I recently had a birthday. I won’t get into specifics, but let’s just say it was a big one.
Last year around this time, I thought I should do something amazing to celebrate. I had been whining about not doing enough international travel (California, Arizona and hikes at Mt. Baker don’t count), so my partner suggested 2020 was the year we should make it happen.
First we thought of Italy, but it occurred to me I could travel to Italy for my next milestone. No, this milestone I needed to take advantage of my *ahem* relative youth, since we only go in one direction.
This year, it would be Peru and hiking the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu. In fact, that was just one of the treks we were planning. It was going to be the trip of a lifetime: scaling the Andes, exploring ruins, boating through floating islands.
By the end of January, flights were booked, tours were scheduled, we were on our way. By the end of February, my partner delicately broached the subject of postponing. (He knew the reaction, so was treading carefully.) By the first week of March, the whole thing was a no-go, and the three weeks I had booked off for the trip were spent working from home as the Richmond News pumped out more coronavirus stories than I can count.
Finally, in August we took a couple of weeks off, but what to do? We had no interest in getting on a plane and all the campgrounds were full.
...Introducing my dad’s 1987 Westfalia van.
My dad is not exactly a car guy, but he has a deep and profound love for this old clunker. He has made it clear to myself and sisters, we’re welcome to sell it — the day after his funeral.
He bought it 30 years ago, and my parents have taken it far and wide. Now, it’s mainly used for little putt-putts to the river where they drink tea and read books, but it’s still their get-away.
That said, it appeared my dad was doing some succession planning as he recently put the insurance in my name.
Anyway, it seemed this could be the answer to our vacation plans. We would explore close to home, sleep on the side of the road if need be and wear Birkenstocks and bandanas — okay, maybe not the last, although we did flash the peace sign to other Westfalia drivers. (It’s truly a cult.)
But here’s the thing, at 33 in car years, parts are falling off, it’s known to overheat and appeared to not like its rebuilt engine. (Actually, I can relate.)
Given all this, we felt we had to stay within towing range. We did venture to a lake north of Princeton, but apart from that our whole two weeks were spent in and around Hope and Manning Park.
And here’s the other thing, it was a fantastic trip. We camped in non-reservable recreation sites and off a dirt road by a rushing river. We hiked to the top of Mt. Frosty in Manning and Flat Iron north of Hope, wandered through some stunning subalpine meadows full of wild flowers, swam in some crazy cold lakes and met some lovely folks who lent us their kayak.
One of my projects throughout the past seven months has been to make a list of the positive adaptations we’ve made to this otherwise horrible virus.
No, I didn’t get to Peru this year and may not next, but we live in one beautiful part of the world and I’m grateful to be reminded of that fact.
