Belize - Day 4 I think...

The overcast skies are getting a little old. Yes, it’s beautiful to see a sudden downpour roll in over the Caribbean, but I think we are all ready to roast in the sun.

The Schedule (I think I have a hard time playing by someone else’s schedule):

I tend to wake up with the sun each day around 5:30.
7:30 is breakfast.
First activity of the day by 9:30.
Back to the island by noon.
Lunch.
Second activity of the day.
Back to the island by 5:30.
Dinner promptly at 6:30.
By then it’s dark and we sit around talking for a bit.
Most people head towards by 8pm.
As tired as I am, I can’t do the eight o’clock bed time. I refuse to fall asleep any earlier than 10:30. If I can’t convince someone to stay up and play spoons with me, I usually retire to my bed to write or read. The on/off rain has left us all in constant tent-window madness. Up and down and up. As I write this, it is rather stuffy in my tent, but I chose the murky air over the midnight rise to rain and the need to go out of the tent to let secure the window flaps.

This morning we kayaked to a nearby shallow bay for some snorkeling. I wish I would have practiced at home. Me fighting my bathtub with my mask on seemed ridiculous at the time. Now I wish I would have committed to the self-embarrassment. It’s going to take some time to get used to that feeling. But hell, I’ve got nothing but time on this island a handful more opportunities to figure it out. I’m going to do it. Get over the anxiety of distorted breathing. I took my time heading out but made it out to the seahorse eventually. The second half of the day, I hung back to do my own thing. I don’t think I like traveling with the pack 24 hours a day. It was nice to explore the island and get my camera out for what felt like the first time.

I keep being bothered by the lack of music here. I haven’t heard music since the airport in Atlanta. My ipod is still fully charged ... I just haven’t gotten it out. Even though I completely miss my music … I would hate to plug my ears, since I will undoubtedly miss the sound of the tide as soon as I leave this place.

I can’t say that I’ve learned anything fascinating today. Maybe how to calculate a nautical mile.

Even with all these clouds, the group came back before dinner with a reddish hue. Burns through the stormiest of rain clouds. I’m starting to wonder how toxic my skin has become. The slathering process is outrageous. Sun block in the morning and throughout the day. Come 3pm it’s a good time to add a layer or bug spray to deter the sand fleas. Night time I try to wipe down with a cleansing cloth and then add a layer of lotion to get some moisture back into my salt-ridden skin. My toxic derma has stripped the painted labels off my camera. I’ve hardly even used my camera. One day with my fingers of toxic death and suddenly I just have to remember what all the buttons do. Remember?

I haven’t showered since Banana Bank. My hair is a new kind of crazy. I should have taken pictures and made a hair log. I had no idea my hair could do the things it’s doing.

That’s all I’ve got. Everyone is getting more social by the day. AND my swimsuit strap broke … again! These giant jugs just can't be contained, I guess. Glad I brought two suits.

Belize - Day 3

I can hardly remember this morning. It seems like a lifetime ago. How have we possibly done so much in three days? How have we been through six towns and slept in three different locations. I am looking forward to hunkering down here for the next five nights. Tomorrow we won’t lose part of the day to travel. We are here. On a remote island... doing island-y things.

I was right about the caged macaws and toucans. I didn’t expect the puppy and mangy mutt to wrestle at 5am as well. Stupid of me not to expect that, really.

Most of the day was just spent getting here. An hour car ride south to Dangriga along the Hummingbird Highway. Hummingbird because of all the twists, turns and dips. Like the flight of the bird itself. Somewhere along the rainforest walls there is a spot after an uphill climb where just as we are about to descend, our guide Anatashio throws the car into neutral. Somehow we start rolling backwards uphill. It was a slow pull, but our driver insists that at times it can bring a car back up the hill pretty quickly. A little mystery of Belize. The cause is speculated to be a magnetic shift. That day the magnets of the world must not have been properly aligned.

That drive also gave me a chance to try my first cocoa plant. The insides of the bumpy yellow gourd were not what I was expecting. Fleshy, round seed clusters made up the guts of the plant. It looked like pieces of raw fish, lumped together. I was told to suck on one. Obediently, I did as I was told. The ‘flesh’ was the cocoa plants fruit. Locals suck the pulp off the actual seeds; the seed itself never gets eaten. Standing alone the cocoa seed has very little taste, but that is the part that gets ground down and sweetened into my weakness. The fleshy part is actually very sour.

Who knew?

The drive got some heavy rain and made us all nervous for our destination …. a boat. The downpour politely kept to the mountains. We lucked out with smooth sailing and a few showers for the last ten minutes of the hour long rider. Glovers Reef is 36 miles off the coast. I can see how that boat ride, in the wrong conditions, could easily become a two hour journey.

After lunch, our new hosts stuck us in kayaks regardless of the overcast skies and strong winds. We paddled out a bit and got our first lesson – tipping the kayak. We worked it like pros. You would have never seen such a graceful dump or such a swift remount. Pros except pros that didn’t properly check their gear before setting out on the water. Neither seat had bailing buckets or sponges, so we had to borrow for our boat to float again.

This camp is amazing. The island is shared with a few other businesses but this week it is totally deserted. Our group is the only one on the island. I am in love with our Belizean guides. They ask me to marry them and it seems tempting. The locals are all warm people that are just looking for laughter and lightheartedness.

It is a long way from the hot shower and air conditioning I woke up to, and yet it is still comfortable. I am writing this by kerosene lamp. No electricity. No running water. Compost toilets. There’s a little well water for rinsing off but I am considering avoiding the showers all together for the five days here. We’ll see how crazy my hair gets. My locks are already on their way to wild. It’s funny to think that none of us have any idea what we look like in the real world, day to day. We recognize each other in our rawest states. They will forever remember me with island hair. I have island hair! Awesome.

This place in surreal in beauty and I feel like the group is warming up a bit more.

I have to remember to tell Alicia I ate twelve Johnny Cakes. Pastries here tend to have a man’s name within. Mmmm… what I wouldn’t give for a Fry Jack right now.

The Threat of an Ulcer

I really wanted to post my Belize series in a row. What enjoyable vacation reading. Educational even. Who knew what cashews look like in the growing stage? You do!

But I cannot avoid my ultimate reality this week. And after the phone conversation I just had with my dad, I had to pause my Belize memories, hit New Document and start anew on my current discomfort.

My phone conversation with my dad:
“Yellow?”
“Dad, what the hell are you doing up it's nine o'clock?”
“We’re watching the last 8 minutes of Monk. Can she call you back?”
“Sure, but aren’t you going to wish me luck with my ulcer?”
“You don’t have an ulcer. It’s call nervous stomach. You don’t want to have an ulcer.”
“Dad! I’ve had nervous stomach. Nervous stomach has never laid me out on the floor, immobile.”
“Oh dear. Maybe it’s an ulcer”
“Thanks Dad.”

There are things in that conversation that could get me talking forever. The fact that my dad never answers the phone, is never normally awake at 9pm and how if he is up, he and my mom are undoubtedly watching TV and would never pause it (they can do that, they are like God with a remote) to talk to their daughter. I could talk about his use of the word “she” and how he assumes I only want to talk to my mother. But the point of me writing is not to embarrass my mother publically (I love you Mom, you are my favorite reader).

It sucks to have your insides and your outsides hurt simultaneously. Last week I played too hard and this week I worked too hard, leaving my muscles in constant tension and complete soreness. It was Tuesday that the abdominal pain set in. A pain that wasn’t helped by my chiseled abs pressing so tightly against my internal organ. I spent the week lifting heavy objects, laid out on the couch, leaving work early in pain and learning what foods do the most damage. The four “L”s, that wasn’t intentional but I like the lifting, laid, leaving, learning alliteration.

I don’t think I have an ulcer. I think my stomach lining is inflamed, but I really don’t want to have an ulcer. So I went to the Doctor. She told me I probably have an ulcer. They took a blood sample. I don’t think I’ve ever had my blood drawn as an adult. I don’t have any memory of it. I don’t even know my blood type. Anyway, I’ll get the results tomorrow. This is boring reading, I just know that when I start talking about it people get all concerned and want the information I just gave.

What bums me out the most is not the pain. I mean, the pain sucks, but what sucks more is the bland diet. I don’t know if this vegetarian can live without spices, caffeine, alcohol, cigarettes … Being someone who never restricts what she eats (ok ok I’m a vegetarian, restricted diet exemplified, but as long as it doesn’t poop, I’ll eat any and everything, I have my gluttonous moments, there’s a reason my family calls me a bottomless pit [that was a very long parenthetical statement]), I never gave a second thought to whether I should or shouldn’t be eating something. Selectivity and food do not mix well for me. How many bananas and waffles can I eat? This is terrible!

The other things that has been on my mind this week is people who live with pain everyday and how miserable that must be. To arrange your life according to your pains. That thought is beyond words for me. I should shut my fucking complaining yap!

Lastly, went to Cirque Du Soleil with Alicia. The juggling act had us both in stitches – Sparkle Ham-berg and Wavey-Arms McGee. We laughed so hard, we were both wiping tears from our cheeks. I laughed so hard my insides hurt, but my insides already hurt, which made it hurt more and then I just wanted to cry from the pain but the thought of sobbing seemed too painful. So I won’t cry. But I’ll take that pain any day for a laugh like that. Ohhh Sparkle Ham-berg, I love your jumpsuit. I want to be in it.

Belize - Day 2

Day 2

The birds at the Tropical Education Center have a pleasant morning alarm. I was lucky enough not to have the one obnoxious bird gurgling outside my window. The twittering was soft, musical and unobtrusive. Those sounds got my feet to swing over the edge of the bed at 5am. We were out of there by 9am and onto our next stop – the river float through Mayan caves.


I wish I had a waterproof camera. Instead my memory maker was sitting in a dry bag on Anatashio’s lap. The over-use of camera’s around me left my normally click-happy fingers to do other things. Somehow this ‘touristy’ photo madness turned me off to my own hobby. The only times I played behind the lens was in the moments I found to myself. The river float was amazing. That’s all I can really say about it. Each cave opened to another cavern that opened to an opening with waterfalls pouring from the sky and streaking the eroded stone. Anatashio had taken a group through the day prior and one of the tubers bumped along the wall, put his hand out to push off … only that wasn’t wall. That surface he pushed against with all his might was one of the most poisonous snakes on earth. Luckily, the snake was sleeping and didn’t ruin the traveler’s vacation with a bite. Anatashio lingered behind the rest of the group to kill the poor snake with his bare hands. A pissed off, poisonous snake has no place in a tourist attraction. Sad.

We restacked the inner-tubes and crammed in the van once again to travel to Banana Bank Lodge. My single room is more than comfortable with A/C and mosaic stained glass bathroom. It was a relaxed day at the lodge. We took a boat ride up the Belize River for more birding and ecological banter. By the end of which I had a crick in my neck because I was forever on the wrong side of the boat for the good viewing. I am a terrible birder. I can’t initially spot them, then I can’t find them in the binoculars and don’t even ask about species identification. I never seem to listen to the final verdict on the species. So what it comes down to is this … I can tell you when it’s a Social Flea Catcher (only because I made a joke about Anti-Social Flea Catchers, yes, my memories mostly consist of times I tell a joke and actually get a laugh). And I’m good at pointing out vultures (turkey neck and black vultures alike). That’s all I got. The boat also offered up some good sitings of howler monkeys in their natural environment, iguanas that weigh more than me, and two people whose plan to skinny dip was ruined by our binoculars.

I have never eaten so much rice and beans. Every meal.

Banana Bank is over 4,000 acres. They have a spider-monkey chained to the trees. Very sad, but it was kind of funny to see it play with farm dogs. Everyone in Belize seems to have a jaguar, Banana Bank is no different. Tika-Two. My lodge is a bit detached from everything else. The stone path brings me right alongside the jaguar cage. Cool to say hi to the cat throughout the day, but approaching the chain-link in the dark rattled my nerves a bit. It’s the type of dark that only real wilderness brings. So when the basic silhouette my eyes made out was the shape of a jaguar, this time directly in my path, my heart jumped. The dark made me momentarily forget about the strategically placed feline statute just outside Tika-Two’s den.

I am not looking forward the the 5am bird calls tomorrow morning. Toucans and Cockatoos are caged outside my room. I’m sure I’ll wake to “Hello, Hello”.

Tomorrow we hit a long car ride and an even longer boat ride out to Glover’s Reef Atoll. I can’t wait to hit the water.

Belize - Day 1

Crossing the border alone and boy am I an idiot. I’m pretty sure I filled out the customs paper work wrong. They probably think I am exporting native vegetation and importing American made methamphetamine. I’m not even sure what to write on the entrance paperwork under the line ‘intended address of visitation’ … Um… Something about Glover’s Reef, some other cities along the way? All I want to say is “I have no idea” but I don’t think that would go over well. The downfall of someone else planning your vacation… I haven’t the slightest idea what I’m doing or where I am going. I fear these first hours render me a failed traveler. I don’t even have the slightest idea how to make an international call home to tell people I am not dead. Ah well, leave my family in suspense for a week.

Day 1

Best airport experience of my life. Enter MSP International. Not a sole at the counters. Not an employee at the security gate. EMPTY. The place is deserted aside from a single file line taking shape in the middle of the spanning hallway. I trust the herd mentality and hope this is going to take me where I need to be. My plane is one of the first to leave the tarmac on this day. Both of my flights were empty. I got a stretching 3 seats to sprawl out on, I got two blankets to snuggle up with, and two bags of peanuts to thoroughly parch my mouth. Hardly a half an hour between flights. Best flight ever! Thanks Delta.

The airport arrival was something else entirely. The travel itinerary was very vague about pick-up. I head outside and hope to see someone standing there with my name in front of their chest. I don’t see it. I don’t see it for a while. In fact, I never see it. For a split second, I almost believed the cabbies that would tell me Island Expedition (yeah, it was a good 20 minutes before I realized it wasn’t an REI company leading the travel) would never pick me up on a Sunday. I thought better of it and stuck it out. Plus, I had no idea where I would even have a cab bring me. I knew the first night was supposed to be by some zoo, or something??

After a bit of waiting, I was found by Anatashio and was whisked away in a sort of official looking van. I was happy not to be the vacations getting piled into the dented caddy with company names spray painted on the side. I spent a few hours waiting at a hotel near the airport until the other travelers arrived. Then it was off to the Tropical Education Center, owned by the Belize Zoo, the sleeping quarters were built by Island Expedition and regularly house researchers, students, and eco-interested travelers.

Rattling of role call and assigning bunk mates. I was paired with twenty-something Heather in cabin 7, but Heather has already formed an earlier alliance and opted to continue their budding relationship. So I became the 13th of 12. The odd man out and the single living lady. Was I sad to miss out on pillow talk? Maybe. I enter my forest cabana complete with tiny porch to find a double bed. I thought, was this the cabin I was supposed to be sharing? I would have had to sleep in the same bed with the people whose names I can’t remember? I find out later that there were double occupancy cabins with two single beds. Here I get to sleep like a queen with two pillows, drape myself in two towels and make myself squeaky clean with two tiny soaps.

Dinner was meager for a vegetarian. I already ate potato salad just for the helping of veggies and egg within. I hate potato salad. Off to a nocturnal visit of the Belize Zoo. I didn’t take a single picture because I was overwhelmed by every other flash and the flood of Petzl headlamps at their highest setting. May as well have been set to strobe.

The zookeeper brings us up some stairs to a wooden deck nestled between two banks of trees. He tells us to look up and then performed his best impression of the Howler Monkey call. As the branches all around us started to shake, I was sure something prehistoric was about to emerge from the canopy. That sound made me bet that T-Rex was about to show and I was the unlucky one who’d get eaten off the toilet. The sound of Howler Monkeys is like freight train meets lion meets the torture device in the Princess Bride. All this sound coming from your average sized, unassuming monkey. Had I heard that sound alone in the woods I would have shit my pants and run the other way. I wish I had someone with me to hear that noise. I would be talking about it for the rest of my life.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=REPoVfN-Ij4

I like this moment to myself in my forest cabana. I’ve stumbled through the day not knowing what to think. Too much to take in. Too touristy? Too peopley? Too planned? Too unreal? Too early to tell. For now, sleep. Can’t wait for the 5:30am bird awakening.


PS Now I know why cashews are so expensive. I have seen a cashew fruit. Yes, fruit! It’s one of the few fruits that the seed grows outside of its body. It has a bright, acidic plum-like fruit and a single nut sits atop. I can imagine the harvesting process. To pick each handful and remove the nut from its body. The fruit itself is rarely used … Cashew wine, not so good.




Speed bumps are sleeping policemen.

An Elementary Reflection

Housesitting without internet has made me use my computer in a new, old way. I was going through the various pathways that all these writings are saved in and during my consolidation or re-organization I came to a few old writings. That made me laugh. I loved reading them again. So I will post a few of those. Sans internet I have also started getting my pen and paper writings onto the QWERTY. Those should be soon. I'm going to try to post something every day. Some new, some old, some bad, some not bad. Anyway, this one makes me happy.

An Elementary Reflection


The other day I saw a sign posted that read “Lost Dinosaur” – the writing, so fresh and new to the world, detailed a lost friend. A penny reward was offered for rescue and recovery. At the time, I smiled and thought how great my life would be if my adult worries only entailed lost dinosaurs.

Fast forward a week until today – an 80 degree afternoon that I fortunately had free from the grips of employment. I take my 10 speed out for a spin around the lake. While flicking my bell as I pass a rollerblader on the left … the sound of nostalgia sets in. I am reminded of my pink childhood bike adorned with streamers and, of course, a bell.

How far is my life from adolescence… really? I refuse to accept that the only similarity is my child-like figure.

Last night, like most nights, I got to be a part of an eccentric production – bright lights, music, ball gowns and a captivated audience … a scene that originally materialized on my parent’s front porch. Maybe those hours of home video footage are more than an embarrassing glimpse of my past ... instead the endless film reel serves as a humiliating prelude to my future.

On this near perfect day, the place I choose to etch my thoughts is not a café to brew up sophisticated reflection with the help of a tall vanilla latte. Instead, I sit, where most early memories start … in the grass, under a maple, watching nature and human nature alike. Although, in youth I would probably be bossing around my friends (not unlike the kid screaming behind me today) to play the games that I wanted to play and, of course, initializing the “NOT IT” vote.

Staring at this notepad (very diary-like in size) I realize that the poster’s script is not unlike my own. His hand shows he’s unused to the circles and lines that draw our language. My chicken scratch, however, is from knowing these shapes so well that I no longer dwell on their appearance, my attention focused on their content. My sister would tell you my writing is actually due to the thumb wrap I never unlearned. None the less, the surfaces (of poster and pad) share an uncanny resemblance.

I could go on to say that the message on the flyer is simply a cry to find a lost companion and that this cry never refrains as life persists … but I’d rather keep this 80 degree day sweet, not sad.

My 8 year old brain and my 24 year old brain still thinks that marriage, family, careers, and the rest of adulthood are eons away. I wonder how long that ignorance with hold true …

Another Day at Apostle

7/30

Starting a fire at 8pm, I plan on keeping it roaring. Feeding it my last pieces of wood and crawling to my cot. The heat of this fire (a fire that took me thirty seconds and one match to start) will have me sleeping by 10. That’s my hope at least.

This morning I sat in bed until the rain stopped (the cot, by the way, was a lifesaver with the rain and moisture this time, call me a sissy… I’m out here in the woods alone, where are you?). It worked! Tumbling out of my tent around 10am kept the rain away for the rest of the day. I set out with overcaste skies but not daunting rain clouds.

I had a foolish dream of biking down to Bayfield, a 15 miles trek and then hopping on the ferry to Madeline Island. I got a mile past the camp ‘office’ and realized what an idiot I was. This body cant take a 30 mile commute followed by a 10 mile island today. Instead, I wised up or sissied out, threw my bike in my car and drove south on Old County Road K. Madeline is ride worthy enough. The round trip ferry ride for a bicyclist was $17! Crazy! Still I’m glad I had my bike. Made it out to Big Bay State Park. The sun came out just as I hit the pavement. I pulled to the side and shed a layer of clothing immediately.


I’m glad an itsy, bitsy bikini packs nicely in my camelbak. I made my way to the water while my skin was still begging for a cool down. The beach towel didn’t pack well on the bike … instead I settled for air drying on a mere 70 degree day. The hours on Madeline were the only few that received sun that day. Timing. Timing. I paced the beach and sat on a boulder to dry off. Remember, no towel so laying out wasn’t really an option. Well, I suppose it was an option, but a sandy one. I listened to ten year old complain of their freezing balls in the water. Mostly, I laughed. Then I took a nice hike along the ridge.

People are funny when you are traveling alone. Several people offered to take my pictures. I didn’t even ask. I didn’t even have my camera out at the time. They just offer. People I keep pace with for even a few minutes, end up wishing me safe travels and great weekends. Maybe when I travel alone I wear a happier, more inviting face … People approach me more. Or maybe people are just less intimidated by strangers that are detached from friends/family.

I don’t really know what else to say about today. Biked. Hiked. Swam. Ate an awesome curry tofu wrap.

I love ferries. I wish I needed them for everyday commute. What a great way to start the day. On a boat, looking out at the water.

I have found an obscene amount of daddy-long legs crawling all over my body. I don’t rip there legs off anymore like my youthfull years.

I am sort of ready to feel my own sheets.

A few hours at the Apostle Islands

7/29

Not what I expected. Pulling into the campground was unlike any other. A woman sat at a picnic table with a locked shed behind her labeled “store” and a pile of chopped firewood beside her. I left the “office” and headed towards my site. By far the most disappointing site I have ever had. Rows of picnic tables file down towards my site. I wonder why I am so far down this empty row. This will be a place for sleeping. Just SLEEPING. I am hoping to do that soundly tonight. Every muscle is begging for rest. Can’t rest. Must push! Rest is not a part of the reason I am here. So…

After setting up camp … I realized that I should maybe invest a little money into this camping thing. That four person dome tent is no picnic for a sole camper. I bet I looked sort of ridiculous. After all that work, all I could think of was getting the hell out of that site.

I headed for Meyer’s Beach around 6pm. The map read there was a lakefront trail head, a good 5 miles out with an identical return. I quickly hit the sand and start down the beach. About a mile out the shore gets washed out. Is this the trail? Sort of bummed, I dick around for a while then head back to my car. The couple picnicking was no longer lakeside. Feeling a bit defeated on my way to my mini, these sad, slightly dumb eyes, noticed the pick up to the actual trail. I wanted desperately to make it out to the sea cave overlook at the very least. Two miles out. Two is not a scary number. Hmmm… that gives me four miles roundtrip with an hour and half of daylight left. Can’t forget the photography minutes in there, oh and the quiet reflection time. Well, I’m here. I have to try.



With each step I was racing the sun and avoiding bears with a whisteling version of the Oscar Meyer Wiener song, my keys jingling at my hip. Every minute I was sure to see a bear beyond every bend in the unkempt path. And each minute ticked by uneventfully, but very sweatily. I made it back before the sunset, got to watch that on the beach. Glad I went, took in some pretty views that my camera is sure to fail at capturing. I can say that Cardiovascular Whistling should be the next health trend.

Tomorrow … hmmm bike Madeline or take my chances on the kayak? Muscles say no, soul says both.

Note to self – frozen burritos that are meant for microwaves aren’t very good over the fire. That’s what I get for finding groceries at a late night gas station. Looking forward to better food tomorrow.

Ummm… the coyotes are howeling all around me. What am I doing out here alone?? Ha.

Eagle River, Wisconsin – Bridgewater Inn 7/28

I keep smelling meat in the air as I lay here at the Bridgewater Inn. Something about that smell makes me want to check the bottom of my shoes for dog shit. How does meat smell like dog shit to me? Maybe that’s why I am a vegetarian.

Eagle River without a boat would be a travesty. The lily pads here actually bear the fruit of lilies. The water is brown but often times more pleasant than the chill in the air.

My muscles ache from Erica’s wild jet-ski ride, Gator’s brutal tubing session and my own failed attempt at wake boarding. I suppose the 15 mile morning bike rides and the kayaking out to the old Pioneer Campground-turned-Condo’s probably have something to do with my screaming muscles as well. I am hitting the road tomorrow, a two and half hour drive, immobile, sounds torturous. This is me remembering to take pain killers.

A couple days here and a couple days there has made for a long week. I am looking forward to a change in pace. Since we have arrived here in Eagle River no one has ever stopped talking! Never! It’s sun up to sun down chatter out on these decks. It seems impossible for a group of 40 people to cease making noise. My ears want to rest from the human voice. But… what is it I am looking forward to? A complete refrain from human interaction? Or maybe the looking forward to the possibility of a bear’s growl instead? Kinda getting a little nervous here.

This place with these people is nothing but entertaining. We’ve had to do the heimlich because of a medium well done piece of steak. This first responder failed her aptitude test. I seriously doubt my ability to react to an emergency. I’m trained. Went through the motions in my head. But at the second I hesitated. Thought there were nurses in my family better suited to save my wheel chair ridden uncle. Where the hell were they? Granted, someone else was already helping … but what if there were no one else? Could I have done it? You want to assume you would do the right thing in those situations, but in that second all I could think was “Oh George, I never wanted to have to do this.” What are we, as bystanders, afraid of during an emergency? To do ANYTHING is better than to do nothing. But maybe to do anything commits us to a scary responsibility of someone else’s life. We become a part of the outcome – good or bad.

I have also learned that us Phelps’ only know how to travel within 5 feet of each other, we need close quarters to function. Somehow we work best with five to a room, five to a tiny car … annoying each other along the way. Here and in Appleton there were bits of us everywhere. Shoes in this car, food in this room, that person asleep in this room, that person disappeared to who knows where. Every trip we were sent to this room or that car searching for something that wasn’t even there only to realize we didn’t have the key to the supposedly location in the first place. I guess we just didn’t know what to do with the freedom of space when we got it.

The Solo Camp - Lake Pepin

June 19

I continue to surprise myself. I'm surprised by how comfortable I am out here. Families all around me. Do I miss mine? Strangely, no. This is different. A different feel from the campsites I've shared with family over the years. Different, even, from camping with friends.

One chair. One tent. One cooler. One sleeping bag. One. One. One. Sometimes when strangers cross my path here and give me that friendly half smile ... I feel like they know something about me. Know I am out here on my own and that's where I want to be.

I already made a best friend forever. Her name is Quinn. She's about four feet tall and rocks the kind of blond, angelic locks that I used to have as a kid. I helped her learn how to ride a bike. While asking for my help, she told me "I'm not used to my new 20" rims". Ahhh, Quinn.

I had a book discussion with a mother on the beach. She thought I should give The Yiddish Policeman a try.

I've only been here for like 5 hours! I'm already talking to anyone that will listen.

At the doctors office the other day, getting a shot, the nurse asked about my plans for the weekend. I told her I was taking myself camping. She sounded surprised by my solo adventure. Told me she'd be scared to do something like that herself. Then she said the most peculiar thing, "I bet you're the type of person that makes friends where ever she goes."

I laughed at that ridiculous thought. I've never been one to make much of an impression on strangers. Never really liked strangers as a matter of fact. Never had many friends... That's what drives me to Belize alone. To join stupid clubs. To hike 14 miles alone. To camp solo. To throw myself into online dating hell.

But somewhere alone this quest to be comfortable in my own skin. To stop waiting for the world to come to me. Stop waiting for opportunity and create my own. To live free of everything else and live happily solely within myself ... somewhere along that quest... I'm getting better at everyone else.

I'm flipping talking to every stranger I meet!

GEEK TALK

Marita would be proud of me. I finally bought that pair of binoculars that have been sitting in my Amazon shopping cart since I returned from Belize. I even rush delivered them to get a trial run in this weekend. A package appears just before I leave town at noon. I have officially geeked my pants!

All that's left is the bird book. That's one bit of Belize I will keep with me. My sudden interest in birding! Oh LORD! I got to use them today. Starting my cooking fire I noticed a giant bird swooping into a nearby tree. I run for my binoculars. Yes, run. Binocs in hand (that's what we cool folks call them, binocs) I set to check this beast of a bird out. A mere 20 feet from my site has a dozen, giant turkey vultures perches on it's low branches. A worth first magnified siting.


The beach is beautiful. The cold water has a sudden drop off, free from the tottering two year olds and splashing nine year olds. Beyond that drop off is a wall of sailboats. Past the sails are green bluffs that stretch further than you see.

A muggy, sweaty day is always better lakeside. Except when it starts to snow from the cottonwood trees. The pollen clumps are sticking to every inch of my sweaty skin. With my face half buried in my beach towel I couldn't help but think, "Wow, that's beautiful but man is it disgusting".

My walk back to camp was a route less traveled. The park is a bit of a peninsula and you can follow the beach all the way around to the far sites. I don't know why everyone goes for the main road. Local Native Americans are fishing right off the beach. A pair of men were perches on a piece of drift wood and smiled as I approached. I asked what they were catching. In broken English he told me he wasn't sure but held his hands up to show a decent sized catch. He waves his arms to tell me to follow him. He's pointing into the water. Water that just looks like water. No bucket of fish or anything. I follow him and for a second wonder why I'm talking to strange men and doing what they ask of me. He walks me up to a piece of driftwood when I notice a white rope attached to it. He lifts the white line and pulls up a good sized fish (I learned nothing snorkeling, I can't tell you what it was... I'll pretend my ignorance stems from the freshwater). The mutually unknown species of fish is lassoed through it's gill. I've never seen a fish on a leash before. I have since learned there's a name for this... it evades me. Not a very good student.

And .... another train passes....