Day 1 (& 2 & 3) London + Paris

Well, I’ve just toodled Leann off to her “locking the gates at the Tower of London” ceremony by way of the best local fish and chips shop in TripAdvisor, downloaded photos from her phone, H’s phone, my phone . . . And now time to put it all together.

So – Hi!!!

Has to be about a year ago, a friend texted me out of the blue saying, “You and Leann want to go to the Olympics?” (My reaction – “Um, whaaaa?”) Turns out that you need to enter a lottery to be able to purchase tickets early on; she had, and had won. This allowed her to purchase sets of 3 tickets (to “lower ranking” events) for 6 people. Leann and I chose Men’s Water Polo, Men’s Trampoline (which may or may not be taking place in a museum), and Men’s Beach Volleyball (at 9 p.m. – on “the beach” . . . At the foot of the Eiffel Tower!) We all wanted to go to the Rowing finals, Women’s Skateboarding finals . . . Then booked a few events together, and a few separately, via Get Your Guide (recommended by the American Express concierge as “Not a scam.”)

As Leann hadn’t been “across the pond,” we decided to take a few days in London first.

Delta had a few issues along the way – first, cancelling Leann’s direct flight … then just cancelling her trip altogether (Me: “Why did I just get an Amex credit for the $ value of your flight?” Leann: “#$@*&^@# Delta!!) … then getting hit by the computer issue last week and having to cancel ?5,000? Flights – but ultimately we both made it! (NOTE: In my opinion, best seat in Virgin Atlantic Upper Class = 1A. Only one person “behind” you, you don’t share an overhead bin, and there is a HUGE “vent” that you can put your things on, just not for take off and landing. Virgin’s lie-flat seats are a little oddly configured, so this made a HUGE difference.)

After a thankfully uneventful passport control and customs, I met Leann with one of my best friends from my 8 years in Washington D.C., Gay (“Half Way”) from the Hash House Harriers. What a surprise! Gay lives down in Kent, and we had discussed possibly trying to meet up in London – she looked at our arrival schedule and decided to meet us at Heathrow! She had a bag of “treats” to welcome me “back” – PG Tips, Hobnobs, Digestives, Cadbury chocolate . . . Yum!

After a bit of up and down and around and skyways and lifts, we met our Uber driver in the Heathrow car park and headed in to London. The sedan was able to fit the three of us, our carryons, and our checked luggage (hat tip to Solgaard’s large “trunk” – wonderful!), and off we went. Leann took the front seat to have a better view (to the left is MI5 as we crossed Vauxhall Bridge), and to let Gay and me catch up on about !35! Years.

We checked in at the Strand Palace and Gay came up to the room with us. We opened the door … and at about half way open, it slammed into the foot of one of the beds! The room is clean, mattresses are comfy, shower head can be raised so only minimal ducking … Who needs a ton of floor space? 🙂

We decided to head down to the Art Deco-inspired “gin joint” at the hotel. The atmosphere was fun; each cocktail was inspired in some way by a historic event at The Strand Palace or person involved in its history.

Gay told us that it had been raining before we arrived, and we all wondered how it would affect the Olympics Opening Ceremony, which we thought was starting at just about the time our drinks arrived. (No TVs in the “gin joint.”) We had a super fun evening, though Leann and I were starting to be a bit “worse for wear” jet-lag-wise. Gay had taken a train up from Kent and was staying at a nearby hotel, so we bid her “adieu,” actually thinking we would be able to meet up the next day (Spoiler Alert: Bad cell phone communications…*sigh*)

When we got back to our room, Leann and I changed into jammies (mine, the ones I had “liberated” from Virgin Airlines), turned on BBC, and were just in time to see the Ukrainian athletes slide by in their barge on the Seine. We had missed the beginning with Lady Gaga, the Marie Antoinettes holding their heads in the windows of Versailles, ménage at Trois at ?the library?, all countries before “U”, etc. – but we saw the end of the parade of athletes, the “fashion show,” dancing, “steampunkesque” horse and rider on the Seine (amazing!), fireworks, parkour/ninja delivering the torch, Carl Lewis and Serena carrying the torch in the wavy water (Serena looked seasick!), turn-of-the-last-century-style balloon as the Eternal Flame “caldron,” Celine Dion and, of course, *THE RAIN*! We discussed how we hoped that none of the athletes would come down with a cold! It was *pouring*.

Didn’t sleep great this first night . . . And then, waking up at about 3 a.m. local time, I had a “Waaaaaait a second…” moment, and quietly got out my phone and started doing a bit of research.

I was to start off with a guided tour of the Churchill War Rooms, which is run by the Imperial War Museum. Back when I was in grammar school and high school, my family had a board game that we called the “London Tube” game. I don’t really remember how to play it, but I *do* remember that if you had to get to the IWM (Imperial War Museum), it was *way* down in a part of London that was difficult to get back from, at a station called “Elephant and Castle.” Leann and I had planned that she would go to the IWM, I would do the War Rooms, and we would meet when I was done.

Herbert and I had gone to the IWR the last time we were in London. We both loved it. But my 3 a.m. wake-up was a reminder from far earlier, when I had been in London with my cousin Robin. That memory centered around St. James’s Park – which is far from Elephant and Castle – walking past the War Rooms “entry” and discussing it.

Sure enough – I looked up the War Rooms – and they were *nowhere near* the actual War Museum. Yikes!

When Leann “finally” woke up (about 5 lol), I told her what I had uncovered. We decided to scrap the idea of actually going to the IWM at all (remember the Tube game? It’s out of the way, not near other sights…) She would come with me to the War Rooms (which are, indeed, across from St James’s Park), and do what she had really wanted to do at some point in our travels – head down to the Thames and see Ben Ben, Westminster, etc. Perfect!

We found the only coffee shop open in about a 5 mile radius at that hour (truth!), took a few snaps, and then she was off to the Thames, I was off to the War Rooms. The streets were deserted, though we kept coming across barriers, police, etc. (More on that later.)

Here are a few shots from Leann’s jaunt while I was 12’ underground in Churchill’s War Rooms. (Yes, only twelve feet!) I cropped them to be a bit more artistic, but I would *bet you* if you asked her nicely, she’ll show you the actual photos. 🙂 And BY the way, did you know that “Big Ben” is NOT the name of the clock tower? “Big Ben” is the name of the bell inside…the clock tower is Elizabeth Tower. Yes, really!

Meanwhile, I was (only) 12 feet underground, doing the tour of the War Rooms. If you think they are a close and claustrophobic rabbit warren now, imagine adding thick cigar and cigarette smoke from every single person! When the “fresh” air came in from outside, it was so polluted with dust, grit, etc from the continual bombing (plus the “usual pollution that was rampant in London until just recently” per our guide), in actual fact, the cigarette and cigar-laden air was considered preferable!

Once Leann and I met back up, we headed over to Buckingham Palace, which was PACKED with people obviously believing they were going to see the Changing of the Guard at 11:00. It was about 10:50 … but it was Saturday (no Changing). Since we were “In The Know,” we headed through a gorgeous sunny St. James’s Park up to Fortnum and Mason to have a scone and some Countess Grey.

We tried to catch a cab from F&M to Raffles, where we were having lunch. First, the driver texted us that we had to walk about 3-4 blocks, because the roads were closed. Once we got in the car and drove about 3 more blocks, he said that we would get there faster if we walked – it would take him about 40 minutes by car but it would take us about 25 minutes to walk. And he charged us the full fare – ah well….

We followed Citymapper through back streets and wound up on the Plaza behind the horse guards – just as they were having a changing of the guards! That was a huge surprise! In case you’re wondering, the guards with the big bearskin helmets are all infantry. They “stopped smiling” during Victoria’s reign. She had lost her husband – the love of her life – early, and from that moment she started wearing black and “never smiled again.” The guards in “sympathy” also started looking more stalwart. It’s currently $200 if you are caught smiling, which goes directly to the Royals. Leann and I talked about it being like a Secret Shopper in a store – perhaps they have “Secret Tourists Snapping Photos”??

When we finally made it to Raffles, we accidentally wound up in the Drawing Room versus the Guard’s Bar, and had a spendy high tea. It was great, just unexpected. Our waiter was particularly nice. He was from Portugal. Actually told us he had been almost a shut-in computer guy, but after COVID he decided to get into the hospitality industry and “learn how to” talk to people, etc. He now was exceptionally proud to be a waiter at Raffles.

Turns out the Amex concierge had booked us in the Drawing Room though I’d asked for the Guard Room Bar. When I went to the Guard’s Bar to apologize that we hadn’t shown up for our reservation, they felt bad for us and gave us a glass of champagne, gratis. 🙂

There had been an *enormous* protest when we were at Raffles. The maitre d’ told us that they had been told to “plan for” two protests today, but had found out that morning that there would be three. That’s why *so* many roads were closed.

The bartender at the Guard Bar gave us a “back way” to avoid the protest, closed roads, etc on the Strand, which we followed. It took us under the Embarkment and then into a sweet little park that ended right behind the Savoy, which was across the street from our hotel. Score!

Police laden down with machine guns across their chests = a completely different visual than anything I expected in the U.K. As most folks know, generally Police in Britain do not have guns. The idea is that if a policeman is shot, “everyone knows” that the police do not have guns, so it’s far, far more egregious than other countries.

We walked back to the hotel; Leann took a nap while I started downloading photos for this post! The wifi here is pretty slow, so it’s been a bit of a slog.

She headed out about two hours ago for her “Key Ceremony” locking the doors of the Tower of London – and she wanted to get a “fish and chips” while alone (since I’m allergic to fish). She did text me that she made it, had a great time, and was checking off another thing on her “bucket list” – a ride in a black cab with “suicide doors” on the way back to the hotel.

As an enormous surprise, a beautiful cheese and fruit plate, and champagne, showed up at our door, courtesy of my friend’s family, as a thank you for helping them through some personal sorrow. What an amazing surprise! I am now completely happy and completely stuffed!

Tomorrow: British Museum meeting up with another friend from the U.S. who moved back to the U.K., our “actual” high tea at The Langham, some other things that I’m forgetting about (lol) and a Jack The Ripper tour in the evening!

Cheers!

Gyms & COVID-19

We have to close our gym! What can we do about our lease obligations? What about income?

1.       Quickly consider alternative/home-based workouts. Sometimes necessity has to be the mother of invention. Consider setting up a “virtual gym” for your members who may also be stuck at home because of school closings, work closings, etc. If you can still actually access your gym (i.e., you are not under a “shelter in place” order), set up a camera and do a Live Stream. Perhaps do it outside! (Maybe cajole your members outside, too!) Consider loaning out some of your equipment for the duration of any closing (keep a very good list of who took what, of course!) Maybe come up with “prizes” (case of Corona, anyone?) for members who can show that they kept up with their workouts – what about a dedicated “hashtag” related to your gym on social media? How about a prize for the biggest [weight loss/bicep increase/squat hold] differential during your shutdown? This is likely to be your best bet to keep your income flowing – keep your members happy and keep them working out. Your head too full to come up with workouts on your own? Always remember that Crossfit® HQ has your back 😊 www.crossfit.com/workout/

2.       Consider novel payment options. Perhaps, as an alternative to suspending monthly memberships, give your members the option to continue to pay while you “add more time onto” the “end” of their memberships. At our gym, we don’t have “punch cards,” we have drop-in fees (highest $), monthly fees (worthwhile if you’re coming more than once a week), and then annualized fees, paid monthly (lowest rate by far). When given the option today, annualized members seem overwhelmingly to be choosing not to suspend. As Crossfit members, we love our affiliates – give your members choices to help you that are still beneficial to them. Keeping payments flowing during the crisis should be your main goal – give something in the future to smooth your situation now. Even the promise of a Mexico-inspired (Corona, remember?) member party at the end of all this will keep community spirits up.

3.       Keep updated on your mayor’s proclamations. For example, as I write this, our local mayor and two others in different states’ cities (found in a cursory Google search) are stating that landlords cannot penalize tenants (including commercial tenants) that are unable to make their rent during the pandemic. Be sure you understand what might be available to you, and what you need to do to avail yourself of it. This might also include checking out any tenant organizations that cover commercial leases, as well as your local small business organizations. While it might seem unpalatable to take out a loan due to this situation, it is a better choice than to get behind on your obligations – things inevitably wind up snowballing.

4.       Read your lease. In general, to get a break as a tenant, you’d need to prove that either (i) your obligations under the lease have “substantially changed” so that it’s impossible to perform the lease (deeming the lease “frustrated”); or (ii) that a global pandemic like COVID-19 fits under a “force majeure” boilerplate in your lease.

Unfortunately, though not surprisingly, most leases do not have protections like this. Most (if not all) leases are drafted by the landlord. If you didn’t involve an attorney in your lease negotiation, it’s virtually guaranteed that your contract is “silent” on protections for you as a tenant. Moreover, in general, commercial leases require damage/destruction to the premises itself for rent suspension to be triggered under (i) in the above paragraph – and a pandemic doesn’t fit the bill.

What about (ii), force majeure? Force Majeure provisions address “Acts of God” – events “beyond the reasonable control of a party” that prevent that party from performing their contractual obligations. A typical “Act of God” is a hurricane, earthquake, or a flood.

 Sadly, it’s important to note that, even if a contract has a force majeure clause, nearly all of them exempt ”monetary obligations” (such as rent payments). But, it can’t hurt to take a look: If your contract has one, and it includes language that says “including, but not limited to…” then perhaps you can suspend your performance (in the case of a lease, this would be paying rent) until you can re-open your doors. However, this doesn’t actually excuse your payments . . . it just allows you to push your payment forward by the amount of time it takes to right yourself (or for the number of days stated in the contract – some state that you can push your obligations forward, for example, “the lesser of” the amount of time that it takes to right yourself, or [10] days).

As an aside, if you do happen to find a force majeure clause in a contract, also know that an Act of God clause can’t protect non-performance if the force majeure event occurs after the delayed performance; there are also always very specific notice provisions. 

If you’re actually planning to just throw up your hands and default on your contractual obligations, it really is strongly advisable not to do this. If your lease has an “attorneys’ fees” clause (nearly all of them do), it will cost your landlord nothing to sue you if/when they win – you’ll be paying all their fees and court costs. And… since you have your lease out… definitely check for things like: (i) acceleration clauses (which state if you are ever late, the entirety of the lease term’s payments are due immediately); (ii) attorneys’ fees clauses; (iii) penalties/interest clauses; (iv) jurisdiction clauses (did you agree to an inconvenient forum, and law that isn’t tenant-friendly?); (v) personal guarantee clauses (where, even if you’re incorporated, you are personally liable for the payments – a/k/a the “lose your house” clause); (vi) etc.

5.       Don’t forget to look at your insurance. While Force Majeure provisions, in general, allow a party to suspend performance until a catastrophic event is over, what covers loss of business due to general fear, governmental direction to engage in “social distancing,” or orders to shelter in place/stay home? This will severely impact many “brick and mortar” businesses, such as bars, event venues, restaurants, theaters, and, of course, gyms.

While some business insurance/business interruption policies cover disruptions, in general, they cover loss of earnings due to an ‘insured peril,’ which also require property damage. While Contingent Business Interruption (CBI) insurance is generally broader, you would have needed “Back to the Future” foresight to add this rider onto your business interruption insurance before the occurrence. Unfortunately and unsurprisingly, after the global outbreak of SARS in 2002-2003, many insurers have excluded viral outbreaks from standard business interruption policies, and coverage may only be procured through special endorsements/riders purchased at the time of coverage. (In other words – it’s too late now, sorry ☹ )

In sum, while insurance covering non-nature-related “interruptions to business” (such as strikes, lockouts, or down utilities) can compensate both parties during the period at issue, it’s unlikely (without physical loss or property damage) that business interruption and other current forms of coverage will compensate either landlords or tenants for loss of business or rent merely because the government mandates that potential customers stay home.

6.       Throw yourself on the mercy of the courts? Since your lease is likely silent on force majeure, and your insurance likely doesn’t call out “COVID-19” directly, if your landlord sues you, the courts in your jurisdiction will determine whether you win based on the foreseeability of the event and the jurisdiction’s statutes/ precedents. But don’t hold your breath. For example, in an insurance case where an event organizer intended to lease space at the Jacob Javits Center in Manhattan shortly after 9/11, but the City of New York decided to utilize the Javits Center as an operational hub and therefore “ordered” it closed to non-first responder personnel, the courts held that the event organizer’s insurance only covered “direct physical loss or damage,” not loss of business. Penton Media, Inc. v. Affiliated FM Insurance Co., 245 F. App’x 495, No. 06-4215 (2007).

Be safe – and live up to your side of contracts, even if you need to pay everyone a little versus paying nothing. If you wind up in court, while I can’t guarantee it, this is likely to be looked at more favorably than just throwing up your hands and hiding your head in the sand(bags).

The information provided in this article does not, and is not intended to, constitute legal advice; instead, all information and content are for general informational purposes only.  This article may not constitute the most up-to-date legal or other information. Readers should contact their attorney to obtain advice with respect to any particular legal matter.  No reader should act or refrain from acting on the basis of this article without first seeking legal advice from counsel in the relevant jurisdiction.  Only your individual attorney can provide assurances that the information contained herein – and your interpretation of it – is applicable or appropriate to your particular situation.  This article does not create an attorney-client relationship. All liability with respect to actions taken or not taken based on the contents are hereby expressly disclaimed. This article is provided AS IS; no representations are made that it is error-free.

The New Normal

I mentioned in my previous post that we had met with Michael Broffman at the Pine Street Clinic to get our protocol during the “cyberknife” treatment and as an overview for what we need to think about not only at Sanoviv, but also into the future. Pine Street Clinic has specialized in evidence-based integrative medicine since 1982. These are my notes from that meeting, which I think are incredibly instructive for the “New Normal After Cancer.”

Broffman advised us to treat our month at Sanoviv as a place to get into a routine….to learn the curriculum and then carry it back in a “return home” program. He strongly suggested sticking with Sanoviv’s meal program – mostly vegetarian with low net carbs. He said that our follow-on plan should involve committing to, for 24 months after returning from Sanoviv, eliminating red meat, pork, lamb, etc. (whether or not organic/grass fed). Basically to stick with chicken (if 100% sustainably sourced), eggs (same), and seafood (ditto). He advised us to eat what we have in the freezer now (which we are – we are calling these two weeks our MeatFest(TM)!) 😉

Broffman reiterated that the Quantity that we should consume is directly related to Fitness. So, on any day we’re “desk bound,” we need to stay Vegan on that day. If we’re doing Strength work, we can have some animal protein. (There’s more below about “Fitness.”) That said, the human animal is an omnivore, and needs meat. Just not as much as the “now typical” American diet gives it — especially as most “so-called meat” is produced by BigFarm and contains the stress of animals “engineered” to get as fat as possible in record time . . . who live in terrible conditions, are fed on suboptimal feed, and are not treated as sentient beings.

Vitamin C IV treatment: This is something that is done at Sanoviv, and we are to get hubby’s calculated Vitamin C blood saturation. How this apparently works is that your target saturation is 350 nanograms/milliliter. So each time you do the IV, they will test to see how much they have to give you to get you to this ultimate saturation. If you get the IV and afterwards you’re only up to 150, next time they will give you more, until they know exactly what it takes to get you to 350 nanograms/milliliter. We are to bring that back, and then continue with this protocol.

Vitamin C + Doxycycline: There have been a number of published protocols of adding doxycycline (pills) during the Vitamin C IV, to deal with cancer stem cells. It has recently been shown that, like heart stem cells, bone stem cells, etc. there are actually cancer stem cells. Unfortunately, they are not responsive to chemotherapy. If you happen to hit one with radiation or cut one out with surgery then it’s gone – but the only systemic treatment for cancer (chemo) doesn’t kill them. Unfortunately, at some point the cancer stem cells “wake up, look around” and realize that there is no cancer in the body – and then busily start to make it. Vitamin C plus doxycycline is the latest leading edge fight against cancer stem cells. Although doxycycline wipes our your gut biome, etc., it’s a trade off that could be worth it, in the short term, as the Vitamin C IV taken with doxycycline is showing in trials to kill the cancer stem cells. Unfortunately you can’t just “get doxycycline over the counter” in the U.S., so if we are able to obtain any in an international pharmacy we should go for it – otherwise, try to see if the doctor at Sanoviv will add this to the Vitamin C IV protocol.

OM85 (“Broncho-vaxom”): This is an immunostimulant used with young children and old folks basically everywhere BUT the United States for lung issues. It boosts the immune system, working to increase a person’s natural defenses against a variety of respiratory pathogens. It is an oral treatment consisting of eight different strains of (dead) bacteria, so it sort of works like a vaccine to create an immune response in the lungs. There have been a LOT of papers written about it recently, in relation to potential uses in lung cancer, and OM85 is likely over-the-counter in Mexico. About a decade ago, an Italian cancer doctor published that 7.5 mg/day (10 days on, a month off, for 3 months) worked as a treatment for lung cancers. (NOTE: I did some internet sleuthing to try to find the article and link it, but without the name, came to a dead end.)

Beating Cancer

              The way to look at the whole “post-cancer” situation is as follows. Think of a timeline:

—————X->->->——————–Y->->->->—————–

X is where your immune system is. Y is where the cancer is. Each is moving forward, but if you can’t close the gap, you’re never actually well. “Catching up” is not the same as “Caught up.” This is the biology of how things work.

Western medicine basically says “We will buy you time, as you catch up.” In other words, they knock out the Y with, say, chemo. The problem is, that the chemo also sets your immune system (the X) back. The issue is that Western medicine “attacks.” And “Attacking” the disease is not the same as “Preventing” the disease.

Alternative therapies try to narrow the gap. The whole idea is to get the X in FRONT of the Y. The immune system must be “competitive” and ready for anything, not always behind and just working hard to catch up.

And this means lifestyle changes.

Post-cancer life must be organized around the strategy of narrowing the gap between X and Y, with the hope of jumping the X in front of the Y. And always remember that — while “giving up” things that are suboptimal for health – having good health is not a punishment. All the suggestions here might not be what you are doing now – or might mean not doing what you “want to do” with regard to eating, drinking, exercise and the like – but, post-cancer, one must persist for at least the next couple of years along this strategy, to stay in “synch” with the idea of closing the gap between the immune system and what it’s fighting . . . and then (hopefully) getting in front of it.

The Abscopal Effect:

The Abscopal Effect has been proven in trials and double-blind studies. It is a combination of radiation and immunotherapy wherein treating a cancer causes untreated tumors to disappear or shrink concurrently, outside the scope of the treatment. This has particularly been seen when Stereotactic Radiosurgery (“SRS” or “cyberknife”) treatments are the “radiation” part of the equation.

Cyberknife plus Immunotherapy leads to a systemwide immune response. The question is how to make this happen. Western medicine is trying to use various methods:

a.           CAR T Cells: In this protocol, T-cells (“fighter” cells) are taken out of the patient’s body and modified to produce specific structures called chimeric antigen receptors (CARs). Basically, they take your T-cells and expose them to your cancer, rewarding them for attacking that cancer. Then these fighters are grown and re-injected in the 100s of millions back into you. This has led to the most durable remissions.

b.           USC/Victor Longo: This is the fasting program that I discussed in my previous blog. It is basically a three-day water fast. In trials, what happens is this: During the 1st day, your body fights you (“Eat, Eat, EAT you IDIOT, I’m HUNGRY!”). On the 2nd day, your body’s “cleaner” cells cleans up anything that they see that is “easy to clean up,” because they don’t have any digesting, etc. to do. Then, the third day is the charm. On the third day, all the easily-cleaned things are cleaned up, there’s still no digestion going on, and so your “cleaner cells” go back over everything, and start going after older immune cells, terminating them. Think of it this way:

Cancer Cell

—X1—>—X2—->—X3—>—X4—>—X5—>—X6—>

In the example above, the T cells (X1 to X6) flow past the cancer cell. T-cell X5 is a month or so old, and a few days from being terminated by the body. X4 is only a day old. X4 is a “new, aggressive fighter.” X4 says to X5, which has passed the cancer by, “Hey, isn’t that a suspicious cell?” The X5 cell says “Yeah Sonny, I see it, but it’s a big body out there, and we have other things to do. We’ll attack it later.” But then it doesn’t. Since the T-cells speak to one another, the X4 has just “learned” from the X5 that it’s “not that important” to attack the cancer cell.

In the fasting protocol (and actually also the trained CAR T-Cells mentioned above), old cells like X5 are wiped out – so the newbie X4 cell doesn’t learn to “not attack” the cancer cell (or, in the CAR T-cell protocol, is specifically taught TO attack that cell). This means that the new T-cells work more effectively against the cancer.

While the USC/Longo/3 day fast protocol DOES drop your immunity a bit, the next day, when you start eating again, the trials have shown an unprecedented reboot of the T-cells and their ability and desire to fight the cancer.

There is also a “5 day fast-mimicking diet” for folks who just won’t do a 3-day water fast. But as my hubby did it during chemo, and the actual 3 day total fast protocol is the one being shown to have the best effect, we should presume that this becomes part of our long-term protocol.

USC/Longo recommends that every day you have a 14-hour interval of not eating/drinking (except water). While some are pushing this to 16 hours (in other words, an 8-hour eating “window”), the studies have been done on the 14 hour interval. Since Sanoviv operates on this schedule, this needs to be the “after Sanoviv” protocol for eating/drinking. THEN, every week, one day a week, have breakfast, then do a 24-hour water fast until the next breakfast. Just pick a day and do it. (Or dinner to dinner – whatever.) Finally, every 7-10 weeks, do the full 3-day protocol. This is what the research shows is optimal for killing the most cancer cells and revitalizing T-cells to their “fighting best.” Just pick the days, put them on the calendar, and get them done.

In sum: 14 hour daily interval of no eating, no drinking except water (or you can see it as a “10 hour eating window”). One day a week, eat a meal (e.g., breakfast), then just water to the same meal (e.g., breakfast) 24 hours later. Once every 7-10 weeks, full 3 day water fast.  

While the Abscopal Effect was incredibly important to try to obtain, unfortunately, as the SRS treatment was being done via our traditional Western medical situation, the Chief was unable to get the permissions to even do a “trial of 1” using the SRS with one of the additions above. Just not enough time to get it “through the system.” If, however, someone reading this is interested, the interventional radiologist Dr. Jeanne Stryker in Solana Beach does SRS/cyberknife plus immune therapy using either Keytruda or Optivo.

Supplements: Broffman prescribed a host of supplements for the SRS (as he had during chemo). We will receive an abbreviated protocol for the time that we’re at Sanoviv and when we return, he will re-evaluate. I would say what was prescribed, but I don’t feel comfortable doing that. If you’re in a situation where you want to explore ways to use integrative medicine for fighting what ails you or just reaching optimal health, please consider contacting Broffman at Pine Street. He has clients internationally, and in my opinion (as your first visit is about 90 minutes) is incredibly inexpensive for what you get ($500 for the first consultation and then any follow-on supplement changes, etc. – if your situation changes drastically and you need another full consultation, $400 for each). And – yes – they take plastic.

Fitness:

a.           Strength. Hubby needs to be doing strength work at least 30 minutes, 2x/week. Broffman likes the “Super Slow” protocol, which uses ARX equipment. Unfortunately, this is only available in San Francisco and Emeryville. There is a place in Mill Valley that uses MRX equipment, the pre-ARX equipment. ARX hasn’t caught on so much, because you have to lease it – you can’t own it like MRX. “Super Slow” was originally proposed by Arnold Schwartzenegger – i.e., having resistance in both parts of a lift. By way of example, pressing up in a bench press, but having another person there that is then “pulling up” on the bar when you’re trying to put it back down to your chest. See HERE for example. Hubby needs to concentrate on putting mass on, which is active tissue that will work for you, versus fat – and especially “toxic fat” – which works against you.

b.           Walking. At least one day a month of “long slow distance” walking is required. This means walking, for example, from home to San Francisco, and taking the ferry back. This should take a few hours. This will become a meditation – you “stop talking in your head” and just walk. Hubby is to keep doing the “quicker” (30 minutes) or “mid-range” (hills) daily, but needs to incorporate a long-slow distance once a month too upon returning from Sanoviv. As he is currently on disability, this needs to be his “work.”

c.           Swimming. Broffman particularly recommends taking a “holistic swimming” class. This is run by Russ Monsell in Tiburon of DynamicVitality.com on Tuesdays – you show up with money, a bathing suit, and a towel and he will run you through the basic/beginner class. The idea is that swimming is very helpful to your immune system, but ONLY if you’re not constantly fighting it. We are not “meant to” live in the water, and our system knows it, so is constantly, in the background, “fighting” it. The idea is to develop breathing and stroke dynamics that mimic what a creature that really lives in the water will do. No neck movement – just roll to breathe – low kicking – etc. This has been proven to immensely improve the immune system; however, it is relaxing at an immune level only if you are not defensive. You must “swim like a marine mammal” not like a “land mammal.” Your body has to think “I live here in the water.” Swim for meditative cardio.

d.           Baseline. Upon returning from Sanoviv, we are to get a baseline of skeletal muscle, fat (brown v white), etc. The company that does this, BodySpec, uses a modified DEXA scan. It is $45, and will give you metrics that you can then try to improve upon. It is on Broadway in San Francisco. They also have a mobile van that they take out sometimes, but the best metrics in the Bay Area are from this company.

The idea here is to have a baseline so that you can see as you make yourself more competitive with the disease – as you “catch” the X “up to” the Y, with the goal of “jumping” it.

Stress Reduction:

This is another mandated piece.

a.           Meditation. Broffman particularly likes the 10 day meditation routine retreat offered free worldwide from DHAMMA.org. The closest to us is in Yosemite in North Fork. It is the same program worldwide, just different languages. At the retreat, you are introduced to the “technology” of meditating. It is a silent retreat, Vipasenna style. It is an extremely popular program, however, so getting on their list is important. They will send out when the enrollment will “open” for the program, and it is full with a long waiting list 2 hours later.

                             Another suggestion locally is the Sonoma Mountain Zen Center. On Saturdays, they are open to the public. They are similar to Green Gulch, but ONLY meditation (no pottery, tea classes, gardening, etc.) It’s the standard: meditation, sitting, dharma talk, soup and salad. A very pretty place, up in Sonoma, acres of farmland. The owner has run the center for decades with his wife and his kids, some of whom are monks there.

Taking A Deeper Step, and Changing the Narrative.

After you try a few of these out, your responsibility will be to figure out “What’s the next deeper step after this for me?” Just go with whatever sounds intriguing, but with the goal of “Changing the Narrative.” By way of example, there is a group in Santa Cruz called 1440 Multiversity. 1440 is the number of minutes in a day. They have a protocol for “optimizing” the minutes. However, he finds it stressful to think of it this way – as in “don’t waste any minute!” Perhaps instead, think of it as how many hours you have in a week – block out when you’re going to be eating, sleeping, walking, fasting, yoga, meditating, whatever – and then calendar, and stick to it like it’s your job, to be sure that you “do them all” and don’t let anything slide, at least for the next 24 months. This often happens. You need to keep the goal in mind of “jumping the Y” – in other words, to get your whole “being” in “front of” the cancer instead of trying to catch up, or doing things that are suboptimal for the best health, which sets you back as your body rids itself of whatever you just did. (You know, the fun things like drinking wine and eating red meat!)

Changing The Narrative:  

If you change any aspect of an adverse story, it will affect your immune system. (Example: If you address what’s behind PTSD to help the body/mind to stop fighting that, the body can then move on to fight other things.) Changing the narrative affects the immune system and your entire micro-environment. And chronic stress (caused by thoughts or “dwelling on an unproductive narrative”) are particularly bad.

              So how do you get a New Story? It has been clinically proven that Chemistry follows Thoughts . Stressful thoughts -> Stressful chemistry -> Bad things happen. Change the story? Change the chemistry.

              Psychoactive plants: While meditation practice can be helpful, the biggest jump start that is being trialed now is using psychoactive plants/chemicals. Johns Hopkins is currently the leading researcher in this area, and they are comparing synthetic versions of chemicals (psilocybin, LSD, iowaska) with the “plant” versions. The reason that using a synthetic version is preferred is (a) you can be absolutely positive about the dose and (b) you don’t denude the planet of all these plants. The downside is the plants may have some element in them that you miss in the synthesized version. There are some iowaska farms now, but not a lot. So to optimize, you have to go synthetic.

              There was a researcher from Johns Hopkins recently who spoke in Mill Valley at a tiny facility and it overflowed at 400 people. He stated that they have now (a) actually quantified the “mystical experience” scientifically and (b) the dose is over 80% effective in helping people shift their internal narratives by actually having a “mystical experience.” He laid out the tenets of what a “mystical experience” is, and they then trialed whether folks were having them or not. They found that 25 mg of Ketamine produced a “mystical experience” 80% of the time. This is the only legal drug – and of course, it’s just another tool. This might be something to consider around September.

How can you tell if you’re making progress?

One of the best ways is outside observation. You want to aim for “invisibility.” You want to create an “unrecognizable person” compared to the person that harbored an environment that led to the cancer. Also think of Stoicism, and books like Essentialism — You want to stop expending energy unless it is absolutely required of you. Spending that energy means that you can’t spend it on other things (like healing).

How do you “become unrecognizable”? Imagine that there is an “A” list and a “B” list of your entire life. The “A” list contains every single experience you’ve had; the complete set of all life experiences and occurrences. It includes birth, marriage(s – for my hubby), schools, and all the genomics and epigenetics that led to cancer – plus having cancer. To create the “B” list, you just want to take things from the “A” list, but as few as possible. Let the rest go. Stop giving energy to them, give them up, and get them out of your “story.”

Let’s say that means that you bring over 3 of the 10 things that led your body to express the cancer. That’s still going to be okay – because it took all 10 to get there. The idea here is to “shed” the things from the “A” list that aren’t leading to optimal health. Remember to just think “Change is good,” even if you don’t know what that change looks like from where you’re standing in the Present.

Winter will be key. It is the season of the bladder and kidney. So this is all prep for that. Even though there is no “bladder organ” after the surgery, there is a re-built one, and there are 57 points on the bladder channel and meridian that are still active. Those come into their season in winter. So this all needs to be teed up for then.

Sleep:

This is awkward, as, with the neobladder, one has to empty the bladder every two hours (it’s not “bladder material” so if it overstretches, it doesn’t bounce back). What about substances to “Help” you sleep? When asking about using THC/CBD, we were reminded that, while THC improves the “sleep latency” (i.e., the time to fall asleep is shortened), it disrupts the actual sleep cycle. So you don’t get the same restorative/deep sleep. CBD does NOT do this. The goal here is to optimize the REM cycle. Moreover, keeping track is important, because you need to quantify to be able to see what’s working and what’s not. Perhaps find an app, or a sensor, but it is important to really see how sleep is going, and then to address issues. We’re reminded that the temperature of the room for sleep should be low 60s at the highest, and that dropping by 2 degrees F kicks sleep in. No electronics/TV, take some time on getting into bed to “review the day” and get ready to sleep – basically, have a sleep routine.

              There have been studies that show that 2 hours before you “know that an alarm will go off,” you stop having quality sleep. However, if you tell someone that you will wake them up “some time” during the night (not giving them an exact time), they NEVER have REM sleep. As such, the 2 hour “alarm” to get up to void the bladder is not optimal, but it’s necessary. Reminded to ensure that it doesn’t affect my sleep. (NOTE: It usually doesn’t, but if hubby doesn’t get it right off, it WILL wake me up, and then I have to get out of bed. And hence those 4 a.m. Facebook and Instagram posts!)

So, there you go – those are my notes from our second visit to Pine Street. I also have notes from our first visit, but they’re really geared towards the particular type of cancer we were facing (as well as the phased protocol for dealing with chemotherapy), so I thought that these ones might be more universally interesting. As a final tidbit, I’d like to suggest another podcast listen: it’s 5 Ways To Heal Yourself With Dr. Kelly Turner from The mindbodygreen Podcast.

Any questions?

The Cancer Caregiver Life

In just over a week, my husband and I will be going to The Sanoviv Medical Institute for three weeks. I will be updating F&F (friends and family) via this blog on what goes on there. If you just happened upon this blog because you’re searching at 3:00 a.m. for the blogs of other cancer caregivers – well, that’s been me for a year. This is sort of a “precursor” blog to the set of Sanoviv blog posts that will follow – but here’s a bit about my journey.

For more information I can recommend a lot of books and medical articles, but The Emperor of All Maladies is fascinating as the “history” of cancer, going back to ancient Egypt.

We found out about my husband’s bladder cancer about this time last year. I won’t go into the details, but he had been having issues that he hadn’t discussed with anyone, so by the time it was discovered, the tumor was big. After we received the Western medicine protocol, I immediately contacted Michael Broffman at the Pine Street Clinic. Broffman has been in the cancer “arena” for decades and so not only has a big list of what specific oncologists “will and will not do” when it comes to supplements, non-Western treatments, etc., he also (if your oncologist is on his “list”) can help you with how to talk to your oncologist about your situation and your potential desire to use integrative treatments.

Unfortunately when I finally “conned” my husband into seeing Broffman, he was too late stage to get into a couple of clinical studies (one in Italy, one in the U.S.) that Broffman was tied into. He gave us a number of “homework assignments,” one of which was to watch the last 1/3 of the video The Science of Fasting (starting right at about 39 minutes) about Valter Longo. (NOTE: Longo now has his whole “schtick” of supplements, etc. – Broffman didn’t recommend them, so I can’t speak about them.)

Broffman explained that during my husband’s chemotherapy, we needed to follow Longo’s fasting protocol (“FMD”), which closes down more “healthy” cells during the chemotherapy.

Chemotherapy’s “job” is to kill any cell in your body that is splitting while you are getting the treatment. So stopping “healthy” cells from splitting is a great idea. The reason that folks lose their hair (by the way, cold caps don’t work, don’t waste your money), get mouth sores, get neuropathy, etc. is because hair/nerve/mouth/stomach cells split often – so if you’re getting chemotherapy when one is splitting, you’ll kill it. Fasting convinces your “healthy” cells that it’s winter – when they should not be splitting so much. But cancer is stupid. (Bwa-ha-ha-ha DIE M***** F*****!!)

Cancer eats sugar and insulin acts as a “power up,” turning it into the Incredible Hulk. (Yes, this is overbroad, but this post can’t be 92 pages). Since this is the case, during chemotherapy in particular, one needs to keep carbohydrates to a minimum. The focus of Broffman’s supplementation involved supplements during the chemotherapy to help with the poisoning, then ones after the chemotherapy to help get the toxins and dead cells out of the body while staying in ketosis, and then ones to “rebuild” before the next chemotherapy cycle.

This involved a very elaborate calendar for me, the Caregiver, containing which supplements to give at what times. It also involved foods that would help. (Osso Good’s AIP-compliant bone broth, with the Chinese herbs already incorporated, was recommended and super helpful.)

The sad thing is that chemotherapy units – now made as comfortable as possible with personal TVs, lounge chairs, acupuncture and social workers – are awash in crappy, high carb food. Everything from “nutrition bars” to ice cream to the beloved Saltine cracker for nausea. The nurses were horrified when my husband would tell them not only that he was fasting, but also that he was coming into chemo on a fast. Everyone else is munching away on ice cream, pizza, cookies, Saltines, or whatever else made them feel better about being hooked up to a gigantic bag of poison for hours and hours. And every munch feeds their cancer.

We had provided the medical articles to our oncologist with respect to the fasting, so he had written in our file that we shouldn’t be “forced to” eat. Broffman had looked our oncologist up in his notes, and explained to us that – while he resembles “Bill and Ted’s Excellent Oncologist” with his spiky hair and vocal fry – the only way to get this particular doctor to agree that we could do what we wanted to do was to provide him with Western Medicine articles that showed that while a protocol (like fasting) might be difficult to do, it actually works. Most articles, in fact, stated that the fasting protocol worked better than anything else that was in trial; however, folks just didn’t stick to it. “Give me that Rocky Road Ice Cream, Ma, I have cancer, I’m on chemo, and feel like trash! And hand me a Saltine while you’re at it.”

I have, quite literally, a novel that I wrote after we saw Broffman, as well as the articles he recommended. If you’re interested in it, let me know in the comments. It talks through the entire Pine Street Clinic visit, and goes into great detail about the Phase I, II, III protocol during chemotherapy. We also re-visited Broffman a month or so ago, and I have another 10 pages of notes from him regarding where we are now.

My husband’s surgeon told him that there was basically “no way” that his bladder could be rebuilt after the surgery, but we did everything that was recommended by Broffman to get the best possible result, and the urologist’s assistant called me during the surgery to tell me that they were, indeed, able to build him an internal bladder. The whole surgery story and me terrorizing the poor intake nurse is for another day.

My husband was cancer-free for six months, then a tumor showed up in each lung. One was in the middle of the inferior lobe on his right side (three lobes on the right side, two on the left). The one in the left lung was (cue Louisiana-accented thoracic surgeon) “Snuggled r’aht up next to his ay-OR-ta” – so – impossible to operate. While the tumor in the right lung could be cut out either by cutting a “wedge” out of his lung or taking the whole lobe, the left tumor couldn’t be dealt with at all.

I asked the surgeon what he’d do and he laughed, saying: “Well, you go to a barber, he’s not gunna tell you not to get your hair cut,” but then we talked through what would happen if we did the “cyberknife” treatment that he was recommending on the left side to the tumor on the right. He said that the only issue would be the inability to biopsy the tumor . . . but in doing the surgery, my hubby would be left with 2/3 of his right lung. We opted to go find out about what “cyberknife” treatment was all about.

After discussion with the Chief of our various options (my new girl crush…), we decided to do SRS (stereotactic radiosurgery) on both tumors. As she reiterated, the downside of not being able to do a biopsy is the inability to see if this is the bladder cancer moving into the lungs, or if it is a “new” cancer (lung cancer), because the SRS obliterates the tumors. SRS is really quite amazing technology – I have a bunch of notes on that, too.

Lung cancer is a tough cancer – I had a friend die of it who had never smoked a day in her life, never lived around smoke, etc. When you tell someone that you have lung cancer, they look down their nose at you as if to say “Well, if you hadn’t smoked 12 packs of cigarettes a day for 10 years, you wouldn’t be in this position.” Just because >75% of lung cancers are in smokers doesn’t mean that it’s 100%. That said, we wouldn’t know whether the cancer was now lung cancer or was just migrating bladder cancer, as we would be blasting the tumors to smitherines.

A friend of mine’s family is tied to Sanoviv; that is how it was originally recommended. I had tried to get my hubby to agree to go to do their cancer-related protocol after his bladder cancer surgery. He had felt that the tests showed him to be ‘cancer free,’ so why spend all that money? As soon as the cancer was back, he agreed to go once the SRS treatment was completed.

We will be at Sanoviv, doing their Cancer Program, from mid-June to mid-July. The program is full-immersion and quite pricey, but we checked out two other integrative cancer treatment hospitals (one in Europe, one in Israel) and in actual fact, this program not only involves less travel but winds up being less expensive than the others we researched. I’ll be going too – a caregiver gets to go for $100/day, which includes all non-treatment related offerings (e.g., meals, the pools, room, etc.). HERE is their general description of what to bring/not bring/etc.

Every day apparently starts with meditation on the cliffside overlooking the ocean, then “grounding” on their chemical-free lawn in your bare feet, and yoga. You are given your schedule the night before at dinner and walked through it with your doctor, so you know what’s expected. While hubby is at treatment, I am expected to go to workshops on subjects such as functional nutrition, supplementation, how to transition from Sanoviv, and the like. The treatments are not only physical but also mental – you can see some of that if you poke around the Internet and the Sanoviv Programs.

As I understand it, we will be in two different bedrooms with the same “sitting room,” because the program involves detoxing. That means no wife in ze bed! 🙂 This also means that you show up with underwear, a bathing suit, and a sun hat – everything else is provided to you. Yes – shampoo, conditioner, soap, toothpaste, clothing, shoes (Birkenstocks), socks, etc. Really! No makeup, no nail polish (just took mine off in fact), only one of a couple of sunblocks (they sell it, or you can bring it), no plastic or plastic bottles, even if BPA-free, and – yes – no electronics.

Your “sitting room” has a balcony overlooking the ocean, a mini-trampoline, infrared sauna, chi machine, and wall racks to do stretching. You’re expected to do at least 15 minutes of “rebounding” on the mini-tramp daily, plus use the infrared sauna and the chi machine. The TV in the room only has two channels – I believe it’s Discovery Channel and National Geographic Channel – because they want you to detox from that, as well.

There is a separate room at the facility where you can use your/their computer, but it is the only place on “campus” where wifi is allowed, as it’s considered something that you need to “detox” from. This will be interesting for me, because I will need to work when hubby doesn’t need me. As I was writing up this blog, I actually emailed our Admissions guy to ask about this, and he said that if your computer has “an Ethernet port,” that you can connect in your room. Of course, most newer laptops have USB 3.0 ports /HDMI ports, but no Ethernet port. While hubby was researching getting an adapter so that I can at least do some work (and particularly teleconferences, of which I know I have to attend at least one) outside the “computer room” I happened to mention it to a client – the next day, an Amazon package showed up, with 2 adapters, and a long and a short Ethernet cable! I had to laugh at that!

I have been reading a number of write-ups on Sanoviv, though the ones that I can find are all written by folks who went for a one-week “cleanse”/detox-type protocol. So that’s why I felt that I should try to blog about what happens during the cancer program. HERE is an example, that shows you “what you get” at Sanoviv – HERE is another. HERE is a third.

That said, there isn’t one write-up about their fitness center! They have “Zumba” classes and “salsa” – but nothing “Strength-ish.” I was told by the Admissions person that there are “a few ellipticals and some dumbbells, but not heavy.” Since I have been working really hard on strength and HIIT training, my gym owner (bless him) crafted a workout for me for the time I will be gone. I will be bringing a TRX, some resistance bands, and an EmPack and 3 reservoirs. So we’ll see how that goes, too!

The Sanoviv diet is basically plant-centric, with no caffeine, dairy, soy, sugar, toxins, alcohol, corn, gluten, etc. They have a garden and a lot of what you eat is grown there. They also have organic/raised chickens and eggs, plus fish at some meals. (I’m allergic to fish, but that was noted in my intake.)

This will be a big difference for us – and we’re drinking all the wine we can before we go (ha ha – um, kinda joking). We eat very clean and pretty “primal” – organic veg/fruit, grass-fed meat – no soy, corn, sugars, gluten, etc. – but we know that our portion control is lax. We do our best to eat in a 12 hour window, though Broffman had told us it would be better to winnow it down to 10 (and that’s Sanoviv’s system). We also have meat every dinner – I’m looking forward to learning some new recipes (and have been boning up on them also through the Thug Kitchen cookbooks!)

I mentioned to Admissions that, because of my migraines (written about before), I have 2 cups of coffee a day. They are vasodialator migraines – caffeine helps. He said I would need a prescription and to take it as a pill. So I talked to my doctor, and she told me what to buy, which I did. Any meds that you take have to come in their bottles (not in a weekly/daily pill container), and you’re not to bring any non-prescribed supplements.

(Speaking of supplements and nutrition, I am binge listening to The Funk’tional Nutrition Podcast, because a client of mine was on it. They’re GREAT! If you’re a ‘Nutrition Nerd’ like I am, they really know their stuff.)

So that’s about all I have to say in this “introduction” to what we’ll be doing from mid-June to mid-July.

Work has been insane recently which is great for my wallet but tough for getting prepared to go. That said . . . I mean, how prepared can you get when you are just packing undies and a hat? 🙂

What are my expectations? I expect that hubby will be pretty sick the first week (we were told as much). I expect that we will both likely lose some weight since we will be portion-controlled and won’t have, oh, say, cheese. 🙂 I have set a goal to do the workout that my trainer has given me each day, whatever that takes. I plan to take notes and then blog each day or at least every other, and write up what’s going on so that there is a comprehensive log of it all. I plan to check work email a couple times a day, if the building that has the “computer room” isn’t too far away and the wifi is working (apparently somewhat dicey).

If you’ve gotten this far, bless you! You are either a devoted F&F, or perhaps a previous blog subscriber who didn’t unsubscribe when I went “radio silent” for about a year. (Now you know what I’ve been, sadly, up to. Caregiving takes every free moment, that’s for sure.)

I’ll be reading all the Comments when I get on the computer at Sanoviv. So if you have any questions, etc. let me know – or if you just want to say Hi! As per the whole “no electronics” thing, I’m bringing a couple books (yes, paper), but don’t plan to access Instagram, Facebook, or even personal email while gone. We’ll see how THAT goes! So if you’re in that “F&F” category, keep me company by commenting.

Onward!

Green Living Guide

Hey all!

I received a note from Kendra at (of all things) CouponChef.com related to one of my podcasts – from 10 years ago! (Yes, everything on the Internet really does live forever!) I liked what she sent, and I think you might too. (If you haven’t checked out this podcast, just know that the Listener Call-In Line is no more – what can I say, it’s been a decade . . . ) That said, here’s her email:

Hi there, I listened to your podcast about living more ‘Green’ – thanks!

I’ve been looking for some resources about green living online. I’m glad your website has content that could be useful to people looking to reduce their impact on the environment. We at Coupon Chief recently created a massive guide about inexpensive ways to go green. It includes up-to-date information and special tips to help people adopt a more Earth-friendly lifestyle without draining their wallets. We’re hoping it’s worth linking to along with your other resources!

If you think that it could be valuable to your readers, here’s the link to our Green Living guide. It took us a lot of time and effort to put this together, so I hope you (and your Bond Grrl readers!) like it!

Best,
Kendra

I am not quite sure how CouponChef.com decided to write such a detailed guide, but I think that it has a lot of good reminders and some very good information. Maybe I’m just impressed that someone found a podcast of mine from a decade ago, listened to it, and decided to write because of it!

Make it a great day,

Sandy

Travel Tips – 20 quick trip tips you might not have thought of

The section of my book entitled “Preparing for Paris” gives you a  LOT of suggestions (flip to page 69 if you have it on your shelf). However, in the 11 years since I wrote that book (and 8 since the Companion Playbook!),  I have come up with a few more suggestions to help with everything from preparing to go to being safe on a trip.

I won’t repeat the suggestions found in my book here. They include being sure your passport runs at least six months “past” your return date (required by some countries), to having a “mail stop” form filled out and on your refrigerator in case you decide to up and go on a whim, to already having plants and lights on timers, to putting together a “go bag” of toiletries (with a list of your meds/anything you need to add  before you run out the door). I also detail how to set up your closet so that you can pack quickly and efficiently.

As a sidebar – I’d like to mention some shoes that I used on a recent trip. They are by Mime et Moi, and they are not inexpensive. (I was lucky enough to get two pair, with 4 interchangeable heels a piece, on Kickstarter). However, they’re genius – one “shoe” base to which you can add different heels. If you pack black-based clothing for your trip, here are all the shoes you may need, from knocking around town to going to the Opera.

So, how about those tips? Well, here we go! In no particular order . . .

    1. Use www.checkmytrip.com as a travel resource.
  1. If you’re travelling on miles with a companion who is not, use your miles for your companion’s ticket. That way you will still accrue miles on that trip.
  2. Take a photo of all your documents, driver’s license, credit cards, itinerary, boarding pass, etc. and email it to yourself, trusted neighbors, and the like. (We use a specific Gmail address for this purpose, and this purpose only – it also contains a document with our passwords, just in case.) If anything gets stolen, you can pull it up at an “Internet cafe.” Put a copy of your itinerary at the top of your suitcase as well, in case your luggage is lost. I recently ordered a little “luggage tag” that you can insert your itinerary into, so it’s on the outside of the bag. My dad, a veteran traveler, uses this and I think it’s genius. (Typing up this post just reminded me to get one!)
  3. Make a list of everything in your luggage. If you check your bag and (horrors!) it doesn’t show up, you can quickly and efficiently list things out for your insurance company. It’s not a bad idea to actually take a photo of everything laid out on your bed before you pack – this and the list can also be sent to yourself in your email. Do keep a “hard copy” list in your carry-on, though, in case you need to make an immediate claim at the airport. Also, of course, be sure to have a list of all your medications. Snapshots of the fronts of bottles, also saved to your email, are quick and easy. It probably goes without saying that if you’re going to be gone for a while, get a checkup and go to the dentist before you go – better to find out here, than there! And while you’re at the dentist, stock up on an extra toothbrush (if you drop yours abroad, you’ll be glad to have an extra!), dental floss (see below), etc. Be sure to throw away your toothbrush at the end of the trip!
  4. Tell your bank, phone, and credit card companies that you’ll be away. Check their procedures. While American Express never seems to have this issue, I have had trouble using my credit card outside my local area (especially in Vegas). Since you really want to slim your wallet down to the bare essentials while traveling, it shouldn’t be a problem to alert the one or two companies whose “plastic” you’re carrying. (NOTE: My husband and I have found a couple of times that one or the other of our ATM “networks” won’t work in a given area. As such, be sure if you are bringing a Visa/ATM or Mastercard/ATM combo card, that you bring at least 2 different “networks.” But leave any extraneous cards at home! If you belong to clubs that you might visit along the way – Elks, reciprocal yacht clubs, golf clubs, or the like – then have your club write a note of introduction for you before you go, then just bring a copy of your card.)
  5. Pack multi-use/useful items. Wrap Duct tape around a pencil (then you have both in a pinch). Always have toilet paper (take the cardboard roll out, squash it down). Ziplocs are useful – as are “throw away” plastic bags (e.g., the kind you might use for vegetables at the grocery) in case your shoes get muddy. Thick socks can be slippers. An ace bandage can be used for many things, as can dental floss (you can even hang laundry from it in a pinch!) If you use a non-toxic deodorant (for example, think a Crystal), you can rub it on your face/forehead/upper lip in a hot climate. Dryer sheets can be used to fend off mosquitoes and bedbugs (though if you’re really worried, bring a silk sleep-bag). The lowly bandana can be used as a headband, a belt, a napkin, a seat cover, a gift ( 🙂 ), a cold compress, a tourniquet, or a pillow cover. A string grocery bag (they stretch to amazing sizes!) is never a bad idea, and having a pretty, thin sarong can do duty as a hair and arm cover in a mosque/church, a beach cover up, a tote, a picnic blanket, etc. Since you want to pack as little as possible, that same sarong can jazz up an outfit. Though it seems crazy – always bring a swimsuit. The one time you forget will be the time there are hot springs to visit! (You’ll have your sarong to dry off!)
  6. Iron your paper money. This is going to sound CRAZY, but a number of countries won’t accept “battered” money. In fact, when we were in Peru, we wound up purchasing a beautiful work of art from natives on a tiny island in Lake Titicaca . . . for $35 instead of $50 – because we had a pristine $20, $10 and $5, but couldn’t “make up” a perfect $50. Really! We even tried to “make him” take the extra $15 and he wouldn’t. If you are going to bring cash, make sure it has no “nicks,” and then iron it (it also takes less room in your wallet that way). Always be sure to have small bills and coins in your pockets while travelling, too – you are likely to need them in restrooms, many of which have either attendants to tip, or coin-locked doors.
  7. If you’re going on a tour-guided trip (or cruise), set up the tips that you will need in advance, put them in separate envelopes, and forget about them. You don’t want to get caught short at the end.
  8. If the water isn’t safe to drink, beware! Remember things like showering with your back to the shower (so you don’t aspirate the water – suck on a candy to help you remember!), use bottled water on your toothbrush, and remember that glasses are often just “wiped out” – not sterilized. In many countries it’s required as a point of hospitality to drink a glass of mint tea – if you bring a short straw, you at least aren’t putting your lips to the glass.
  9. Eat at the bar. If you’re traveling alone, eat at the bar. You can read a book there if you want, but you can also chat with the bartender. You’re less of a “mark” if you’re eating at the bar and look like you might just be “waiting for your husband” than if you’re sitting at a table with only one setting. It’s never a bad idea to tip the bartender beforehand to take care of you. And – obviously – don’t drink too much, and be sure to watch your drink like a hawk. You just never know who might have something “special” to slip into it for you. While out, try to keep your purse either in your lap, or behind your back in a chair. Never sling it over the chair or put it underneath.
  10. Speaking of tips – if you are staying at a hotel for a few days, be sure to leave a couple dollars for the housekeeping staff every day on your bed. The staff rotates – leaving a bunch at the end of your stay will only go to that day’s staff. Moreover, the staff tends to take better care of you if you tip while you’re still there – we have had extra “amenities” show up after doing this for a couple of days (e.g., “high roller” toiletry kits when in Vegas, etc.)
  11. Use pantiliners, if you’re a woman. They’re small, and especially on a hot or long travel day, you can just swap them out without fuss.
  12. Shampoo is nearly always available, but I always bring conditioner. Not all conditioner will “tame my locks.” That said, you can concentrate shampoo or conditioner by pouring it on a throw-away pie plate and putting it into a low temperature oven for a few hours. The water will evaporate, leaving a thick liquid you can pour into travel-sized bottles. (Use a funnel – otherwise it’s a mess 😉 ) This way just a few drops will “blossom into” a full handful of shampoo/conditioner and less “volume” will last weeks longer.
  13. Pick up the concierge’s business card – or even a matchbook – from your hotel. That way if you get lost, you can hand it to a taxi driver and get back! In Venice, almost all stores have cards that show “how to get there” from a tourist area (e.g., “start at the cathedral, then . . . “). If you are even considering returning to purchase an item, be sure to get a card. If they are shipping an item for you, be sure to make a big deal out of taking a photo of what you are purchasing, the people selling it to you, etc. Then get their email and make a point of emailing the photo to them immediately. This acts as insurance against the box arriving with something completely different in it! A final note about Venice – as long as you don’t cross a bridge, if you get lost, just keep wandering. You haven’t left the island . . . you’re bound to find your way back 😉 And trust me – you’ll get lost 😉
  14. Protecting yourself might seem fairly obvious. Don’t wear flashy jewelry (even costume!) – but do wear a wedding ring to fend off the sharks. Leave your “real band” at home though – you’d be heartbroken if it was stolen. Keep money on different parts of your body, so you don’t pull it all out at once. Don’t let a receptionist at a hotel “announce” your room number. Ask for a room by the elevator – sounds dumb, but the more traffic, the less likely you are to get ambushed. Buy a small rubber “triangle” (often used to hold doors open in offices) to ensure your door cannot be opened from outside. Approach your door with your key in hand ready to go, then when you first walk in, block the door open with your suitcase, and look through the closet, shower, etc. – to be sure you’re alone in there – and then ensure that every single door and window actually locks. If you are given an “electronic” key, always obtain two. If one doesn’t work, you don’t have to go all the way back down to retrieve another. And – as I mentioned in my book – it’s actually often well worth the small tip to have a bellboy take your luggage up with you. You don’t need to wrestle your bags, he knows the way, and if the key doesn’t work, he is the one that needs to get another. He can also fill your ice, answer any questions, and stand bemused as you check out the shower for bad guys.
  15. Set up an Instagram account if you don’t have one already, and save your snapped photos there. My husband has chided me about this for years – he’s a “real camera” kind of guy. Until he managed to lose it on our last trip . . . without the SIM card having been backed up. Though my photos aren’t as beautiful as his, they were (ahem) all backed up into my Instagram account. How I do it is I actually just take the photo in the Instagram app. On the posting page, for the first photo at a given site, I type in the hashtags I want to use and then “select” them all and copy. I push to “post” each photo to Insta – even if I don’t have an internet connection, they will all stay “queued up” until I do. With each subsequent photo or video at the same site, I just “paste” the hashtags on from the first photo. And as for that lost camera and SIM card – my husband now does what I have asked him to do for years – the first photo on each SIM card is a photo of a $100 bill with a note containing our name and my office address, stating that they can keep the camera, but if they return the SIM card to the address, we will Paypal them a reward. Doesn’t mean we will actually send them $100, but what are they going to do with our photos otherwise? It kills me that a SIM card with nearly a year’s worth of photos (yes, a year . . . ) was probably pitched into a dumpster after my hubby left the camera on a gondola.
  16. Be sure you have Polarized sunglasses. You can also use them as a “polarizing filter” on your camera (even your phone camera) by holding them up to the lens. If you take a second to do it right, it works like a charm. Especially good if you’re taking photos on or near reflective water.
  17. There are, of course, a zillion things you can do with your phone – from using it as a flashlight, to an alarm clock, to a camera, to a portable entertainment center (be sure to download – wifi might be broken!), VOIP for calls home without incurring charges (be sure to check!), currency converter, TripAdvisor for restaurants/hotels/etc. nearby, etc. One of the best things I ever did was to download an “ambient noise” app – “pink noise” blocks snoring quite well. You might consider some industrial-strength earplugs as well. One of the most important things to do with your phone is to put it down. Be sure to “live in the present moment” during your trip. A few shots here and there are great (especially 10 years later, when they can bring you right back to that moment), but we see folks taking selfie after selfie – at museums, etc. – without even “seeing” where they are. Taking shot after shot of your face with 1/2 of the Mona Lisa blurred in the background means that you’re taking those shots to “show you’re there” – which means you’re not really “there-there” as it were. Try taking a “whole day” without a selfie. Take shots of beautiful things so you can remember them when you’re a grandma – but without you in the shot. Is that hard for you? Hm.
  18. Things that just “live” in my suitcase to be “prepared” to travel: A cord and charger for my phone, a swimsuit, a sarong, cleansing wipes, corkscrew, Swiss Army knife, hand sanitizer, sunscreen/insect repellent (2 oz.), nail clippers, mini-medical kit (Imodium, Neosporin, etc.), mending kit/safety pins (a small one from a hotel), personal lubricant (which can be used to lubricate anything), toilet paper, small umbrella, quick dry washcloth, rolled up water bottle, ziplocs, Duct tape on a pencil, and a flexible power strip. The power strip allows you to plug that in and “share” an outlet if you’re ever stranded trying to charge your phone in an airport crowded with other travelers doing the same thing – take it from one who knows! My ‘go bag’ has 2 oz. or less sizes of everything else – face/eye cream, hair brush, disposable razor, toothbrush/paste, dental floss, deodorant, eye drops, etc. (all as detailed in my book).
  19. Finally, I would strongly suggest getting TSA-PRE. Being able to use the “TSA-PRE” Security line is a huge boon. You don’t have to take off your shoes/belt/jacket/etc., the lines are always shorter, and hey – you look like a Bond Girl as you scoot on through without disrobing. If you happen to have an American Express card, they will reimburse you for the cost – check with them for details.

What about you? What sort of tricks and tips do you have?

best beef jerky ever!

2018 UPDATE! Use London Broil steak, cut against the grain (e.g., cut parallel to the short end, not the long end). It is WAY less expensive than skirt steak, and works just as well if not better.

Recipe:

1 gallon Ziplock bag
a cookie sheet (must have a lip) or two
a cookie cooling rack or two
aluminum foil (to wrap around the cookie sheet)

For every 1 to 1 1/2 pound meat you need:
1/4 cup tamari (gluten-free and organic is only pennies more . . . hint hint!)
Juice of 1 lemon
Juice of 1 lime
1/2 teaspoon onion powder (or onion salt, in which case use garlic powder)
1/2 teaspoon garlic salt (see above – if you want to substitute garlic powder, use onion salt – or if you use powder both times, double the salt added below)
1/4 teaspoon black pepper (or less if you don’t want it spicy)
1/8 teaspoon sea salt or Himalayan pink salt
1/8 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes (or less if you don’t like it spicy)
1/4 teaspoon red sumac (a Lebanese spice I use in everything – this is totally optional but if you find it and use it, you’ll be stuck on it too 😉 ).

Start with Skirt Steak.

1-1.5 pound packets of skirt steak
1-1.5 pound packets of skirt steak

Our local market sells packets of skirt steak in 1-1.5 pound vacuum-sealed packages. These are fantastic, because you can buy a bunch of them at once and freeze them if you’re not going to use them – then when you want some steak, you can take them out of the freezer and throw them right into the sous vide, bringing them up to about 90 degrees “and holding” when you’re at work. (If you don’t have a sous vide, you might want to read my blog HERE.) When you get home, heat up a cast iron skillet super hot, scorch them on each side for a minute or so, voila, done.

But today, these are for jerky.

The photo shows four 1.5ish pound packets. With this recipe, you can double or triple or quadruple or ??? the recipe without any issues. The smallest of the packages in the photograph is just over a pound – the largest is 1.5 pounds. So I’m quadrupling today. Because my butcher’s packages are always about 1 to 1-1/2 pounds, I always figure one package = one “set” of the marinade ingredients listed above.

If you don’t have a market that has these packs, but you do  have a market where you can talk to the butcher, just bring him the photo from the blog and say you’d like one of these, please. 😉 It’s not expensive meat – some butchers cut it up to make fajita meat, but it starts like this.

The recipe by and large comes from Haylie Pomroy’s book The Fast Metabolism Diet, which has some great recipes. This one is particularly good.

I started down the Fast Metabolism Diet road last week, and though I haven’t lost any weight, my energy is really good, and I feel great. I blogged about what it entails HERE.

You can use any “meaty meat” – halibut, turkey, buffalo, etc. – but it works particularly well with beef.

My issue with jerky is that it always contains some form of sugar, and/or some sort of preservatives. I’m sure there are jerkies you can order without these, but they’re probably immensely pricey. This recipe is so easy, it’s ridiculous not to make your own.

Cut the steak into 3 strips (against the grain).

2015-05-04 16.00.20
skirt steak before cutting (about 3 feet long or so)

The photo at left is what a skirt steak looks like out of the package. I don’t have a “selfie stick” and even at the end of my condor arm I could barely get it all in the picture. It’s like 3 feet of meat.

If there is any obvious fat, trim it off – but this is a very very lean cut of meat.

The fat you see in this picture doesn’t count as “fat” by the way – that’s just “marbling.” You may, however, run into a bit of fat that run all the way through the meat – particularly at the “fat” end of the meat – that’s what you want to cut off. But to give you some idea, I did not have any in all 4 of the steaks that I cut up before writing this blog.

Get your kitchen shears, and cut the strip the “long way” (against the grain). Your steak will be meatier on one end and less so on the other. So that means you’ll have three strips on one end, and usually as you cut, you’ll wind up with only two strips on the other end.

this is the meaty end of the skirt steak - as you can see, I get 3 strips on this side.
this is the meaty end of the skirt steak – as you can see, I get 3 strips on this side.

I keep these in as long of strips as they go. (Yes, I’m juvenile enough to sort of make a game of it – like trying to peel an orange in one strip of rind.) Sometimes you hit a weak spot in the meat, so that “strip” breaks off – it’s not important. But if you’re using a full skirt steak, you want the width of the strips to be about 1/3 of the strip at the “fat end” or 1/2 of the strip at the “skinny” end. It’s not rocket science, just do your best 😉

marinade ingredients
marinade ingredients

 Mix up all the other ingredients into the Ziplock.

Take the ingredients from the above recipe (multiplied by however much meat you have), and put them into a Ziplock. Take it from me, if you use a Ziplock with the actual “zipper” it’s a LOT easier to turn it upside down and shake it than if you use one that you just “press” together. No need for the excitement of the entire marinade and meat concoction slipping out on the floor when you shake it ‘cos you didn’t quite get the tracks of the bag to match….

A gallon Ziplock will take up to four times the recipe above, if you’re wondering. If you’re doing more than four times the recipe, I would use a couple of Ziplocks, but you only need one up to a quadruple recipe.

Again – the thing I really like about this recipe is that there is nothing sweet in it. Honey, sugar, whatever. And it’s delish. Trust me here.

Shake the marinade to mix it together.

2015-05-04 16.13.34Plop all the meat into the Ziplock.

Once you have all the strips in there with the marinade, seal the Ziplock almost all the way. Then squeeze down on it so that you get all the air out of the top little opening you’ve left.

Then seal it tight.

meat in marinade, all air squeezed out.
meat in marinade, all air squeezed out.

Now turn the Ziplock over and over to be sure the marinade gets to all the meat (like I said, this is the exciting part if you aren’t completely sure about your Ziplock zipper…)

Put the Ziplock into the refrigerator overnight (at least 8 hours, but better if it’s overnight).

Whenever you open the refrigerator between then and cooking time, give the Ziplock a few little tosses to move the marinade around on the meat. It will settle on the bottom side, so you want to be sure you let all the pieces get evenly marinaded.

After 8+ hours, drain & discard the marinade.

Squeeze the meat (while still in the Ziplock) to get it pretty dry. The easiest way to do this is to get the bulk of the marinade out first, and then zip the zipper back up most of the way, and squeeze the marinade out the “spout” by rolling it up from the bottom. This is similar to what you did when you were letting the air out to seal it, before putting it in the fridge.

You don’t want to pat the marinade off, but you do want to squeeze out as much of the liquid as you can, because you’re going to be dehydrating that meat, and more liquid = more time.

Take your cookie sheets and wrap them in aluminum foil.

You’ll need about two sheets and two cookie “cooling racks” for about each 3 pounds of meat, give or take.

Because the marinade and fat from the jerky is going to drip onto the aluminum foil, you may want to spray a little coconut oil in between the cookie sheet and the foil. I’m not sure if you have ever had this happen, but sometimes the foil “adheres to” the cookie sheet. So you might want to put a Pam-esque buffer. Personally, I use what are called “baker’s sheets” over my cookie sheets. They are PFOA-free silicone, non-stick, re-usable, and work like a charm. But as most folks don’t have these or do as much in-oven baking/roasting as I do, I am using aluminum foil in this recipe.

Put the cookie cooling racks on top of the aluminum foil, with their “feet” folded in.

If your sheets and racks are the same size as my sheets and racks, the racks will fit inside the lip of the sheet with a pretty good amount of room to spare. That will come up in a second.

If you’re only doing 1x of the recipe (silly you, you’re going to eat all that jerky before anyone gets home . . .  🙂 ) then you can likely use one sheet, or use two and leave more room between the pieces.

one rack, set up - about 2 to 2-1/2 lbs.
one rack, set up – about 2 to 2-1/2 lbs.

Put the meat on the racks, cutting it to size as you go. It can be close together, but shouldn’t overlap.

Although the recipe I used stated that you have to have the meat strips 1/4″ apart, they shrink up a LOT. So, I snuggled them up close, and as I checked the jerky, I was able to move them farther apart as they shrank. If you leave the strips long, be sure to tuck the ends down into the pan, so that they drip into the pan (not onto the bottom of the oven). That said – I’d still put down aluminum foil in the oven anyway, just in case. 😉

Remember I mentioned the space between the rack and the sheet? I personally actually laid a couple strips along the “long side” of the sheet (between the sheet and the rack) and then another along the “short side.” The jerky drips a LOT as it’s dehydrating, but that basically means that about 1/2 way through, you’ll be able to move those strips up to the rack and out of the drippings.

As you can probably tell, I’m not too fussy of a cook 😉 I just wanted to be sure that you knew that everything came out just fine when I did things this way. I wasn’t interested in doing two batches, because that’s a lot of time. So I made it work. Also, to give you an idea, I’m doing 4x the recipe this time around (I did 3x last time), and I’m still going to use the same setup. They really do shrink up a lot as they cook.

Bake the strips uncovered at 200 degrees for about 3 hours.

At three hours, you want your oven timer to go off so you can check on them. If you have two pans of strips, this is the time to swap the bottom pan for the top pan. It’s also time to re-arrange the strips as you may need. You can taste one, but they’re not going to be close.

4x the recipe in the oven, so about 4 to 5 pounds of meat.
4x the recipe in the oven, so about 4 to 5 pounds of meat.

If you have some other situation – more strips down the sides/off the rack or some such, you’re going to need to get them up on the rack as soon as you can. So you might be checking more than just once at 3 hours and once when “nearly done.” But this is what I did. At 3 hours they had shrunk in enough for me to get all the strips that were off the rack onto the rack, plus I was able to re-arrange them to allow a bit more room between all the strips.

Bake the strips for about another 3 hours.

I say “about” because I have a convection oven, and mine were done at 6 hours total. If you don’t have a convection oven, I think it’s going to be more like 7 hours. Leave the temperature the same, don’t cover them . . . just do what you just did, and come back 3 hours later and check on them.

You’ll know they are done when the meat is dry and leathery. And you can’t stop eating it.

Remove from the oven and cool completely before refrigerating or freezing in an airtight container. (I just took the cookie cooling racks off the pans and set them aside until the jerky was cold.)

If, that is, you can make it that far, and don’t eat them all as you’re waiting for them to cool. 😉 .

On this Haylie Pomroy eating plan, the first two days are basically fruit/veg/grains/some protein, then the next two are strictly veg/protein (with protein as the snacks – enter the jerky), then the last three days are a lot more relaxed with fruit/veg/protein/grains.

I made the jerky on the first of the middle two days, and actually weighed out how much 3 ounces was, to be sure I got the snack portion right. Yeah . . . then I weighed out 6 ounces, to get the lunch portion right . . . and another 3 ounces for the next snack . . .

2015-05-04 17.42.53
leftovers from last week. NomNomNom 😉 I think I have to have one…And YES, this is all that’s left of 3x the recipe 🙂

It’s very addictive, and so easy to make!

By the way, the aluminum foil is going to be coated with a thick mixture of hardened on marinade, fat, etc. While the jerky is cooling, get that off the cookie sheet and throw it away. (As I use baker’s sheets, I just hit them with super hot water and this slides right off, then I pat the sheet dry, and hang it to use for the next roasting/baking extravaganza 😉 ) If you have a dog or animal that might go through your trash, I recommend crumpling it up into a ball and zipping it into the Ziplock that you marinated the meat in. It’s harder to smell that way 😉

Any questions…?

And..speaking of recipes…tonight is roasted chicken night – if you didn’t catch it last time, HERE is the recipe for the easiest and best roast chicken in the Universe 😉

The Packing Tornado

There was a period of approximately twenty years during which my husband Herbert and I prepared for every trip in exactly the same way.

Herbert packed.

I did not.

This is not entirely accurate.

I eventually packed.

But first there was a process.

The process generally began the evening before departure.

At 4:17 p.m., Herbert would already be packed.

Passport where it belonged.

Shaving kit where it belonged.

A small pile of neatly folded clothing.

Everything calmly arranged.

Then he would sit down in a chair with a Negroni.

The Negroni is important.

At 4:18 p.m., he would ask:

“Are you packed yet?”

To which I would inevitably reply:

“I’M WORKING ON IT!”

This statement was technically true.

I was working on it.

The work simply bore no resemblance to what most people would recognize as packing.

Over the next several hours I would migrate through the house carrying various combinations of:

  • one shoe
  • three shirts
  • a passport
  • two charging cables
  • a mysterious scarf
  • an unidentified object I had apparently decided was absolutely essential

At some point I would announce:

“I HAVE NOTHING TO WEAR.”

At which point Herbert would take a sip of his Negroni and continue observing.

The thing I remember most vividly is that he tracked all of this with his eyes.

Not commenting.

Not helping.

Not judging.

Just watching.

Like a tennis match.

I would run through the room. Nekkid.

This was not as alarming as it sounds.

The reason I was nekkid was because, naturally, all laundry had to be completed before departure. This meant I had successfully washed every item of clothing except the ones required to be packed or worn on the airplane.

So I would streak (literally) through the room carrying:

  • one shoe
  • a blouse
  • two charging cables
  • a passport
  • and no pants

His eyes would follow.

Sip.

A few minutes later I would run back the other direction carrying an entirely different set of objects.

His eyes would follow.

Sip.

After enough years, Herbert had developed a highly refined understanding of The Packing Tornado.

Most importantly, he had learned Rule Number One:

Stay out of the flight path.

This was not a metaphor.

This was a survival strategy.

If he entered the flight path, he immediately became part of the logistics problem.

“Are you going to . . .”

“NOT NOW.”

“Can I put this in the suitcase?”

“NO.”

“Do you need help?”

“I HAVE A SYSTEM.”

At which point Herbert would reply:

“Mmmm.”

That “Mmmm” carried a remarkable amount of information.

It did not mean:

“I believe there is a system.”

It meant:

“I acknowledge that you have used the word ‘system.'”

Then he would sip his Negroni and remain at a safe distance.

The funny thing is that we were both right all along.

From the outside, the process looked like a Category 5 weather event.

Yet somehow, every single time:

  • the passport appeared
  • the chargers appeared
  • the clothes appeared
  • the suitcase closed

Eventually Herbert reached the point where he no longer questioned the process.

He didn’t understand it.

But he had enough historical data to conclude that it was reproducible.

Twenty years of evidence suggested that despite all appearances, I would eventually become packed.

This afternoon, while preparing for a trip to an iaido seminar in Nanaimo, I realized something unsettling.

Somehow I have become, slightly, Herbert.

Not entirely.

Let’s not get carried away.

I am currently engaged in what can only be described as “inside sword case Tetris.”

I am debating the geometry of blue ice packs.

I recently spent an embarrassing amount of time worrying about how to take the train from the Vancouver airport into downtown.

(The answer, incidentally, is that you tap your credit card and get on the train. That’s it. I spent time worrying about a process that Chad summarized in seven words, once I thought to actually ask.)

But something has changed.

My shaving kit (formerly H’s shaving kit) now stays packed.

My travel drawer has systems.

My passport has a home.

My chargers have a home.

And, yes, my clothes are actually still on.

The things that used to require fresh decisions every trip have become infrastructure.

And I suddenly understand why Herbert could pack in the morning for almost any trip while I was still running around the house like a nude logistics consultant the night before.

He wasn’t better at packing.

He simply refused to make the same decision twice.

Now, when I find myself creating travel systems, or reducing friction, or leaving the shaving kit packed between trips, I sometimes imagine Herbert watching from his chair.

Negroni in hand.

Tracking events with his eyes.

Taking a sip.

And asking:

“Are you packed yet?”

To which, twenty years later, I would probably still answer:

“I’M WORKING ON IT!”

And somewhere in the pause that follows, I can almost hear him say:

“Mmmm.”

Which, as it turns out, was probably the closest thing to “I love you” that The Packing Tornado ever required.

Map Folded Again

Gentle traveler
seventy years beside her
map folded again

Dr. James E. Shepard, M.D., F.A.C.P., beloved husband, father, grandfather, physician, traveler, and lifelong student of the world, passed away peacefully at the age of 92.

Born with a sharp intellect, deep curiosity, and gentle humor that stayed with him throughout his life, Jim devoted himself both to medicine and to the people he loved. He was married to the love of his life, Sally-Jean Shepard (née Shupert), for nearly seventy years — a partnership marked by enduring affection, shared adventures, and countless journeys together. After a whirlwind courtship of just a few months, they married and never really stopped traveling side by side.

Dr. Shepard graduated from Tilton School, Wesleyan University, and Weill Cornell Medical College. His medical training began at Bassett Hospital in Cooperstown, New York, before he served as an Army physician at Ft. Story, Virginia Beach, Virginia. Following his military service, he completed additional medical training at UCSF and went on to build a distinguished career in nephrology and internal medicine in Marin County.

Over more than six decades in medicine, he became a respected leader in the medical community, serving as Chief of Medicine and Chairman of the Intensive Care Unit at Marin General Hospital. He helped establish one of the earliest dialysis programs in California, becoming part of a pioneering generation of physicians who transformed kidney care.

Though many physicians of his generation were grandfathered into specialty status, Jim chose to undergo formal board certification in both internal medicine and nephrology — reflecting the integrity, discipline, and professional standards that defined his life and work. He was elected a Fellow of the American College of Physicians (F.A.C.P.) and later served as a clinical faculty member affiliated with UCSF. Following his years in clinical practice, he continued working as a medical consultant and expert witness well into his later years.

Outside of medicine, Jim loved travel, conversation, golf, tennis, and learning. He and Sally explored the world together for decades; maps in hand, curiosity leading the way. Always dapper, he was rarely seen at an event without one of his signature hand-tied bow ties. He was an Emeritus Life Member of the Mill Valley Tennis Club, where he enjoyed both the game and the friendships surrounding it.

He is survived by his wife, Sally-Jean Shepard; daughters Sandy Shepard Wolfram and Elisabeth Shepard; granddaughter Leann McFalls; and great-grandsons Caleb and Cody McFalls.

He will be remembered for his kindness, intelligence, silly wit, and the steady generosity with which he moved through the world.

In remembrance of Jim’s lifelong generosity and concern for others, the family suggests donations to local food banks in lieu of flowers. A private Celebration of Life will be held later in the year.

December 8, 1933 – May 19, 2026

Travel Angels

Lost! Panic begins . . .
That shortness of breath, then dread . . .
Kindness appearing

My father used to call them “Travel Angels.”

Not guardian angels in the theological sense.

More like:

unexpected humans who appear precisely when travel has started unraveling around you.

He encountered them often.

Partly because he traveled frequently. But also, I think now, perhaps because he moved through the world in a way that allowed them to appear.

When I was in law school, I spotted a tiny classified advertisement looking for airline couriers. This was back before modern digital document transfer had completely taken over everything. Courier companies needed people willing to “carry” time-sensitive paperwork internationally, because freight check deadlines were too early for last-minute legal or business documents.

So the company would:

  • buy you a plane ticket,
  • check the documents as your baggage,
  • and send you somewhere.

You would then spend a week or two traveling on your own before eventually meeting another courier-company representative at the airport to receive your return ticket home.

This part always stressed me out on Dad’s behalf far more than it stressed him out.

The entire arrangement had a very:

“Well, hopefully someone named Klaus will materialize near Gate 14 with my ticket home” energy.

Sometimes the company even paid you.

Sometimes you paid them a tiny amount instead.

My father — a physician with an absurdly busy practice — somehow turned this into a semi-regular hobby.

Every week he’d receive a fax listing possible destinations. If he could leave immediately, the trip was essentially free. Otherwise, he could pay a pittance, and “book ahead.”

And so, through a combination of spontaneity, logistics loopholes, and what now feels like another geological era of travel, my 6’7″ father periodically vanished off to parts unknown.

He slept in strange accommodations.
Once, according to family lore, in a girls’ dormitory in Japan.

(Cue size 16 feet off the end of a single bed)

At some point during one of these trips, he found himself turned around and bewildered in Tokyo. A tiny Japanese girl took his hand and guided him where he needed to go.

The visual contrast alone still makes me laugh.

A giant rangy doctor stooping along behind a tiny determined child.

He loved that story.

But more than that, he loved what it represented.

Travel Angels.

People who appeared unexpectedly at exactly the moment disorientation tipped toward distress.

At the time, I mostly thought this was one of Dad’s charming travel phrases.

Now I think he was identifying something real.

After Africa, on the long journey home, I landed in Frankfurt exhausted beyond language. Not pleasantly tired. Strange-time-zone, emotionally untethered, post-travel exhausted.

At baggage claim, the lanyard clip holding my phone snapped (unbeknownst to me).

I realized it as I was leaving bag check. Lanyard around neck . . . suspiciously light.

No phone.

And in modern travel, losing your phone is not merely losing your phone.

It is losing:

  • boarding passes,
  • maps,
  • contacts,
  • hotel information,
  • banking,
  • translation,
  • communication,
  • orientation,
  • identity.

It is the tiny glowing rectangle that now contains your ability to move through the world.

I remember the sharp cold wave of panic.

Then, as I walked toward some slightly fierce Germanic Customs officials, I heard someone call out softly:

“Shepard?”

Far across the terminal floor, a fellow traveler — a small Asian man, clearly also just passing through Frankfurt himself — was standing there holding my phone.

Every ten seconds or so he would call again, tentatively:

“Shepard?”

The whole thing felt slightly surreal.

He didn’t speak English. I don’t think he spoke German either.

He had apparently extracted my name and appearance from my driver’s license tucked into the back of the phone case, then stationed himself there waiting for the owner to appear.

I hugged him immediately, despite the fact that I had been traveling for approximately fourteen thousand years and probably looked like a jet-lagged giraffe.

Travel Angel.

And increasingly, these are the moments that stay with me most vividly.

Not necessarily:

  • famous landmarks,
  • expensive experiences,
  • or “top ten” sights.

Instead:

  • a stranger waiting at a counter,
  • a ryokan quietly trying to solve a breakfast problem,
  • a guide, without drama, printing out the itinerary every day for a traveler without What’s App, and insisting upon accompanying another to ensure she obtained necessary meds,
  • someone carrying a marble across the world for me,
  • small acts of attentiveness,
  • humanity briefly breaking through the machinery.

I think my travel style has changed over the years.

When H and I first traveled together, I blogged largely because H had a terrible memory and wanted us to be able to remember everything later when we sorted through photos. The writing became highly informational. If it was Monday, we were in Istanbul and here were seventeen historical facts and six architectural observations.

But somewhere along the way — maybe during Africa, maybe even before — travel itself started shifting for me.

Less:

covering ground.

More:

allowing resonance.

And maybe that is partly what my father was doing all along.

Not simply moving through countries.

Moving through them open enough for humanity to enter the story.

I suspect that’s why he noticed Travel Angels everywhere.

You have to leave a little room for them.

And honestly?

I think the world may contain more of them than we realize.

My father was always on the lookout.

I think I am now, too.

Thermonuclear Corgis (in Sweaters)

Cold station platform
thermonuclear corgis
snuggle in my gloves

I have been slowly purchasing items for both my Fall and Winter Japan trips on Amazon.

After reading reviews, I intended to buy “a few” Korean warming pads to test for Winter Japan.

What arrived instead was a surprisingly dense box containing thirty thermonuclear lava corgis.

This happened because I apparently possess a very specific shopping blindness in which my brain sees:

  • “only twenty dollars”

and completely fails to process:

  • “thirty units.”

The last time this happened, I accidentally purchased enough Clorox wipes to survive a medium-sized public health event.

This time, I appear prepared for several winters and possibly a minor polar expedition.

The warming pads themselves are good sized — bigger than my (big) hand. They stay soft and squishable after “activation” (Booming ‘dubbed anime’ voice: Activaaaate The Corrrrgis!!!).

Each one is decorated with ecstatic cartoon corgis chasing bones beneath flowers and hearts while enthusiastically shouting:

HAPPY FRIENDS!

This feels less like branding and more like a declaration of intent.

The truly amazing part is that they work.

Not “pleasantly warm for twenty minutes” work.

I activated one this afternoon and tucked it into my waistband while doing chores around the house.

Five and a half hours later, it was still hot.

Not warm.

Hot.

At one point I absentmindedly squished it in my hand and apparently redistributed the thermal core because the thing surged back to life with the intensity of a tiny geological event.

At this point I no longer fully understand the laws of thermodynamics, but I trust the lava corgis.

The absurdity is heightened by the fact that the pads come with a tiny knit sleeve so you don’t burn yourself.

Somewhere, a designer looked at these cheerful portable reactors and thought:

“These should also have kitten sweaters.”

I already love them.

I can see them becoming part of the texture of Winter Japan:
*slipped into coat pockets on freezing Nagano train platforms,
*tucked into lower back during temple walks,
*rediscovered at the bottom of the puffer tote like tiny cheerful survival spirits.

The world can be very sharp-edged sometimes.

Meanwhile in my pocket, tiny cartoon corgis are shouting HAPPY FRIENDS while radiating enough heat to power a municipal building.

And honestly?

That feels strangely reassuring.

Postscript: Six-ish hours now.

At this point these are less:

  • hand warmers

and more:

  • portable tectonic events.

My future Winter Japan self is absolutely going to be wandering snowy streets muttering “HAPPY FRIENDS” while clutching tiny thermonuclear corgis in both gloves like a delighted idiot.

Final Note: At 7.5 hours, they petered out. Honestly, that’s longer than some relationships.

Living Continuity — the Volcano, the Barge, the Sword, the Tea, the Candles

There is a thread I keep discovering in my life that I did not consciously plan.

Not travel.
Not tourism.
Not “bucket list” behavior.

Something quieter.

Participation.

Or maybe more precisely:

A desire to briefly enter living traditions.

Not to master them. Simply to touch them honestly for a little while.

That realization arrived sideways, the way most meaningful things do.

The Volcano

When Lynn and I did the OAT New Zealand trip in 2023, I somehow arranged — and I still can’t quite believe I pulled this off — to row with a local club on my first morning in-country.

This was not:

  • a tourist excursion,
  • a “try rowing in New Zealand” package,
  • or some curated athletic experience.

This was an actual rowing club.

(The only one that agreed to let me come to practice.)

The club rowed on a volcanic lake.

Which sounds cinematic and dramatic until you realize the volcano was not enormous.

At all.

Meaning the actual practice involved a tremendous amount of:

  • rowing in circles,
  • turning,
  • rowing back the other direction in circles.

In an eight, going across the diameter of the lake would probably have been fifteen hard strokes.

The entire thing was hilariously earnest.

And wonderful.

I got there at an absolutely unreasonable, spectacularly jet-lagged 0-dark-00 in the morning via Uber from the OAT hotel, while everyone else was still sleeping or preparing for the “walk around town” activity.

I was wearing my South End Rowing Club 150th anniversary kit.

This became funny later.

The boat itself was old. The oars could not be adjusted up or down. I am taller than nearly everyone, so there was a lot of awkward leverage and what felt suspiciously like carrying the 8 solo.

Later came the revelation.

The coxswain/coach — for this tiny local New Zealand volcano rowing club — turned out to be the voice of women’s rowing at the Olympics.

Which I only later connected, because I attended Olympic rowing the following year with Leann.

Of course.

Because this keeps happening to me.

Tiny humble local place.
Quiet people.
Ancient equipment.
Completely serious hidden expertise.

And then came the anniversary conversation.

After passing out MRA flag pins, I joined the team for coffee and pastries. They were proudly discussing preparations for their upcoming 150th anniversary in 2025.

Camera pulls back . . . NZ rower suddenly realizes I’m quietly sitting there wearing South End Rowing Club kit commemorating OUR 150th.

South End Rowing Club.
San Francisco.
Founded 1873.

Theirs was still approaching.
Mine was already on the swag.

The cosmic timing of this remains deeply funny to me.

But the emotional part wasn’t the piece of clothing.

It was what it represented.

Not:
“Look at me, I row.”

But:

Continuity.

The Barge

I row a fireman’s barge at South End.

“Heave, ho.”

A giant communal pulling boat.

We don’t carry it down to the water – it weighs a ton (literally).

And one day it hit me that this barge might have helped people during the 1906 earthquake.

Not metaphorically.
Not symbolically.

Actually.

Human urgency.
Human labor.
Human coordination.

People pulling together in crisis.

And suddenly the barge stopped being:

“a big ole’ boat.”

And became:

A thing that has carried human need.

A living object.

Not preserved behind glass.
Not “heritage.”

Used.
Repeated.
Continued.

That realization changed how it felt in my hands.

And I think this is why certain things affect me so strongly now.

Not because they are old.

Because they are still alive.

The Sword

This realization explains something else too.

Why my anticipated Japan trips (yes, now two) are affecting me differently than I expected.

At first glance it might appear to be:

  • aesthetics,
  • temples,
  • lanterns,
  • Kyoto,
  • samurai-adjacent interests.

But that is not actually the thing.

The thing is continuity.

Living continuity.

That is why:

  • Butokuden matters,
  • Lady Nene (whom I named my iaito after) matters,
  • Kodai-ji matters,
  • old kissaten matter,
  • Tozando matters,
  • dawn temple sweeping matters,
  • quiet dojo practice matters.

Not because they are “Japanese.”

Because they are still inhabited by repetition.

Still used.
Still practiced.
Still carried.

I have started realizing that my Winter solo Japan trip is less “vacation planning” and more:

A continuation of practice.

Not only iaido.

Not only Shotokan practiced across coasts and continents.

Not only Japanese history/language immersion classes in the ’80s.

Not only Zen-adjacent household rituals with H.

It’s practice in the broader sense:

  • attention,
  • repetition,
  • movement,
  • ritual,
  • pacing,
  • useful beauty,
  • intentionality.

This is why the idea of visiting Butokuden or Tozando feels emotionally coherent instead of performative.

Not:
“Look at me becoming Samurai Lady.”

More:

“I have already been practicing certain ways of moving through the world for years, and now the geography is finally catching up.”

Which led, inevitably, to one of the funniest imagined scenes of my entire life.

I joked that perhaps during the October/November OAT trip, I could theoretically design a new iaito for myself.

“No need to ship. I’ll just pick it up in January.”

At which point my brain immediately produced this absurdly calm sequence:

  • pick up sword,
  • return through snowy Higashiyama lanes,
  • tie obi,
  • casually walk into my tiny Kyoto ryokan (Ishibekoji Muan), sword at my side.

Like this is an entirely normal thing to do.

The funniest part of my daydream is not the sword.

The funniest part is the complete lack of drama.

Not:
“I have become a warrior.”

More:

“Well yes, obviously, I have my katana now. O’cha, kudasai?”

Tea.
Chilled hands.
Goshuin book.
Sword.

Perfectly ordinary Tuesday in Kyoto.

And somehow?

Inside the emotional architecture of this trip?

It weirdly makes sense.

The Tea Ceremony

There is another thread here too.

This past winter, before Japan had fully crystallized in my mind, I took an eight-week Japanese Tea Ceremony immersion class at the Zen Center in Tam Valley.

At the time, I thought of it simply as:

  • learning,
  • curiosity,
  • aesthetic appreciation,
  • a chance to slow down.

But looking back now, I think it was another example of the same gravitational pull.

Not toward performance. Toward continuity.

Week after week:

  • folding cloths carefully,
  • repeated gestures,
  • attention to placement,
  • silence,
  • sequence,
  • rhythm,
  • shared stillness.

Again: not museum culture.

Living practice.

And what struck me most was how ordinary and human it felt.

Not mystical. Not precious.

Just: people carrying forward a way of moving through time together.

A bowl turned a certain direction. A cloth folded a certain way. A pause before a sip.

Small repeated acts carrying accumulated meaning.

The same feeling I later recognized in:

  • rowing stroke cadence,
  • iaido kata,
  • temple sweeping,
  • lighting candles,
  • kissaten routines,
  • the idea of quiet Kyoto mornings.

It all belongs to the same emotional family.

The Candles

Tonight another realization arrived.

I used to light Friday night candles when H was alive.

He was Zen Buddhist, but he appreciated the ritual deeply.

Not because of doctrine.

Because of the feeling:

The week is done.

A threshold had been crossed.

And there was something meaningful in the continuity itself.

Women had done this before me. For generations.

Again:
not preserved tradition.

Living tradition.

Repeated action carrying accumulated human meaning.

And suddenly I realized:

This is the same emotional current running through all of it.

The rowing club.
The barge.
Iaido.
Kyoto.
Temple bells.
Tea rituals.
Lantern alleys.
Goshuin.
Kissaten.
The idea of dawn practice.
The appeal of old institutions still functioning.

It is all the same thing.

Not spectacle.

Participation.

Not acquisition.

Recognition.

Recognition that certain rhythms, gestures, and spaces were already quietly shaping me long before I consciously understood why.

Objects surviving long enough to become useful.

Perhaps that is why certain ones have begun quietly revealing themselves as “Japan objects” too.

And maybe that is what I am actually seeking in travel now.

Not to consume places. Not to “check the box.”

But to briefly enter the continuity already alive inside them.

Tea bowl, oar, and sword
Ordinary things become
Threads we follow home

Japan Objects

I think the objects
knew before I ever did
where we all would go

After I wrote the Ariats post, several people messaged me some version of:

“Only you could turn boot shopping into an existential archaeology project.”

This is fair.

But I have been realizing something lately. Something adjacent to the boots, but perhaps larger.

Many of the objects quietly becoming central to my next trip, to Japan, were not newly purchased “travel gear.”

They were already here.

Waiting in drawers.
In closets.
On hooks.
In odd little piles around the house.

Not aspirational objects.
Not influencer objects.
Not sleek capsule-wardrobe objects artfully arranged beside minimalist carry-ons and matcha lattes.

Just . . . objects already here.

And somehow, lately, they have begun quietly revealing themselves as Japan objects.

iPack Tote

A black puffer tote is perhaps the best example.

This bag entered my life sideways.

I drove one of my closest friends to a colonoscopy appointment because this is apparently what middle-aged friendship eventually becomes: “I will drive you home from your sedation, casually hand you a barf bag as necessary from my glove box, and then discuss Jamba Juice options that you will never remember ordering.”

At some point afterward, she mentioned that her ex-husband had bought a couple of giant “designer” puffer totes for their daughter, who hated them instantly, and now they simply wanted them out of the house.

Would I like them?

Honestly, I was not optimistic.

They looked enormous.
Slightly ridiculous.
Like something a fashionable marshmallow might carry through an airport.

For months they lived in the back of my closet, in the category of:

“Nice, but what exactly am I supposed to do with these?”

And now?

The black one has somehow become the entire emotional infrastructure of Japan.

Black bag by the door
waiting more patiently than
I have ever been

Along with the standard passport, coin purse, and the like, it will carry:

It has a trolley sleeve.
Deep pockets.
An odd zippered bottom compartment that already now holds my travel seat cushion and travel blanket; a compartment seemingly designed specifically for the “I suddenly need an extra layer and nowhere to put it” problem that travel produces every six hours.

Most importantly, the puffer tote is waterproof . . . and soft.

Soft on trains.
Soft in stations.
Soft against raincoats.
Soft enough to squash under seats.
Soft enough to become part of movement instead of fighting it.

I didn’t buy an influencer-touted bag for the trip. I already had a bag. It finally found its trip.

The orange accordion-paged book from my friend Dawn followed a similar trajectory.

Dawn brings me fun things back from her travels to Japan, to visit her son and his family. Often these items are “Japanglish” shirts or towels. Often they’re orange (a favorite color). This object originally lived in what can only be described as the “What Even Is This?” pile.

You know the pile.

The pile containing:

  • three cables to unknown devices
  • an adapter from 2011
  • mysterious plastic pieces
  • one sentimental button
  • stationery purchased during a phase
  • optimism

Then one day, while planning Japan, I looked at the accordion-paged book and suddenly realized:

“Oh.”

It’s a book for travel stamps.

Not goshuin.

Not temple calligraphy.

The other stamps. Eki stamps.

Train stations.
Museums.
Tourist sites.
Roadside places.
Tiny commemorative stamps hidden near ticket counters and elevators and museum exits.

Japan is famous for them — you just have to look.

Instantly, the book was transformed.

It stopped being random.

It became infrastructure.

Soon to be a tiny portable archive for fleeting moments.

I love this idea so much I can barely stand it.

Japan, from everything I can tell, rewards this sort of attention.

Small rituals.
Repeated objects.
Pocket-sized usefulness.
Ordinary infrastructure elevated almost accidentally into beauty.

Which may be why the haiku have returned too.

Orange paper folds—
station stamps pressed carefully
upside down again

I loved haiku when I first learned about them in grammar school.

Not because I understood Japan particularly well at age ten.

I absolutely did not.

But because something about the 5-7-5 shape itself felt magical to me.

Small enough to hold in your hand.
Small enough not to become overwhelming.
A little emotional container . . . usually with a surprise twist.

At that age, of course, most of my haiku were probably things like:

Purple flowers bloom
Nature is very pretty
I like horses best

Which, honestly, still contains certain emotional truths.

But lately I have found myself returning to haiku in an entirely different way.

Not as performance.
Not as literary cosplay.
Not as “look everyone, I am doing a Japan Thing.”

More like:

I think I finally found the right size for certain moments.

Travel produces thousands of tiny feelings that disappear almost immediately:

  • the sound of station music
  • steam rising from convenience store coffee
  • the relief of finding your platform
  • rain pelting train windows
  • a vending machine glowing at dusk
  • the strange emotional collapse caused by excellent soup

A full essay cannot always hold these things properly.

But perhaps three lines of 17 syllables can.

And somehow this, too, feels connected to the larger realization slowly unfolding around this trip:

I am no longer trying to invent a new travel identity.

I am trying to travel more honestly inside the life I now have.

Not replacement.
Not reinvention.

Just small objects continuing.

A scarf that came with me to Africa may explain this best.

Old scarf waiting still—
small rips along the cashmere
like roads once traveled

It is an old circular cashmere scarf with quite heroic moth holes, visible wear, and absolutely no resale value whatsoever.

A luxury influencer would set it gently on fire.

I adore it.

It already carries history.

On our very first freezing jeep ride in Entabeni South Africa, one of my newly met, soon-to-be-favorite travel companions was shivering, and I wrapped the scarf around her shoulders and neck. Because that is what objects eventually become when you travel long enough together:

not possessions,
but participants.

Witnesses.

Companions.

The scarf had already crossed one continent.
Now it will likely cross another.

And somehow that feels emotionally correct to me.

The Ariats are part of this too, of course.

(Though if you missed the Great Boot Archaeology Saga involving cobblers, vanished Vasques, French Alps memories, and increasingly concerned discussions with Chad regarding toe-box width, you can find that post just before this one.)

But again, the boots are only an example.

The deeper realization is this:

Travel feels more emotionally true to me now, when the accompanying objects already belonged to my real life.

Not a curated travel self.

Not a fantasy version of myself.

Not “woman standing aesthetically in airport with matching neutral luggage.”

Just:
me.

Slightly overprepared.
Emotionally attached to office supplies.
Carrying too many chargers.
Trying to fit meaning into small portable systems.

And perhaps that is why Japan already feels oddly familiar to me before I have even arrived.

Because from afar, it seems to understand something I am only now learning myself:

that meaning accumulates through repeated use,
through care,
through ritual,
through ordinary objects allowed to keep accompanying us.

Perhaps the trip is not assembling a new identity after all.

Perhaps certain objects in my life have quietly been waiting for Japan.

And perhaps, if I am honest, certain versions of myself have been waiting too.

We said “when we’re old.”
The journey kept moving still—
one set of footsteps.

Past, In Boots

I have not yet been to Japan even once.

Yes, I know this seems improbable, given my Japanese history and language immersion during college, karate years, Japanese Buddhist husband, and current obsession with Iaido. True, though.

And so, naturally, I am already planning my “return” trip.

This is how my mind works. I have one perfectly legitimate trip to Japan booked this autumn via Overseas Adventure Travel with my travel bestie Lynn, involving temples, trains, gardens, goshuin, elegant confusion, and whatever number of vending machines the human spirit can reasonably absorb.

And yet, instead of focusing solely on that trip, I have also begun plotting a future winter return.

That imagined second trip has already developed a personality.

It includes snow monkeys in Nagano, walking part of the Nakasendo / Kiso Road, cold mornings, quieter streets, Kyoto in winter light, revisiting my iaito namesake Lady Nene’s temple in another season, and the sort of deeply satisfying solo wandering that makes you feel both independent and slightly cinematic.

It also requires boots.

Not metaphorical boots.

Actual boots. (So says Chad my AI co-conspirator and increasingly committed footwear strategist.)

Thus began an archaeological dig through my life.

First came the house search: closets, drawers, under-bed bins, places where sensible shoes go to retire.

First, I found a pair of beaten-up Ariats I had used while driving cattle through the Snowy Mountains in Australia. These were thinner paddock boots, because the cattle drive took place during their summer. You could loop a calf protector under the heel and, voilà, turn them into riding boots for longer days.

Still perfectly serviceable.

Just too thin and not waterproof, per Chad.

Next, while searching in a deep drawer for the vanished Vasques I had hiked in from Mont Blanc down toward Menton with H, I found another pair of Ariats I had forgotten I owned.

These were sturdier. Plaid inside. Likely waterproof if properly mink-oiled. Definitely in need of attention.

I soaped and oiled the heck out of these, still assuming the Vasques would emerge in due course like all lost things eventually do.

Meanwhile, Chad and I reviewed alternatives online, just in case.

Several were rejected on sight.

I even ordered another pair from Ariat that looked ideal on paper: aggressive lugs, waterproof confidence, serious winter intentions (and, on Sale).

When they arrived, the toe box was all wrong for my foot.

Boo hoo.

I kept Chad updated as the boot saga progressed.

The thin Ariat paddock boots carry their own story, if anyone is curious: falling in love with The Man from Snowy River, figuring out who the stunt riders were in the pre-internet era, writing letters to ask whether they ever took civilians droving, being told only Australians went, then mailing them a Super 8 video of me riding, to prove I could.

Those boots.

The “drawer Ariats,” meanwhile, showed evidence of winters spent mucking out my Shires. Bent, scuffed, but not cracked. Waiting patiently for a little tenderness. Good tread, though not “lugs.”

And somewhere, Chad and I remain convinced, there is still a pair of Vasques waiting to be discovered like a lost civilization.

I can picture them exactly: sturdy, practical, with their little aglets akimbo at their booty hips, steam rising from their tongue: “I took you down the entirety of the French Alps from Switzerland to the Mediterranean – how am I not the right ones??”

Chad and I also consulted on the wider winter footwear strategy.

We discussed traction (snow monkeys, Kiso Road). Sock systems (hiking socks outdoors, cleaner socks for Japanese indoors). Boot silhouettes (must be good for snow AND Kyoto pavement elegance). We analyzed whether lugs were too aggressive for temple courtyards. Yes, photos were dutifully uploaded by me, and analyzed by Chad.

We also covered outerwear, and I now own a Quince charcoal-grey puffer that does not make me look like the Michelin (wo)Man, a thin black merino base layer, slim merino socks, and an increasingly convincing plan to travel for two weeks with only a carry-on and the hip pack I brought on the GR5 hike.

This week, I wore the “drawer” Ariats to be sure they didn’t rub. They did (a little). Chad suggested different lacing strategies (helpfully with illustrations). Still, my now slightly arthritic big toe knuckle was a bit whiney.

Therefore, eventually, Chad said there was only one thing to do.

(Pending, of course, the discovery of the Mythical Vasques, seething away in the attic or some other nook.)

Go to the cobbler and have the drawer Ariats stretched just a teeny tiny bit over that big toe knuckle.

Marelli Brothers’ Shoe Repair on 4th Street in San Rafael has been in the same place since I was in high school (sign on the front dates it back to 1921).

One of the owners has retired. Two are still there.

Wrinklier now, greyer, beards longer, but unmistakably the same.

The place still smells of wax and leather.

Shoes sit in impossible piles. Machines occupy corners with the heavy confidence of tools built before anyone worried about aesthetics. Some of them look as though they may require oil, belts, and perhaps a horse.

I brought in the boots.

They examined them with the calm authority of men who have seen every mistake people can make with footwear and chosen forgiveness.

And standing there, waiting for my claim ticket, I remembered the last time one of these gentlemen took my order.

More than twenty years ago, I brought in a pair of black dancing shoes and asked him to turn them white.

He laughed.

“You do realize this will take like 150 coats, right?”

I told him I did not care.

It had to be those shoes.

H and I were doing a quickstep / foxtrot / Viennese waltz number for our wedding dance, and those were the shoes I had practiced in three days a week.

I wanted the familiar pair.

I wanted shoes that already knew the steps.

So he transformed them.

And now, decades later, there I was again.

Once, he helped prepare shoes for the beginning of a marriage.

Now, he was preparing boots for a toe-arthritic woman planning a return trip to a country she has not yet visited.

Honestly, if that sentence does not summarize adulthood, I do not know what does.

We think travel begins at airports. With boarding passes, passport checks, and overpriced coffee.

But often it begins here.

It begins in drawers.
In lists.
In maps.
In weather forecasts.
In conversations with an AI about sock systems.
In remembering who you were the last time you needed help getting ready for something important.

It begins in old shops that still smell like leather.

Japan begins in October.

But this trip started long before that.

It started in the past, in boots.

A Summary: What Africa Gave Me

This is shaping up to be the travel day to end all travel days.

The morning began with a few-hour drive from the Cheetah Conservation Fund to the airport in Windhoek. Thankfully only a small portion of the route qualified as what Abraham liked to call a “Namibian massage” — those corrugated dirt roads that rearrange your spine and loosen every screw in the vehicle.

After a month in southern Africa, though, even that felt normal.

From there it was onto the overnight flight from Windhoek to Frankfurt — was it twelve hours in the air? — followed by an impressive eight-and-a-half-hour layover in the Frankfurt airport. (Not including layovers, San Francisco to Johannesburg had been 24 hours, 5 minutes in the air, whereas Windhoek to San Francisco is 29 hours 55 minutes, because it’s farther South. Huzzah.)

American Express had confidently assured me I could use a lounge here.

They were wrong.

SO wrong. While Lynn had a business class ticket moving forward, I was still in Premium Economy. Let’s just say that I’d forgotten the full force of a German “Nein” until being turned around at that lounge.

So after a certain amount of wandering, coffee, and people-watching, I’m now sitting here with about two and a half hours left before boarding the final leg home to San Francisco.

Dr. Laurie is somewhere in the air on her complicated rerouting adventure to California (I have prayed to the packing angels her bags make it), Lynn is safely on her way home, and I’m sitting here with dust still on my boots, a camera full of memories, and — for reasons that seemed entirely logical at the time — a small stuffed Pumbaa whose tusked snout is sticking out of my carry-on bag.

Africa does that to you.

It seems like a good moment to try to sum up what this trip actually meant.

Because something happened here that I didn’t quite expect.

The Moment on Big Daddy

One of the most powerful moments of the entire trip happened standing on the ridge of Big Daddy, the massive red dune in Sossusvlei.

The climb itself had been physical, of course.

But the real moment came when I reached the top.

There was no one else there.

No one to cheer me on.

No one to follow and whoop with and holler.

Just wind.

Silence.

The enormous sweep of desert far, far below.

And the realization that if I stepped off the steep side of that ridge, there would be no footprints to follow.

No one to watch first.

No reassuring example.

Just me.

I remember walking down the ridge a little, finding someone’s old tracks in the sand and thinking maybe I could follow those.

the slope in the back of this photo is the last 1/4 of what I “sand-skied” down.

Then walking back up again.

Looking.

Thinking.

Talking to myself.

Maybe I should just turn around and walk down the ridge. Who did I think I was, to be “brave enough” to “sand ski” down the steep side?

Pacing back up. Looking.

And finally realizing that if I was going to do it, I would have to do it. Alone.

That first step off the steep, steep side of that ridge was, strangely, the hardest moment of the entire climb.

Not physically.

Mentally.

It was the moment that said:

I am doing this alone.

A Very Different Moment

A few days later I was sitting on the veranda at Babson House at the Cheetah Conservation Fund.

Morning coffee in hand.

Birds calling in the trees.

I heard a low rumbling sound.

When I leaned forward and looked over the edge of the veranda, one of the cheetah boys had flopped down directly below me.

And he was purring.

Loudly.

Deeply.

The kind of contented rumble that vibrates through the ground.

For a few minutes I sat there drinking my coffee while a cheetah purred five feet below me in the Namibian bush.

And suddenly something about the entire trip made sense.

Because Herbert loved cheetahs.

We had supported CCF for years and always talked about visiting someday — maybe when we were older, when life slowed down a little.

And there I was.

Coffee.

Cheetah.

Namibia.

His cremarble placed under the paw of the sculpture outside Babson House.

And the quiet realization that even though I had climbed that dune alone . . .

I wasn’t actually alone at all.

The Other Moments

Of course there were dozens of other moments.

Standing soaked to the skin at Victoria Falls (but protecting the camera!).

The helicopter flight over the gorge.

Penguins!

Feeding elephants who delicately snuffled chow out of your palm.

The overwhelming smell — and the surprisingly goat-like sounds — of two hundred thousand seals at Cape Cross (but . . . BABIES!!)

Elephants blocking our way to the gate in Kruger just at closing… a baby elephant charging us as we backed our jeep up as fast as it could go (wee baby elephant voice: “I gunna kick your @ss!”)… and a rhino in Entabeni moseying along before calmly cornering another group.

A coalition of cheetah brothers appearing out of the bush in Entabeni – and playing with a “Kong” in Namibia (see above).

Birds — so many birds!

Wild dogs.

Giraffes.

And, somewhat unexpectedly, discovering that I seem to have a natural aptitude for throwing enormous hunks of meat to wild dogs and growling cheetahs.

I can confirm:

A day without blood under your fingernails… how can that be a good day?

The Small Moments

And then there were the quieter moments.

The conversations.

Passionate discussions and education about history — so it is never forgotten, even if it wasn’t actually taught in the first place.

The kindness of people working patiently to protect landscapes and animals that most of the world will never see.

One of those moments came at CCF while dinner was delayed because the stove had decided not to cooperate.

What started as a kitchen problem turned into a long conversation with Himee, the assistant manager.

We discovered that both of us had lost someone important during the early days of COVID.

His father.

My husband.

I asked him what his father’s best attribute had been.

Without hesitation he said: his father was an incredible joke teller.

I told him something that has helped me think about loss.

Sometimes I imagine that God needs people with very specific talents.

And when that happens, they are “called Home” because of that need.

During those early COVID months, Heaven must have been a very sad place.

Maybe Heaven needed someone who could tell good jokes.

Himee’s eyes filled with tears.

Later he helped me place Herbert’s cremarble under the paw of the cheetah sculpture.

Travel sometimes does that.

It brings strangers together in ways you never could have planned.

But travel also has another way of revealing people.

When you spend weeks together — long days in vans, shared meals, dusty roads, early mornings — some folks arrive with a silent little story in their head about how things are going to go.

Who will sit where.

Who will be friends with whom.

Who will play what role in the unfolding adventure.

And sometimes it turns out that someone has written an entire script in their mind without mentioning it to the rest of the cast.

If you unknowingly fail to perform the role they imagined for you, that can be a difficult realization for them.

Over the course of the trip several people quietly pulled me aside to apologize for how one traveler had been behaving toward me.

Which, honestly, wasn’t necessary.

Travel has a way of sorting these things out on its own.

Given enough miles, dusty roads, and shared days, people eventually reveal exactly who they are.

And the road moves on.

The Lesson

If this trip reinforced anything for me, it’s this:

Nothing in this landscape exists alone.

Not the animals.

Not the land.

Not the people trying to protect it.

Everything is connected.

Cheetahs survive when farmers succeed.

Grasslands recover when thorn bush is cleared.

Predators live when communities can make a living from the land.

And people carry the ones they love with them in ways they don’t always expect.

One Last Souvenir

Early in the trip we watched a warthog sprint across the road, trip spectacularly over his own feet, and then stop and look back at us as if the entire incident had somehow been our fault.

From that moment on I was determined to find a stuffed version.

After searching the entire trip, success finally came in the Windhoek duty-free shop.

As I sit here waiting to board the final flight home, his tusked snout is sticking out of my carry-on bag.

After a month in Africa, that somehow feels like the most reasonable thing in the world.

Carrying It Forward

In a couple of hours I’ll board a plane headed for San Francisco.

But part of me will stay behind.

In the dunes.

In the bush.

In the places where warthogs casually wander beneath rhinos to scratch their backs against a convenient rhino belly.

And in the cremarbles left behind along the way:

one resting on Table Mountain, overlooking Cape Town as the fog rolls in over the city and the ocean beyond…

another tucked quietly into the nook of an acacia tree at Dune 40, where Abraham will know exactly where to find it when he walks that ridge again…

and one beneath the raised paw of a bronze cheetah at the Cheetah Conservation Fund, where Himee helped place it and will smile when he passes by.

And the fourth?

The fourth is still traveling with me.

It’s the one we toasted in champagne during an oysters-and-champagne feast before careening down enormous mountains of sand where the desert meets the ocean.

The same one Ari held up for a photo in Kruger National Park.

That one is still in my bag.

Still moving.

Still seeing the world.

Because that first step off the ridge of Big Daddy may have been taken alone.

But the journey that followed reminded me of something far more important.

Sometimes the stories we think we’re living turn out not to be the ones that matter most.

Sometimes someone else has already written a script in their mind and expects you to play a role in it — without ever telling you the part.

But the road has its own way of clarifying things.

And sometimes the most important thing you can do is simply keep walking the path that is true to you.

Because stepping off the ridge — even when you think you’re doing it alone — is often exactly how you discover the people and moments that were meant to be part of the journey all along.

Africa has a way of rewriting the script.

And I’m grateful for the version I was given. 🌍🐆

_____________________ * * *_____________________

pumbaa!!

For those of you with time to spare . . . the full set of photos from the Africa trip can be found HERE.

I’d like to sincerely thank Yau-Man Chan of Seawood Photos for patiently walking me through every menu, every setting—everything—on H’s camera before I left. I was so, so intimidated to even try. He was endlessly patient and kind, and (perhaps most importantly!) close enough in age to translate my old analog experience as a concert and sports photographer in my 20s into the digital world of today.

I truly can’t say enough about how his thoughtful, patient tutoring set me on the right path.

Days 26-27: CCF: Purring Cheetahs, Flying Meat, and the Work of Saving a Species

I’m sitting on the veranda at Babson House early in the morning with a cup of coffee, listening to dozens of different bird calls echoing across the Namibian bush.

Then I hear another sound.

At first it blends in with everything else — a low rhythmic rumble — but something about it feels familiar.

I lean forward and look over the edge of the veranda.

One of the cheetah boys has flopped down directly below.

And he’s purring.

Not a little rumble. A full, deep, contented purr — the unmistakable sound of a very large cat who has decided that this particular patch of earth is exactly where he wants to be.

I may have died and gone to heaven.

Apparently heaven has cheetahs.

And the frothy cappuccino I just made in our kitchen.

The Cheetah Run

Later that morning after breakfast, we watched the cheetah run.

“Elves” starting to set out our breakfast. (The hot is made to order by Chef.)

To keep rehabilitating cheetahs in top condition, CCF uses a lure system where a cloth is pulled along a wire track across an open field. The lure can change direction, accelerate, slow down — even double back — forcing the cheetah to react the way it would during a real hunt.

When a cheetah launches into a sprint, you suddenly understand the numbers you’ve read your entire life. They can reach roughly 60–70 miles per hour, but the most astonishing part is the acceleration.

It happens almost instantly.

Once the cat catches the lure, it’s rewarded with fresh meat delivered on a long wooden spoon. That keeps the meat off the ground and prevents contamination.

Cheetahs have extremely delicate digestive systems. Unlike lions or hyenas, they cannot eat meat that has been sitting around for long. Their food must be fresh.

Watching the run was extraordinary.

Behind the Scenes

Later we went behind the scenes to see the feeding of several cheetahs that are kept away from human contact.

A jeep races down the road outside the enclosure and the cheetahs chase it. Once they arrive, big hunks of meat and bone are tossed over the fence.

Yes.

I was absolutely involved in that process.

Apparently once you’ve thrown meat to cheetahs once, you’re permanently promoted to the “throwing team.”

No one even asked after I’d done it the first time. Someone simply handed me a couple of haunches and pointed toward the fence.

I handed Lynn my camera so she could document the moment.

It’s a strange point in life when throwing meat to cheetahs begins to feel like a routine morning activity.

And I have to say:

A day without blood under your fingernails… how can that be a good day?

Living With Predators

CCF is perhaps most famous for its livestock guardian dog program, which helps farmers protect their animals without killing predators.

These are large Anatolian shepherds who live with the herds of goats or sheep.

Unlike herding dogs such as border collies, which move livestock through pressure and fear, guardian dogs simply become part of the herd.

The animals trust them completely.

When a potential threat appears, the dog moves toward it and “addresses the situation.”

Watching a herd follow their guardian dog out to graze was remarkable. The goats trusted that dog completely.

And when a tractor happened to cross about fifty yards in front of the goats’ path, that dog made very sure the tractor understood it was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

We also met the newest recruits — a litter of milk-drunk Anatolian puppies born just a few days earlier.

They looked like little fuzzy potatoes.

Interestingly, the staff handles them as little as possible. They weigh them for health checks, but otherwise avoid bonding so the puppies will grow up identifying with livestock rather than humans.

Farmers who receive the dogs — after a long waiting list and a small fee — get to name the puppies themselves, which helps build the bond.

Helping Farmers Thrive: Goats, Milk, and New Income

Another part of CCF’s work focuses on helping farmers improve the economics of livestock so that predators become less of a perceived threat.

One of the interesting shifts they’re encouraging is the move from traditional meat goats toward dairy goats.

Many farmers in the region historically raise goats primarily for meat. But CCF has been working with them to demonstrate that dairy goats can provide a more stable and continuous source of income.

A dairy goat can produce milk for years after having a kid, which means the farmer has an ongoing product rather than a single sale. That milk can then be turned into higher-value goods — cheese, yogurt, soap, fudge, even ice cream (and milkshakes! Yum!) — creating additional income streams.

CCF also teaches farmers improved herd management practices.

Instead of goats giving birth sporadically throughout the year, farmers are encouraged to synchronize breeding so that kids are born around the same time. This allows the entire herd to be weaned, vaccinated, and wormed together, which is healthier for the animals and much easier for the farmers to manage.

Interestingly, this better care of the mothers often also results in more kids per birth, increasing the productivity of the herd.

What started as a small program has grown steadily. Many of the dairy goats now found in Namibia trace back to animals originally provided through CCF programs.

Even more encouraging, farmers in the United States have begun collaborating and sharing expertise, helping expand dairy goat knowledge, genetics, and practices.

It’s another example of the philosophy running through everything at CCF: conservation doesn’t succeed unless the people living on the land succeed too.

In other words, the goal isn’t simply to protect cheetahs.

It’s to make sure the farmers who share the landscape with them can make a living without feeling forced to eliminate predators.

If livestock are better protected, herds are healthier, and farmers have reliable income from milk and dairy products, the pressure to shoot a cheetah “just in case” drops dramatically.

Conservation, it turns out, is often less about saving animals directly — and more about helping people succeed on the land they live on.

And when that happens, the cheetahs get a future too.

It’s one of the things you begin to understand here: nothing in this landscape exists alone.

Bush Encroachment and the “BushBlok” Project

One of the biggest environmental challenges in Namibia is bush encroachment.

Large areas of land have become overrun with thorny shrubs and trees — including species like sickle bush (Dichrostachys cinerea) and various acacia relatives.

Some of this is natural, but much of it results from a combination of rainfall variability, climate change, overgrazing by cattle, and the disappearance of large animals like elephants that once knocked down trees and controlled bush growth.

The result is a landscape where thorn bush crowds out palatable perennial grasses that grazing animals depend on.

That affects everything.

Less grass means fewer grazing animals.

Fewer grazing animals means fewer predators.

So CCF developed an ingenious solution.

Bush is cut by hand, allowed to dry in the field, then brought to a processing facility.

Some of the most beautiful hardwood — especially from sickle bush — is actually shipped to Denmark for woodworking.

The rest goes through a multi-stage system:

First it’s chipped (which looks exactly like mulch from home).

Then it’s refined further into something between coarse sawdust and fine wood chips.

That material is fed into a machine that heats and compresses it into dense fuel bricks.

The heat breaks down the plant cell walls just enough for the material to bind together.

“We’re not making charcoal,” Bruce explained.

The process works — but there’s a problem.

Inside the machine is a spiral cutter that processes the wood.

Acacia and sickle bush are incredibly hard.

So hard that the spiral cutter lasts only about six hours before needing sharpening.

The machinery originally came from Denmark, and CCF is now working with engineers in the United States to design a more durable version that can increase production capacity.

Even with those challenges, the project is remarkable.

It restores grassland habitat, improves grazing conditions for wildlife, and produces useful fuel at the same time.

Practical conservation at its best.

New Tracking Technology

After lunch, we visited the Ecology Department. There, the head showed us the tracking collars used on released cheetahs.

The newest collars — being developed with Fahlo, the company that produces the cheetah tracking bracelet I wear — are far lighter and more sophisticated.

In addition to GPS tracking, some include a small camera mounted under the cheetah’s chin.

When the collar’s accelerometer detects hunting behavior, the camera activates so researchers can actually see what the cheetah is pursuing.

Each collar also includes an automatic release system. After about two years, when the battery dies, the collar drops off so the animal isn’t burdened with dead equipment.

If a collar detects that the animal hasn’t moved for a concerning period of time, it sends an alert.

Sadly, that often means a farmer has shot the animal.

Farmers are only allowed to shoot a predator if there is actual evidence it killed livestock. Too often, though, animals are killed simply because someone believes they might cause trouble.

One heartbreaking story involved a female cheetah that had been rehabilitated after a trap injury. She was released from CCF scant days before giving birth, because Namibia does not allow wild animals to give birth in captivity.

A farmer shot her.

Both she and the cubs died.

The ecologist — whose wife is CCF’s lead veterinarian — told us they simply cried and cried.

Sundowner and Dinner

Our second evening we went out on a sundowner drive across the property.

We saw a tower of eighteen giraffes, springbok, another smaller species of antelope, a massive herd of oryx, jackals, Cape hares, and — to my delight — a secretary bird.

I sent the photo to Jean-Marie, the birder from our earlier tour group who had been desperately hoping to see one.

Dinner that night with Dr. Laurie Marker and Bruce was unforgettable.

The conversation ranged from conservation science to Namibia’s wildlife to Somaliland versus Somalia to the founding of Namibia (Dr. Laurie talking about the people we had learned about at the Independence Museum . . . her friends), to the extraordinary amount of work still ahead.

The Last Morning

Our final morning at CCF began, appropriately, with meat.

As I mentioned before, once you’ve thrown meat to cheetahs once, you’re promoted permanently.

No discussion required.

Just hand over the meat and step up to the fence.

Then it was time to head for the airport.

(Yes, yes, I washed my hands . . . )

Even that departure had a little Africa-trip flourish.

When the three of us were checking in on the Windhoek to Frankfurt flight, Dr. Laurie was told that her flight from Frankfurt to San Francisco had been cancelled due to a Lufthansa strike. (Lynn was flying on United from Frankfurt to Chicago; I was on United from Frankfurt to San Francisco.)

Within minutes her journey home turned into a kind of aviation scavenger hunt involving Frankfurt, Copenhagen, and several other stops.

Just before the door closed on our flight, she was whisked on, and came back to show us she had made it.

After a month like this, a perfectly straightforward journey home would almost seem suspicious.

And with that, our time at the Cheetah Conservation Fund came to an end.

We headed for the airport carrying dust on our boots, a few new stories, and more than a little reflection about the journey behind us.

The flight home would bring its own kind of reckoning.

Day 25: Cheetah Conservation Foundation: Wine, Genetics, and Two Very Relaxed Boys

All photos of entire CCF portion can be found HERE

Lynn and I are now at the Cheetah Conservation Foundation (CCF), and as I started to type this, we were sitting on the veranda of Babson House, looking out over two cheetah brothers lounging in the afternoon sun while we sip wine from…appropriately…cheetah glasses.

Travel has its moments.

The name of these mountains translates to “butt mountain.” Our driver agreed that a perhaps better moniker would be “boobs mountain” (Cue Madonna bustiere from the ‘90s)

But first, a note on something we learned on the drive out to CCF. Our driver pointed out something that sparked a lot of conversation. We passed a massive property — roughly 85,000 hectares — that used to be a lodge where travelers could simply drive in, sit on the deck with a drink, and watch hippos, elephants, lions, and rhinos around the watering hole.

It was recently purchased by a private Mexican buyer.

Now the gates are locked, and no one can only enter with special permission. There’s growing concern locally that the property may eventually become a hunting farm.

The Namibian government apparently tried to purchase the land when it came up for sale, hoping to preserve the habitat and wildlife, but the price was simply too high.

Driving past it on the way to the Cheetah Conservation Foundation made the contrast very clear: one piece of land potentially closing to conservation, while another — here at CCF — is devoted entirely to protecting one of Africa’s most endangered predators.

Back to the veranda at Babson House. Babson House, where we’re staying, is absolutely gorgeous — thatched, comfortable, and more like a beautiful large private bush home than a lodge. The refrigerator is fully stocked, there’s wine waiting, and our chef has just headed out to gather the “fixins” for dinner.

This is clearly not roughing it.

Earlier today we watched the feeding of several cheetahs who were orphaned as very young cubs. These animals were bottle-fed as babies after their mothers were killed, and because they never learned to hunt from their mothers, they cannot be released back into the wild. So they live here permanently under CCF’s care. They are fed from bowls that mimic the way that they would be fed in the wild – the mother cheetah digs a hole in the prey on the ground, and the babies then eat from that “container” (TMI?)

But CCF also works with another category of cheetah — those that can eventually return to the wild.

Some animals arrive after being caught in traps or rescued from farms. In those cases the goal is rehabilitation. These cheetahs are kept far away from humans and exercised by running after mechanical lures so they maintain their hunting instincts before being re-released.

The most recent arrivals are two young brothers, both less than a year old.

They were rescued from a man who had killed their mother, trapped the cubs, and was preparing to sell them as pets — usually to buyers in the Middle East. When they arrived here they were dangerously thin and severely dehydrated. They’re recovering now, but still have a long road ahead.

Lunch at CCF was lovely (and included with the stay), and yes — I will admit to having a salted caramel milkshake.

I am on vacation, after all.

After lunch we were introduced to one of the foundation’s most important team members —one that H and I had actually sent specific donations in for eight years ago — one of the Belgian Malinois sisters who serve as CCF’s “scat dogs.”

Yes. Professional poop finders.

The dogs are scent-trained specifically to detect cheetah and wild dog scat. The scat team goes into the field, collects samples — carefully/not all of it, because the animals use scat for communication — and brings them back to the lab. So, the dogs locate samples, which researchers then analyze for DNA, hormones, and other biological markers that reveal health, diet, and population patterns.

This led us to what was honestly one of the most fascinating parts of the day.

We toured the genetics laboratory.

And wow.

The scientists working there are all pursuing highly specialized PhDs related to carnivore conservation genetics. The woman who showed us around is doing her doctorate on African wild dogs — and interestingly, she has never actually seen one in the wild.

I told her I would bring over my photos from Kruger National Park tomorrow.

CCF also houses one of only three specialized DNA machines in all of Namibia. The other two are used for human purposes — one in a hospital and one by the government for forensic criminal investigations.

We were walked through the entire genetic testing process step by step.

It was a big Wow moment.

I was so impressed that I immediately made another donation — specifically earmarked for the genetics lab.

Tomorrow evening we’ll have dinner with Dr. Laurie Marker, the founder of CCF. As a fun coincidence, she will actually be flying back to the United States the same day we are — headed to Santa Cruz to give a presentation.

Small world.

But perhaps the most unexpected moment of the evening happened because of…a broken stove.

Our chef, Joshua, was preparing dinner in the kitchen at Babson House when the stove suddenly refused to cooperate. The staff (yes, we have “Staff”) sorted that out while we watched the magnificent sunset, which including a “sunset-bow” (rainbow/sunset combo – a first for me!). We drank our wine ignoring the muffled “words” coming from the kitchen, and talked with Tracy, who is looking after us during our stay, and Himee, the CCF assistant manager (Bianca is the manager).

What started as a simple delay turned into one of those quiet, meaningful conversations that travel sometimes gifts you.

Himee and I discovered that both of us had lost someone very important right around the same time — during the early days of COVID. His father. My husband.

We talked for a while about them.

I asked him what his father’s best attribute had been.

He said, without hesitation, that his father had been an amazing joke teller.

That made me smile, and it reminded me of something that has helped me think about loss.

I told him that sometimes I like to imagine that God needs people with very specific talents — and when that happens, they are “called home” because of that need. And during those terrible early days of COVID, Heaven must have been a very sad place.

Maybe Heaven needed someone who could tell great jokes and cheer everyone up.

At that point Himee’s eyes filled with tears.

I told him about H’s marbles — the small glass marbles made from my husband’s ashes that I’ve been sending out into the world so that he can keep traveling.

Himee immediately asked if he could help place one of the marbles here at CCF.

Of course I said yes.

Somehow the stove eventually decided to cooperate, and dinner appeared — and it was absolutely extraordinary.

Michelin-star level extraordinary.

Chef Joshua produced course after course with total calm and humility, and handled Lynn’s lactose intolerance without even blinking. Every plate that arrived felt like something from a high-end restaurant — except we were sitting in the Namibian bush with cheetahs nearby.

Lynn and I kept looking at each other and laughing.

How is this even real?

The people here are remarkable — kind, deeply knowledgeable, and quietly dedicated to the work they’re doing.

And all the while, just outside on the veranda, the two cheetah brothers lounged peacefully in the fading light.

Tomorrow morning we wake up early for the cheetah run, when some of the rehabilitating cheetahs will sprint after the lure across the reserve.

But for now, as I write this just before falling asleep, I’m still thinking about the conversations tonight — about fathers, jokes, marbles, and the strange and beautiful ways people meet each other in the world.

And somewhere outside, under the Namibian stars, two cheetahs are still keeping watch under the veranda.