Valeda Scribbles

Day 1 – Kathmandu. Damn. There is no further contrast from the solace of Sheepscot Lake, Maine, that I departed from. Let me set the scene around me now: Bumper to bumper traffic everywhere, anytime. Not a single traffic signal to be found, yet apparently car accidents are rare. Though people drive fast and maneuver often, everyone works together, creating a chaos that seems to work Crossing the road feels life threatening every time, but in the same vein noone actually wants to hit you. The air is thick with exhaust fumes; as my buddy Jeff explained, the manufacturers cater to the market. No one will buy a fancy bike with a catalytic convertor if one without does the job just fine is what everyone else has, and there’s no regulation telling you not to. There’s smoke from the trash fires, the cremation ovens, and the Temple/Stupa offerings. The smell of cooking wafting from homes, restaurants and street vendors, and the pungent odor of trash which reaches an unbearable level when crossing the Bishnumati River. The kaliedoscope of color is dizzying. The day after my arrival was Teej so all the woman donned sparkly red Nepali dresses (Gunyou Cholo) en route to the temples where they’d pay honor to their husbands past, present and/or future. Multi-color prayer flags are everywhere, sending buddhist messages into the ethos with every gust of wind. Shops displaying handcrafted garments and pashmina scarfs are interspersed with outdoor goods stores for trekkers last minute needs. There’s car horns and occassional sirens and the constant buzz of conversation (Nepali people may win the “most talkative” superlative in the World’s yearbook – I’d love to know what they spend their hours discussing!) There’s Nepali and Baliwood and English Pop music coming from speakers left and right. The combination of this sensory overload and flipping my internal clock on its end (I’d experienced 9 hours and 45 minutes of a time difference, and then skipped Wednesday and had a 34 hour Thursday on my day of flying) leaving me exhausted by mid afternoon of day one.

Those are just the external sensory responses. Even harder ones to absorb are the internal ones. Visiting this third world country brings on continuous waves of feelings. There’s so much beauty in your surroundings: the layers of mountains and hillsides, the smiles on peoples faces, the colors of the dress and decoration, but in every idyllic landscape lies mountains of trash. Monkeys play with plastic bottles and bags on the temple statues. People mindlessly throw wrappers on the ground. It’s not all for lack of care, its primarily for lack of a better alternative. The only difference between us & them is we’ve got more money and space to collect all of our garbage in one place, and in many cases hand it off to someone else to deal with. Their best option is to collect it and burn it, which is so much worse for their individual health and immediate environmental surroundings than a candy bar wrapper on the ground. Then there’s the physical discomforts I experience, like not having a warm shower, having a constantly upset stomach due to who knows what, the aforementioned exhaustion, the standing toilet/no toilet paper situation, and above all else, the very understood guilt of being an entitled white girl in a poor society. In Necha I was so honored to have the town thank me for my contributions and I feel great being able to do so, and may people are overwhelmingly kind, but then there’s those looks that scream “you don’t belong here”. I want nothing less than for people to feel like they’re there for my “cultural expansion journey”. I don’t want to remind them of opportunities or resources they can never hope to have. Who am I to snap their photo like the tourist I am? I could say in an enlightened way that they may not want the life behind a desk like I’ve had, but who am I kidding. A comfortable life where there’s opportunities for you and your children to do more than slave away every single day just to maintain. The only thing separating me from the girl on the street in Kathmandu asking me for food is luck, And for that I feel the guilt that comes with the entitlement. So I’ll do my best not to take that entitled white girl life for granted, and take the opportunity to literally share the wealth. Which leads me to why I’m here in the first place – volunteering for a solar power installation in rural Nepal… Read on!

To be honest, I was skeptical about how much I would like Paris. I’d been travelling all summer and had seen so many incredible European cities, but I dreaded the throngs of tourist I knew I’d find in perhaps the most popular vacation destination in the world. I was even going in late summer, at the peak of tourist season. But I arrived, and I was wowed. It probably didn’t hurt that I made sure to get a crepe around the corner from my hotel before setting out to see the city. Then I rented a bike, and deposited it minutes later when I decided it’d be counterproductive to try to take in the scenery and navigate two wheels at the same time. I knew this was just an intro; I only had 2 and a half days before my flight back to the US, and was happy with whatever I experienced in that time. Paris is entirely satisfying just to walk around and look at, which is exactly what I did on my first day. On my way by, I stopped into the Orangerie Museum, where the 8 panels of Monet’s “Waterlillies” are displayed. I walked through gardens and up the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triomphe which was magnificent in its grandeur. I looked at my watch and the descending sun, and knowing the queue for the Eiffel tower was always monsterous, I hedged my bets and headed there anyways, fingers crossed that I may be able to see the sunset from the tower. Although the top was at capacity by the time I got in, I ran up the 669 steps to the second floor of the tower just in time. The eiffel tower, as cliche as it may be, is magical in its design, an immense monument with no practical use outside of its own appreciation. Then on every hour once the sun goes down, the tower illuminates in a twinkle for 10 minutes. I then meandered through the street market at the base of the tower, trying and buying some delectable nougat to take home. On the walk back to my hotel I walked into and of course joined an impromptu dance party on the bank of the Seine thanks to a street performer playing brazilian music. In minutes there were 20 of us of all nationalities dancing and singing under the stars.

 

 

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The next day I was ready to explore by bike seeing as I’d gotten my initial “ooh’s” and “aah’s” out the day before. I headed down to the garden of Luxemborg after swinging through a street market. Although the markets of Paris are famous for their number and variety, this was unfortunately vacation time for many sellers so the one I visited was sparse. I then headed with anticipation to the Musee d’Orsay. If you’ve never been to Paris, it’s likely that you’re never heard of the Orsay, being shadowed by its older sibilng the Louvre. The Louvre is definitely impressive, but what many people don’t know is that it’s collection dates only to the 18th century. I enjoyed it from a historical standpoint, but in terms of pure appreciation of the art, I much prefer that of the 19th and 20th centuries, and for that the Orsay is a mecca. It is a massive museum, holding the largest collection of impressionist and post-impressionist masterpieces in the world. As soon as I left I wanted to go back. Especially in the winter when the crowds are more manageable.

 

After making time for “the best croissant in Paris” (it was that good) I let Rick Steves (well his Audio Europe App) guide me on a tour of Historic Paris, first to Notre Dame, then to the Deportation Memorial, through the Latin Quarter, down Ile de la Cite and into the Sainte Chapelle. The Notre Dame was massive and beautiful, but the Sainte Chapelle was exquisite in its intracacy. It’s a chapel lined entirely with stained glass windows, each panel depicting a scene from the bible. I then took myself out to a dinner of duck salad with baguette, finished off with crepes suzette, and called it a night – I had an early morning date with the Louvre.

 

Paris in the early morning is magical. I’ve come to the conclusion that if it wasn’t for the fact that nothing was open, the most special time to experience a city would be from about 2-8am. I stood in the center of the Louvre Palace alone with the pigeons, then hung out at the Pyramide while waiting for the Mueseum to open. And you know what, the Mona Lisa is absolutely compelling. Whether it deserves to be the most famous painting in the world is up for discussion, but it was truly amazing to see it with my own eyes (under a layer of bullet proof glass). Rick Steves showed me  through the highlights of the rest of the Louvre as it’s much too massive to see all of, then I had a few more hours of bike exploring left before my flight back to Maine. I thought I would be ready to leave the chaos of constant travel for the same bed I’d slept in every summer since I was 4, but frankly I was a little melancholy. Walking out of a train station to a new city, mountain town or the middle of nowhere always puts a smile on my face, even if I have no clue where I’m going or what I’m going to encounter along the way. The unknown is full of possibility, and I’ve got so much more ahead. But I’ve used up every one of my 90 Schengen Tourist Visa days up and I thankfully for a family that will welcome me with open arms and a room in a cabin on the lake in Maine. I’ll be so appreciative to have friends and family around, that feeling of deep connection so often absent in solo travel. And I’ll the have comfort, space and time to literally and figuratively unpack from the 4 months in Europe and repack for the 8 months ahead in Nepal and Spain. Au Revoir Europe, I’ll see you again real soon!

 

If it seems like my travels through Belgium, the Netherlands and Denmark were rushed, it’s because although I was taking full advantage of my route north, the ultimate destination was clear – Norway! I did the math and I could just fit in 10 days in the land of fjords, glaciers, mountains, waterfalls and coastal cliffs, so I set the course, bought my train tickets and was on my way. It helped immensely that my friend Stephanie lived in Norway for a year and generously connected me with her Norwegian friends who could point me in the right direction and reassure me on logistics questions.

I first took a train up to Jotunheimen National Park to hike one of the most popular walks in the country – Besseggen Ridge. I’d decided on the train ride up that since the weather the next day looked questionable, I’d hike the ridge that afternoon with plenty of time between my drop off and sunset… and by doing so ended up having most of the trail and especially the summit to myself.

I made it back to the hut in plenty of time for the second dinner seating of the night, a dinner of soup, salad, fish, potatoes, bread and custard, all homemade and locally sourced. Norwegian huts do it right! I then had the opportunity to take the early train back down to Oslo, where I spent the day exploring and thereafter met up with Stef’s friend Mats who showed me the local hangouts and introduced me to the delicious Norwegian beer selection (just don’t ask how much it costs). He went on to give me some honest and refreshing insight into Norwegian society and culture – prices are high because the average salary is as well, but the downside of that is that Norwegians are some of the biggest consumers in the world when it comes to commercial products. An interesting side-effect of having expendable income…

But there was more of this beautiful country to see, so I hopped the next train west, getting off in Finse where I would start my 3 day hut to hut trek the next morning. Stef’s friends recommended Hardangervidda national park, and the loop hike I’d found on the incredibly thorough huts and trails website was accessible right from the train. I was thrilled to find a whole library of trail descriptions all over Norway complete with topo maps, trail mileage and elevation gain, and even downloadable gps tracks. An added bonus was that the huts I was visiting were either served full meals or provided a pantry of goods available to “shop” from, meaning I didn’t have to lug much food with me in my pack. The huts also did not require reservations, promising to accommodate anyone that showed up on the doorstep, even if it meant throwing a mattress down on the floor. But by far the most impressive facet of the DNT (Den Norse Turistforening) was their impeccable route marking – at any time if I was unsure where the trail went, all I had to do was stop and look around and within minutes would spot the next red T leading the way. My solo trek started out across the rolling tundra with the wind whipping and persistent rain, but the landscape was so beautiful and the conditions were perfect for a rainbow over my shoulder, so I didn’t mind. I continued along the rocky path, soon accompanied by the Hardangerjokulen Glacier which I’d circumnavigate, gaining an appreciation for its size by hiking 17-20 miles for three days straight. Every turn brought a new view of the glacier spilling out over the mountains above, tumbling into waterfalls, forming mountain lakes and down to the valleys below in rivers. I’ve seen glaciers many times before, but now knowing how quickly they’re melting, I find myself admiring them even more today. I could tell you how stunning the trek was, but instead I’ll let the pictures do the talking. Every soggy step was so worth the effort.

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After three days of hard hiking I gave my legs a rest and took the tourist train up to Flam and hopped on a cruise across some classic Norwegian Fjords. It was quite the departure from being out in glaciated tundra alone, but my surroundings were jaw-dropping nonetheless.

And sometimes your waterfalls are accompanied by song and dance…

The train continued on to Bergen on the Western coast of Norway, and the landscaped transitioned from mountains and lakes to ocean and islands. I took a hike up above the quaint town with a new friend I made on the boat the day before and caught the sunset over the pacific.

My journey continued south via the equivalent of a cruise ship to Stavanger. I arrived to free concerts in the main square and street performers out and about, attending the symphony music festival happening that weekend. I met a couple ex-pats studying at the local university that showed me around town and had me out dancing until the wee hours. That didn’t keep me from hiking Pulpit Rock in the morning, a platform jutting out almost 2000 ft above the blue fjord waters below. That evening I was joined for dinner by a fascinating man I met at my hotel who’s mentored Moby and is currently working with Matt Dillon. An unintended but amazing part of solo travelling is becoming friends with people far outside of your world bubble, opening your eyes to a completely different walk through life. My walk then took me to the train station, where I’d ride the rails down along the south coast of Norway back to Oslo and catch a flight to Paris, my last destination before returning to the US and closing the book on this chapter!

I showed up in Brussels, fresh off the high speed train from London to a very unfiltered city. It was Belgian Independence day and fireworks lit up the sky above a shady street carnival. Going out that night revealed clubs that felt like they could be straight from the prohibition era, turntables spinning and everyone making the most of the little room they had to dance their hearts out. A local pointed me to a dark and sweaty dance party, DJs spinning electronic and funk far past when I left at 4am. I liked it here. Daytime proved that there was a bit of a tourist scene, a massive square lined with sparkly spired facades was the epicenter of it, as well as the unimpressive “manneken pis” fountain, a small bronze statue of a little boy peeing, the original dating back to the 14th century. The two foot high statue is somehow one of the most famous in the world, and was definitely the Belgian mecca for tourists. I preferred the dark beer cellars, learning about the history of Trappist monks and their nice deed of turning undrinkable water into delicious dubbels, tripels and quads. I made a day trip to the quaint old City of Bruges and another to Antwerp on my way out of the country and on to the Netherlands.

In Amsterdam, after dropping off my bags at my hostel, a repurposed sleeper train which was actually quite cozy, I met up with my friend Lindsay from my time sailing. She was living in the city still working marketing for the Infinity’s mission and likely driving the theoretical ship on the sending the boat’s message. I found Amsterdam proper to be extremely touristy; as such I had no interest in smoking marijuana in a cafe for the sake of checking the box. I did however absolutely love the bike culture, and partook by renting a bike and cycling out to a huge art museum with a massive van Gogh collection in the middle of a national park. The scenery on the ride to and from the museum actually felt like I was in the middle of one of Vincent’s landscapes. I made sure to make a stop in Gouda for the weekly Cheese festival, because when in Gouda… I also took a train out to Utrecht, a very likeable “Amsterdam Jr” that I explored both by foot and by kayak. I then spent a solid 24 hours at the museums of Amsterdam, loving the more classical collections but most impressed by the Banksy exhibit at the museum of contemporary art. For those unfamiliar with Banksy, he’s known for his street art, which simply yet creatively poses societal questions to the passerby. There I was also introduced to Icy and Sot, two street artists from Iran currently in exile from their country, a risk they willingly took in order to exhibit in New York. Makes you feel thankful for the freedom to follow your passions without fear of reprimand or arrest. On the way back to the train hostel, I followed the sound of music pumping to find myself in the middle of the Amsterdam pride fest, DJ’s playing to a huge crowd dancing in the middle of a park. I liked this side of Amsterdam, I just had to leave the city center to find it.

From the Kroller-Muller Museum

From the Rijksmuseum

From Moco

Pride and an underground nightclub

And with that, I was off to my next destination, and over the course of two long train train rides I found myself in Copenhagen Denmark! Compared to the pace of both Brussels and Amsterdam, Copenhagen was a chilled city that was instantly likable. I joined a walking tour which gave me background and bearings to the city, and introduced me to my favorite new place, Christiania! It was a self created, governed and run artist community separate from the rest of Denmark. The next day I went for a sightseeing run around the city, making sure to see H. C. Andersen’s “the Little Mermaid” statue, then after climbing up a tower with an external spiral stairway to the top – terrifying – I met up with my new friends from the walking tour to grab food and drinks at the super cool outdoor market with somewhere between 50 and 100 food vendors, set on an abandoned military barracks and conveniently located behind the Mikkeller brewery. We sat in communal chairs by the river with our food choices and watched the sun set, both on the day and on my short but sweet stay in Denmark.

 

Backstory: At 4am, only hours before leaving Denver to start this summer of exploration, I woke up in a panic, suddenly realizing that I’d never actually checked what the visa regulations were for an American visiting Europe. A couple quick Google searches brought me to the Schengen agreement, which allows Americans 90 days total out of any 180 day period in the Schengen territory visa-free, which includes pretty much all of the countries in the EU with a few additions and subtractions. My original plan was to be in Europe through September, and some quick math brought me to the stark reality that September was likely not going to happen. Frantic messaging with my friend Megan who had been living in Europe for the last couple years did provide some helpful advice though – you can be strategic with those 90 days, spending time in the non-Schengen countries and tracking your travels through an app to maximize your stay and ultimately avoid deportation. (THANKS MEGAN!) The UK is not part of Schengen, so once I left London I decided to use my time wisely and pick up a campervan to visit England’s quiet, rugged and understated neighbor, Wales (Cymru in Welsh)!

I picked up my van, thankful for my intro to left-hand driving in New Zealand, but very aware of the new challenge in front of me, driving stick-shift with my left hand. Yey! I’ve driven manual cars since buying my first in 2006, but it still was a very gallery type=\”rectangular\”definite adjustment to change hands AND feet! Off I went, out into the countryside, driving at a very conservative “i’m learning” speed, waving and smiling to the very skilled left hand-stick shift drivers zooming past me. The other great thing about Wales is they have a VERY open camping/parking policy and even have directories of public toilets with hours of operation, so finding parking spots at trailheads was no problem. I got to Snowdonia National Park with time to run up a nearby peak for sunset before heading down, eating my leftover sandwich under the stars, and calling it a night in my new temporary home.

 

The next morning called for rain, so instead of heading straight to Snowdonia peak, I detoured to Caernarfon Castle first, because who doesn’t want to start the day in a castle? I also picked up a pass that gave me access to all-you-can eat castles for 3 days, so you’ll notice a theme in this post. By then the clouds had started to clear so I headed to the lesser-traveled Snowdonia trail head and started making my way up the highest peak in Wales. There’s a tram that runs up the mountain and a much easier (and very popular) trail that runs beside the tram, but I’ll take the extra effort any day to have a trail pretty much to myself! Views were beautiful, the trail was well marked and just hard enough to be fun, and in no time I was at the top, taking in the 360 view of Wales below. There was even a visitor center at the top selling hard cider, so since they were nice enough to haul it up I figured I’d oblige. All my friends back in CO would approve, but I definitely got some funny looks from hikers who may find the hike a little more challenging than I did, especially post-beverage! I headed down and drove out to the coast and caught sunset at one of the widest, longest beaches I’ve ever seen.

 

I strategically camped at the trailhead for my next-morning hiking destination, a hill-fort dating back to the iron age, perched on a hilltop with a birds-eye view of the coastline. I stopped by Harlech castle for lunch (who knew Welsh Rarebit had nothing to do with rabbit and is actually melted cheese on toast!), fit in a stellar hike to a stunning overlook on the aptly named Panorama trail, and continued driving south to find my reserved campsite on a bluff overlooking the ocean, warmly greeted by the owner and the offer of a some outdoor couch talk and a gin and tonic. This was perhaps the coolest “campground” I’ve ever experienced; aside from the expansive views each “site” was large enough to build a home on, there were decorated composting toilets scattered throughout the property, outdoor lounge areas with foosball and giant connect-four, and two of the nicest owners you could ask for. (If you’re in the area, absolutely check out Hillfort Tipis and Camping and tell them sent you!). I joined other campers for sunset at the namesake hillfort above the campground, and called it another happy Welsh day.

 

I took advantage of my location to hike the Wales Coast Path, accessible right from the campground, hugging the cliff-lined shores and peering down to the ocean. 7 miles later I was back at camp so I hopped in the van to check out St. David’s cathedral and Bishop’s palace, making the most of my castle pass! I swung back through the tiny seaside town of Porthgain on my way home, and when I arrived back to heavy rain I was definitely thankful that my camping venue had a hard roof!

 

On my drive east to return the van in London, I made a split decision to make time for a couple more castles along the River Wye, the border between England and Wales. Aside from millenium-old doors, Chepstow castle was nothing to write home about, but Tinturn Abbey was by far the most magical structure of its kind I’d ever experienced. I believe the pictures speak for themselves…

 

Thank you for your service and comfort campervan! On to Brussels!