zachary, what should I bwog about?

ZACH: Bwog?

ME: Yeah, bwog. I haven’t blogged since Monday and my brain is fried.

ZACH: I don’t know.

IVY (Zach’s sister): You should blog about the He-man video and how it reminds you of Portland.

ME: That’s a great idea. (Except that I realize it isn’t. Then I do it anyway. Using sentence fragments.)

…

It’s day two of our trip to Portland, and my brain is swirling with all the conversations that have taken place: the people we’ve seen, the logistics we’ve worked through, the food we’ve eaten. Like any good visit (as opposed to “vacation”), we’re staying busy and don’t have much to report. When I find the words, I’ll tell you more later.

~~~

Winter Spark (or, Why I Started Traveling)

Although a lot of people ask me why I traveled so much (I wrote a blog about that here), very few people ask what made me decide to start traveling in the first place. They’re smart that way— it’s a rather long story. But, since you have the option of walking away from this blog if you get bored, I don’t feel guilty about telling the whole story.

As with anything, there were several factors that led me to a semi-nomadic life, and a lot of events led me to that decision. However, there was one clear tipping point.

In December of 2008, at the age of 19, I was working five jobs— writing teacher, drama teacher, online writing tutor, freelance author, and Christmas actor. I loved each of my jobs, but with a total of 75 students plus my two extra jobs, I had little time for anything else. My friends noticed me wearing down; I noticed it too. Even after the Christmas season ended and I was back to four jobs, I felt like my life was a madhouse.

In January, I was editing my online students’ papers. The assignment was to write a letter in response to a prompt on a supposed college assignment: “Relate a meaningful travel experience you have had and how this experience affected your life.”

Look how young I was! (Okay, fine, I still look like that…)

And golly, what stories they had to tell. From scout camp in the Rocky Mountains to week-long tours of Western Europe, they told of family vacations, school outings, and once-in-a-lifetime opportunities.

Most of the papers weren’t very well written, and very few of their first drafts actually explained what was meaningful about their trips. But even the stiff, unclear writing brought my imagination to life.

And then something occurred to me that, for some reason, had never occurred before. I had two online jobs— my tutoring and my freelancing. If I pinched pennies, I could live on just that income. And with these jobs, there was no reason that I couldn’t travel anywhere in the world.

I remember sitting in my comfy gray chair at the desk my dad had made for me, fingers resting on the keyboard of a 1995 Macintosh the size of a mini-fridge, staring out the wintry window and letting this realization sink in. 

A couple days later, on a walk with my mom, I told her, “I think I’m going back to Bellingham.” I had been to this city in Washington state the previous summer to do some mission work. “This time, though, I want to go for a couple of months.” As those words left my mouth, I stepped into the street right in front of a moving car. 

Although I managed to dodge the vehicle, I’m sure that put my mom right at ease. But my mom, being my mom, told me, “Okay, go for it.”

It took me about eight months to get all my plans together. I bought a laptop, finished out my semester of in-class teaching, and saved up all summer. I turned 20 as I tried to figure out the best way to experience Bellingham. An unexpected move for my family made me shorten my travel plans to one month instead of two. But at last it happened, and I found myself on a plane to Washington.

After that, I never looked back. Travel and I had fallen in love forever.

~~~

Preparing for Portland

The tree still looks pretty good!

Today I realized that I actually have to do some things to prepare my home for the upcoming trip. Before, I was always leaving some people behind who took care of the house, but this time it shall lay fallow. That means I have to water my poinsettia (and learn how to spell its name— yeesh, I wasn’t even close!), eat or freeze all the perishable food, empty the trash, give somebody a key, and finally take down the Christmas tree. Is there anything I’m forgetting?

~~~

A Haiku (written by Lisa, circa age 12)

(Because who doesn’t want to hear a haiku written by a pre-teen me?)

The tree, majestic,

Reaches the top of the sky

And listens to birds.

Muir Woods, San Francisco area, California

Why Are You Surprised?

I used to do a yearly fundraiser for two charity organizations, one of which is called Voice of the Martyrs (the other was Samaritan’s Purse, also an excellent organization). One of my travel friends, confused by the word “martyrs,” asked what VOM was. 

“It’s an organization that provides support to people who are persecuted for their faith,” I said.

My friend looked confused for a second, and then asked, “Oh, you mean like guys wearing turbans who get targeted in airport security?”

“No…” I wasn’t sure how blunt to be. “Like, people who are put in prison or tortured or killed because they’re Christians.” 

My friend stared at me as if wondering which century I lived in. I told her to go look it up for herself at persecution.com.

There are still many people in the world, and a sadly large number of Christians, who don’t know about the persecution that takes place daily in dozens of countries. I’ve recently felt the call to pray more for my brothers and sisters overseas, and to try to spread the word. Even though I’m aware of these problems, the following blog hit me like a slap in the face:

Read this.

You can get a free copy of Voice of the Martyrs newsletter via this link. I challenge you to remember our family who are still in chains.

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: Five Things I Always Pack

In response to last week’s blog post, a reader asked: 

On the contrariwise, are there any items that you always take, no matter what? 

In addition to using the fantastic word “contrariwise,” this person brings up a good point. I won’t mention stuff I refuse to do without (such as underwear, good walking shoes, and a toothbrush), but here are five things you might not think of but I consider essential:

Water bottle. I have discovered that there aren’t nearly enough drinking fountains in the world, especially in remote hiking areas and downtowns of big cities. To avoid paying through the nose for bottled water, bring your own (preferably a lightweight metal one). You never know when you’ll need it.

iPod Touch. An iPhone (or any smartphone) is even better, but my iPod Touch is very useful to me. Not only do I love listening to music, but it serves as a watch, alarm clock, photo album, reading tablet, and, when I have wi-fi, a tiny computer.  

Hat. I’m not talking about a stylish hat— I bring my green bucket hat, since it shades both my ears and my eyes, keeps off sun and rain, and is generic enough to go with anything. If you sunburn easily and/or are traveling somewhere rainy, this is essential.

A bandana can also be used to clean up the messes of
drooling bears, as Mary is attempting to do here in Seattle.

Sarong. I feel like a hypocrite putting this on the list since I don’t currently own one. Still, it merits placement because it’s one of the most massively useful things ever. Whether using it as a towel, a picnic blanket, or a stylish skirt, I have found a sarong to be a treasured travel companion.

Bandanas. These are about as essential to me as my toothbrush (almost). They work as a quick fix for a bad hair day, a bit of flair to a drab outfit, or a bandage for a gory wound. Napkin, kerchief, washcloth, ankle wrap, sleeping mask or sack, these suckers come in pretty handy.

What do you always pack?

~~~ 

Have a travel question? Leave a comment and I’ll answer!

Seven Reasons I Love Traveling with My Hubby

See the Golden Gate Bridge behind us?

(I think this is the first time I’ve referred to Zachary as my “hubby.” Possibly ever.)

In just over a week, Zachary and I will be hopping a plane to Portland, Oregon, to visit his family for 10 days. Not only am I excited to visit my inlaws and see the Northwest again… but I also get to travel with my husband, which is awesome. Here are seven reasons, in no particular order, why I love traveling with him (and why you would do well to find a travel partner who has some of these qualities):

1. He’s a bit more physically fit and active than I am. I’ve mentioned before that his ridiculous walking pace was one of the first things that made me swoon for him. We’ve had great times hiking all over St. Louis and Portland and experiencing things in a way we never could from a car. If you and your travel partner have vastly dissimilar energy levels, you have to plan ahead to account for the difference.

2. He knows the value of a comfortable silence. If you’re traveling with someone, whether friend or stranger, you’ll get anxious and worn out if you try to carry a conversation all the time. Let silence be comfortable; when you’re traveling, there is a lot to look at and think about anyway.

3. He doesn’t have expensive tastes. Peanut butter sandwiches, couchsurfing, and free/cheap travel attractions are all good with him, which just makes me ridiculously happy.

4. He is a driving beast. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t drive. So when Zachary and I took a road trip from Portland to San Diego to St. Louis— a total of 2,993 miles— he drove every inch of it himself. Yes, I was impressed, too.

He drives, I make faces at the camera. It works.

5. He’s selfless in his decison-making. This doesn’t mean that he never voices an opinion or makes plans: on the contrary, I usually let him have the say on what we’re doing. However, he takes me into consideration and is always willing to listen to my ideas. (Have you noticed that a lot of what makes someone a good travel partner also makes them a good spouse?) Related to that…

6. He doesn’t mind spontaneity. This is key to traveling, especially with another person. Not only can plans fall through, but new plans can come up that interfere with your old ones. Zachary is willing to change directions on a dime if needs be, which I really appreciate. 

7. He buys me ice cream. If you can find a travel partner who will do this for you, you pretty much have it made.

A Random Thought

To most people, how you act is who you are.

Five Photos of a 'Merican in Europe

One of my proudest achievements in Europe was getting the locals to think I was one of them. Usually this occurred when I kept my mouth closed (although the cashier at the gift shop in the Kröller-Müller Museum definitely thought I spoke Dutch), and I got good at saying, “Ich spreche kein Deutsch,” trying to hide my proud smile that they hadn’t labeled me as an American right away.

Still, there were times when my American-ity showed pretty blatantly, as you can see in the following photos:

I found this "American sandwich bread" in a tiny corner store in the rural village of Faucogney, France.

"Local cuisine in Salzburg? Nah, I'll just nom on this Clif bar I bought at a Wal-Mart in Missouri."
(Also, I bear an uncanny resemblance to my oldest brother in this picture.)

I'm sure Europeans get on the wrong train sometimes, too. But they wouldn't stay on the wrong train when
the conductor tells them in German to hop off at the next stop and backtrack. That's an American thing.

Okay, so it's a European food. But WHY DON'T WE SPREAD THIS ON EVERYTHING?

This was my face in Europe a lot. I hope some of the people thought it was cute instead of idiotic.

Where to Go: Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park, Orick, California

About a year ago, when Zach and I were traveling to San Diego from Portland, we decided that we wanted to stop and hike in the Redwoods National Forest. Although the national park itself looked like it would offer some great picnic-and-stroll opportunities, we wanted to actually take a day hike. Through some research, we discovered a section of the forest with some highly-recommended hikes, called Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. We were not disappointed.

Why you should go: Prairie Creek offers 75 miles of hiking trails that lead you through the heart of some of the most amazing redwood trees California has to offer. If you take Fern Canyon or Gold Bluffs Trails, you’ll also pass through light stream-filled woodland and the coast of the Pacific Ocean.

How to get there: It’s in the middle of nowhere (Zach and I were very lucky to find a couchsurfing host within an hour of it), so it’s only accessible by car. Prairie Creek’s homepage has directions and there are plenty of signs to follow.

What to bring: Good hiking clothes with several layers (the temperatures from place to place within the park vary a lot!), snacks and water, a camera.

What to do: We hiked several trails— Miner’s Ridge to James Irvine, along Fern Canyon to Gold Bluffs and back in a loop. This route was about 12 miles. There are plenty of shorter (and a few longer) hikes as well. The visitor’s center was under construction when we visited, but it looked like it would be interesting. There are also several ridiculously scenic picnic spots and camping sites.

What else you need to know: The redwood forest can be overwhelming to the point of numbness; when all the trees are the same size, they stop looking as giant as when you first saw them. To fully appreciate the redwoods, keep your heart open to wonder, and keep on craning your neck back to stare at these trees that have kept vigil over this part of the world for centuries.

~~~

Watched

Today I was in my bedroom reading when, through the blinds, I saw the shadow of someone walking by the window. For a moment I thought nothing of it, but then I remembered that my bedroom is on the second story. I started, then stared at the blinds, expecting to see an action hero crash through the glass at any second. Much less exciting (and more to my taste), I heard the shuffling and scraping of a ladder, and then the grating sound of someone cleaning the gutters. I kept a suspicious eye onto the window until it sounded like the gutter man had left. I will be much more paranoid about keeping the blinds closed after this.

~~~

Travel Tip Tuesdays: What Not to Pack

I’ve written blogs about packing light before— I swear by the one-bag policy when traveling solo and in most situations in general. No matter how heavy you’re packing, though, here are five things you can (almost) always do without:

1. A heavy coat. On my first solo trip, I brought a trench coat because I knew that the Northwest got cold. Although it did help keep me warm, it was a huge pain to lug around, and added about seven pounds to my pack weight (not to mention taking up almost a backpack’s worth of space!). Unless you’re headed somewhere severely cold, you can make do with a lighter jacket and some layers.

First solo trip, 2009: I was so proud of myself
for only bringing three bags!

2. A big toiletries bag. On my first away-from-family trip when I was 16, I packed an entire little suitcase full of my toiletries— everything from toothpaste and decongestant to a full bottle of shampoo and six different kinds of Band-Aids. I didn’t even have makeup and I managed to stuff a bag! I later learned that this was entirely unnecessary. Just bring the basics, and if you happen to need poison ivy cream or cough syrup, you can buy that as you go along.

3. Non-versatile clothing. While some clothes are single-use, most can serve double-duty. A blank t-shirt can be dressed up with a nice jacket; leggings make a nice extra layer in cold weather; a sarong can be turned into almost anything. Avoid loud t-shirts, an item that doesn’t match the rest of what you’re packing, anything expressly dressy, and so on.

4. Clothes that wrinkle easily. There’s nothing worse than ruining half your wardrobe just because it’s made of the wrong fabric! When your clothes can be wadded up, carried in a backpack for a week, and pulled out looking good as new, you’ve found the “keeper” clothes.

Third solo trip, 2010: I had cut my packing list in half.

5. Anything you justified taking along by saying “just in case.” This isn’t a tried-and-true rule, but if this was your excuse for packing it, chances are you won’t end up needing it. Since I have a bad back, I carried around instant heating pads for six trips, just in case. I never needed them. The same is true of countless little items that I carried less and less throughout the years.

With a light pack, your travel will be much more fun and relaxing. I have often packed too much for a trip, but I have never packed too little.

~~~

Have a travel question? Leave a comment and I’ll answer!

Cornfields

Ever heard of Mackinaw, Illinois? Yeah, me neither. It’s a tiny town that Insomniac Folklore passed through on our tour last summer. We were on our way to Mamma Linda’s Hog Roast, an annual stopping point for about a dozen of the bands on their way to Cornerstone Music Festival. Because of sound problems the show itself wasn’t that great, but I loved the party-like environment and the piles of free food. While Adrienne face-painted and Tyler talked to people, I sat against a tree, hoping to catch a breath of wind in the 102-degree heat, and read Annie Dillard’s Teaching a Stone to Talk. 

An excerpt from my diary when I started feeling overstimulated by the constant music: “I sought solace in the cornfields. I walked down Lilly Drive, looking at the orange-tipped corn and glancing at the pink globe of the sun sinking toward the horizon. The road rose, and at the top of its swell, I saw bluish heartland spread out before me, patches of cornfields stitched with trees. My feet thumped on the asphalt at an easy pace. I considered: I had a camera, wallet, iPod and chapstick… what else did I need? I could just keep walking forever.”

~~~

Chillicothe and My Illinois Roots

Last summer, I got the chance to tour with Insomniac Folklore for about a week, flitting from venue to venue in Illinois before ending up at Cornerstone Music Festival. It had been a while since I’d spent any time in central Illinois, and I had forgotten what deep roots I have there. My mom grew up in the tiny town of Astoria, a patch of houses and a downtown in between miles and miles of cornfields. When I was a kid and my grandma was losing her battle with Alzheimer’s disease, we made the three-hour commute to Astoria every other week. When I got upset about what was going on, I’d take a walk with Mom or my brothers. The Illinois landscape and small towns became synonymous with that side of the family, with sadness, and with the excitement of road trips.

Although I had never been to Chillicothe, I immediately felt at home when we rolled into town. We played a show at a youth center, stayed there the night, and then had some time to kill the next morning. I decided to go for a walk.

Down the American-flag-lined main street I walked, the only moving thing in sight. The sky was gray and the heat oppressive, although it was nothing compared to what we’d face later that week. Like all good walks, this one led me to the river. I strolled through a park and stared out at the wide, muddy-silver waters. At last I saw other people: an obese little girl tried to climb the monkey bars on a playground as her mother watched silently. 

I also saw a man sitting in an SUV with the window rolled down, reading a paper. I approached him and said a friendly, “Good morning. Do you know what river that is?” He just stared at me as if I was crazy. “I’m not from around here,” I said.

“Oh,” he said, loosening up. “That’s the Illinois.” He went on to tell me, in a slight Illinois drawl that made me feel comfortable, about how the drought was affecting the river. A beached barge on the far side was going to be their setting-off point for fireworks on Independence Day, if fireworks would be allowed. He pointed to a point far up the bank, beyond the tree line. “A few years ago, the river flooded all the way up there. Now look at it.” 

After some chitchat, I said goodbye and continued walking along the line of the river, though I was soon cut off from the water by a line of large but cheaply-made riverfront mansions, set back from the road. It took me less than fifteen minutes to reach the edge of town on that side, and I turned around.

The birds, critters, and town habitants I saw were familiar too: ground squirrels, sparrows nesting, robins hopping across the lawns. Chalky-purple chicory grew next to bindweed (morning glories). A person turned onto the main road, looking carefully both ways on the deserted through-street before cautiously turning. Four middle-school boys stood in the middle of the sidewalk with their bikes strewn around them. When they saw me coming, they stared as if seeing an alien, and were silent as I walked between them with a polite, “Excuse me.” When I was several yards away I heard them whispering and snickering.

I found the river again and walked along it in the opposite direction, past a strip of wetlands, home to a blue heron who stood motionless in the shallows. On a distant bridge, a train rumbled on its journey. A river gull screeched overhead, and then I heard the first peals of thunder. At a nearby house, a dachshund in a backyard began yapping frenetically. The contrast of thunder and dachshund was unnerving, and I hurried my steps back to the youth center. I felt like I had touched something familiar, and the trip wasn’t over yet.

~~~

A Bear in Albuquerque

I met this bear in Old Town Albuquerque. I’m not sure why she so disturbed the balance of my humors, but I just found myself staring at her in befuddlement. Fortunately, my couchsurfing friend Amanda was around to commemorate the moment.

Travel Tip Tuesdays: Five Places You Should Find in Every City

I’ve heard travelers complain that “every city is the same.” Although I’ve never traveled at such a breakneck speed or for long enough to feel that way, I see what they mean. It’s easy to get jaded to what you see. You can view this as a reason to avoid cities in your travels, or as a way to compare and enjoy each one.

No matter where I’ve been, I’ve discovered that there are five elements that I’ve found charming in every city I’ve visited. If you’re traveling in a city, take some time to experience these:

A hurdy-gurdy musician in Bellingham, WA.

1. Public transportation. And no, I’m not talking about a scenic tour where you get all the landmarks pointed out to you. Hop on the bus, the subway, the train or the ferry, and rub shoulders with some locals. Public transit is a fascinating place to people-watch, and helps you get involved in the culture you’re experiencing. You might even meet someone interesting. (One time on a ferry, I met a woman who ended up showing me around her hometown and then taking me to her home and feeding me supper.)

2. A small grocery store. Tourists almost never shop at grocery stores, so, depending on where you are, your appearance might cause a stir. At Stump’s Family Market in Point Loma, San Diego, my sister and I got into a nice conversation with the clerk, who could tell that we were not native Californians. Plus, you should visit here anyway because it’s cheaper than eating out.

3. A public park. If the weather is on your side, find a park and hang out. You might be invited to a game of Frisbee, overhear an interesting conversation, spy on a gaggle of college kids, or run into some homeless people who want to talk to you. 

4. A ridiculously touristy place. Many people seem to abhor tourists, and by extension, tourist districts. On the contrary, I love both the people and their natural habitats. So go ahead— visit that really touristy place, whether it’s the Pike Place Market in Seattle, Pier 39 in San Francisco, or Old Town Albuquerque. Seeing how a town dresses up for the tourists is fascinating and fun.

A touristy area in Balboa Park, San Diego.

5. A place only the locals know about. After you’ve had your touristy fun, escape to a different neighborhood, try to find a local (preferably one walking a dog; they’re usually nice), and inquire about a place that most tourists don’t go. (Or, if you’re couchsurfing, you can just ask your host.) You can also save a lot of money this way. At my cousin’s recommendation, my sister and I took the ferry from San Francisco to Sausalito— a cheap cruise across the bay just as good as any expensive guided tour.

Sometimes, the similar elements of cities can help you appreciate their differences. The wind-whipped park on the edge of Puget Sound in Seattle has a feel completely different feel from the riverside park in Denver; the farmers market in New Bern, North Carolina, is much more cramped and full of corn than the one in Bellingham, Washington. The people are shaped by their surroundings, and vice versa. Cities are wonderful, but don’t forget that people are the most wonderful part of all.

The local university can be fun to visit, too, such as
the Oklahoma University in Norman, OK. 

~~~

Have a travel question? Leave a comment and I’ll answer in another blog.

Places I Miss

For some reason, today I miss Utah.

Travel Stories: Tired Tyler

On my 22nd birthday in the summer of 2011, I was riding in a van on the way to Oregon with my bandmates. It was about five in the morning, and although Amanda and Adrienne were both snoozing, and sleep was tugging heavily on me, I was still awake. Tyler sat at the wheel, barreling down an unlit highway somewhere in the Middle of Nowhere, Nevada. He was headed to Oregon as fast as he could, even if it meant driving through the night.

I squinted at the dotted yellow line stretching out before us into the darkness, vision hazy with sleep. It took me several minutes of staring to realize that the lines were in the center of my field of vision, disappearing under the middle of the van. Tyler was driving in the center of the highway.

“Sir, what are you doing?” I asked.

As if it was the most obvious thing in the world, he answered, “I’m being Pacman.”

“Tyler,” I said, “please pull over.”

He did. He got half an hour of sleep, and then took off on the road again, this time driving in the correct lane. Nothing could keep him from returning to his homeland of Oregon.

~~~

Where to Go: St. Lorenzkirche, Nuremberg, Germany

(Note: The title should properly read “Nürnberg, Deutschland,” but I translated it for you.)

My favorite church by far in the German city of Nürnberg is St. Lorenz. It stands near the heart of the city, rising up with a sense of Medieval majesty that seems unreal. Built in stages from the 1200 to the 1400s, and rebuilt after World War II, it stands as a testament of time that dizzied this young American’s mind.

Should you find yourself in Nürnberg, be sure to take at least half an hour to visit this church. A note in five languages at the door asks for the donation of a euro (that’s barely more than the price of a trip to the restroom). Stroll the perimeter, then sit down in a pew and soak in the atmosphere of another era. Here are a few blurry photos I managed to capture of this glorious landmark.

The Quiet Virtues

“As a prisoner for the Lord, then, I urge you to live a life worthy of the calling you have received. Be completely humble and gentle; be patient, bearing with one another in love.”   ~Ephesians 4:1-2

After a rockin’ party last night (the sparkling apple cider was flowing freely, I can tell you), I woke up in the afternoon today and this was the first thing I read. What a fitting verse to start out the new year, especially since my calling as a wife (and eventually mother) becomes clearer to me. These verses deal with the quiet virtues: humility, gentleness, patience, forbearance— good for each of us to remember in a world that thinks whoever screams the loudest wins. These virtues are expressions not of fear or intimidation, but of great strength. In the new year, may His quiet strength be with you all.

Happy New Year!

~~~