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 :)

Cartography for the Visually Impaired

I first came across tactile maps in grad school under Professor Amy Lobben, and the Spatial and Map Cognition Research Lab. As part of one of Amy's classes we designed tactile maps for the University of Oregon campus. Tactile maps are raised to form a touchable surface, and often incorporate braille annotations. They are used by the visually impaired and blind. Throughout this trip I've seen some great examples of aides used to help visually impaired people to explore a historical site.

While in Carcassonne, I wandered into a gift shop, and I saw a beautiful book on the city, full of tactile maps and illustrations. La Cité de Carcassonne is written by Claude Marti and Illustrated by Jean-Pierre Suaut and Hoëlle Corvest. Corvest is the expert in tactile design, Suaut in medieval history and illustration. You can find the book on the French version of Amazon here, but at least for the moment it looks like it is out of stock. The book itself is large, but fairly light, the pages some sort of soft plastic material. The difficulty with creating these kinds of books involves the tension between including too much information, and not enough. Scale is often distorted in order to allow users to distinguish between symbols. The size of lines, the density of points, the variability of symbols, all need to be designed to be most usable for the visually impaired. Simple for readability, yet data rich. Difficult.

This book used 60 embossed images to help explore Carcassone and its history. There is an accompanying CD that talks in depth about the history, accompanying each image.

Maps were used to help set the context of the location using a variety of scales. Political maps showing the location of cities within the Mediterranean region of Europe and Northern Africa, physical maps showing Carcassone's location within the watershed, maps of France showing physical and cultural features, and maps of the city itself, and plans of buildings.

In addition to the beautiful cartography, it helped to explore the architecture of Carcassonne, looking at the buildings themselves, building techniques, adornments such as columns, statues, gargoyles, and stained glass.

It also showed defensive practices, military techniques, and symbols.

A beautiful book, I'd love to know how readable visually impaired people find it, and if any studies have been done to determine the positives and negatives of its design. Studies of tactile map design have been going on in geography departments and spatial cognition labs for some time, and as more is learned, better (and more affordable) maps will be able to be produced for those that need them. Always important to think about how we can improve experiences for everyone.

Busy busy bees and local cures for bee stings.

Well, this teaches me to consult topographic maps instead of just looking at road maps. On the way to the bee farm, I decided to cut a little time and take the train a wee ways, so that I could get there quicker. I could either take it to Castelnaudry, or Pamiers, and as Castelnaudry was North of Tréziers (where I'm staying) and Pamiers was West, I went with Castelnaudry. I chose this route because up until now, most of the hills have been the result of a tributary system originating from the Pyrenees, hence if you go East-West there are lots of ups and downs, and if you go North-South, there is usually more of a gradual incline. So, without looking at a proper map, I chose Castelnaudry and got on a train. Just outside of Castelnaudry, in-between the town and where I wanted to go, is a ridge that hits 400m high (in general I've been trying not to go higher than 250). I had used up much of my water and most of my energy by the time I reached the top. It didn't help that it was a beautifully hot day.

However, once over that hump, the ride was beautiful.

Close to arriving, I stopped to put on some more sunscreen beneath the shade of a tree, and suddenly a handful of angry bees descended on me. Having never had this happen before, I panicked, thinking the whole hive was attacking, and dropped my bicycle and ran up the street. Only one succeeded, but ow--the ear is not where you want to get a bee sting.

I went back for my bike, and walked it a ways up the street. I stopped the next car, to ask them to look at it to make sure that the stinger was out, and it was two lovely ladies. I then was given an antihistamine, and they filled my water bottle. They also showed me a type of ground cover that you can use the leaf as a poultice over a bee sting, and then, using both French and gestures to convey their knowledge, they informed me that if it got really bad, I should pee into a cup and pour that over myself. The woman apparently had had a bad bee sting once far from people, and her friend had had to pee on the top of her head. Hmm. This really is bee country, isn't it. Doesn't bode well for my experiences on the farm.

Map for the Day

A Miss Rosemary Daley, cartographer extraordinaire with National Geographic, got so tired of looking up all the locations of the places I've been travelling (and if she has no idea, than the rest of you are probably completely lost), so she started this map. I've expanded upon her work put in a really really shoddy effort of placing the major routes and some of the earlier travel I did (so don't consider any of that part up to her standards). . . but this may help any of you who have absolutely no idea where I am at any given time. And now I had better get biking! Miss you all. M


View Mary's Travels in a larger map

Paris! Sarah! Parents!

I biked into Paris (having mapped out all of these small streets to keep myself from getting flattened by traffic) straight down one of the main highways through La Défense and past l'Arc de Triomphe. It was hard to deviate from roads that point towards Paris, even though I knew that there were more pleasant routes. However, it worked out fine, and it was quite satisfying to really feel like I was arriving into the Paris. Although, I expected trumpets, a red carpet and a variety of mimes throwing croissant confetti into the air. Jeez. . . I don't ask for much.

I then headed down to the Seine, and followed it, crossing onto l'Île de la Cité. My parents had rented a lovely and surprisingly affordable apartment (compared to much of Paris) on the fifth floor of a building on Rue d'Arcole with a view of Notre Dame. I arrived only a half an hour after they did, and Sarah not long after that.

The apartment was miniscule, but somehow we all managed to fit in, and we had a fabulous time.

Part way through the week my bicycle seat got stolen from outside the apartment (opposite the main French municipal police station), so Sarah was amazing and carried my bicycle up four flights of circular stairs. I was so surprised that she just did it, that I didn't get a photograph, but I do have one taken on her iPhone of me taking it back down the stairs. Ridiculous endeavour. . . but we had to keep Hedgiflora and her new seat safe.

Sarah and I did some sitting and reading/people watching/drawing. Felt very parisienne. Or not :) I definitely needed a clothing upgraded if I wanted to even think about feeling parisienne.

Mum, dad and I wandered through Notre Dame. I'd suggest going as early as you possibly can (I think we got there at about 9:30am, and it was already pretty busy, as you can see in the picture looking back out towards the crowds.

I love this picture, it makes me think of Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain . . . although without the rain. But can't you just see him bursting out into song and dance? This was just around the corner from our apartment, and actually felt like a lovely authentic moment. For the most part, we were in tourist town, and in order to get a more real feeling for the city we needed to leave our  immediate area.

In one of these endeavours, we went to a less touristy park in Paris, Parc des Buttes Chaumont. It was a really interesting location, constructed out of an old quarry/mining area, with a cliff structure, waterfalls, and a pond. Made for good people watching.

Thanks so much to mum and dad and Sarah for visiting me. Paris is wonderful, and I expect I'll be back there before the year is out.

In Flanders Fields

This region, Flanders (Flandres), a region which includes western Belgium and northwestern France, was the Western Front of World War I. One of the most well known towns in which fighting revolved was Ypres (Ieper), also known as the Salient. This region saw fighting from October 1914 until  November 1918. Ypres was for all intents and purposes destroyed by the war, but was rebuilt to much the same design after the war. Up to half a million men (young men) died in battle here to gain less than two miles of ground. Such a waste. Despite this, the region is hauntingly beautiful now, and only makes me more aware of how tenuous our hold on peace is.

New Zealand fought in World War I, and was one of the first countries to arrive as allies of the British. At the time, with only one million people, our 16,697 dead and 41,317 wounded was a large portion of our population. The Tyne Cot Cemetery in Belgium contains the graves of more New Zealanders than any other cemetery outside of New Zealand.

In Flanders Fields, by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae
In Flanders fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses, row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie,
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

To end on an uplifting note, I really enjoyed the use of physical models for blind people to be able to experience the architecture of Ypres. The 13th Century Cloth Hall (rebuilt after World War I) is much visited, and a small model with braille information was provided for those with impaired sight to create a mental map of the building. There are so many things like this that we can do to make experiences more meaningful for people with different abilities and impairments.

Neither here nor there.

Navigating through a landscape where you speak the language is tough enough. Navigating when signs are a mystery and people incomprehensible is a little more interesting. Luckily, having started in the Netherlands, bike signs were abundant and very easily decipherable. And in a tough spot, many people know English, and gesturing, English, mediocre French, and sporadic German seemed to convey enough to result in help to varying degrees of success.

In some places the bike lanes were well marked on the ground, especially so as to distinguish it from foot traffic and minimise opportunities for collisions.

Much of the Netherlands is a web of two kinds of bicycle lanes. One, major bike lanes, are actual marked routes (line data), the others, are a web of marked and numbered intersections (point data) with connecting possible routes. The first is much easier to navigate, and frequented by more people (allowing for a greater number of campsites and eating opportunities), the second is more likely to give a view of the "real" Netherlands, campsites are generally cheaper, and gives you more flexibility to vary your route as wind directions and sightseeing opportunities arise. I did a combination of the two, but found that the second was much more suited to my style of bike riding. However, on days when I wanted to cover more distance, it was nice to take the smoother, less interrupted major routes.

I used a combination of high and low-tech navigation tools. These consisted of my ipod touch with preloaded maps of Europe (and when internet was available, google maps), to physical maps, a small compass (so useful!) and on sunny days, the shadow put forth by my bicycle. I spent several days doing large chunks of distance solely based on direction (vaguely south west), as due to the flexibility of my schedule, it didn't really matter where I ended up from day to day, as long as at some point I put some kilometers behind me and ended up in Paris (which I did).

On days when I did plan, I would generally look for 2-3 campgrounds, One 40km away, another 50-60km, and the third 60-80km. Then, as the day progressed, I could see how long I wanted to be cycling, and where I would want to spend the night. It also gave me the flexibility to see a location and decide I didn't want to stay there, and move on to the next place.

Sticky situations arose when signs were less easy to see, or were nonexistent, but, really, the Netherlands was a dream. Navigation throughout Belgium was also pretty great, although signs were less well maintained, and major routes were less common, to France where I've had trouble finding information about bike routes, and have done much more road biking (please prove me wrong and point me in the right direction), not entirely less pleasant, as I see more of the towns than I did throughout the Netherlands, but definitely more vehicle traffic intensive.

Another problem I came across was seasonal options for crossing bodies of water. I added a full day's biking as one of the ferries noted on my map turned out to be only operational June through September. This meant a quick shuffle to find a new campsite, and a day's biking further along the coast to catch a bus through a tunnel underneath the channel. However, when there were ferries, they were so easy and cheap to use. Lovely.

I'm sure there will be more challenges, but the problem solving and adaptation of plans is part of the fun. Plus, it's like one gigantic orienteering adventure, and as a geography geek, that can only be a good thing. I won't get into the possible theses I see branching out before me (undergrads, apply here for ideas) . . . but suffice to say, the mind boggles at how interesting it is to use my brain to get from A to B (to Z) through different environments and multiple countries using different modes of transport and different navigation aides.