Adventures of Green Eyes: Guns, Germs, and Keels

                                                        GUNS, GERMS, AND KEELS

      GUNS

     What do guns have to do with the Great Loop? Nothing. Except when there is a need to rent a car to run errands, sight see, or visit friends. Depending where you are when you need to rent a car, guns can affect your day. The first time was when we rented a car from Enterprise in Tennessee. 

     The great thing about Enterprise is that they will pick you up at the marina and take you to the office. On this occasion, Steven delivered us to the rental office then offered us a free upgrade from the cheapo economy option we had reserved. Steven was a recent graduate of Bible school who, upon being offered a job with Enterprise, broke up with his hometown girlfriend and moved to Chattanooga, Tennessee. He told us all about it during the drive to the office.

     "How would you like to have a convertible Camaro for the day?" he asked with a good-deed glow in his eyes. 

     Knowing this would probably be my only chance to have a free upgrade to a convertible Camaro in my life, I said, "Would I! Would I!" while doing my Happy Dance. But in Tennessee's humidity, it was more of a Happy Shuffle.

    Steven smiled. "I'll be right back. I just need to run it through the wash." As Steven disappeared through a side door, I whispered to Scott, "See? You always complain that I talk to everyone. But you know I enjoy connecting with people, right?" 

"Uh huh," said Scott. "You connected so much for such a short car ride."

      "Well, I think it made Steven feel good that I, a total stranger, affirmed his decision to break up with Beth and move away from his family, friends, and all he holds dear to begin a career with Enterprise Rent A Car in another state...." Steven returned and Scott rolled his eyes at me. 

     "I'm so sorry. I can't give you that car," Steven said with disappointment. "We found a gun in it so now we have to lock the car and call the police. Let's see... How about a small truck?"

     Had we heard right? "A GUN? Someone forgot to take their GUN out of their rental car?" Scott asked in disbelief.

     Steven chuckled. "I know, right? I would definitely remember if I had my gun with me. You wouldn't believe how much it happens. So, how about that truck?"

     "But, what if you hadn't found it?" I asked. "What if I found it while reclining the seat, or putting a map in the glove box, or wherever it is that people keep guns in a rental car? Or what if I didn't find it and then you found it when we returned the car? Then you'd think it was OUR GUN."

     "We search the cars thoroughly when we clean them. Like I said, it happens a lot."

     We took the truck, which was not one iota as much fun as a convertible Camaro.

     (When I told my Brooklyn comedy-writer niece Clare this story she responded, "Leave the gun, take the Camaro" which really made me wish I'd thought of that.)

     The second time it happened was in Alabama. When we arrived at the Enterprise desk, we told the story about the time that, but for a gun, I would have had a Camaro for a day. 

     "Oh my gosh! Isn't it just the weirdest thing?" Blond-haired, blue-eyed Kelly exclaimed. "I just moved here from San Diego, California and it was one of the first things they taught us in training. About the protocol when a gun is found, I mean.  It's mind boggling how many times we find a gun in the car when it's returned. I mean, I think I would remember if I had a GUN."

    GERMS

Tris with her niece Clare O'Kane

     Germs, of course, refers to Covid. Yes, we are still cruising in the time of Covid. But compared to last summer, since vaccinations have begun, things are a lot different on the Great Loop. We hardly see anyone wearing a mask. In New Jersey however, folks are still in the thick of it and mostly everyone masks up. I even got yelled at by a very grouchy harbormaster when I sat on a lounge chair next to the marina pool waiting for my laundry to finish drying in Cape May. 

     "You can't sit there. It's because of the Covid. We don't have time to disinfect the chairs after someone sits on them, ya know." I could tell he was tired. We're all tired. None of us has the energy to use one more damn Lysol Disinfecting Wipe on one more damn surface. But there is something other than Covid cleaning fatigue going on. The often uttered promises, "Boy, when I'm vaccinated, I'm going to hug EVERYONE. I'm going to see all my friends and family and all my friends' families too! I'm going to look up my old high school teachers and HUG them. I'm going to eat out every night in a RESTAURANT. I'm going to go to a BAR!" are falling a little flat. Gatherings seem subdued. Some people even seem a bit agoraphobic. We are not the social animals we were 18 months ago. Things have changed. We've changed. We've been through this thing, this global collective experience, and we should be changed by it. There's been lockdown. And loss. From my own unscientific observations of marinas and towns within a one mile walking distance of whichever slip Green Eyes is in for the night, people are taking the social hour in ten minute increments. Me too. I used to love nothing better than a party. Now, even the thought of socializing exhausts me. Talking makes me tired. Rearranging my face to affirm, "I am very interested in your story of how you dented your prop (your windy anchorage experience, the good Chinese buffet you found...") after a year of rolling out of bed and onto the couch to pet the cat and having no real need or energy in making my face or hair look polite, well, you try it. It's not that easy to go from lockdown to loquacious. I like staying home, be it ashore or afloat. I most love being with two beings; Scott and Pika. And my family. And friends. And Elephants. And well okay I pretty much love all beings. But quiet crosswords and kitties make me happy.

I've forgotten how to "pace myself." We recently attended a renowned annual three-day Looper Event which is an excuse for other folks doing the Great Loop to get together to drink and share stories. This particular multi day Looper Event was a Pig Roast at Donovan's Shady Harbor Marina in New Baltimore New York.  The pre-parties that led up to the main event -- bottomless mimosas with the Looper Ladies, happy hours, bocce ball competitions, rum and vodka tasting, boat tours, boat blessings-- were so exhausting and fun I couldn't even make it to the main event. No pork for me! I know I'll eventually get back into the swing of things. But it won't be like it was. And that's okay. 

Blessing of the boats.

     KEELS

     Keels. Boat keels. Although, officially, we have a hull, not a keel. Sailboats have keels. But I wanted to keep it alliterative, borrowing the title of this blog post from a book we are listening to as we cruise, Guns, Germs, and Steel by Jared Diamond, which is an excellent book about everything or, "... the theory of geographic determinism, the idea that the differences between societies and societal development arise primarily from geographical causes." And no, we don't fall asleep at the helm while listening. Anyway, about keels. What I most like about keels, or hulls, is what's written on them. Ours says Green Eyes. We did not pick the name. But it suits us and it suits the boat well.

Unfortunately, the home port below the name reads Sabine Pass, Texas, which is where we bought the boat, but which does not suit us. We have our new home port decal, Santa Cruz, California, (chosen because it's the closest harbor to our home and it makes us feel like we are on a surfin' safari.) But getting the old letters off involves a heat gun and patience and last time I looked, neither of these can be found in the tool drawer on board. Did I say drawer? My husband, the Captain, sees our entire boat as a small tool shed. I still see it as a cozy cottage or a HDTV Tiny House. But there's always a screwdriver blocking my view. Back to keels. I like what's written on boats because it says something about the occupants. The word "knot" is used a lot. Knot on Call is owned by a retired doctor. Knot in a Hurry is owned by a couple who just finished the Loop in record time. Others are: Knot Too Late, Knot Working, Knot Bad, Knot Real, Moor Often Than Knot, Knot Shore, Knot For Sail, Why Knot, Knot Guilty... the list goes on. Or knot. Other whimsical names are Sea Senor, Cirrhosis of the River, Water You Lookin' At? and The Codfather. ( See how I fit two Godfather references in one post?)

     Except for that little El Toro sailboat we had for awhile that my niece Briget and I named Emilio, Scott and I have never named, or renamed a boat. We named our Land Rover, which lives in Africa, Ndoto because I am so annoyingly transparent. It's Swahili for Dream.

The first boat we had that we didn't name was a 40' Wharram catamaran. We owned it back in the early '80s when catamarans were considered weird. Her name when we bought her was Different Drummer, which suited us to a T. With Scott's brother Brian, Scott and I sailed her from Santa Cruz to Hawaii in 21-days, in younger and skinnier times. Like Green Eyes and Ndoto, she was simple, yet dependable, just the way we like my surroundings. 

And that's the news from the crew of Green Eyes, the 26' Nordic Tug that suits us three to a T. 

 

Self Imposed Isolation and Seclusion in a Wee Ville.

You know that phrase, "I'm one of those people who..."?  Well, I am one of those people who always wanted to live on a farm, with no distractions other than dogs, cats, and ducks. To do nothing but read, write, and pet the farm dogs, cats, and ducks. (No success on the ducks yet. And one dog, with the cone of shame, is hard to pet.) I'm one of those people who, at this moment, is actually doing what I've always wanted to do.

I'm in rural France, working on three hundred and fifty pages of stories about living in, sleeping on, and driving around Africa in a 44-year-old Land Rover named Dream.
As I edit "Oh Great, the War is Starting and I'm Naked", or "Stairway to Heaven, Ascent to Rwanda", or "The Rainy Season Red Lagoon Roads of Zambia" I can hardly believe we did these things, or that I would gladly do them again. 

A little over three weeks ago, Scott and I flew from South Africa to Paris. We parted ways at Charles de Gaulle airport because Scott is one of those people who has always wanted to hike the John Muir Trail in California. One of his buddies was lucky enough to get a permit to hike it this summer and invited Scott to blister along.
"But what will you do while I hike the JMT?" asked Scott when I told him of course he should go. 
"Oh, don't worry about me!" I said. "I'm one of those people who can always find something to do."
And it's true. But it's kind of easy when you're one of those people who likes peace and quiet, and books and animals. 

So, I found this place to stay in rural France. It's a renovated 300 year old farmhouse and stables. (I really do like old things.) It sits on the Canal du Midi, which is PERFECT because Scott and I are two of those people who want, some day, to buy a canal boat (picture the Ndoto of canal boats) and cruise this exact canal. I'm doing lots of research. I especially like the old one below that needs work.

The farm is close enough to a small town that I can walk or ride a bike to get groceries. But I have to want it bad, because it's not really that close and there's usually a head wind both ways. For efficiency sake, I had three croissants my first day here, and I only buy what I can carry in a day pack. Baguettes don't weigh much. Avocados and nectarines are HEAVY. I eat simply and I take a lot of walks

It's a working farm, so there's lots of activity, especially now during the vendange, the grape harvest. The grapes are harvested at night when temperatures are right for picking, so there are massive plucking machines, trucks, and flatbeds, which rumble down the narrow road that runs between the original farmhouse and the stables, at all hours of day and night. Oh, and it's hunting season (wild boar, mostly) so there are sudden blasts of gunfire and excited shouting from the fields nearby, also at random hours of day or night. They say, every year some innocent cyclist, or walker, or author on a quest for a croissant, gets accidentally shot by a nearsighted hunter, "Oo la la! Mon dieu! Dommage. Madam, Don't you know carbs are bad for you?"
So I stick to the canal tow path and wear something not bristly so I don't resemble une sanglier.

There are lots of boats cruising up and down the Canal du Midi in August. Big boats, little boats, and boats rented from a company called Le Boat. Everyone seems to be having fun, probably because they don't have to ride their bikes or walk far to get a croissant. They just dock in any little village and voila!, there's baguettes aplenty within a few paces, because, after all, this is France and no one is expected to partake of a meal without bread.
 

                I try not to get distracted by the farm animals but they are so... distracting! 

There's one other distraction on the farm. The farmer's wife sells their vin out the farmhouse window for less than $5 a bottle. And it is bon.

As you can see, I'm learning some French. The only words and phrases I knew when I arrived were, Je suis fatigue (I am tired, because I learn how to say that in every country I visit), poisson (fish, because my niece Clare learned it in pre-school and taught it to me when she was four and I never forgot it), velo (bike, because that's how I get to croissants), and croissant (croissant). 


So far, I have stayed in a renovated flat in the original farmhouse, and in (because I never say neigh) a renovated stable. I found the farmhouse flat very charming. Mostly because on the day I arrived, I threw open the windows that overlook the canal, and the first thing I saw was an old Land Rover! This was the day after we had put our own beloved Land Rover, Ndoto, in storage in Hoedspruit, South Africa, so I took that as a massive dose of synchronicity and serendipity. The week I stayed there I wrote furiously about My Life with Ndoto (title of Book II by the way).

Then I moved across the lane to the renovated stable. I love the stable. The kitchen and bathroom are downstairs, and the bedroom, writing room, and private patio are upstairs. But, I can't see the farmer's car, the Land Rover, so I have not been as productive. Tomorrow I move back to the flat with the Land Rover view so I've sharpened my pencils, so to speak.

In a week, Scott will join me here, after he finishes the hike and I CANNOT WAIT. Number one, I'm one of those people who miss their husbands. Number two, he can ride a bike faster than I can (to get to croissants). And number three, we have lots more adventuring to do together before we return home in November. 

There's only eight or ten homes in this wee ville. 
I can buy wine and vegetables from the farmer. 
Everyone is tres gentil, very kind. 
I feel at home.

It is such a gift to be here. 

-Tris
Millepetit France

In the Beginning, My Life with Ndoto, Around Africa in a Forty Year Old Land Rover

If You are Willing to Live with Snakes and Hippos, Dreams do Come True

     “Remember,” Scott said seriously, “don’t get too excited about it. The asking price is way too high. Find flaws. Whatever you do, don’t say you love it.”

     “I know, I know. I’ll keep quiet while you do the negotiating,” I promised as we climbed out of Ndoto and greeted the man who had placed the For Sale ad. Then, I set eyes on the tent.

     “Oh my. It’s perfect!” I said aloud. “I love it.”

     Scott rolled his eyes and said through pursed lips, “Geez, Tris.”

     “I heard your old Landy coming up the road,” said the South African with the smug smile of one who owns a Toyota Land Cruiser. Or maybe he was smiling because I’d just clinched the deal for him. “Series III, right? They sure aren’t stealthy.”

     “No. But they’re strong.” I said defensively.

     “Of course they are.”

     As soon as he unzipped the rain fly, I climbed up the ladder and into the tent. I could hardly contain my satisfaction. It was the rooftop tent of my dreams.

     Scott forced a cough in order to muffle the sounds of contentment coming from inside the tent. I hung my head out the opening to watch Scott do what he does best while he circled what might be our bedroom for a year. He turned to the owner of the only second-hand Hannibal rooftop tent for sale in a five hundred kilometer radius and went into bargaining mode.

     “I don’t know if this one will work for us.” Scott said, pulling on his ear lobe. He did another lap. God, the man has patience. I flopped on my back and stretched out in the idyllic little tent. I sighed, imagining our first night sleeping in it.

     “I would have to modify the rack on our Landy to make the tent fit.” Scott continued, trying to talk over my bliss. “Why are you selling?” he added. Hey, yeah, why would someone sell such a perfect tent? I poked my head back out the opening.

     The owner looked at the ground. Then he looked at me and saw that it wouldn’t matter what he said.

     “Well, you see, my wife doesn’t like to have to climb down the ladder at night, you know, when she has to relieve her bladder. She’s afraid of snakes.”

     Wait a minute. Snakes weren’t in my dream. Snakes terrify me almost as much as hippos. After mosquitoes, which cause malaria, hippos are the most dangerous animals in Africa.

     “Plus,” the owner added chuckling, “she always thinks there’s a hippo lurking at the bottom of the ladder.”

     I backed out of the tent and climbed down the ladder. I hadn’t thought about the need to pee between sundown and sunrise with hippos and snakes.

     Scott and I walked a short distance away to discuss the realities of sleeping under canvas on the roof of our Land Rover in the wild for a year. I was still sold on the tent-on-the-roof concept and thought our journey would not be complete without it. He wanted to take time to consider other sleeping options. We both agreed that, unlike the previous owners of our Landy, we did not want to sleep inside the car.

     “Setting up a tent on the ground every night will just be a big hassle and take up so much space inside the car,” I said. “I have an idea. We’ll train our bladders. We’ll make a practice of not having any liquid after 6 PM so we won’t have to worry about getting up in the night. How about that?”

     We negotiated a suitable snake and hippo discount with the owner and bought the tent. Our dream, to explore Africa in an old Land Rover with a rooftop tent, was finally coming true.

Something Fishy

Something Fishy!

Happy New Year!

2016 started out on a very positive note. The foot funk that began after getting that fish pedicure (you know, the kind where you put your feet in an acrylic tub filled with callus-nibbling fish) in Crete and that has followed us around like Pigpen’s little cloud has finally disappeared. No matter how much we scrubbed or soaked, an unpleasant air biscuit type smell floated up from our feet and embraced us like a long lost lover. It’s embarrassing to admit, but we didn’t mind as much as we should have. The weather was cooler in Turkey so it was easy to ignore it by keeping our feet encased in shoes and socks for a few weeks. I felt badly about it though while we stayed with my nephew Brian at his colleague’s apartment in Gaziantep Turkey over Christmas. His colleague was in America for the holidays and was kind enough to offer her place to Brian so that he, Scott, and I could spend the yuletide together. Her only request was that we remove our shoes, Hawaii style, at the doorway (and she didn’t even know about our funky feet!) On Christmas morning, as Scott and I padded around in our bare feet, I cooked scrambled eggs for breakfast. When Brian came into the kitchen with a “what’s that smell” look on his face I mumbled, “Er, the eggs must not be very fresh." But since arriving in Spain last week we’ve caught nary a whiff. I can’t explain that at all. Perhaps Cava and paella (and lots of it!) are good for guppy foot. Anyway, a few words of advice—if you ever get a fishy-pedi do NOT decline the offer of a foot scrub afterwards.

Hey, what kind of a safari is this!?

I hear you saying, “Wait a minute. Last time I checked, Crete, Turkey, and Spain weren’t in Africa.” And you would be right! So let’s back up.

In early September we headed to South Africa and to our beloved 1973 Landy as planned. But once there, she almost killed us!  Not the Landy. Ndoto (En-doto) was good as new and ready to roll. Especially after she acquired a rebuilt engine block after we cracked her original (So sad and expensive) just a few weeks into the trip.  It was South Africa’s weather that nearly done me in. If you know me, you know I am a hot weather wimp. The day the temperature rose to over 114 degrees (45 degrees Celsius) was the day we came up with plan E for Escape, which, after master web browser Scott viewed the options, meant that we would take our safari to the high seas. A good plan because we love being on the water, and we love to use ships as transportation, and because we don’t love heat stroke.  We boarded The Beautiful Ocean Princess, as she was referred to by the Captain whenever he spoke of her (and she was), in Cape Town for a 36-day Indian Ocean adventure, only we got off the ship a few days early on Malta. You can read about that by clicking HERE. Or just read on below about other stuff.

Seeing Star Wars in Oman

…After a week in Malta petting all the cats and eating all the gelato we could stand (which is a lot!), we ferried to Sicily where we boarded a different ship heading back to Dubai with no repeat ports of call except for Salalah Oman. This was perfect. Since we had already explored Salalah and eaten her camel stew, we used the time to go to the brand new mall in town and see Star Wars, The Force Awakens in 3-D! My favorite part of the experience, other than loving all the girl power, er, strong female role modeling, was viewing the movie with Burka-clad women who lifted their veils to put on their 3-D glasses as the theater lights went dim. I am pretty sure they enjoyed all the girl power in the film too.

Anyway the second ship was not as beautiful or as intimate as the Beautiful Ocean Princess but it was more Italian so had better bread, desserts, and prosciutto, and it had bottles of good quality olive oil available 24-7 in numerous locations on many decks. (The chef told us they go through 5000 liters of olive oil every 14 days). Best of all, the ship took us to places we hadn’t seen or been to in a really long time: Crete, Marmaris, Eilat, Muscat, and To Aqaba! (can’t think of Aqaba without invoking Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia). All interesting ports to be sure, rife with culture and history. But that ship-trip will always be most memorable to me because it was where I met Wren Schultz, a juggler in the circus and an actual New York Times Crossword constructor. Scott said he had never seen me that excited to meet anyone, including royalty or movie star or presidential candidate. And it’s true. I am a crossword addict and to meet someone in person who creates such a pleasurable and rewarding pastime (only you crossword fanatics will understand) was a life event I thought not possible. Wren also won over $50,000 on Wheel of Fortune, and has shaken the hand of Will Shortz. And Wren is also the love of Della’s life, which makes him luckiest of all. Della is his juggling and rope slinging partner and the nicest person I’ve ever met. I am serious. Della is so nice that she kept letting Italians cut in front of her and had to take the last bus out of the port, after all the Italians were gone. We waited for her because she is SO NICE.

Super Trivia

 

Our Super Trivia team (Super because it lasted three sea days) consisted of Scott and me, and 70-year-old world traveler Paul, a super smart Romanian engineer named Virgil, crossword constructor Wren, and super nice person Della. We did not win the prize for most questions answered correctly but we did win Most Entertaining for the way we creatively spun the doghouse sized multicolored die. We passed it like a quarterback. We hiked it. We leapt for it like a jump ball. We rubbed it on the Italian winning team for luck. They later gave us one of their prizes saying, “Your team-a is the best-a.” For me, it was enough that I was on a trivia team with a crossword constructor! Oh my gosh.

After Scott and I ate one last loaf of delicious crusty Italian bread drowned in olive oil, we disembarked the ship in Dubai and flew to Gaziantep Turkey to be with my nephew Brian and stink up an otherwise lovely apartment.

Christmas was very special. I’m so grateful for time with family during the holidays. We gave Brian a toaster and he gave us Star Wars action figures. We cooked for each other. We watched movies. We walked. We had baklava every day and we toured museums and a castle. We met some of Brian’s young, hip, and attractive colleagues who also administer aid to displaced folks that remain across the border in war torn Syria. We went to an uplifting concert comprised of 10 musicians, half Syrians, half Turks. By the end of the concert everyone was dancing. Being in Gazientep made me feel hopeful.

What about New Year’s Eve?

New Years Eve was muy bueno! We spent it in Barcelona, which has to be one of the top places on earth to bring in the New Year.

First, we ate tapas. Lots and lots of tapas. That made us thirsty for Estrella Beer. Lots of beer.

On New Years Eve, tens of thousands of people converge at the Magic Fountains at Plaza Espana. During the daylight hours, people build towering human pyramids called Castells while children chase bubbles the size of children. Then, at the stroke of midnight, when most everyone in the rest of the world is blowing horns and popping poppers, citizens all over the Spain, the hopeful and the superstitious, go silent and reach for a grape - the first of twelve grapes they will consume for each toll of the bell. We did it too. It’s bad luck not to. It was quite something to watch all the giddy revelers packed in around us suddenly get very pensive and quiet as they concentrated on finishing all twelve grapes before the last chime. It was delightful. And scary. Nothing like ingesting 12 choking risks at the same time. But we planned ahead and bought the smallest grapes we could find.

                          On our last day in Barcelona I took a cooking class. Paella, roasted veggie, pumpkin cannoli, and wine-soaked pears. We students were soaked in wine too by the end.  

We were a long way from South Africa but not far from the African continent. 

A few weeks ago we headed for Morocco where we celebrated the wedding of cousin Ariana in Marrakesh.

This is the life I always dreamed of living. Life long learning and traveling the world in a zig-zag  fashion is truly a Safari Ndefu Jema, A Good Long Journey.

We’ll return to South Africa when the weather is better suited for camping. Until then, there are a lot more fish to feed in other parts of the world, such as Hoi An Vietnam where we were a few days ago.

Happy 2016 to you and yours. May all your dreams come true!

You can see photos and follow our travels at http://teresaokane.blogspot.com/ and on https://www.facebook.com/trisokane or https://www.facebook.com/safarijema

For more stories, read my book, Safari Jema, A Journey of Love and Adventure from Casablanca to Cape Town. amzn.com/1463741790
Safari Jema

Much love and wishes for peace, love, happiness, and adventure.

Scott and Tris

January 26, 2016

Manila, The Philippines

They Were The Best of Times, etc...

About a month ago, after more than a year apart, we were finally reunited with Ndoto, our 1973 Series III Land Rover in Africa. We worried if she would be just the way we left her, or if she would be there at all. Emails sent to her minder/mechanic had gone unanswered of late. We began to say, “What will be, will be” and “If she’s gone, I hope that she’s having another grand adventure” and we made plans to fly back to Africa anyway. Though “plans” is stretching it. The time we should have spent thinking about an itinerary, much less planning one, were mostly taken over with readying our home for lease. How did we not notice that leak in the roof before? Or the dry rot on the deck that had to be removed, repaired, and resurfaced? Or that crack in the tank on the toilet? And why did the washer and dryer have to go kaput in the same week? In fact, there were lots of kaput things on the house. If we hadn’t noticed them, our German tenant would have I’m sure. I’m sure because I’m half German. It’s my Do it Right, or Don’t Do it at All side. The other side, the Irish part, usually wants to have a beer and think about it tomorrow like that O'Hara Irishwoman. So if we had leased our home to an Irishman or if I’d been in a more Irish mood leading up to our departure, I might have used epoxy on the toilet tank and been done with it. But I knew that wouldn’t be right because our tenant is German not Irish. At least this was the excuse I used to get Scott to do things that have long been on my wish list for the house. “I’m German. Believe me, we must buy the nice Kohler toilets and a new washer and dryer too, and paint the walls….” I also lobbied for a re-do of our bedroom closet but Scott put his foot down saying, “Look Scarlet, we’ll think about doing that when we return in ten months” which means we’ll have a beer instead which is actually fine by me. “Plus, they don’t seem that picky to me,” said Scott.

“I didn’t say they were picky.” And they aren’t. They are very nice and their 2-year-old son loves elephants as much as I do.

In between trips to Home Depot or Kelly Moore Paint, we took care of business. We had the usual,"We can't really afford to be gone for ten months. But we can't afford not to go. Life is short" discussion. We also spent some time updating our wills. There’s nothing like an impending flight to Africa that spurs us on to think about the future—if not for ourselves, then for our heirs.

And then there was our wild thing, our cat Pika. We had to find a home for Pika for the ten months we planned to be away. Generous friends and neighbors offered to take her, but they had cats or dogs or both, and Pika is like Greta Garbo in that she vants to be alone. Enter my best friend since first grade Bonnie Fine Johnson (growing up, if she responded, “I’m okay” I’d always say, “No you’re not. You’re Fine! Hahaha!”) Bonnie and her husband had recently lost their cat Simba. “Can’t we take her?” she asked. This was a perfect solution. Except for one thing. Bonnie lives 6 hours away and Pika only tolerates car rides of up to 30 seconds. Suffice to say, I lost a lot of sleep worrying about how I would get Pika to Susanville. I asked friends for advice and they said, “Sedate her.” I asked the vet and she said, “Sedate her.” But Pika gets morose on sedation so I knew that wasn’t going to be any better than her yowling and barfing for 6 hours in her zebra stripped kitty carrier.

I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before, but the night before Pika and I were to make the journey to Bonnie’s I tried a different set of search terms on the Internet. It turns out “Traveling long distances in a car with a wigged out cat” elicited the answer I needed. I scrolled through the results and all answers were the same. “Kitty Calm.” “Use Kitty Calm.” “Kitty Calm saved our marriage.”

First thing next morning I was at Petco buying a spray bottle of Kitty Calm. A short but assertive blast into her carrier and onto her favorite blankie ten minutes before departure was all it took. I put her in the carrier and she assumed a position that remained unchanged for the entire journey. The stuff is magic. Or perhaps it was the soothing British accent used by the reader of Circling the Sun, the book on tape that we listened to without pause the entire way. When I pick her up in ten months I’m going to pop Circling the Sun into the CD player again, but without an assist from Kitty Calm and I will report back the results.

Pika, I am happy to report, is being loved and spoiled by Bonnie and her husband Scott and is becoming more Garbo-esque by the day.

In addition to house repairs, and a long drive with Greta, something else took up the time we should have spent planning an itinerary. Scott was flying. He was doing a lot of flying. He was so close to earning a private pilot license from the FAA, something he has been trying to achieve off and on since he was sixteen, and he wanted to finish all his requirements before we left. I knew he would pass. Everyone we know had no doubts he would pass. But he exhibited an uncommon lack of confidence in the two months leading up to the examinations. Adding to the stress was that Scott didn’t want to book Africa flights until he passed the exams. “Just focus on your flying and we’ll book the tickets once you have passed your tests,” I said not really meaning it but trying to be supportive. Friends and family began offering spare beds beginning September 1^st when our tenants would move in and I thought about a road trip back to Susanville to see Pika. On August 27^th,  four days before our tenants moved in, Scott came from the airfield and said, “I’m going to go ahead and book the flights to Africa. If I don’t pass the test, I’ll just do it when we get back.”

But of course on August 31^st at 5P.M., the day before our departure to Africa, he did pass.
Let this be a lesson to you kids. Don’t ever give up on your dreams. But don't drink all the champagne in one night.

We had so much champagne (thank you Howells for the bubbly) that we forgot about all the things remaining on our punch list. The next morning, as our tenants were moving in, we were still packing our bags. Our tenant Christian was incredibly understanding and I got to show his little boy Roger the rusty live-size baby elephant named Clover that sits in the corner of the backyard.

And Ndoto?  Clarry at Bushmaster in Hoedspruit wasn’t ignoring our emails, he was busy working on Ndoto! She had been well very taken care of and was running better than ever.
"You know, you are over invested in this old Landy," Clarry said to Scott.
"Yes, I know that but my wife loves this car," and he looked over at me already sitting in the co-pilot seat. "I'm so happy I could cry," I said as we left.

Scott and I drove into Kruger Park and to Timbavati. We drove in and out of Hoedspruit. We got to meet a sweet little girl named Sanne and see some of our Southern Hemisphere friends.

The evening we picked up Ndoto I installed a brand new memory foam mattress to her rooftop tent then made the bed with soft new sheets and plush duvet. “We’re home,” I said to Scott as he poured the first Gin and Tonic of our new adventure. Ndoto sat tall on her rebuilt chassis and murmured quietly on her new pistons. The steering was tighter, but we no longer had to downshift to second to climb hills. It was all so wonderfully perfect. For two weeks everything was going so well. We couldn’t believe our luck.

                                

Then, on our way back into the Kruger Park, this happened:

Back in Hoedspruit, Clarry and his Indy 500 Pit Crew, leaning into Ndoto like a team of ER surgeons, had the engine apart faster than you can say, "How much does it cost to repair a cracked block?"

But since Clarry is a miracle worker, I think she’ll soon be as good as a 43-year-old Landy can be and get us where we want to go.

Tris

 Kruger Park, South Africa, in a Land Rover Discovery loaner.

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