Boulder

March 21, 2014 2 Comments

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Boulder, Colorado

Way up on the mountain it was time for me to confront the bubbles of homesickness that had been activated by leaving the earthship crew. The loss of constant companionship and camaraderie had left a whole that was being filled with thoughts of friends and family back home. Boulder was nice, Dylan loved it, but for some reason the juxtaposition of wilderness and utter surburbanality jarred with me, perhaps because Dylan felt so at home there and I did not.

After a trip into the town, so different in the sun, we hiked into the mountains, took a wrong turn, and then trekked 25km back home. It was tiring, but therapeutic, we talked things out and made some decisions. Tomorrow a new day, I felt bad that I hadn’t looked at Boulder with softer eyes, people had been lovely to me, especially the wait staff at the brewery, but sometimes you just get in a funk right? But now I feel refreshed and conscious of how lucky I am to be experiencing these amazing places and much more aware of how I need people. There goes my lone wolf romanticisms. Perhaps I’ve spent too much time at altitude and I’m just feeling exhausted.

While I’m in a social mood, I’ll throw a question out to the web, I feel like making connections, if you haven’t commented before why not say hi? Have you found that special place you belong or are you still searching? Is it the people or the space that make it home?

Travel

Inside out cabin

March 20, 2014 2 Comments

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Boulder, Colorado

The world whizzed by the bus window in a fog, snow climbing the glass until all was crystallised. Boulder was quiet, hands were gloved. We wandered down the shopping strip, finally tempted in by a family pizza place, pangs of home and Lygon Street: checked tablecloths and posters from the homeland. Sufficiently warmed and bellies full of pizza and cannelloni we braved the cold and caught a bus. A lady I could barely understand complimented my boots and then said she was 36 and had only just been able to get a pair of Australian Uggs. Now seated another lady asked me where I got my bag and then began to rant about how one day we would be able to teleport because we are all made out of atoms and alien visitors, the whole bus starred at their laps with smiles threatening to break into laughs. Public transport never fails to be diverting.

We landed at the bottom of a hill that went up and up, we took Reuben’s advice and thumbed a lift, he said if you can safely hitchhike anywhere it’s Boulder. A lady stopped straightaway, once again we were blown away with the generosity of strangers as she took us right to our door, she said she had been in our position before and had just been desperate for someone to help her out.

Who would have thought the first sign of spring we’d see would be inside a house. What seemed like an ordinary cabin was another world. A tree towering into a daylit courtyard, timber shingles and a stairway stepping around the stoned room and daffodils sprouting from crevices. I made friends with the cat, a purring affectionate feline who was served snow in a espresso cup and lapped it up. Our hosts were English climate scientists, researching climate change. Climate modelling from 9-5, the rest of the time scrambling, hiking, trail running, mountain biking, skiing; Dylan was right at home in Boulder.

Travel

The Great Sand Dunes

March 17, 2014 2 Comments

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The Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

As we crossed into Colorado the snow began to fall as we cruised past Elk the sky began to disappear, we didn’t even realise the land was crowned with mountains, the lines on the road had vanished under white. At 3 minutes past six the Great Sand Dunes National Park entry was unmaned and the visitor’s centre closed, we decided in this empty white space we would risk some stealth camping. The spot we chose was sheltered, there was an air of comedy about the whole situation, three hikers in the snow setting up tents on a stage with an ampitheatre of wooden benches rising before us, perhaps there would be an audience of squirrels and black bears watching us slumber. Our tiny tent next to Sam’s enormous 6 maner with room for all to stand.

We cooked our meal down the path in a illuminated information booth wary of the black bear warning. Cocktails and beer from a growler kept us in a false warmth whilst Dylan cooked. I made my first snowman under Sam’s watchful American gaze, starting with a small snowball then rolling it around in powder, it grew and grew. When I was finished Sam christened my snowman unworthy, it was really snowing in earnest; I was too lazy to improve upon it.

We then fled to the truck to eat, passing Sam’s deflated tent on the way through, he would be sleeping in the car that night. The path was illuminated by little solar powered lights, glowing feebly under a layer of snow, our footfalls crunched and crackled.

We awoke to a new world, blue sky on trees we had not even known were feet in front of us. then i turned and saw the dunes, incongruous next to snow capped mountains. I felt lucky to see it at this time of year when few would have made the journey opting for a warmer season.

When we made the climb every footstep revealed a layer cake of sand and snow, wind blowing layer over layer. Scratching what appeared to be brownish sand revealed a gash of white. Hiking poles in hand we played like children writing messages and kicking powder in the air. There were less than a dozen of us on the dunes, the sun shone brilliantly and the wind only blew fearsly at the summit.

Once at the top we rolled and ran down the slope, taking it three times fast than up. We passed a whole convoy of dog’s and their owners on the way down, jackets done up snugly. Then a peanutbutter and “jelly” wrap at the picnic area before undertaking the massive drive to Denver.

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Travel

First Snow

March 10, 2014 No Comments

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A visit to Taos Ski Valley.

Sleepy on Saturday we almost decided to stay at home, luckily we had the ever-enthused Sam, or we woul have missed out on a perfect day. It looked dreary and verging on drizzle as we ascended out of the Mesa, but as we pulled into the ski valley parking lot little kernels of corn snow began falling. I held out my hands and just starred at it for a while melting on my glove, every now and then catching a few that looked like little stars. It was my first time at the snow, I was a kid again, everything was new, it was a day of grinning.

The towers crew began to hike up the mountain, people we chatted to couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t just take the shuttle to the top, they just didn’t get it. We threw snow and watch it fall, I was ambushed by snowballs and of course Dylan ran and ran. The ground looked reborn, fresh and crisp. We walked in each others footprints and when we veered from the path sank to our knees.

We trekked until the footprints ahead of us began disappearing under powder, then double paced down to the Bavarian where bar wenches wore lace and something akin to lederhosen. The beer steins were as tall as my forearm and we ate mountain priced beer battered chips and trout like we hadn’t seen food before.

Then we bundled out into the snow again. A snow plough passed and left an icy slide in its wake. We slipped and slided, landing hard. The boys began “ice surfing” on their feet down to the valley. Then sleepy, so sleepy we returned to the towers where our Den Mother, Griffin, told us stories about grave robbing and schemes of how to get Sam skiing up the mountain for free which involved hiding in a ski lift hut overnight. Then our lights went out, we’d run out of electricity, and it was time for bed.