Seattle, USA: Our Last Post (For Now)

On a Tuesday our flight landed mid-day in Seattle after a ten-hour flight – it was an easy journey across the globe from Frankfurt, over Iceland/Canada, and finally, home to the Pacific Northwest.  Ken and Everett’s emotions: pure joy, “absolutely buzzing.”  The thrill of being home – finally.  Their elation was “off the charts'' hyperactive in baggage claim.  Yes, there were tears of exhaustion but mostly relief and joy.  Me… there was instant dissociation – too much noise, too much excitement, and really, avoidance of the trip’s completion looming from the subconscious.

 

Arriving at Queen Anne (our posh neighborhood) perched on the hill… pulling up to our house: excited nerves.  The renters kept our house spotless and the hand-off of Teddy (our dog) was blissful, especially for Everett.  If ever one needs to be re-inspired by life, witness an encounter of a young boy and his long-lost dog.    

Our first week back?  Spent unpacking our belongings (everything was in storage) and restarting our previous life – mostly administrative details like sorting through mail, setting up our home security system, scheduling medical visits, and getting our vehicles in working order.  Unpacking our cardboard boxes, a bit dusty.  (Why did we keep so much stuff?).  Weeding our overgrown gardens, untouched but thriving.  (Would the neighbor’s notice any disorder?)  Driving our neighborhood unchanged, sleuthing for any noticeable modifications.  (The new Safeway building looks great, way more Rivians).  Somehow exactly the same and yet we are different.  A few new buildings and all the familiar faces.  Could one conceive, it didn’t really happen at all?  Just a whim of the mind and fortune?  Imagine: returning to your hometown after a year away, you have changed and yet, everything is exactly the same.  You are altered but it’s all too comfortable and enticing to object to what is known.  

 

Let’s be honest: Everett wanted (needed) to be home.  It was a dramatic learning curve for a young child who had no choice but to mature greatly.  Ken could keep going forever, a spontaneous and joyful wanderer… but the impulsivity of his youth has tamed and he desires to re-engage in a life that he always loved – skiing Crystal, mountain biking at Duthie Hill, and socializing as only an extrovert does.  So, by returning, he rekindled a deep comfort; his pragmatic nature does acknowledge a pending career responsibility, however.  For me, the thirst for discovery, ambition, and the unknown haunts my every thought, even as the daily routines and excessive consumerism returns.  I suppose, independence is a hallmark (being true to oneself) and I fear a stationary life.  Still to be discovered: Columbia, Senegal, Nepal, Uzbekistan, Antarctica.  As of late I’m obsessed with Carl Jung and it’s helped me to understand my true self: it’s simply in one’s nature.  

We were resourceful and learned about the world.  And the possible.  We grew as a family.  Our blogs might suggest it was easy -- it was not.  It was lonely and hard and transforming.  Sitting on our porch in the late afternoon sun, the wind said to me, we have missed you.  The streets said, we are the same.  And the sun said, I’ve been with you all along.  

What should we ask of you, as we transition to this next part of our life?  Accept our flaws: impulsiveness.  Appreciate our skills: adaptability.  We’d continue indefinitely if we could, wandering, seeking undiscovered treasures, sharing our truths.  Please know: the biggest fear of a nomad is a life of the mundane and stagnation.  

 

We crave the freedom to seek our own path.  To ask what’s next, unlimited and unknown.  Allowing nature to flow through oneself and not be limited by traditional constraints of what society tells us to do.  Our sincerest gratitude for your words of encouragement, support, and honesty.  And like a dream, we return to where we started.  Until next time, we wish you farewell.

Lagos, Portugal and London, UK

Location and ambiance really affect our enjoyment in a place.  In this case: a beachy relaxed mood, pleasant afternoon breezes, a very comfortable AirBnB (washing machine!), walking distance to restaurants/grocery stores, good prices, drinkable water, a removed distance from the tourist chaos, and a multicultural neighborhood.  This was: Lagos, Portugal.  Sidenote: And Ken would add: they sell oat milk.  And Hillary would add: they sell tampons.  And Everett would add: good WIFI.  So, by all objective measures, Lagos, Portugal is now a top contender on our “Places to Retire List.”

Not much was on the agenda at this stage of the game.  Several beach and cliff walks.  Laundry.  Relaxed mornings drinking coffee on our balcony combined with afternoon sangria at the cafe next door.  Cobblestone walkways and quaint streetside shops.  The only Portuguese we picked up - “Obrigado.”  Ken was not-too-excited to admit the landscape was strikingly similar to his hometown, Palos Verdes (ever heard of Portuguese Bend?).  Around the world visiting 50 countries, only to land where you started?  A full circle moment.

 

We hopped yet another bus to Lisbon and landed at a hostel in a very diverse neighborhood.  On a random chance an old work colleague/friend (Joe Keating) was in Lisbon as well, and Ken was able to meet him for drinks. There is always such a surge of joy for these “random” run-ins!  Everett and I had our own “date night” at a Nepalese-Portuguese restaurant: yes, biryani and paella do mix.

Everett was excited for his favorite activity – plane spotting – this time at the Lisbon Airport.  The lounge was closed for maintenance so we sat at a coffee shop outside our gate.  A sign read: “If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people, you might better stay at home.”  Wow.

After landing at Gatwick, we took the express train into London, where we stayed at our friend Greg’s house.  He was so generous to host us!  (LOL, he didn’t have a choice, I think we just said, “We’re coming.”)  His boys are the same age as Everett, so they had a great time at the park, rough housing, playing games, and chasing each other.  Seeing friends after so long on the road felt really good.  

Hearing English again after all these months made us feel like we were already back home.  We had visited a few years ago, so Greg’s neighborhood felt oddly familiar – Nando’s, Gail’s, Sainsbury’s, and the tube.

An afternoon was spent at Westminster Abbey.  I thought it was “just another church” (every city has their famous church/mosque/synagogue/temple), but it really was spectacular.  We hadn’t read anything prior to visiting, not knowing it was the coronation site for British monarchs and royal weddings.  Every famous UK person seemed to be buried there – monarchs, poets, scientists, politicians.

We also had a chance to meet up at a traditional pub with two of Hillary’s old friends who have lived in London for the past ten years (Busby and Susan).  The place had a warm and welcoming character on a Friday night (Euro 2024 football on the TV’s) and we had a great time catching up.  Old friends are the best friends!

When we were in Vietnam, we met a British family (they were on holiday at the same hotel and the boys hit it off).  They rode the train several hours from their home to visit us in London.  We were all having a wonderful time at The Regents Park, until the boys wandered off for an “adventure” and didn’t tell us.  The parents spent hours searching for them, until… Yes, the police were called.  The boys were eventually found as they had wandered about three miles away.  They were happily enjoying the lake, unaware of their “missing” status.  Luckily, it ended well and it was a big learning lesson for all.  LOL, we have jokingly decided our next meet up will be in Central Park to up the ante.

Finally, we spent an afternoon at the Science Museum and an amazing playground at Holland Park.  We were sad to leave London but it was the perfect location to end our trip.

 

Thank you to our family and friends for following our journey.  And even more thanks to those of you who hosted us along the way, managed our house in Seattle, collected our snail mail, watched our dog, drove our cars so the batteries wouldn’t die, and overall did any favor we asked without question.  

 

After eight months, we are nearing the end of these travels.  It’s time to return to the regularly scheduled program.  Everett is desperate for his friends and our old way of life in Seattle – regular school, Teddy (our dog), and the stability of home.  After 245 days on the road, we stayed at 90 accommodations, moving every 2.7 days.  To everything, turn, turn, turn.  To everything there is a season.  It’s time to go home.  We’ll post one more time, after our return to the States -- in just a few days.

Seville, Spain

Our dear friends “The Germans” arrived on a Tuesday.  Last fall we met them on a Zambian train and then again in Zanzibar.  After discovering they too were in Morocco at the same time as us (wild coincidence) we just had to meet up.  Our plans weren’t quite aligned as we were in cities about six hours apart.  They graciously canceled their AirBnB and flights, and then hopped on a bus to see us!  Really, these are true friends.

We were so excited to see them and have guests at our place, since we hadn’t hosted anyone in over eight months.  They were so wonderful and easy to get along with – real adventure travelers.  There is an ease with people like them, no need to explain or justify one’s life choices.  And they understand life on the road – yes, while it is an exceptional privilege it is also complicated, tiring, and lonely.  Their arrival lifted our spirits and we enjoyed showing them around the beach and market of Essaouira.

 

We packed into our Toyota Corolla – Everett loved having companions in the backseat.  The drive was short (three hours) and uneventful, minus a few bathroom breaks.  It’s really more fun to travel in a pack of five people, especially when the group is with The Germans.

 

Arriving in Marrakech, we dropped Nina, Vera, and Everett at the edge of the medina (cars are not allowed). The streets were exceptionally confusing near the medina, so we weren’t sure exactly where we were – and Google Maps was making matters worse.  Of course, as experienced travelers they had no problem finding their hostel in the maze of alleyways; Ken and I proceeded to return the car and then take a taxi back to the medina to meet them.  By this time, it was 103 degrees F (40 C) and with all our luggage, even walking 20 mins in the sun was very taxing.

 

By late afternoon we hadn’t eaten yet and we were all hungry.  Their hotel was right around the corner from a restaurant we knew, so we were excited to share a real Moroccan meal with them.  Then, we strolled through the square and surrounding shops, trying to stay in the covered alleys for shade.  In the early evening it was unbearably hot so we escaped inside drinking soda and chatting about life, until it was time for us to depart for the train.  They would continue as planned to the desert and we would make our way to Spain.  

What a wonderful 24 hours with our friends!  We invited them to visit Seattle, and hopefully they will get the chance in the future.  Nina also has a connection to Uganda (lived there briefly and will be returning next year), so we hope to cross paths in East Africa.  Finding friends like these is a genuine treasure – someone to laugh with, be inspired by, and marvel at how the world sends you exactly who you need.

 

The overnight train departed Marrakech at 9pm.  The train station was surprisingly modern.  We had a private cabin with two bunk beds, which was perfect for us.  We were all dreading the sleeping conditions, knowing it would be difficult in the 100-degree F (38 C) heat.  Luckily, while it was definitely hot, it was bearable.  The sheets were clean and the vinyl mattresses weren’t too bad.  Ken, too tall to really fit, made the best of it (aka fetal position).  We arrived at 6:20am right on time in Tangier, the northernmost point of Morocco – an indisputably picturesque port town.  We just love the adventure of overnight trains! 

I booked us on the 8am ferry to cross the strait of Gibraltar to Tarifa, Spain.  Normally, I wouldn’t book such a tight connection, as trains can be highly unpredictable.  But in order to catch the bus on the Spain side, it was the best option.  We read that the ferry can often be delayed or canceled due to weather, but it was right on time and after a brief one-hour crossing we landed in Spain.  We were happy to charge all our devices, which were dead (as the train didn’t have electrical outlets).  To make our tight bus connection, we pushed to get off the ferry as quickly as possible and beeline to Spanish immigration.  In all our rushing, we reached the bus stop an hour early.  The timing could not have been better.

 

The wind was strong and we enjoyed a coffee and tostada while we waited in the small beach town of Tarifa, on the southernmost tip of Spain.  Honestly, we were missing the Moroccan/African flavor and feeling a little defeated as we could no longer use our newfound French or Arabic, realizing we really didn’t know Spanish.

 

The bus ride was only four hours, but it seemed longer because we made so many stops in little beach towns.  I think without stops it would have been only two hours.  We arrived in Seville to a scorching afternoon heat (100-degree F ; 38 C).  Our hostel was not too far from the bus station (one mile) but in that weather, with our packs, it was exhausting.  Initially we tried to catch a local bus but were directed to the wrong stop and then missed the bus.  I really didn’t want to sit in the heat for another 18 minutes waiting for the next one.  Ken thankfully hailed a cab.  Weirdly, the cab was actually cheaper than the bus, so I told him he was an Absolute Legend.

 

Because of the high hotel prices, we stayed two nights at a cheap hostel (but in a great location, right near the Plaza de San Francisco).  The rooms were extremely minimal (bunk beds) with shared bathrooms and the A/C didn’t work, but there was an amazing rooftop deck.  Unfortunately, the heat made the rooftop less than enticing.  It was about 5pm and we were hungry but we forgot about Spanish dinner hours (nearly everything closed until 7:30pm).  We were so fortunate that a restaurant right under our hostel was open and we cooled off with sangria.  Everett had such a wonderful attitude with the 24-hour train-taxi-ferry-taxi-bus-taxi combo that he got to order steak.

We slept in that morning and then explored Seville on foot - commenting on the wonderful walkability, the Moroccan similarities, and of course the extreme temperatures.  We tried not to let the heat get the best of us, as we admired the plazas and architecture (Gothic cathedrals, Plaza de Espanas, Plaza de America), the flowers, the gardens, and the river walk.  We escaped the sun with some Aperol Spritz under umbrellas in a wonderful park.  Back at the hostel in the early evening, Everett caught up on school.  Ken and I again went to the same restaurant for tapas because by 5pm we were hungry (and everything was closed!).  We just could not vibe with the 8:30pm dinner time.

Saturday morning was bustling outside our hostel – we were right in the thick of the tourist brunch crowds.  We only had a five-minute walk to the bus station (a different one than a few days prior), where we boarded a bus destined for Lagos, Portugal.  The bus had electrical chargers, A/C, and a toilet (a very nice tourist bus indeed) – so we enjoyed the nearly six-hour ride along the Algarve coast.  

Marrakech, Morocco

Some places lend themselves to wandering.  Marrakech is that kind of place.  

We realized… We are somewhere we have never been.

 

A perfect mix of Berber + Arabic + African + European.  Narrow cobblestone alleyways inside a walled city, inaccessible to cars.  Endless twists and turns.  The vibrant colors at our riad (traditional hotel with an indoor courtyard) located one block from the chaos of the legendary medina (Jemaa el-Fnaa).  Selling: fruit, nuts, spices, raw meat, woven textiles, metals, lamps, and leather.  The call to prayer as the sun begins to set.  The smell of fresh mint.  Ladies painting hands with henna tattoos.  Ken swindled by buying $40 nuts and dates.  The food!  The mosaic tiles!  The ornate décor!  Iconic arched doorways, the jewel toned colors, metal lanterns, and rooftop terraces.  The Bahia Palace, a salmon run of tourists.  The Ben Youssef Madrasa, a former Islamic school and photographer’s dream.  We loved it all.

We weren’t quite acclimated to Marrakech (our time was too short); we needed another day to get our bearings.  But we got by with basic French, directing the taxi driver to the rental car agency.  (I’m inspired to take it back up and re-learn French.  And we couldn’t be prouder of Everett who was learning Arabic quickly). 

 

Nerves were high as we picked up our rental car – thinking the entire interaction might be “en Francais.”  The car pickup was luckily fairly straightforward (in English).  In the rainy morning we bought a few essentials (water, toilet paper, snacks) before departing Marrakech, not knowing what to expect in the desert.  The city driving seemed confusing and hectic – speedy scooters, donkey carts, and aggressive round-abouts.  Ken watched too many YouTube videos about bad rental car companies and police checkpoints, putting us on high alert.  

 

After a windy afternoon crossing the mountains, we relaxed and stopped for a night at Ait Ben Haddou, an ancient kasbah (fortified houses) made of adobe (mud and straw) in the foothills of the Atlas Mountains.  We visited in the evening after most of the tourists had left, crossing the dry waterway on foot.  The wind nearly blinded us.  In its tourist shops, oddly, we found more Stars of David than in Poland.  We even picked up our first hitchhikers - two American girls - who both spoke Arabic and needed a lift to the nearby town’s taxi stand.

Next, we drove up the curving Dades Gorge, a valley oasis through a plateau of fruit trees.  The red sand contrasting against green palm trees made for a stunning view below.  That evening and again the next morning, Ken and Everett enjoyed the hotel pool “cold plunge.”  Refreshed, we drove up a second canyon, this one the Todras Gorge – with its vertical red cliffs, mountain goats, and coffee (in a cave of course).  

Each day we appreciated the Moroccan cuisine flavors more and more: unlimited sugary mint tea (aka Berber Whiskey – poured from as high as one can), tagine (cooked vegetables or meat in a clay pot), couscous, eggplant, dates, heaping (and I mean heaping) piles of olives, and fruit platters.  And, to our delight, coffee was served from the back of roadside vans.

We continued towards the Algerian border – encountering dust and more dust.  Our guesthouse manager suggested we stop at an ancient underground irrigation canal system.  The channels were designed to move water down slopes without pumping.  Underground it was refreshingly cool.  Mostly we loved our guides (father/son duo) and their entertaining demeanor.  

A few hours of barren landscapes... until…

 

Arriving at the edge of the Sahara Desert, we stared in awe.  Seeing the world’s largest desert for the first time (eyes doing tricks?) – an intoxicating magic.  It sounds cliché, but it was an experience of a lifetime unlike any other.  Imagine driving and seeing mountains in the distance… then realizing… the mountains are sand as far as the eye can see!  Nothing will ever compare to this mystifying sight.

We transferred from our rental car to a 4WD to get to our desert camp (it wasn’t far, maybe ten minutes, but our Corolla couldn’t handle the sand dunes).  We stayed two nights in a desert glamping tent, albeit the toilet/shower didn’t really work.  Nevertheless, we were in the Sahara Desert!!!!!  The first evening we rode camels to a sunset spot overlooking the dunes.  I have never admired a sunset more. 

 

Everett was a rockstar at sandboarding (aka snowboarding on sand).  Ken did surprisingly well too for not being a snowboarder.  Dinner was served in a large tent and we enjoyed chatting with the other guests (all Europeans), along with a fire and Berber music.

 

On our second day, during a hot sandstorm we were lucky to access a hotel pool (where we parked our rental car).  We also drove a little south and watched an African drum circle.  We went desert shopping (non-stop haggling) and found ice cold Powerade (score!).  That evening the boys rode quad (4-wheeler) bikes (yes, Everett had a chance to drive).  The sunset was obscured due to the sandstorm and we tried to stay cool that evening, as the dinner tent was scorching hot.

Leaving the desolate dunes of the Sahara, we headed back west but on a more southern route.  It was a long day of driving through remote villages – much of our trip was in the car as cities were 4-6 hours apart.  To stay entertained: I Spy…. 100 Bottles of Beer… every thinkable version of the Alphabet Game.  Ken booked a gorgeous hotel overlooking the palm desert (hmm…funny how our budget magically increased when he reserved the hotel). 

 

We spent another full day driving towards the ocean: argan oil shops on every corner, lots of wild cats, so many police checkpoints, and ridiculous speed limits (desert straight-aways at 37 MPH / 60 KPH ?!?)  Larger cities had tree lined boulevards with flower filled medians leading into town, along with either city gates or giant elaborate archways.  

After a week in the desert, our car and hair full of sand, we reached the modern beach resort town of Agadir.  We again made a last-minute booking at a quaint hotel with kittens and a turtle in the courtyard.  Ken went out late in the evening to get us dinner.  He drove through the Friday evening chaos – in the dark (no street lights) but with kids popping wheelies in the street, women in black abayas (impossible to see in the dark!) and taxi cabs randomly parked on the road.  Upon his return, shawarma in hand, he emphatically stated, “We only drive during the day!”

And we can’t conclude without a word about the people.  Humor and humility go a long way here.  A “bonjour” or “assalam” with a smile and people are instantly friendly.  They have a deeply respectful culture and have been kind towards us.  Yes, there was non-stop haggling but it was always good-natured (they loved Ken’s antics and seemed to have “Dad Joke” humor themselves - “Buy turban, it’s good for picture.”  “WIFI code very difficult, 12345”).  This might be the most family friendly culture we’ve encountered – nearly every shopkeeper gave Everett a hug or fist bump and engaged with him in a positive way.  I don’t know if it’s only directed towards tourists, but Morocco could not have been more welcoming.  

 

Now, we have arrived in Essaouira – an artsy (and windy!!) Atlantic coastal city with a lovely beachfront promenade lined with basketball/soccer courts and hundreds of kite surfers out in the distance.  It’s Saturday night and I hear seagulls.  And call to prayer.  And loud Arabic dance music.  The trendy city comes alive with a beachy energetic night vibe.  

 

This country has charmed us and captured our hearts.  As our trip begins to wind down, we are exactly where we need to be.