Volume 11

Summer Vacations

You can only visit Ladakh region of India in the summer time. No one thought to tell that to the Pakistani-backed troops (who moved in late spring). Their well-publicized visit kept many tourists away and left us questioning when is it "safe" to be in a war zone? Since we were already there when their visit (invasion) became public, we weighed the information available to us. The Dali Lama was in town giving public teachings to crowds of thousands; that was a positive. There were Mig jets flying over as His Holiness spoke of peace and love; that was a negative. The locals we befriended calmly assured us we were safe, but we knew they were depending on our rupees to survive a very long winter season.

Lacking any obious answer, we decided to head for the hills (an understatement when you start at 12,000 feet). We questioned our wisdom as we trekked 4 days towards the fighting, but more than that we pondered why anyone would be fighting over such barren terrain. Though beautiful in its moon-like landscape, deep blue skies and breathtaking peaks, Ladakh did not fit the normal military definition of "strategic". At one point when we descended into an uninhabited valley that showed no signs of having been recently visited by water, I was satisfied that I had attained the goal of many travelers: remote.

Just when we had effectively accepted the whole war thing, I was pulled from Ladakh by a stronger force. I was at a rare point in life when I could do whatever I wanted to do and what I wanted to do was spend some time with my family. As Carrie pointed out, the idea lacked practicality (we were on the other side of the world), financial viability (our travel budget did not include trips home for Mom's cooking) and team consensus (Carrie was not ready to leave Ladakh). Yet, it was important to me. It was not that I was home sick (despite recurring fantasies of a big fat steak and a glass of good red wine), but more that I felt a need to re-connect with my parents. Uncomfortable was probably a good word to describe their feelings about our travels and I did not feel right leaving them in that state for a prolonged period. My accumulated frequent flyer miles made the idea a possibility. During a five-day meditation retreat the concept grew into a full-fledged obsession. Finally, I made the most difficult decision of my traveler life. I would leave Carrie in Ladakh and return temporarily to the USA.

After years of struggling to get our relationship back on solid ground, we had finally made it to a place that could be described as stable (ironic considering that we are unemployed and homeless). That stability gave me the confidence to embark on a period of flying solo, but could not ease the ache that Carrie's goodbye tears left in my heart. As I waited for my flight I constantly considered scrapping the whole plan and racing back to Carrie (like a scene from a sappy love story). However, even if I had chosen that path the military might not have let me out of the airport. Between the heightened security due to the war (I was physically frisked six times; twice on the tarmac) and the general beauracracy (India), running out of that airport before the plane arrived might have turned my sappy love story into a Midnight Express.

Back in Delhi, I arranged for my flight to the states (amazingly I found a good and honest travel agent in India) and set off for the two places I wanted to see before leaving India. Agra is a pit (even by Indian standards), but the Taj Mahal is worth the effort and more than lived up to its hype.

My last stop in India was Rishikesh. My 10 days there could not possibly have provided a starker contrast to what awaited me in the states. I checked into an ashram where I was able to meditate and practice yoga twice a day. My mind was calm, my body relaxed. I spent my free time visiting with two sadus (holy men) who had renounced their careers and families to live in a cave on the banks of the Ganges River. Wise in many ways (and surprisingly good cooks), they warned that it would be difficult to maintain the calm internal balance of Rishikesh in the western world. I didn't even make it back to the states before I proved them right.

The free beer on the flight from Delhi to Bangkok was the first liquor I had tasted in months. After just a few beers I was hung over for my layover in Tokyo. The last leg of my journey gave me time to recover and I hit the San Francisco Bay Area ground running (and chewing). I immediately began reuniting with family, friends and foods that I had missed for 9 months. Each reunited friendship was accompanied by an orgy of abundance (sushi, beer, steaks, wine, pizza, ice cream…). I was overwhelmed by love and generosity with which I was greeted (rock stars should have it that good). Thanks to everyone who gave me a place to sleep, fed me, drove me places, loaned me cars, bought me drinks or just made time in your schedule to spend time with me.

Unfortunately, the digestion of all this excitement combined with the unfamiliar administrative necessities of survival in the western world wiped me out. Being in India had prepared me for the fiascos such as those that accompany arranging not one but two free frequent-flyer trips. However, the pace at which these annoyances bombarded me was unexpected (first Carrie's, then my health insurance company told me that despite accepting our premiums "technically" we were not insured). By the end of my first week back in the states I needed a day in bed and my view of the phone was that of a necessary evil to be avoided whenever possible (so please don't feel hurt if I did not call you to say hi). My quick recovery was greatly aided by the surprising news that Carrie was on her way back to join me in Wisconsin.

Wisconsin? When did that become a destination for world travelers? Thankfully, it is not. It is however the place where my great-grandfather built a small fishing cabin on a beautiful lake shore 90 years ago. It is a magical combination of awesome nature (big skies, bald eagles, fantastic thunderstorms) and fun water activities (skiing, swimming, boating into town). It is where my parents spend their summers, where my sister's family was to visit for the first time in many years; and where nine people can share a two bedroom cabin with just one bathroom (sounds more like Asia all the time).

My previous visits to the cabin had all been brief stays of a week or two. This trip was to be for 5 weeks (because I could). So, like any good son who has been wandering the earth, I decided that surprise was the best approach. I originally envisioned just walking into the kitchen and asking what was for dinner, but thought that might be too much surprise. So I called my parents, asked them to pick up Dad's birthday package at the airport (the following day) and told them it looked a lot like me. The surprise was a huge success and the timing was just right. I got to spend a week alone with Mom & Dad to catch them up on my adventures (and try to remember which foot goes in front of the water ski). Mom thought I had lost too much weight, Dad was ecstatic that I was there for his birthday.

Carrie followed a week later giving the four of us some time together before the storm of activity that always accompanies my sister's family. One of my favorite events of this period was the full-moon pontoon party. We tied our family's new pontoon boat (floating living room) together with two others in the middle of the lake and caught up with our neighbors as the sunset was followed by the even more spectacular full moon rising.

This visit was the first time that I truly felt a part of the shore. Though I had known all the families since I was a tot (and had even captained a crew that earned the annual dumb-boater's award one year for proving that my uncles boat could not fit under the channel bridge with the canopy top up), I had never spent enough time there to fully appreciate everyone's individual qualities nor the unique group dynamic that makes it one big (arguably dysfunctional) family. That family grew with the arrival of the Richter clan (my sister's family). They stormed the shore as only they can, bringing with them an energy that the rest of us tried to keep pace with. Their visit ended too soon but it was still a wonderful chance to share in their lives at a particular point in time that will never be again.

It was only after the cabin population was back down to a reasonable level (actually Carrie and I were in a tent during the peak), that we started getting into the types of conversation that had drawn me back. We all had things that needed to be said. Over time (and usually over wine), we were able to bring most of them to the surface. Recognizing the differences in our views about certain topics (i.e., abandoning careers and traveling the world for extended periods) was the easy part. Working together to understand and accept those differences took a more concerted effort. By the end of our visit, everyone seemed more comfortable with each other's choices in life and closer as a family. I consider that the major success of the trip (though I suspect Mom was almost as happy to have put 20 pounds back on her baby).

Then came Burning Man: an annual celebration of creativity, community art, music and survival that takes place in the Blackrock Desert of Nevada (if that seemed like an abrupt transition from Wisconsin, believe me, it was). As it is different for every participant (spectators are strongly discouraged), it is impossible to label. Each year a city is formed from nothing in the middle of nowhere and the citizens (25,000 this year) share in whatever experiences arise. It is not a commercial event (nothing is sold but ice and coffee) and creative expression is strongly encouraged. At the end of the weeklong celebration the city is disbanded and the motto of "leave no trace" is adhered to by most (a large group of volunteers stay for up to a month to ensure this is the case).

Having attended in each of the past two years, I could not pass up the opportunity to return to Burning Man this year (since I was in the neighborhood). I admit to varying degrees of addiction to the positive energy, the creative and natural openness of the desert setting and the tribal elements of bon fires and drum circles. The problem with addictions (or any attachment) is that they are seldom satisfied. Though creativity and artistic talent were certainly well represented this year, I found many of the tribal elements missing. I'm sure the drum circles were there, but I couldn't find them amid the amplified thumping of techno rave camps (maybe I'm just getting older). What I found instead was perhaps even more important. I found a strengthened sense of caring and love among those friends with whom I have shared Burning Man over the years. I don't know if I will ever return to Black Rock City, but if I do it will be for these friendships (and I will bring my own drum).

Though we greatly enjoyed our adventures in the western world, it was freeing to get back to Asia. I attribute a large part of that to independence. We could not have asked for a better reception or more generous hospitality, but in retrospect I recognize that it was difficult for us to be "guests" in one form or another for almost two months.

We are all as free as we want to be, enjoy it.