A journeys end.

Today I have to pack, actually only a few items I have don't need sanitary washing as most of my clothes have just been fermenting in plastic bags. The safari clothes are clean, God knows I don't want to bring some new insect into the US. Its been a journey, in both Europe and Africa. I've watched extradordinay masses of animals, a variety grazing in one area simultananeously, zebra, wildebeest and thomson gazelles. The Ngorongoro Crater and the Serengeti are sancturaries. I saw lions, in prides, the birth of a wildebeest, and an impala. I watched the big sky over the Serengeti at sunrise, at sunset. I had moment after moment when silent tears ran down my face. I enjoyed it all, every moment. The camera lense was often like being in the front row of a movie theater, as I watched kill after kill from start to finish, the succession of wildlife all getting their turn. Survival as its been, as it will be. I learned, or forced to learn about birders. Our lead photographer, Andy Briggs said "birders" are the easiest people to have on a trip, there is an intellectual, quiet manner as they show excitement in checking another box in their guide bird book. At the end, I too was "checking". The Maasai, over 640,000 in Tanznia are the most well-known Africian ethic group, but not the largest. They live as they did thousands of years ago, hearding cattle, sheep and goats in the Great Rift Valley. The day consists of taking the herd to graze and to a body of water. Seeing this unfold daily promotes soul searching. I think of all my electronic devices, beauty/age defying efforts and the bills I pay to maintain a lifestyle. All in all I have countless memories as well as countless photographs. More than ever I am thankful for the chance I had to make this trip. Off the merry-go-round I've had a chance, just like last year, to really really find a balance in my life. Its impossible to share all those thoughts, they are in my mind and heart but have given me a new band width of knowledge. I see the world, process my experience and it changes me, gives me fulfillment and feeds me all those worldly images softly, everyday. Its kind of like when Tom Hanks, in "Castaway" returns home, rescued from the island he was on. I feel this way, I always always have transitional issues when I return, wondering around the house and thinking "what do I do here?". A week goes by I am back in the eye of the storm, juggling everything I "need" to do. The experience isn't lost, it just exists inside me and nurtures me all the time. Better than any mind memory game is the travel experience, your just a sponge, it is diverting and fantastic. While in Gilgil and in some remote Eastern African villages, especially the I.D.P.'s, the horrific camps of Internally Displaced People, the Re-Start School, Pricilla's School of rescued Maasai girls, who are homeless and the disabled camp of children, my heart was broken. I still can't express my grief, it is so deep, the poverty so great. I walked through the camps and children followed me, wanted to be touched, grabbed me. Finally, I thought, forget about germs, embrace the moment, give them a moment. Using my camera, I took photos of them, they crowded around me in a huddle and I showed them on the view finder the photos I took. They were in a trance, do it again, I did. So for that one day, one hour, I shared. Although it broke my heart, it was a distraction for them and really that is all that was important. There was so much to take in I'll never be able to talk about it without tears. The good news is that ther is help out there, not for everyone but for some. When I was going through town after town, seeing children with thread bare clothing, no shoes and blank stares I became aware of the poorest of poor. The cities of Amsterdam, Munich, Vienna, Salzburg, Prague and Budapest were cities. Of them all, for art and music I'd have to say Vienna won. The timing of reading "Unbroken", about WW2 couldn't have been timed better. First I hated the Germans, of recent the Japanese, the book sucked me in. My father was a top turret bomber in a B-24 in WW2. Until this trip and the reading of "Unbroken" I didn't give WW2 a whole lot of thought. When I get home, I'll get the Army discharge certificate my Mother enlarged and framed for each of us "kids" and put it on the wall, its in the basement! I'll also locate the photo of Dad in his leather bomber jacket with his squadron and frame it. Finally, I'll get his WW2 diary and read it with a new set of eyes. For all the years when I was growing up, only once, when pressured he reached back to a moment he had tried to forget about the war. That outburst, at the dinner table he recounted a B-24 that exploded at the end of the runway in the South Pacific, too heavy to fly. He picked up a finger, the class ring still on it that he picked up after the explosion. Only now, seeing the bullet holes in buildings all over Europe, being in Anne Franks home and the stories from the tour guide do I truly understand the magitude of one mans (Hitler) power to take away freedom of mind, body and soul. So I'll pack today, along with whats in my suitcase, my mind is as well "packed" with images, thoughts and memories of this trip. Its touched my heart and soul, I am different, yet the same. Joan