Looking Under Rocks and the Importance of Travel

“When you are a kid, everything is new. You don’t know what’s under each rock, or up the creek. So, you look. You notice because you need to. The world is new. This, I believe, is why time moves slowly as a child–why school days creep by and summer breaks stretch on. Your brain is paying attention to every second. It must as it learns the patterns of living. Every second has value,” writes Jedidiah Jenkins. “But as you get older, and the patterns become more obvious, time speeds up…The layout of your days becomes predictable, a routine, and once your brain reliably knows what’s next, it reclines and closes its eyes. Time pours through your hands like sand.”

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I love this explanation of the differences in time speed kids and adults experience. What I love even more is Jenkins’ antidote: “If discontent is your disease, travel is medicine. It resensitizes. It opens you up to see outside the patterns you follow. Because new places require new learning. It forces your childlike self back into action.”

So true. This year has been long, and there’s more long yet to come, but for a brief parenthesis in the months of predictable–I can’t say routine, because that fizzled around May–we saw new. We traveled. I recommend it.

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For two weeks, we didn’t see our own four walls because we were living on big-sky porches in North Carolina and Georgia. Yes, a friend did ask if we were COVID chasers (thanks for that, Keiran!). What we were chasing was the new under each rock and up each creek, or river as the case may be. And under each book cover, restaurant awning and wine bottle cork.

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We stayed first near Saluda, North Carolina, in a cabin in a valley which required managing 17 switch backs up a steep mountain road to get a jug of milk in Saluda. (Dad, it reminded me of the road up the hill to our Tuscany house, only this time with two lanes.) The very first morning we found a 3-foot snake skin on the front porch. It hadn’t been there the night before, when we ate Kevin’s grilled steak by bare-bulb light on the deck, so that was exciting. In the cool of the morning, we sat on the porch admiring the snake skin and a magical view of enormous meadow shimmering in mist, a rise of green Blue Ridge mountain and a peek of sun stretching to start the day. I think we sat there for the next four hours reading books.

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This description refers to the adults only. The girls sleep until forcibly roused and Finn was looking for the snake or something. The afternoons were more active, but not much. In the afternoon, we kind of did more sitting around, only on tubes in a cold-ish Green River. The water was high from massive storms, which was exciting, if sitting in a tube and exerting no effort can be considered exciting. There were rapids. I only fell off once. Finn and Kevin were too busy trying to beat the other to end of the ride to offer to help, and the girls were more intrigued by the groups of teenage boys floating by, who were regretfully aware of them in return. The views I noticed (not boys, except for boys watching my girls) were gorge-ous and interesting.

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Some of the river banks reminded me of Kalimantan, Indonesia, with the thick riverbank vegetation. I kept an eye out for orangutans out of habit, but I didn’t see even so much as a macaque. I did see some quaint trailer houses with added wooden decks and the occasional confederate flag perched atop it; big, fancy houses with floor to ceiling glass windows looking over the river; and lots of stretches of nothing but Carolina jungle. In the stretch of river across from our cabin, we later swam with Bali-puppy and saw the occasional Hispanic families venture tepidly into the water with life jackets on; a dad floating by with ball cap and drink, giving advice to a son; or a cluster of teenagers scrolling through their phones as they floated. It was chill.

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We had one thrilling adventure, which was zip lining. We geared up in our masks, harnesses and hard hats, and flew down 11 lines to the bottom of the gorge 1,100 feet below. It was awesome seeing the views of old-growth forest extending out before our eyes as far as we could see (1-2 percent of NC is protected old-growth forest). Everyone did really well with it, no dramas. We have fearless kids, thanks to a life of travel. We compared it to zipping over Angkor Wat in Cambodia and loved the experiences equally much. I felt slightly more reassured in North Carolina because the company used German-made bolts and lines and grips, which is nice when you’re over a 100-foot drop.

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Only one tree in the forest had been cut down for the course, and the trunk remained in the shape of a heart. In keeping with tradition, we shouted out what we loved as we leaped off the platform.

Tatum shouted, “My phone!”
Finn, “My parents!”
Clara, “Tacos!”
Kevin, “My family!”
Heather, “Vacation!”

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We had a most excellent and previously unplanned stop in Athens, Georgia, on the way to our second cabin. I gave my family an abbreviated tour of where I went to graduate school–the psychology building where I spent most of my waking hours, a favorite restaurant called The Grit, the landmark UGA arches, my second apartment where I lived next to my BFF Liz. Tatum thought that sounded amazing and is ready to start grad school today. Her main takeaway from the visit is that she plans to join a sorority. Huh. Clara loved the old campus and awesome downtown vibe with boutique shops and funky coffee houses and Haagen Daaz and said she might like to come here too. She will join a sorority like Tatum. Huh. Finn mainly grappled with the new and difficult information that there is school after college.

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Somewhere in-between Cleveland and Helen, Georgia, we stayed in an elegant-rustic cabin with yet another incredible view, this time off the back porch, of distant blue mountains. There was also a hot tub and bonfire patio. As we walked in and explored the lovely cabin, Clara said, “I like this, Mom. I think we should buy this one.” There are so many things wrong with that statement, I can’t even unpack it. Favorite memories here include watching a lot of Harry Potter movies, riding a mountain coaster, and thunderstorms.

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Helen as a town was hilarious. It’s an attempt of a replica of Strasbourg, France. Again, there are many things wrong with that approach, so I’m not going to unpack it. We did find a fantastic “international” restaurant (decorated by naked cherubs on the walls) serving soft, hot pretzels and dijon mustard and dark, draft beer where the kids and dog could wander away from our picnic table to jump in the river. That was pretty wonderful.

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The long drive back actually led to one of the best parts of the trip. We stopped in Charlottesville, Virginia, and reconnected with one of our Roshan families, those rare refugees accepted to the United States in recent years. They arrived exactly when we did, two years ago. Their youngest son would have died in Jakarta, whereas in Charlottesville he received world-class heart surgery, which allowed his brain to get back on track to normal development. His English and confident personality are now equal to his three siblings (and his accent is more American). These children were among my favorite at Roshan. I can go into their story another time, but suffice it to say, it brought our family glowing joy to see them, and to see them thriving. Their dad has a job in housekeeping at a hotel, and their mother smiled more in that one-visit than she did in four years in Jakarta. I am once again grateful to this country for this generosity and fidelity to our principles.

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We also loved the vibrant pedestrian area of downtown Charlottesville where we ate gourmet shrimp and grits and fried chicken and biscuits. People danced to live Spanish guitar music under the stars. I am so glad we looked under this rock.

I forgot to add that on the way down to North Carolina, we stayed overnight in a Super 8 motel in Lynchburg, Virginia. Wow, that was truly an education of a different sort for our kids. We slept without air conditioning because I didn’t trust a shared air flow. Luckily a window opened, but that allowed for the wafting in of cigarette and weed smoke. Finn, our little boy scout, was most offended by this. The sink didn’t work properly and there weren’t enough towels, so we spent most of the time trying not to touch anything or breathe. This experience allowed the kids to look under a rock of a different sort, which brought Kevin and me much joy in a sadistic kind of way.

And then we came home and it’s back to the future. The end.

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