The Blue Mosque

Built in the early 17th century for Sultan Ahmet I, the Blue Mosque (or the Sultanahmet Mosque) is a beautiful center for prayer in the old city area in Istanbul.

As you walk in, there is a wide, open courtyard, beautifully designed. The doors, columns, domes, and decorations all are larger than life.

Inside, you see why it was named the Blue Mosque. It has more than 20,000 pieces of blue, green and white iznik china on the interior walls. There is also blue calligraphy decorating the interrior domes.

I came outside of the call-to-prayer times, so as to be able to see the building more clearly, and not disturb local religious practices. However, there were a handful of people praying at different times throughout my visit. What a beautiful location to do so. My only complaint? An overwhelming smell of feet from all of the tourists on such a hot day (to be respectful every person takes off their shoes before entering the mosque).

The doors were intricately carved and absolutely beautiful.

On my way out of the complex, I caught this picture. It made me think of the National Geographic photographers of years past looking for that splash of red in the crowd. If only I had the skills to fully capitalize on the buildings and people and views I've been lucky enough to see over the last six months. I guess I can only try.

The Tour de France

I hadn't planned on going to the Tour de France. However, I was in the heart of Toulouse, and talk was all of the Tour. It was going to be fairly close to the city for two days of racing, and all of my hostel mates were planing on going. Around the city you could see promotional vehicles and support staff. Bicycles were far higher in number than I had been seeing up until then.

I decided to join my hostel mates on the second day of watching the tour, on a leg in the Pyrenees. Bel and Adam from Australia, had rented a car to be able to go sit at the summit of the race, and watch the cyclists as they shifted from climbing to descending at speed. To get to the race was a bit of a mission, having 6 maps, none of which were at a good scale, or inclusive of the whole route. With a combination of stress and map-reading terror, and following a swag vehicle, we managed to make our way there.

As we got closer, the air of festivity increased. People where making their way in all manners--on foot, on bike, motorcycles, cars, caravans/mobile homes. It was a temporary city on the top of a mountain range. Picnics, wine, and deck chairs were out in numbers.

We sat ourselves on the top of a hill, bought hotdogs of sorts from an enterprising vendor, and proceeded to wait 5 hours before the race actually started (they close off the access roads at a certain time, so we had to be there very early). About 2 hours before the race the caravans with free hats, food, and general junk came along the route, which helped to break up the time.

I enjoyed watching all of the race-goers almost as much as the participants.

As the time got even closer, flags were brought out, photographers on motorcycles zoomed past to get situated for that perfect shot, and helicopters started to circle like vultures.

And then, it was on. The race!

And then it was over before I knew it. I still don't know who was leading, what the strategies were, or any of the details that really make a sporting event interesting. But I had a lovely time with Bel and Adam chatting and experiencing a new event. To be perfectly honest, the thing I was most excited about was to be at that elevation on the Pyrenees without having to cycle it myself! A beautiful view, and really makes me appreciate all those people who walk it as part of the pilgrim trail every day, and those in the past who had to cross it for less leisurely reasons.

The infographical half-year mark, brought to you from Turkey.

Six months ago today was my last day of work in the office at National Geographic. In those months, since leaving my home, "security," and my sedentary life behind . . .

I've stood on 5 continents, cycled across countries, visited wonders of the world, spoken words in many languages, participated in celebrations, marriages, and festivities of cultures different from my own, worn local clothing, and taken all forms of interesting transportation.

All of these experiences can be quantified and explored, and being at the halfway mark for this year, and the six month mark for my journey, I wanted to do some reflecting on this experience. Plus, my giant geeky geography side just had to play with some of these numbers and maps. If I were truly meant for academia, I'd bust out "R" and attempt to dazzle you with my statistical prowess, but alas, quantitative methods were never my thing--instead you get pretty-ish graphics. Some of them you'll have to click on to get a full view to see the actual detail.

From A to B:

Of the distances I've travelled, 83% has been done by plane on intercontinental flights. For internal travel, I've used cars, busses, trains, boats, and my bicycle. All up, I've travelled 54,000 km (enough to fully circumnavigate the globe and then some). For those of you out there without the math gene, of those kilometers, 45,000 were by plane. The number of trees I will have to plant to make up for this massive carbon footprint: debatable . . . air travel emissions per person per kilometer are difficult to calculate. They are affected by the length of flight, especially because a high percentage of emissions are caused by the initial take-off. It also differs by size of plane, etc. And let's not even think about type of tree, or length of tree life. So, stab in the dark estimation of 8000kg of CO2 emissions for my vehicular/plane travel on this trip, and stab in the dark estimation at 50 trees. Bring on a plantation woofing experience. Would love to hear from those more knowledgeable in this area--Kate? Simon? Figo? And I completely recognize the ambiguity of this kind of calculation (or lack of calculation in my case--as I attempted calculators and saw such variation that in the end I essentially made it up using dubious averages). Really, the best option is to minimize carbon output (the whole practice of tree planting as equal to output is kind of ridiculous, but better than nothing), and for that I hope that my recent bicycle travel is helping some, and that I continue with that mode of transportation when possible, and when not, take the train.

The Lat and the Long of it:

Vertically I've been from 47 degrees south on Stewart Island in New Zealand, to 52.5 degrees North in Berlin, Germany. I've crossed the equator four times, twice by plane, twice by bus.

I started at a longitude of 77 degrees West  in Washington DC, crossed over the 180 degree mark (or International Date Line), where on one side you are the first to get the start of each day, and on the other, the last to start each day. I reached New Zealand at 175 East, Bangkok at 100 E (marking half way around the world from where I started), New Delhi at 77 E, Berlin at 13 E, Lille at 3 E. I crossed the Greenwich Meridian on my way to Biarritz on the train from Paris at 1.6 West, and crossed back to on my bicycle on the way to Treziers at 2 East, and now I'm in Istanbul at 29 East.

Clearly not the most efficient way to traverse the globe, but surely diverse geographically.

How high?

On my bicycle I reached 450 meters in elevation. This may not seem high to you (and it isn't, really), but when I looked out over the rolling foothills of the Pyrenees, it was with a feeling of accomplishment. During my travels I have been at sea level, right on the beach on the island of Ko Russei in Cambodia. I have been below sea level in Holland. Approximately a third of the country lies below sea level at high tide, and is only saved from flooding by an extensive dike system. I have been in the foothills of the Himalayas in Manali, India at 1,950 meters, at the base of Mount Kilimanjaro in Tanzania and in the foothills of the Pyrenees in France.

The Many Firsts:

• First Dung Beetle sighting
• First Lion sighting
• First time camping by myself (not in the proximity of lions)
• Two new continents (Africa and Europe)
• First time I have cycled more than 50km in a day
• First time I have cycle-toured
• First time I have self-propelled myself across a country
• First sleeper train experience
• First time woofing
• First time tending to a hive of bees
• And about a million other things

Educationally speaking:

I've also had a lot of down time, time to reflect and read and listen and watch. In this time I've undertaken a kind of education of my own selection. Thanks to the wonders of kindle and my ipod, and free classics, I've read Thoreau, Dickens, Keats, Whitman, Austen, Alcott, Louis Stevenson, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Lewis Caroll, E.E. Cummings, Mary Shelly, Sir Saint Thomas More, Frances Hodgson Burnett, and thanks to the world network of travelers exchanging books I've read Coehle, Bryson, McCourt, Shreve, Potok, and more. I've tried to read new books, local books, strange books, as well as classics. I've drawn, painted, crafted, and sewn. I have taken 3,153 photographs. Thank god for digital cameras.

On my ipod I have watched 107 Ted Talks, the great thinkers, scientists, organizers, and artists of our generation. I am more interested in solutions than in problems. I've heard enough about problems to last my lifetime, I think. There are more than 900 of these talks available for free as podcasts on iTunes, or on the web--so I think I have enough to entertain myself for awhile.

I've listened (and talked along) to 121 French podcasts, many while cycling mile after mile. I've read books in French, and talked about globalization, climate change, poverty, racism, marriage, children, literature, beekeeping, cooking, music, art, and philosophy in French (albeit stilted).

I've seen where kings and queens stood, where wars were fought, where pilgrims walked and artists painted. The stories of my childhood are coming to life, accompanied by color and sound, smells and tastes.

I've cooked and eaten and purchased foods I'd never thought of before or knew existed. My taste buds have expanded exponentially. I wish I'd kept track of the number of different types of cheeses I've tried, but at this point it's just ridiculous. I've gardened and tended to bees, processed honey, pollen, and royal jelly. I've selected spices from the alleys of New Delhi, carried them to Kenya, and cooked with them in Berlin.

The ups and the downs:

At times I am tired. At times I am lonely. I've had uncountable mosquito bites, several bad sunburns, 14 bee stings, my first blisters and callouses farming, an encounter with dubious cheese, and a little finger that goes numb after a few days of cycling. I've been so cold in my tent on one occasion that I wore all of my clothes, and so hot in a beach bungalo that I've worn none.  I've worn clothes that were washed by hand (mine) and probably would not qualify as clean. I've had all sorts of interrupted nights in hostels--snorers, partiers, early morning flight transfers. But at all times I am in awe of this experience, thankful for the opportunities that I am presented with and excited by the unfolding of each day. I think I can safely say that six months has passed well, and that this experiment in living has been successful. I've even come in under budget--it is doable, and more than worth it. Let's hope the next six months are as fabulous, and that I continue to enjoy each day as much as I have thus far.

Have I done what I came to do?

If we look back at my initial aims, in an earlier blogpost, you can see that I had four goals for this voyage.
1. To be bilingual
2. To be able to grow my own food and keep bees
3. To survive biking long distance and camping by myself
4. To gain a sense of scale, perspective, and understanding of the world

I'm working hard on number one, but am by no means there (the more I learn, the less I think I know). Waiters and waitresses still frustratingly reply to me in English, however I have had my first experience in a hostel where someone asked me a question in English and I replied in French without thinking. I've definitely learned lots more about number two, and am excited about the food, and warily respectful but still very interested in the bees. I really liked tending to them by the end, and as you can see from my graph, I got a bit better at it. I think I can check off number three successfully, and while I think number four is a lifelong goal, I would say I've added hugely to this over the last six months. Good start, I say. Now bring on all the comments about my ridiculousness for quantifying this experience :)

Green Toulouse

I spent my first day in Toulouse wandering all of the green areas. I don't know why. I had a map with tons of little x's and circles around sites and possibilities, and something about those green expanses just sucks me in.

So, to start with I wandered towards Toulouse's Japanese gardens. The first thing that interested me about the Japanese garden was its placement. The designs of Japanese gardens are so structured and careful, that I found it interesting that this garden is located within a larger park that is for the most part quite wild. Groves of trees and planted flowerbeds of prairie grasses and wild flowers ring this formal, specific construction.

The Japanese Garden was designed and constructed/planted in 1981 as a place for meditation within the city. In the center is a tea house and a lake, which is crossed by a red bridge--representing one's journey to paradise.

The teahouse holds some lovely displays and descriptions of the meaning behind each aspect of the garden's design and placement. The garden is designed to highlight the passing of seasons. Different flora will dominate at different times, purposefully. The vegetation, water features, and rocks or minerals are three elements that were designed to work together to create a whole. And aspects of the garden represent Japan in its entirety, a small hillock of land to elude to Mount Fuji, etc. In Japanese design pools can represent lakes, rocks denote mountains, and raked sand can mean oceans. If you want to learn more about Japanese garden design, I found this site really interesting.

After that, I headed towards the canals. Getting momentarily distracted by architectural features as I went. What's with the cat dragon sitting on the man's head and the Labyrinth-style hand knocker?

Down by the canal is something my map called la Prairie des Filtres. In fact, when I arrived, everything was marked "Toulouse Plage" or Toulouse Beach. Now, beach is stretching the truth if ever I heard it, but regardless of that fact, it was a bit of a kid's wonderland. From what I gather, the Toulouse Plage operates for the months of summer, and I'd arrived only a few days after it had opened up for the year. I couldn't believe how many different sports and games options I could see in every direction.

There was ping pong and volleyball.

A sand pit, and a sand football/soccer pitch (now that looked like fun). I guess allowing them the use of the term "beach."

There was jungle gym equipment.

Chess (I love how stressed out the man looks to whatever move the small boy in front of him just placed).

Small games of all descriptions.

It looked like a great place for a family or a bunch of kids to spend the day.

After that I wandered past two or three more gardens on my way home, but alas, I got tired of the camera-making. SO, you'll just have to visit yourselves to see those.

Biking the Canal du Midi

The Canal du Midi is one half of a whole that links the Atlantic to the Mediterranean. The canal stretches from the city of Toulouse across to Sète, a port city.

I started cycling on the Canal du Midi in Carcassonne, and biked westward to Toulouse. I expect later I'll probably do the Carcassonne to Sète portion as I cycle towards Provence. The canal itself is architecturally interesting, consisting of 99 locks, controlling the raising and lowering of boats along the varied topography of that region. I enjoyed watching the boats emerge from the locks, or wait for the water to drain before they move forth. The attitude of those on the boats definitely appeared to be one of leisurely celebration. I can imagine that a holiday trip along the canal could be quite enjoyable, especially with a fun group of people.

For cycling, a canal is usually a good bet, because it follows the path of least resistance (usually), flowing through valleys as opposed to hills. In addition, this particular canal has been planted with trees for most of the length of it, making for a pleasant ride; at this time of year it can get pretty hot in the sun. As this is the time of year for sunflowers, sometimes I'd be cycling with the canal on one side and a mass of yellow flowers on the other.

The terrain is variable, in some places nicely packed earth or pebbles, others completely paved (especially closer to Toulouse), and in others still barely more than a worn rut complicated by roots and rocks, along the side of the canal. Bumpy for long distances. My bicycle set up with panniers fared well, but I wonder how others did with trailer setups, especially in places where they contended with two-way traffic.