Why I Travel

As I walk through the security line at the airport, I notice the guy in front of me, athletic, all button-down shirt and casual cargo pants, with black thick-frame glasses that turn colors as you move in and out of the light. He  carries nothing through security but a black, almost perfectly square cooler. I figure he must have some affliction and he needs his meds kept cold (I know from experience). But appearances and our own biases can be (and very often are) deceiving. 

He pulls a plastic bag out of the cooler, with three (3) frozen solid bottles of Deer Park water. He puts them in the TSA tray and leaves the cooler open. The TSA agent warns the screening guy that “frozen water, coming up!” and moves on to help me with my bag. The athletic guy moves along through the people scanner, chewing gum, completely non-chalant and well-possessed, not even blinking. No explanation. No fuss. Like he owns the world. 

The guy behind me says to the TSA guy: “Excuse me. Umm...What is that, exactly? You are allowed to transport water bottles through TSA if the bottles are frozen?” The TSA guy goes “Yes, sir! That’s right!” The guy behind me says “Well, I don’t agree with it, but wow! Just wow!”

In my mind, I say: “Sorry, buddy, your authority nor opinion is needed here. Move along.” But yes, I am wowed too. 

After I clear security, the first thing I do is google “can you take frozen water bottles through security?” and lo and behold, yes, you can! This just completely baffled me. I have been traveling consistently by plane since 1998 - for those hard of math, that is 27 years. I have counted 10 one-way airline trips (some of them with multiple flights) this year alone and I have never known of such a rule. This was a lesson ... 

As I continue my journey, I come to my gate and we’re ready to board. They tell us, as they often do, nowadays, that the plane is full and to make sure we board quickly and sit down immediately, not to block the aisles, you know ... the usual. Then, they call people by “zones” (some airlines board by groups, some by zones). They call First Class, then Zone 1, then Zone 2. We all wait. And wait. And not one person boards in Zone 1, nor 2. I have never seen such a thing. Again, ever, in all my travels are whole “zones” completely empty with “a full flight”. The gate agent seems totally OK with this, but we’re all looking around like “are they still at the bar or what?”. I am telling myself “this is going to be a trip of firsts, I guess?”. 

After I board (with my zone - I can’t recall what it was, but I am at the end of the darn plane again, zone maybe 7 or some such unlucky number; as a matter of fact, let’s not be ungrateful - zone “never” might be unlucky; the fact that I am on a plane at all is a plus), and after all the people are in their seats, the pilot walks all the way to where I am sitting and hands over a goodie bag to a lucky passenger on account that they are a “first-time flyer”. No, not with this airline but ever. Not sure how they know this? Not sure how or if they verify this, but there it is ... I am shocked. How has someone nowadays, especially in the very large America where people are so spread apart from their families, living in this huge country, never flown? This person is not a toddler either. It’s a mature man with a head full of white hair. They are totally shocked and embarrassed and they accept the bag with a chuckle and applause follows. 

Then, to make it even more unusual, the pilot walks to two rows in front of the man he just congratulated, on the other side of the aisle, and hands over a second goodie bag to another first-time passenger completely unrelated to the first one. Now, I am thinking I must be in a dream: there is not one, but two such rare specimens on my flight. What??? You live and you learn, as the cliche goes. 

As we’re preparing to take off, they make their little announcements and there is a new one for me: they tell us that video taking is “absolutely prohibited”, and this is not an “airline policy, but an FAA policy”. And I pause. Well, if video taping is prohibited, then how come TikTok (at least this is what I hear, since I am lucky enough to not be tethered with such a curse as a TikTok account) full of videos of flight attendants being slapped by or slapping passengers all over the world? Or did the policy come in response to such videos and is new? I am not videoing but I am taking pictures, so I figured I am not in trouble, but my goodness, frozen water first, no videos second, airline rules are moving fast, even for this mildly-frequent flyer... 

As I leave the plane on my arrival to the other end of my trip, at my final destination of Orlando, FL (a destination, I feel, that should require a passport, if you’re coming from anywhere else in the US, even), I head over to the ground transportation area to call an Uber so I can head to my hotel. I was a late adopter of Uber - have been using it for about 3 years - but I have used it on two continents and tried using it on a third one, but the Gods of the travel agency protected me from using it in Africa. Long story, for another entry. 

A cheerful gentleman called Jose arrives and I see a new disclaimer on my Uber app - that Jose is “recording this trip”. Hmm ... Video forbidden on the plane, but obviously running by default in the car transportation. I do not like surprises all that much, but this trip seemed to have it all. 

These are just a few examples from my most recent trip. And this is all to say that one of the main reasons I travel (other than to get where my life takes me) is to learn. Travel is almost a free add-on or bonus of new lessons about how you should behave in the world, how you should carry yourself among other humans. It teaches you how prepared you are to just be a human firing on all your cylinders, and being the best you can be among your peers. It builds tolerance and empathy - which are becoming somewhat endangered nowadays - but this new world we live in, try as it may, I would never, as long as there is breath in my body, want to lose them. 

Travel allows me to make my thoughts, my whole being stop chattering and opinioning and just listen and watch. Assess and propose corrections in my own path. Or not. Travel keeps my senses alert. There are so many things we must be present for in travel - you cannot space out and get lost in your doom-scroll of Instagram when the TSA agent, or a passport control agent demands answers from you. You are forced to connect with the person in front of you and think. Although I like to think of myself as a minimalist when it comes to consuming social media, I still hate when precious minutes go to nothing but mindless scrolling. Travel is not mindless. It is focused, character-building (remember that 20th century concept anyone?) presence. If you don’t have that (presence) while you travel, your very life might be at stake. 

I travel  because I need new energy, from the outer world, to replenish and recharge my own depleted body which becomes stagnant after a while just being enclosed in myself. 

My sister and I grew up “in the mountains”, we call it. We were city girls by birth - born and raised in the second-largest (by population) city in Romania - but for about 3 months every year we would live with our distant relatives in the Northern Carpathian Mountains, with no running water in the house, working tireless every day for our food which came from cows, sheep, chickens, or foraging for wild berries and mushrooms in the woods. This is how we learned physical, manual labor. Life on the land was very different from life in the city. In the city, we learned how to be pedestrians and how to ride with civility in a public transport vehicle. In the mountains, we learned how to listen to nature, and know dangers unknown to the city dweller - like the call of a wolf, or the scratch of a mouse in the attic eating through corn, or getting splinters out of our soft, city hands when we split wood in the woodshed behind the house to make fires every night to heat our rooms in the wood-burning stoves or in our water heater boiler every week for our shower.

Travel reminds me  a bit of those times - when we were forced to live in a completely new environment and we were absolutely forced to develop a new set of skills that would not have been developed otherwise. 

I travel because I know my perception of the world is biased. And I need hard proof for the truth. 

I travel because I am consumed by wanting to know the truth. Is the world really as bleak as the media and social sites claim? Are people as angry and evil? Are they truly hating one another? Travel shows you a different picture of that. Or certifies it for you. But you will never know for sure unless it becomes your experience. 

I travel for food and for new-ness. For taking myself outside of my cocoon of safety and forcing myself to react, to feel, to truly know, and to truly form an opinion. I travel for the surprise of it and its shock value as much as I travel to realize that I had the weirdness and diversity of the world within my soul all along. But I just didn’t know it. 

Travel forces you to think quickly and outside the box. And make do with what’s in front of you. 

Travel forces you to look deeply into your soul and assess - do you like what you see? Here, there are alternatives, would you like to reconsider? I never speak to myself more honestly than when I am traveling - because it forces me to be present and to stay awake and aware for the simple reason to be safe. It also forces me to be awake because everything seems to be new. I cherish getting lessons from everything that I open myself up for. 

I travel because travel leads me to books. And books lead me to travel. And books have been the one, only, constant in my entire life that has never disappointed. Boyd Varty’s Cathedral of the Wild led me to Londolozi which changed my life. Then, Londolozi led me to The Elephant Whisperer which enriched my understanding of human kindness and nature kindness and nature intelligence as well. And the examples are many from so many of my other travels: the innumerable books I read about English and American authors growing up that took me to England and later America where I found my soul, eventually. 

Travel brought me to wonders like the South African wild this year - and what a quantum leap that was! I emerged transformed only with a fraction of my old self from the African bush. It tapped into senses I didn’t know I had. Our over-technological suburban world dims those senses, or, in some cases, completely exterminates them. But going out of our comfort zone (something that is intrinsic to travel) allows our minds and sometimes even our bodies, to develop abilities that otherwise lay dormant or are in danger of becoming extinct because of our lack of need to use them. When you are called to react to things you don’t encounter every day - like a leopard on the hunt, or a pride of 9 lions completely wild, with no circus director to tame them in sight, or a river full of crocs opening their huge jowls at you, or even foods you have never seen but are called upon out of respect to try - you cannot help but learn new lessons and new abilities that you might not have thought you had. 

I turned 50 this year. I read a lot of thoughts on what and who you’re supposed to be when you turn 50 or when you reach your mid-life. Some people are told they are old. Some people fight this concept and feel young or do meaningful things to feel young. Because I live inside this 50 year old body, I feel just like I did when I was 10 or 20. 50 seems to me to be just a number. 

For me, the one thing I want to be or to do going forward (which has not changed just because my ID says I am not a different age), the only thing that I hope will define me in my next decade and beyond and always is the desire to continuously learn. To avidly and voraciously keep learning, with every day, with every trip, with every person or any other being that I encounter. Keep learning and becoming and changing and morphing into who I will eventually leave as my finished “product” on this planet, once my time is up in this realm. 

I cannot think how I would be able to learn without traveling. Just like I have said many times before, stopping traveling is like stopping to breathe for me. I felt like I needed a reminder to reassess why I do it - I do it to remain whole and to keep becoming. Becoming is my now and my future. That is all ... And that is all that matters ... 

One of the places that stays with me, 28 years later: the thermal pools of Pamukkale (or “Cotton Castle”) in South-Western Turkey - I took this picture after I climbed this mountain barefoot with hot streams under my feet on a 100F degree day in August 1997. 

A Touch-Base Blog. A Ramble.

What a big pot of steaming, vitriolic poo this year has been in so many ways! The garbage and vileness, the debasement, the gore seems to gurgle up infinitely from everywhere. If you’ve ever been to Yellowstone or in any other part of the earth where hot, steaming, gurgling poisonous materials come to the surface of the earth, in a stench you can barely take, hot and lethal - you’ll get the very picture of what our world is like today... 

I don’t even think it has to do with one country or another. Sure, there are better and worse places you can be in - but as a whole, even the so-called “good people”, the people on the “right side of history” - even those ... have their blame and their contribution to the current state of the world ... 

There are people literally fighting with their bare chests for their freedom and their lives - and those are the people who are put down and made fun of. The other people, no, not just the aggressors, but the other people, sitting on the sidelines are judging and pointing and laughing and masquerading as political gurus and protectors of freedom. But they are all but actionless. ... Sickness to my stomach sometimes ... 

The world has not yet learned that demonizing the opposition does only one thing: burns the fire under their feet hotter and makes their revenge that much more gruesome. No, I am not saying we should sleep with the enemy, as it were, but we should dang-well make a better effort to understand how they have come so far as to rule the order of things. We should shut up for a minute and listen. And learn. 

It’s a game (their game)  that we (the “good” people) know nothing about. A new game with new rules. But blinded by our rage we fail to learn what the rules are. Cutting our nose to spite our face in the process ... 

Because of where and how I grew up, I know that humans against the system rarely renders humans the victors. Most often than not, the system wins, albeit for only a period of time. I still hope for heroes and wish that people would actually honor their oath. Because so many of them aren’t, right now. But life is seldom fair, and this time is one of those times where fairness has become in dire short supply. 

I decided that I am too small and too powerless to make a significant difference in turning the world on its head to make it “normal” again. I decided a long time ago that I am not of the heroic or patriotic persuasion. I know this of myself and I don’t see it as a failing. 

So, if your people didn’t win, and if you’re a little person with no power to make a difference, your only weapon is to conserve your energy and try to stay sane. You at least owe it to yourself to survive, however you can. To survive and help your kin survive too. 

So, I do what the communists taught us to do: stay low, for a lowered head is rarely severed, and try to protect your own identity. Only staying whole and true to yourself will you weather the storms. This is my full-time focus instead, because this is the only thing I can control. I try to be kind to myself and mine, and to whoever comes in contact with me. I am scared and bloody-knuckled at the end of every day, but I try to build a survival kit for us, too. It’s all I can do to stay sane or preserve some semblance of sanity. I am grabbing tight to those sharp, stoney shores while the torrents are trying to rip my arms off and carry me away ...   

But this does not want to be a political blog. This is just a  “touch-base” blog on our lives, for those who normally keep up with those things ... 

It’s been a busy year for us already, which is amazing given that half of the world would tell you that two middle-aged childless people have absolutely nothing to show for themselves ... Well, anyone can walk a half mile in any of our shoes and they’ll want their lives back, I am sure of it ... It’s perfectly OK. I would not want anyone’s life, either. 

Despite the crazy world stage and the fear of traveling anywhere, despite the fear of maybe never seeing our families abroad or of never seeing them alive or the fear of never coming back home if we venture outside the borders ... life still goes on, as it must. We find things that keep us going and keep us engaged and attentive. 

It’s been a hard year on every level - material, historical, familial, professional, global, emotional - but it’s also been a good year, too ... The blessings are many. I am still not sure if this blog will get posted, or  erased, or would render me in jail, but for now, I am going to post it. To do that - that is a gift. I am not sure if it’ll last, but when are we ever in the business of believing that anything is forever? 

We have learned to be more focused, live more in the moment, and we have learned to help more if and where and how we can. I help my family, my family’s friends, and I keep people who matter close to me. I can only hope they, too, can keep their inner circles close and healthy and so, one circle at a time, we could all become a more empathetic and healthier, and stronger, and less poisonous community. 

There are so many god-awful things in this world of ours that we have no way of changing. None. No power. No means. No reach. But what we can do, we should do. And little by little, the interconnectedness of us all will amount to something better. It must. Do two rights make a wrong? I ponder ... If there is any hope left in the world, maybe not. And there is always hope, we are told. 

We are moved by the belief that what we are witnessing is not new. It’s just humans being human. And they’ve always done this. In some shape or form and intensity, this is the human world in action. It’s just more prominent now as it seems particularly more “everywhere”. It’s not just one country or one group of people - it is everyone. And with the amazing communication we have nowadays (thanks, technology!), it’s in our faces a lot more often than ever before - and being visual is what makes it more gruesome, more real. More “there”. 

I am trying so hard to establish a healthier routine for consuming the news. I try (it is so hard, I won’t lie because my brain’s been re-path-ed already and I am old - so re-learning is not easy) to re-train myself on what to do with my time - not to pick up the phone and start scrolling.

I read three sources or so (four if you count a Romanian one) of news. Because I do want to keep up with the news to see how our lives are changing with the world (faster than ever, and not for the good, I would say). But I try to avoid social media as much as I can - because I am poisoned by everyone’s bias and opinion about the news ... I want the facts alone and I want my brain bandwidth to make up its own bias. 

I avoid Facebook but I am still there every day. I find that Instagram is a lot less poisonous. And I love pictures. So that helps. I absolutely hate memes (yes, “hate” is the right word) because some people stop there with their education. This is unfortunate and does no one any service. 

I try to write more and read more, and more consequential stuff. I subscribe to things that keep my focus captive for longer, more complex thought. Yes, it takes longer but my brain feels so much better and I feel a lot less hateful at the end of the day. 

We go to museums and book launches. We go to concerts and speaking engagements and learn. Kids, I am here to tell you that you will never in fact stop learning. And you should never even consider it. When you do consider it, consider your life over, too. 

We take weekend trips and long walks. It’s an old, rusty, moldy, decrepit cliche that nature nurtures the soul. But truly: there is something restorative in a walk in nature. We take advantage of the freedoms we do have for now - and we believe that there are no guarantees for tomorrow. We recharge to be ready, physically, emotionally, mentally, for what might come ... 

We’re planning for a long and once-in-a-lifetime adventure, and we pray that our years-long plans for this won’t be foiled. But, again ... there are no guarantees. We lead with hope and try to have patience. And still, even in this rotten world, where a big, steaming turd seems to be handed to us every day, we look forward to the good plans we work so hard to keep together. 

I am so incredibly grateful for my family who keeps us sane. We talk, we cry, we laugh, we despair together. And we take time to celebrate the wins! The health, the peaceful days around us, the beauty of our shared children, the beauty and strangeness of the seasons. We take lots of pictures - of good and bad. We want to hold on to the moments we do have, so we document. One day, they might serve as history to someone. 

We are our loudest cheerleaders and that’s OK. As people are more and more self-absorbed and guarded, or reprehensibly vitriolic, we shelter within our own selves, like snails. Waiting for the storms to pass. They might not stop during our lifetime, but we hope to be deep inside, taking care of our own and still breathing. We hope. 

Cardinals have visited us way too often lately. They usually tell me that something bad will happen but that in the end it will all be OK. So, as we all sit on this powder keg of a world, we heed the advice of the cardinals and we wait. 

There is this belief inside me that moves me every day which is made up of some simple truths that give me energy and reason to wake up in the morning.

They go like this: 

What we are witnessing is not new; we are stronger than we think, if only we’d shut up and listen to ourselves; we are deeply human, and deeply flawed - we will never win or lose the war in one battle; there is work to be done; start with the person next to you and do well by them, even when that person is yourself; smile to rejuvenate the brain; it will help you when it’s at peace, and not when it’s at war with itself; think before you do; drink coffee; smell the air after the rain, or even after a forest fire. See the difference. 

These are some of the simple, unarguable truths that move me every day. And yes, I still stray and I get lost - or else I would not be human. But I try to be back at it the next day. And I hold the candle of hope that it will all end well. One day, hopefully with me as a witness ... 

Our guardians, our hope ...

2023. A Retrospective

Another crazy and crooked, and hard and funny, and light and heavy, and ... in the end, beautiful year! 

The year took off like a space rocket which we saw from Wrightsville Beach, NC in January - Space X’s Falcon 9 ...

Space X launched the Falcon 9 from Cape Canaveral, FL. But here we captured the launch something like 600 miles North, in Wrightsville Beach, NC

Then there was re-discovering The West (after a 4 year absence) - walking and the driving among cactus plants taller than five-story buildings in Arizona ...

Cactus in Saguaro National Park - Tucson, AZ

I picked up a new hobby - the study of Frank Lloyd Wright’s homes - and kicked off this new obsession by visiting his Taliesin West in Arizona and the Westcott House in Ohio ...

Frank Lloyd's Wright Taliesin West - Scottsdale, AZ

I made my search for National Parks an official hobby too - and we visited three new ones for us: Saguaro (AZ), Indiana Dunes (IN), and Jean Lafitte (LA). Rediscovered the healing power of nature and its untouched beauty. 

I saw armadillos for the first time ever and an owl up-close in the wild as well. 

Armadillo outside the Jean Lafitte National Historical Park - Marrero, LA

From a boat on the Mississippi Delta, in Jean Lafitte National Historical Park - Marrero, LA

We walked the streets of my hometown of Iasi and visited museums we had not seen together before. One would think that no stone is left unturned in your hometown, but we found evidence to the contrary ... 

Street bench in the University District of Iasi - Romania

We went to New Orleans together for the first time, too - got lost in this noisy, smelly, but beautiful old city. A city ever in search of the next thrill, ever aware of its originality and charm.

Amazing "fish wings" at GW Fins, in New Orleans

It was the year of the long road trips - North Carolina to Michigan and then, later, to Louisiana. Long? Yes, but worth it in the end, to cover and see as much of this land as possible. 

We met with family in and from at least three corners of the world. We spent July 4th with my mother-in-law in Michigan and I learned to play pick-up sticks. We celebrated mom’s 70th birthday - so grateful for this milestone and that we were all able to be together for it. We hosted my nephews for a week in North Carolina and cracked up at their funny mouths and originality while experiencing some of their firsts - simple things like lunch at Chick fil-A, their first baseball game, and introducing them to a new artform - the musical (Wicked). 

The Wicked stage in Durham, NC

We got lost in the Smoky Mountains in search of waterfalls right as the summer was slowly creeping in on Memorial Day ... We found hidden-gem wineries and small mountain towns - Bryson City, Sylva and Beech Mountain, too.

View from Deep Creek Winery - Bryson City, NC

Food was new and good to us this year too: we savored award-winning chili at the River’s End Restaurant on the Nantahala River and discovered delicious fish “wings” in New Orleans. 

Bridge over the Nantahala River. River's End Restaurant in the background.

We had cancer scares and health setbacks. We had health successes too. Through home and body repairs, everything and we aged by yet another year ... Everything has an age ...

We supported each other and family and friends in the loss of loved ones or of pets, or in other losses and difficult times, whether there were big or small accidents or misbehaving kids ... 

We continued to watch the world come apart at the seams with sickness, with war, and so much loss that it’s painful to open the news every day anymore ... We pray and we hope for a better tomorrow for all of us. We pray that the lessons that history has taught us are not yet lost on the human race ... We continue to hope there is still some good out there, and try to not think too much and too hard of what might be coming next if the world is not waking up! 

We continued to cross things off of our bucket list like visiting the Dali museum in St. Petersburg, FL or taking our first cooking classes together ... 

Entrance to the Dali Museum - St. Petersburg, FL

During the whole time, we missed dad ... Painfully, dreadfully, and unavoidably ... Everything I did reminded me of him - the stories about the food that I could not share with him, my orchids blooming twice, not once, this year, mom’s birthday party that he did not get to organize ... We lost his dog, his car, and gave away his clothes ... With each gesture, we lost him a little bit more ... It was a brand-new year of learning how to move on, how to keep going without him in the light ... This year was definitely a lot less funny and a lot less light because he was not in it ...

But, at the end of it all, I am grateful for the bright spots - the love and the togetherness we have felt, whether close by or from far-away ... 

Even with all the reminders of loss and pain, I am looking forward to what is next ... Like every year, like every day - life is good and bad, dark and bright, easy and hard - all rolled up into a perfectly imperfect whole ... To witness it all is a privilege. I wish for health in the new year, for it is in health that all things are possible. And I wish for peace in the new year, too, for it is in peace that they become true ... 

Happy New Year, everyone! 

25 Years

25 years ago today, I boarded a KLM flight from Bucharest, Romania, where I said "goodbye" to my tearful parents, sister, and a childhood friend, en route to Amsterdam for a brief layover. After that, I boarded a Northwest flight to Atlanta, GA onward to my very first visit to the USA. 

My mom would tell you that after I passed passport control in Bucharest, I waved them goodbye one last time, and headed for the gate, without ever glancing back. 

I came here on a Business Visa that was to expire in exactly 4 months, on May 19. On that day, January 19, 1998, I had no way to envision that you could build a while life in as little as 4 months! But dad was very adamant: "You make it or break it in those 4 months. You might never see another visa again, so make it worthwhile!" I was not yet 23. 

My 'to do' list was pretty short, but ballsy, nonetheless. I didn't know what the future would bring, but if the future offered me to stay in America (which was my dad's wish for me ever since I could remember), I wanted a couple of few things:

• A legal status. 
• A job small enough to be able to perform with my education at the time (English major graduate) without having to go back to school, and big enough to afford me to live a decent life - a small place to live, a small but reliable car, some pocket money to travel once or twice a year.
• Some sort of treatment for my genetic condition which was predicting that I would not make it past the age of 25. I so wanted to live past that fast-approaching age! 
• To be free. To be truly free to be who I am, without apologies. To not pay bribes for the rest of my life for things that are my rights. To be free to speak my mind without fear that some government functionary would take their power tripping on me just 'cause they can. 

That was about it. You can call it "my American dream".

Northwest is long gone - I almost cried when it became Delta. That was my plane! My Mayflower, if you will! I have learned more things than I can count, and I have aged by many decades, physically, and by centuries emotionally and mentally. I have had my moments at the top of the mountain, victorious and lonely, and I have had more joy than anyone should be allowed in a lifetime. I have been truly blessed. I have had my heart broken more times than I can count. By people, by love, by governments, by times ... But all in all, I have felt fortunate and oh, so undeservingly and hopelessly lucky! 

On such an important day for me, I don't feel accomplished, I don't feel short-changed, nor disappointed that I have not done more. I feel at peace. I truly hope I see many more anniversaries, but if this were to be my last one, I'd be pretty pleased. More than anything - I feel tired and ready for more - all at the same time. 

I hope that the next 25 will be half as eventful as these first 25. And today, I am without a "to do" list. Today, I just want to never forget that when you truly mean to accomplish something, 4 months is enough! 

It was a plane like this one that brought me over on my first journey. I will never forget it! 

Drifting into the New Year

At the close of 2021 and the dawn of 2022, we decided it was high time for us to escape our four walls. True to our tradition of heading North and West in the summer and South and East in the winter, we more or less randomly picked the Georgia Golden Isles to migrate to. Just like the birds. 

I am writing this piece in the middle of a winter storm, with freezing rain, wind and temps below 30F and it’s exactly the kind of weather we ran away from right before the new year clocked in. 

I am not sure where I came up with “Georgia isles”, truly. I was dreaming of going back to Kiawah island, in South Carolina - something I have been meaning to go back to for a while. But there were not a lot of AirBnB options open for the New Year and not a lot of places to eat too-too near-by. So, I went more South with my searches and the maps landed me in Georgia. 

It was our first time in the islands of Georgia and we had zero expectations. We knew we would want to take in some of the beaches - not to lay out, but to walk and shoot. We knew there had to be some birds to watch and we wanted good, fresh seafood and a reason to sit around on a fish-smelling patio and sip a cold drink. 

And those were what the Georgia isles delivered and more ... 

There is no way to properly describe the haunting beauty of the Spanish moss draping over hundred-year old live oaks. It’s something that must be experienced to understand. It has a lot to do with the chill, or the skin-crawling feeling given by watching a horror movie and less with the quiet, majestic beauty of a landscape. Nevertheless, it is as mysteriously beautiful as it is scary. 

I believe every Georgia coastal town (Savannah included) is flooded by these beauties, but I could be wrong. I have just personally not been in Eastern Georgia where they were absent. 

They haunted us everywhere and framed the adventures we were about to have. 

The first day, we woke up in our AirBnB condo in St. Simons Island, on a marsh flooded with sunlight. There was not one egret under our balcony, but a whole farm of them. Kingfishers, herons, cranes, ducks and many other water fowl that we could not even identify. My husband said “wow! It feels like we’re in Africa or something.” - a little bit wetter than that, I’d say, but the golden water vegetation, the minimalistic trees and the birds everywhere, the wide-open sky were all there ... We felt transported. Our little house in North Carolina, of which we have been growing way too bored, was eons behind us ...

We had breakfast reservations on Jekyll Island, at Eighty Ocean Kitchen and Bar. We ate outside, under the palm trees and by the pool. We were the only people on the patio. There were people eating inside and we could not understand why: the weather was amazing, maybe 75F, partially cloudy and breezy. Just beautiful. Not to mention: pandemic! Why would you want to be inside?! 

You have to pay a toll to go to Jekyll Island, which was news to us, so having done that, we decided to do as much as we could on Jekyll Island before we'd get out again and pursue the adventures on our own island of St. Simons. 

After breakfast, we went to Driftwood Beach which was on our “to do” list. Whatever the google tells you that Driftwood Beach is ... is incorrect. If you’re ever in these parts, the $8 toll is 100% worth it just for this beach alone. Just like the name alludes to it: it is a beach full of driftwood. But not just some twigs and branches of driftwood like you see in the decor of many beachy cabins. No, ma’am! It’s a whole forest of driftwood: entire trees just “shipwrecked” on the beach, thrown around, laying on their side, some still standing, dry roots over wet sand, leafless for what it seems like ages, just bracing the ocean; the wind; the hurricanes; life. 

The enormous trees of Driftwood Beach - Jekyll Island, GA

You feel small and unimportant in the whole scheme of things. If the elements can throw around trees the size of buildings like these, what can they do to you?! No control ... There is so much freedom in driftwood - not knowing where it will land, in a different place every day, moved by the water ... There is so much about chance and history that they whisper ... Again, so much mystery. 

Turkey vulture at Driftwood Beach

After the beach, we drove around Jekyll Island in search of Tupelo Trail. We drove by the Horton House, a historic tabby house built in the 18th century by Major William Horton who was believed to be the first resident of the island. He also was the first person (from what is known) to ever brew beer in Georgia and his “brewery” still stands in ruins on the same land as the house. Learning about the Horton House, we also learned about the rich history of the island which was captured from The Spanish in the early to mid 18th century by British troops stationed at Fort Frederica. In case you are wondering, a tabby house means it was built from a mix of burned oyster shells mixed with sand, water, ash, and other shells. 

The "farm" of egrets behind our condo - Sea Palms Resort, St. Simons Island, GA

The entrance to Jekyll Island with the Sidney Lanier bridge in the background

Once we found our trail, we realized that we just stepped into almost another climate, or even another part of the planet: the landscape surely changed drastically between the open, wet-and-dry, windy beach and the trail: Horton Pond at the mouth of the trail was a quiet little heaven for ducks, turtles and alligators. The trail itself looped around the park through a forest of live oaks draped in Spanish moss and resurrection ferns and littered with palmettos and exotic blooms. We were now thinking we were transported to Hawaii in the middle of the rain forest. It was hot and humid. Sticky humid and almost blistering hot. This was December 31, 2021. Definitely the warmest December I have ever lived. 

Tupelo Trail on Horton Pond - Jekyll Island, GA

We stopped by Tortuga Jack’s on the island for some drinks and some snacks before we headed out. Jekyll’s Island overdid itself in beauty and surprises! 

We headed towards the St. Simons Lighthouse on - where else but - St. Simons Island. We took the tour of the keeper’s house and visited the museum, but it was simply too hot to climb all the 129 steps to the top of the lighthouse. We resigned ourselves to walk around the park that leads to the St. Simons pier and take in the gorgeous sunset. The last one of 2021. All the worries and “muck” of 2021 seemed to drown into the ocean with that sun ...

Last sunset of 2021

St. Simons Lighthouse

St. Simons Pier

As we were watching the sun drowning into the ocean, I called my parents in Romania around their midnight, to wish them welcome into 2022 although we were still 7 hours away from it. I wished them well watching that sunset - it was like speaking with them on the other side of the precipice and the sun’s brightest lava was bridging us - on either side of The Atlantic, in two different years; present and future to us ... present and past to them ... 

Later that night we had a delicious seafood dinner at Coastal Kitchen and Bar and we rang the new year in our room because all restaurants and bars closed before midnight. Go figure! 

The following day, we woke up to a brand new year! Oh, the possibilities and hopes! The dreams and prayers we were sending out into the world! 

Somewhat augurally, we had breakfast at the Echo Restaurant at The King and Prince Resort on St. Simons island. The sound and the birds were echoing premonitions of the new year, twined with those of the one we had just left behind ... but we could not make up the voices. We could only hear the sound ... When we stepped on to the patio at Echo, we were on the beach again. Although there was no beach to be seen! I had never seen the ocean clad in so much thick fog! I have always wondered when watching maritime movies how they make it so foggy on the ocean sometimes because having lived on The Atlantic in my time, I had never seen fog that thick. Well, it was there, on St. Simons Island on the first day of 2022, I can promise you that! The ocean was silenced and seemed far, far away, although we knew it was right there, within a few hundred yards really ... Puppies and children ran all around ... We sat under an umbrella and enjoyed our breakfast. Or rather lunch because they were done serving breakfast ... All the restaurants seemed to have trouble keeping up with what meal they were serving when and with what reservations were made and for what dining room (inside, outside, covered patio?). They were all very good but it took them a minute to find their bearings with every guest. 

The foggy beach at The Echo - St. Simons Island, GA

We walked briefly around the beach after breakfast and around the resort and the streets in St. Simons. Everything felt very much like we were in Charleston, SC or Savannah - Southern coastal history at its best. Live oaks and beautiful, well-manicured palm trees were greeting us at every corner, majestic villas wrapped-up in history and dramas untold. There is a strange mix of Southern and Spanish architecture in these islands, perhaps hailing back from the times when Georgia was deemed as “Debatable Land” - not too sure whether it belonged to Spain or the British Empire. That debate was settled in 1742, when the soldiers of Fort Frederica fought The Spanish under colonel Ogelthorpe and decided once and for all that the land belonged to The Empire  ...

After breakfast, we headed towards the Christ Church Frederica, an Episcopal church, one of the oldest in the state, originally established in the 18th century, destroyed during the Civil War and rebuilt right after that. A walk through the cemetery on the grounds reveals the long history of these parts, old families with elaborate plots. Makes you wonder where they all came from, who they were and what secrets they took with them on the other side of this dirt. 

Christ Church Frederica - St. Simons Island, GA

The cemetery on the grounds of the church

The day was once again getting hot. We headed next to Redfern Village, a shopping and restaurant kind of neighborhood, to browse the book offerings at Righton Books and cool off with a latte at Jittery Joe’s while getting some energy back while savoring one of their oatmeal cookies. 

Cheeky and inviting sidewalk sign at Righton Books

Over our New Year’s Eve dinner at Coastal Kitchen the night before, a couple sitting by our table on the patio started chatting with us (the magic of dogs! They had a cute little Australian shepherd terrified of the fireworks who came and spoke with us first) and told us that while we were on the island, we must go to Sea Island (Resort) and listen to the bagpiper at sunset. They promised a once in a lifetime experience. Sea Island is a gated (with a guard) golf club and resort which was built on the grounds of many establishments that existed between the 18th century and the beginning of the 20th century (as explained here: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sea_Island,_Georgia). Today, it is on the PGA tour and although it is breathtaking, it smells a bit of dirty money and too much pomp for our taste. Or at least that was my first impression, mostly judging by the self-entitled crowd that roams the place with a self-important swagger, drink in hand and superior grin to boot. Maybe I am wrong. 

Even if you can’t get into the exclusive resort, it is worth driving down to Sea Island to see the Avenue of the Oaks - the street that leads to the resort, lined, like loyal soldiers, forever en garde, by old live oaks draped in the now ubiquitous Spanish moss ... The low branches and the hairy moss are quite the spectacle in the breeze of the island ... 

The Avenue of the Oaks at Sea Island Resort, St. Simons Island, GA

Our dinner “friends” told us the “secret passcode” to get in: “Just tell them you’re there to see the bagpiper. They’ll let you right on through.” And they did. We were not too sure where everything was and where the piper might be playing, but a very friendly concierge lady directed us to the back patio which opens up in the driving range, framed by palms and palmetto trees. The bagpiper started playing around 5 PM and he was to play for an hour. He walked up and down the golf cart path in front of the back patio and played sombre tunes. The sunset was around 5.30 PM. We listened in awe to the beautiful sound of this instrument but it was far from the serene experience we were promised. People were talking very loudly on the back porch, shouting out orders, mothers, babysitting their children while the husbands were loading up their golf gear in the overpriced vehicles, were running around trying to keep an eye on the little ones, watching as they were getting ready to hit their first golf ball and hurriedly posting every move to their social media accounts ...

Ruins, oaks and moss at Sea Island Resort

The bagpiper at dusk

We left the porch and the too-busy-to-take-in driving range area and found a more solitary “crowd”, much quieter, by the infinity pool on the shores of the ocean, still within earshot of the bagpiper. There, we waited for another glorious sunset - the first one of the year 2022. We were silent as we both probably made a mental plan or said our quiet prayers for what the new year might be bringing onto our lives.  

The infinity pool and the first sunset of 2022 at Sea Island Resort - St. Simons Island, GA

On our last morning on St. Simons Island, January 2, 2022, we woke up at high tide, with our condo marsh flooded by the tide water. It no longer looked like Africa. It very much resembled Kiawah Island ... the trees were half-way buried in water and the birds were happy, restless and hunting for fish. 

 

 

The marshes behind out condo on our last day on the island

View of our condo from the marshes in the back

I threw on a shirt and some jeans and I had to walk behind our condo and take some last pictures to remember this place by. There was no noise, not a sound, other than of fish occasionally leaping up from the waters, or of water fowl letting each other know they are home. 

Birds in the marshes behind our condo

On the way back, with my husband driving, I kept thinking of all the things we had learned, about The South, its history, about what kind of people live in these parts and were buried in that solemnly quiet graveyard, about all the old year’s remains that we buried in the ocean with that last sunset and about the new slate ahead of us - a new year, with new dreams, hopes, promises ... 

My thoughts were drifting in and out of my mind, oscillating between the old and the new; the old I had left behind, the new that was wrapped up in the fog of the unknown new year in front of me. Will it be better? Harder? More rewarding? Or a let down, not worthy of new year’s resolutions or even prayers? An uprooted tree, at the mercy of torrents knows no direction. It just follows the drift until one day, it might just find a friendly shore to rest on ... forever ... 

Happy new year, all! Wishing you all safe shores! 

Sunrise to a new day behind our condo right as we were getting ready to head back home. Click on the picture to view the entire album from this trip.