In Retirement, Delay Nothing, Especially Adventure

    Mala Mala friends

For the life of me, I can't recall why we delayed traveling to Africa. Perhaps because of the distance? Could be for it is far from the states. We took two overnight flights and one inter-country flight just to arrive within an hour's drive of the first camp. Diseases? Possibly for Ebola and Zika have been recent problems, though Zika is active in the states, too. Unrest? Yup, like the rest of the world issues exist with bombings and kidnappings, though mostly in Northern Africa with more petty crime in South Africa and elsewhere. But of course, these issues exist worldwide, too.

A year ago we traveled to Peru -- Lima, Cusco, the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, a really average trip in my book rather than to Africa and I can't recall why we selected Peru rather than Africa. Safety? Fear? Hmm.

What I do know is that I'm already scheming on how I can return next year, hopefully to Botswana and South Africa. Aspects of safari camp life, early morning game drives, toilet stops behind trees and bushes, things I thought would be off-putting, did not bother me. I found 6:30am drives peaceful, almost magical times, as the sun inched into the sky and some animals foraged about, others hunting for their first meal of the day. I found the chilly, at times cold, African winter mornings bracing and beautiful. There is nothing artificial about Africa. Ok, we did stay in really nice camps complete with a chef and staff, a bar, maid service and all. But the drives themselves, the viewing of animals, none of that was staged.

    African Wild Dogs off for their next meal

For instance, one morning when we set off on a pseudo Mr. Toads-Wild-Ride first through a dry river bed, then up the rocky river banks, plowing over various shrubs, the LandRover bumping crazily from side to side, I thought what fun as we tracked a pack of African Wild dogs as they zipped from feasting on their morning kill to their high speed search for their next meal.

While the experienced rangers and trackers have an idea where they might find wildlife, each day presented surprises, even to them. One morning we came upon an almost comical stand off between a young lioness and an enormous, disinterested rhinoceros, she seemingly thinking he might be breakfast and he, presumably, thinking her plan was just plain silly given their tremendous size differences. Once he stared her down, horn aimed at her head, she retreated, the stand off over.

    Cubs nursing

One late afternoon, we watched an aging lion rouse himself from his rest, lumber to the 
water hole for a long drink and then head back to finish off his partially eaten Cape Buffalo carcass only to find a pack of hyenas stripping the carcass bare. The lion roared, some hyenas scattered while others continued feeding.  As we quietly watched that day's installment of nature's best drama, our ranger whispered "This is very special to see." He was so right.

   Hyenas feeding on the lion's kill.

Then there was the afternoon when we pulled out of camp heading for the bush, when our ranger quickly did a u-turn and a bit breathlessly said "A leopard just killed an Impala close to camp." Moments later we were witnessing a young female leopard, plucking fur from her kill before she started biting into the Impala's hindquarters. We watched as she broke open
 the rib cage, pulled out the animal's intestines, ate her fill. She then began the exhausting process of dragging the kill, which was more than double the leopard's size, toward the protection of a tree for hiding from bush scavengers. Exhausted before she could safely tuck the carcass on an upper branch, she left it on the ground, had a rest....and eventually lost her precious kill to the opportunistic hyenas. Thus is life in the African bush.

   Leopard resting while moving her kill.

Don't delay adventure or anything in retirement. I'm so happy we did not delay visiting Africa any longer.

    Mala Mala's beautiful boma where we ate dinner.

African Adventure: How We Spend Retirement $$$

    Another beautiful sunset

I'm sitting on our tent's deck, a long ago memory drifting into focus. I'm remembering riding on Disneyland's Jungle Cruise, meandering down a river populated with animatronic hippos and elephants and various caricatures of safari life. 

I hadn't  thought about the Jungle Cruise ride in years.  My current setting is far from a Disneyland attraction. I'm at a safari camp in South Africa, the real deal. A Go Away bird cries its call, hardly a song and more the wail made by an upset human baby. Playful Vervet monkeys overhead in the trees jabber as I watch a herd of elephants across the dry river bed, lumber toward  tasty green trees. It is winter in South Africa, the dry, brown season and we're enjoying, really basking in our first visit to the continent.

I feel like I'm in the land where time stood still, primitive, wild, leafy vistas dotted with bobbing giraffe heads as they nibble on tree top leaves. Though we are in a private tented camp reserve, it is far from primitive or camping as I'd recognize it. Our tent has a cement floor, inside plumbing, a heated bed, a stocked bar and the camp itself offers a full staff, accommodating service, excellent food, game viewing drives several times a day, champagne breaks overlooking a pond where animals take in a drink while the humans enjoy a warming morning sun. Afternoon viewing drives end with cocktails while guests drink in a blazing, chilly South African sunset.

Is it clear how we are spending at least some of our retirement dollars? 

Travel.

We'll be setting off from Tanda Tula to another camp, but first a few highlights.

    This lioness actually made an attempt to attack the rino.

Australia

    The underwater world of the Great Barrier Reef

Our adventure is nearing its end and neither one of us knows how we feel about returning home. Ambivalent at best, I think. Except about being reunited with our washer and dryer. Those two we've missed terribly. And decent Mexican food but that we'll find in Sydney.

Though we have a few more days of adventure in Sydney, I thought I'd review our time in Australia.

    Darwin
We've visited Darwin, Cairns, Brisbane and tomorrow Sydney, a city we toured in 2014. After the brilliant silky colors, pedestrian and vehicle chaos, and deafening noise of South East Asia, Australia seems a little ordinary and familiar, more like Canada, our North American cousins than a completely different continent and culture. Of course, how could Australia compare to  the exotic, mysterious South East Asia.

    Ammunition bunker from WWII, Darwin

Darwin, located in the Northern Territory, was our first port. It is the gateway to Asia and as one of our guides said, the last stop for people wanting to escape from Australia. Darwin served as a military post during WWII for Australian and American ships and troops and because of its proximity to Asia, the Japanese bombed it 64 times. The city is filled with war memorials and museums and is tropical hot, like 95 degrees and 98% humidity hot.

    Aboriginal sculptures, Northern Territory

    
Happily, our next stop, an area just outside Cairns, the home of the Great Barrier Reef, was much cooler. Having been warned about the potential for rough seas, I wore a seasickness 
patch and was glad I did.
  

    

    Brilliant fish and colorful reef

Those passengers who pressed into service the "vomit bags" during the two hour boat ride 
probably wished they had "patched up" themselves.  I'm guessing the poor crew member 
who sadly found himself heaved upon by a sick passenger wished that, too. Isn't it smart 
to travel with seasickness meds?

Unfortunately, we made port in Brisbane on Easter Sunday so not much was open. A ship lecturer had discussed the Battle of Brisbane during WWII and we were eager to find a memorial or plaque or something about this event. This battle was actually between 
Australian and American troops who took to the streets of Brisbane for an alcohol fueled 
slug-fest over manly things like who got the prettiest local girls. We found nothing commemorating this colorful battle. Darn!

We moved on to visit General Macarthur's former headquarters, now a museum but Easter Sunday foiled us again! The place was closed so we settled for a pic of the plaque outside. 

The wonderful Gallery of Modern Art was open and gave us another opportunity to view 
Aboriginal and Indian Art.

Now it's on to beautiful Sydney.


Stay Calm. Travel when you can.

The Game of Desserts Part II

    Berries, they look good, don't they?

I thought the game ended. I had admitted defeat, waved my white dinner napkin in the air, stopped protesting dessert delivery. Game over, naïvely, that's what I thought.
But I was wrong.

We are on what is called a back-to-back cruise or consecutive cruises, so we stay on the ship for 30 days. But that means when guests from the first leg disembarked, new guests arrived. For the crew, the first couple of days of a new cruise are busy. This is good news for me.

On the busy embarkation day, only berries arrive for dessert. 
Me: May be he gave up or ran out of recipes.
R: May be he doesn't know you are on this leg.
Whatever the reason, the next night again only berries arrive for dessert.
Me: (Slightly giddy) It's over. He knows he won. (I relax. No more food fights).

Not so fast little white haired celiac lady, you don't know the rules of this game.

Two nights in a row, the chef slightly goofs up on my order, one night forgetting to add rice noodles to a stir fry and the next serving my pasta dry. I pay a price for his goofs.

SERVER: Let's see what the chef has made for you.
ME: (Meekly) Ok.
I'm presented with a little chocolate cake and a big bowl of berries, "I'm sorry for the
goofs" gifts.
The next night, a little vanilla cake arrives and two bowls of berries. I take one bite of the cake and eat as many berries as I can hold. I remind R that the next day I'm heading to the gym.

    Vanilla cake and double berries. Game back on.

SERVER: You don't like the cake?
ME: Not really.
SERVER: Some times they are good and sometimes not.
These guys are always optimistic.
Unable to simply watch this drama without joining in, the head server and the maitre de 
assume roles.
The head waiter starts monitoring my food consumption. That evening, I eat half my 
enormous salad.

WAITER: You don't like the salad?
ME: It's too big. Too much food. (Immediately, I know I've uttered the wrong words. He'll take what I've said as a challenge).
WAITER: Maybe tomorrow I make it smaller.
ME: Ok.
By now, I know that will not happen because I live in the world of opposites. The next night, my salad is larger than R's. My words are meaningless.
We are now three days at sea and apparently the maitre de, growing restless, needs a 
project.
That evening, bread arrives.

HIM: Try this. You haven't had any bread. I had the chef make this for you.

He presents me with four pieces of gluten free focaccia.
ME: Ok.
I force R to eat a piece and I eat part of another.
HIM: We'll have this for you every night. We'll just keep it in the back.
ME: (Forcefully) No. I don't want it.
HIM: Ok, just tell me the night before when you want it.

No one listens to me.
Dessert arrives. Something new with chocolate. I'm thinking when will this guy run out of 
recipes?

The head waiter takes my order for the next night, a salad and salmon.
WAITER: That's all.
ME: That's all.
WAITER: I saw yesterday at lunch what you ate, you don't eat enough.
ME: I eat plenty.
WAITER: No, not that much.
He tells R that tomorrow at lunch he wants to see us in his station. My thoughts turn paranoid. I wonder if the kitchen has a watch list, a kind of "America's Most Wanted" for
 those accused of under-eating on the cruise ship. My thoughts worsen, perhaps there is a surveillance camera? I'm being watched?
Honestly, even my parents never monitored my food intake this closely.
I rouse myself from my paranoid thoughts and on my way out of the dining room I chide the maitre de that they are trying to fatten me up. He laughs. Regrettably, I think they've 
succeeded.

Modern, Shiny Humid Singapore

    Singapore is a construction zone!

Just want to say, boy is Singapore in mid-March really hot. Like sticky-jungle-humid hot.

With that said --

It is not just the sounds, the whirl of bike motors, the incessant blare of bus and truck horns bellowing their warnings or the vibrant colors, swirls of magentas, gold, teal,
jades, or the pungent smells of foods sizzling in oil, exotic fruits warming in the sun or the constant motion, of people, of vehicles, frenetic, blurry, dusty.  It is all that and more that make Southeast Asia compelling. Old, traditional, slow moving bumping up against and mixing with modern and new. Water buffaloes and rice fields, rickshaws, zippy motor bikes and pedestrians dashing dangerously through oncoming traffic, golden Buddhas and burning incense, open markets bursting with cheap plastic goods, fragrant fruits, faces wrapped against a burning sun. Those are my observations about Bangkok, Vietnam, and Hong Kong.

    View of Garden by the Bay from Marine Bay Sands. These are solar panels and collect rain water.

    Singapore is Eco-green.

How do they contrast to Singapore?

Singapore is the shinier, more cosmopolitan, less gritty, better dressed Westernized Asian sibling to Vietnam and Bangkok. Densely populated, with every inch of real estate wisely (mostly) used, 
Singapore is a well planned, organized, safe, clean city with minimal crime and a government that enforces strict standards for behavior. It is also a religiously tolerant city/state. Children are taught tolerance for others from a young age. Hindu and Buddhist temples, Christian churches, and an Arab Mosque co-exist in this tiny country. 

    Inside the Chinese Buddhist Temple, Chinatown

The idea is that religious diversity is welcomed but pushy attempts at conversion are not. All this takes place in a city where modern architecture, like the Marina Bay Sands and the ArtScience building stand in contrast to older sections like Arab Town, Little India, and the hectic, colorful Chinatown.

    Outside the Hindu Temple, Little India

Some Singapore facts -- the city/state is about 275 square miles with a population of 5.5 million. As one lecturer explained, Singapore doesn't produce anything, other than people. Rather it imports goods from everywhere, improves the product and then exports it. The hard working harbor is teeming with cargo ships of all sizes, fully stacked with brightly colored containers traveling in and out of the port. Singapore also imports workers -- from India, the U.K., and other places near and far to fill specific jobs.

    The ArtScience Museum. Looks like something from a Bond movie.

One other noticeable difference, it is safe to cross the streets here. In Vietnam and Thailand we were told to walk slowly across the street in oncoming traffic so that the motor bikes and cars will slow down (we hoped they would slow down); in Singapore, a transit bus stopped for us when we entered the cross walk! Such politeness was unseen in Bangkok where the guide said cross walk markings are considered meaningless zebra stripes.

   The famous Marina Bay Sands Hotel and Shopping complex.

    This amazing structure houses Singapore's incredible botanic garden with its rain and cloud       forests.


Our original itinerary contained an overnight stop in Benoa, Bali. When both the Australian and UK governments issued credible travel warnings regarding potential terrorist threats in Bali, the cruise ship company cancelled the stop. So from Singapore, on to Darwin, Australia we go.

Travel can be wonderful. Travel can be risky. Plans change. Best to stay calm and carry on.

   Thousands of ships fill the harbor.

The Special Gift of Travel. Eyes Open to the World

    A favorite type of transport in Hanoi, the motorized cycle. There are thousands in the city.

Travel provides much to us such as new experiences, opportunities to learn, chance to step outside the everyday and if as traveler's we are really paying attention, it provides a means of regaining appreciation and gratitude for our own, probably privileged lives.

At least, that's what routinely happens to me and has been happening as we tour through some of Southeast Asia. What always strikes me is how differently many people live from those of us in North America.

First a couple of facts -- a somewhat typical apartment in densely, overpopulated Hong Kong is about 500 square feet and sells for about $780,000 American or $1 million Australian. This is not a starter home, for people begin with spaces 100 to 200 square feet smaller than that. At this price, the 500 square foot home calculates to about $1560 per square foot. That's pretty damn expensive. I left Hong Kong both with a renewed appreciation for space and a new renewed wondering as to why Americans need so much. 

In Hanoi, we observed that much of life is lived on the sidewalks and in the streets.

    

    Sidewalk shops in the Old Quarter of Hanoi.

    This brave woman sells fruit while competing for limited space with the motorized cycles.

    Working the rice paddy fields outside Hanoi. For many, a traditional life continues.

   Hanoi is a loud, chaotic, busy city but there are pockets of calm.

  

    

   The Temple of Confucius. A place of peace.

   

 As our group was waiting to board our bus, we were surrounded by vendors, aggressively offering for sale items ranging from postcards to greeting cards to hats and t-shirts.  One young woman did not  accept my "no" and started insistently thwacking my arm while chanting how much money she wanted me to hand over. Our little sidewalk drama ended when I annoyingly told her to stop hitting me.

All my observations left me wondering how Americans are viewed worldwide. I'm guessing the young Vietnamese vendor simply viewed me as a wealthy American since I could afford to travel to her country.

More to come.

Fear: Honor it? Ignore it? Work Around it? Create a New Normal?

When asked, most Americans can say exactly where they were on September 11, 2001.  They can recall details of what they saw, on television or in person or what they heard on the radio as the horrific story, the unbelievable unfolded.

A fair number of us remember life before 9/11 -- life before Homeland Security, TSA, long airport security lines, shoe removal, body scanning and the like. And so many other changes, external and internal, including a fleeting sense of safety, of freedom, of movement. And the settling in of fear.

We are Americans and we've adapted, accommodated to new structures, rules, uncomfortable feelings. We adjusted to a new normal.

I'm in a Seattle, WA hotel room perched on the 27th floor watching CNN report on the Paris terrorist massacre. We are here to celebrate our anniversary.
On the Saturday morning following the Paris attack, I look down on the street below from the 27th floor and an unwelcomed, unbiddened feeling washes over me. I am afraid. I'm afraid to head out for the day's activities in Seattle.

As I watch and listen to survivors tell their stories of the massacre, the executions, the sounds of reloading guns, the drive by shootings, the escapes out windows, the bombs, the helpfulness of strangers, I hear the citizens of Paris express their outrage and commitment that the terrorists will not win, will not take away their lives. I can imagine, as these citizens 
speak their words of defiance and heroism, their underlying fear. How can they not be 
afraid? A father and his adolescent son recount their tale of surviving the shootings in the concert hall. People around them were executed.

R nudges me to head out for the day. He says what the survivors say, we can't let the terrorists win.

I agree. That day in rainy, cloudy Seattle we set about creating our new normal -- pushing through the fear, waking up to reports of bombing raids, learning of new uncomfortable global alliances, checking the State Department's latest travel warnings, debating whether trips planned are safe to take.

I think about the Parisian adolescent boy, father by his side, speaking his story on camera, less than 24 hours after the massacre. He is a lucky one, a defiant one, but how can he not 
feel afraid? The magnitude of our fight ahead, the level of hatred the terrorists express toward the west, has yet to sink in.

New normal.

Try to stay calm if you can and truly try to carry on. We've Democratic work to do.

Time for a Bed Count and a Review of Peru

When I wasn't paying close attention, we reached a traveling milestone of sorts -- 100th bed slept in since March 19, 2014 when we set off from Chicago on our journey into this new phase. We reached this milestone while traveling in Peru, the topic of this post.
So beyond my eating difficulties (see previous post and the cute, edible Guinea pigs) how was the trip to Peru?

I'm going to answer that question in my usual round-about way because hey, I've got the time.

There were people on our tour who since their elementary school days, after looking at pics of Machu Picchu, had dreamed of visiting Peru and gazing at Machu Picchu. I wasn't one of them. Since I don't remember studying Peru, I was probably busy not paying attention in class or reading Nancy Drew or about Florence Nightingale. Either way, it wasn't my dream.
 Others on the trip considered hiking to Machu Picchu and around the ruins of the Sacred Valley experiences of a life time. I really didn't fall into that category either. As I too soon discovered in Peru, a few ruins, that are basically created from the same look-alike granite, go a long, long way with me no matter how tall, complicated or symmetrically perfect. Not to mention I still itch from those nasty, blood-sucking little flies.

    Ollantaytambo, Sacred Valley
    

However, R had long wanted to visit Peru and especially Machu Picchu so in the spirit of marital harmony, I agreed. More than one time over the years, a visit there was on the books and I found a way of wiggling out of the trip.

This time I did not wiggle.

Learning about the Andeans, past and present, was my favorite part of this adventure. I'm amazed that people live in an environment as rugged and in many ways as harsh as the Andes. I loved our peek into Peruvian countryside culture via the "Primitive Market Tour" as our guides dubbed it. I was fascinated watching three adults wrestle a huge pig into a bag for its trip to their village where he would meet his final destiny.  I was captivated in an American-grossed out sort of way by the Andean woman quietly eating her homemade (of course!) cow's head soup with the cow's teeth jutting out of her bowl. While the cloud forest mountains of Machu Picchu are beautiful, the chaotic, dusty, colorful, rural ways were what caught my interest.

   This guy went unhappily and loudly into a bag

    Market, Urubamba, Peru

With that said,

If Peru is on your list of must have life experiences here are a few ideas to consider before heading off --

-- Altitude sickness is a real thing and impacts some more than others. It usually manifests as both middle of the night wakefulness (resulting in fatigue the next day)  and a crushing nighttime and daytime headache. Oxygen, available at most tourist hotels, helps as does Ibuprofen.
-- The trip is strenuous, even if you only hike a mile or so on the Inca Trail. This is the land of stone streets, thousands of uneven, high steps, and soaring elevation. And just so you know, the Sun Gate is about 1 1/2 hours of straight up walking. You'll be visiting ancient ruins not modern structures with ramps and lifts. Wear sensible shoes.
-- During dry season, Machu Picchu is busy since 3,500 people are allowed into the site each day. You will not visit these sites alone, although you may wish you were.
-- Even if your tour guides don't suggest it,  WEAR BUGS-AWAY LONG PANTS (for the uninitiated, these are pants treated with bug repellent). During season, those nasty little flying biting nats BITE! Three and a half weeks post MP my bites, while healing still itch.
-- About half the folks on our trip fell ill at one point or another. Bottled water and a good supply of Imodium and possibly antibiotics, are your best travel friends. Also pack bite stick, hydrocortisone, Calamine lotion, and possibly Benadryl. This arsenal will win you friends and make you more comfortable.
-- Even though the economy and living conditions are much better than they were a few decades ago, Peru is a relatively poor country. Our guides emphasized that Peruvians believe that anyone who travels to their country is wealthy. You may be asked for money to take someone's photo or just because.

One aspect of travel I find wondrous is that different places are magical (or not) to different people. One person's idea of nirvana might be my idea of a ring of hell, or something like that. While Peru wasn't a top trip for me, it was a good one. But it wasn't magical. I still favor cycling trips over walking. However, my analysis of my Peruvian travel left me with a question I'd like to answer but seem unable yet to do so.

How does one balance exploring and trying out new adventures, including some that might disappoint, against sticking with what is known, tried and true, and previously explored?

Thoughts anyone?  Adventure Girl is listening.

Next planned trip -- Asia and the east coast of Australia -- by ship!
But first, someone will have a BIG birthday and we'll celebrate 35 years of ......marriage.
Stay calm and carry on!

   

    Fall in Bend

Food Wars -- Traveling in Peru as a Celiac Fish Eating Vegan

We've safely returned to the states after our Peruvian adventures, back to toilets that readily flush toilet paper, bug repellent that actually prevents bloody bug bites, and drivers who mostly respect car lanes. Before reviewing how the new food identity worked out, I just want to say -- Peruvians just may be the worst drivers I've ever encountered.

Last spring I thought Italians were the all time worst drivers and road time there certainly activated my fear (a.k.a screaming) response. But Peru, especially Lima, is a nightmarish tangle of horns, rusty metal, and screeching tires. Part of the issue is that about 11 million people live in Lima and 10 million of them drive cars. I'm convinced that all 10 million cars are driven at exactly the same time and usually crammed into just one lane. Simply stated there are just too many cars on the road. And then there are the loose interpretations of rules of the road.  One guide pointed out that "the lines on the road are just decorations" which allows drivers to creatively turn three clearly marked lanes into six or more chaotic messes, with drivers pushing and bullying their way through the muddle. Eventually, I stopped counting the number of near misses, almost collisions, potential wheels-off-the-
road-and-down-the-cliff experiences. It seemed implied that no space, alley, mountainous dirt road is too small or too crowded to attempt to wedge one more shuttle bus or car or both on through. The primitive part of my brain surprised even me with its new arrangements of panic cries.

Of course, none of this has to do with food and travel. I'm just providing providing a little 
warm up on Peru.

On to food. Here's my overall assessment of Peru-- a vegan would probably starve in Peru, 
especially in the Andes.

 While Andeans eat lots of vegetables, especially potatoes and tough, chewy corn, they
also love to add cheese to food. And they eat guinea pig and cute, cuddly looking Alpacas which they turn into steak.

We traveled from the states to Lima and on to Cusco for a walking tour of the Sacred Valley, Machu Picchu, and beyond. This trip was my test to see if I could travel and maintain a healthy gluten free, vegan diet that includes fish. 

How'd I do?

I'm happy to report that I did not completely fail, although I did not succeed 100% of the time, either. Prior to setting off, I thought eating in the land of quinoa, potatoes, and seafood would be a breeze. Now I know that I need to stop fantasizing about how I imagine something will go and become a little more realistic and strategic. Traveling in most countries with so many dietary restrictions will just be.....challenging.

For instance, Peruvians cook with butter so it took me a day or two to figure this out and to ask that my food be steamed or prepared in oil. Potatoes, which I ate frequently and are plentiful (4300 varieties of potatoes in Peru) could be roasted in oil rather than butter. This seemed like news to Peruvian chefs. Never did I imagine that innocent, healthy quinoa could turn against me. Sometimes it was prepared with wheat, sometimes with cheese, and at times with both or infrequently when I hit the jackpot, with neither, just vegetables.
While I was determined not to eat saturated fat-laden cheese, I did end up eating some grilled white meat chicken and felt, at those moments, that I was cheating on my pescatarian cardiologist. I had a couple of completely vegan days, mostly forced upon me because vegetables and rice were my only options when others were being served guinea pig, pizza, or jumbo sized burgers with bacon. You'd have thought we were in the states, except for the roasted guinea pig. Peruvian salmon trout and white fish, when prepared with oil were excellent options, when I could find them on the menu.

Guinea pigs. Usually home raised. I told them to make a break for it but they seemed content to chew grass and sniff one another. They are blissfully unaware of their fate.

I found myself frustrated with the tour company guides'  (VBT.com which on previous bike tours had done a stellar job) inattention to my food needs at group meals. At a highly touted picnic on the seventh day catered by Cusco's best restaurant dish after Peruvian dish were presented to the group, most all made with wheat and off limits to me. While group members stuffed themselves with Andean quiche, roasted Alpaca, quinoa patties, quinoa encrusted chicken and other specialties, I ate roasted potatoes, some kind of salad, guacamole, and sliced tomatoes and avocado. Not bad, but not what we paid for. Going forward, we'll think hard before booking a group tour.

Once again, Think Thin gluten free  protein bars saved me a few times. We flew overnight from Dallas Fort Worth to Lima. American Airlines provided meals for everyone on board but me. The customer service person graciously said I was "entitled to a flight but not a meal" and the airline held firm on that policy for they had nothing on the long flight safe to eat. Must say that LAN airlines did a much better job on the return flight.

What did I learn? Traveling with dietary restrictions is challenging and will always be that way. I need to accept that and work with it. But hey, just attending a party or going to someone's house presents eating challenges for me. The up side? I actually lost weight while traveling around the Sacred Valley and Machu Picchu and returned home, after eating in Lima, at my usual weight. Not bad.

    Ceviche in Lima. Gluten free and surprisingly good.

   Could have been worse -- this woman is eating cow's head soup. Notice the teeth.

    Machu Picchu -- land of biting little bugs and great beauty.

Forging a New Food Identity

I'm in the midst of a food identity crisis. Ok, crisis is probably way too strong a word. Perhaps it is more a transition. That's it, I'm in a food transition.

Am I a celiac vegan who eats fish and egg whites? A pescatarian with celiac who avoids dairy?  I'm just not sure; I just feel confused.

About eight years ago, I was diagnosed with celiac.  Mostly, I have figured out how to eat and travel with this autoimmune illness. But what the doctor is now saying to me.....Oops, I'm getting ahead of myself. Let me back up.

Not long ago, I was sitting in the exam room intently looking at the new, highly recommended doctor. I was fresh from an EKG and echocardiogram and I had my dreadful Cardiac Calcium Screening report gripped in my hand.

Then he spoke.

"This is the one time you get to blame your parents."

In a nanosecond, I pondered what he had said and considered possible responses to the doctor's remark.  I'm thinking that some part of me has wanted to hear someone say just this -- Yup, for  these crappy heart reports, you can blame the parents.

I even considered that perhaps my former patients at times wanted me to say this to them. That they too could blame their parents for their situations.

But this is not a therapy session for me or one of my patients. The man seated across from me dressed in a summer plaid shirt, Keen hiking shoes, and cargo pants -- the typical physician uniform in Bend -- is my new cardiologist.
And he is giving me the go ahead to blame my parents for my sucky genetics. Oddly, despite his delivering rather unpleasant news, I like him. That's the best part of the visit.

Once I've digested the less than appealing test results, we move on to discuss what can be done. It is this discussion that has led me to a food identity crisis.

Despite my having eaten a fairly healthy diet over the decades, the nice new doc is suggesting I switch to a modified vegetarian diet, one that includes some healthy fish.

Many vegetarians eat dairy (lacto-vegetarian) but I try to avoid dairy which is more vegan-like. But vegans don't eat fish or egg whites.....and both vegans and vegetarians eat grains and I don't because I'm celiac but I do eat legumes and rice.

May be you understand my confusion? 

And I haven't even considered how the new food identity, whatever it is, will impact travel.
More to come.....and to ponder.

Until next time Gluten Free Black Bean, Quinoa, and Corn Vegetarian Patties. Sadly, they were kind of crumbly but tasted great.