“It’s like you're trekking.”
With one of the chair lifts out of commission, and many of the runs closed, you would think our day of skiing would not have been much to talk about. Instead, though, the sun was out, the views were great, and I got to experience the concept of back country skiing as a guide led us across a run where at times we had to take off our skis and hike over patches of dirt. The best experiences in my life, especially when I am travelling, always seem to occur when something unexpected changes my plan. Getting lost in Italy, finding myself without a hotel room in San Francisco, a car malfunction in England... these situation have led to my stepping outside my comfort zone and relying on the generosity / help of others. And, when I get that chance to interact with locals, be they foreign or domestic, I usually get a much better understanding of the place I am visiting. I suppose this is why solitary beach vacations don’t do a lot for me. It is not so much that I need to be active as that I like to be involved. In fact, I am currently intrigued by the idea of a working vacation…though I know these aren’t always as useful as they are promoted to be (see this article from Conde Nast Traveler for more.) My husband doesn’t feel this need like I do, and so vacation planning is always a negotiation for us. Even when I go someplace like Hawaii, I tend to spend quite a bit of time chatting with my fellow- travelers; or better yet, with locals in restaurants or shops. How do they like living where they do? What do they do for fun? Have they ever visited where I am from? And if so, what did they think of it? I imagine it is like what a photojournalist must feel when they travel… a moment that is shared even if it is not fully understood. (Link here to one of my new favorite t.v. shows Word Travels, about being a travel journalist.) Hiking across those dry patches was just a moment of my day…and for the others simply a means to get to a lift that was otherwise inaccessible. But for me, it was the highlight of my ski trip.
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The sound of a bird singing out the window, early this morning.
So you will have to forgive me for this late Thursday post. When I say early, it was actually around 3:00 a.m.; which, at the time, made me wonder what type of bird was awake and signing at that time of the morning. It also reminded me of the lovely, but very loud, nightingale that used to sing outside our window when we lived in England many years ago. I could tell this bird was no nightingale though, much quieter and not enough range. Have you ever heard a nightingale sing? It is an amazing, if eye opening, sound. (Check out this Soundboard site for their song). Although I think it is a lovely song, the nightingale typically heralded my morning wake-up, so it isn’t necessarily associated with happy feelings for me. My schedule at that point in my life was crazy… fun and interesting and challenging, but crazy. 5:00 a.m. – Get-up, trying not to disturb my husband (while sort of wanting to because I was so jealous he still had at least two more hours of sleep ahead of him). 6:20 a.m. – Catch the early train from Sunningdale station to Waterloo (It was worth running for this train because it was marginally less crowded and I had met a couple of travel friends would would entertain me on the 45 minute trip into London). 7:45 a.m. – Stumble from the tube, hyperventilating from holding my breath for the last 40 minutes. (There is nothing so horrible at 7:00 in the morning than breathing in someone’s hangover breath.) 8:00 a.m. – Arrive at my office in Barclays Bank near Tower Bridge. (The walk was actually more like 10 minutes, but I never did get over the idea that I got to walk by the Tower of London on my way to work. Once I even saw white deer on the grounds, as if Arthur himself might appear at any moment.) 6:30 p.m. – Head pounding, leave my office at a run, trying to catch the 7:10 train. (The head pounding thing was aggrevated by the decision to pain our wide open office space a bright arrange and yellow…. I can’t imagine who thought that would be a good idea <picture me hanging my head in shame here>). 8:00 p.m. – Text my husband to beg him to pick me up from the train so I wouldn’t have to walk home in the dark. (Dinner waiting, we would talk briefly of our day, mine developing a content strategy for the bank’s online presence and him… uh… riding his bike around Windsor great park and watching a polo match which he swore the Prince had attended). 9:00 p.m. – Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz Good morning lovely nightingale. Thank you for humoring my trip down memory lane. |
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June 2020
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