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Dealing With Tragedy Back Home

by Amy on November 17, 2010 · 0 comments

I’ve already written briefly about our decision to come home early upon receiving the news that my step-father, Lewis, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.  In today’s guest post on Briefcase to Backpack, I write in more detail about the process we went through before we even left on our adventure to plan for the curve balls that life will inevitably throw, and how doing so eased us through a very difficult time on our trip.

Have you change your plans while on the road because of something going on back home? Any ideas on how our fellow travelers can better prepare themselves to handle bad news from home? If so, we’d love to hear about it in the comments below.

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Also, Keith’s most recent post discussing if our trip was career suicide, was picked up and re-posted on yourSABBATICAL.com. today.  yourSABBATICAL.com offers great resources including e-books for people that are considering trips like ours. Be sure to check them out and have them help you plan and negotiate a sabbatical from your employer.

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Back on the Travel Horse

by Amy on August 19, 2010 · 4 comments

It is not the decision to come home early when a family member gets sick that is hard. It’s the decision about what to do once you are there, months before you expected.  Months that your condo is occupied by a tenant, months when that car your sold right before you left would’ve come in handy, months when the prospect of finding employment again looms large.

It took a few weeks of visiting friends and family, sorting the piles of mail that awaited us and fielding the endless questions of what we were going to do with ourselves before we made the conscience decision to treat these months as merely the next part of our year around the world adventure. Same trip, different itinerary.  Instead of southern Australia, New Zealand and Fiji, we’d continue to travel in the US and Canada. And we’d start immediately, two miles south of the home I grew up in, at the George Washington Bridge.

It might sound strange, but in the 30 years that my mother has lived in that same house, I had never once walked across this iconic bridge. Sure, I’d driven across it a million times, admiring the views of the Manhattan skyline and the Palisades cliffs while sitting in traffic.  I’d watched joggers out on their morning runs, commuters walking briskly to the other side, bicyclists rolling along the narrow pedestrian walkway, and think to myself that one day, when the weather is fine, I should do that.  That day arrived on a relatively cool, clear June evening.

We waited until the sun started its western descent and hit the road, arriving at the bridge to catch the end of rush hour.  We parked, grabbed the camera and wandered down to the pedestrian entrance on the Fort Lee side of the bridge.  In between snapping pictures and convincing security who were less than thrilled with our picture taking that we were just tourists out for a stroll, we laid out the tentative plans that would become the route of our US and Canadian road trip.

Amidst the scent of car fumes and the grit of debris that lined the walkway, we allowed ourselves to fall back into travel mode.  Destinations that at the same time seemed close to home but that we hadn’t yet made it to swirled in our heads. Mt. Rushmore. Glacier National Park. Banff. Victoria. Anywhere not as hot as summer on the east coast!

It’s not the adventure we had originally planned, but if we’ve learned anything during our 9 months abroad, it’s that nothing ever goes as originally planned. And yet everything seems to work out for the best. That’s the beauty of travel, and so the adventure continues.

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Hiking the Tiger’s Nest

by Amy on April 19, 2010 · 9 comments

It is our first full day in Bhutan and the mountain looms ominously in the clear blue sky.  The air is cool, crisp and thin as my whitewashed challenger awaits my arrival 900 meters above.  I haven’t come all this way just to stand in the shadow of the Tiger’s Nest, so I will get there. It’s just a matter of time.

The trail starts gently enough, winding through a wooded area of blue pines and past a water-powered prayer wheel slowly spinning in a clockwise direction as a stream trickles underneath.  The sound of the water and the creaking prayer wheel lures me into an easy pace. Then the trail begins to climb with a much steeper slope, switchbacks twisting among the blooming red rhododendrons and groves of white prayer flags fluttering in the breeze.  Ethereal wisps of pale green moss hang from the tree limbs creating a fairytale canopy over the path. Hiking stick in hand, I tackle the incline one step at a time.

A few tourists pass as I brush the sweat out of my eyes and look longingly at the ponies they are riding up the hill.  The rewards will be all the greater for getting up the hard way, I tell myself repeatedly, a mantra to soothe my burning calf muscles.  We continue to climb.

Over an hour later, we arrive at a wooden teahouse perched along a ridge and get our first hazy views of the monastery.  Often visitors just hike to the teahouse, our guide informs me, hinting that there’d be no shame in putting my legs out of their misery.  But there is no way I am stopping now.  I can just make out the gold medallions and red rooflines across the gorge, taunting me to get a closer look.  After a cup of tea and a quick rest I am ready to conquer the next, steeper leg of the hike.

Up and up we climb, until finally the trail begins to flatten out.  We traverse the deep chasm between the teahouse and the monastery along a rocky plateau, arriving at the top of a long set of stone steps, seeming carved right out of the side of the mountain.

Rainbows of red, green, yellow and blue prayer flags fill the bright sky above us as we descend across a waterfall and footbridge.  Only a few hundred steps back up the stone staircase separate me from my goal.  We begin to ascend once again.

The red and gold details of the monastery buildings become sharper with each step up.  It is silent except for the sound of the wind and the rapid heartbeat in my chest.  I am breathing hard, dizzy and exhilarated from the altitude and the nearness of these incredible buildings clinging to the cliff before me. A few more steps.  A few more steps.  I am here, breathless and awestruck, 900 meters above the valley floor, standing in the gateway to the Taktsang Dzong monastery.

You can check out more of our photos from Bhutan here.

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