After six years of living just steps from the Andes foothills in Chile, I find I’m missing nature. My suburban Bangkok neighborhood is leafy enough, and I can walk along the canals to get away from the hustle and bustle. It’s surprisingly quiet and peaceful. As our semester break approached, though, I knew what I needed. I booked the “Explorer Lake Trip” package in Khao Sok National Park, which included two nights in a treehouse in the jungle and two nights in a raft house at the Cheow Lan Lake.
On Dec. 18, we arrived at Our Jungle House, an eco resort in the national park, where the lady at reception took one look at us and suggested we rethink our plan to go rafting with a cave exploration. Instead, she said, we should go tubing. Which we did. However, the river was quite low and slow, so we had to paddle the whole time to keep up the with guide, who had taken off his flip flops to use as oars. Yes, it was nice to be out in nature, but it also felt like a consolation prize.
Tony and I have trekked in jungles around the world: Costa Rica, Bolivia, Borneo, and many times in Thailand, to name a few. We really didn’t need a guide, even though that’s generally my jam. Unfortunately, our “explorer” package came with a guided tour, and the guide never showed up. By the time our eco resort found another guide, we were way behind schedule. We were joined by a mom and her two grown kids from the UK, who were way more excited than Tony and I were to pause at every sign of a tarantula burrow or an unusual leaf that curled when you touched it. Been there, done that.
I felt so jaded during the whole hike. Really, I just wanted to keep moving and enjoy the Seusstastic landscape of wildly tangled vines, unbelievably huge leaves, the occasional rustle (monkey? monitor lizard?), and the woop-woop call of gibbons. At one point, we came to a lovely waterhole fed by a rushing stream, and the others stripped off their hiking gear to take a dip in their swimsuits. Nobody had informed us that we might be swimming, so we were unprepared. Being unprepared makes me cranky.
I tried to brush off my irritability to appreciate the jungle. I couldn’t get enough of the fig trees’ wild root systems and the towering bamboo arches that created a tunnel along parts of the trail. At the waterhole, we spotted a 5-foot-long monitor lizard (so maybe I wasn’t too sad about not swimming). Our guide pointed out a pit viper sleeping high in a tree, which got him talking about different types of snakes. He said the most venomous snake in the region was the king cobra. “He bite you, one minute bye-bye!” he said with a laugh.
Because of our late start, we returned to the eco resort with just barely enough time to wolf down some lunch before our scheduled “elephant experience.” Despite living and traveling in Asia for so many years, we’ve never had a first-hand encounter with elephants.
Although many tourists still hope for a photo opp atop an elephant, a friend in India helped me understand the cruelty and abuse elephants suffer in order to be domesticated. I knew I didn’t want to contribute to that type of tourism. Instead, we visited the Khaosok Elephant Conservation Centre, which is committed to elephant welfare. This article from the Travel & Leisure website explains why you shouldn’t ever ride an elephant.
At the conservation center, the guide, Chalee, explained that elephants had been used in Thailand since ancient times when they were trained to carry soldiers into battle. Later, the logging industry took advantage of their size and strength, and of course, tourists eagerly pay to interact with and ride an elephant. As welfare organizations have worked to raise awareness, tourists can now find more opportunities for an ethical encounter with Thailand’s national animal.
All of the elephants at the conservation center had been in the family for generations but were now retired from any type of labor or service, Chalee said. We were assigned to Boonsong, an elderly elephant they called “the grandmother.”
During our visit, Boonsong was never tied up or controlled with a sharp hook as I’ve seen in other places, including India. Her handler, called a mahout, simply called out commands. I realize that she was most likely abused in her training at some point to behave so compliantly, which is heartbreaking, but I want to believe her life now is all about indulgence and peace.
Our first task involved mashing up bananas and powdered elephant food to make a cookie dough-ish paste that we rolled into balls. Then we fed the balls, along with some mini bananas and pineapple, to our elephant. Chalee had demonstrated how we could hand off the food to Boonsong’s trunk, or we could put it directly into her mouth.
After her snack, we walked with Boonsong to a mud pit. Chalee noted that elephants love mud because it acts as a natural coolant. Elephants can only sweat from their feet near the toenails, she said. Their big, flapping ears serve as another cooling method in Thailand’s tropical heat.
Tony and I climbed into the mud pit with Boonsong and her mahout. We used a coconut shell to scoop mud from the floor, and then we rubbed mud all over the elephant’s body. I had expected her skin to feel leathery, but I was surprised at how thick and rigid it was. However, Chalee pointed out that elephants are very sensitive to touch and can detect insects or changes in temperature. She encouraged us to stroke, but not to slap, as we applied the mud.
From the mud pit, Boonsong walked to a huge shower, where her mahout washed off most of the mud before leading her to the river for her full-body scrub. We splashed into the river with stiff brushes and coconut buckets, scouring her legs and lower body. When the mahout gave the signal, she dropped down to her knees so we could wash her upper half. Elephants here are prone to illness caused by a biting fly that deposits its egg in the wound, which is one reason a daily bath helps to keep the elephants healthy.
Stepping from the river, squeaky clean, Boonsong immediately used her trunk to blow sand over her body, the equivalent of applying insect repellent and sunscreen.
Overall, the experience was a bit contrived, but I didn’t care. When I try to describe how it felt to spend time with Boonsong, I can only think of cliches: She was majestic, gentle, intelligent, and endearing.
Although the jungle wasn’t exactly meeting my nature needs, my first elephant encounter was everything I hoped it would be.
As our fall break approached, I knew I wanted to spend some time in nature. I also missed the presence of horses in my life. Fortunately, a friend recommended a perfect option: Chaowanat Horse Farm, a picturesque retreat located along a river and surrounded by low mountains, just a 3-hour drive away.
This was the view from our room. My plan was to sit on the deck all day with a book and a beer, but there were no chairs (or beers). The wooden bench that surrounded the deck was crawling with thousands of massive orange ants. Not very inviting.
The property featured a cozy restaurant and coffee shop, a massive garden, the stables, an arena, and plenty of green spaces. The owner was out of town, so his son checked us in to our room. I told him we wanted to plan some excursions, and he suggested it would be nearly impossible to get a taxi to pick us up. That was discouraging. We had hired a driver to take us to the farm, and after he left, we realized we were about 40 minutes from Kanchaburi town.
We booked a horse ride for the next morning but discovered we couldn’t go tubing on the river because the water level was too low. I was getting a little cranky.
The road leading to the farm.I never get tired of seeing how bananas grow.The stable.Cute water taps at the restaurant’s bathroom.Nice porch facing the arena (which was flooded … rainy season).Comfy chairs inside the restaurant.Lots of horsey decor.Goofy dogs named Tofu and Little Bean.Sitting area in the restaurant.
Tony and I lounged around the restaurant for a bit, ate lunch, went for a walk, checked out the horses, and then wandered back to the room. “I know what I need from this break, and I’m afraid I’m not going to get it,” I told him. I didn’t want to sit on the bed in an over airconditioned room for four days.
The next morning we met our cowboy guide, Ek, and our horses. Tony rode a stallion named Diamond, and I rode a gelding named Spicy. Ek told us they were American Quarterhorses. Something in my head shifted the minute I landed in the saddle. Horse energy gets me every time, and despite his name, Spicy was a sweet and gentle soul.
Ek led us out of the farm along muddy paths throughout the countryside. To be honest, Tony and I thought we were seeing marijuana plants. Thailand recently legalized weed, so we innocently assumed it was a cash crop. It’s clearly not an area of expertise for us. Ek clarified that the plants were actually cassava, one of Thailand’s major export products. If you’re as clueless about cassava as I was, check this out.
As we passed this herd of cattle, Ek laughed about how horses and cows in Thailand get spooked by each other. Ek had traveled to Texas once and appreciated that cowboy lifestyle. “No cutting here,” he laughed, referring to the use of horses to round up individual cows in a herd. Side note: How much do you love the floppy ears on these cows?
We emerged in a big meadow at one point, where Ek dismounted and hunkered down behind a clump of flowers.
“Go!” he shouted to us.
“Go where?” we asked each other.
We aimlessly wandered around until he finally got back on his horse and took the lead. A similar thing happened when we reached the river. “Go!” he shouted.
“Are we crossing the river?” I asked.
“No cross. Just go,” he said.
We clomped around in the shallow water, let the horses take a drink, and watched a little boy from the farm splash around. It was confusing.
Later, we realized Ek was taking photos and video of us. We were hopelessly noncompliant models. In retrospect, it was kind of hilarious. There are videos where we are just sitting still, staring at him. I’m sure he expected us to prance around a bit and exhibit some level of drama. Lesson learned.
As we were riding back to the farm, I said to Tony, “You know how I said I wasn’t getting what I needed from this break? Well, I’m getting it now!” I’m sure he was relieved.
After spending the next day touring some nearby sights, we headed back to Bangkok a day early, not because of any fault with the horse farm. It was bad planning on my part not to realize how isolated we would be.
The experience of travel can feel like one rookie mistake after another, even when you’ve been wandering the earth as long as we have. Each new place poses a learning curve. Fortunately, living abroad provides opportunities for a re-do. We definitely want to revisit this area of Thailand, but next time we’ll drive ourselves, stay somewhere with comfortable outdoor seating, and spend a day back at Chaowanat for a little horse time.
By the way, after checking out Chaonawat’s Instagram, I now realize we dropped the ball. We should have dressed up for lovely shots like this. Oh well, next time.
Without our own mode of transportation during our stay in Kanchanaburi, we decided to book a tour to visit two local attractions: Erawan Falls and the Bridge on the River Kwai.
Our guide, Naa, was a bundle of energy and super keen to snap gajillions of photos for us (when did travel get so Instagrammy?). We made a quick stop at the Srinagarind Dam, which is used to regulate the flow of the Kwae Yai River and to produce hydroelectric power.
From there, we traveled a short distance to Erawan National Park to explore the Erawan Falls. The 5-kilometer roundtrip hike includes seven tiers of waterfalls.
Naa said we were on a tight schedule, so we prioritized hiking over swimming. She figured we would only have time to get to the 5th level, but clearly she didn’t realize there was no way I would leave without getting to the top! She posed us for a couple shots before sending us off on our own.
Apparently some hikers leave traditional Thai clothes as an offering to the forest spirits and ghosts.
We were impressed with the well-maintained paved trail, which Naa told us was built during the pandemic. Previously, hikers had to make the trek on slippery dirt paths. The hike was hard enough with the luxury of steep stairs; I can’t imagine doing this in the mud!
By this point, I would have loved to jump in the water. Tony and I were dripping with sweat, but I was determined to reach the 7th waterfall.
I did it! Tony stopped just short of the top. (Who does that?!) We had to hustle to get back down the hill in time because I still wanted to stick my feet in the water.
We agreed that this fabulous place deserved a whole day. Next time, we’ll pack a lunch, rent the required life jacket, and pause for a dip at each of the pools.
Back down at pool #3, a little school of fish waited patiently for some delicious foot skin to chomp. I had previously visited a fish spa, where tiny guppies nibbled at my heels. This was different. Look at the size of those guys! It felt awesome until they went for my arches, which tickled enough to trigger a shriek.
At the end of our hike, we met Naa and grabbed some lunch. Tony and I changed into dry clothes, and then we took off for the next part of our tour: the Death Railway.
In 1942, the Japanese were on a roll. Within a few months of its surprise attack on Pearl Harbor, Japan had taken Singapore, defeated Allied units throughout the Malay peninsula, and pushed back British and Chinese forces to occupy Burma. However, as Japan prepared to invade India that June, the U.S. Navy scored a huge win with the Battle of Midway, making supply routes between Japan and Burma vulnerable.
Looking for another way to keep the supply of materials and reinforcements flowing to the frontlines, Japan opted to build an overland railway using forced labor, including an estimated 60,000 Allied prisoners of war and another 200,000 Southeast Asian civilians. Workers blasted away mountains, built bridges and embankments, and laid 258 miles of track through dense mosquito-infested jungle. They suffered from starvation, disease, torture, and harsh labor.
More than 16,000 POWs and 90,000 civilians died in the brutal conditions during the railway’s construction. Many British, Australian, and Dutch victims were buried at the Kanchanaburi War Cemetery, while the bodies of U.S. casualties were shipped home.
The 1957 movie, “The Bridge on the River Kwai,” brought notoriety to the railway, and tourists still flock to the area to ride the train. The actual bridge from the movie doesn’t exist, but people pay tribute at the Bridge on River Khwai Yai in Kanchanaburi. Tony and I were woefully clueless about the railway’s history before visiting, but our guide, Naa, provided a lot of information.
After learning what had transpired here, it was a bit disconcerting to see tourists sitting cross-legged on the tracks, making peace signs and grinning for the camera as they waited for the train to arrive.
We rode the train for about an hour through verdant countryside to reach the famous bridge and bid farewell to our guide. After a carefree morning of romping around the national park, the railway provided a sobering reminder of the area’s darker history.
This cave next to the train station was used by the Japanese during construction of the railway.
At the Bridge on the River Kwai, which has experienced some post-war upgrades.
Within the first five weeks of my arrival in Thailand, I had already spent two weekends at the beach. It’s just too easy and too fabulous. Four hours door to door, and I can be lounging on a beachside beanbag on the lovely little island of Ko Samet.
The first beach getaway was organized for teacher families from my school the weekend of August 11. It was a long weekend after our first week of school, and I felt super stressed that I should use that time to plan my lessons and get a grip on my new position as a middle school English Language Development (ELD) teacher. As the weekend approached, I repeatedly wrote and then deleted texts to the organizer with the intention to bail. Instead, I climbed aboard one of the vans, which took us to a speedboat, which buzzed across the Gulf of Thailand to deliver us to the island. There, we piled into songthaeos, partially enclosed pickup trucks with bench seats that serve as taxis, for the short ride to the hotel.
I joined another teacher for dinner by the water and then headed to bed. Rising before the sun, I walked down to the beach and let the surf roll over my feet. Each wave seemed to wash away another level of stress. I couldn’t believe I almost hadn’t made the trip!
My daily walk and sunrise scenery.
I spent most of the weekend here, reading my book on a beanbag lounge chair at the Reef Bar & Restaurant. I only had to stand up and turn around to order food, a fresh coconut, or cocktails from the bartender.
A few steps from my beanbag, several ladies had set up beachfront massage tables. Here, I’m getting a foot massage.
After three nights, I felt rejuvenated. What a treat! As the saltwater spray kissed my face on the speedboat trip back to the mainland, I felt deep gratitude for such a special weekend.
Despite knowing how restorative this was, I felt the same anxiety creeping in as the next scheduled beach weekend approached. A bit overwhelmed with the minutiae of my new life and job, I toyed with skipping. However, this was a ladies weekend, and I was still trying to find my tribe. I knew FOMO would rule the day. And so, I jumped in another van for another trip to Ko Samet the weekend of Aug. 25.
Check out the gold and bling of this van’s interior.
Sure enough, my sunrise walk replaced my stress with bliss. I landed on the same beachbag lounger and essentially repeated the previous weekend, only with a few different faces. Sunrise strolls and then: read, eat, chat with new friends, swim in the sea, get a massage, repeat.
One night, we popped over to the other side of the island for the sunset. It was a little anticlimactic thanks to the overcast skies, but it was fun to hang out with this lovely group.
At the pier on the way home, I saw this unusual lady. Not sure who she’s meant to be, but she cracked me up.
Now that I know how easy and rewarding it is to treat myself with an island getaway, I plan to do this more often. And I’ll take Tony with me next time!
For the last 21 years, I’ve been teaching overseas. My brother was in the Air Force, and then he also became an international teacher. Both my sisters married military guys, so they rarely stayed in one place for long. Finally, we’re all living in the States! You would think it would be easier to get together.
For the first time since Christmas, we all met up last weekend at Cumberland Falls State Resort Park in Kentucky. We had planned to camp, but the weather report looked bleak, so we opted for cabins instead (hallelujah!). When my mom canceled at the last minute after hearing about the grueling drive, I took her reservation at the lodge (even better!).
I rode with my sister, Megan, and her kids after driving six hours to get to her house. Turns out the trip to Cumberland Falls was nearly 12 hours! So painful. However, we had some good laughs and arrived to find the rest of the gang already settled in their cabins with food on the stove.
Remember road trips without electronics? View from the lodge.
We lucked out with a crisp, clear day for hiking. First, we walked down the path behind the cabins to reach the falls.
Two cuties, a waterfall, and a rainbow. Who could ask for more?The whole gang!
The nieces and nephews skittered around boulders and cliffs like little mountain goats as the Cumberland River roared below us. It’s possible we let them skitter a bit too much, and we’re lucky nobody plunged into the waterfall or got flattened by falling rocks. (There was a near tragedy, though … read on …)
Oops…Where’s Nico?Cousins xoTaking in the view.Can’t stop climbing!A round resting spot.Dripping rocks and sweet boys.
We spent a little time hanging out at this beach, where the kids collected garbage for a Scout merit badge. Unfortunately, there was plenty to collect as it gets carried downstream and deposited on these shores.
Playing at the beach.Chilling with the ladies.Back walkover!Garbage collectors.
After lunch, we hiked to Eagle Falls, which was hidden in a cove of massive boulders.
The kids climbed up behind the falls!Summer finding her zen.Nieces!
The second day was cloudy, and we were exhausted, but we managed to squeeze in one more hike. Later, we adults hung out around the campfire while the little people played in the woods.
Like a postcard!
More random shots from our visit …
The bookends are friends of my brother’s kids who were also visiting the park.
Tuesday morning, Megan and I took off with her kids and dog for the arduous trip home. As we zig-zagged through small towns and farmland across the southern states, Megan counted Dollar Generals using the voice of the Count from Sesame Street (“16 Dollar Generals! Bwah ha ha ha!”). She got up to 20 before we finally emerged from the countryside and got on a proper highway.
In the meantime, the rest of the family took a morning hike along the river. My brother’s dog, Lexi, wandered too close to the edge and fell in the icy river. Summer, thinking the splash had been one of the children, dove in and pulled Lexi to safety. This happened just upstream from the falls, where the rapid current could have easily swept them both away and given me a whole different angle for this blog post. Whew! Tragedy averted.
Summer and Lexi
I wish we could have had more time together, but as always, we made the most of it!
You know you’re desperate for a get-away when you toss your cat in the car and head out at the crack of dawn during a hurricane.
That’s what I did on November 10. My sister and her husband were going out of town for a wedding, and I was supposed to drive 339 miles to babysit my nephew and niece. However, Hurricane Nicole was slowly blowing her way up the Gulf Coast of Florida when I was scheduled to hit the road. I googled, “What wind speed can flip a car?” and “Is it dangerous to drive in a hurricane?” Google basically rolled its eyes.
Adrenaline-fueled, I took off slowly in the pitch black early morning through sheets of rain with 30 mph winds buffeting my little car and my cat, Ella, howling in the back seat. My body was so tense, I knew I would break into a million pieces if I crashed. After about an hour, the rain stopped and the sun came out, and I relaxed a bit. By noon, we had arrived and had time to decompress before the kids got home from school. Then the fun began.
Ella mainly camped out on the top bunk in Will’s room, but eventually she started exploring and interacting with the kids.
Ella allowing Annesley to pet her.Ella overseeing Will’s brushing.Ella exploring the kitchen.
We played hard all weekend till their parents returned. And then I stuck around for two more weeks! With 14 animals depending on me at the farm, I rarely get to skip town. However, Wendi (the farm owner) was back for awhile and kindly took over my chores so I could enjoy a little vacation.
Highlights included hanging out at a state park, going to the beach, hiking, playing board games, and reading with the kids.
Despite literally not paying attention at ALL, Annesley kicks butt at Sequence.Beach bunnies.Will is all about his Army men these days.Oh man, we love us some Crumbl cookies.Family hike.Hanging out at Annesley’s school for their Turkey Trot.
We celebrated Annesley’s 8th birthday a month early (rather than compete with Christmas), but it came with a couple disappointments. First, most of her friends were unavailable during the Thanksgiving weekend, so she ended up having only one party guest (plus the girl’s brother). Secondly, the kids were bursting with anticipation for the arrival of their cousins, but my brother called to tell us both his son and daughter had contracted the flu, so they cancelled their visit. Nevertheless, we played minute-to-win-it games, and Annesley had a great time.
Thanksgiving was lovely. My mom and her boyfriend, Ram, visited from The Villages. Ram is an estate-sale aficionado, frequently finding treasures that he passes on to us. This time, he brought a golf practice net, which was a big hit.
We set the table with our grandmother’s dishes and beautiful linens I had bought in India (with gift certificates from my students’ parents). I don’t exactly remember giving them to Megan … but whatever … it was nice to see them. I also gambled on a vegetarian “turkey” just for me; nobody else would have tolerated that. Turns out, it’s delicious!
Oh Thanksgiving Tree, oh Thanksgiving Tree, how lovely are your branches!Turkey leg!More turkey leg!Our beautiful table.I don’t even want to know how they do it, but it was yummy.
I felt pretty special to make Annesley’s list of things she’s thankful for. (I’m Sha-Sha.)
At some point, I showed the kids how to use the Prisma app to play with photo filters. They went a little nuts with it, but some of their creations are fantastic.
Edited in Prisma app with Thota VaikuntamEdited in Prisma app with LeyaEdited in Prisma app with GothicEdited in Prisma app with ParisEdited in Prisma app with Street ArtEdited in Prisma app with CartoonEdited in Prisma app with Thota Vaikuntam
Disclaimer: Hurricane Nicole had been downgraded to a tropical storm by the time I ventured into her bluster. Still pretty brave, I think. Or stupid. Anyway, it was worth the risk to hang out with this clan!
Last night, I dreamt I was getting ready for a family party. As I ran my hairbrush over the top of my head, my hair peeled off like a wig, leaving a bald, scabby patch. I shrieked and showed my sister, who said, “Yeah, that’s pretty bad. But you can probably comb your hair over to cover it up.” This morning, I asked the internet to interpret my dream. Here’s the general consensus:
“Another interpretation of the meaning of losing your hair in a dream is fear of losing control or feelings of helplessness. If you dream about losing your hair it could indicate that you are afraid of a situation in your life or that you feel powerless in a particular situation in your life.” (zeroinonnutrition.com)
Hmmm … You think?!
Do you think I might “have a fear of losing control’ because I have been on lockdown in a three-bedroom apartment with my husband and cat for 14 weeks? We started “distance learning” in mid March. At first, I thought it sounded fun and easy, but I soon realized I would work harder and longer hours than I ever have in my career. I got emails from eighth graders at 10 p.m. wanting feedback on essays that were due at 8 a.m. the next day. At first, I refused. However, it didn’t take long to figure out those teens slept late and worked in the evenings. If that’s what their pubescent brains and bodies needed, I had to play along. I felt gloomy and lonely and hopeless. Finally I stopped wallowing and started getting up earlier to practice yoga. Nothing crazy, just a gentle morning wake-up practice. I felt the transformation right away. I faced each day with a little more optimism, a little less self-pity. Yet, there was no denying I was trapped with an introvert (my husband) and a narcissist (my cat). Both needed a lot of attention, but neither had the skill set to fill my emotional void.
Do you think I am “afraid of a situation in my life” because I am the poster child for Seasonal Affective Disorder, and South American winter is right around the corner? Tony and I had agreed to spend our “winter break” in Chile. We were relatively comfortable and safe. We could and did get whatever we needed delivered to our door: organic produce, beer and wine, groceries, a computer dongle, even two jigsaw puzzles. For a while, we could leave the building with our masks on, but the explosion of coronavirus cases in Santiago led to an extended quarantine. We had to go online for governmental approval to leave the house, which we did three times. It was no joke. I even got pulled over on my bike during one of my outings so the officer could confirm I had legitimate permission. As our beautiful sunny autumn turned gray and chilly, I visualized spending the next couple months in that apartment. I wouldn’t just be lonely and anxious. I would be lonely, anxious, and cold. Despite my reservations about traveling and hunkering down with Floridian covid-deniers, I impulsively got online and booked tickets to Orlando.
Do you think I might feel “powerless” because I put my fate in the hands of a bankrupt airline? To be fair, the flight from Santiago to Miami on Latam Airlines impressed me. The flight attendants all wore masks and ensured passengers were able to maintain some personal space. Passengers were required to wear masks, and some went full hazmat. There was no drink service or complicated meal tray. We got a bottle of water and a tray of ravioli. I took off my mask to wolf down the food and then quickly put it back on. In Miami, we disembarked by row rather than crowding together in the usual crush to get off the plane. The airport felt relatively safe. Nearly everyone wore masks and seemed to avoid crowding together. After collecting our luggage, we were all funneled into a security area where officers completely unpacked our bags, presumably looking for drugs. I had forgotten about the Brita filters I brought home to recycle. They do look suspicious. The officer stabbed one with his knife, releasing a pile of carbon sand, and then politely encouraged me to repack and move on to my connecting flight. That was weird and stressful, but nonthreatening from a virus perspective.
Do you think I might have “feelings of helplessness” because I was getting on a plane with a whole lot of people who don’t seem to care about social distancing and wear their face masks more like chin guards? Once American Airlines started boarding for Orlando, I realized my sense of security was about to evaporate. About half the passengers wore masks; fewer wore masks correctly, actually covering their mouths and noses. I was wearing an N-95 medical mask with another cloth mask on top. Yes, two masks. While waiting for my group to board, I overheard a couple girls snickering behind my back. I turned around to see they were staring at me while wearing their own masks down around their lower lips. I wanted to yell, “I just traveled from a country with 167,000 cases and more than 3,000 deaths. I am terrified that I’m transporting this virus to Florida. I am double masking for you! You’re welcome!” I felt so deflated knowing that whatever I do to protect myself and others, I am at the mercy of these people who don’t take it seriously.
Anyway, I am quarantining at my house in Florida, and it really is a lovely little place. I got up this morning for my usual yoga practice. I drank coffee outside, listening to the birds. I drove to Walmart for a non-contact grocery pickup, which was convenient and safe, much to my relief. I did a sudoku puzzle, worked on report card comments, scrubbed and refilled the bird bath, lounged outside with a book, Facetimed with a good friend, and called my sister to tell her about my dream. I’m about to pop some sweet potatoes in the oven. Life could be worse.
Still, uncertainty is my nemesis. The website’s interpretation was spot on. And so, until life returns to some version of normal, I suppose I will wake from disturbing haircuts with a better understanding of why they haunt my dreams.
Family time was great and all, but I have been craving some tropical beach time.
Chile’s beaches are gorgeous to look at. However, the water is COLD, unpredictable protests make the drive to the shore a little daunting, and every dang resident of Santiago escapes to the coast at this time of year.
I needed a beach with very few other humans, more nature than civilization, sand free of cigarette butts, and water warm enough to soothe my soul (but cool enough to provide respite from the summer heat). Tony and I found the perfect spot: Paraiso Azul Retiro on Brazil’s Ilha Grande (Big Island), just off the coast of Rio de Janeiro.
Waiting for our boat in Angra dos Reis, a port town west of Rio.Leaving the mainland! Tony and I had the little boat all to ourselves.
Ilha Grande housed a leper colony and later a high-security prison, which closed in 1994. Few motorized vehicles are permitted on the island, and about 87 percent is contained in environment protection areas. Last year, the island was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site.
Our cottage sat at the water’s edge with a hammock perfect for napping to the sound of lapping waves. The guest house’s private beach was small, but then, so was the guest house. For most of our visit, we shared the beach with only a couple other guests.
Our home away from home: Paraiso Azul RetiroEvening view of the beach and yoga sala.Our balcony
Tony and I got up each morning and practiced yoga in the beautiful high-ceilinged sala overlooking the water. We spent much of the day reading, napping, and swimming in our calm bay, on the opposite side of the island from the choppy Atlantic Ocean.
the yoga sala
Our first full day here, we kayaked to two nearby beaches. Unfortunately, they were located very close to the Lagoa Azul (Blue Lagoon), which is a big tourist attraction. Boats motored in and dropped off drunk tourists, who paraded down the beach with their plastic cups of beer, posed for selfies, and thrashed around in the surf, losing flip flops to the tide. Swimming in those waters, I collected plastic bags, labels from water bottles, heaps of plastic bottle caps, and other detritus. I dumped it all in a makeshift trash bin, but I don’t know if anyone ever comes to haul it away. We made a beeline for our clean little tourist-free patch of tranquility.
The most conservative swimsuit in Brazil, fyi.Gorgeous, despite the plastic trash. Sigh… This was early, before the tourists arrived.Dang, I love “portrait mode” on my phone. So forgiving…We explored the trail near the beach.It was nice while it lasted, but soon boatloads of tourists arrived. Why can’t we have the whole island to ourselves?!I hope someone collects this trash occasionally. The plastic in the water was truly disheartening. I beseech you, reader, to consider giving up single-use plastic bags and bottles! Pleeeeeease?!
After a day of absolutely spectacular weather, we had an evening with absolutely spectacular storms.
The storms knocked out power for a while, so we played cards and ate dinner by candlelight.
Our second day, we decided to go for a hike. On the map, you can see our guest house (labeled in purple). The red line marks trails around the island, but what you can’t see is how rugged those trails are. From the coast, the rainforest justs up to an elevation of 3,383 feet (1,031 maters), so to hike here means to go up, up, up, and then down, down, down repeatedly. Tree roots created makeshift steps and fallen leaves offered a little traction, while slippery mossy rocks did their best to keep our minds focused on the muddy path.
Our private guide, named Lua, bounded up the steps behind the guest house to the trail. About 10 years old, Lua looked like a mix between black lab and some kind of terrier. She patiently led us toward Bananal Beach, occasionally pausing to wait as we panted up the steep path.
Leaving our guest house.Look at the size of this jackfruit! FYI, when jackfruit falls and rots on the forest floor, the smell is disgustingly sickly sweet.The elusive forest stud.
Pouring with sweat, we emerged from the forest to find a gorgeous deserted beach. The only other person was a gardener tending to some bushes near a small house. Lua hunkered down in the shade while Tony and I waded into the calm, clear water. We swam, played in the multi-colored sand, walked the length of the beach, threw a stick for Lua, and ate our sack lunch.
Bananal BeachParadise.Lua takes a break.We walked to those boulders, where we picked up the next trail.
Eventually, we followed our dog guide to a different trail that led to the next beach, Matariz. We were pretty wrecked by then and not overly impressed with the beach, so we stopped for a soda at a small guesthouse (while Lua frolicked in and drank from a stream) and then headed home.
The “trail.”How spoiled are we that we were unimpressed with this beach? Seriously, sometimes I worry about that.
From then on, Lua became my BFF. She followed me from the guesthouse lounge to our cottage to the beach several times a day. She curled up next to our table at meals. She napped on our cottage porch when we were inside. She burrowed under my beach chair. I kinda fell in love with her.
I should point out that this is the “before” picture. Before sea and sand ripped off my toenail polish, before mosquitos ravaged my calves leaving wicked puss-y wounds, before sunburn peeled off in sheets like a clove of garlic, and before I fell and skinned my knee. Don’t believe everything you see on Facebook.
On day three, we followed Lua through the rainforest on a different trail. This time we walked to Freguesia de Santana Beach and beyond. We paused at the deserted beach for a swim in the still clear water, undeterred by the light rain.
Check out that enormous stand of bamboo! Seriously, WTW? Who brought that to Brazil???Gorgeous roots … reminds me of the book Overstory, the best of the NINE books I read on this break. Please read it! Soooo fascinating.Freguesia de Santana, built in 1843.Sooo tranquilo. We went for a swim and then continued our hike. On the way back, this place was mobbed by tourists disembarking from their party boats. What a nightmare! Ugh.
Afterwards, Lua led the way to another trail that should have taken us to a beach called Japariz, where we had planned to have lunch at a restaurant. We walked for nearly an hour, sometimes climbing over boulders or wading through shallow streams. Eventually, we gave up and turned back. Later, we realized we had stopped just minutes from our destination!
Another day, we left Lua at the guesthouse and took a speedboat to several locations on the island.
We were eager to check out one of the island’s most famous beaches, Lopez Mendez, but we hadn’t realized we had to hike to it. We got dropped off at the small beach, Pouso, and trekked through the rainforest for about 30 minutes. Fortunately, we got an early start, so we had the whole beach practically to ourselves.
Lopez Mendez Beach. Insanely fabulous.Hottie in his Van Halen shorts. Runnin’ with the devil.
In today’s money-driven tourism world, it’s rare to find an undeveloped beach with no condos, no restaurants, no souvenir shops. So refreshing! (Of course, that also meant there were no lounge chairs or umbrellas for rent … but we found a nice log under a shady tree.)
I took a long walk along the beach while Tony watched our stuff, and we took turns jumping in the powerful waves of the Atlantic Ocean. By the time we left a couple hours later, people were beginning to pour down from the trail.
So many of these guys on the beach, but only he would pose for me. Thank you, wee crab.
We hiked back to meet our boat driver for the ride to Abraão, the island’s only town. I appreciated that Ilha Grande’s touristy stuff was concentrated in one area. Hostels, shops, restaurants, bars, and tour agencies all competed for the tourists who were dumped at the pier. There wasn’t much to see, so we ate lunch and hung out at a waterside bar for some people-watching until our scheduled departure.
Our butt-breaking speedboat.The bustling metropolis of Abraão.
Next stop: Another hike, this time to a waterfall. We got dropped at a small beach and took off up the trail. And up. And up. And up. Finally, we reached the Cachoeira da Feiticeira. It was pretty, but mostly, I was excited to plunge my stinky, sweaty, muddy body into that cool pool. It did not disappoint. There was only one other woman there, and she was busy Instagramming herself on top of a boulder, so I had the pool all to myself. Tony sat on the edge and dipped his feet in the water. I could’ve stayed longer, but we had a long hike back to our boat, and we were on a schedule.
It wasn’t that dramatic, but whatever. A waterfall is always impressive.Like a shampoo commercial, no?You probably can’t fully comprehend how freakin’ high up we had hiked. But there’s the sea, WAY the hell down there.
The last stop of the day was Lagoa Azul, or Blue Lagoon, which was very near our guesthouse. We jumped off the back of the boat and swam a bit, but we couldn’t get near the reef because of all the frolicking tourists, who stood in waist-deep water, drinking beer and scaring away all the fish. Back “home,” we rested up from a long day of exploring.
I’m all alone … I’m all alone … I’m all alone…Seriously?
We had worried that nine days at a secluded beach would be too long, but I had an epiphany on this vacation. I CAN actually take a trip that involves a lot of nothing. Usually, I insist on visiting every museum, touring every historical site, hitting every one of the guidebook’s “top 10 don’t-miss attractions.” However, this holiday taught me that travel doesn’t have to mean frenzy.
The “after” photo. I realize you can’t fully understand the torture this leg has endured. Just trust me.
In nine days of doing very little, I never got bored. We slowed down and enjoyed each moment. We even embraced the storms, which filled the afternoon sky with spectacular lightning displays, even though they also knocked out power to our guesthouse a few times.
That said, when it was time to leave, we were ready to get back to civilization. We gave Lua a little cuddle, thanked the incredible staff, and boarded a boat back to the mainland.
Goodbye!
Our driver, Piu Piu, met us at the pier and drove us to the Rio de Janeiro airport, where I kissed Tony good-bye and sent him back to Chile. I was spending the weekend in Rio!
I joined Stella, Ian, and Becky at the Copacabana Beach shortly after checking in to our hotel. They had already rented chairs and umbrellas. Once nestled into my chair, there was no reason to leave.
Thirsty? Someone would bring a beer, caipirinha, soda, fresh water, or a coconut with a hole hacked in the top for access to the cold refreshing juice. Hungry? Just needed to wave at the guy with the portable grill for a cheese kebab, or signal the vendor selling peel-and-eat shrimp, or cool off with a traditional açai bowl full of slushy fruit, or consider a burger, fried calamari, sandwiches, steamed corn, popsicles – seriously, there was no end to the food selection. Forgot a swimsuit? Fortunately, vendors stroll the beach with huge racks of bikinis. Sellers walked by with jewelry, sarongs, sunscreen, T-shirts, sunglasses, souvenirs, dresses, hats, and more.
This guy even hosed off our feet at one point!
The ocean water was chilly with powerful crashing waves, but I knew I couldn’t leave without going in at least once. I fought the breakers until I got far enough out to bob in the waves. It was dreamy. Really cold, but dreamy.
That evening, we went to a samba bar called Leviano in the popular nightlife district of Lapa. The bar was packed before 9 p.m., and the energy was electric.
Later, we returned to the beach, where small bars lined the promenade. Most had live music, so we picked one and hung out for a while, kicking off our shoes to dance in the sand.
We spent the next morning at the beach again, and then Becky and I took off to visit the famous Christ the Redeemer statue.
Christ the Redeemer, Portuguese Cristo Redentor, colossal statue of Jesus Christ at the summit of Mount Corcovado, Rio de Janeiro, southeastern Brazil. It was completed in 1931 and stands 98 feet (30 metres) tall, its horizontally outstretched arms spanning 92 feet (28 metres). The statue, made of reinforced concrete clad in a mosaic of thousands of triangular soapstone tiles, sits on a square stone pedestal base about 26 feet (8 metres) high, which itself is situated on a deck atop the mountain’s summit. The statue is the largest Art Deco-style sculpture in the world and is one of Rio de Janeiro’s most recognizable landmarks.
A historic train carried tourists up the mountain through the forest. At the top, we walked up several flights of stairs and elbowed through the crowd for a few photos. The selfie-fest was hilarious. If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em.
Despite the crowd, it wasn’t hard to find a quiet spot to enjoy the views.
That evening, we reconnected with Stella and Ian to celebrate Becky’s birthday at a Japanese restaurant called Soy. Accustomed to Chile’s ubiquitous rolls full of rice and cream cheese, we were all thrilled with the delicious “real” sushi. Our waiter brought chocolate mousse with a candle, and we sang “Happy Birthday.”
A little more music at the beach, and we called it a night. (Can I just mention how much I LOVE that the fun gets going in Rio well before my bed time!!)
Stella and Ian flew out the next morning. Becky and I had an afternoon flight, so we tried to spend a couple hours at the beach. However, strong winds kept uprooting our umbrellas and blasting them through the air, nearly decapitating several sunbathers. The locals promised it would calm down, but we had to pack up and hit the road anyway.
School wrapped up the first semester on Dec. 20, and we immediately flew to the States to spend Christmas with my family. I had scheduled three weeks in Florida because I assumed my mother would need help. In the week after my father died, I felt so useful: organizing her paperwork, answering phone calls, contacting friends and family with the sad news, and so on. I figured I would pick up where I had left off a month ago. We crossed paths with our pet sitters at the Santiago Airport, handed over the keys and a few bits of information about caring for Ella, and then we were off.
Kaylene and Ned at the Santiago Airport
As always, I had a blast hanging out with my sisters and their families. Megan had decked out her home near Destin, FL, in full holiday regalia, including three Christmas trees. Kate and her family drove from Michigan with a van full of presents. My brother Mike and his family sat this one out, celebrating with out-of-town friends at their home in Abu Dhabi. My mom arrived on Christmas Eve. Of course, we had many melancholy moments, missing my dad. His absence was everywhere. With a bunch of little kids at Christmas, though, you have to keep a happy face. Kind of a blessing.
Megan and Britt had the most festive house in the neighborhood.
We all went to the movies. Some of us saw “Star Wars”; some saw “Frozen 2.” Posing outside the theater…
Not sure what happened here…The night before Christmas …We caught Santa setting up the Magnatiles!
I was a little bummed that Tony and I had failed to gear up in anticipation of the annual Dickinson Family Nerf War. I couldn’t find any weapons from past years, and I didn’t want to invest in more plastic junk. I begged my sister Kate to let us borrow some of her artillery. Her three boys easily own enough Nerf weaponry to outfit the actual U.S. Army. “We totally forgot to bring it,” she said. “We were in such a rush to pack the van and get down here!”
Turns out Megan also dropped the ball. She had purchased Nerf guns with incompatible bullets. Doh!
Christmas morning, we enjoyed the usual traditions: Kids wait upstairs until adults check to see whether Santa came. Play with stocking stuffers and eat cinnamon rolls. Open presents. On our “journey to zero waste,” Tony and I had requested no gifts this year. I tried to find plastic-free options for our presents to everyone else. I made lotion bars and bought homemade soaps for the adults, and I gave the kids photo puzzles made on the Shutterfly website.
At one point, the living room became eerily quiet. Suddenly, Kate’s whole family came barreling down the stairs in full attack mode, outfitted with helmets, face masks, cardboard shields, and Nerf weapons. I shouted out, “Embedded journalist! Hold your fire!” and ducked behind the kitchen island. So obviously, Kate had lied about forgetting the Nerf gear. Not only that, Nico had written an extremely detailed three-page battle plan with roles for each member of his family. It opened with:
After everyone is done opening presents, we run upstairs in the closet and get ready. This way, we already have the top floor cleared out as we make our way downstairs in the line going: Nico (shieldman), Dad (sheildman), Paul (gunman), Jack (gunman), and Mom (gunner) makes sure that we are not being ambushed from behind.
There’s even a diagram for clarification.
Classic.
Family Christmas Nerf War 2020Megan wears protection while baking cinnamon rolls.
The only way to top an epic Nerf war is with a trip to the beach. So that’s what we did. Henderson State Park’s beach is practically perfect with baby powder sand and crystal clear water (too cold for me at this time of year, but the kids jumped right in).
Beach at Henderson State Park.
We had so much fun, we went back the next day.
Tony and I had promised to take the kids overnight, and Megan and Britt were looking forward to a romantic get-away. However, my mom was eager to get home, so Tony and I drove with her back to the Villages a few days earlier than planned.
Our rental property was free for the week, and we settled in, expecting to spend much of our time helping out at mom’s house. Turns out she didn’t really want or need help. Distracting herself from my father’s absence, she launched several big projects, including remodeling the master bedroom and bath. Realizing she and the workmen had things under control, and knowing we would have to check in to a hotel at the end of the week when our renters arrived, we decided to skip town again. Tony took a shuttle to the airport, rented a car, and picked me up to head back to Megan’s house. We figured we could offer to babysit for that get-away they wanted.
During the six-hour drive, I checked my messages using free wifi at a rest stop. Megan had texted, “Sha sha! I hope u get this, we booked our get-away room for tonight so we might leave the kids at the neighbors till u get here so we can spend a little extra time at the resort.” Ha! She didn’t even wait till we got there.
While I appreciate having the whole family together, there’s something particularly special about getting my lovebugs all to myself. No cousins to distract them. No siblings to distract me. We played Pokemon Monopoly and Sequence, assembled Annesley’s puzzle, read bunches of books, colored, ran around outside, and laughed a lot.
One day when Britt was at work, Megan took us all to Seaside, a quaint beach town where the movie “The Truman Show” was filmed. We had brought the kids’ bikes, and we rented some for the adults. We cycled around a lovely lake and through the quiet lanes lined with picturesque cottages.
Cycling in Seaside.
After lunch, we strolled over to the beach, just planning to take a peek. As if. Will and Annesley immediately started playing in the sand and splashing in the water. Seriously, how could they resist?
One highlight of this visit was watching the kids at karate class. The sensei was brilliant. I wish I had his classroom management skills. And I felt super proud of my munchkins.
Before heading back to Santiago, we popped by for one last visit with my mom. She let me take one of my dad’s ukuleles, which was a nice distraction when we got stranded in Atlanta overnight.
Back in Chile, I spent much of my time dealing with time-consuming, Spanish-mandatory frustrations: A large sum of our money was “missing” after an issue with a mobile deposit. We had to get our vacuum repaired. Someone stole the side mirrors off my car while I was at an appointment. Two of our balcony doors were broken and wouldn’t close. In addition, our house in Michigan needs more foundation work before we put in on the market again, so I was on skype with contractors and emailing with my realtor.
Still, we made time for a little fun. We saw the movie, “Yesterday,” at a free screening in the park by our house. I met up with a couple friends. We ate out (way too much!). The rest of the time, I could be found reading or napping on the balcony.
I really couldn’t complain … especially when I could look forward to our upcoming trip to Ilha Grande in Brazil!
