Change In Plans

Greetings from Johannesburg!

We got back from Paris yesterday afternoon (again via Istanbul - long trip!), and I flew to Johannesburg this morning.  On my way to the airport, I stopped by Zola’s school during his mid-morning break.  I summoned him off the soccer field just to tell him I love him.  Zola was a little embarrassed in front of his buddies, but still let me give him a big hug.

One of the great joys of the last couple of years, when I have been more focused on family than on work, has been that I have gotten to know my kids better than I ever would have otherwise.  Being with Zola in Paris last week, I really spent some time with him, and have been thinking about him a lot.  He is 11, and seems on the verge of adolescence.  That said, he is still very much a little boy, full of love and wonder.

Based on what I have observed, here is a portrait of my son aged 11, written in terms of likes and dislikes.  First, what Zola likes:

Everything about soccer - since the World Cup, his obsession with war (which superceded his 8-9 year old obsession with Pokemon) has been completely superceded by an obsession with soccer.  He enjoys playing, but he is more interested in soccer teams, and soccer players, and soccer trivia, and soccer history.  He reads and re-reads soccer magazines and books, dresses only in team jerseys (particularly Barcelona and Chelsea), follows the games religiously, and cares deeply about La Liga, Barclays Premier League, and the UEFA Cup.  He plays FIFA 2011 on his computer whenever we let him.  A typical Zola conversation includes a detailed description of some Barcelona goal, a hypothetical question (”Would you rather be a sub for Barcelona or a starter for Schalke 04?’) and an analysis of Chelsea’s league table standing.  Usually there is a truly obscure fact or two thrown in about the Uruguayan national team or about the free-kick conversion ratio of Spanish mid-fielders. 

Reading -   He plows through long books with intensity and purpose, forgetting to eat, or sleep, or watch where he is walking (ouch!).  Zola particularly likes book series, such as “Gone,” “Hunger Games,” “Alex Rider,” “CHERUB,” or “Artemis Fowl,” and “Percy Jackson” and “Twilight,” in years past.  Once he has gotten comfortable with a group of characters, he treats them like friends, and wants to spend all of his time with them.  He is sad when he finishes the last book in a series, and frequently rereads a few of the books just to savor the relationships.  He seems to be good at math, but doesn’t have the same passion that he has for books.

Chocolate - In Paris, Zola tried to subsist only on pain a chocolat (morning), Nutella crepes (day time), and chocolate mousse (dessert).  He also liked the baguettes.  We try to balance his diet with real food, but given his druthers, he would consume mostly chocolate.  He seems to get chocolate on his face a lot, and is oblivious to it. 

Physical contact - since he was little, Zola is happy and comfortable when he is in physical contact with someone else.  He likes to hold hands, or sit on someone’s lap, or lean against me when we are together.  Leaning against India or me, while reading the fifth book in the CHERUB series, maybe while eating a pain a chocolat

is like the triple play of Zola happy.  If there are no people within proximity, he loves the sensuous pleasures of blankets and terry cloth robes, similar physical sensation.

Everyone having a good time - more than anything else, Zola is happy when he is surrounded by people who are happy.  He is a natural impresario and cheerleader.  His happiest moments in any athletic activity are when he is moving down a field with his team mates: that is more important to him than scoring goals or winning the matches/races.  Like a pure Myers-Briggs extrovert, he physically draws energy from the presence of others.  As one of his teachers said, “Zola just wants to be loved.”  Don’t we all?

To a certain extent, what Zola doesn’t like is the converse of these likes.  In addition, though, by observation, he really doesn’t like:

Trying new foods - he committed to trying new foods in Paris, but every time he was confronted with a strange fork, he made a horrible face, stuck out a millimeter of tongue, sniffed several times, and took the tiniest of tiny nibbles.  Then it was back to his plain pasta or baguette.  He would protest, “But I tried it!”

Instability and lack of routine - our vagabond lifestyle has been hardest on Zola.  The lack of routine in his school day (12 subjects served up in seemingly random order with different teachers and folders and rooms) is also hugely challenging for him.  When he gets into a daily and weekly rhythm, he physically relaxes and thinks/writes and behaves well.  Once that is disrupted, he seems to struggle.  Familiarity, comfort, predictability, rhythm.

Perceived injustice - he is most sensitive when it applies to himself, but he observes situtations impartially and often concludes, “That’s not fair.”  When it involves soccer, he is even critical of his favorite teams if they have gotten unfair advantage.  I think this reflexive belief in fair play and equity comes from his Mom.

He is still a very sweet, loving, cheerful little boy.  I am saddened that these are exactly the characteristics that are most likely to be coarsened out of him by the painful process of growing up.  Nice kid.

Zola

Greetings from Chamonix, France! Our Haute Route ski group has been here for three days now, gearing up, acclimatizing, and getting ready for our five-day ski trek.

On Saturday morning we got up early, and took the ski bus over to Argentiere, one of the ski areas just outside of Chamonix. We had a French guide named Damian (’demm-ee-EHN’) for the morning. We rode a seemingly endless series of gondolas, telecabines, and chairlifts up into the treeless, windblown terrain at the top of the mountain.

As long as we stayed on the groomed trails, the morning was easy and fun. I really haven’t skied much in recent years, but it was kind of coming back to me. Going off piste, into the crusty, unpacked snow was more challenging, but OK.

After a couple of hours, a huge weather front moved in, and it started to snow heavily. The change in air temperature and humidity also plunged the middle two thirds of the mountain into a dense fog whiteout. At its worst, visibility dropped to less than 10 feet. We skied in a line, following Damian. It was completely surreal and disorienting, and sort of hard to have fun.

We broke for lunch at a small cabin-type restaurant, hidden in the woods midslope. The restaurant was called “La Cremerie,” and it basically only served melted-cheese dishes. It was hearty and festive, as the snow and fog outside turned into rain.

After lunch, a few of us went back up for another long ski run in the mist. It still wasn’t easy to have fun, but I really needed the practice. Most of the time, the visual effect was like a Hollywood interpretation of making a trip to heaven: lots of shadowy figures moving through the mist.

Down in the village, it just poured with rain for the rest of the afternoon.

Last night we met our Haute Route guide, Rinaldo. He is a small, wiry Swiss in his late 40s, who looks like he has spent his entire life in the mountains. He explained the route in detail, told us what to expect, and what his concerns are. Some parts were exciting: “Here is where I will belay you as you rappel 60 meters down a cliff, and into Switzerland.”. Other parts were just intimidating: “We will need to push hard here, probably climbing for 5-6 hours.”

This morning at breakfast, Rinaldo asked us, “So how much ski touring experience do each of you have? You must have done quite a number of smaller trips in the US or Canada, working up to this.” He turned a funny color, and got a concerned expression when he realized that collectively we have practically zero ski touring experience. He asked, incredulously, “And your first trip will be the Haute Route?”

We spent the rest of breakfast, and much of our practice day with Rinaldo trying to alleviate his concerns.

The practice day was actually very practical. We learned how to put the climbing skins and aluminum crampons on our skis, and how to climb with kick turns. We tried on our boot crampons, and learned how to strap our skis to our packs. We practiced avalanche rescue, searching in snow banks for a buried transceiver. Also, we skied for several hours in more mist and falling snow.

By the end of the day, Rinaldo seemed slightly less concerned, but perhaps he was only humoring us. At least the weather is clearing (sun!), and we are all feeling much better prepared.

Tomorrow will be a long day. This should be a big adventure.

Greetings from Chamonix! I arrived here early this afternoon, following an impossibly long trip from Wellington, New Zealand.

My seatmates on each of the two long-haul flights were interesting from a people-watching perspective.

From Sydney to Bangkok I was flanked by two elderly Australian women, traveling together. They both occupied themselves on the first hour of the flight by solving the Sudoku puzzles in the in-flight magazine. After completing these, one of the women pulled out a tall stack of Sudoku puzzles they had clipped neatly from a newspaper. For the entire eight-hour flight, the Sudoku ladies worked away quite happily on puzzle after puzzle. Occasionally, one would take a short nap, then wake up and start working again. They disembarked in Bangkok, starting a vacation perhaps dedicated to less numerative pleasures.

I spent an hour milling around the Bangkok airport before reboarding. My two new seatmates in Row 62 were a Scottish woman slightly older than me, and a young New Zealander man living in London. Although they did not know each other, both seatmates had traveled extensively, and appeared to be kindred spirits in complaining sharply about every conceivable thing on the planet. It was extraordinary to listen to two people spend hours lamenting, deriding, criticizing, and whining about the flight, the food, the airport, London traffic, Bangkok traffic, Thailand generally, people who drink too much, people who don’t drink enough, the economy, the weather (in multiple geographies), the cost of many things, and the general sorry state of the world. The New Zealander completed each complaint with an emphatic, “I mean, what the f@#k???”

They probably talked for three hours of the twelve-hour flight. Amazing stamina. I preferred the Sudoku ladies.

On the other side of me for both legs was an Australian family traveling with three kids, the older two of whom were roughly Zola’s and Tallulah’s age. I was amazed at how well behaved and cheerful all three of the kids were throughout nearly 20 hours in the air. It made me miss my own family.

After a brief layover in London, a transfer to the very spiff new Terminal 5 at Heathrow, and a short (two-hour) backtrack across Europe, I was finally in Geneva.

Two members of our skiing party had also just arrived, and we shared a bus for the hour-long drive up to Chamonix. As we drove up into the Alps, I have to say that I craned my neck up at the high peaks, and felt intimidated.

A group of five of us, plus a guide, are doing the Haute Route. We will be skiing hut to hut from Chamonix to Zermatt over the course of five days. It is about 150 kilometers, some of which is downhill, and a lot of which requires climbing. It is considered one of the pinnacle skiing activities of a lifetime.

Not being a pinnacle skier I am feeling a little daunted. To be fair, at one time I was a reasonably competent downhill skier. Living in South Africa, having young kids, and having a wife who doesn’t like cold-weather vacations I haven’t in the last several years. It will definitely be a challenge.

When we went to pick up our gear yesterday, I started to get a sense of what we are in for.

Skis, boots, and bindings - all of which are designed to perform like downhill skis until you release the heel of the binding, and you can stride and climb. Very cool.

Climbing skins (for uphill traction on the skis), telescoping ski poles, which can be extended for cross-country or shortened for downhill; ski crampons, to maintain traction when climbing on ice.

Boot crampons, if it is too icy to climb on skis; shovel and probing pole to find someone else after an avalanche; radio-beacon necklace, so they can find me after ana avalanche; an ice axe; a helmet; ropes and harnesses and carabiners, oh my.

Despite (or maybe because of) all this gear, it is actually quite safe. The real challenge, I think will be the physical exertion at altitude. There has been a lot of talk of Iron Man triathlons and burning 5,000 calories per day.

We are getting up in an hour to spend the day skiing, and trying out all of the gear. It will be fun today, and almost all downhill. The plan is to do the same tomorrow, and start the trip proper on Monday morning. The first hut is closed, so we will do the first two days of the standard route in one long push. Should be an adventure.

It sounds as though India and the kids, and our friend Ginny, are having fun in Wellington. It is still very strange to not be with them.