21 Jun The Little Pieces of the World I Keep

I complimented her on her hat, in which she replied that she crocheted it herself. In the parking lot, as we said goodbye, she gifted me that hat.

“It might be a bit big for you because I crocheted it for my big head, but I think it’ll still fit,” she said. “When you wear it, it’ll remind you of this moment.”

***

There’s a couple items I’ve been gifted over the years of traveling that I’ve kept and never forgotten about. 

One would be the scarf given to me by a taxi driver in Luxor, Egypt. He was explaining to me about how he wanted a family, but couldn’t afford the dowry for a wife. I asked him to stop by the market so I could buy an extra headscarf that I would need in Iran to cover my hair with. It was 8:00 am in the morning and the market was closed. He helped my mom and I with our luggage and presented to me a choice of two spare scarves he had in the trunk. He insisted that I take one and I have kept that fiery black, red and yellow scarf in my room. It struck me that he didn’t care that it was a scarf for men—a thick, towel-like texture instead of a light, graceful one; he just saw I needed a scarf and gave me his spare. 

I always keep my Iranian SIM card in my SD card case tucked in my camera bag. Two and a half years ago, I told my mom that I wanted to do a road trip in Iran. Her reaction was kind of an ‘okay, I guess.’ On my second day after landing in Tehran, I met a girl named Mitra while I was eating lunch. It was during the lunch rush at a cafe and all the seats were full, so I gestured to her to sit down at the empty seat next to me. We started chatting and she told me about her boyfriend (now ex-boyfriend) who was doing his PhD in America. She invited me to sleepover her apartment and offered to take me on a tour of her city over the weekend which is Thursday and Friday in Iran. We stayed the night and she invited her two neighbors over for tea. One of her neighbors, Mostafa, gave me his phone number and said to contact him if we had any questions or needed help. 

In the morning, we left to drive to Abyaneh, an ancient village recommended by her neighbors. A few days later, I got a message in Persian from the cell service company. After putting it in google translate and getting an incomprehensible answer, I sent it to Mostafa for help. An hour later, he texted back that the message said we were running out of money on the SIM card and that he added money onto our account so we don’t have to worry about it. 

Another would be a dress that was given to me in Athens. I took the metro to the ice rink and by the front desk, I heard a woman speaking with what sounded like an Ohioan accent. I asked her where she was from and she said that she grew up in Ohio, but moved to Athens with her Greek husband. I became friends with her daughter Lauren and they invited me over for dinner the next day. 

We skated together and drove back to her house. The summer sun disappeared and the cool night breeze swept through the open air house. The smell of delicious Mexican food that Lauren’s dad meticulously prepared filled the room. We ate under the trees on the patio while exchanging lots of swear words and laughs, Greek style. Lauren’s mom, Elizabeth, told me about how her father needed a kidney operation during the economic crisis and the doctors and nurses carried out the operation even though they weren’t being paid. The casual lines around the block for ATMs, the austere caps on withdrawing money, everything that I vaguely heard about on the news as a kid was their reality. 

After dinner, Elizabeth and Lauren drove me to the metro station and rode the train with me to my stop, even walking me all the way back to my hotel. Two weeks later, I came back to Athens again and met up to skate with them. As they dropped my friend and I off at the metro after a morning of shopping to go to the airport, Lauren ran to the house to grab one of her dresses that she doesn’t wear enough and thought I would like. It’s a flowy, short, purple and black dress with butterflies on it. 

I kept a garbage bag from Alaska in my backpack for a while. It wasn’t exactly a gift, but it was given to me. My friend Nick—who I met while climbing in Alaska—convinced me to hitchhike to McCarthy because the weather in Valdez was getting super rainy. I didn’t have my sleeping bag or rain jacket with me because I was only planning on being in Valdez for two days and heading right back to Anchorage, but ended up staying the week and was gone for almost three weeks until I caught a ride back with The Potato truck. Usually when you hitchhike, you carry a tent and sleeping bag in case you can’t catch a ride before nighttime. It was 3 or 4pm already so it was getting late for this last minute decision. He drove me an hour and a half out of town to where the road into Wrangell St. Elias National Park begins so I didn’t have to stand in the drizzling rain at Worthington. There was a trading post with a sheltered roof that I could crash at in case I don’t get a ride, he said. I think he stuffed the garbage bag into my pack as both an emergency sleeping bag and an emergency rain jacket. I kept it in my backpack for a long time because it always made me laugh and it, for some weird reason, gives me a sense of courage to just go out there and adventure with a trash bag and it will be okay.

On a 10-day cruise to Antarctica, a newly married Chinese couple gifted me a pack of cards from the Forbidden Palace taobao (like the Chinese version of Amazon) shop. They both were nerdy tech people from the Bay area and chose to do a trip to Antarctica instead of a large wedding reception, although they noted that their families would probably make them have one anyway. They’re such a sweet, fun couple with a pet instagram for their cat Dora and their dog Emon. The crew brought out a cake for them at dinner one night and sang a song. The chef jokingly held a tablecloth in front of them for some privacy seeing that they were shy and she pulled it down and gave him such a cute kiss. Each card in the deck had a painting of a historical site in the Forbidden Palace and a description or poem on it. I always bring them to school with me to keep in my dorm, so I can flip through them every now and again. They always remind me of how much I love Chinese art and history. 

***

I responded to a message in the Midlands Climbers Whatsapp group that asked for a partner in Umgeni on Saturday. It was a dude named Marco, and that’s how I ended up in Umgeni Valley the first week I was here. Marco and I met up with Amanda and her husband there to climb together. Amanda didn’t climb, but she was happy to chill around the crag for the day as the three of us climbed. 

Amanda was more cautious on the hike down to the crag, but I didn’t really take notice because I had plenty of friends who were slower hikers. She was so cheerful all day and always offered biltong, a South African jerky, and other snacks. 

As Marco and Ray were doing their last climb, Amanda and I hiked back up first to enjoy the sunset over the gorge. Amanda apologized for being a slow hiker and pointed to the huge tumor on her leg. We were sitting in the grass, watching the sun set with zebras grazing nearby. Amanda shared with me that she had neurofibromatosis, a genetic condition that causes tumors to form all over the body. She told me about the two times she almost died on the operating table and the months that she spent not even being able to lift a fork because of the tumors in her spinal cord. 

She told me about the very good public hospital she had her operation at and the expenses that her and her husband incurred. She encountered hostility with some of the black nurses because they expect white people to go to private hospitals. Amanda said that private hospitals were too expensive for her too. She also added that there were very kind black nurses as well and that she always made sure to treat mean people with kindness as well. Her sentiment was that you shouldn’t let others’ negativity cause you negativity as well. A ray of sunshine, Amanda really lives what she believes in. 

Recently, I saw on instagram that one of the nicest, funniest girls who writes for the same school news organization as me found out she had cancer and is going through chemotherapy. I remember when my best friend’s other best friend died of cancer my junior year of high school. It prompted me to go out and responsibly take my risks and live my adventure because you never know what life will hit you with. 

My mom always tells me that over all of my other achievements in life, she’s the most happy about how I’m a strong, healthy girl inside and out. 

I told Amanda I would make sure to visit her in Maritzburg before leaving and she took off her hat and put it on me—grey with pink trim and a flower made out of buttons stitched on top. 

***

A few weeks later, I made a trip out to Port St. Johns in the Eastern Cape to witness the magic that is Sardine Run, a natural phenomena where millions of sardines migrate along the South African coast up to Mozambique to warmer Indian Ocean waters. The sardines attract an abundance of all sorts of wildlife.

The night before getting surrounded by huge pods of dolphins, I went on a hike to the Gap and the Blowhole. The name comes from the rock formation at the bottom of a cliff that when it gets hit by a large wave, the water rushes through the gap and blasts through the hole. 

The backpackers I was at kept insisting on a guided hike, but as an experienced hiker and climber, I was not going to be led around by some guy who has less outdoors knowledge than me on a super easy path that is actually impossible to get lost on. There’s no real hiking information or guide online, just local knowledge and random signage. 

I followed the road signs to the Gap and Blowhole and bumped my way through a township to the end of the road. Another car was there with an Indian family. I greeted them and asked which path to take, as there were two. They pointed me down one, and I went on my way. 10 seconds later the mom ran after me and said that she would join my hike. Her husband had done it before, but she hadn’t.

We went down the slippery scramble, gripping onto the rope. Her name was Nazia and she lived in Lusikisiki, an hour drive from Port St. Johns. She had vans on, as she wasn’t planning on hiking. She was a little scared because of how steep and slippery it was, but I talked her through it. As we said bye, she told me that she lives right off the road in town and that I should stop by when I head back to Durban. 

Later, I messaged asking about places to stay in Lusikisiki as I wasn’t sure if I needed to be back in Durban the next day for a meeting and Lusikisiki is on the way. She texted back that I was welcome to stay at her place. I ended up staying in Port St. Johns for the night, but the next day, I got to Nazia’s place at 2:00 p.m. 

She welcomed me in and told me that she was afraid I wouldn’t come to a strangers house. My legs are still sore from the hike, she laughed. She said that her four-year-old son was so excited for me to come that he was singing Happy Birthday to Chen Chen even though it wasn’t my birthday. 

She had prepared a fish and chips with salad lunch for me, saying that she just threw some things together for me real quick. She explained that she’s a stay at home mom who does some occasional work. You should travel at this age, you’re so carefree, she said. It’s not the same once you get married and have kids. Then, you always have to worry about someone. She has never left the country. My husband lets me do what I want, she said. But she didn’t like living so far from the rest of her family. 

As I was getting ready to ready to leave, she asked me to wait a second. A gift bag in hand, she said that it was for me. There were mugs and snacks wrapped inside. She just baked cupcakes the night before and she packed six for me; they were for the four-hour drive back so I don’t get hungry. Vanilla, chocolate, coffee—the cake was fresh and delicious. She told me to come back sometime and that her husband would have taken me fishing if I were here for a bit longer. There’s lots of fun hikes to do around here too, she said.

I was heading out the door and she ran to grab a jacket for me. Green with yellow stripes, South Africa written on the back and a flag emblem on the heart. It fit me perfectly. It was exactly what I needed since I didn’t bring a thinner fleece jacket with me. 

“It’s one of my old ones,” she said. “But I want you to have it. Give it a wash and you should be able to wear it.”

I said bye to her and her son and headed back to town. I teared up a little because it reminded me of how my grandma would send travelers off with a full belly and snacks in rural China, giving as much of a hand as she could to send them on their way. 

***

The next weekend, I headed to Underberg in the Southern Drakensberg with two ice climbing partners, Carl and Simon. We stayed at Simon’s father-in-law, Tod’s, home. 

Tod welcomed us right in and told us to help ourselves to whatever we needed. Tod and his wife, Trisha’s, house was a quiet kind of gorgeous in the most homey, dainty way. It’s a hundred-year-old house with a beautiful garden complete with fountains, waterfalls and so many kinds of flowers dangling in thoughtful ways. The large windows of the living room showcased the backyard and cottage. The house was adorned with photos of Tod trekking and climbing in Nepal and other parts of the world. The fridge was full of magnets of places they’ve been: Croatia, Greece, Patagonia, New Zealand… 

We braaied steaks and sausages that night and headed to the Berg the next morning. Tod, at 70-some years old, can out-hike me. We dropped Tod off because he wanted to hike up instead of drive up the pass. We got back to Tod’s house the day after to gather our stuff after freezing our butts off in the mountains and head back to Durban. 

I told Tod that I wanted to be like him when I grow up—badass, kind, mountain man, world-traveler and author of four novels. Tod was a veterinary surgeon, performing C-sections on horses and removing cancerous eyes from cows. 

Before I left, Tod went to grab copies of his books to give me. I skimmed through a few pages and so far, I know that he hitch-hiked around New Zealand in his youth and had some international romances. I’ll have to find time to read his autobiography to get to know him better.

As we pulled out of his driveway and said goodbye to his dog, Frosty, Tod told us to come back any time and that his home was ours too. 

***

Sometimes people ask me if I get homesick while I travel. 

It’s hard to be homesick if everyone is going out of their way to make you feel at home.