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Category: travel

Four Years

Four Years

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Four years ago today I started what I still think of as my “new” job. I moved from print to digital journalism, from editing a magazine to being a jack-of-all-trades writer/editor penning op-eds, success stories, profiles, advertising copy and whatever else needs to be done.

On the Friday of my first week I wrote a brief history of the organization. Seven months later, I was sent around the world to report and write stories in Indonesia and Myanmar.

Before I started, my new manager told me that working at Winrock was a little like drinking from a fire hose. He was not exaggerating. There’s hardly been a dull moment.

Turns out, I’m a little addicted to the fast-paced workplace. I thrive in it, though increasingly it wears me out. But I always do better with too much on my plate than not enough. And right now, of course, I’m grateful to have this work.

One thing I know for sure, and I say this with great fondness: In this job, I’l always have too much on my plate.

(Street scene in Khulna, Bangladesh, just one of the amazing sights I’ve seen through my “new” job.)

An Irish Lesson

An Irish Lesson

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Yes, we’re in a pandemic, but Saint Patrick’s Day shall not go unnoticed. Here there will be corned beef and cabbage, Irish music, and placemats with shamrocks on them. In my spare moments I’ll look at photos of the auld sod. There will not be a gathering of the clan, but we will be together in spirit.

The Irish are no strangers to adversity, having survived mass starvation during the Potato Famine (a fact you hear often when touring Ireland, a place where the past is more present than most places I’ve visited). But the Irish are also no strangers to joy.

You can hear these twin themes in their music, which alternates between raucous jigs and mournful ballads. In this the Irish are instructive: they can find fun in the midst of gloom. I’ll hang onto that lesson today.

Virtual Vacation

Virtual Vacation

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Time for a virtual vacation. Today I’m heading to Florida, where I go every summer to walk the beach, inhale the sea air, and watch dune grass swaying in the breeze.

I’m thinking about how sultry it is there, and how I always intend to do more writing than I actually do — but how it works out anyway. Because the trip is always an inspiration and a restorative, much longed for, much appreciated.

It’s still months away but already I can feel a warm breeze on my face and the fine white sand between my toes. One of the best things about a virtual vacation is that it can happen whenever you want it to! And for me, it’s happening … right … now.

Lasting Impressions

Lasting Impressions

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Remembering where I was this time last year, zooming through the streets of Phnom Penh in a tuk-tuk, about to leave for the eastern part of the country, where I would have a strange and unforgettable experience with bats.

The trips I’ve taken the last few years will never leave me. Though the reporting I’ve done has long since been turned into articles, the impressions it left will always be part of my writing.

They come in especially handy when I need to remind myself that the world is much larger than my little corner of it. The last few days I’ve been remembering a woman who seemed the incarnation of sadness. She had been trafficked, beaten and abused. Through a series of remarkable occurrences she found her way back home. But the poverty she returned to was so severe — her kids ate rice and roasted rat because that’s all they had — that it wouldn’t surprise me to learn she’d once again taken her chances with a job offer abroad.

She was a beautiful woman whose children hugged her tenderly. They seemed to know what she had done for them. How could they not?

Top of the World

Top of the World

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As I sit snug in my house with a dusting of snow on the ground and trees, I read about a land where snow and ice reign — or at least reign for a little while longer.

The research vessel Polestern is part of the Multidisciplinary drifting Observatory for the Study of Arctic Climate (MOSAIC), the largest Arctic research expedition in history. It is studying the polar ice cap that sits at the top of the world.

The researchers recently spoke to a Washington Post reporter about what they’ve been encountering there. The resulting article read like one of those great polar adventure stories. At one point the scientists heard a low “grumble” and realized that the large floe to which they’d anchored their vessel was splitting apart. They once had to kayak across a newly formed channel to reach their instruments.

“We are teetering at the edge of feasibility,” said the co-coordinator for the MOSAIC expedition, Matthew Shupe. In the not-so-distant future, he said, “setting up an ice camp for a whole year is not going to be possible.”

But he and the other scientists can’t imagine being anywhere else. Said Shupe: “It is so cool to be embedded in the middle of this new Arctic state.”

(Photo: mosaic-expedition.org)

Travel On!

Travel On!

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This morning on the way to work I opened yesterday’s New York Times travel section with its cover story on 52 places to visit in 2020. It’s a wonder I made it into the office. I could totally have seen myself looking up at National Airport or Eisenhower Avenue, having sailed past my stop, salivating over a double-page spread photograph of the Lake District.

I’m not a bucket-list kind of person. I love to travel but am more of an “I’ll-take-whatever-I-can-get” kind of person, and when reading a luscious travel section, as I was this morning, I pretty much want to go to everyplace I see — except, maybe, Richmond, Va., — it’s too close!

But articles like these do us a great service, I think. They simulate the imagination, they lead us to research the spots that look interesting, and, who knows, they might even be the first nudge that gets us to Tajikistan or Slovenia or the British Virgin Islands.

It’s a brand new year, a brand new decade. Travel on!

(If you’d told me in 2010 that I would visit Bangladesh, above, in 2017 … I wouldn’t have believed it!)

Malawi Memories

Malawi Memories

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This time last year I was catching my first glimpse of Africa’s Great Rift Valley. In Malawi for work, I was bouncing around the countryside in a car full of colleagues, exploring small villages and learning what they were doing to help fight child labor.

Some villages built homes for teachers, tidy brick structures that provided a fresh start for an instructor and his family. Others started commercial enterprises — a grain mill or a dormitory for older students — and the money they made from these was used for school fees or uniforms.

It was a quick trip but a wonderful introduction to the vast plains and awesome peaks of this beautiful and warm-hearted country. And this week I’m reliving it, seeing it again in memory, marveling that somehow, improbably, but in actual fact … I was there.

Miles and Miles and Miles …

Miles and Miles and Miles …

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On the second day of my getaway I wrote in the morning and explored in the afternoon. About 20 minutes from where I was bunking, there was an entrance to Shenandoah National Park’s Skyline Drive. I’d been there before — it’s less than 90 minutes from my house — but I hadn’t been there in years, so I was looking with fresh eyes … with, dare I say it, eyes of love?

Virginia is for lovers, you know, though it’s taken some of us a while to love the state in which we live. But this reluctant Virginian was swept off her feet yesterday. First of all, the weather was perfect. It was almost 60 degrees, clear and bright. There weren’t many people around, and those who were there drove slowly, seemingly as much in awe as I was.

I did a couple of quick hikes, but what grabbed me most were the views. Skyline Drive runs along the crest of the Blue Ridge Mountains, so you don’t just have one vista, you have dozens. At some point I realized that if I didn’t stop pulling over at every overlook I would never get home.

I looked at the ridges, one behind another, as close to infinity as we are likely to have this side of heaven. In my head was that song from The Who: “I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles. I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles.”

It reminded me of flying; there was the same above-it-all-ness, the sense of seeing more clearly because we can see farther. Real world problems didn’t go away, but for a few hours they seemed smaller and more manageable. They seemed miles away too.

Hot Spot

Hot Spot

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I’ve gotten away so far and so thoroughly that I almost thought I wouldn’t be able to get online long enough to write this post. As it is, I will make this one quick because I’m using my phone’s “hot spot,” and I’m not sure how long it will last.

The little cabin where I’ve escaped prides itself on lack of connectivity. There’s even a cellphone lockbox where you put away the pesky item while you roast marshmallows over the fire and look at the stars.

Alas, though I am not addicted to the internet in general, I have become pretty attached to writing this blog, so I have circumvented the cabin’s best intentions and have gone online anyway — but gone online only to extol the pleasures of being away from things, out of the loop, disconnected.

It’s ironic … but true!

The Gift of Time

The Gift of Time

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This morning I embark on a two-day writer’s getaway, courtesy of my daughter Claire, who decided last Christmas that what I needed most of all was the gift of time. She was amazingly kind and wise beyond her years when she made this decision, because I need it so much that I’m only now using it 11 months later.

Time is what writers need and what this writer lacks. I’m not complaining. I would much rather have more ideas than time than be twiddling my thumbs with vacant afternoons and nothing to say. And yet, it often frustrates me that my own writing time (writing what I want to write, not what I’m paid to write), is crammed into the bits and pieces of a day: scribbling on Metro, rising early, retiring late.

Today and tomorrow is a break in that routine. Two days to unwind and charge the creative engine. I always remember what happens to those who don’t, beautifully articulated by the poet Mary Oliver: “The most regretful people on earth,” she wrote, “are those who felt the call to creative work, who felt their own creative power restive and uprising, and gave to it neither power nor time.”

Thank you, Mary Oliver. And most of all, thank you, Claire!