We are finally getting the New Zealand, Part 2 Blog out! It’s hard to believe it’s been a year since our trip, but going through the pictures now has brought up all the great memories. After all of this time, we are finding this blog fun to write and to share!
If you remember from the Part 1 blog, we left off having boarded the inter-island ferry at Wellington to head to New Zealand’s exciting South Island. With Moby-Canardly (our rented motorhome that looks like Moby the whale and can hardly get up hills) tucked safely in the bowels of the ship and Ned and Kat tucked into the upstairs bar, we were on our way, looking forward to more exploring!
The three-hour ferry ride through the fjords was easy and gorgeous!
On February 7, 2018, we landed in the lovely port town of Picton. We wandered the quaint streets, had a nice meal and spent the night (illegally) parked in the town parking lot for $5! In the morning, we discovered the South Island’s talking restrooms…
These bathrooms were a riot. If the electronic sign outside indicates that the stall is available, you open the door and enter. You are then greeted by a voice saying “Welcome. You have ten minutes until the door will be unlocked!” Then loud Barry Manilow elevator music plays while you stress over your allotted ten minutes! Everything from the toilet to the water faucet spoke some message to me; it was all very high tech, but just a little creepy!
Our destination for the day was Riwaka, several hours east of Picton where our good friends, Taylor and Christine live…but first, we were informed that we HAD to have lunch at the Mussel Pot in Havelock on the way to Riwaka. The famous, green-lipped mussels were incredible!
The scenery along the way was spectacular, but we did notice quite a lot of logging going on (we heard later that it is quite controversial). Because of the large amount of rainfall and the sub-tropical climate, everything here grows rapidly. But, unlike in Oregon, we really didn’t notice any new and/or sequential forest plantings. Hmmm…
Many hillsides were clearcut like this.Once in Riwaka, we enjoyed several very relaxing days hanging out with Taylor and Christina. Here we are taking a swim in the beautiful Motueka River.
Taylor shared one of his favorite spots with us…the Abel Tasman National Park, where we took an awesome hike…
…and a swim in the crystal clear waters of the Tasman Sea!
We found these giant hedge-rows fascinating and wondered how they were all kept so nicely trimmed…’till we saw this operation! These hedges are widely used in New Zealand to protect fragile crops (like kiwi fruit) from wind damage.
Wow! “The World of Wearable Art!” The WOW Museum in Nelson was such a treat, and another inside tip from our local friends. We had never heard of it, but evidently the concept is known internationally and was started right here on the South Island. Artists from all over the world are invited to participate by spending at least a year creating incredible “wearable art.” The culmination is a fashion show of sorts, where the participants are judged and winners announced…but the real thrill for the artists is being able to see their masterpieces on stage, paraded around by some of the most renown models in the world!
Every piece was amazing and creative…materials being a cornerstone of the work. We saw everything from inner tubes and valve stems to brilliant stainless steel. The one above is all postage stamps from around the world!
The best part for Ned was that the WOW museum was attached to an antique car museum. Guess where each of us spent most of our time!
We had a fantastic visit with Taylor and Christina, who had moved to New Zealand several years ago from Southern California. It was really fun catching up and having locals take us around to their favorite spots.
We were sad to say goodbye to Taylor and Christina, but ready for more adventure and exploration. Heading south along the spectacular West Coast, we found the roads were windy and circuitous, but in very good condition. Ol’ Moby just kept motoring along for us.
At Cape Foulwind, we were happy to find the weather absolutely perfect. According to the signage, the place was appropriately named, but we lucked out and took a gorgeous hike along this rugged coastline.
Another great scene from our Cape Foulwind hike.
Farther south, we saw a sign for Pancake Rocks and couldn’t resist taking a peak. A short walk brought us to these fantastic rock formations. As you’ve seen in our other blogs, we seem to be attracted to great rocks, and these were some of the best!
Continuing down the West Coast, we eventually arrived at the quaint town of Franz Josef. Unfortunately, we were finding more crowds as we went south and found out that it was the Chinese New Year. As it turns out, New Zealand is a relatively short and inexpensive flight from China! It became difficult to get good photos without throngs of tourists in them, and the roads were jammed with hundreds of other rented motorhomes. It was almost embarrassing to be just another one of them…Oh, Charlotte, where are you when we need you?!
It was a quick, but crowded, hike to the Franz Josef Glacier…and beautiful when we arrived!
After Franz Josef, the stunning scenery continued as we turned eastward into the interior of the island. The lakes were just as beautifully blue as in Patagonia!
We were a bit sick of the crowds when we found this quiet, secluded lake quite by chance! Lake Ohau was just enough off of the beaten path to give us a much-needed break from humanity.
It was lovely, but WINDY…
…and we were exceptionally happy to have our trusty Moby-Canardly where we could enjoy the scenery, get out of the wind, camp for free by ourselves…
…and eat what had become our favorite, easy, New Zealand dinner…salad with bag lettuce, avocado, tomato and oil and vinegar…made and eaten right in the bag…
…and New Zealand’s famous smoked salmon (albeit farmed) eaten right out of the bag. Our water conservation ways from long months in Charlotte have never left us, and any way to keep from washing dishes is great with us!
From our quiet respite at Lake Ohau, we set out once again to face the other tourists; all of us vying to visit New Zealand’s awesome attractions. Our next stop was Mt. Cook (seen off in the distance).
Remember Bev, our trusty stuffed penguin mascot? She’s still with us, enjoying New Zealand’s spectacular scenery, too!
We parked at the Hooker Track trail head and headed out on the 6.6 mile “hike” to the foot of Mt. Cook. Having been on some crazy, remote hikes around the world, Ned and I found this a little white-washed for our taste. In order to ecologically tolerate so many footfalls and to allow a wider range of hiking abilities, the entire way has been “paved” with a smooth, gravel walkway (there were even baby strollers along!). It was also insanely crowded with literally hundreds of other tourists. We had to run nearly the whole way to get past the slower moving masses. The suspension bridges were especially fun to run on… (trying hard, of course, not to bounce our fellow tourists into the river. Ha!).
Ah, a moment alone on the trail.
A glimpse of the spectacular Mt. Cook with tourists…
…an even nicer view without tourists! Mt. Cook is 12,200 ft. In elevation and well worth shimmying through the crowds!
The hike ended at the glacier, which is just behind the glacially-muddy lake!
The park wanted a whole $23 to camp among the throngs, so we drove a bit down the road, just outside the park boundary, and pulled over in a large turnout area well off of the highway. We tucked in for the night, loving the sunset on the mountain and the quiet. We were eventually joined by four other noisy, “copy-cat” campers, but at least it was free!
Back home, Ned had shown me a faded old photo of a cool, stone church, which he had visited in 1982. He said it was all by itself on the shores of deserted Lake Tekapo. We were excited to return to the spot and see The Church of the Good Shepherd. Once again, everyone else was there to see it too. In fact, the entire lake shore surrounding the church, once windswept grassland, is now developed with restaurants, gift shops, hotels and condos. The parking lot was filled with cars and tour busses, and it was impossible to get a photo without people in it. Wow, times have changed on this poor, over-loved island!
I had just a split second to get Ned alone with this well-deserved tribute to the working dogs of New Zealand.
Heading further eastward toward the coast, around the town of Geraldine, the scenery was classically bucolic, the rugged coastline and glacial mountains giving way to lovely, rolling green hills and agriculture.
We even saw several farms where deer are raised!
Our next destination was Temuka (just north of Timaru), where our friends, George and Suzy own an 800-head dairy. Back in the ‘80s, Ned was introduced to the Leslie family by a fellow traveler. George’s parents, Bill and June took him in and put him to work on their then, 200-head dairy farm. He formed a lifelong friendship with the family and a highlight of our current trip was to spend time on the farm and visit with son George and his wife Suzy, and maybe get our hands dirty with a little farm work. We were thrilled to be away from tourists and to jump in to regular New Zealand life with helping hands! George showed Ned how to operate this tractor, and I got to ride along while he plowed a good portion of this field.
George with his cows.
Chasing cows on quads and plowing fields…we had a blast. Of course, we didn’t have to get up at dawn every day, rain or shine, to do it!
George’s dairy operation was impressive! These are the girls waiting to get in to the milking barn…
…which is set up on a turn-table! The girls step on, one-at-a-time…
…then get hooked up…
…and take a spin around the turn-table, being mechanically milked while eating hay the whole time…and then get un-hooked and spit back out!
Milk is literally flowing through all those pipes!
This is the big Fonterra milk processing co-op, just down the road from George and Suzy’s place. Each farmer buys shares in the plant equal to the number of cows they are milking; if they want to add more cows to their operation, they have to buy more shares. Seems to be a favorable system for everyone!
George and Suzy also took us to a Wallaby preserve, of all things! Wallabies have become a huge nuisance animal, a hazard to agriculture. A single wallaby eats four times as much grass and crops as a sheep, so they are hunted and trapped along with possums, rats and ferrets. The very controversial chemical, 1080, is currently mass-sprayed to kill vermin.
…but this is Gwen, who loves and rescues hundreds of them. Gwen was an absolute riot, telling Ned a dozen times that he needed to cut his hair!
After visiting, we could see why Gwen loved them so much; they were adorable! We could also tell (by George’s attitude toward them) that they really are a problem for agriculture.
George and Suzy look on…but, actually, they were enjoying feeding and petting them too.
Having left George and Suzy’s farm, we headed south down the east coast…our destination now was the southern-most tip of New Zealand. Along the way, we stopped for more fun wildlife encounters.
Bev was so happy to finally see her penguin relatives! Bev was not, however, very impressed by my bad penguin impersonation.
Another cool spot, the Moeraki Boulders, was also jammed with tourists. Our photos below make it look like we are all alone, but it took some time and effort to have it look that way!
The placard told us that the spheres were started as tiny pebbles or shells 55 million years ago, then buried in mud, while lime was deposited slowly and evenly around the shells and pebbles over time, creating these amazing formations.
More exploration on the East Coast led us to this unpretentious looking building…
…which turned out to be a famous and fabulous restaurant!
Fleur’s Place!
More classic New Zealand scenery as we wandered southward.
Another random stop led us to this great beach hike and the Isas cave.
We enjoyed some fun tide pool exploration.
The giant seaweed looked like spinach pasta!
It was so nice wandering the nearly empty beach!
By now we were getting really good at finding hidey-holes for camping! We hadn’t paid for an RV park or camping place since early on the North Island!
We made it! Slope Point…southern-most point in New Zealand! Now we have driven from the top of the North Island to the bottom of the South Island! The latitude is pretty far south here, so we were now donning some warmer clothing.
In the very southern town of Invercargill, we made one of the greatest discoveries ever…E. Hayes & Sons…a very cool, antique car and motorcycle museum inside a huge and fabulous hardware/gift store! And to top it off, the main feature was…The World’s Fastest Indian! Yes, Burt Monroe (remember the movie with Anthony Hopkins?) lived in Invercargill, spending twenty years modifying his 1920 Indian motorcycle for speed. Ten times he traveled all the way to the Bonneville salt flats in Utah, setting three speed records (one of which still holds today!). Here, in this most unsuspecting of places, is the impressive display of all of Burts efforts, including an enormous “wall of shame” with all of his broken and failed parts.
This is the “shell” Burt built to go over his Indian to improve speed and stability.
We loved the cool, old, antiques displayed among the mundane auto and hardware items!
Heading back north again, but on a different route, we arrived at the wildly-touristy Queenstown. The town is beautifully nestled on the shores of the lovely Lake Wakatipu, but once again, we found ourselves mired by the throngs.
Ned, once again reflecting back, told me that this kiwi statue was out on the beach by itself last time he was here. Now it is surrounded by a giant riverboat and dozens of restaurants and shops.
Another Ned must-do, take a thrilling jet boat ride up a rocky gorge! Ok, that was well worth the visit; very fun!
Any of you remember hearing about the earthquake that nearly destroyed the city of Chistchurch in 2011? Seven years later, the devastation is still highly evident. Christchurch is the largest city on the South Island, with over 400,000 residents, and it was incredibly sad, but still heartening to see the vast efforts being made to replace or restore the 1,500 buildings lost in the quake. Controversy also abounds as the debate rages between the final destruction or restoration of the city’s heart and epicenter…the Christchurch Cathedral.
Shipping containers seemed to be all the rage in Christchurch…some were stacked high, holding up entire buildings, while still others were set up as (temporary) shopping malls, appropriately named…Container Malls!
Coincidentally, our friends from Canada, Art and Kathy were on the South Island at the same time we were there. Kathy is a talented musician and had been asked to perform some concerts with the famous New Zealand guitarist, Graham Wardrop (his fabulous music is available on iTunes and other music apps). We met up with them at Graham’s home outside Christchurch and were treated to several very special, private concerts!
A backyard BBQ with good friends, complete with a private concert. This was certainly one of the highlights of the trip! There is just something wonderful about absorbing soul-deep music in an intimate gathering, and we were so blessed to have Graham and Kathy share their heartfelt passion for music with the two of us.
In Kaikoura, on the north-east coast, nearly at the end of our seven-week sojourn, we were treated to yet another magical highlight…a dolphin encounter! Not tame, domesticated dolphins, but wild ones! We boarded a small boat at 5:30am and were motored an hour out into the open ocean. Then, at first light, we donned wet suits and snorkel gear and plunged into the cold water…only to be surrounded by dozens of playful and quicksilver fast dolphins. The experience was dream-like and special beyond description. We spent nearly two hours with these incredible animals as they darted and spun around us, mere inches away! That was definitely a “Pinch me. Did we really do that?” moment!
Looking at the photos, a year later, has reminded us of how many great memories we made in New Zealand. We were disappointed by the growth and crowds; Ned had wanted to show off the quaint, rural Islands he fondly remembered. But it is still an incredibly special place, and we were greatly enriched by our seven-week visit. Up next…Ned and Kat are racing in Mexico (twice!). In March we will be doing a 5-day, off-road race on the mainland and in April another 5-dayer in Baja! We still harbor dreams of taking Charlotte to Europe, though, so stay tuned!
Hi Everyone,
Greetings from New Zealand! As mentioned in our last blog, Kat and I are on a seven-week adventure down under in beautiful Kiwi country. New Zealand is made up of two long, kidney bean-shaped islands which are kind of stacked one on top of the other, forming “north” and “south” islands. Here is a shot flying in to the capital city of Auckland, located roughly 2/3 “up” the north island.
Since we are only here for seven weeks it was kind of pointless to ship Charlotte here, even if we’d wanted to. New Zealand laws regarding the temporary import of vehicles would have never let her into the country. She is too dirty! NZ is very strict regarding any foreign dirt, dust, spores, bugs, etc. entering these remote islands, polluting their fragile ecosystem. The funny thing is, ever since humans first set foot here a thousand years ago, they’ve been screwing up the island’s ecosystems to the point where today, for example, 90% of the original wetlands have been destroyed, and many of the flightless birds, unique to New Zealand, are extinct. Only in the last thirty years or so has a conscious effort been made to reverse the trend. So, Charlotte, with her South American dust cooties behind her door panels, in her headliner and stowed away deep in her frame rails, would be a potential eco-nightmare for this already eco-ravaged country!
So, what is a van-livin’ couple to do? We found a cool website called ShareACamper. It’s like an Airbnb for RVs. We rented this stylin’ 1997 Fiat Ducato-based motorhome, or campervan as they are called down here, from a nice gal in Auckland named Sally. We named it Moby Canardly ‘cause he is kind of a big white whale and can-hardly get up hills! But, as I write this, after covering 2,000 miles of the north island, ‘ol Moby has been good to us, with trouble-free mechanics (are you listening Charlotte?) as well as providing us with cozy living quarters, complete with a shower, indoor cooking and couches to sit on (hope Charlotte’s not listening!).
Here I am in Sally’s kitchen going over the particulars on Moby. Looks like she’s chewing me out, but actually, she is a very nice lady, and the whole rent-an-RV experience has been a great way to go.
Downtown Auckland with the city’s famous Sky Tower dominating the skyline.
It is the tallest structure in the southern hemisphere.
As the city’s focal point, all tourists are drawn straight to the base of the Sky Tower…
…and sucked into the ticket office and up the elevator…
… to stand on the thick glass panels in the floor and take pictures looking down roughly 720 feet!
Wandering the streets of downtown Auckland, we were serenaded by these rockin’ Krishna folks.
Hanging out in the Viaduct Basin district where all the cool bars and restaurants are. This posh area was built along the city’s waterfront when NZ hosted the Americas Cup sailing races in 2000.
When in NZ you eat lamb, and what’s better than a big lamb shank?
Drawn back to the tower for a night shot.
First breakfast in NZ… had to order the biggest thing available! We’ve been blown away by the freshness of the food, the ease of finding gluten free items on menus and the overall made or grown in NZ vibe to the food chain.
True to Ned and Kat form, we figured out early that you can pay 5 bucks to park all night in a city car park. No “no camping” signs, so perfect cheap city accommodations!
Meet “Bev,” the Ned & Kat travelin’ penguin mascot. We found her face-down in an aisle, far from the toy section, in a “Warehouse” store. (NZ’s version of Wal Mart.) She was lost and scared so we scooped her up and are taking her for a ride. I asked the nice older lady at the checkout stand what her name was. She said, “Bev,” in a classic Kiwi accent. I told her, “that’s our new penguin’s name!” She was flattered…I think.
Practicing selfies on one of the many gorgeous beaches lining the entire coast of this unique country.
Bev sees cows for the first time; quaint pastoral scenes abound as we roam the countryside.
This is a Kiwi bird and its egg, stuffed, because you’ll rarely see one in the wild. They are nocturnal and almost extinct due to introduced rodents like possums and rats that have wiped out most of New Zealand’s flightless bird species.
This is a quarter scale replica of the Endeavor, the boat in which British explorer, James Cook, “discovered” New Zealand in 1769. 700 years earlier the Maori peoples from Polynesia had settled the islands, rowing here in long canoes.
Really incredible scenery…
“Be right, stay left” the Kiwis say. Hmmm…is that positional or political?
“Best fish and chips on the north island,” we were told…and they were right! The restaurant offered three different types of enormous chunks of caught-that-day fish. Of course, we had to try them all and happily pigged-out while enjoying this fun, over-the-water view.
Different way of thinking down here…watch out or get run over!
There are still more sheep in NZ than people!
Jones-ing for a 4X4 while checking out 90 Mile Beach.
Cows with sand dunes. Don’t see that every day.
Cape Regina lighthouse. This is about the furthest point north you can go in New Zealand.
Tormented oceans. This is the confluence where the Tasman Sea and the Pacific Ocean come together.
Kat on a rock.
Sand surfing seemed quite popular up north. Take a Boogie Board, climb up a huge sand dune following a whole line of other people, and slide down without hitting each other. We took a pass.
Some of the whitest sand dunes we have ever seen were off in the distance.
The giant Kauri Trees are endangered, but are now revered and protected. This particular tree is 2,000 years old and is named “Tane Mahuta.” In Maori cosmology, Tane was the ‘giver of life.”
Crazy, big ferns lined the little back roads we love to follow.
Tourist Adventure Thrill Time.
We spent the big bucks and signed up for a five hour “extreme” adventure in the Waitomo Glow Worm Caves in the central part of the north island. Donning wet suits, helmets and climbing harnesses we first repelled 100 Feet down into a tiny “birth canal” hole in the ground.
We emerged into a huge cave system with a river running through it. Trading our climbing ropes for inner tubes, we were instructed to jump off a tall ledge into the river.
During the next three hours we swam up and down the river in the tubes, rode zip lines into new parts of the cave…enjoying an incredible, celestial-like view of magical glow worms…
…took fun photos…
…climbed up huge waterfalls (tall people advantage)…
…or drowned climbing waterfalls (short people disadvantage)…
…and crawled through super tight little tunnels (short people advantage).
Hours later we crawled through our last tight tunnel and emerged into daylight. Overall, it was a very worthwhile tour and adventure.
Old Friends Visiting Time.
Lorne DePape and I crossed the entire continent of Africa, together with 19 other crazies in a large 4X4 truck, back in 1980. We have kept in touch ever since. He and his wife, Carol, emigrated from Canada to New Zealand 26 years ago. They graciously hosted us at their beautiful beach house in Hahei Beach along the eastern coast of the north island for several days.
Just south of Hahei Beach is Hot Water Beach. Laughing, Lorne said we had to check out the “lemmings” on this beach at low tide. Seems there are hot thermal veins of water that run beneath the sand in one particular spot. Every day a large congregation of tourists form on the beach.
They bring shovels, dig holes and practically sit on top of one another, soaking in the sandy, hot water.
Voyeurs
Also on the agenda for the weekend we were in Hahei beach was the Leadfoot Festival, a car race up the long, winding driveway of retired, international-famed, race car driver Rod Millen. Millen, a native Kiwi, has put on the event for four years with, as we learned, mixed feelings from the local townspeople. Understandingly, many of them don’t like the noise and crowds the race brings to the area. When this “petrol-head” announced he was going to the race, while attending a local’s cocktail party the night before, I was met with several “greenie’ comments regarding my choice of entertainment!
Another attraction in the Hahei area is Cathedral Beach. We had a nice hike to this scenic spot, along with plenty of other people who had the same idea. It is late summer here and tourist season is at its highest right now. We have been assured by many that things will slow down next week when all the kids go back to school.
More Tourist Attractions.
In Rotorua we splurged for a canopy tour above the rain forest on zip lines.
Fearless!
Tucked up for a landing.
Graceful!
Dufus.
Momentarily out of the rain forest and rolling down the “desert Highway’ toward the South Island.
We are filled with great memories of the North Island and are looking forward to checking out the next island.
“Not so fast!” Moby Canardly said, and gave us a massive blowout just north of Wellington, the city where we catch the ferry to the south.
This nice, ex-pat Dutch Farmer immediately stopped to see if he could help us. Finding the jack and lug wrench in Moby’s bowels was a project. Oh, for Charlotte and her full tool kit about now.
We could just about see the air in the spare tire provided so we decided buying two new tires would be a good idea. We camped in the parking lot of the first tire store we came to. In the morning the guys hooked us up with new rubber. We kept the ten-year old left rear as a spare, dumped the toasted spare and shredded, right rear flat. We have found everyone in any trade industry job here to be super friendly and the tire guys were no exception, despite us waiting on their doorstep at 7:30 am.
The Big Ferry to the South Island.
We loaded Moby Canardly at 2:30pm for the three-hour ride to the next phase of our adventure. Stay tuned for our continuing adventures in Part 2 of Ned & Kat’s Down Under Adventure!
Last November, Ned and I spent three weeks in Israel, followed by four nights in Paris. It was an incredible trip, and I had taken 1,500 fantastic photos. Then, on our final day in Paris, just outside the cathedral of Notre Dame, I did the unthinkable…I set the camera down to put on a jacket, got distracted by some street performers…and walked away from it. It was mere minutes before I remembered, but the camera was long-gone. I felt awful for weeks; the loss of the photos weighed heavily, and I could not picture how a blog would be possible. Now, with the pain of the loss fading and our trip to New Zealand coming up…tomorrow…I feel compelled to share just a bit of our rich experiences and the very few cell phone pictures we managed to scrounge together (thanks to Ned and our Israeli friend, Ilan). So, lets consider this a mini-blog (by Ned and Kat standards), just a little taste, and we will carry on as usual with lots more stories and better photos from New Zealand!
August 1982; Haifa, Israel
The ship pulled away from the dock, and I watched, tears streaming down my face, as the beautiful Mediterranean city of Haifa grew smaller and smaller. This time, my impatient, itchy feet had led, not to adventure, but heartbreak. I was on a two-month, solo backpacking trip through Europe which had landed me, eventually, in Israel, where my sister had been living for the last year. The plan was for her to leave Israel when I arrived, so we could travel through Greece together. The hitch was – she did not want to leave yet, and after just a few days in Northern Israel, I grew restless. I booked myself on a ship out of Haifa for the following week. During that week, however, something changed – I fell in love with Israel, the people, the history – and have been trying to get back ever since…
Flying in to the beautiful, “White City,” Tel Aviv
November 2017; Tel Aviv, Israel
For those of you who followed our blog through South America…do you remember the Israeli couple, Ilan and Dalia, fellow VW Syncro travelers, who we met in Southern Colombia? Having stayed in touch with them these past years (they even stopped by our home on their way to Alaska), we made the decision to do a fly-in trip to visit them in their home country. Due to geo-political reasons, it would be impossible to drive to Israel on our future Europe-in-Charlotte tour, but I really wanted to return, and Ned had never been; a destination trip made the most sense.
Ilan and Dalia met us at the Tel Aviv airport with a hand-drawn picture of Charlotte instead of a placard with our names! From that time on, they spoiled us beyond belief, taking us in and being the most amazing tour guides we had ever had.
Two nights spent at Ilan and Dalia’s beautiful home in downtown Tel Aviv gave us lots of time to explore the city by foot, enjoying the modern bustle, the lovely beach…and fantastic restaurants!
Before we left, my brother, David, had recommended the Netflix film, In Search of Israeli Cuisine. We really enjoyed the film and eventually ate at three of the restaurants highlighted in the movie. Israel now enjoys a rich blending of Jewish Ashkenazi from Europe, Mediterranean and Middle Eastern foods which has really come together only in the last fifteen years. With a history of reclaiming farm lands from swamps and desert, Israelis are sticklers for fresh, locally grown foods…and it shows. Every meal placed in front of us included plates and plates of gorgeous, colorful and flavorful “salads.” As a cook, myself, I found the experience mind-expanding and ordered two Israeli cookbooks!
Ned turned the big 60 while we were in Israel, and our plan was to actually be in Jerusalem. I had asked Ilan to pick a special restaurant for the occasion, and he did not disappoint. This place, Machneyuda, turned out (by coincidence) to be one of the main highlights in the film, and we loved every moment and every bite. That is us, way in the back! I would have loved to have shown you better photos, but alas…
We spent two nights in Jerusalem, visiting, not only the Wailing Wall (the remains of the Jewish temple destroyed by Romans in 70 CE) (pictured), but also the epic Christian sites – Jesus’ last supper, his arrest, his final walk and crucifixion. It all gave me chills – in every place I could just feel the weight of the past – both the bitter struggles and the major turning points in human history. We also visited the Dead Sea Scroll Museum, which was mind-boggling…here is a side note:
Hebrew was revived in the late 19th century by a man named Ben-Yehuda and is the official language of modern Israel. Ilan told us that it is so pure, that any college student can read the Dead Sea scrolls, written over a thousand years ago. English is definitely a second language in Israel, and not everyone speaks it. Having a national language has been one of many crucial reasons the nation, at only around seventy years old, has been so successful.
Ilan and Dalia were a wealth of knowledge and history, touring us through the Jewish, Christian and Muslim quarters of the old, walled city and explaining both the history and the modern politics; it was all incredible. Outside the walls, however, the Uber modern city of Jerusalem is just gorgeous, sporting not only Israel’s beautiful Capitol buildings, but also many fantastic restaurants and museums.
From Jerusalem, we drove eastward where Ilan caught us smooching on the shores of the Dead Sea! The Dead Sea is aptly named. At 400 feet below sea level at the surface and 800 below at its depth, sitting on a layer of salt 10 kilometers deep, the sea is 34% salt. To put that into perspective, normal ocean water is less than 10% salt! The Dead Sea Scrolls were found hidden in caves just to the west of where this picture was taken.
Heading south, we visited the ancient, tragically historic site of Masada where nearly one-thousand Jerusalem Jews had fled after the temple was razed by the Romans in 70 CE. The Romans found them and laid siege to the thousand-foot mesa for several years, building a circumference wall and eventually raising a ramp (using Jewish prisoners of war) to the top of the mesa. The Jews eventually made the horrific decision to commit suicide, and the heart-rending story has been re-told in literature and films. Once again, I found myself, not only in awe of the weight of history, but also incredibly fortunate to have, as Jewish ancestors, some of the few who actually survived these and other brutal times.
From the Dead Sea, Ilan drove us south to the city of Eilat, where we stayed the night in a kibbutz. In the morning, Ilan and Dalia dropped us off at the border crossing to Jordan at Aqaba, and Ned and I took off on our own to visit the World Heritage site of Petra.
Petra, built by the Nabateans (nomadic Arabs) somewhere around the 4th century, BCE was a major trading hub along the incense and spice routes heading to the Mediterranean. For more pictures (sorry, again) you can do an internet search of Petra…well worth it! Petra was literally carved out of the living sandstone, leaving nearly fantastical caves and temples and is currently populated by Bedouins who do a thriving tourist business selling nicknacks and offering donkey-cart, horse and camel rides.
We found amusement along the mile-long walk through the gorgeous slot canyon that leads to the ancient city. These Muslim students had more high-tech video and camera equipment than we did!
This handsome young Bedouin’s voice echoed through the canyon as he sang a haunting melody. We do have a video of him singing for me, but I am not hi-tech enough to post it. Please ask us to show it to you when we see you next; it was wonderful! He also got me to buy three of his not-so-real-silver bracelets.
Guy-liner alert. Or, kohl, as the Bedouins call it, using it to line their eyes. We also found it for sale in the nicknack shacks!
Fantastic, right?! Literally carved out of the cliff face!
We made a last-minute decision to climb the mile and a half to “The Monastery,” arriving just in time as the sun was setting.
We got rides on camels for part of the long trek back, which thrilled me and annoyed the snot out of Ned. The guide eventually cut me loose, and I was able to find the throttle, brakes and steering on the cool creature and had a blast galloping all over the place. We spent one night at a nice hotel in Petra and grabbed a taxi for the two-hour ride back to the border. The taxi ride to Petra had been somewhat sedate by third-world standards, but the ride back…e-ticket. The driver couldn’t have been more than twenty, and, at one point, I clocked him on my GPS app going, with one hand on the wheel, 98mph while talking on the phone. Insane.
Our friends picked us up back at the Israeli side of the border in Eilat, and then treated us to yet another wonderful adventure. Having borrowed a Toyota Land Cruiser from their son-in-law, we embarked on a two-day, four-wheel-drive escapade through the historic Negev Desert, crossing the incense route and enjoying the beauty and the history.
We let Ilan and Dalia have four nights to themselves, and we rented a car, visiting the Sea of Galilee (where I did get a picture of Ned trying to walk on water). We then headed north to the Golan Heights. Maybe it was the constant rain or maybe I was tired, but it was there, in the Golan Heights, with the massive, barbed wired fences along the borders with Syria and Lebanon, the many gun turrets on hills aimed toward Israel and bombed-out buildings dotting the country-side, that I really felt the heaviness of the ongoing wars and conflicts. Just two weeks prior to our visit, Lebanon had lobbed a couple of bombs right where we had driven. The Israeli people live with this constant uncertainty…to never be able to take tomorrow for granted makes for a very different outlook on life.
We eventually meandered our way back to the Mediterranean coast, enjoying the sight of lush, young forests. When the Zionist (the return to Israel) movement began in the late 1800’s, there were no trees left in Israel. As American-Jewish children growing up in the sixties and seventies, we were encouraged to save money in coin folders. When all of the slots were filled, we could send them in and buy a tree for Israel. It was gratifying and impressive to see the now massive forests not only in the north, but also on the west side of Jerusalem.
One of our favorite stops was the walled city of Akko (also called Acre or Acho) on the Mediterranean. One of the oldest cities in the world, Akko has been continuously inhabited for over 4,000 years. What we see today was built by the Ottoman Empire (Turks) and is gorgeous and fascinating. It is a bustling blend of commerce, tourism, Muslims, Jews, Christians and Druze. The markets are lively and beautiful and the restaurants are delicious. We highly recommend a trip through its history with Wikipedia or even in person!
The last of our solo four nights, we spent in the lovely beach town of Netanya (the photo above is a view from our hotel window).
On a nice long walk on the beach at Netanya we met this friendly man who came to Israel in the forties from Persia. We asked him if he was a Jew or Muslim, and he said he was Jewish. He then proudly showed us a photo of himself, on this very beach, as a young, handsome lifeguard!
Our last night in Israel saw us back in Tel Aviv with Ilan and Dalia. We celebrated with a dinner of exotically different and delicious sushi and were pampered some more with a personal ride back to the airport the next day. We just can’t express enough gratitude to Ilan and Dalia for their unselfish donation of time, housing and expert tour guide services! We will never forget and will pass it on any time we can to other fellow travelers.
A note on modern history and politics:
I can sum up my feelings about the existence of Israel with an old Jewish saying I grew up with…Next year in Jerusalem!
Since the razing of the second temple in Jerusalem in 70 CE, Jews, who then fled to many places around the world, have harbored a deep desire to return to the homeland. It is in our culture, our very blood. In light of religious persecution throughout history, especially the holocaust of Nazi Germany, it made sense for fleeing Jews to return. Where else made sense? I am deeply oversimplifying history here, but I think, sometimes, in the face of incredibly complicated human machinations, it helps to think in concepts rather than details.
That being said, I will give you some fascinating details told to us by Ilan, who would consider himself on the left side of politics (for those of you who don’t pay attention to issues like these, please skip ahead to Paris!):
• The Zionist (return to Israel) movement began in the late 1800’s
• In 1948, following the Jewish victory of the first Arab-Israeli war, Israel was declared a nation for the first time in over 2,000 years.
• In 1948 there were 1.3 million Palestinians living in the region, but very little infrastructure. What was there was build by the British during the British Mandate.
• The 600,000 Jews living in Israel in 1948 began to build roads, hospitals, brought water to the desert and drained swamps, developing massive and successful agriculture methods.
• Today, one of Israel’s many Hi-Tech companies, Mobili, which developed an autonomous driving car, sold to Intel for 4 Billion dollars.
• Today there are 8.5 million Israeli citizens, 20% of the Israeli citizens are Palestinians (Muslims).
• There are 1.8 million people living in Gaza (on the Mediterranean) all of whom are Palestinian (not Israeli citizens). No Jews live in Gaza.
• There are 2 million Palestinian, non-Israeli citizens living in the West Bank (a large, bread loaf-shaped section on the west bank of the Jordan River. There are also controversially, 400,000 Jewish settlers in the West Bank (who are Israeli Citizens).
• Ned and I were warned to not go into the West Bank as it would be very dangerous for us. We were really curious, though, and frustrated. From what we understand, it is very rough and not developed much. The people live relatively primitively. We would have liked to have seen it for ourselves.
• The Palestinians have some self-rule; a parliament, government, police, but no military and no international recognition as a nation. Israel, actually, still technically owning the region (having won it in the ’67 war, has ultimate authority there, but mostly stays out.
• The two-state solution, giving the West Bank and Gaza to the Palestinians to develop their own country, is very popular among most Israelis. Most just want peace.
• The West Bank is ruled by the secular Fatah and would agree to the two-state solution.
• Gaza, ruled by Hamas (religious, Muslim Brotherhood) has been the most recent impediment to the two-state solution; they want ALL of Israel and for the Jews to leave.
• There are also some extreme right-wing Jews who mirror these thoughts and want the Palestinians gone, but, while they have some political power, they do not represent the majority.
• The Jewish settlers into the West Bank are mostly the extreme right, and their actions are controversial among the Israeli Citizens.
• The company, Sodastream, used to have a factory in the West Bank, but relocated it under controversial pressure.
• Going all the way back to 1948, when the Palestinians were first offered the two-state solution, and in each of the many negotiations going forward, the Palestinians have rejected it. Being highly influenced by the other Muslim nations, they have been convinced that with enough of an Arab coalition, they could “drive the Jews into the Sea” and be rid of them. But every attempt to do so by full-blow war or myriad attacks has been prevented.
• The Capitol of Israel was originally built in Jerusalem (albeit outside of the walled-city), and it is there today.
• The American embassy is in Tel Aviv. The controversy is not where the Capitol is but whether it should be globally recognized and should the embassy move to the city where the Capitol stands.
I know that some of you don’t care at all and don’t follow the politics of the region. I also hear a lot of what I would consider to be un-truths being reported in the media and that you hear it too. I won’t give you a concluding opinion, though I’m sure you can guess where I stand. I do highly recommend, for those who want some eye-opening and fascinating information to read the following books:
• My promised Land by Ari Shavit
• Exodus by Leon Uris
• The Source by James Michener
• Things that Matter by Charles Krauthammer
From nearly the beginning of mankind, the region that Israel encompasses has been a crossroads of conflict, culture, trade, religion and human development. Its history is complex, intricate, often confusing and always controversial. James Michener called it a “Focus of Forces.” Here, the Mesopotamians fought the Egyptians, the Phoenicians and Philistines opposed the Syrians, the Greeks had it out with the Persians and the Romans went against the Parthians, Jews and eventually Christians. Then there were the crusades. All of this happened in tiny Israel, a country not much bigger than the state of New Jersey.
To visit there today is an incredible experience. In the face of millennia of conflict and nearly surrounded by the gun turrets of Egypt in the South, Jordan on the west, Syria on the northwest and Lebanon on the north, Israel is now a thriving, contributing member of first-world, developed nations and is worthy of a visit in person, or at least a little bit of research!
Now, on to Paris!
I first visited Paris on my solo trip through Europe in 1982 and had very little money, slept on the trains and ate in no restaurants, living on street food. Ned was determined to show me the real Paris this time, and we did have a blast. It was freezing cold and rained every day, but we still managed to walk miles and miles, taking in the sights of this gorgeous city and eating delicious meals…in fabulous restaurants!
The Arc de Triomphe…
…the Eiffel Tower (which we climbed to the top)…
…the Grand Palace along the River Seine. Everywhere we looked in Paris was beauty and art…
…the Cathedral of Notre Dame (where I lost the camera!)
…and the Louvre Museum…
We also spent several hours in the Musee de Orsay, which I loved even more than the Louvre. Again, we recommend an internet search or a visit in person, since I don’t have the lovely photos I took to share with you.
Inside the Louvre…
…the Girl, herself! To see these famous, magnificent paintings and sculptures in person is thrilling!
The Winged Victory of Samothrace…and a fabulous way to end this blog!
See you soon from beautiful New Zealand!
All our best,
Kat and Ned
February, 2017
Free Wheelchair Mission – My favorite charity…
For me, what could be better than putting wheels under less fortunate people like the many I have encountered in my travels?
I first learned about FWM back in 2003 when it was a two-year old nonprofit, struggling to deliver its first 1,000 wheelchairs; I have been a staunch supporter ever since. For $78.90, the equivalent of an overpriced dinner for two, one can change an unfortunate soul’s life and the lives of his/her family forever. This past summer, Free Wheelchair Mission gave away its one-millionth chair, thanks to the generosity of thousands of donors over the last sixteen years! To learn more about it, click here: www.freewheelchairmission.org.
Kat and I donate monthly and have attended numerous fundraisers over the years…and have been gifted, in return, with glimpses of recipients during our travels, going about their lives, sitting in their chairs, from Vietnam to Peru. But the best rewards have been the two distribution trips we have participated in; one to El Salvador in 2012 (read the story our Charlottamiles website) and one to Uganda this past winter.
The trip to Africa is the subject of this blog. To see these people up close, to touch them and be touched by them, to view their despair, to smell their lives, to hear their cries, to observe their pain, is an experience beyond humbling. To be able to lift them off the filthy ground and place their havoc-racked bodies into a wheeled contraption, then witness the transformation on their faces as they realize the freedom they have just received, see their pain be slightly relieved and their dignity slightly restored, is priceless. To see the relief on their family’s faces as they roll their burdens away, back to their cardboard-shack neighborhoods, no longer having to carry a son, daughter, brother, sister, grandparent, gives one a different perspective on things to whine about in our cushy American lives.
Africa is magical and the Ugandan people, captivating. Nowhere have I wanted so much to be friends with someone I just met. Their vibrancy, humor and just plain happiness, is something I find missing in the western world. Being with the Ugandan people was like a journey into the soul of what human”kind” should really be all about.
Kat and I spent just ten days last February with these wonderful people. It took four more getting to and from their small, landlocked country in central Africa. We spent three days assembling 250 wheelchairs and two more gifting them to pre-selected recipients, documenting details of their lives and fine-tuning the chairs to fit their new owner’s specific needs. After these intense days, we unwound at Murchison Falls National Park, viewing amazing African wild animals, sleeping in comfy beds and eating abundant, delicious, tourist food. The contrast to the real Uganda we had been immersed in was not lost on our traveler’s psyche. Tourist attractions never reveal the soul of a country.
We apologize in advance for the blurry, fuzzy photos. Our poor, old, trusty, point-and-shoot camera, which faithfully shot all of the Americas, decided to pack it in on this trip. We’re lucky we got the shots we did to share this incredible experience with you. Enjoy…
Ned
After two arduous travel days, we were greeted warmly at the Entebbe Airport by our in-country host’s incredible volunteer teem and were whisked off to our hotel in Ggaba for much-needed rest.
We stayed in Ggaba for two days where we were treated to, not only a heart-felt church service, but also a wonderful native presentation, arranged by our hosts, and performed in the courtyard of their apartment!
As Ned mentioned above, we were overwhelmed by the warmth, kindness and smiles of the Ugandan people.
From Ggaba, we were to travel by van to the town of Iganga, several hours away, where we would assemble and distribute the wheelchairs. Along the way, though, our hosts, led by the fabulous Maureen, offered the chance to visit the SOURCE of the Nile. We were just getting to know the rest of our American team, a family of five (fellow Free Wheelchair Mission donors), and when we all enthusiastically agreed to the side trip, we knew we would be a harmonious group. We arrived at the water’s edge and scampered on to a rustic, rickety little boat for our tour…
The country of Uganda sits partially on the northern shore of Lake Victoria, which is the actual source of the Nile River. The Nile, all 4,258 miles of it, is widely considered to be the longest in the world, flowing north through eleven countries and finally emptying into the Mediterranean Sea in Egypt. Between the geographic and the historical significance of the Nile we all thought that the SOURCE would be a grandiose tourist attraction. Instead, it was an inconspicuous group of thatch-roofed shacks…
…selling a dusty, faded array of locally made crafts. The fellow above was our exuberant, but difficult to understand, boat pilot and guide. And the naked mannequin? She was dis-robed because I bought a lovely dress (not dusty or faded) for my sister!
In spite of the underwhelming appearance, it was a thrill to see, first-hand, the birthplace of the mighty Nile. And the local beer? Ahhhh!
The fun and rest were now over, and our work began. The wheelchairs are made in China and arrive by container ship, individually boxed, but completely unassembled. We seven Americans joined up with the Ugandan team of six and, with perfect unity and coordination, spent two days, sleeves rolled up, assembling 150 chairs…to fulfill 150 dreams of mobility.
Once again, we have to apologize for the photos this time. As Ned said, our Panasonic decided to malfunction badly, causing us to miss many great shots. The photos we did get are edited within an inch of their lives but are still of poor quality. Hopefully, though, you will find the subjects and content as fascinating as we did.
This is Francis Mugwana, a native Ugandan. He and his wife, Adrianne, a Canadian, are the founders of the Father Heart Ministry group in Uganda and were our official trip hosts. Francis was born deformed and has experienced, first-hand, the deep-seated demonization and humiliation of crippled people in countries like his. He has become a strong advocate and champion for the disabled. The Mugwanas employ two full-time people, but most of their team are volunteers. The Father Heart Ministry is Free Wheelchair Mission’s Ugandan distribution partner and is responsible for identifying recipients and arranging the distribution days.
Andrew, on the right is one of Francis’ two full-time employees and was our funny and caring driver for most of our time in Uganda.
The American team (the white people, as we jokingly called ourselves) in the church in Iganga where people would gather to receive their wheelchairs. The assembled chairs are in the background. Lissa and I were allowed to wear shorts for the assembly days, but were strictly told to wear long, well-pressed, conservative skirts for the actual distributions.
Our first assignments on distribution day, were to deliver two wheelchairs to homes of people, who, for some reason were not able to get to the church. The town of Iganga, we were surprised to learn, has a population that is 75% Muslim immigrants, and we were greeted at the first home by a very serious, stoic, Muslim man. The home was obviously very poor, the family’s clothing dirty and tattered, but the dirt on the walkway and courtyard had been meticulously raked in honor and appreciation of our arrival.
In general, we found the Muslims to be much more subdued than others with whom we have worked on other distributions, but Arafat, this ten-year-old recipient was too happy to hide his enthusiasm – as was the rest of the family.
This is fourteen-year-old Mahad…
…and Mahad’s mother who was extremely grateful for no longer having to carry Mahad.
Back at the church, people were gathering…even more than we expected!
The wait was tortuous for some in the scorching heat, while the local politicians were humored and pacified by allowing them to make long, grandiose speeches. Note that many are sitting on the discarded wheelchair boxes. All of these cardboard boxes ended up going to new homes to be repurposed in many ways. What was considered trash to us, was an invaluable resource to these clever, impoverished people.
How can any of us begin to imagine the indignity of being carried, helplessly, everywhere and/or crawling in the filthy dirt like an animal?
And how can we begin to imagine the joy of having a wheelchair of her own, a once impossible dream?
Most of the adults were too proud to have us help them into the chairs. It was agony just to watch, but amazing to witness their courage and strength of will.
We worker-bees were broken into three-people teams, Ned and I working together with a local pastor/translator. Ned fit and adjusted wheelchairs to their new owners while I interviewed the recipients (through the translator) and wrote down their stories, asking questions such as:
“What is your disability?”
“When did it happen?”
“How did it happen?”
“Did you ever dream of, or pray for, a wheelchair?”
“How will it change your life having a wheelchair?”
“Do you go to a church or a mosque?”
“Will you be able to go to school now?”
The stories were heart-breakingly similar; most became deformed and disabled, at around three to eight years old, by either cerebral malaria or by bad polo vaccinations. Nearly all of the disabled and their families had prayed for years for wheelchairs, but sadly, they never really believed they would have one.
Of the sixty to seventy families I eventually interviewed, roughly 80% were Muslim, attending mosques. These people were much more reticent to engage, giving short, unemotional answers to my questions. Some of the men would not even look at me or answer me directly. They would only address the male translator. The distribution we did in El Salvador in 2012 was different to a point that I became distressed, thinking that I was doing something wrong or offensive. Fortunately, I was able to have a quick conversation with Francis’ wife, Adrianne, who told me that was just the Muslim culture and that I was doing fine. I persisted, but, as a highly interactive person myself, continued to find the task emotionally difficult.
Many of the recipients had a tough time expressing how the wheelchairs would change their lives, but a few brought tears to my eyes, saying that now they could sell bananas…or used clothing…or…whatever, on the streets, to make extra money for their families. Some kids would be able to go to school now, but some were just too disabled and could not even speak.
All of the recipients and their families were incredibly grateful in their own way, but for some, the gift was too overwhelming, their pride already too badly bruised to express appreciation. We Americans had brought many bags of clothing to give out, and it was odd to witness how much more excited the people appeared over the used clothes than the wheelchairs. As we were to find out, the Ugandans, in general, dress better than Ned and me (not saying much!). They take pride in their appearance, and dirty, tattered, wrinkled clothes are offensive. The people we served were the poorest in the country, and their grungy, threadbare rags were shamefully embarrassing for them. For new (used) clothing they could, and did, show excitement, but for the wheelchairs, it seemed too big an offering to even comprehend.
It was an intense and exhausting day. We were dirty and, at the same time, both emotionally drained and uplifted. We have seen this level of poverty and filth before, but this time we touched it; we hugged and caressed it and ignored the impending doom of potential disease.
Then, by the end of the distribution day, we faced the biggest distress of all…we had given out all 150 wheelchairs, but still had many, many more disabled souls who had shown up, by unimaginable effort, only to stare at us longingly, knowing they had missed out. As if our hearts had not already been wrenched enough, this was practically unbearable.
Thankfully, Francis is a determined, resourceful man. That evening he sent two of his team members over 200 miles to Entebbe. While we rested, the two Ugandans drove all night on wretched roads to get one-hundred more wheelchairs from a storage unit. Francis had instructed the hopeful recipients to come back tomorrow, but we worried that the trust had been broken and that some would not.
We all met back at the church early the next morning, and with herculean effort, the torment in those people’s eyes driving us, we all (including the two who had driven to Entebbe) pitched in to assemble the one-hundred chairs in a fraction of the time it took us the first days…and more people began to arrive…
This poor sweetie had already been crippled from malaria, but later contracted an eye infection. He was not able to speak for himself, but his mother told me that she had taken him to a witch doctor for the infection and that the ensuing treatment caused his eye to fall out…
…That he could still gift us with such a smile was incredible.
And then there were these two (one above and one below), who, because of their disabilities had NEVER left the dirt floors of their homes. With the noise and commotion of throngs of people, these young girls were terrified beyond comprehension. I am crying now, just as I cried then, remembering their distressing wails of fear.
This one (yes, a fourteen-year-old girl) had even messed her pants she was so frightened…and never stopped screaming.
This eleven-year-old girl had brought her little brother, by herself, by hired “moto,” many miles, to get him a wheelchair. They had no father, and the mother was working and could not come…
…Such a relief to these families.
Hmm…flip-flops worn on the hands, dirt on the knees, feet put on backwards…and smiling…just what was it I was complaining about this morning??
Pride and dignity radiated from this grandmother’s face and through her clean, best dress. We as Americans cannot begin to fathom the pain and suffering she has endured in her lifetime.
This boy had no legs, but apparently did go to school and was a star pupil. He spoke excellent English and seemed highly intelligent. Note the missing buttons on his school uniform and the reserve of the mother.
How shameful for people, especially the elderly, to have to crawl in the dirt. As much as some folks want to complain about our country, no one in America has to face such indignity.
To see such hope and pride on these people’s faces as they begin to realize how their lives can now change is a true gift to us.
This white wheelchair is the Generation I model. Some, like this sweet lady and the one below, could not sit up well enough to be comfortable in the blue Gen II model.
It is sometimes shocking to see such intelligence and “normalcy” in one with such a hopeless body. This amazing woman had little to no control over her badly deformed torso and limbs, but carried on a conversation as if we were sitting and chatting over coffee.
These curious children were not disabled, but watched the goings on with interest…and begged me for some bottles of water (which I did sneak to them).
So now you and/or you loved one has a wheelchair…how do you get it home??
Very resourcefully!
Note all of those cardboard boxes going home, too!
Our final assignment was to bring three wheelchairs to the prison to give to some inmates in need. This is a shot of the women’s side, which we did not visit. We were invited inside the men’s unit (no photos allowed, too bad) which was fascinating and maybe a little frightening. The inmates had been gathered in an outdoor area, sitting on the ground, and we sat on a bench in front of them, not ten feet away, while presentations were made. No security was present, and Lissa and I were the only females. Had a riot ensued we would have been in deep trouble (we found out later that some were interred for rape and murder), but I looked at the faces and into the eyes of those men and saw no malice. I saw openness, curiosity and gladness for their fellow inmates who received wheelchairs, but in the end, felt no threat whatsoever. I can’t even imagine in what other prison that would have been possible.
Now finished with our “work,” we were driven, along with the intrepid Maureen (Francis’ other full-time employee), a full day north to the Murchison Falls National Park.
These are just some street scenes taken from the van along the way…
This friendly fellow used his best smile to beg for money.
Once at the Park, we were able to relax and enjoy ourselves after, what turned out to be, a highly intense and emotional experience. We decompressed, enjoying nice lodge rooms, with great beds and wonderful, plentiful food….
…and several game-watching tours led by the wonderful Sammy.
Come with us now as we drive through the Central African savanna, watching wonderous animals (apologizing again for the poor photo quality)…
Baboon
Warthog
Jackson Antelope are humorously called “food” by the guides because they breed plentifully, but are slow and clumsy!
Giraffes!
Lions!
Water Bucks
(Two) hyenas. Evidently, the females are bigger and lead the packs.
Besides the land tours, we also went on a boat ride up the Nile to see the Murchison Falls…
…where we saw lots of hippos (which can run 70 mph!)…
…and Kingfishers…
…and…I forgot…sorry!
…and crocs…
…and skunk monkeys…
…and elephants!!!
Let’s be wise and never forget how great our lives are.
See you in December when we report on Israel! Stay tuned!
All our best,
Ned and Kat
Hi Everyone!
Welcome to all of you who are new to our blog!
Ned and Kat (and Charlotte!) are happy to announce the publication of our second book, Charlottamiles South and North, Nevada to Argentina to Alaska – A Circuitous Sojourn in a VW Syncro. As most of you know, in December 2013, we took off in Charlotte, our 4×4 VW Vanagon, and spent fourteen months driving to the southern tip of South America. Then in 2016, we racked up another two months on the road, making it to the top of the continent, Prudhoe Bay, Alaska. This book is a compilation of our entire blog (which we posted along the way) and has been formatted into an enormous eBook! It is 2,187 pages and has 2,300 color photos. It is so large that our publisher said we could only offer it through Amazon Kindle or Apple iBooks. Apologies to those of you who still love paper books, but we really are thrilled to offer the blog in a much easier to read format. There are so many large posts that it has been difficult to navigate the blog site! We had a lot of fun reliving the adventures as we went through the publishing process, and for any of you who would like to do the same, just click here for Kindle and here for iBooks.
Both of us feel strongly blessed to be in a position to travel and would love to share our adventures with as many people as are interested in riding along. Please help us “pay it forward” by sharing and writing online reviews.
Below is the published book description:
Follow Ned, Kat and Charlotte (an intrepid 1987 Volkswagen 4×4 Vanagon) as they wander the Americas, turning the 10,000 crow-fly miles from Ushuaia, Argentina to Prudhoe Bay, Alaska into 40,000 circuitous ones. With no route planning, no internet research and a penchant for bush camping and remote, dirt tracks, Ned and Kat’s experiences and unexpected encounters while living on the road will leave you breathless. With 2,300 fascinating photos and plenty of exciting, unpredictable and electrifying stories, you will find yourself along for the ride of a lifetime.
“At 6am, December 21st, right on schedule, Ned and I looked at each other in the pre-dawn dark of the bus, gulped a couple of times and said goodbye to all the comforts of home. The future was now an immense unknown. I felt this crazy fluctuation of feelings bouncing around somewhere between the anticipation of elated excitement and the apprehension of sheer terror. But how incredibly fortunate we were; the road ahead was not so much a black hole as a blank canvas.” Excerpt from Charlottamiles South and North
From the vivid color and vibrancy of Mexico, to the jungles of Central America and the soaring elevations of the Andes, Ned and Kat delve into a rich diversity of people, culture and food with honesty, humor and insight.
“Following Charlotte and her human counterparts, Ned and Kat Bacon, through the Americas is to live a vicarious adventure. Their plan was to “have no plan at all;” simply travel south until they reached land’s-end. During this multi-year trek the trio navigates, in a zigzag kind of way, a gauntlet of third-world challenges with the prowess of a kayaker through Class-V rapids. They seek out the roads less traveled, immerse themselves in foreign cultures, and savor the aroma of street food cuisine. I am inspired by those who step away from the norm, take adventure into their own hands, and let the trip take them in the direction that the wind blows.” Chris Collard, Editor-in-Chief, Overland Journal
While we are shamelessly promoting our books…don’t forget our first one, Saving Charlotte, Fumbling Across America with a Reluctant VW Bus, the story of how we found Charlotte in Hartford, CT and brought her home. This book is more widely available at booksellers like Amazon in both paper and eBook formats and is shorter, but a lot of fun. Below is the published description:
“We drove away in an unlicensed car that we did not legally own, complete with a bashed in front end, a badly cracked windshield, and a headlight propped in with duct tape, a tree branch and a piece of foam found lying on the ground. It was not an encouraging way to start our 3,000 mile journey!”
Ever dream of buying a one-way airline ticket to purchase a sight-unseen, salvage titled automobile and drive it across the country? Join Kat and Ned as they “rescue” Charlotte, an unlicensed, reluctant, but endearing VW Syncro bus who drags her wheels at first, but eventually really gets rolling. Kat and Ned had a vision of building up a Syncro into a cool, capable overland adventure vehicle, dreaming of the advantages of “bus living.” But would the dream turn into a nightmare?
The adventures and mis-adventures are hilarious, turning a four day drive from Connecticut to Nevada into a two week escapade of mysterious mechanical issues, cop-dodging, heat waves, torrential thunderstorms, missing credit cards, and Mississippi mud baths.
Can’t get out of Hartford…Can’t get out of Buffalo…Can’t get out of Elkhart…you can’t imagine what can go wrong on a trip like this! Charlotte balks, spits, sputters and lurches but never stalls, while Kat and Ned persevere, finding that, in spite of her VW idiosyncrasies, Charlotte has a truly endearing soul. They also find that their dream of “bus living” has become an addictive reality.
“Only in a VW Bus would somebody attempt something like this…and get away with it! What a great story! A must-read not only for the VW Bus crowd—but for the wanna- be’s too!”
S. Lucas Valdes – GoWesty Campers
Happy trails for now! Stay tuned for more adventures!
Ned and Kat
From my comfy position, propped up on pillows in the back of Charlotte, I can see the spruce and birch lined gravel road wind ahead of us with Ned, always the road warrior, driving…and driving. The ice capped mountains of Alaska have given way to the endless rolling forests of the Yukon Territory in northwest Canada. The occasional lake dots the landscape, and if I look hard enough I swear I can even see giant mosquitoes whizzing by my window. We are rolling along, heading southeast, on the beautiful, lonely, 350 mile long, Campbell Highway.
East of Ross River (where our infamous Canol Road ends), the Campbell Highway turns to smooth, graded dirt and is one of the quietest and best roads we have ever driven; in fact, last night around 9:30 (yes, the sun was still up) we pulled into a big, flat gravel area next to the road but behind some trees to camp for the night. We spent a peaceful night, got up leisurely, ate breakfast and did exercises. Ned even changed Charlotte’s oil and rotated her tires, and in all that time, not a single person drove by.
Now, back on the road, with a lot of uninterrupted miles ahead of us, this is a great time to reflect back on our trip and write this blog.
Overall, our travels through Canada and Alaska have been, not only gorgeous, but also pretty easy compared to Latin America. The countryside is so wide open that finding places to camp every night has been a breeze, and while we were consistently in bear territory, both black bears and grizzlies, we didn’t have a single close encounter. We were aware that a bear smelling food in Charlotte would be capable of tearing her doors off to get inside, so our best (honestly) preparation was to park facing outward with the key in the ignition, ready to climb in front and drive away if we were awakened by any suspicious noises. Not a single four legged (or two!) critter came sniffing, though, and every night was perfectly peaceful. There were also (unlike Latin America) plenty of opportunities to do runs and hikes, but the threat of a charging mama moose or a hungry grizzly kept us on rather short leashes, and we never did more than a few miles.
The other comparatively easy aspects of our travels north vs. south were language and drinking water. It felt odd but effortless to be talking to new friends without straining to converse in Spanish, and almost everywhere we went, the water was great out of the tap; either well, spring or filtered river water. In Latin America, English was rare and finding good drinking water (to buy) was a constant concern.
Heading to extreme northern climes in May was a bit of a risk, and while many businesses along the way were not yet opened for the season, it turned out to be wonderful for several reasons. First of all, it had been a light winter up here, so the snow was already mostly melted. Secondly, because it was so early we spent most of the time bundled up in winter clothes, which, under normal circumstances would not have been on the plus side. Obviously, we would rather have had the comfort and ease of summer clothes, but I am here to verify that every rumor you’ve ever heard about Alaska’s mosquitoes is true! It really should be their state bird. They swarmed and attacked with lightning speed, some of them nearly the size of hummingbirds (well, maybe not that big…). Winter clothes left it unnecessary to slather up with DEET, for which we were extremely grateful. Having to crawl in bed every night without a shower, covered in sticky, smelly, toxic slime would have been awful!
The final benefit of traveling through Alaska in May was that there were relatively few tourists and not many other vehicles on the roads; by the time we left Alaska in early June, the motor homes were literally pouring in.
Despite the mosquitoes, the scenery up north is absolutely stunning and well worth fighting off the pesky buzz bombers. I could go on and on about the beauty we enjoyed, and I do have lots of photos to show below, but first I want to share our biggest “takeaway” from the trip.
Alaska is rich in history, albeit a rather short one, and the many stories of settling, mining, and homesteading in such an extreme environment got me thinking of our unique American history. We heard tale after tale of brave men and women crossing massive ice fields and glaciers to reach gold claims, of rebuilding entire towns after devastating earthquakes, and of building huge railroad bridges in the middle of winter in record times.
To me, Alaskan (and even northwest Canadian) history embodies the true spirit of our entire country. From the Revolution to wagon trains; from the Wild West, gold rushes and hard working immigrants to the influence of native cultures; I can’t think of another country that can match the American experience, and it has shaped us well. We are free thinkers who cut our teeth on freedom and liberty, and unlike other countries, we have been given the priceless gift of being born into a culture ripe with individualism and a sense of self reliance. Traveling always makes me aware that taking pride in our history and keeping the stories alive for future generations is the best way to pass down our legacy of freedom and preserve our American way of life.
Now, on with our story.…follow along as we take a wildlife/glacier cruise, go dork fishing (us, not the fish), visit a historic copper mill, fly over massive ice fields with a bush pilot, and finally, suffer the worse border crossing ever…
…Speaking of individualism and free thinking…this is my favorite photo from downtown Anchorage, and yes, they do sell lots of fur hats and coats too! (And no, we didn’t buy any!)
We did spend two nights in town, doing the previous blog and taking lots of showers. Finally on the coast, we did find a lot of seafood, but it was very expensive and almost universally battered and deep fried. Seafood chowder is also a local, coastal favorite and Ned assured me it was fabulous!
From Anchorage, we drove southeast along the famous Turnagin Arm, a 45 mile waterway in the northwestern part of the Gulf of Alaska. The Arm is famous for its wild bore tides that form surf-worthy waves as incoming tide meets outgoing. We missed this particular phenomenon, but there are some fun videos on YouTube under Turnagin Arm or Bore Tide.
One of our favorite (and easy) camping hidey holes…not devoid of mosquitoes, but gorgeous.
We were heading toward the Kenai Peninsula, but got side tracked by a sign and a dirt track leading to Hope on the opposite shore of the Turnagin Arm. At this point we realized that we had plenty of time, so we went exploring.
Hope looked a little like a ghost town, but further investigation revealed that it was only in hibernation. None of the three restaurants were due to open until next week, but the owner of the funny little gift shop, Dru kept us entertained for a bit.
Playing in the crazy mud of The Arm outside of Hope…
…and then onward to beautiful Seward on the Kenai Peninsula. Once there, we got ourselves signed up for a wild life and glacier cruise for the next day, had a good meal at The Roadhouse and then went for a night hike!
It was amazing to be doing a technical, rocky hike to a glacier at 9:30 at night, but it was a great way to work off dinner!
The highlight of Exit Glacier is a graphically displayed view of how much the glaciers are receding. Beginning more than a mile below the glacier, year markers begin in the early 1900’s. The sign in the photo shows where it was in 2005. The name comes from being the exit point of the Harding Ice Field which was trekked across by settlers to access the Kenai Peninsula.
This sign showed an overview of how long the glacier had been in previous years. There was no judgment on the interpretive signs implicating whether the melting/global warming was naturally occurring or human caused.
Having spent a peaceful night parked (illegally) in the Exit Glacier parking lot, we embarked on our cruise on this lovely, brand new ship. We did share the journey with a gazillion other tourists, but it was fantastic anyway. Come along and enjoy the incredible scenery and wildlife of the Kenai Fjords National Park…
Seals.
Orcas!
Massive glaciers.
What the heck?! This mama goat was on a thousand foot sheer rock wall, just above the sea. Not really sure why she wanted to be here – except because she could!
Puffins!
Sea lions.
Not a great shot, but an entire school of dolphins escorted us back to port, swimming under the boat side to side and frolicking in front of us. It was incredible to witness their speed as they easily kept up with the ship!
Entering Seward by boat…
Another beautiful camping spot outside of Seward.
From Seward we drove north to the Sterling Highway, then west and south again heading to Homer.
Sadly, these have been pretty common on the roads in southern Alaska.
So many beautiful bald eagles in Alaska!
Charlotte just can’t seem to stay away from Mexico! At the sight of this sign, she pulled straight in to this awesome restaurant in Soldotna.
Enchiladas, gooey cheese, rice and beans beat fried fish and chips any day!
Entering Homer at the very bottom of the Kenai Peninsula.
This shot was taken by our new friend from South Africa, George Ferreira, who has ridden the Dalton Highway to Prudhoe Bay by motorcycle. His blog is: www.riding-the-usa.com.
Homer sits on the Kachemak Bay in the Cook Inlet and is famous for the Homer Spit, as seen in the photo above. The spit is naturally formed, but strong, human made sea walls have preserved it from eroding to oblivion.
The boat harbor out on The Spit.
The countryside around Homer is gorgeous. We spent a day wandering around and eventually drove to the very end of East End Road which winds through lovely, green hills, overlooks the turquoise bay and is surrounded by ice capped mountains.
East End Road ends at the beach at the bottom of an extremely steep dirt track…
…where we found a very reclusive (no photos) Russian village/ranch and lots of coal! The locals still harvest coal to burn in their home stoves.
Evidently there are several Russian Orthodox “Old Believer” villages in the area that were settled in the 1960’s. Generations before, these families had escaped religious persecution from Russia in the early 1900’s, subsequently journeying to China, South America and, finally, Alaska. We heard that they tend to stay to themselves, but we did spot a few women wearing colorful, traditional dresses.
Having just read an autobiography by the singer/songwriter, Jewel, we knew that she was raised on a modern day homestead in Homer, Alaska. We also knew that her last name was Kilcher, and that she is the granddaughter of a Swiss man named Yule, who crossed the Harding Ice field to arrive in Homer in the 1940’s. Yule homesteaded 160 acres in the hills east of Homer and raised his family of eight children without running water or electricity. Jewel, the daughter of one of Yule’s sons, Atz, was also raised without modern plumbing (we have heard that because of remoteness and harsh temperatures, many Alaskans still live with no running water and obtain electricity only via generators). Curious, we Googled the Kilcher Homestead and found two things: First, that it was located right there off of East End Road, and secondly, that the two brothers, Otz (Jewell’s dad) and Otto have a reality TV show called, Alaska, on the Discovery Channel! Of course, we had to go investigate.
Evidently we were not supposed to show up on our own without a tour bus, but one of Jewell’s cousins, Connie, was gracious enough to give us a mini tour. The homestead is now considered a living museum, and is still a working farm. Being such big TV watching fans, we have no idea what the show is all about. Connie, herself, admitted she tends to keep her distance from the cameras and other media goings on as well, but she still gave us a good impression of how life was growing up in remote Alaska in the ‘70s. (that’s 1970’s, not 1870’s!!)
We had fun wandering around the farm in its beautiful setting, and Connie invited us to use the long, steep farm road to walk down to the bay so we could get some exercise. It was a really gorgeous hike!
Walking around the touristy Homer Spit on our first day, we had spent two hours trying to talk ourselves into going deep sea fishing. Neither of us is really patient enough to be interested in fishing, and I had never even held a pole before. Many friends insisted, though, that if we were in Alaska, we HAD to go fishing! We hemmed and hawed, checked out charter companies, and found out about fish processing and shipping. We were told that a whole day charter would be nine hours…nine hours??? Really?? How about a half day?? Ok, we talked ourselves into a half day…just five hours…surely we could handle that. Our fearless leader, Captain Billy, we were assured was “amazing” and that he would take excellent care of us. We forked over $400. Uggg.
At 8:00am, perfectly refreshed from sleeping illegally (again) in the parking lot next to the harbor, we set sail. I had no idea what to expect…
Ned looks like he’s doing just fine; well maybe a little unenthusiastic.
Me? I look like an enthusiastic hog with a wrist watch, but I will share the whole tale via my raw, unedited journal notes…
5/28 Oh boy, goin’ fishing! Never done that before. Really gorgeous day, but our much vaunted Captain Billy was arrogant, unhelpful and looked like a hipster fisherman. Never even bothered to ask our names. Only 10 paying customers, but 3 of his free-riding buddies got all his attention and competed with us for room to fish.
Was kind of weird. They only had two deck hands, Ishod and Doug for all of us. I’ve never even held a fishing pole before and no one showed me. Was pretty puzzling at first. I even told them I never had and would have expected more help, but they were short handed, and our Captain was surely not going to bother with us. There was a mad scramble as poles were thrust at us. Huge chunks of “bait” were skewered on huge hooks and we were set free. I’ve heard it called combat fishing before, but we were assured by the nice folks who sold us the tickets that this was smaller and would not be like that. Sure felt that way to me! Lines kept tangling; I was constantly being told to move up or move down the deck, even with a fish on the line. “Hey, I’m fishing here, leave me alone!” So it turns out there is really no skill involved in this “sport fishing;” the first time my line fumbled out and hit bottom at 100ft (so we were told) something took hold of my line and pulled. Someone (another customer) mercifully told me to quickly flip the bale. “What? What’s a bale?” They reached over and moved a lever which stopped the line from going out more. Ok, so now I have this fish yanking on me. I couldn’t figure out how to hold the damn rod; to keep the fish from taking the whole thing in with it. AND I have to reel it in? Right. I kept pitifully looking for help from our deck hands, but they were too frantic trying to keep up. So I braced the butt of the rod on my belly; this thing must be enormous! That didn’t work; between my legs? Got it! Kind of. I started reeling. I yelled “Fish on!” like I was supposed to, but no one came. I wrestled the rod and kept reeling. Then I saw the fish! I yelled “Color!” like I was supposed to and miraculously, Ishod was there to haul the thing in. We were fishing for halibut, and I could catch one of unlimited size and one 28 inches or under. “What did I get?!!” A cod. Ok, throw it back. “Bait!” I yelled, like I was supposed to, and somehow a hunk of fish ended up on my hook. Well, I’m a pro now. Flip the bale, thumb on the line to keep it from tangling, wait till it goes slack having hit bottom; bale goes back. Wham! Another fish! Ok, reel away. Whew, is this hard. It must be a monster! Captain “I’m too cool to really help” Billy tells me to move again. Really? I have a fish here! But this time I’ve moved up to where I can brace my back against the cabin of the boat, put the rod between my thighs and calmly reel away. “Color!” (I hadn’t bothered with the “fish on”). Doug pulled my fish in and this time it was a halibut! A 28 incher! I had my small one. On to the big one. Bait on. Line in. I had a real rhythm going. Fish on. Now Mr. Bossy boots tells me to move back to where I can’t brace my back. No way. I’m not going. Wrestle the fish. Another cod! But a big one this time. Ok, I’ll keep it. That’s pretty good eating, right? We’re already going to be shipping fish home, right? I am such a good fisher now that I’m catching fish every time I drop my line. I had the deck hands throw back fish after fish, looking for “the big one.” Kept getting 25-27 inchers. Are there really bigger fish down there? How long do I keep trying before I cave in and settle for a second small one? Oh, we have another hour and a half to keep fishing? Game on! Several more small halibuts, then another big cod. Keep that. But where is my BIG halibut? Ned already threw in the towel having gotten a 28″ and a 27”. He just wasn’t groovin’ with the whole thing and was “over it.” Me, no, I’m not tired! Another hour to fish? Bring it on! 10 minutes later my body said “no friggin’ way.” All in all I think I caught 12 fish. My arms were jellied, numb and useless and my back ached like there was a fish hook in it. I “settled” for a 26 incher and gave up my pole. We watched a few other intrepid fishers finish and then the time was up. We weighed anchor and took off back to the harbor, watching, fascinated, as Ishod and Doug (Ishod anyway) quickly and efficiently cleaned and filleted all of our fish. An hour and a half later we were handed our 3 bundles of fish; one for our dinner tonight (1 fillet and 4 “cheeks”) another of halibut and the third of cod. We tipped Ishod $20 as she was clearly the one who worked the hardest, was most helpful and who bothered to learn our names. We then proudly (exhaustedly) marched our fish to the processing folks, asking them to freeze it and hold it till we got home in a month. Dinner went into Charlotte’s fridge. We had survived fishing.
All in all we brought home four halibut and two cod, but my arms were too tired to hold mine up!
A fabulous reward! Captain Sally’s, a restaurant on The Spit, cooked up our own “fresh catch,” and we hungrily wolfed down über fresh halibut…yummm!
Leaving Homer and the Kenai Peninsula, we drove back past Anchorage then eastward along the Glenn Highway. Our next jaunt was a 94 mile dirt side road off of the Richardson Highway which took us to Wrangell-Saint Elias National Park (the largest national park in the country at 13 million acres) and the Kennecott Copper Mill.
This steel bridge was built in 1911 as part of the Copper River & Northwest Railway and would serve the Kennecott copper mines and mill from 1911 to 1938. The railway, the CR&NW was nicknamed “Can’t Run & Never Will” by skeptics. Despite incredible challenges, including mid-winter construction, the railway was completed in just five years. Built over raging rivers, sheer cliffs, frozen ground and even ice fields by a team of 6,000 tough-as-nails men, the railway was said to be a feat of amazing engineering skill and astounding perseverance and determination.
This is a quote from the placard in front of this bridge:
“By November the teams reached the vertical walls and raging waters of the Kaskulana River gorge. The weather was brutal, but they refused to wait for summer. Crossing the Kaskulana mid-winter could prove to be one of the greatest challenges of the “impossible” northern railway. Although temperatures dropped to -54 degrees, with true Alaskan spirit, the men bundled up and continued to toil above the canyon through long, cold hours of darkness (remember it’s dark all day in the winter), their work lit by the glow of acetylene torches. Amazingly, construction of this bridge through the bitter cold and darkness took only two months, but this, engineers estimated, was twice the time it would have taken if it had been constructed in the ease of summer.”
Another bridge on the CR&NR, this one wooden, was built to strategically “collapse” during the worse weather so that it could be more easily repaired.
The 94 mile dirt Edgerton Highway ends at a footbridge almost a mile before the town of McCarthy. Evidently, the automobile bridge was built by a private land owner who charges the few residents of McCarthy an annual fee to use the bridge. We tourists are reduced to walking or taking a $5 shuttle. We chose to walk of course!
We did pay the $5 fee to take a shuttle five miles up to the historic Kennecott Mill where we also paid for a mill tour.
This scene along the shuttle ride is actually a dirt encrusted glacier called a moraine. It’s hard to believe that is all ice under there!
The Kennecott Mill is where the copper ore from the surrounding mines was crushed and separated. It operated from 1911 to 1938.
The mill is the largest wooden structure in Alaska.
Can’t keep Ned away from machinery.
The mill’s power plant could be run by coal, wood or oil.
After a nice pub dinner at the Golden Saloon in McCarthy, we spent a quiet night camping back on the other side of the footbridge. The next day we fulfilled our final, must-do Alaskan tourist adventure, we went flying!
Kelly was a thirty-five year veteran of Alaska bush flying and was also the owner of the company, Wrangell Mountain Air. The only reason we were able to fly with this amazing pilot was that, being early in the season, his hired pilots had not yet arrived. The only pilots available were Kelly and his wife, Natalie; another perk for visiting Alaska in May!
Bush flying has a long and illustrious history in Alaska; very few roads means that small aircraft are a must for reaching the many homes and small villages forsaken (for good reason!) by Alaska DOT.
Come along now and enjoy the incredible scenery as seen from our four-seat Cessna 172…
Another rock encrusted glacier.
A confluence of two glaciers!
Coming in for a dirt landing.
An incredible hour!
From the McCarthy cutoff, back on the Richardson Highway, we drove south to the town of Valdez, famous in recent years for two things: It’s the terminus for the Alaska Pipeline where all that oil flowing from the fields at Prudhoe Bay gets loaded onto tankers; and it served as Command Central for the giant oil spill from the tanker Exxon Valdez in 1989.
Valdez can boast a gorgeous setting, surrounded by ice covered crags and a beautiful harbor, but it’s really all about the harbor and boat based tourism on Prince William Sound. The town itself, having been hastily relocated and rebuilt after the devastating earthquake of 1964, lacks any kind of quaintness…
…but has one of the best museums we have visited. From native artifacts to the oil spill, gold mining, earthquake and pipeline, this was a wonderful representation of all things Alaskan.
Above are waterproof Alutilq parkas made of bear and sea mammal intestines.
This intricate, glass lens crowned the area’s first lighthouse.
A piece of the hull from the tanker, Exxon Valdez, which was navigated onto a reef due to human error. Note the long scrape mark from the rocks.
Depending on whose stats you believe, 11 to 38 million barrels of oil were spilled on March 24th, 1989. While we could not see visible signs of the oil disaster in the harbor, we learned that much of the coastal environment, including several marine species, is still struggling to recover twenty seven years later.
This was the very first barrel of oil to be transported 800 miles from the fields of Prudhoe Bay to Valdez in 1977; but not by pipeline…
…by a dogsled team!
The story of the 1964 earthquake was a moving one. 30 people lost their lives in the 9.2 magnitude quake, and the entire town, having been built on loose soil close to shore was leveled, much of it buried in mud. Valdez was rebuilt several miles southwest in a new, safer location. We had heard similar stories from all the towns we visited on the Kenai Peninsula.
Hmmm, I guess they won’t let us go see the end of the pipeline!
The gorgeous Thompson Pass out of Valdez.
From here we headed back northeast towards the Top of the World highway and the Canadian border.
Last stop in Alaska was Chicken.
Ned’s been telling me about Chicken, Alaska since we first met. From the stories I’ve heard told by him and good friend, Rick Pewe, the two of them were returning south in a 1943 military Jeep and spent a rollicking night in the Chicken Saloon…subsequently spending the night passed out in the dirt outside!
Chicken is a tiny hamlet 40 miles west of the Canadian border and 100 miles west of the Canadian town of Dawson City.
There is no running water; outhouses only, electricity by generators, and drinking water filtered and pumped up from the river. It turns out that in Alaska, the severe cold makes septic tanks unusable and wells rarely continue producing.
Chicken has around fifty summer residents, but only three brave souls who stay year round.
Robin, the Postmaster and ambulance driver is one of the three full time folks. She came to the area 34 years ago when she moved into her new husband’s 13x15ft log cabin, which was his old family home. It was 40 something miles outside Chicken, had no plumbing, no electricity, and was heated by a wood stove. Chicken is also far enough north to boast all day sunshine in the summer and all day darkness in the winter. Robin and her husband raised two daughters in that 13x15ft cabin; they were home schooled, but Robin claims that her daughters eventually got the packets and schooled themselves. Robin is blind in her left eye and jokes that she’s blind on one side and blonde on the other. Seriously though, she raised two very bright daughters, both of whom are now getting their PhD’s; one in New York City, the other in Paris.
It had been raining off and on for the last few days, but had just let up. We spent several leisurely hours chatting with Robin outside her post office.
Robin’s “pet” Grosbeak.
Robin also told us about a nice hike down to the river. The exercise felt great, the views were lovely, but the mosquitoes were vicious; we ran and hiked very fast! Unfortunately, we also got very sweaty and there would be no showers in Chicken. Our last ones had been in Homer, after fishing, six days ago and we were pretty ripe. It would have just have to wait until Dawson City.
Alaskan humor from the Chicken gift shop.
Another great sticker now adorning Charlotte’s refrigerator says, “There is not a single mosquito in Chicken; they’ve all grown up, gotten married and raised large families!”
Of course, we had to visit the infamous Chicken Saloon where we met Mark from Edinburgh, Scotland. In the time it took us to put down two IPA’s each, Mark had swallowed four Bud Lights and four rum and cokes – and looked no worse for wear! We enjoyed the company of Mark, several other travelers from various places and the bartender, Max, whose mother, Susan, owns the place. Max lives in Paris during the long Alaskan winters while Susan hangs out in southern Nevada! She would like to move to northern Nevada (!) fulltime if she could find a buyer for the bar, restaurant and gift shop. Any takers?
Yes, those are panties, hats and miscellaneous other personal items decorating the saloon.
We spent our final night in Alaska down by the Chicken River, ate breakfast in the Chicken Café with our new buddy Mark and then headed off to the Canadian border to begin our long trek home. Having passed into Canada twice already, we never suspected that we’d have any trouble…
The nice young woman at the border grilled us in the normal Canadian manner: What do you do for work? What did you used to do? Do you own any fire arms? How many? What kind? What are you bringing into Canada? Etc, etc. We took off our sunglasses, answered and smiled like we always do at border crossings. She took our passports, saying she was going to do a passport check. Ok, fine. Then we waited…and waited…and waited. Ergggghh. What’s the problem?! The woman finally arrived back at Ned’s window, but without the passports! Uh oh. What’s happening? She sternly explained that we were to get out of the car…only one at a time! We were going to be interrogated! My stomach did a flip flop. In my worse imaginings of third world borders I would be separated from Ned, but I never was, and I never thought it would happen in Canada!! I waited anxiously in the car while Ned was interrogated. I couldn’t see them, but I could barely make out the conversation through Ned’s open window. I heard her ask him to empty his pockets and she took his pocket knife. She had him lift his pant legs. Ned asked sarcastically if she was going to do a cavity search (it turned out that she had donned rubber gloves!) She said no, they don’t do that. Next, she asked him if he did drugs. When he said no, she asked if he’d ever done drugs. He said, “Yes, but over 20 years ago.” “What kind of drugs?” Now she explained that they were going to be looking for drugs, searching our van thoroughly. “I will swab it, and even drugs from years ago will show up.” Then her face contorted angrily (according to Ned) and she stabbed out, “Are you ready to change your answer about doing drugs?!” “I told you it was 20 years ago!” She let it go and told him to wait inside their office.
By then my butterflies were really flopping around. It’s not that we have anything to hide, I just don’t like authority figures and I hate it when someone exerts power over me. Besides, being separated from Ned was excessive and unnecessary. By the time she came around to my window and asked me to step over to the interrogation table I was practically shaking in my boots. She asked if I had anything in my pockets. I gave her an incredulous look (I was in yoga pants and a pullover shirt). “I, uh, don’t have any pockets.” She almost cracked a smile, but moved quickly on to the drug questions. I said I didn’t do them. She asked, “EVER?!” I shrugged and answered “Yeah, when I was a teenager!” She got that smug, “I knew it” look. Finally giving it up, she started the whole spiel about how they were going to search the van. I interrupted her and said, “Look, (I out aged her by about 30 years) why don’t you quit talking about it and go look at the van?!” I turned and walked to Charlotte. She reached out to stop me from opening the sliding door myself, but I told her it was tricky and that I would do it. She actually acquiesced! I opened it and she started her search, but not before I told her to be respectful, that it was my home and asked if her shoes were clean. Right about the same time Ned lost patience with being sequestered (neither of us is any good at doing what we’re told). He got out saying that if they were going to search our home he was going to watch over it. That’s when I noticed the “they” part. A big, dark haired, bearded (t-word looking) guy appeared, telling Ned to settle down and go stand way over in front of the van. Ned angrily answered that they were profiling us (in the time we had been detained, they had let a Prius AND the boozy Scotsman, Mark, in his Ford VAN through with absolutely no questions). After some in-the-face arguing, Ned finally stood where they told him to. The guy looked very serious and threatening, but by now we were both just plain pissed. The woman told me to go stand next to Ned. I told them both that they were being disrespectful. Mr.Tough Guy turned to me, replying that it was not their intention to be disrespectful. I retorted, “It sure feels that way. Of all the border crossings we have done, even in Central America, this is the most we’ve ever been personally hassled.” I also said that I never expected Canada to be so inhospitable. In the end, the woman only did a very cursory inspection of Charlotte. By now Mr. Tough Guy had become Mr. Congeniality and was relaxed, explaining that they have had a surge in cocaine smuggling through Alaska, the drugs having been brought in by boat on remote shores (this remote, northern border had just opened for the season, so we imagine they had just gotten the big pep talk). The woman ended up joining our little group (we were all buds now), and both guards were being respectful. We are all on the same side after all, right?! We chatted a while more (it’s a sleepy border) and off we went; rattled, but never cowed!
Oh ye fellow travelers, beware the Canadian border…if you’re in a VW van and your man wears a pony tail!
The Top of the World highway looks pretty much like the top of the world, but it’s only 4,000 feet elevation; beautiful, wide open tundra and rolling hills.
We crossed the free ferry over the Yukon River and into the fun, historic town of Dawson City where we spent two nights in a cute cabin, ate lots of good food and listened to live music (at midnight!).
We hit the road again around noon on June 5th; our next goal…Edmonton, Alberta, Canada to visit our friends, Bryan and Debbi, a whopping 1,500 mile drive!
Our travels north have been wonderful, and it feels great to have completed our exploration of the Americas. We are signing off for now, but stay tuned for more adventures! Not sure where we will end up next. As usual, we have no concrete plans, just a few vague murmurings about Europe or Australia and New Zealand. We’ll keep you posted!
Thank you all for your continued support. It’s always fun to have you along!
Hugs,
Kat and Ned
Before we headed to Alaska many friends asked us what we were going to do up there. Many offered wonderful suggestions of great places to visit and things to do. As usual, we didn’t pay enough attention, study ahead or make many plans. Our only goal was to drive to the top of the continent. Since we’ve driven as far south as one can go in the Americas, we figured we just had to drive as far north as allowed just to balance things out.
We decided we’d get this northern itch out of the way first, and then, if Charlotte was still willing, we’d check out what else this State has to offer. We first stopped in Fairbanks in the center of the State. It is the third largest city in the Alaska with a whopping 32,000 people. We hung out a couple of days, wrote the previous blog and stocked up on provisions for the big 500 mile trek north to Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay.
The Dalton Highway officially starts roughly 84 miles northwest of Fairbanks. Here the pavement ends and it’s 415 miles to Deadhorse. The Dalton is also known as “The Haul Road.” It was built in the ‘70s as a supply line during the building of the Alaskan Pipeline. This infamous and controversial pipe dissects the entire State delivering crude oil from the North Slope oil fields to the shipping port of Valdez in the south on the Gulf of Alaska/Pacific Ocean. The majority of the vehicles on the Dalton are semis hauling goods to the working oil fields up north. There aren’t many other travelers on the road except for hunters and curiosity seekers like us. This welcoming sign was plastered with stickers from other overland travelers doing the road for the same reason we were. Of course we had to add our own.
Lots of interesting signs at the beginning like these two: Speed Limit 50 Next 416 miles! Others we liked were: “Pavement ends” “Heavy Industrial Traffic, Proceed with Caution” “Next Services, 240 miles” “Ultra Low Sulphur Fuel Not Guaranteed Beyond This Point” (Don’t bring your fancy new diesel pickup I guess!)
The graded road surface was in good shape and we could clip along at around 40-45 mph when it was dry. They spread a lot of Calcium Chloride on the surface for ice control in the winter. This time of year it makes the road muddy and greasier than snot if it’s even slightly wet. Since it seems to rain every day, it’s always wet! The pipeline is visible from the road most of the time but sometimes it vanishes underground or can be seen way off in the distance, far from the road.
Of course we had to touch it the first chance we got (having negotiated Charlotte around a nice red keep out gate to get there!). The pipe itself is 48 inches in diameter. Most of the time it is elevated above ground on pylons. The oil flows through the pipe at around 150 degrees. It is above ground because the heat would melt the frozen tundra and cause the pipe to sag, crack and leak. The aluminum finned towers on top of the rusty steel pylons are filled with Freon and designed to keep the pylons cool! Evidently the pylons can heat up from the heat of the pipe and then melt the ground causing things to sag.
After 115 miles something happens! You reach the Arctic Circle. We spent the night here in the provided campground.
The next morning we did 60 miles to Coldfoot and the Trucker’s Cafe for a big greasy trucker’s breakfast. Coldfoot is not a town but an outpost with food, fuel, rooms, showers and camping for travelers on the highway. It lies at about the half way point on the road.
We ran in to Demis (Switzerland) and Nancy (Mexico) at Coldfoot. They had flown their bikes to Deadhorse and were riding to Fairbanks!
Heading north from Coldfoot it started to get colder as the road got steeper. Although there wasn’t a lot of traffic, every time a truck came along, throwing stones, we cringed for Charlotte’s windshield, waiting for the “big one” to land in our laps. In the end she suffered six “bruises” but no cracks, so her Mexico and Belize insurance-sticker-infested windshield lives on!
We headed into the Brooks Range, a major eco-changing point along the road.
At the top of Atigun Pass while crossing the Brooks Range. It is the highest pass in Alaska at a whopping 4,800ft!
First look at the famed North Slope.
Tundra.
More tundra. Note the flexible horizontal road markers. We asked the truckers why are they sideways? They told us sometimes in the winter there are whiteouts and they can’t see the road so they drive from one marker to the next, slapping them with their trucks in a kind of drive-by-brail process to find their way.
Not fit for human habitation. If it weren’t for the pipeline no one in their right mind would come up here. Since we weren’t there for the pipeline, just the end of the road, I guess we are not of right mind – but you knew that already! We did, however, meet some young military guys who had been hunting for a week while camping in tents. Talk about nuts…
Close to Deadhorse, the Sagavanirktok River was breaking up with the spring (?) thaw.
We made it!
Unlike Ushuaia, Argentina at the other end of the world, there was no fancy park or big sign marking the spot. We had to settle for this stop sign where the Dalton runs into Lake Colleen, a holding pond for all the runoff from the muddy roads around Deadhorse. Deadhorse itself is an industrial wasteland of pre-fab buildings, heavy equipment parking lots, oil tanks and gated compounds housing offices of the many companies doing business in the oil fields.
This screen shot from our map app on our iPad kind of puts it all into perspective! Charlotte’s done about 35,000 miles now going top to bottom.
The gas station in Deadhorse was a 24 hour self serve affair. No one would want to stand around selling gas in this weather. The tanks were above ground as the whole place is built up on top of the tundra and frozen water that makes up the area of Prudhoe Bay.
There was A LOT of very expensive, cool (literally) equipment just sitting around stockpiled. We were told things are very slow because of cheap oil prices. It costs too much to bring oil out of Alaska when Middle Eastern prices drop.
Double Decker office moving. No worries about overpass clearance up here!
Legoland? Premium high-rise apartments for oil workers. Who in their right mind would want to live up here?
Who picked THAT number?
The parking lot at the Aurora Hotel featured electrical plugs in every space so you can plug in your engine block heater. No cars anywhere. All pickups. All Chevys, Fords and Dodges. Not a Toyota in sight – and certainly no Volkswagens!
Deadhorse/Prudhoe Bay skyline.
The light never changed. This shot was taken around midnight. It didn’t look any different than 12 noon!
We stayed in the parking lot of the Prudhoe Bay Hotel after eating in their cafeteria and yes, the food was just what you’d expect… The two “hotels” in town are really more like dormitories for transient oil field workers.
That’s 9:25 PM. The sun is still high in the sky. It never did set.
Charlotte is not equipped with black out curtains. I took this shot of Kat snoozing away with her blackout mask on – at 2AM.
Just after leaving Deadhorse we had our first caribou sighting.
Musk Ox!!
Musk Ox are only found at these northern arctic latitudes. They were hunted to extinction in Alaska by the 1920s but in 1930, thirty-four were re-introduced from Greenland. Now they are doing well enough that we are sending them back to Russia to help their dwindling populations. The truck drivers said they are the only critter they are afraid to hit! “They’re like cinder blocks with hide,” we were told.
About halfway back down the Dalton we took a little side road to the only “town” along the road. Wiseman (pop 16) is an old mining town that dates to 1916 and its location just happened to be situated close to the pipeline route. We knocked on the doors of several log cabins but couldn’t find any life. It was Sunday, so maybe all 16 of them were sleeping off the night before when they were undoubtedly contributing to their totem pole building project!
Our first stop after finishing the Dalton was Chena Hot Springs just outside of Fairbanks. A hot springs seemed like just the thing after the frosty arctic.
So what is the first thing we do at the hot springs? Go to their Aurora Ice Museum where it is 26 degrees inside the building that houses it.
Joust anyone?
They had some pretty “cool” sculptures in there.
And a bar that served appletinis in hand cut ice glasses.
The date was May 16th, our first anniversary! So we had an ice cold anniversary toast.
And finally, a nice warm soak.
Caged reindeer at the hot springs. We were told reindeer are domesticated caribou. This guy was pretty friendly, but he needed a red nose.
China Hot Springs has its own geothermal plant than supplies power to the resort as well as the neighboring community.
Back in Fairbanks we met with some folks from the local antique car club for dinner at The Pump House, a famous Fairbanks eatery.
The closest we want to get to a grizzly.
I was blown away by the Fountainhead Antique Auto Museum in Fairbanks. Willy Vinton, the museum manager, gave us a personal tour. They have a collection of pre 1915 cars unmatched by any I have seen. There were also many early local Alaskan vehicles complimented with great displays and photos depicting their lives in the rough and ready early 20th century Alaska Territory.
After leaving Fairbanks we headed south down the Richardson Highway to the turnoff with the Denali Highway. We can’t stay away from dirt and the Denali is 134 miles of it. It runs east towards Denali National Park and used to be the only way to get to the park before the modern George Parks Highway was opened in 1971 connecting Fairbanks with Anchorage. The Denali is closed in the winter and had just barely opened when we crossed it. None of the resorts and roadhouses along its length were open yet.
We took a hike along this ATV path to get some exercise…
…and crossed paths with this moose cow and her yearling calf. Yikes, glad they were running the other way!
Heavy traffic along the Denali Highway.
We next visited Denali National Park, home to North America’s highest mountain, 20,310 foot high Denali (formerly mount McKinley.) The park covers approximately 6 million acres and the mountain itself is buried deep within, making photos of Denali very hard to get without an airplane. Also, the mountain is often shrouded in clouds, as it was when we were there, making even distant mountain sightings rare. We took this nice photo instead, somewhere just inside the entrance, to prove we were there.
We also suddenly found ourselves in a people-overload haze. After turning off of the Denali Highway onto the Parks Highway were overrun by tour busses and all that goes with them. Before Denali, we were living in a northern dream world of few cars and fewer people. Everywhere we’ve been since leaving Vancouver, BC has been quiet and half awake from a long winter’s nap. Many places, and attractions have not been open for the season yet and we’ve been taking the solitude and peace for granted. Then BAM; the George Parks Highway and Denali National Park. Traffic, stuffed tour busses, crowded restaurants; ahhh, the summer people are here!
But, visiting the park had its payoff. Grizzlies!!! Two of them at once. These guys were eating roots in a riverbed just off the road and seemed unperturbed by all the tourists taking their picture.
One even lay down and posed!
In Healy we checked out the bus used in the film Into the Wild. It’s a replica of the Fairbanks City Transit System Bus #142 that Christopher McCandless died in. Locals told us the real bus is still out in the wilderness, 35 miles west of Healy.
After Denali we continued south down the Parks Highway towards Anchorage. We took a side trip to the touristy but fun town of Talkeetna where we camped at the baseball park and partied to this blues band at the historic Fairview Inn.
Our last stop before Anchorage was the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race Headquarters in Wassilla. (We could have looked up Sarah Palin, but we were told she moved to Arizona for better political posturing.) The sled dogs were way more interesting. We watched a movie on the history of the race and learned the importance of sled dogs and their history in Alaska. We checked out old race sleds, kissed babies, posed with in-harness dogs and then took a (fast) ride in a cart pulled by the eager dogs through the forest. It was a very worthwhile stop.
We are now in Anchorage, holed up in a motel for showers and to write this blog.
Stay tuned for more adventure as we explore the Kenai Peninsula, maybe try some fishing, and then on eastward to Valdez…
I can’t get Johnny Horton’s song “North to Alaska” out of my head as we roll along, passing incredible snow capped peaks, crossing huge rushing rivers and gawking at large critters who seemingly pose for our camera.
Ned, Kat and Charlotte are on the move again. Having spent a restful but restless year at home in Nevada after returning from our sojourn to the bottom of South America, we are now rolling to the top of North America – the top of Alaska. Our destination is the outpost of Deadhorse and Prudhoe Bay, which is as far north, we are told, as one can drive up the Dalton Highway out of Fairbanks. We are in Fairbanks as I write this, having just spent the last two weeks driving 3,580 miles from Minden, Nevada. From here we get on the dirt for the last 500 miles to the top. Unlike the “big one,” our 30,000 mile, 14 month odyssey south, this trip is a quickie – just two months and maybe 9,000 miles. But, if you go to one end ya gotta go to the other, so follow along as we tell the tale thus far…
After South America Charlotte needed a little love… like a new engine, transmission, brakes, tires, lots of cracks welded up and on and on. However, she has not been idle, having rolled up another 15,000 miles this past year taking us to our wedding, as well as to places like Baja, Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and Oklahoma. Along the way her heater fan quit. We froze for a while, but a trip to Alaska, we decided, required a working heater. I dove into one of the nastier jobs in auto repair – digging buried heater cores out of dashboards.
We’re not sure about “the best place on earth,” but British Columbia, Canada is gorgeous. We spent a quick three days getting from northern Nevada to the Canadian border, having already explored Oregon and Washington quite extensively in the past. The border crossing was a five minute affair, a big contrast to some of the arduous ones we experienced in Central America. The guy did ask some bizarre questions like, “Are you seeing friends in Canada? What are you bringing them?” and “Did you travel for work? Where? Why?” and the best, “Do you own any guns? HOW MANY?”
Once over the border the trip really began. We spent a fun night at the home of our friends, Ian & Susan. The same Ian & Susan we ran into in Mazatlan, Mexico on the trip south. The next day we crossed this beautiful bridge over the Fraser River and skirted around the city of Vancouver, heading north on scenic Hwy 99 to the ski town of Whistler.
The “Sea to Sky” Highway 99 is a much more scenic and remote route to Hwy 97. 97 is considered the milk run way to get to Dawson Creek (Mile 0 of the famed Alaskan Highway). As usual, we didn’t take the milk run. In fact, we’re avoiding the Alcan as much as possible on our way north, picking all the alternate, less traveled roads we can find. The Sea to Sky reminded us of the Austral in southern Chile.
Tourist stop at Shannon Falls.
Amateur Tree Hugger.
Our second night in Canada was spent in the ski town of Whistler in the parking lot! It wasn’t very memorable and we don’t have any photos. Ski season had just ended and the place was quite dead. After our third night however, we woke up to this view out our living room window. The previous day we had finished Hwy 99 and turned north on the 97. That evening we had followed a dirt road off the 97 which led us to this glass smooth, deserted lake.
Morning stretches and exercises are still the norm. Sitting on your butt all day takes its toll, so we try to get a little workout and walk/run in every day.
Professional Tree Hugger.
This guy was our first Black Bear sighting with many more to come. He was right along the highway and when we stopped he ran and tried to climb a power pole!
Ho hum, just another snowcapped beautiful mountain range. We have now passed the town of Prince George and have headed west on Hwy 16 to Hwy 37, the Cassiar Highway. 37 took us north again all the way to Watson Lake.
Travelling up Hwy 37, we took a detour west out 37A to the town of Hyder, Alaska USA. This is the furthermost point south you can drive to in the State of Alaska. The 40 something mile drive is gorgeous with several views of glaciers like this one and dead ends in Hyder. There is no way to continue further into Alaska by car, only boat. So, after visiting Hyder you must backtrack into Canada and continue north in that country for hundreds of miles before entering the rest of Alaska that is accessible by car.
This is pretty much all there is to Hyder, Alaska. There isn’t even an official USA border crossing but there is an official Canadian crossing to go back into Canada –where they asked us the same kind of crazy questions they had asked in Vancouver! And we were only in Hyder a couple of hours!
Although the town is only one block long we found much to do in Hyder. This is a view from the “port” looking out on the sound that leads to the Pacific Ocean.
This walkway has been constructed along Fish Creek so tourists can safely view bears catching salmon in the creek. Unfortunately, we were too early in the season for the fish so there were no bears. Fortunately, there were no tourists either!
Bear rules for tourists.
I found the local junkyard about as interesting as Fish Creek!
…Especially the seating arrangement in this rotting Toyota Land Cruiser. Kinda gives a new meaning to the old Land Cruiser nickname “Toylet!”
The final order of business in Hyder was to stop at the Glacier Inn and get “Hyderized.” I was here 15 years ago with fellow journalist and oldest friend, Rick Pewe so I knew the drill… but Kat didn’t.
Straight Everclear. “Don’t sniff or sip. Down it in one shot or you buy the house a round!”
Once Hyderized things got a little fuzzy… So we had lunch before facing the border guards going back into Canada. We were lucky – turns out it was the first day of the season the restaurant was open for business.
Black Bear #2, or 3, or 4???
Right at the crossing from British Columbia into Yukon Territory at the end of Hwy 37 Charlotte was due for a 5000 mile adjustment. Living on the road you do things when you have to. Oil was changed and tires were rotated.
By now we were getting a little ripe so we got a clean room and shower at Johnson’s Crossing, one of the nicer roadhouses along the Alcan. We had passed several that were still closed for the season, but others seemed abandoned. When we asked about them at Johnson’s we were told that many roadhouses have had to close their doors because they can’t get people to work. Sad.
Our next adventure after showers at Johnson’s was the Canol Road. It turned out to be our best adventure between home and Fairbanks. The Canol was cut in 1942-44 to serve the Canadian Oil Company’s four inch diameter pipeline from Norman Wells to Whitehorse. The pipeline venture was a failure after only two years, but the dirt road it left behind offers a fantastic alternative route for those of us trying to stay off the Alcan. At the road’s southern entrance these Chevy truck carcasses are a stark reminder of a time when life was much tougher in these parts. The trucks are leftovers from the road’s rushed construction during WWII and their remains, along with other heavier equipment, can still be found rusting away quietly in the forest.
Just after passing the old trucks we thought our adventure was over before it began. Signs proclaimed the road was still closed for winter. But, there was no gate and no one around to stop us so… the sign did say “travel at your own risk” and the best adventures usually come with a bit of risk… Onward!
The South Canol Road is 132 miles long and runs through some beautiful and very remote country. There are no towns, services or even signs of humans besides the road itself. It felt like one of the most remote places we have ever visited.
Adding to the remoteness were all the signs of big hungry critters that we’ve never seen before. First off were the big egg shaped pellets we figured were moose. Next came wolf tracks…. Then grizzly bear (a small one) and finally moose hoofs. Onward!
For the first 60 miles or so we saw tracks from other vehicles proving we were not the only ones ignoring the road closed sign. However once we reached Quiet Lake all the vehicle tracks ended and there were signs the final ones turned around. We motored on until we reached this downed tree, a sure sign that no one had been through the road since the previous fall.
Charlotte made quick work of dragging the tree out of the way. Onward!
Another 10 miles up the road was this Charlotte-averse washout. Down came our Australian made MAXTRAX recovery devices from the roof rack. We carried these four stackable plastic land mats all through South America and never used them! Then last January in Baja, they saved a friend’s van from the rising tide when he got stuck on the beach. Now they made great ramps to allow Charlotte to ease into and out of the washout. Onward!
The road became muddier and snow began to appear.
Then about 85 miles in we came to this avalanche that had buried the road.
We got out and surveyed our options. We really didn’t want to backtrack all the way to Johnson’s Crossing and (uggh) the Alcan.
The pros were it was still a beautiful, warm day and only 4pm. The sun didn’t go down until about 10pm and the avalanche was only about 75 yards across. We had stuff to help us when we got stuck and we like to use it.
The cons were we were 90 miles from nowhere in the complete wilderness. No one knew where we were and no one had been to this spot by car all winter. There had been lots of big, hungry feet prints all along the way we had come. We had no idea what lay ahead. More snow. More mud. More hungry feet. There were at least 40 more miles before any civilization. If we got really stuck there was no option of walking for help. We would have to sit and wait for days until some other nut came along hoping to get through the road.
The pros won…Onward!
Charlotte did a good job of staying on top of the snow for about half the distance…
Then she sank to her belly! Time to get to work.
There was nothing to winch to and our Pull Pal winch anchor has proven iffy in snow, so down came the MAXTRAX for the third time this year (second time the same day!)
The MAXTRAX gave Charlotte big feet and she was able to leapfrog across the snow. It took five “settings” of the devices in this manner with much digging for placement before she was able to claw her way to the dry road on the far side. As soon as we were on the other side we found tire tracks and footprints coming from the north. This told us the road was clear from there on. Whoohoo! We were the first to cross the Canol for 2016! Hah! We’re SUCH great white explorers. LOL.
After another 15 miles or so we came to this little cabin on a frozen lake. It was the first sign of life and we thought maybe the black pickup had made the tracks we had been following since the avalanche (turns out it hadn’t). We turned up the muddy driveway.
Art was the first person we met when he came out to greet us with a warm smile, kudus for getting through the road, an offer to stay for dinner and a “come meet the family,” all in about two minutes! We felt very welcomed and right at home.
Art’s not-wife Yvonne and Muffy, their not-daughter, whom they have raised since she was two, standing in the doorway of Art’s summer hunting cabin. We were getting a crash course in Canadian First Nation family life! Art and Yvonne have been together 14 years but don’t live together. They are from two different tribes. Art is Kaska and Yvonne is Tahltan. Muffy, or Yahlayla (her tribal name) is Yvonne’s daughter’s daughter but her grandmother (Yvonne) and her boyfriend (Art) have raised her. Got all that? It all didn’t matter. They were the kindest, nicest, happiest folks you could ever meet and referred to themselves as “Caninguns!”
Kat and Kath. This is Yvonne’s friend Katherine. All of the girls had driven the 70 plus miles in from their villages up north to cook a Mother’s Day dinner for Art and Ken. Ken is Art’s not-son but the son of Art’s best friend who is like a brother. OK, got it?
Art and Ken are living at the cabin for the summer, but the girls all live in Ross River and Faro up north at the end of the Canol Road. Like our Native Americans, First Nation Canadians have designated tribal lands. The family explained that they can put up a cabin anywhere they want on their tribal lands, hence this camp which was only about two years old.
Yvonne loves to cook and we hit it just in time. We had a feast including steak, ribs, sausage, veggies plus all of our beer and all of their wine. When the sun doesn’t go down until after ten, a lot of eating and drinking occurs!
Shortly after we arrived Muffy took us to see her “pet” fox that had a den quite near the cabin. The family hadn’t seen any pups yet but they expected them to come out of the den any day. The fox was beautiful and huge, the size of a large German Sheppard dog.
A shot of the inside of the cabin. That’s Ken working on the bed.
The view from the cabin was just jaw dropping.
Needless to say, we camped there for the night and were reluctant to leave the next day.
After dinner Art and Yvonne had a project to clean a duck and a goose they had shot. We watch with interest, feeling like dumb city kids with no survival skills in the wild. Here Art singes the goose down off the carcass.
The old and the new. Think Yvonne’s Fitbit bracelet can count how many birds she can clean in a day?
After leaving the “Caninjuns’” camp we drove another 35 miles to the end of the Canol where we turned west on to the Campbell Highway. After another 20 miles or so of dirt the pavement began again. The views however did not change!
A moose! We finally saw a moose! We were beginning to think they were only tracks.
Selfie.
Hope to see a set of these on a live one.
We thought about procuring these from this semi-abandoned building for the front of Charlotte to replace Vaca Muerte. Sharp eyes may notice Vaca is absent from his perch this trip. After a failed attempt to re-unite him with his body in Baja this past January (we couldn’t find it), he now hangs proudly on our living room wall. His travelin’ days are through! This awesome rack would have been a bit much for Charlotte’s nose, we reckoned, not to mention the border guards at the upcoming crossing into Alaska, USA would probably not have taken kindly to it.
It’s a long damn drive up through Canada to Alaska!
Mile 1422. This white post marks the official end of the Alaska Highway from Dawson Creek, BC to Delta Junction, Alaska. For us it is just the beginning, though. From here we traveled another 98 miles to Fairbanks where we are holed up for a couple of days to write this blog and take multiple showers (!)
Next we’ll go north on the Dalton Highway to the top, Prudhoe Bay; then back down to the south of this beautiful, huge state to explore what else it has to offer.
Stay tuned…
“So, Em, ummm… your Dad and I were kind of thinking of getting married while we’re here…what do you think?”
Silence. Then Emily, Ned’s 26 year old daughter, wisely said, “You guys don’t really love Hawaii that much, right? And besides, you’ve been together for ten years, and I already think of you as married. Don’t have your wedding here on my account. Go somewhere more fun for you!” She was right. We were only in Hawaii now to celebrate Ned’s niece’s wedding. Ned and I are desert rats after all. Hawaii would never have been our first choice. Had being at our wedding been more important to Emily we would have happily done the deed just to have her with us, but it wasn’t.
So no Hawaiian wedding. After ten years and thousands of miles traveled together, Ned and I had finally decided to tie the knot. But where? How? In the entire fourteen months of driving to the tip of South America in Charlotte, not one place materialized as a fun/unique/romantic place to get hitched, not even our favorite foreign country, Mexico. What could we do, where could we go that would be special in a “Ned and Kat” kind of way?
In the meantime, I had asked Ned to take me out to the Black Rock Desert in northern Nevada to camp at the hot springs in Charlotte for my 55th birthday, which was on May 7th. So far, we had two couples joining us, Leonard and KC and Segis and Kathy, and I couldn’t have been more excited. That’s where I belong, where I’m the happiest, the Nevada Desert.
Suddenly, while sitting on the front porch of our lovely rented house there in Hanalei, with the sultry air caressing my skin, the exotic smell of flowers tickling my nose, the surf providing a soothing backdrop (none of which I was appreciating nearly enough), my mind turned to the Black Rock Desert, and I knew.
“Yogi!” I said excitedly. “Let’s ask Leonard to get ordained so he can marry us out on the Black Rock! Wouldn’t that be perfect?” Ned’s eyes lit up. I could see his wheels spinning. And then he said slowly, still thinking, “Yeaaahhh, Boo Boo, that could work!”
I immediately called my friend, KC (Leonard’s wife), who became instantly and infectiously elated with the idea. I asked her to speak with Leonard and to text me right back. Ten minutes later the text came…Leonard not only agreed, but was also very enthusiastic. Wow, what a dream. I had visions of wearing my new dress (having bought the blue flowy, flowery concoction for the wedding we would be attending here on Kauai) right on the “playa” of the Black Rock Desert. White playa (picture an immense, dry alkali lake), blue sky, me in my gypsy dress of gorgeous blues and hints of white. Barefoot. Yes, how perfect would that be?
Arriving back home on April 30th, we confirmed our date for the weekend of May 15-17, and began asking other friends to join us. Between the short notice and the rough camping venue, we had no other takers. Then it occurred to Ned that he had his best Porsche buddy, Leonard and his best VW Vanagon buddy, Segis (owner of GoWesty), but he did not have a jeeping buddy. That’s when we thought of Jim and Tona. But how could we ask them to drive up all the way from Southern California and then out to the Nevada desert for a 3 day event? Well, not only were they totally excited, but they even cancelled other previously arranged plans so they could join us. This was going to be fun. None of the three couples had ever met before, but we knew that all six people were exceptional and that it would be perfect.
With only a week and a half to prepare, the only plans we made were for food to bring for the camping trip/wedding party. We didn’t even plan which day to get married, trusting that it would happen when the mood struck us. Would it be Friday, when we first arrived, or Saturday after we’d had time to settle in? We later joked that we put more time and energy into planning jeep events than we put into our own wedding, but I guess that’s just who we are. The only thing we decided for sure was that we would have a Mexican taco and tequila feast for the wedding party and steaks for which ever turned out to be the other night.
Then two things happened that put a little damper on my exuberance. First, watching the weather, we could see that it had been raining out in the Gerlach area and that more weather was heading in. That meant not only wet camping, but also that driving on the (usually) dry lake was impossible. No blue skies and white playa to go with that frilly dress. To make matters worse, if we could not cross the playa from Gerlach to the hot springs, it would require an additional three hour 4-wheel-drive go around to get there. We prepared everyone for the worse while also informing them that the three hour detour would pretty much guarantee that we would have the hot springs to ourselves. With Burning Man having taken over the Black Rock Desert for one week a year, the hot springs were no longer a secret. And the go around was a beautiful wheeling trip through the desert. The bad weather just might turn into a blessing in disguise.
The second thing that had me momentarily sobered was that in sharing our upcoming nuptial plans with all of the friends and family that could not be there, it occurred to me how fortunate we are to have such close relationships with so many amazing people. In all of my life, I have been of the odd opinion that any wedding of mine needed to be very private between just the two of us. Even in my twenties when I married the first time, I did not want the 30-people-wedding I eventually agreed to. But here I was in my fifties now, finally understanding the importance of community, and I felt a little sad, a little selfish. I also know how Ned and I are, and having a wedding that would be special to us in our own private way was essential. I let the revelation bathe me in gratitude for having such a rich life, full of fantastic people and inspiring experiences and focused on the upcoming wedding weekend. I knew it would be perfect.
Thursday, May 14, 2015, JT Basque Restaurant Bar, Minden, Nevada
“Here’s to the bride and groom!” Six glasses clinked merrily as strangers became friends and our “rehearsal dinner” began. We were a lively group, sitting and standing around the JT Bar, drinking our Picons (a traditional Basque cocktail), and chatting excitedly. Our entire wedding party had arrived safely; Segis and Kathy from Los Osos, CA, Jim and Tona from Huntington Beach, CA and Leonard and KC from across the valley. Everyone was hitting it off, and the mood was wonderful. Then it got better.
First, our amazing friend, Renee, floated gracefully through the front door, carrying, of all things, a traditional bride’s bouquet (perfectly designed to go with my wedding dress) and a matching boutonniere for Ned. Who on earth would ever have thought of including a traditional bouquet in a non-traditional camping wedding? Renee, of course! And I was delighted. And then my brother, David, from Roseville, called. “Is it too late to come on the trip?”
“Are you kidding? That is fantastic! Meet us in Fernley at 11:00am tomorrow!”
Our Basque dinner was delicious, plentiful and full of laughter and high spirits. The weather was looking really bad, but somehow I still knew our wedding would continue to be perfect.
Friday, May 15, 2015, Pilot Gas Station, Fernley, Nevada
The drenching rain fell steadily as we pulled into the gas station and spotted David pumping fuel into his 4WD Ford truck. I jumped out of Charlotte and happily greeted him with a big hug. We made the rounds of introductions there in the parking lot with our hoods pulled up against the wind and wet. Everyone fueled up, and we headed north toward Gerlach. We were all excited about lunch at the (in)famous Bruno’s Country Club, renowned for their homemade raviolis (and a great bar).
Gerlach is (normally) a dusty little town (population around 200) on the edge of the vast, 40×60 mile dry alkali lake called The Black Rock. In recent years, Gerlach has become recognized as the gateway to the annual Burning Man festival, held in the middle of the playa (dry lake). But to local Northern Nevadans, it has always been famous for Bruno’s Country Club, bar, restaurant, gas station and motel. Ned’s Dad, Ted, even bused 100 of his friends in to celebrate his own 70th birthday party back in 1997. The destination had been a surprise. The guests were told one thing only – to pack an overnight bag. From the stories I have been told, it seems Ted’s party was a huge success. Bruno’s bar is rustic and fun, and that’s where we headed first, having driven the hour and a half from Fernley in continuous rain.
Gerlach was not dusty when we arrived, it was a muddy mess! The street sign entering the hamlet proclaimed: “Gerlach, The Center of the Known Universe.” We all ran into the bar where we were plied with plenty of Bloody Marys and Tequila Marys. The rain had not drenched our moods one bit. This was turning out to be an intrepid little troop of friends.
The bartender, waitress and local bar flies were all friendly, helpful and enthusiastic about our impending nuptials, even gifting me a bunch of lovely roses (left over from Mother’s Day). They were, however, not encouraging with regards to the go around road to the hot springs, shaking their heads gravely and telling us how muddy it would be out there. Nonetheless, I’m pretty sure they found the whole thing amusing, and we were happy to provide their afternoon entertainment. There was even some alcohol induced talk about having our wedding right there in the bar at Bruno’s. When asked if anyone had ever gotten married here, the bartender, Celia, said, “Not that I know of. Let’s do it!” Instead, we opted to enjoy massive plates of gigantic homemade raviolis.
Somewhere along the way a decision was made to stay the night right there in Bruno’s Motel. While Segis and Kathy and Ned and I both have water tight Vanagons in which to escape the weather, everyone else was either tenting it or staying in the backs of pickups. Having secured dry beds for everyone, we set off on a wheeling excursion in the steady rain, spending the afternoon exploring possible alternative hot springs and enjoying gorgeous scenery and the intoxicating smell of rain soaked sage brush. We had also heard from the man at Bruno’s gas station that there was a guy with a 5th wheel stuck out there somewhere, so there was even a possible rescue to undertake!
Everyone drove well on the muddy roads; David in his 4WD Ford, Leonard and KC in their Chevy ¾ ton 4WD truck, Jim and Tona in their Jeep JK, and Segis and Kathy and Ned and I in our 4WD VW Syncro Vanagons.
We did eventually find the guy who had unwisely chosen to pull his 5th wheel into a mud bog. Both truck and trailer were buried to the axles. The man was in the process of unhitching when we arrived on the scene, so Ned and Charlotte were able to winch his truck free. There was no hope for the trailer, and it turned out he had a wife and kids in there (none of whom emerged). We offered to take them all back to town, but the man declined. We shrugged and giggled and left them all to their happy camping, the trailer tilting crazily in the boggy mess.
The rain paused briefly as the sun was setting over the playa, and the view was breathtaking. We stopped to bask in the beauty, and Kathy pulled out the clam shells we had found and used in Baja, Mexico for “shell shots!” Ned produced a giant bottle of tequila, filled the shells and passed them out…another toast of well wishes in a spectacular setting with great friends. Coincidentally, Kathy had brought 9 shells, the exact number in our group. Perfect again.
Back at the motel, having deemed the roads passable enough to make our bid for the hot springs tomorrow, we literally circled the Van-agons! The two motel rooms that we rented sat in an L-shape around a dirt parking area, so we positioned the two Vanagons in an opposite L. With the awnings up on the Syncros and virtual “walls” on four sides, we had a perfect little courtyard, sheltered from wind and rain. We were all delighted by the arrangement, and started preparing our yummy steak dinner. Suddenly, all four of us girls gasped in horror…as the boys started digging a fire pit! “Yikes! We are so going to get in trouble, you guys!” But we laughed anyway as they pulled firewood off the roofs of the Vanagons, doused it with gasoline and torched it. Whomp!! Flames leapt into the night air, mere inches away from our awnings and glaringly obvious to any and all authority figures in the vicinity. But none came. Our steaks were expertly cooked by Leonard and David on the fire pit coals, and we had yet another fabulously fun pre-wedding party. Everyone agreed it was perfect.
Feeling a bit tired, I opted to turn in early and crawled into our cozy bed in Charlotte. That’s when they hit me. The butterflies. “Oh my God, I’m getting married! This is serious!” Gulp. “I can’t believe I’m nervous. Ok, just go to sleep!”
Ned came to bed later, giggling and tickling me back awake. We sighed contentedly, warm and dry, listening to the rain patter on Charlotte’s tin roof. There was nowhere we’d rather be. This was the man I was marrying. Perfect.
At some point during the outrageous evening, my brother, David, picked up a gun shaped bottle of tequila, and decided that this should be a shotgun wedding!
Saturday, May 16 2015, Bruno’s Country Club, Gerlach, NV – On the edge of the Black Rock Desert
I yawned and stretched languorously as the warm sun touched my face. Wait…sun?? It had stopped raining. There were even patches of blue in the desert sky. I turned happily to Ned and said, “Yogi, this is going to be an amazing day, but I do have two requests.” I chuckled at his very alarmed, very male facial expression and continued, “Nothing too demanding…uh, it’s just that I really want to make every attempt possible to get to the Hot Springs, and…I want us to be sober for our actual ceremony!” Ned answered in the only way possible for him…an eye roll, but laughed with me anyway as we jumped into our clothes and greeted our awakening wedding party.
With a unanimous decision to skip the camp cooking in favor of Bruno’s café, we scampered in to be plied with copious amounts of coffee and huge plates of eggs and potatoes. The wait staff and locals sent us off with well wishes and best-of-lucks getting to the hot springs.
We had around ten miles of pavement to drive before reaching the turn off to our “go around,” but eight miles into it, Segis pulled over to the side of the road. His Vanagon was running on only three cylinders. He opened the rear hatch and all of the guys excitedly huddled around to take a look.
We happened to have stopped at the main access point onto the Back Rock playa, the one used by the Burning Man folks to drive into the annually temporary Black Rock City. But today it was lonely and beautifully peaceful. Kathy, KC, Tona and I walked down to the edge of the lake to explore. Normally, the playa surface is dry alkali and fabulous for driving or enjoying on foot. We have seen it wet and slippery, but never with actual standing water. That was a lot of rain. We girls all took pictures and sighed in unison in the blissful silence. Then I looked around. The surface here was dry and gravely. There were still a few patches of blue sky. It wasn’t raining. The Black Rock Desert provided a perfect backdrop…we should get married here!! I shared the inspiration with my friends, and they wholeheartedly agreed.
In the meantime, Segis had driven back to Gerlach in search of a spark plug wire leaving Ned, Leonard, David and Jim hanging out by the side of the road. Unbeknownst to me, Ned then walked off into the sagebrush, looked out over the gorgeous dry lake vista, saw the sun peek through the clouds, noticed the dry ground and had the exact same thought as me…we should get married here!! Ned was divulging his idea to the guys at the same time I was sharing with the girls.
A moment later, we ladies ran back up to the roadside where boys met girls in an excited jumble of perfectly concurring ideas. Our wedding was on! I jumped into my dressing room (Charlotte) to change into my beautiful dress. There was nothing much to be done for my rained on, camped in hair, but it didn’t seem to matter. I was excited and nervous. My entire body buzzed with anticipation, and butterflies danced enthusiastically in my belly.
Segis returned, and we joked and laughed and gathered around Charlotte. There, on the edge of the Black Rock Desert, in the Center of the Known Universe, with a cold wind beginning to pick up, a broken down Vanagon, KC as my maid of honor, Kathy, Tona (and Charlotte) as bridesmaids, desert flowers in my hair (that Kathy had found) and a formal bouquet in my hands, we had the funnest, funniest, most informal, most romantic, most perfect wedding.
Ned had picked a blue shirt to match my dress and was the most handsome man in The Known Universe, in my opinion. Jim, Segis and my brother, David, provided warm, caring support, and Reverend Leonard carried out his duties with love and humor. Ned and I declared vows that reached into the deepest part of our connection to each other, and I could have sworn it was all a dream. It was too good, too perfect to be real.
I kept asking if I could kiss Ned yet, because I needed to, and finally I could. We had to go back and exchange rings, having forgotten to do so, but we were finally declared husband and wife to the happy sound of Champaign corks popping and wild cheering from our extraordinary wedding party.
In a moment of sheer providence, we were able to connect (way out here) to my mother via Facetime. Mom was waging war against lung cancer, so we were all thrilled to have her join in our celebration.
Ned carrying me over the threshold!
Now it was time to make our bid for the hot springs, the perfect place to have our Mexican Wedding Feast! I climbed into the back of Charlotte to change into real clothes while bouncing down the road. I did my time honored yoga-esque move to slide into the front seat, and Ned, in a rare, but precious, romantic moment, played our favorite Loreena McKennitt song and called me “Wifey.”
The go around was muddy and challenging, but we made progress. Somewhere along the line, at one of several beer stops, “Just Married” was inscribed in the mud on Charlotte’s back window, and we forged on. Just three more miles…oh, how I want to get the hot springs. More mud, more difficult 4-wheeling. Just two more miles…we can make it, almost there! Just one more mile…there it is! Three hours later, against all odds (and the advice of the locals), we made it.
Even some of Nevada’s wild horses showed up to mark this auspicious day!
The hot springs sit at the base of the famous “Black Rock” itself…almost there!
We made it!
As predicted, the Hot springs were deserted. Who else was crazy enough to be wheeling in this mud and rain? We made camp and jumped into the fabulously hot water. Having partaken of the joys of these hot springs many times, we knew that the water on top was crystal clear, but that the bottom was mucky alkali mud and silt. We came prepared with plastic lawn chairs for all so that we could sit without offending our delicate sensibilities.
Our Mexican party was incredible. Everyone contributed. We had fresh made corn tortillas, pork, chicken, carne asada, beans, chips, guacamole, taco fixings, Margaritas, tequila shots, beer, and of course, Mexican music playing from Segis’s Serius XM radio. Ned and I even had colorful Mexican hats to wear…you know the fancy, flashy ones usually found in Mexican parades or hanging on the walls of Mexican restaurants? Segis and Kathy had coerced the sombreros from the owner of their favorite taqueria in Los Osos and presented them to us as perfectly appropriate wedding gifts.
Because my parents were not at my wedding, I felt a need to have a part of them with me, so I brought two special items. First was a coffee mug that used to be a favorite of my Dad’s. Second was one of my mother’s favorite recipes. With a pretty blue foil pinwheel (a picture of Ned and I glued to the center) as decoration, Mom’s famous banana bread, covered in whipped cream became our wedding cake.
We did all of the traditional things in the most untraditional way. Ned and I smooshed cake in each others’ faces and danced around a roaring campfire to our favorite Blackmore’s Night song, “Loreley.” The rain held off for the entire day, and the temperature was amazingly mild. I still felt like I was dreaming. It was the perfect wedding reception.
When we had set out on Friday, we had no idea exactly when (or even where) we would have our wedding. It was bantered around that had we chosen Bruno’s Bar in the pouring rain, we would have a nifty 05-15-15 as our wedding date, and I thought that was cool enough to fudge the date on our wedding papers even if we did it the next day. Ah, but it is so very human to never know how we will feel about something until we are actually there. By the time I had a ring on my finger, a belly full of tacos and whipped cream on my nose, today’s date was so indelibly precious to me, I would never change it. Jim and Tona, with amazing prescience, had had a beautiful blanket specially embroidered and presented it to us at the party. It reads:
Ned and Kat
To Our Favorite Newlyweds!
Married May 16, 2015
From: Jim and Tona
Perfect.
Another romantic gesture of Ned’s: Our Champagne corks glued to Charlotte’s dashboard…
I Do, I Do, 5/16/15.
Better late than never! I meant to write this blog shortly after we returned home way back in Febuary, but… life just kinda got in the way… and marriage! (See next blog by Kat)
Anyway, as a refresher, you might remember this shot from our last blog post showing Charlotte being loaded into a YELLOW container in Valparaiso, Chile, bound for Long Beach, CA USA. Note the RED container placed right next to the yellow one.
Charlotte all tied down in the yellow container. The entire loading process took over an hour as I had to crawl around under her to reach the tie downs, disconnect her battery and drain her gas tank dry. (Shipping rules)
We sealed the door and watched our mobile home get hauled off by this huge “Stacker”. We were told Charlotte’s boat trip would take about a month, but the strike situation going on in Long Beach might delay our picking her up for as much as an additional month!
We flew home for the final time from South America on February 19th and began the wait. A couple of weeks later the receiving company in Long Beach contacted me to confirm all of our papers were in order. This is when we discovered that the container number we had did not match the container number they had! Our number from the yellow container was bound for Oakland, CA. Their number was for the red container and said Charlotte was in it bound for Long Beach! Twilight Zone! We even looked back at our pictures to make sure we weren’t loosing it. Yup, we had put her in a YELLOW container and the RED container was sitting right next to it, the new container number clearly emblazed on its side!
A quick call to poor Sebastian resulted in him driving once again all the way to the port to find out what happened. The Valparaiso athorities gave him a picture of Charlotte loaded in the RED container just before the door was closed and sealed and it was loaded on the ship. They NEVER admitted to having switched her, and we guess they never planned to tell us. Clearly someone screwed up the paperwork and those sneakly port workers moved her as this was deamed easier than redoing all the bloody papers – easier despite her flat tires, no gas, no battery and my trusted tie down labor. We had no idea what shape our poor Charlotte would be in when we finally got to open that red container.
The big wait was finally over on April 7th when we were united with the red container in a warehouse in Long Beach, CA.
Cutting the seal which I never put on in the first place! What would we find inside?
Whew! A happy Ned and Kat breathe a collective sigh of relief after realizing our trusty travel partner was none the worse for wear after her ordeal. The gas fumes were staggering when we opened the door. They must have put some gas in her to move her around.
She fired right up and placed her tires on US ground for the first time in 16 months.
Vaca Muerta was dutifully re-installed from his hiding place. The old cow head had made the whole trip despite almost meeting its demise at its first border crossing into Belize. Strangely, we had no visits from U.S. Customs inspectors of any sort!?! They had no suspicions of a smelly VW bus that had just spent 14 months in South America. Go Figure?
Gas was added…
Air was added…
Many thanks go to my sister, Kate, who lives in L.A. She picked us up at LAX and hung with us at the port until we were sure Charlotte was ready for the last leg of the journey, a return to the starting point – our driveway in Nevada.
First stop naturally was an auto parts store, this time for gear oil, all of which had leaked out onto the container floor during the boat trip. The transmission had leaked badly the entire trip, necessitating refills every 500 miles or so. By this point I had developed a relatively clean way to fill it without groveling in the dirt too much.
We got out of L.A. quickly and headed north up the PCH to visit my Mom in Santa Barbara.
Shortly after we stopped for tacos (container on dash) at a roadside taco truck, it started pouring rain. The last of the South American dirt and dust was washed away in this deluge – at least on the outside.
After an overnight stay with my Mom we hit US395 for home. We were soon back to our routine of stopping every 50 miles to add water. The crack in Charlotte’s engine case, the final result of our trip-long battles with the vibrating alternator, was getting worse and we wondered if we’d cook her in these last few hundred miles.
Even after 30,000 miles of the Americas, US395 and the Eastern Sierras remain a breathtaking drive.
One last restaurant photo! We stopped for dinner at our favorite BBQ in Bishop, CA.
After dark somewhere near Mammoth, I stopped for a water fill and noticed we didn’t have any tail lights. Ah Charlotte, one more trick in your bag. Driving a Vanagon makes one resourceful if not crazy. I asked Kat if we had any red cloth and she produced pink bikini bottoms from somewhere. I wrapped them around our manual backup light, hit the switch and viola, a pink tail light! Ironically we were passed by no less than two cops in those last 100 miles. Guess they approved.
Around 10 pm we rolled into our driveway. The trip was now complete and all three of us were home safe and sound.
153,620 was the final count.
The final repair in the daylight.
You never know when bikinis will come in handy!
When we left our driveway in December 2013 I wrote the mileage at the time on the overhead consul with a Sharpie. The final touch was to write the current reading. How bizarre the entire trip fell just 22 miles shy of being exactly 30,000 miles!
Stay tuned!
Next up: Charlotte goes from World Traveler to Bridesmaid!!
