Category: travel

The Colorado Trail Pt.II

by Jen Roby, posted in America, Colorado Trail, scary, single female, travel

If you have been following along, you will know from reading “The Colorado Trail Pt.I” that the start of this trail was magical.

I was gliding along with the wind, soaking up the sun and enjoying my alone time in the wilderness. Each day boosted my confidence in conquering challenges. After some support from friends in Breckenridge, Leadville, and Buena Vista, I was ready to test myself away from the comfort of cities.

A new friend from Carbondale, Brad, offered to join me for a segment. He had participated in the Colorado Trail race but had to drop out on day two due to physical issues. I mention this not to highlight his failure but to provide context for his later behavior on the trail. Entering Buena Vista, I enjoyed a nice dinner with an new friend and took a zero day to wait for him. My body felt great and while I knew I could go straight into the next few segments, it was always a good idea to take the day to eat as many carbs as I could. 

Things started well. I was in a positive mood, and while he didn’t greet me with the same energy, I appreciated his effort to set aside his negative emotions from the past week. I was excited to have someone join me, even though I wasn’t sure what our experience would be. After a hearty meal, we set off down the county roads toward Mount Princeton.

This segment was special to me because I had been staying in a remote cabin with views of these mountains. For months, they had inspired me, and I was finally ready to ride across that mountain line. Yet, I found myself questioning if I had truly faced any challenges so far. My past self had underestimated my abilities, but maybe I was more intuitive than I realized.

A few miles in, I noticed Brad’s overcompensation. He rode ahead on the climbs, offering to push me as if I hadn’t been riding nearly 50 miles a day. At first, it felt supportive, but soon I realized it was more about him trying to feel strong. When he quit the Colorado Trail race, he seemed to forget I was still on my own journey. The day became filled with his pompous knowledge of the trail, and his “screw you breaks”—pausing to wait for me only to rush ahead again—really got to me. I began comparing myself to him and feeling inadequate. By day’s end, I had made fewer miles than usual and felt weighed down by his presence. We had a mediocre sleep in the woods, not even close to the location of my desired campground. I felt like Brad was a ball and chain, and it frustrated me that I was prioritizing someone else’s needs over my own.

The next morning, I resolved to start fresh. I had already told him I needed to go solo at Monarch, which felt like a relief. However, he took my boundaries poorly, creating tension. During breaks, he constantly checked his phone to make plans with another girl, which annoyed me. I didn’t care who he saw or what he did after our segment; I just wanted him to be present if we were going to be doing this ride together.

Halfway through the day, I realized his energy was ruining my experience. I gave him the option to leave early if he wasn’t enjoying himself. Instead of catching the subtle hint, he became defensive, criticizing me for putting on headphones to avoid his complaints about his bike. I felt embarrassed to argue in such beautiful surroundings and angry at myself for letting him get to me. A tear slipped down my cheek as he tried to comfort me, but I felt manipulated.

When he rode off, I felt a mix of anger and sadness. I had let someone disrupt my journey, but I knew I had to move on. Arriving at the Shavano Angel Trailhead, I remembered the legend of the Shavano Princess, who turned her tears into riverbeds. I decided my tears would fuel my resilience. As the weather turned gray and rain fell, I embraced the moment, realizing I loved being out here, growing stronger every day.

There was nothing else I could do but get back on that bike and ride. So I did. I rode all across the Sawatch Range, across Highway 50, up and over Monarch Mountain, even made it down the valley and into the start of Sargents Mesa. I rode that bicycle as if nothing else mattered. I was a machine and this was my tool to get to my final destination. I didn’t know what would be ahead, but to hell or high water, I was going to find out.

My biker friend Austin asked to join me for some segments later in the second half. I welcomed his positive energy and everything fell back into place riding with a real supportive friend. He was on this trail to experience bike-packing and test out his gear for later races, such as The Tour Divide. Together we embarked across some of the steepest terrain the trail offered.

While I heard this segment was known to mentally break down riders, I didn’t find the baby head rocks too frustrating to climb up and down. I was in my element again and little rocks were not going to effect me. I found happy distractions of raspberry bushes planted all across this stretch, a gentle reminder that there is always something beautiful in the midst of struggle. Over the next couple days of quiet contemplation, the negative thoughts returned. Yet every time I was reminded of that horrible encounter, I was already chanting to myself, “don’t let the bastards win”. And I absolutely didn’t.

By this point, the rain was here to stay. Each day brought in late summer monsoons that would sweep across the lower half of Colorado. One minute it would be sunny, the next a brisk wind would sweep the land and lightning would form in the distance.

That night was spooky sleeping in a creaky fallen tree forest. At least Austins’ tent was close to mine, so should anything happen, I didn’t feel alone. The bivy was still holding up and we managed to stay warm despite the high alpine night temperatures.

This was the section where I finally experienced my first bit of trail magic. Up until now, the places that had coolers were all emptied by the racers. I was so excited to see tents, camper RVs, and a subtle smoke from a Coleman. We rushed over to say hi to new friends and could easily smell the pancakes. An older man welcomed us with a tin foil-wrapped burrito and ushered us toward fresh coffee. Am I dreaming? Everything I wanted for breakfast when I thought I had to settle for my dry trail mix.

We thanked everyone and took off before the next rain cell came in. Our goal was the Cathedral Cabins where we would reassess the weather. It was a long day up and down county backroads, but we found water resources and couldn’t be happier to be out of the scorching sun.

At this point it was nothing but gravel roads. We passed San Luis Peak and could see the hint of a full moon peeping during the day. I was so excited for the upcoming evening as I really wanted to bike throughout the moonlit night. The roads are not too traveled out here so it would be us and the occasional elk that roamed the night. We made it to the cabins just in time for a passing rain storm. We were calculating the milage left and realized we should pick up our pace if Austin wants to get dropped off and return to work by Monday.

So we declined the cabin night stay, and instead I rented a quick hot shower to refresh myself for the night to come. I had plenty of energy and was eager to ride in the darkness. The last of the rain fell for the night and we headed out back into the wilderness, toward Silverton. If we were lucky, we could get to the hight point of the trail just in time before the heavy lightning storms passed through the next day. There was no such thing as a zero day now.

We made it out of the gravel road and onto the highway, with over 75 miles that day, across 12,000 elevation gain when we decided to pull over at this truck run off. It wasn’t an ideal stay for the night, however it was past midnight and I had officially hit a wall with no more energy to burn. I was so tired that at one point I took a break only to find myself completely sure I could just sleep on the side of the highway. Austin saw this and made the call to find the next immediate camp spot off the highway.

This was about day nine when I started to notice my sleeping bag wasn’t completely dry. It was building up condensation over the past rainy days and became less comfortable to sleep each night. At least I had my wool pants to shield my bare legs from the damp cold.

Each morning was a brutal wet start. There was nothing to prep for each day. I would quickly pack and immediately put on the same outfit – that was as warm as I was gonna get.

We head toward Silverton, however have to bike across the highest point of the Colorado Trail, Coney Summit, at 13,270ft. We ran into a few backpackers on this section and I could tell everyone was nervous about the consistent thunderclouds overhead. It was the biggest question looming over everyones mind – should we hike up and over now or after these pass?

Austin and I felt like we biked enough throughout the night to set ourselves up for a quick crossing with little rain. We marched upwards and onwards as the clouds grew more ominous. At one point we heard the thunder and saw the lightning snap so quickly apart that we decided it was best to ditch our bikes for a few minutes to watch it drift overhead. I’m not quite sure why lightning doesn’t scare me the way it does others, but I was blissfully entranced by the stomping clouds above.

We carried on with our bikes and eventually made it to the peak. Below us was a wide valley that curved across many mountains. It started to hail, and we quickly grabbed my tarp to wait under. During this time, I could feel the heat of Austin sitting next to me. I hadn’t realized how soaked my clothes were or how prickled my fingers felt. I began to unconsciously shake, and Austin looked at me. “Jen, you are blue! You need to eat something.” It was clear I was beginning to experience hypothermia. The restless wind, pounding ice, and wet clothes did nothing to help. Austin embraced me, and in that moment, I questioned if I was strong enough on my own or because of the support of another person.

While the sun was nowhere to be found, you could tell it was setting and night was approaching. We safely made it to lower elevation, but still were well above 12,500 in that valley. We decided to camp in the nearest site, next to a lake. That night we attempted to share a tent for warmth, but our bags were still very damp. It was the least we could do but it didn’t help much. This was the first point of the trail when I began to feel miserable and worried the sun would never return.

Forget the bastards though, it is now me and Mother Nature.  Some days you are working with her, others against. Regardless she should be respected and I now know that The Colorado Trail Pt. III would prove to be my ultimate test – one that I am so grateful to be alive and able to share the story.

Safari in the Serengeti

by Jen Roby, posted in Africa, love, travel

To say there is a lot of feminine energy in my family is an understatement. My father came from a big military family that traveled across Europe, the southwest, and eventually Texas due to an unfortunate childhood accident in Germany. San Antonio had one of the best burn units. While my two twin brothers are the only Roby’s to carry the name, the rest of our large Texas family is all women. Each blessed with a variety of talents. Looking back I’ve been incredibly blessed with the ability to see them every holiday, every year and watch us all grow in love. I know now that this love that binds us together is a directly reflection of our mysterious grandmother.

My grandmother is the reason that triggered this trip back in April, so it makes sense to begin the story with Anne Beckett Yeargain, aka, Honey. I don’t need to dive into too much family history other than this woman was pure gold and the first person to come to mind when asked who I want to be like when I get older. Honey had so many stories, both good and bad, and possessed this incredible maternal instinct not only with her children, but her childrens’ children, her childrens’ children children, and even her childrens’ children children children. Her memory never failed her, and even at the ripe age of 96, she still carried the soul of a timeless spirit.

I am grateful to be here today because of her, and to be traveling through my dream continent that only child form Jennifer knew I would experience. When I was a young girl I would lay in the soft Texas grass, spending hours looking up at the clouds. I would picture myself in faraway places with this sense of determination and familiarity. I would dream about Africa and all the animals I would see one day like a vivid reoccurring dream; it was a bright blue day and the grass was fresh with spring. Animals surrounded me and I was home.

These early wanderlust thoughts kept me going through all the gray days of doubt. Perhaps it was the National Geographic channel, or the release of The Lion King that fueled these ideas. My younger sister, Emily, and I spent countless hours pretending we were lions on our next door neighbors ridiculously sized rock, roaring and eating grass as if we were lions living in Pride Rock. Looking back, the only thing more ridiculous than this random boulder in their front yard, were the random little wild girls running around on all fours. It was a time of simplicity and innocence that I would give anything to go back to, just once.

While I knew I would end up in Africa someday, deep down I doubted this faint notion. Perhaps it was always meant to stay high on a pedestal. Ironically the only other place I placed on a separate pedestal was Spain. While I had many opportunities to visit, I wanted to speak the language fluently before I set foot in this country. It wasn’t until early this year after the death of my grandmother that I had the clear understanding I would be connecting these places, one leading me toward the next. All my previous solo trips have been stepping stones instructing how I would navigate this journey.

It wasn’t until I hit my previous destination, Rwanda, that I got a little rattled and unsure of my purpose. Everything up until this point has lined up so perfectly that it just felt right. Then I hit a bump. I felt fear, loneliness, and shortly after, sickness. I gave myself the patience to heal for a few days in solitude, but for the first time this entire trip, I felt weary of my next move. I watched the stormy clouds roll past Mount Meru with sobering sadness. I am near the continents two largest mountains, and yet I feel no desire to climb them at this point in my life. It is the beginning of the rainy season and the views from the summit would not be nearly as rewarding this time of year.

Where should I go, what should I do? Then it hit me, as if my inner child was tugging at my own heartstrings. You’re in AFRICA JENNIFER. The wild animals are calling, go to them.

I inquired around the village and booked the first safari that felt right. While there are so many options, depending on your budget, timeline and destination, you will know the right package when you see it. Just like that, the puzzle pieces starting lining in place again, and everything flowed in harmony.

The next morning of the tour I was the first pickup. For the first time in days I was eager and energized. I had my small bag packed with my sleeping liner, safari clothes, bug spray, and toiletries. I looked around the empty safari vehicle thinking, the only thing missing is my sister. She should be here with me. We should be reliving our childhood together.

The guide picked up two ladies along the way. The first was a lovely older German woman, and the second was a younger British gal. The three of us would share this massive seven person off road vehicle for the next four days. I was ecstatic!

The beginning of the trip started slow and easy. We squealed at the first sighting of a mongoose family at the entrance of Tarigeirgie Park. Then proceeded spotting a of the Impala, giraffes, elephants, hippos and even the first sighting of a lion pack. The highlight of this park was a special moment when we waited by the water and were the only people who watched a herd of elephants enter the water for a social bath.

Elephants have always reminded me of my mom for some reason. I first encountered wild elephants in Thailand, where I immediately thought this must be her spirit animal. They say an elephant forgives but never forgets. They also say in order to put an elephant into captivity, one must first break their spirit. I learned the sad truth behind the logging industry, as well as the commercial tourism for elephant rides. I’ll never forget the video they showed us of the beautifully strong creature bound by all fours in a tiny bamboo pen. They whipped this elephant every day, for weeks, until it finally caved and bent a knee to their master. This was the moment when the elephant no longer felt it had something to live for, and gave up. Yet seeing them at this sanctuary park years after being rescued from captivity, they found a way to accept the past and live the remainder of their life being happy. Despite all the tragedy this animal endured, they were still able to love people. The wounds and gashes across their body would tell you otherwise. Deep beneath their playful trunk is sorrow-filled past that only their black eyes may show. My wild mother is strong in many ways similar to the elephant. It was during this special group watering hole experience that I suddenly wished my mom was here to see this. To feel the love and laughter alongside me.

Later that night we ate dinner on the outskirts of Arusha. We placed our bags into the luxurious glamping tents before racing back out for a hot meal. The small group of us were relaxing over the first course of carrot ginger soup when from a distance we could hear a faint growl. We all immediately stopped talking in unison to listen to the creature. The deep growl grew into a louder grunt and we could tell that it was coming from nearby, just beyond the bush. Fear prickled our skins as we quickly retreated inside the caged kitchen area, all silently acknowledging it was definitely a lion.

After dinner a small tribe came out to play drums and dance. When it came time for audience participation, everyone was too full to move. Everyone except for the older German woman. Her thick, silver-blonde hair bounced to the beat of the drum as she danced with the locals. Her vibrant spirit was youthful beyond words. A nearby stranger smiled toward me and asked “is that your mom?”

In this moment I realized my mom was here all along. She would have been dancing here just as this light-hearted woman. I would later looked at my phone during the pocket of Wi-Fi and see my mom text for the first time in weeks to see if she could call. Life is funny like that and our wavelengths tend to be connected like the Aspen tree root system; when one person feels, the other does too.

The next day was a whirlwind of an experience – we had to cross the crater inside Ngorongoro National park to enter into the Serengeti. I’m Swahili Serengeti translates to “endless land” and it’s true. The park is significantly bigger than the other two and stretches for miles into Kenya, where herds will migrate through two times a year. We spent the day chasing hyenas, warthogs, more lions and even found the rare leopard.

She sat high up in the top flat acacia tree, napping on her sunlit perch. This beautiful feline was the hardest to spot in the park. There are about 1500 of them in the 40,000+ square foot park, yet they manage to hide themselves so well. Blending into their environment, this solitary cat is completely at ease with her surroundings. There was a moment when we exchanged glances and I felt my sister alongside me. Gone were the days when we climbed high up into the oak trees, yet here I was decades later wondering if a piece of her was up there with that regal cat. The sun kissed her face as she stretched and stalked her way across the branches. She knew we were all watching and it didn’t phase this Queen of the Serengeti.

Later that night we would enjoy dinner before heading toward our small camping tents for an early morning wake up. You could not stand up in these, but the water at this site was actually heated compared to the previous cold showers. By the washrooms an elephant would stampede across our site, waking everyone up. The British gal and I were sharing a tent and laughed about life. I felt this kindred bond with her, it was so easy to open up to her. We giggled gossip about the different types of people in the world, and how no matter where you go, you can find them everywhere. In that moment I realized my sister was here all along. This is exactly what Emily and I would have been doing had she been here on this trip. A few hours later some water buffalo would loom around our tent, eating grass and nuzzling our canvas walls, just like we would have done many years ago in our neighbors lawn. The next morning the guide would tell us someone on this trip has some big animal energy because it’s not normal for this many nightly camp visitors. I’m not saying it was the power of us three women together, but some secret part of me wanted to believe I had the power to whisper them closer.

The third day was potentially the highlight of the entire trip. We were on the usual hunt for all the big cats when our driver with eagle eyes caught a faint beige dot in the distance. The cheetah. As we “illegally” went off the path to get closer my mind raced about the last time I even saw a cheetah. I don’t recall seeing them in the zoo and was eager to see how petite they were in real life. Over the past years I formed a respect for this animal due to not one, but two readings about spirit animals. Both times the cheetah card was drawn for me: “an animal of solar force that uses passion to fuel forward momentum. When in balance, there is boundless energy” was amongst other definitions that stood out for me. I could easily trace the connection.

As we approached the area we zeroed in on a beautiful small cheetahs slinking across the grassy plain. From behind her popped up another cheetah, only slightly smaller! A mother and her female cub. I was delighted to share their space as we turned off the engine to sit with them. After they became more comfortable with our presence, the young cub completely took me by surprise. I was sitting in the passenger seat of the vehicle, with a personal roof toward the front. I stood on the seat, making eye contact with the cheetah. She circled the car toward me and I could read her next move. Just like how my cat at home would dip prior to jumping onto a surface, this cheetah was about to pounce on top the car to take a closer look. My adrenaline spiked as she curiously climbed toward me. Reason told me I should be scared, but my body didn’t want to move. I asked the guide below if I should come back into the vehicle, but he reassured me by whispering “no, no”. Not “don’t worry the cat won’t attack you” or “maybe you should come back in” but simply, “no, no”.

Our eyes locked and I felt so much love for this animal sitting in front of me. She was young, unweathered, and beyond playful. She started nibbling at the plastic roof handles in front of me. The entire group was going wild for how bold she was to come hang. She explored everything from the windshield wipers, the exhaust pipe, the handles. She wanted to know everything about us. I placed my hand upon the glass between us as she sprawled across the engine. Her paw lifted toward my hand in this pure moment of understanding. I see you. You see me. We are one and the same. It was like looking through the glass at my inner child and connecting with her on so many levels.

She lounged around for almost thirty minutes as we all patiently spent the day together. Life was precious and so were these moments binding us. I looked around the field and it suddenly hit me…this is not how I pictured the Serengeti. Every picture I’ve seen prior to coming here was dusty dry desert. Yet looking around we were surround in fresh spring. The lush green endless fields bloomed with life as butterflies dancing across flowers. With the cheetah still by my side, together we looked around for predators. The horizon had a small herd of elephants and when I looked up, the blue sky was filled with pillow clouds. dejavu swept over me as I looked up at the endless sky. This is exactly what I imagined so long ago while I was a young girl staring up into the vastness. It was as if my future self was always sending a message back to my child self, letting her know time would heal everything and this land would bring me to realize I was never alone. How could I fear abandonment when I’ve always have this same sky to remind me of the place of endless land and endless love?

I would go to bed that night completely satisfied, not only with all the cats of the day, but with a renewed hope for the future. What if it all works out? I don’t think I ever left myself consider this as an option. If I ever forget I can easily be reminded through all the feminine powers in my life; the legacy of my grandmother, the wonderfully maternal aunts that came after her, my fierce mother and graceful sister, my new niece, and not to mention the countless cousins on my dads side, along with the Caribbean cousins on my moms. We are all a few years apart, and scattered across the United States, like some magical star dust across the continent. These woman are my rock. They are my history and a stable reminder that I am never alone in this world.

And that’s just my family. Don’t even get me started on my friends. I am beyond lucky to know these women and will forever lift them up, as they lift me. While all the big cats may be in Africa, I’m certain all the powerful felines are sprinkled everywhere in between, an ancient line of goddesses that keeps this world a little less dull.

Racing around Rwanda

by Jen Roby, posted in Africa, Farming, life & death, scary, single female, tourist, travel, Uncategorized

There comes a time in every long backpacking trip that you hit your first big low. Sometimes followed by a high…and then another low. While it is not my nature to focus on the negative, I think this particular segment of my trip has burned a memory deep in my mind. One in which I will carry, both the good and the bad.

Continue reading “Racing around Rwanda” →

One day in Madrid

by Jen Roby, posted in Europe, tourist, travel

While I could have spent endless days walking around this city, I decided to make my time shorter here so that I could see some friends down south.

The city was a stark contrast to Barcelona – it was certainly more clean, and there was a buzz in the air that I couldn’t quite understand. I didn’t try to because I simply liked it.

I took a 3 hour train into Madrid. The Atocha train station was one of the coolest I’ve seen in years due to the massive indoor garden tucked inside the train depot. I walked less than fifteen minutes to my hostel, Latroupe, and immediately walked back out into the young night.

I found myself at the largest palace in all of Europe, the Palace of Real Madrid. While in line I met a new friend, Manuela from Belgium. She was Italian, spoke multiple languages and worked in the sports industry in Brussels. Meeting her in the que really flipped my not so great morning around. I accidentally went to the wrong location for my 40€ tour – for the record I despise group tours but I thought the palace had limited tickets per day and it was my only way of getting in last minute. Turns out all I had to do was pay for another palace ticket in person on the spot. Honestly really grateful for her refreshing change of pace.

We carried on past the Palace and into wine and tapas. Of course I had to get my new Australian friends to join since they were around the area. It turned into a fun last minute party. Manuela, Louis and I had coffee together afterwards. It was a cute lil girls night out. Then she had to catch a business dinner and Lou and I carried onto more wine. I promised myself I would stop taking advantage of all the red wine once I leave Spain.

Ended the night feeling incredibly grateful for solid female company and the ability to talk freely about the future and some of the more scary things regarding it. We said our goodbyes and I headed back to my hostel where I would grab my backpack and take the late night train into Seville. Spain has felt so lively each night that I felt perfectly safe roaming the streets after midnight.

The Prince of Egypt

by Jen Roby, posted in Africa, tourist, travel, Uncategorized

I purchased the last minute flight from Marrakech to Cairo knowing it was my best port of entry to Arica…yet also knowing that the US government has deemed it a class 3/4 zone of terrorism and that all travel there is highly advised to cancel. Whatever that means.

I researched the visa entry ahead of time, and apparently got denied for having the wrong information in my application. It is quite possible I got got, however for $25 it seemed like a learning experience. One that would set the fate for if I actually enter the country, or just pull a Tom Hanks and live in the terminal for a casual 36 hours. I was prepared for both outcomes with a flight out of Cairo. Later found out that spending the night in the terminal never would have worked because they have a TSA pre check before the TSA check. It’s ridiculously high security that would only let me in 3-4 hours before my flight.

So thank goodness my visa did go through, on the spot, in person. I was contemplating the outcome when I met this engineer who sat next to me on the flight – was scribbling all sorts of calculations in his notebook like a mad man. We got to talking and he reassured me he is Egyptian and I should easily get a visa on the spot for $25. No problem.

Sure enough he was right. Mohammed was so kind as to wait for me on the other security check side. It was midnight and while I luckily had a hostel pre arranged in the hip area of Zamalek, I unfortunately failed to prearrange a pick up. While I really don’t like to plan this far ahead when I am always on the go with limited internet, I am learning it is helpful in these foreign countries, really ANY country, including America, to prohibit the airport taxis take advantage of you.

Typically in these situations I am reassured that I know I can pull out cash from the airport atm, and ideally get Wi-Fi to google the average price for a ride. In this case, the airport Wi-Fi was difficult to access requiring a local number and I was prepared to pull out Egyptian pounds to have a cab driver take it all.

While I did not show it, I think Mohammed could sense the concern in my eyes each time I said, well it will all work out. I was certainly not his burden and all this was a problem I got myself into. He did not owe me anything but to my surprise, he wanted to help. Throughout this trip, I am constantly reminded how people just want to help. And it’s not always just in exchange for money.

Mohammed saw I couldn’t connect to Wi-Fi, offered his number to use, and then when the Uber app was down he said he was getting my ride as a welcome to Egypt gift. His sister was waiting outside when we approached. The air was thick, the night sky was lit up with all sorts of fluorescent lights, and the pure chaos of the arrivals area was more than I expected. I pushed any worry at bay and smiled, soaking in the hustle of everyone around. I was in Cairo!

They were both so kind as to wait with me for the Uber Mohammed called. Also, there was no point in which I doubted his man because he was pure throughout our conversation on the plane. Finally he speaks to his sister in Arabic and they offer me a ride toward the direction of their house and my hostel, where he would call me another Uber that would be easier to get. All of this plotting could scare my younger self into saying “no thanks, I’m good” however I once had a travel friend years ago tell me “I like to constantly place my faith in humanity” and that expression has never left my mind. I certainly didn’t want to jump into a taxi after midnight and wanted to believe the best in these two people standing in front of me.

We get into her 1993 Toyota sedan, and I am humbled by the modest life of this mother with two kids. It was incredibly late and I could easily see how she would deny the ride. Yet, they both were insistent on helping me get safely to my hostel. We pull over fifteen minutes into driving on this crazy four lane road. The road didn’t even have white lines and people were just merging quickly into random lines. The hazards are flashing and Mohammed says “the ride is coming”. It’s almost comical at this point that we can just switch vehicles ON THE HIGHWAY. Apparently Ubers will pick up anywhere here. I was still not panicked and completely trusted them.

Transferring into the Uber we say our goodbyes, and exchange numbers should they ever be in Colorado. I then arrive at the hostel at 1:45am and feel incredibly exhausted as I check in. Kareem, the owner, is calming and helpful as he shows me my private room. When it comes time to pay he tells me they don’t have a credit card machine. This was common in Morocco too, and I assume they want to avoid all the fees. Plus, cash is king.

I explain that I’ll need to get to an ATM and Kareem says, no problem you can pay in the morning. I am relieved and say, “thank you. I’m so hungry but also so tired. I think I’ll go to bed”. I am then surprised when he replies, “you’re hungry? I will show you a shawarma place” I kindly, yet shortly reply, “no, sorry I don’t have cash” and he simply says “no problem, it’s my welcome to Egypt gift”.

I’m starting to wonder what the heck this welcome to Egypt gift thing all about. The past two people have said this to me and I’m embarrassed that I was expecting something far more different, purely based on negative stories others told me. I take him up on the shawarma and go to bed with a content belly and heart. I am so used to locals treating me as a walking bank account. It’s a fair exchange in my opinion, I contribute to extorting your community, which thus becomes reliant upon tourism, and in return you learn to take me for as much as you can.

Maybe there is something more to this place and these people, and that is such a beautiful change of pace.

Healing in Seville

by Jen Roby, posted in Europe, life & death, travel

The lovely southern town of Seville was remarkably different from the previous two cities. I was accustomed to the late nightlife of Spain by week two and decided it was completely safe for me to arrive past midnight in a new city. Not the wisest approach to traveling solo, but exciting nonetheless.

I was quickly reminded of city smells again after Madrid. It was so clean there, yet the vibrant life of Seville could change scent with each corner. The streets were all very narrowed and quickly reminded me of Venice when I was lost in that city maze a decade ago. It felt good to get lost here.

Luckily I don’t sleep much out here. This precious time allowed me to see so much in such a short period; the Alcazar Palace, the many secret plazas, the flamenco dancing, the fortress of foods lining outside every Calle. I was intoxicated by it all. This was by far my most favorite place this far, but there was just one problem.

By day three of walking around the city, the pounding above my eye got worse. What started out as a small headache a week ago, slowly turned into a ball tension capturing all the stress of my past year.

I cannot quite explain how I knew it was tied to my concussion, not to mention the failed attempts at self-love were taking a toll on my stress levels, but I just sensed it deep within my tattered fibers. I needed help.

Not knowing exactly what help I needed, I figured I would start by researching facial massages. Which ironically turned into a search back towards cranial therapy. The western doctors in Colorado confirmed my skull wasn’t cracked and I didn’t have a blood clot after the blunt force of a rock to my temple. While it was uplifting news at the time, I still felt the concern and frustration bubble as to why I was no longer myself. I even sought eastern medicine afterwards, a cranial therapist in Buena Vista told me my right side was indeed blocked and another would hopefully be able to assist over many sessions.

So here I am, walking into a cranial massage with very little expectations. The reviews felt more like a quick massage parlor and I was shocked to see they offered a facial and cranial massage for under 40€. The woman greeted me with a calming presence. The room is drowning in deep blue tones, with the typical orchestral music. At first it feels like a typical massage, but then her strong, precise fingers know exactly where to move across my temple. I am surprised to see how easily she can find my pain point without communication: I couldn’t speak Spanish well, and she couldn’t English. At one point she is pressing on the exact place of my accident and I feel this release. It was clear my entire neck was also holding this tension as she pushed all the negative energy out.

I’m staring up at the blue lights in the ceiling when my eyes roll back into the pain. As much as it hurt, I leaned into it and swear I saw this white patch of light in my brain just close up. It was as if all the emotional and physical baggage of these past seven months just got swept away into her magical, healing hands.

I walked away feeling so grateful for her help. The deep headache on my eye was gone and I felt a lightness in my step. I’m hoping this lasts through the night and that in the morning when I wake up, I’ll be on another road to recovery with this crazy accident. Life is certainly not being taken for granted.

Vacunas en España

by Jen Roby, posted in Europe, Life Update, travel, Uncategorized

When I began researching Africa, I knew I would be entering some dense jungle parts that required some vaccines.

Luckily I already had yellow fever from a previous long trip in South America, and since that is for life, I had one less needle to prick in me. However I still needed to update my typhoid, hepatitis A (maybe B & C), rabies and polio – yes, I guess polio made a come back. By the time I compared prices to a few US travel locations, I would be paying well past $500 for these. I find it absorb that we pay so much money into insurance and yet so much is considered optional.

That’s when I knew I would be getting all my medical needs in Europe, prior to entering the continent. like Africa, I always held Spain on a pedestal, and knew one day I would visit when my Spanish was a bit better. I had a couple friends living across the country so it seemed like the perfect time to take the trip.

I am so grateful for Alexander because without him, I wouldn’t have know where to make the appointment months ahead of time. Turn out free healthcare in a foreign country still beats traditional American standards.

The clinic was modern and full of people. While I had an appointment, I still found myself waiting for an hour. There could be worse things. also very grateful for my Spanish friend because there are so many medical terms I do not know in Spanish, and he is fluent in five languages. Surprisingly not a lot of people in Spain know English as their second language so it would have been extremely difficult for me to ask questions.

I brought my travel vaccine card from many years ago to help communicate what I had already from the past. Alex works in the medical field, so this was probably just a typical day for him. I however dislike hospitals very much. I’ve only had three doctors successfully draw blood from me, and I just get uncomfortable in the sanitized florescent lighting with them poking around on me.

When it came time to sit on the chair I approached with hesitation. I watched him wiping all the syringes and anticipated four shots in both my arms. I didn’t mind the first one, ironically the one he said would hurt the most, however the second, third and especially the fourth stung. I know this is completely normal to most people and I should just suck it up, but I hated every minute of it.

Alex seemed entertained by it all. At least one of us was. The doctor pricked me in both arms, but by the third shot I was very shocked that he started wiping my thigh with a prep pad. I was not expecting this, but before I could ask questions the next shot was delivered straight into my leg! I guess there is a first time for everything. The fourth may have been the worst and I squeaked with a little panic. I definitely caught a grin on Alexs’ face when it was finally over. The last surprise was when I went to pay, it was a shocking $48 for the entire visit!

We celebrated over wine and tapas, and more wine. As the night progressed my entire body felt stiff. My legs were especially sore as we got off the midnight train to his house just outside the city. Anyways that was my experience with Spanish healthcare and I would highly recommend getting your vaccines at a local clinic in Spain before you Travel south to Africa!

Travel Bug

by Jen Roby, posted in Europe, Life Update, travel, Uncategorized

The day has finally come and I’m a bit weary.

The first leg of the trip didn’t start so well. Catching a small cold a few days prior, my phone battery died upon entering the Denver Airport, and even lost flight reservation. Apparently they couldn’t locate my flight because the third party did not enter my birth date on the itinerary. While all the US counters and overseas airlines were closed after hours, luckily, I came early enough to sort over an hour long phone call.

Despite all the set backs so quickly, I know they are lessons for future check ins.

Had a long layover in NYC where I was able to take a much needed sleep at my friends apartment. She kindly gave me her keys while working as I surprised her with a matcha latte. I was so grateful for a quiet place to close my eyes. The white noise of construction outside pushed me into hours of sleep. Managed to squeeze in lunch with an old friend, but all I could stomach was ginger beer. I crawled back to her apartment couch where I slept for a couple more hours.

Realizing how rough the other half of this flight will probably be, I grabbed the subway back to JFK where I connected my next leg, Ponta Delgata. This little island located far off the coast of Portugal seemed like a beautiful place to call my final destination. While it was tempting, I went through customs, got my passport stamped and continued to my final flight into Spain.

The medicine was catching up to me and I felt delirious arriving into Barcelona. I was mildly surprised that I didn’t have to go through customs or get a stamp. I brushed off the idea that I illegally entered the country and was ready to dust off my Spanish. Navigating the train from the airport was challenging as it did not correlate to any of the previous maps I pulled up when I had Wi-Fi. Each time I asked for instructions, I would only recall the first part of what they said and would proceed to ask the next person. It was a constant game of breadcrumbs leading me to the next train, the next metro, the final bus.

I stumbled into my hostel around 2:30pm or whatever time it was in this foreign zone. Upon checking in I immediately went to my bed, took off my shoes, and without hesitation, proceeded to fall asleep for another many hours.

Awoke in the evening to unfamiliar voices out the window. The streets were alive and people were emerging from their dwellings. I decided it would be a good time to catch sunset at the Sagrada Familia Church. I’ve always been drawn to the architecture of Antoni Gaudi. His whimsical, oriental and gothic style challenges the world of engineering. I love the way he stays playful while introducing functional innovations in his building.

I returned to the Wi-Fi of the hostel to find ramen. I hadn’t eaten a proper meal in over 72 hours and I had just enough of an appetite for a warm soup. The first spot was closed so I circled back to the hostel entrance to use the Wi-Fi to find another location. The second spot was sold out of ramen. I must have circled the neighborhood three times until I finally found a small Chinese den that served homemade noodles.

Five euros later I was walking down the bustling street, with the hint of my first smile. The night was young and I cradled the warm bowl of Togo noodles as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world. As far as I was concerned, in this moment it was. I had yet to invest in anything in this new place and had zero expectations aside from devouring this hot soup and waking up tomorrow morning with a fresh hope for the future.

Shatter, flight, fight, repeat.

Featured by Jen Roby, posted in Africa, travel

My heart pounds with anticipation as I glance at the clock, 4am, and it seems as if time itself is sprinting towards the moment of departure. A surge of indescribable emotions courses through my veins, rending any attempt at verbal expression futile. It is as if a tempest of feelings is tearing me apart, a whirlwind of excitement, apprehension, and exhilaration colliding within my very being.

Continue reading “Shatter, flight, fight, repeat.” →

Halted in Gibralted

by Jen Roby, posted in Africa, travel

It has been a long standing dream of mine to sail across the Straight of Gibraltar into Africa. While I cannot say the ferry is as exciting as a pirate boat, I can say it was equally rewarding to see the distant land of Morocco come into fruitition.

During this brief day trip I learned many things; that England owns this small section of the worlds largest trading port, that there are so many cave systems inside this massive rock, and that the Straight of Gibraltar was actually a land crossing at one point in time!

The morning started early with a 6am bus from Malaga to La Lina, which is a 2.5 hour bus to the border line. I have been navigating everywhere with offline maps that don’t always show up, and once again had to ask my way around once I landed. Luckily a lovely woman named Ellen overheard me asking this unhelpful couple, and we decided to pair up to find the border together. It didn’t take us long and we were both impressed with how simple and quick the crossing was. Not to mention interesting that you have to walk through an airplane runway.

Anyways we spent a good hour talking as we enter the city. I discover we have the same plans to get atop this large Rock and knew it was fate that we should meet. Ellen was also going through some recent life changes (happened in August as well!) and she has decided to give herself a year as well to sort things out. I swear it was like staring at an alternate version of myself in a future dimension. She was exactly 20years older than me and so many similarities. She is a well-known author from Oregon with so many great stories. Listening to her life was like peering into a familiar snow globe that reassured me I would still be searching for the same things should I have go down the same path.

The journey up the rock was very exciting. I’m so grateful Ellen talked me into renting e-bikes rather than hiking. I had a long day ahead of catching a bus to another city to another bus to a ferry, so time was not on my side. We had an intimate group of six and rode through the city, past all the taxis and people on foot. We covered around ten miles and got to see so many beautiful checkpoints, including many monkeys.

The clouds were slowly taking over the sky however you could still see the tip of Africa from across the sea, where the Mediterranean meets the Atlantic. There was so much history behind this big rock, including an epic cave system dating all the way back to the Neanderthals. There was another cave specifically used in the Siege of Spain while England battling it out for this cute lil territory. I was not expecting this much of a history lesson on such a packed travel day.

We had lunch in the town square, where I got to devour my last fresh piece of seafood, and possibly last animal as I go more vegan in Africa. I eventually made it to the bus station where I would talk my way in Spanish onto a bus for free as a kind man named Diego let me board using his pass. My intention was to take a taxi but as we spoke more he kindly offered to pay for my trip since they did not accept credit cards for this bus. Sort of funny how I always imagined all the buses and ferries must come through this port to get to Morocco. Now I realize it must be a passive aggressive post war thing Spain must do to operate their boats out of their ports.

Once I got off the 45 minute bus in Algeciras, I had to walk over to the estacion martime to purchase a ferry ticket. Unfortunately this port didn’t go to the city port in Morocco and after a little prior research I knew I didn’t want to land at night in the further away port. So I bought to ticket out of the next town and used their free shuttle system to get to Tarifa, which was an hour and a half away.

The sun was setting as I entered the last Spanish town I would be in this trip, and I accepted that I would be entering the Moroccan town of Tangier in the dark. The ferry ride was only 1.5 hours and the time passed fairly quickly as I quickly stuff my face with more carbs. I would finally be in Africa soon, and it felt like the real trip would start.