Black Orchid: the national flower of Belize, and the name of our riverside resort.

The black orchid blossoms are so small, at first glance I thought they were spent. Barely bigger than my thumbnail, these show a deep maroon color. We’re in a hotel of the same name. The Black Orchid Resort is about a half hour from Belize City and lies along the Belize river.  These flowers were spotted on the New River, where we toured the Lamanai Maya ruins. The great day trip was set up by the hotel and by Lamanai Ecotours.  Six of us were treated to a 25-mile river trip to the ruins, spotting crocs and turtles, hawks and kingfishers, bats and flowers and more, with the expert help of our guide, Carlos. See more photos at Travel Past 50.

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photo by International Living

The International Living contest for a test-drive month in Granada, Nicaragua, is underway.  We found out earlier this week that we are among the 20 finalists, after submitting a video under three minutes.  Our goofy little video describes why we’d be a great choice for the ‘test-drive’ retirement in Nicaragua:  We’ll honor your vote with great personal reporting from Granada when we win.  Anyone want to visit us?

Voting ends May 15, the (ahem) 40th anniversary of Tom’s and my first date.

Here’s our entry!

Read more about the contest and about Granada, Nicaragua at International Living.

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What does Louise Erdrich have in common with Jack London?

What does this book have in common with The Round House?

How do you choose which book to read next? I’ve noticed some fine threads that take me from one book to another, and lately the choices haven’t been determined by my book group’s selection.

Well, that’s not true. A couple months ago I read Louise Erdrich’s The Round House because my book club was reading it. What struck me most about the book was its 13-year old narrator, a boy. Apart from relating the crime story arc, Joe is the unlikely but effective voice for the impact of rape on his mother and the family.

Erdrich won the National Book Award for this title, so I was grabbed by the Man Booker Prize winning title, The Sense of an Ending, by Julian Barnes when I saw it in an airport shop.  Here the narrator is an aging man, looking back and inward rather than out at the mad world.

That’s not much of a connection, going from one prize-winner to another.  But next I started The Valley of the Moon by Jack London. I’d just visited London’s home and property north of Sonoma in Moon Valley and added his short stories to my Kindle. Valley of the Moon interested me because it’s London’s only book with a female protagonist. I’m only midway through, but like Erdrich’s character, London’s protagonist, Saxon, is an innocent witness to men’s violence and self-destruction, as well as to the dark effects of the industrial and labor revolutions in Oakland, California, at the beginning of the last century.

(Also on my Kindle is Ian McEwan’s Sweet Tooth, apparently only his second title to be narrated by a woman, the other being Atonement.)

A sense of place has inspired much of my reading over the past couple years: The Mapmaker’s Wife by Robert Whitaker, In Tasmania by Nicholas Shakespeare. I picked up the Spanish author Javier Cercas’ The Speed of Light because of a review and my interest in Spain. I enjoyed it so much that I turned to his earlier work, Soldiers of Salamis.

It’s not often I’ll read two books by the same author back to back. Maybe the first time was after reading Anne Fadiman’s The Spirit Catches You and You Fall Down. The story wouldn’t leave me, so I immediately started Fadiman’s delightful book about books and reading, Ex Libris.

The other instance of reading two works by the same author was Lucky and Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold. While reading the latter, a neighbor friend heard I’d been assaulted during a morning run, and she recommended Lucky. Only later did I learn that Sebold suspended writing Lovely Bones to write the story of her own assault.

Local authors (from Minnesota) are always of interest, especially if the books coincide with current affairs. Besides Erdrich, I’ve recently read Ben Lerner’s Leaving the Atocha Station, with some hilarious passages about Americans living abroad. My summer reading has included Judith Guest’s mystery novel, The Tarnished Eye, and The Forever Marriage by Ann Bauer. On the proverbial bedside table, The Latehomecomer by Kao Kalia Yang promises to provoke more thoughts about immigration, family, and living in other cultures. Even the business book Roar, by hometown friend Chris LaVictoire Mahai, appeals to my latent interest in business psychology.

As we travel we are continually drawn to ancient cultures and historic sites, whether it’s World War II or pre-historic art. Laura Hillenbrand’s Unbroken took me across the Pacific; The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet by David Mitchell took me back through time and to Indonesia during Dutch and Japanese battles for control over Jakarta. I’m just as likely to check out, at the slightest prompting, some ‘classics,’ like The Heart is a Lonely Hunter (Carson McCullers), or the lesser-known A Gay and Melancholy Sound (Merle Miller).

I mention all of these threads because I can get so wrapped up in a book and its people that it’s hard for me to shift to a new text. Now it’s a bit of a game to see how one book leads to the next, and one writer reminds me of another. The subtext running through this game is always the thought: what book in which box in which corner of storage in Minneapolis would I like to draw off my imaginary shelf?

Today I’m thinking of Madeleine Albright’s new book, Prague Winter, ­and her autobiography that’s in some box somewhere in storage, yet unread. I’m sure it will surface just at the right time.

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The Traveling Yoga Show

Streaming Yoga

The first time I did yoga (before I knew the term was ‘practice’ yoga) was when my daughter was in middle school, maybe 1999 or so. She and her friend and I went to the gym together, and suddenly I was doing a high-speed yoga workout on a Saturday morning. It had nothing to do with a yoga practice, nor with a mindful experience. But I’m competitive and I spent the hour trying to keep up with the class, learn the routines, attempt the poses and, oh, breathe.

Much later I routinely participated in classes that were led by a variety of teachers, at a variety of paces. A little stretching, balancing, and a cardiovascular workout with some meditation thrown in felt good.

While traveling over the past three years, I’ve tried to maintain some practice of yoga, often with comic effects. In Ecuador, our first home away from home, I found a yoga studio connected to a vegetarian café, an oasis in the historic district of Quito! I finally showed up – with one other guy – for a session that placed a lot of emphasis on vocals. Soon it was clear that to continue, one must sign up for twelve weeks with Hari Krishna, Krishna, Krishna.

I made a special trip to the outskirts of Quito, to a shopping mall with a full blown sporting goods store, and bought a mat. Then I ordered a DVD (Yoga for Every Body with J.J. Gormley) to retrieve the next time I was in the States. For a while, my workouts were pleasant enough, just me and my DVD. The pace was slow, the instruction detailed, and the voice sleepy.

Detailed routines narrated by an extremely calm voice.

Our travel became more intense, with shorter stays and more hopping around. My exercise was hiking, walking dogs, and schlepping luggage, so I wasn’t about to carry a yoga mat.

Then, last year our house sitting post advertised, “no need to bring your yoga mat with you.” Indeed, the upper sun porch in the Cantabrian house was well equipped with mats, blocks, and a bright plant-filled ambiance. The problem remained that I didn’t have a practice of my own. I needed someone to lead me through the paces.

A friend had mentioned Dirty Yoga, a website designed for guys who don’t want to show up at a club and don’t want to admit they do yoga. I was willing to pay, and ordered the trial subscriptions for starters. Unfortunately, Dirty Yoga is only offered as a live stream to subscribers. In the mountains of northern Spain, a 30-minute class might take 75 minutes to load, and there ‘s no hope of loading to play later.

So you can imagine my delight when I was invited to join my daughter for a yoga class in Minneapolis when we were visiting last month. She suggested the slow flow class at her fitness club’s yoga studios in a beautiful renovated public library in Uptown Minneapolis. It was, indeed, slow. We’d barely warmed up, so we decided to stay for the next class across the hall in the hot studio.

This was my first hot yoga class ever. Little did I know it would be as fast and furious as my initiation to yoga when the girls were in middle school. I’ve never felt so out of place in a class, but with plenty of rests I successfully avoided throwing up or passing out. I could have handled either the heat or the pace, but not both. It took me a couple hours to recover, but we agreed to try another hot Vinyasa class the next morning. The morning class lacked the fun of Rick James singing “Super Freak,” but it did reassure me that I could carry on with my yoga practice under normal circumstances.

Which brought the two of us to discussing how our very own practices–the personal experience exclusive to me and my mat– could vary so much from class to class. How the instructor leads us through a class changes our perspective and practice. But was fun to discover some common ground between mother (M) and daughter (D) as we thought back on the three distinct classes.

• Setting intentions. M and D agree it is impossible to set just one intention for the hour. If given a few seconds, the list goes on and on, setting intentions for ourselves, our family, our ancestors, don’t forget to walk the dog, and what’s for dinner? Beets sound good.
• The perfect class includes stretching, balance, cardio-vascular, and meditation. Three out of four ain’t bad, and music helps.
• Breathing does not always come naturally.
• Breathing in and out to movements is complicated. And we thought we were coordinated.
• Narrated relaxation is an oxymoron. For M, the idea of relaxing cell-by-cell gets hung up somewhere behind the knees, or wherever the sportswear is binding. For D, being directed to think of relationships is tantamount to fingernails on the blackboard. For both, the natural world might signal a call to the bathroom, and the odors in the studio a call to do laundry or clean the apartment.

Distractions aside (take this with you the rest of the day) we laughed that we were our own worst distractions. And that, fellow travelers, is a very good reason to find yoga on the go-ga.

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Now that Tom’s published the Big Reveal about his travel clothing, it’s time for another viewpoint. So here’s my look at my travel look, designed for comfort, effortless pass through airport security, and adaptability to climate change.*

*(I refer to the old-fashioned climate changes one encounters in the course of a long traveling day or two, including but not limited to stale forced-air ventilation on planes, humid jetways, stuffy trains and subways, breezy concourses, hot flashes, 40,000-foot chills, and luggage-hauling sweats.)

Following Tom’s format, I’ll start at the bottom.

Shoes. The bane of my packing existence! The first thing to consider when packing is how many pairs of shoes you’ll carry, then wear the bulkiest in flight. I like to keep the total to four or five pairs, unless backpacking, in which case it has to be two, plus flip-flops.

Go everywhere boots and footrest.

My feet are my first priority. I assume I’ll be walking a lot, so I require good hiking boots, which I alternate with good trail/running shoes. For the city, I add another pair of walkers that look halfway decent, and the aforementioned flip-flops for hotels, showers, indoors.

Mind you I’ve broken these rules on my last two trips, wearing cowboy boots to Napa Valley (a short trip which required only one pair of hiking shoes), and also to Northern Spain. (Hey, there were horses involved, and I was not traveling around a lot.)

I used to be concerned about what footwear I wore through security. Really, it’s no big deal whether your shoes slip off or not. The lines move slowly no matter what, and I usually end up waiting for Tom to be patted down. My concern is comfort in the air. Shoes come off immediately. Since I’m barely 5’ 2”, I like to use my hiking boots for a footrest. I open them wide and stuff the laces inside so that I can slip them on to use the bathroom.  Once we land, these ankle high boots are perfectly comfortable no matter how swollen my feet.

Pants. Anyone who has traveled with me will tell you I Love My Pants! I bought my Mountain Hardware Ancona Trek Pants for hiking. They fit, they look good, they wash and dry fast, and they have plenty of pockets, including a lower thigh pocket good for hotel and credit cards. N.B. the pockets show up through the airport scanner, so you’ll get double checked. 

Don’t wear jeans and don’t wear anything that will show your plumber’s puff when you bend and reach under the seat. Ick. You could wear sweatpants, but you’ll regret it later when you want to look smart hailing a cab or checking into a hotel. You are not a college kid on spring break, after all.

Underwear. Yes. Brazil, string, French, sports, granny, what have you. I don’t care. You don’t want your circulation cut short, and you do want to toss an extra pair in your carry-on. My theory is, since they are so small, just toss in twice as many.

Tops. Although I’d advocate wearing a sports bra at night if you are trekking, I think your basic, everyday bra is going to be more comfortable for the long haul flight.

As for shirts or T-shirts, I am most comfortable in my Columbia Silver Ridge Long Sleeve Shirt. This works in any climate and for any mode of travel. I like the long sleeves and collar in case of drafts; I like the roll-up sleeves with fasteners for hot spells; I love that they stretch so that I can sleep without feeling constraints in my armpits. And, best of all, they drape well with no wrinkles so that you can look fairly ‘put-together’ when you walk out into public. No tucking in shirttails. That would be silly.

The jacket, the scarf, the pants

Outerwear. For an extra layer, I wear the Mountain Hardwear Nitrous Jacket, which doubles as a sweater. It’s light, washable, zip-up, and doubles as a pillow when in its stuff bag. I stuff mine into my carry-on or even into my purse, so that it’s handy. This is lighter and more compact than sweaters, sweats, or polar fleece, and can be layered with anything without a lot of tugging.

Accessories

Jewelry. Though I don’t carry much jewelry, I do make sure that I’m wearing earrings in flight that won’t catch, poke, snag or otherwise appear in my consciousness.

Scarf. A scarf is a wonderful thing. I always wear one for temperature control. (The neck is as important as the feet in that regard.) It can double as pillow or eye cover.

Bandana. I got in the habit of carrying a bandana when hiking across Spain. It’s a splint, bandage, mop, hat, eye shield, sunscreen, filter, handkerchief, and pretty much whatever else you want it to be.

Glasses. I wear glasses, not contacts, when flying. Usually I go for the more comfortable plastic frames, which also have a slight tint. I keep an extra soft case to stash my eyewear when I’m ready to doze off. (Avoid, at all costs, putting personal items into the pocket in front of your seat. YUCK!)

Kindle, Headphones, and iPhone (with music) and LifeProof case.

Electronics. I board with the following in hand: my phone, kindle, noise canceling headphones, and laptop (depending on the flight duration).  It’s easy to gather these items at the gate so that when you find your seat you can simply stash your carry-on in the overhead and slide the rest under your seat.

Other Accessible Items. Necessities for me include a notebook with pen and pencil, toothbrush and/or mouthwash, a bottle of water (purchased after security of course), hand lotion, and mints. With these items you can be sans electronics for take-off and landing, and refreshed enough to disembark without feeling like a slug.

As for the nasty liquids restrictions, I have a 1-quart, durable, zip-up travel ditty bag. I rearrange my toiletries to make room for toothpaste, lotion, toner, shampoo and conditioner, by moving out the toothbrush, soap bar, razor, and other non-liquids. My cosmetics are in a separate little bag, and in the past several years, they’ve never been checked. Maybe that’s because I’m forthcoming with the bag of liquids, or maybe the foundation, etc., has some magic potion that not only makes me look youthful, but eases me through security. By the way, since contact solution doesn’t come in travel size, I’ve discovered you can toss it in the bin with your quart bag (but outside that bag), and it’ll be fine.

In my carry-on I also stash any medicine, cash, papers, jewelry, all the cords and chargers, and maybe a change of underwear and an extra sweater or under layer. What I DON’T carry on board is my traveling toolkit (pens, knife, corkscrew, scissors), my manicure set, and back-up supplies of meds or toiletries. (Try not to take any back-ups at all; they probably have stores where you are going.)

Organization. In one respect, we girls have it easy carrying purses. Everything we need on the flight can fit in your purse (and sometimes, my purse will fit in my carry-on.) But guys can lug more in their pockets. In order not to re-pack every time I need to get to my wallet, I fly with ID and credit card in my pocket or, for international flights, with a passport wallet around my neck. Recently, I’ve gotten better at separating currencies by pocket or wallet, so I can grab and go. New scanners require I place my credit card and ID in the bins, but it’s great just using credit or debit from the hip for that on-the-go coffee.

That’s how I fly. Stay tuned for essential packing tips for trips of three to six months.

Noat shoes, Simple brand flip-flops

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