Wandering around Lake Titicaca

I am known for being *somewhat* spontaneous at times.  Other times I suffer from an the lack of ability to make a decision as simple as what I want for dinner.  What can I say, I’m a study in contradictions

After a spontaneous 100 km trek to  Machu Picchu, I headed south towards Bolivia.  On my own once again for the first time since arriving in Peru, I wasn’t quite ready for solitude just yet.  Through the traveler grapevine, I’d heard of home-stays on Lake Titicaca, and thought that would be something worth checking out. Onward to Puno. 

 

Puno,  a small town in the southern Peru, is bordered by Lake Titicaca, the world’s highest navigable body of water. The town, at 12,500 feet above sea level is breathtakingly [and I mean that literally] beautiful. It is alive with bright colors and friendly people. Boats lined with neon colors and shops filled with alpaca sweaters and scarfs give color to the town. The Uros Islands, the man-made floating reed islands, can by spotted from the shoreline and people from all over visit to get a taste of the island traditions.

Puno is  a quiet, quaint town with all of the attractions located on the main plaza. Spanish is widely spoken as the town’s main source of income is tourism, but the town still has indigenous ties and as such, Aymara is spoken by most citizens.

Puno is small and as such most visitors only stay for a day or two. The main draw to the town is the opportunity to visit the islands and do an overnight tour with a local family. You can, of course,  visit the islands on a day trip, but as it is relatively  inexpensive to do an overnight home-stay, I recommend you do the overnight stay.

The overall experience is pretty touristy, but informative. We arrived to the first island and were greeted by the “Island President” who explained that each island only has room for 5-10 houses, so the families that reside on each island form small committees and work together to remain afloat.

The president demonstrated how each island is anchored down by heavy square blocks of reed roots so they stay in Peru and don’t float to Bolivia.  He also explained that the islands are made up of layers of reeds and a new layer has to be added to the ‘island’ every fortnight. Each island has a committee, and the committee divides the chore of laying out new reed layers between the residents.

How the Floating Islands are made Lake Titicaca Puno

The local economy consists of trout fishing, quinoa, yucca, and potato farming, tourism and artisan handiwork.  Most of the people who live on the islands also have a house in town where they stay during the week and travel to town by speed boat; island residents are not as segregated as they seem.

After a lesson in Uros culture and reed house construction, we were divided into groups and invited in the houses to see an example of island living. The construction was simple and each house is one giant room. Each house is powered by clean energy– an individual solar panel soaks up the bright mountain sun all day and is used to provide electricity to the house.  In the past candles were used, but you can imagine that the fire + straw combo was a bad idea…

The houses contained artisan work and the couple that was showing us around sat silently stitching in the corner.  I felt as there was some pressure to buy something but as I wasn’t headed home, and didn’t need anything, I resisted.  I got a few dirty looks, but I try not to buy things I don’t need just for the sake of buying it.  Maybe had I visited the Uros Islands prior to setting up my apartment in the north, I would have been in the marker, but as it was, I was going to be backpacking for at least six weeks and I like to keep my load to a minimum.

Reed boat construction is rather fascinating.  The reeds are rather flimsy and they soak up water quickly so at first glance not the obvious first choice for a vessel to navigate the frigid waters of Lake Titicaca.  But someone had the truly genius idea of filling the frame of the reed boat with empty plastic water bottles.  Thus adding a layer of security to the reed frame and second, and just as important, finding a way to recycle some of the overwhelming number of plastic bottles in  Peru.
Best piece of advice during this tour… take minute, set down your camera, find a quiet corner of the island and just sit. Sit and appreciate the beauty of nature. Take time to appreciate the massiveness of the lake, the warm [almost hot] high, mountain sun, the bright blue water and the incredible floating island energy that surrounds you.

 

Hanging with manatees in Crystal River

In forth grade, I discovered coelacanths.  At the time, coelacanths were thought to be extinct, and I became fascinated with extinct and endangered species…especially water animals.  I had just given up my astronaut dreams for marine biologist dreams–trading the wild blue wonder for the deep blue. Manatees were endangered; coelacanths were extinct (since my time in 4th grade, coelacanths have been rediscovered in the Indian Ocean). I made it my 4th grade passion to learn everything possible about these two animals, and since this is about manatees, not coelacanths, here are my 4th grade reasons for falling in love with these critters.

  • Manatees are called ‘sea cows’, and they are just as cute as land cows
  • Manatees are herbivores and spend their waking hours eating
  • Manatees breath about once every 3 minutes…up to once every 5-6 minutes when they are sleeping [fascinating fact for someone who used to be all about how people breathe]
  •  Manatees can live in both fresh water and salt water, but can’t pressurize their ears so you’ll always see them on the surface or just below.
  • Manatees are related to elephants and still have little nail on their flippers
  • Manatees prefer to move at slow pace but can swim up to 25 miles per hour in short burst if they need to get away–quick!
  • Manatees can live to be 60 years old.
  • Manatees have no natural predators…meaning they are naturally curious and humans can be their worst enemy.
  • Manatees prefer their water to be >70 degrees, but can tolerate temperatures down to about 60.
  • Early explorers thought manatees were mermaids.

 

See. All perfectly good reasons to love these gentle giants.  But gentle giant babies.  I can’t even.  Like most babies and toddlers [or kittens, puppies or whatever] baby manatees are very curious.  I say baby, but it certainly isn’t like a kitten. This little guy make 300 pounds look awful adorable. The little guy would come  right up to me and nibble at the wet suit.  It’s quite an odd feeling to have this 300 pound baby nibbling and mouthing at you like it’s going to eat you alive.  But these creatures are vegetarians so my meat carcass was totally safe.  The little guy either a) thought I was it’s mommy and could produce food or b) like the feel and textures of the wet suit material.  And just like a baby kitten, the little guy often like to nibble on my toes as well.  Here’s the thing about my feet:  they are so super sensitive and ticklish that the lightest touch makes me move them about.  Cats love to attack my toes in the middle of the night but given the choice, I’d take the 300 manatee-baby nibbling on my toes with it plant-eating gums than my little 6 pound house panther on nightly patrol for anything that moves.  I got lucky and spent nearly 20 minutes playing with the little guy.  And we [the baby and I] were away from the crowd so it was just the two of us.  Hanging out like old friends…

While manatees prefer a comfortable 72 degree water temperature, this water baby likes it about 10 degrees warmer and despite the 5mm neoprene suit on my body, after an hour or so, I was a frozen Popsicle.  So back on board it was for me.  And hot chocolate and dry clothes were waiting for me.  Once the wet suit was off, and I was back in normal clothes the 75 degree air temperature felt just fine.

SC State Parks | Stepping back in time

The region south of the Mason-Dixon line is dotted with historic antebellum plantations, but few of them have the history of Rose Hill Plantation.  Built in the 1830’s, Rose Hill Plantation was the home of William Henry Gist, the governor of South Carolina from 1858 to 1860.  Gist is most famous for his leadership of the south’s secessionist movement following the election of President Lincoln, a movement that led to the Civil War.

Rose Hill– shrouded by magnolia and oak trees

In 1860, the plantation reached its apex, producing nearly 300 bales of cotton and over 4000 bushels of corn.  These products would be floated down the adjacent Tyger River or, because the Tyger River is only navigable part of the year, transported by cart to the Broad River.  The plantation survived Union General Sherman’s destructive 1864 march because the flooded Broad River made the plantation inaccessible to his army.  After the war, Gist received a pardon from President Johnson, after which he returned to Rose Hill to lease the plantation to sharecroppers.  Gist died in 1874, and he is buried in a cemetery plot adjacent to the plantation house.

The Gist family headstone.

Today Rose Hill Plantation house sits on the 44-acre state historic site that bears its name, but most of the plantation grounds lie in Sumter National Forest, which surrounds the historic site.  Plantation house tours are offered at 11A, 1P, and 3P Thursday-Monday, but the plantation grounds are open during all daylight hours.  For hikers, two short trails tour the grounds: the 0.6 mile nature trail loop and the 0.94 mile out-and-back Tyger River Trail.  This hike combines both trails to see all the site has to see.

The Tyger River in the spring… water levels don’t get much higher than this

The town closest to Rose Hill is Union, South Carolina although Cross Keys, a dot on the map, has a little interesting history as well.  According to local legend, Jefferson Davis ate his last meal there prior to his final cabinet meeting as president of the Confederate States of America.

Cross Keys House

 

Forgiveness

Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself.

I’ve been doing a lot of hiking lately some local, some a little further away, and hiking, especially alone, is always introspective for me. I’d gotten away from it lately, but having covered nearly 30 miles on foot over the last week on the Pacific Crest Trail in Oregon and the Wales Coast Path, I’ve realized that it’s as essential to my well-being as a good night’s sleep.

I haven’t been hiking much lately because I lost my main hiking partner last May, and as much as I like traveling by myself, I don’t love backpacking by myself.  Maybe it’s because all the quiet and solitude gives one ample time to think and with ample time things you’d rather not think about come bubbling to the surface.

It’s been nearly a year; I should have forgiven him by now. People make choices in their lives and those choices sometimes affect other people.  And his choice profoundly affected me.  In ways I hadn’t noticed until quite recently.  Until I was sitting on top of that huge granite slab looking out over the beautiful aquamarine lake.


I can hold a grudge like a champ and in some cases have been doing so for years.  Some things are my fault, and those things  I have to take responsibility for; however, some things are not my fault and I need to recognize that too. I’ve been thinking a lot about forgiveness lately. I suck at forgiveness. I want people to know that they hurt me and to be sorry, and like most people I have a hard to admitting when I have hurt someone. I’ve been going back through situations where I have felt slighted – situations where I was sure that I was the innocent one – with a new perspective and often times seeing that I am not completely blameless.

So while I’m back to hiking solo, and backpacking solo, I do it with a clean conscience.  I’ll probably never know the real reason this person dropped out of my life.  This person will probably never know how much pain they caused me, but that’s OK.  We recently met for lunch and that helped provide closure.  He was still oblivious to the pain he’d caused and I realized that he always probably would be.

I have forgiven this person.  We lead different lives now and I have moved on. If I did see the person again, and most likely our paths will cross since we live a mere 7 miles from each other and have mutual friends in common,  I don’t want to dive head first into the muck of the past but instead I’d like to start fresh… even if we could never get back to where we once were as friends. I’ve learned a lot of lesson from that friendship, some were painful but necessary.

So, why did this failed friendship trouble me so much? I think it’s because I had not forgiven myself.  Only recently did I realize this and I have been able to scoop myself up like a loved one and remember that just because this friendship didn’t work out doesn’t mean I’m incapable of having real friends… that just because this situation has brought up a lot of negative feelings doesn’t mean I am not a good person. I am human. I make mistakes. It is how we grow.

The only way I have been able to move on is through forgiveness. .. forgiveness of self and of others. Forgiveness is a powerful tool and I am using it in other relationships that gnaw at me.

Forgiveness of self doesn’t need to be saved for big things like the end of relationship but we should practice in all aspects of life. It is OK to forgive ourselves when we forget the keys, eat the extra bowl of ice cream, or spend a little too much on an evening out.

As humans, we will never not make mistakes. That is  part of our design. Yet, we’ve been given this great gift of forgiveness so that we can see our mistakes as blessings. It’s remarkable when we forgive others but it is astonishing when we can forgive ourselves. It’s the glorious acceptance of who we are and that who we are is enough.

Hiking on the PCT… Mt Hood in the background

The Next Step?

It was just another Saturday afternoon where I was procrastinating writing a paper on some topic in health policy by watching my beloved Tennessee Volunteers stomp the Florida Gators and surfing the net when I clicked on over to the Peace Corps website. I thought why the hell not?

So what next? It’s now or never, right?

I can already hear what you are saying…

“The Peace Corps? Really, but aren’t you’re already a nurse.”

Yes. Yes I am.

I am already a nurse, but let’s rewind just a bit– Spring 2013.

I was all set to go to medical school. I’d studied hard, kicked the MCAT’s ass, and been accepted to the medical school only 35 minutes from where I was living. I was as ready as one can be to start such a grueling undertaking as medical school, and then, well, life, as it has a tendency to do, got in the way.

Without going into details, I withdrew my spot in the class of 2018, and looked for other options to pursue my goal of providing medical care to those who need it most. I enrolled in the local nursing school and graduated in the fall of 2015. I passed NCLEX, started to work on my BSN, and promptly got a job at a local hospital.

Which I hated.

To say I was stuck in a rut is an understatement. I started feeling lost and wasn’t sure what my next move would be; did I want to move to a new city? [No, not really] Start a new job? [Probably, but I was more than burnt out after working in hospitals for the last 10 years, and could not fathom what I’d want to do] Run off and travel for a year? [No, I’d already done that when I spent 16 months traveling in South America] I knew there was something else for me but I had no idea what it was.

I’m not sure exactly how the Peace Corps came up, but once it did, it turned into a nagging thought in the back of my head. Of course, I’d heard of the Peace Corps. I’ve even done international volunteer work before. I even casually mentioned it to a few friends in the way of “So if I joined the Peace Corps, would you come visit me?”

More time passed until that September Saturday where I was looking for motivation to write, and upon finding none I started looking into the revamped application process, open programs, and to what countries they were currently sending volunteers. Health was the obvious choice. I opened up my application to agriculture and environment, and community development as well. What I know about community development can fit into a thimble, but I’d feel as if I were cheating if all I do is end up teaching English.

So I applied. When it came time to pick countries, I wish there had been an option to exclude certain places instead of just choosing three. I’m fairly open to most countries and would really like an adventure, but I know without a doubt, that the South Pacific Islands are not for me. Equally, I’d prefer to not go to Western Africa. So first I choose Madagascar, an island country in the middle of the Indian Ocean with its closest neighbors being Mozambique and Reunion. Next up was Albania. [I have really loved every place I’ve ever been to in Central/Eastern Europe and my brief time in Albania leads me to the conclusion that it’s *quirky*.  Also I’d love to do more exploring in the Balkans and travel the area of the Silk Road], and finally Guyana [a South America country on the Caribbean that I’ve only passed through].  I’d also be OK with  going back to South America, or practically any of the East African countries that are stable.

I’ve lived in a thatched hut in the middle of the Amazon with a compost toilet before. I’ve had my own apartment in Peru and Mexico where electricity was sporadic and internet was a prayer. I camp and hike for fun. Indoor plumbing, running water, and electricity, while certainly nice, are all things I know I could do without. A least for a predetermined time.

So it is now or never. I’ve only told one person that I’ve submitted the application. We shall see how it goes. I don’t even know what the next steps are. Stay tuned on how this new adventure shakes out.

It’s now or never, right?

Fried Green Tomatos

I don’t eat [or like] a lot of fried foods, BUT a couple of years ago I was introduced to fried green tomatoes, and it was love at first bite.  Several times since that day, I’ve tried to create the same heavenly goodness at home, but with no luck.  My problem was usually one of two things:  one–the tomatoes weren’t green enough.  I like tomatoes–there is nothing more heavenly than a tomato sandwich with Duke’s mayo on white bread.  It tastes like summer should taste.  So often times, my tomatoes were just turning red instead of being firm and green.  The second issue I kept running into is fried green tomatoes need a little bit of bite in its coating. Spicy but not over-powering. Heat, but not like jalapeno heat.  As a person who only experiments in the kitchen from time to time, it took a while for me to place the spice.  It’s more cayenne pepper and paprika than black pepper or anything Asian-spicy. I think I’ve finally gotten the batter recipe right…. Now on to figure out the dipping sauce.

Ingredients

  • 1 large egg, lightly beaten
  • 1/2 cup buttermilk
  • 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, divided
  • 1/2 cup cornmeal
  • 1 teaspoon salt
  • 1/2 teaspoon pepper
  • pinch of cayenne pepper or paprika
  • medium-size green tomatoes, cut into 1/3-inch slices
  • Vegetable oil
  • Salt to taste

green tomatos

How to Make It

  1. Combine egg and buttermilk; set aside.

  2. Combine 1/4 cup all-purpose flour, cornmeal, 1 teaspoon salt, paprika or cayenne pepper and black pepper in a shallow bowl or pan.

  3. Dredge tomato slices in remaining 1/4 cup flour; dip in egg mixture, and dredge in cornmeal mixture.

  4. Pour oil to a depth of 1/4 to 1/2 inch in a large cast-iron skillet; heat to 375°. Drop tomatoes, in batches, into hot oil, and cook 2 minutes on each side or until golden. Drain on paper towels or a rack. Sprinkle hot tomatoes with salt.

    fried green tomatoes
    Heaven on Earth

Wanderlust

Wanderlust

I do not think that means what you think it means… Inigo Montoya, The Princess Bride.

 

The English word “wanderlust” already existed in German dating as far back as High Middle German. The first documented use of the term in  English occurred in 1902 as a reflection of what was then seen as a characteristically German predilection for wandering that may be traced back to the  German system of apprenticeship, as well as the adolescent custom of the ‘Wanderbird’ seeking unity with Nature.

 

The term originates from the German words wandern (to hike) and Lust (desire). The term wandern, frequently misused as a false cognate does in fact not mean “to wander”, but “to hike.” Placing the two words together, translated: “enjoyment of hiking”, although it is commonly described as an enjoyment of strolling, roaming about or wandering.

 

I am a wanderer… both in the historic sense of the word and the modern.

 

I grew up an introvert, sensitive, an only child, and a bookworm with a keen desire to explore beyond my boundaries.  Pictures exist of me, I could have been more than three years-old, packing a bag and leaving home. Of course, at three, I never really went anywhere. I saved the real adventure until I was five. [ but that’s a story for another day].  I was athletic and sporty;  I lived for summer basketball and soccer camp.  Then later, volleyball and softball camp. I loved being away from home, hanging out on college campuses, and imagining when I would finally be able to leave my small town for good. I was 8 and already imaging life at 18.

I come from a long line of homebodies, inwardly jealous of friends and classmates who went to ‘the beach’ every summer. Or Disney World. Or anywhere really.  My dad’s idea of a vacation was a weekend trip to Atlanta to watch the Braves or a fall Saturday to Clemson or Columbia to watch college football. Week-long or even multiple week vacations were unheard of in my family.  My fondest junior high memory was of being left behind at Martin Luther King center in downtown Atlanta.  Upon returning from the restroom, my entire class was no where to be found. Cell phone were in their infancy; no one had one. But I knew the city well enough, or at least how to get to the ballpark.  I was 13, and on my own in the big city (at least for a while). It. Was. Fucking. Awesome. Right then and there I knew I’d been bitten by the travel bug.

 

There’s a word in Korean that means the inability to get over one’s addiction to travel, a perpetual case of wanderlust. Once the travel bug has bitten, it indicates, there is no cure.

 

The fixation with traveling that began with memorizing world capitals and drawing country flags on notebooks took on a life of its own. At 14, I managed to sneak away from home for two days, take the train to Baltimore, watch a baseball game, and get back home without my absence  being noticed.  And once I’d gotten my driver’s license, the back roads and hiking trails of South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia became intimately familiar.  I was determined to go everywhere….working on a bucket list that didn’t yet have a name.

 

I’ve never been one to advocate for quitting one’s job in order to see the world. Yes, I have worked in jobs I hated and companies I hated even more. I’ve worked in jobs or positions that I absolutely knew was just a paycheck. Hell, where I am working now I feel my skills regressing daily.  But I know that this is temporary. I am waiting for one of two thing to happen and then I am out of there.  I’ve always known that working these jobs would allow me to pursue my dreams.  I worked PRN-status for 11 years so that I’d be able to create my own schedule and take time off when I wanted to.  Everything I’ve done has contributed to my seemingly disparate goals of 1: seeing as much of the world as possible and 2: becoming a nurse practitioner.  One is not mutually exclusive of the other.

 

I got my first real job, other than the odd thing here and there, when I was 18.  It was working in a home improvement store where I learned to mix paint, use a commercial saw, and do basic electrical things.  I also had to count nuts and bolts by hand during inventory. I was by far the youngest person working there although there were a few guy that worked there on their college break. For most of my co-workers, this was there career.  They were satisfied with their two weeks’ vacation and only being closed three days a year.  I made nearly $5000 that first year I had to file taxes and thought I’d amassed a fortune.  I made another $4000 working in a factory spring semester of my freshman year.  Oh God, how I hated that job. I sat there, loading parts on a machine, conjugating French, German, or  Spanish verbs in my head, thinking ‘this is why I’m in college…’

The ultimate goal was to earn enough money to spend my junior year of college studying abroad in some as-of-yet-undetermined major.[Spoiler alert: that never happened]

At 19, I had the chance to go to England for two weeks; I jumped at the opportunity.  When things didn’t go as planned, instead of coming  home and working at the factory yet again, I stayed three months. I still have the journal I wrote it when I left Atlanta. It’s funny now…and telling.

“I’m on a plane to London via Amsterdam. I AM ON A PLANE.”

“I JUST ORDERED A JACK AND GINGER FOR DINNER.  AND THEY BROUGHT IT. I HAVE ARRIVED*”

“TRAVELING IS AMAZING”

 

A series of travel mishaps later, I end up at the flat of a friend of a friend of a friend. The flat was empty. The landlord came and asked how I knew of this place. I told my story. No, I’d never met the previous tenant. Yes, I was only visiting. No, I didn’t want to rent it, but then, I was offered the deal of a lifetime–200 pounds/month for June, July and August for a 1 bedroom/1 bath in Stafford, England. My dorm room cost more than that. I said yes and after some international finagling of funds, I had $5000 transferred to me** and that is what I lived on that summer.

 

That summer, I traveled. To Wales. To Scotland. To Ireland. And around England. I ate and drank in pubs. I learn to play darts. And cricket. And drink whisky. I met up with different people every week.  It was the life I’d always wanted. The day before I was to come back, I was in the pub with the friends I’d made this summer when I saw a guy I’d never seen before  He was scruffy and despite drinking a pint of Guinness, was clearly out of place of the regulars.  I went over, dart in hand, and said “hey, wanna play?”

 

His name was Nick or Mick. Or maybe it was Mark.  I don’t remember. He was from Australia. Or New Zealand. Those details are fuzzy now.  But he was well-traveled. Meeting up with a cousin before heading back home. Or something like that.  He was tanned in a way you can’t get in England and spoke of places like Chaing Mai, Nha Trang, and Angor Wat. I was mesmerized. And impressed. “Wow, you travel a lot.” He took a long swallow of his Guinness before answering me, foam still on his lips.

“Trying to. The world is an awfully big place and there’s always more to see.”

“That’s true.  Well, do you play or not.” I was trying not be be impressed by the late 20 something sexy stranger.

“Why not?”

“Good. You can be on my team.”

He told me about his running with the bulls in Spain and working on a farm in France. How he worked his way through Thailand and Vietnam. He told me about the spice markets in Istanbul and Marrakesh.  And about eating guinea pigs in Ecuador and piranhas in Brazil. I had never met anybody like him.  I had never met anyone who was doing what I wanted to do. I was spellbound.  Amid pints and double old fashions, he  grabbed me around my waist and pulled me away from everyone, kissed me hard on the mouth. At that moment, my world stopped. Mesmerized by those green eyes and mop of black hair. I had one throw left, and it was almost too perfect that I hit the bullseye to win.

 

I spent the rest of the night nuzzled in the pub, making out with the cute boy from far away, listening to his enticing travel tales telling myself that one day I’d be the one telling those tales. The details of that night have faded, but the feelings of knowing a life of adventures were waiting for me if only I had the courage to see it through has never left me.

 
*My very first alcoholic drink was at 30,000 feet flying over the Atlantic Ocean.  I have never felt more adult… more cool in my life than when I ordered and subsequently drank that first alcoholic drink

**International banking was a lot more complicated in the late 1990’s than it is now.  I had $5000 wired to me and stashed the cash in a secret place in the flat. The secret place is the same secret place I stash cash in my current apartment.

Rainy days and Mondays…

Today is a rainy day; it’s also a Monday, the first Monday I’ve had off work since October.  The calendar reads April, and the temperatures are in the 70s… even with the rain. Today is the kind of day that calls for curling up with a cat while reading books, cooking homemade soup, or taking a short hike. The rain is not torrential… just the perfect kind for splashing in puddles or sliding in mud puddles.  I used to do that a lot as a kid. And as a teenager… not so much as an adult.  Perhaps what they say about rain is true:  “Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet…”I love walking in the rain. Rain is such a blessing. The water falling from the sky. Creating growth, creating beauty and yes, even at times creating destruction… Have you ever slowed down enough to see the beauty that the rain creates all around? From the drops on the window, to the drips off a plant. Or the sound of rain in the silence of the evening? Maybe the beauty is from the drips hitting a puddle, in the way it ripples across the puddle, [or lake, or ocean…]

Urban hiking is what I call strolling around the city.  Looking at the sights. Or not.  Watching the people scurry about their day. I had packed my rain jacket with me, but even if I had not, it would not have mattered.  It was a slow, steady rain on a warm day.  It felt… refreshing.  I watched as people ran to and from their cars, shaking off like wet cats as they darted into Starbucks. The same Starbucks that is currently serving as my temporary office. How many people will see the colors that come out when it rains. The colors that the rain creates… that the sky creates. The lighting, soft and at times… mysterious.

Usually there is a lot of rain in the spring and spring is a time for renewal, for rejuvenation:  physically, spiritually and mentally.  There are so many new things on the horizon, so many books to read, so many adventures to have, so many plans waiting to unfold.  In more ways than one, spring has sprung.  Bring on the rainy days.

The birth of Adventure Adikt

Life is either a daring adventure or nothing at all…

sea lions

Hi, my name is Michelle.  Welcome to my blog.

Adventure Adikt*, is my blog 3.0.  I started blogging way back in 2005, and at some point around 2009-10 I upgraded to a proper WordPress blog. That upgrade happened right before I set off on my big adventure around South America. Then tragically my blog was claimed by the internet black hole. All those years of blogging–gone.  2005. 2005–when blogging was in its infancy. 2005 — When I first moved to North Carolina. 2006 –when I went to Italy, the Winter Olympics, Rome, Florence, and Naples… and started long-distance dating… 2008– when I moved back to South Carolina.  2010-2011– when I traveled the entire South American continent.  2012/3– when I 1. was accepted to medical school and 2. self-destructed, went to Europe on a whim, checked out, and was gone for two months, and in 2014-2015 when I decided to make a career change.  But ha-ha internet, I get the last laugh because I’ve kept a paper journal since I was 13 years old and it was far more detailed than my public life ever was.

I’m just about to graduate from nursing school (again); I’m headed to back England in few weeks… this time to study the NHS.  I am using this time to change formats, change names, change platforms, and do a major re-design. Additionally, it will have a slightly new focus. In a nutshell, the new blog is a (very) vaguely chronological timeline of life events, travel, and mishaps along with some life lessons and musings thrown in for fun.  Life is still life. Adventure is still adventure, and wanderlust is still wanderlust; I’m trying to find new ways of having a bit of each in my every day.

There were a lot of memories documented in those lost pages–some good; others not so good . So I’m starting over; people say change is a good thing.

 

bulls island - Copy
Edisto Island, SC

*Why Adventure Adikt?  I went through a lot of names before I decided on this one.  Somehow, it just fit.  And I like the work adikt better than the word junkie. I seek out adventure–in all ways, traveling to foreign countries, hiking in my back yard, trying out new recipes in the kitchen, and life in general. My goal is to never stop learning, never stop adventuring… just never stop.