Athens and Istanbul both had great ferries. Athens had a system with boats that looked like cruise-liners while Turkey’s boats were more ferry-like, but they both were effective and enjoyable. In addition, Athens boats traveled longer distances instead of just over the Bosphorus in Istanbul. Given my positive ferry-riding experiences in these two countries, Dr. Derek Shepherd may have had it right when he chose to work in Seattle because of their ferry boats. A daily commute that includes a short ferry ride could be enjoyable (as long as traffic wasn’t an issue).
Before leaving Istanbul, it wouldn’t be fair to us or to the city itself not to go explore the Asian side, so Adam and I hopped on a ferry and ventured over to Kadikoy. Here, we enjoyed a much less touristy experience, good food at a restaurant called Ciya Sofrazi, and a fun network of lively, filled streets. From this journey over to Kadikoy, we can now better appreciate the fact that one city is built on two different continents. That said, the area still had a more Turkish than Asian feel, and based on the shear number of Turkish flags (which we have seen all over the city hanging from almost every building), there was no question that we were in Istanbul first and Asia second.
Walking around Istanbul, barber shops with men receiving haircuts and shaves are a popular site. I have gone about 10 days without shaving and my hair is the longest its been in months as my pre-Nepal trek haircut in Bangkok was not too short. Instead of buying a new razor to replace the electric one that I blew out because it couldn’t handle the correct voltage, I venture into one of these shops, haggle with the barber, and sit down for a close haircut and even closer shave.
The haircut is as expected as the barber grabs an electric shaver and guard, cuts my hair to all one length, and adds a little fade on the sides while cleaning up the edges. The shave, on the other hand, is a new experience. The best part of the shave is probably at the beginning when my chin and neck are lathered up with warm suds. I then watch to make sure the barber uses a new blade, and sit back as the sharp edges passes over my face. At the end of the shave, the barber gives me a burning alcohol rinse followed by a cooling lotion. Lastly, the barber uses a lighter to singe off my sparse but apparently present ear hairs. At this point, I flinch a bit and we share a good laugh. Looking several years younger and with one my closest shaves, I leave the shop refreshed and re-energized.
Not long ago, I walked through the stadium of the most recent summer Olympics from 2008 in Beijing. Today, I walk through the stadium of the ancient Greek Olympic games. The place where the very notion of the Olympics was born. The track was a little smaller and the stadium held less people than in Beijing; however, without this stadium and this tradition, none of the other Olympic games may have occurred.
As I walk through the stadium, I imagine the athletes that would have competed here centuries ago. My sister introduced to me the idea of the “Normal Guy” when we were watching the games together. The Normal Guy Theory states that the athletes now are so accomplished at their individual sports that even the slowest Olympic runner, the shortest Olympic jumper, or the weakest Olympic weight lifter are so many standard deviations above the mean in their area of expertise that when paired with an average individual or even an individual who would be considered a superior athlete at the high school or collegiate level, the Olympian would be far and away the better. I bring this up now because possibly, many centuries ago, those competing in this stadium were fewer deviations away from average and did not spend the last four years focusing on one specific skill, but instead, were simply talented and athletic individuals who have chosen to compete.
I line up at the starting line and imagine the crowd roaring while waiting anxiously. I sit in the stands in both the standard and the honored seats and pretend a discuss or hurdling event is about to begin. As I walk out of the stadium humming to myself John Williams’ Olympic Fanfare, I smile knowing that the next games are about a year away in London 2012.
Kinsey, a third generation kindle who traveled to China, Southeast Asia, Nepal, and Greece and always a faithful companion and tour guide, died last Tuesday near the Acropolis of Ancient Greece. He was 5.
He died from a one meter fall onto ancient Greek ruins, and although at first glance it appeared that Kinsey suffered no damage from the fall, his glare-free, battery-efficient countenance no longer had that same spark to which his companions had become accustomed.
“Kinsey was dependable, high-energy, and always full of information,” said Andrew, Kinsey’s faithful and always curious travel companion. “I will miss him dearly, and although I may try, replacing him will be nearly impossible.”
In lieu of flowers, Kinsey would have requested that we all send books.
Kinsey was still full of life up to his last hour.
I land in Athens, find a bus to Piraeus Port, and figure out how the ferries operate. I arrive with a list of islands in mind that I might like to visit and learn which island the next ferry will be traveling to. In twenty minutes, there is a ferry leaving for Mykonos Island (one that was on my list), I figure out how to navigate the large, major port of Athens, and am soon on my way to a Greek Island. The ferry boat is less of a water taxi and more of a cruise liner, complete with 5 levels, bars, restaurants, couches and tables. After a windy and sunny four and a half hours, a quick stop at Paros Island, and a snack, I am greeted at the Mykonos port by many trying to sell their guest houses and hotels. I meet Christina from Mama’s Pension, like the sound of the place and the photos she shows me, and I am soon getting a ride in her car to the guest house. The house is run by Christina and her mother, “Mama”, both of whom are very friendly and helpful in providing tips of how to navigate the island. Mama’s Pension is about 2 km outside of town, but Christina gives me and another house guest, Kristen, a ride into the main town in the early evening. I look forward to a relaxing couple days while exploring the island and starting to learn more about Greek culture.
Kristen (from Australia who is currently studying in Sweden) and I explore the city as the sun starts to set, all the while looking for a perfect spot to enjoy a drink and watch the day’s final light. After exploring and photographing the windmills and Little Venice in various parts of town, we settle down at a nice bar called Katerina’s, which is located in Little Venice and has a small west-facing balcony. The food is a bit on the pricey side given our budgets, but we enjoy a drink to keep our seats, and after dark settles in, we move on to a small gryo shop down the street. A gyro is a delicious pita wrap filled with meat from a vertical spit, tomato, onion, tzatziki sauce, and french fries. Because they are inexpensive and my hunger still strong, I go back for seconds. The gyro may have been so good because of the delicious tzatziki sauce with its yogurt, cucumbers, garlic, olive oil and dill. I immediately know I will be searching this place out again before leaving the island.
Pokhara was a nice change from Kathmandu. Calmer, cleaner, and more picturesque, Pokhara was the city from where I began and ended my trek. The Lakeside shops and restaurants were fun, vibrant, and all with a fantastic view, especially when the clouds would cooperate. Just before the trek, it was a bit surreal to watch the Royal Wedding of Prince William and Catherine as the television footage would cut in and out with the electricity.
After returning from my trekking adventure, I had a couple extra days before continuing on to Europe and decided to spend most of that time in Pokhara instead of Kathmandu. The speed and atmosphere of the town was much more pleasant. During this time, I rented a bicycle and toured around the different neighborhoods, visited the Ghurka museum, tried to visit the mountaineering museum (but was turned away by a worker’s strike), and caught up on emails and journaling. In addition, many of the friends I made throughout the trek were still there and we shared stories and dinners. Unfortunately, the day I chose to leave, the bus system employees were striking. I needed to get back to Kathmandu in order to catch my flight the next day, but all buses had been canceled. My only choice was to fly the very short, roughly 30-minute flight from Pokhara airport. The strike affected more than just buses as it was impossible to find any transportation to the airport, so I had one final trek as I walked to the airport alongside Bill and Susan from San Diego from my hotel who were also doing the same thing.
In the terminal while waiting for my flight, I had the small world experience of running into a couple who lives only 15 minutes away from me in the San Francisco Bay Area. Setareh and Salvador were very friendly and talking with them made the short wait and even shorter flight literally and figuratively fly by. When we boarded the plane that seats maybe 20 people, the captain soon emerged and started by saying, “Unfortunately, the flight has been delayed…”. I held my breath waiting for him to say because of a strike and then it would be almost impossible to get back to Kathmandu, but I was relieved when he finished his sentence with “… because of bad weather in Kathmandu.” The weather in Nepal had been changing so quickly that I am confident the wait cannot be too long. Although we were shuttled back into the waiting area, we only had to stall about 20 minutes before re-boarding the plane and taking off.
I always try to manage my expectations so that they can be met or exceeded. However, with the ABC trek, my expectations of Base Camp continue to escalate with every meter gained in altitude. And more specifically, my expectations of sunset and sunrise dominate my thoughts of our final destination. I hope sunrise will be perfect because most mornings thus far have been almost perfectly clear, and greedily, I hope we are lucky for sunset, as many of the afternoons have been cloudy and rainy. Both events exceed expectations.
In the afternoon, a cloud swallows base camp and visibility drops to nothing; however, just before sunset, the clouds part showing off the peaks of the surrounding mountains. The clouds that remain are only additive to the sun’s wave goodbye. The line separating white from gold on the mountains slowly ascends as the sun continues to drop. The blue of the sky, which I thought couldn’t be any deeper, slips to navy, midnight blue, and eventually black letting stars I never knew existed start to appear. Fully half-satisfied, I begin my prayers for an equally successful sunrise in the morning. I predict that such a sunrise would meet my elevated expectations and be a lifetime memory.
Waking up as the sky begins to light and layering myself in wool, down jackets, scarfs, gloves, and anything else that would fit to protect myself against this below freezing weather, I venture outside to find no clouds and a perfectly clear, crisp sky. Despite my finger tips starting to lose feeling because I refuse to put down my camera, I am prepared for something special. I investigate the landscape to figure out what spot to be in and when during the next two hours as the sun would rise above the mountains eventually lighting and warming the Annapurna Sanctuary. Now I have a rough morning plan, my camera, the perfect weather conditions, and a big smile.
The first mountain tip, which sits around 8000 meters high starts to shine like the first candle of many. All heads at base camp turn to respect this first light. Soon the second and third peaks are illuminated and the sunlight starts its journey down to the base of the Sanctuary. We all patiently wait for the warming rays of the sun while trying to keep our hands and noses warm by blowing into cupped gloves. Almost too quickly, the sun reaches the floor of Base Camp and the sky starts taking on that unrealistic blue from the night before. The color in my photos will look as if photoshop might be responsible, but it’s natural. The blue’s richness seem as though it should allow constellations to show through, and although the moon remains very visible, the stars do not. I continue to spin and marvel at the mountains around me until I warm up, take a couple too many photos, and feel ready for breakfast.
The sun performs for us at our trek’s destination making the Annapurna Sanctuary feel like it’s on top of the world.
Days four and five along the trek easily presented the greatest challenge, and luckily, Subash had indicated as such from the beginning. Because of the forewarning, I told my traveling musicians to wait back control-wheel until they were called forward. Day four began with a steady downhill, but after reaching the valley’s river, the climbing began and it was time for some of my favorite artists to make their headphone-jack call. One by one, after receiving their signal, the tunes began playing from headphone left and headphone right. The awards for most motivational, energizing and inspirational probably belong to Michael Jackson and Mika, but Neil Diamond, Paul Simon, Cee-lo Green, Chris Brown, Aerosmith, Black Eyed Peas, Fatboy Slim, George Michael, and Journey also deserve praise. They all started playing on day four, but were kind enough to save some energy for their encore performances the following day.
The lateral collateral ligament (LCL), also known as the fibular collateral ligament, can be found on the outside of the knee connecting the femur to the fibula. Although not entirely sure that this was the ligament at fault, based on the location of my pain, I have chosen to hand it the blame for my discomfort. Uphill was cardiovascularly challenging, but downhill was challenging in most other ways, and especially on my joints. My “extra bone” ankle was sore but okay; however, the lateral side of my left knee was not as okay.
After the first day of descending, my knees were sore, but I hoped by stretching upon arrival and before starting the next morning, I would be okay. I started down the trail on day 7 of my trek and instead of trekking or even just walking, my gait is best described as hobbling. I am soon passed by Tim, Mark and the rest of Team Australia, who take pity on me and offer help. They start pulling out their wrapping tape, scissors, and strong anti-inflammatory medication. I take out my razor in an attempt to shave where the tape will be placed to avoid the unnecessary “waxing” that would occur upon its removal. My shaving was helpful although I know it wasn’t perfect based on the burn I felt when tearing the tape off.
The LCL works with the MCL, ACL and PCL (also located in and around the knee) to provide stability. With my lateral collateral ligament unhappy, the tape would have to help maintain said stability. Two wide strips were placed where the LCL and MCL are located on either side of my patella bone, and two narrow strips were wrapped around the top and bottom holding the thicker tape in place and hopefully locking the knee.
In the end, my knee was stabilized, my pain was lessened, and the final stretch of my Himalayan adventure made much more enjoyable. I owe those days to Team Australia. Thank you! Fortune and luck were again on my side and it’s hard for such a pattern to go unnoticed.
