And so it begins...

My first trip out of the country was to London. Well, that's where it started. That was the destination on my roundtrip airline ticket. The return date, however, was five months after I left, so where I went from London was anyone's guess. I had a vague idea of traveling overland through Africa, and therefore got all the requisite shots. Having no real idea where I was going, and no desire to do any actual research, I packed for all possible climates.


So it was I found myself in the London Heathrow airport, sagging under 50 pounds of every possible thing I might need for every possible scenario for an unplanned five month trip.
Having never been on foreign soil before, much less alone, and not having made any plans, tentative or otherwise, I realized I had no idea what to do next.

So I promptly sat down and cried.
I had always thought of myself as an adventurer. It was always my plan for life to venture forth into the world and explore and experience. What I am not, is a "details" girl. Where to stay? How to get around? What is the exchange rate? Details. These were not my specialty. They did not interest me. They are like brushing my teeth: I do it twice a day because I enjoy having teeth, I enjoy having the tools to chew my food, but I do not enjoy brushing my teeth. I had worked and saved my money for months; I had gotten some shots and a big fat Africa guidebook and a backpack, and a bunch of inappropriate crap to put in it and a roundtrip ticket from Boston to London with a return date five month hence. Clearly I was prepared. I was a traveler. All that was left was to figure out what a traveler does, exactly.

I thought very seriously about going back to the ticket counter and getting on the next flight to Boston. Seriously, but briefly. Then I wiped my tears, wrangled my ridiculous pack onto my shoulders, and went to a hotel reservation desk. I booked a hostel and bought a ticket for the Tube, and off I went...traveling.

I spent 3 days in London, much of it sleeping, but with enough waking hours interspersed to see what one is expected to see in London. I bought a one way ticket to Cape Town, South Africa. I would travel overland from Cape Town to Nairobi, then fly back to London.

It was a 12 hour flight, dinner and breakfast served on the plane. We flew over Mt. Kilimanjaro. I did not want the flight to end. When we landed, I would have to start all over again in another foreign place. This was TRAVEL, after all.
The plane did land, and I got off of it. Here I was, in South Africa! The beginning of an adventure! I was a traveler!

Except...they wouldn't let me in. A TRAVELER to South Africa cannot enter the country and obtain a visa without a ticket out of South Africa. I had bought a one way ticket. Naturally, I had not looked into visas or immigration laws.

Details... Cape Town, South Africa

The Do-Over

It was that time of year again: Birthday time. Time to plan a somewhat cliched soul-searching, self-reflective, preferably physically challenging trip to celebrate the passing of another year. Time to see if I was getting wiser or just older. Unfortunately, until fairly recently it seemed the answer was: only older. But the past year I had started, finally, to see some progress in the wiser arena as well, and was looking forward to a trip to bask in self-congratulation.

So, where to go? As I considered the possibilities of early April in the Great Outdoors, a memory came to me...

When I was ten years old my fourth-grade class took a camping trip to Death Valley. During that trip we found ourselves at the edge of Ubehebe Crater. Everyone in the class held hands and walked down the very steep trail to the bottom of the crater....Everyone except me. I was too scared, and I stayed, all alone, at the rim of the crater watching everyone else.

In the 22 years since then, I have scuba dived with sharks, skydived, bungee jumped, hiked steep trails up mountains and narrow trails through canyons, faced Grizzlies in Alaska, kayaked all over the western U.S., climbed an active volcano, and generally sought out risk and adventure all over the world. Yet that moment of cowardice on the edge of the abyss of Ubehebe over two decades ago remains cemented in my mind.

I decided that for my 32nd birthday, I would return to Death Valley and have a Do-Over. They say you can't go back again. I say "They" are wrong. I WOULD go back again, back to Ubehebe Crater, my nemesis from the past. I would relive that moment, the moment when my ten-year-old self chose to let fear overrule bravery, and I would do that moment over, as the new, older, wiser, braver me.

So off I went, alone, to Death Valley. I spent two nights there, and on the third morning, I reached the fork in the road marked Ubehebe Crater. More accurately, it was marked: UBEHEBE CRATER, 5 MI.-CLOSED. I guess "They" were right. You really can't go back again. Still, I drove on, hoping the sign was outdated. After a few miles I reached the loop road that led to the actual crater. Both ends of the road were barricaded with signs that said AREA CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION. The road was torn up and at the top of the hill I could see earth-moving equipment quietly and patiently awaiting the arrival of workers. Dejected, and, I admit, damn near tears, I turned my little rental car around and began to drive away. About a mile down the road I had a breakthrough: Running away when the going got tough is what 10-year-old me would do! Well, this was 32-year-old me! And I was going to go back to that closed road, walk around those barricades, and have my Do-Over! So that is what I did. I chose, in all my new-found age and wisdom, to interpret AREA CLOSED FOR CONSTRUCTION to mean ROAD CLOSED; FOOT TRAFFIC WELCOME! I parked my car on the non-existent shoulder, put on my hiking boots, walked up that torn-up road, and went down that steep trail into Ubehebe Crater. And I must admit, my victory was all the sweeter because I had to work that much harder for it.

My Nemesis. (Sure looked scarier when I was 10)

I don't know when the ME who dives with sharks and skydives and seeks out risk and challenge and adventure came to be. Looking back, I now think it is possible that the ME I have become was born 22 years ago, standing alone on the edge of a vast crater, watching everyone else take on life in the form of a steep, scary trail, and not liking the role of spectator. And I realized as I walked out of Ubehebe crater the day after my 32nd birthday, I was actually celebrating a whole different kind of birth.

Birthday morning hike to Wildrose Peak...

...Celebratory cupcake on top!

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