Pyramid Lake Adventure

Adventure always happens when Ashley and I do something. I should’ve considered myself forewarned. I mean, she was partially the cause of the most miserable night of my life… but that’s another story. I had a weekend off, though, so I must go into the mountains. Ashley and I -it didn’t work for anyone else- both got off work Thursday afternoon. Thursday, June 21, was the longest day of the year. Since it would be light so long, we decided to go up Thursday night.

Summer solstice camping expectations were pretty high. I could see myself sipping my after-supper-tea, the smoke swirling gently over the peaceful lake, and the late evening sun suffusing the mountain peaks in a gentle golden glow.

But, Reality would have none of it. Reality check #1. The car overheated on our way up the mountain.

#2. The first few rain drops patter on the windshield as we pull into the parking spot.

#3. It begins to pour. So far we are dry, despite the weeping heavens. This is when I look back at Ashley, and ask, “Should we wait for it to stop?” She gave me a mad grin of pure joy and content, “No, let’s keep going.”

#4. The trail turns into a raging river. Damp shoes aren’t that bad are they?

#5. Uh-oh! Snow!

#6. Where’s the trail? More importantly, where’s the lake? The lake moved at this point.

#7. This isn’t the lake; it’s a swamp! My shoes are now sloshy, and my pants dripping. Ashley is smugly dry in her super rain gear and waterproof shoes (these were points of pride for her and jealousy for me all weekend.)

I was about ready to sleep in the swamp, but lucky for me, Ashley was convinced we could find the elusive lake… and thankfully we did. The rain stopped and we set up a cozy camp with a crackling fire (it took a whole box of matches because everything was wet, but finally, with much coaxing and bribing, it caught).

Friday morning burst blue and golden upon us. From Pyramid Lake we hiked up to Pyramid Peak. The view was breathtaking and the sun warm, and we wanted to stay up there all day, but rain clouds began to build and we weren’t about to scramble down the rocks during the rain.

We detoured over to Trout Lake on our way to camp. The rain caught us between Trout Lake and Pyramid Lake. We hid under insufficiently limbed trees during the fiercest bursts, but finally decided to brave the blasts to get back to camp.

Since the day had begun so gloriously beautiful, we hadn’t expected rain and were a little afraid our gear and sleeping bags would’ve gotten wet. They weren’t, but to keep things dry during the continued patter, we cinched the tarp down tight. Before long, we were seated under our tarp, eating supper, watching the flames dance and the rain pour down. We were way too smug for our own good. “This is just so cozy,” Ashley gushed. That’s when the storm hit.

Wind whipped across the lake, thunder reverberated down the ridges, hail pelted our tarp (which was showing scary amounts of wear and tear), and rain gushed out of the sky. We managed to rearrange the tarp a bit to protect from the extra wind lashed rain. The holes were stopped with duct tape and band aids.

I only had a limited amount of dry clothes, so I was stuck in my sleeping bag, with the tarp a mere 18 inches above my head from 4 p.m. until we woke up the next morning. Although I became bored with the never-changing pattern of raindrops above me and worried a little about the ancient tarp shredding, I slept extremely well.

A friend in the valley told me the next day, “I’ve never seen it rain so hard in my life.” And we not only survived this storm huddled under a tarp, but slept warm and dry. What’s not to be smug about?

Returning Home

Siem Reap, Cambodia
Thursday, May 31, 2018

This is a farewell… or so I’d planned it.

One week ago, with buzzing brain, pounding heart, and jittering legs I peered out of the airplane window watching Siem Reap slowly approach. I whirled through customs and didn’t stop waltzing for several days.

My first full day I spent out in the village. The excitement of meeting old friends mirrored on their faces. Khmer words tumbled off my tongue haphazardly. Sticky heat and dusty roads welcomed my homesick heart.

I came to spend time with people. So contentment radiates deep in my heart when I just sit talking, or hold the children, now a year larger.

Slowly and surely, Cambodia has rewoven its entrancing charm around my heart. I feel the knot tighten, not loosen.

How will I say goodbye?

***

I wrote the above during my recent visit to Siem Reap, Cambodia. It was glorious but short. I felt torn when friends asked, “When are you coming back?” or “What? You only came to visit?” I slipped into old habits and ways without trying. Everything felt just so normal… so right. And my life in America was so faraway and unreal.

So, what did I do over there? Not much really. I spent time with people. I was able to meet a few of my old English students. Much to my great surprise, they were very shy. They didn’t remember English, or so they told me, but Ya did remember enough to ask, “Jody, do you have boyfriend?” The one of two questions all my Khmer friends asked.

The boys took me on a very eventful moto trip. Always before we went during dry season when the fields are red and ugly, but with rainy season in full swing the rice fields were vibrantly green. The trip was very eventful because a moto broke down not too long after we started. While the mechanically minded tinkered with the engine, carburetor, and whatever else you tinker with to get a moto going, we more frivolous minded carved trees, avoided the ants, and threw rocks at chosen targets. The boys were able to push start it and drive the 4 Km to the next town. The mechanic didn’t have the necessary parts, so while we waited for Allen to come rescue us, we piled onto the two remaining motos and drove to a lake for lunch and relaxation.

Good-byes came too soon. I hadn’t expected the farewells to be so difficult. At first, the thought of coming home upset me horribly, and I feared another adjustment period. During transit I had a dreamy feeling of living in two very different worlds, but once landed and driving home the previous two weeks had an unreal tinge. Now, I feel more settled in this life here than ever. Instead of upsetting and confusing me, my recent visit has brought an unexpected (but welcome) peace and contentment.

It’s good to be home.