Going To The Sun & Midnight In Greece.

Taken from: National Geographic Magazine. 30 july 2013. 30 june 2013.

http://digitalnomad.nationalgeographic.com/2013/07/30/going-to-the-sun/ http://digitalnomad.nationalgeographic.com/2013/06/30/midnight-ingreece/

By: Nicol Irarrzabal Betancur. Class: ED1106C Seccion 01.

Going To The Sun

Posted by Andrew Evans of National Geographic Traveler on July 30, 2013 (7) Share on emailMore Hiking Two Medicine & Going-To-The-Sun in Glacier National Park, Montana
By Andrew Evans, National Geographic Traveler (with help from Lindsey Peebles & Sarah Benton)

I stood ankle-deep in the mountain lake, icy inch-high ripples raced over my naked, chicken skin legs. On the pebbled shore, a fat man in a swimsuit leaned on a pair of crutches, pulling his jumpy German Shepherd on a leash and critiquing my painfully slow descent into the water. Just jump in, dude! he shouted at me, as if he knew me. Just jump in, dude! he shouted at me, as if he knew me. Sentence structure: Complex.

This is something Ive begun to notice in national parksthe sudden familiarity among strangers, all of us humans hanging out in nature, some more obnoxious than others. The fat man kept yelling at me, What are you waiting for? JUMP in! I tried not to get annoyed. I tried not to get annoyed.

Two Medicine Lake in Glacier National Park, Montana. (Photo by Andrew Evans, National Geographic Traveler)

Im waiting for the sun! I shouted back to shore, shivering in the wind. When the sun is up and the sky is clear, Glacier National Park can soar up into the eightiesit can get so warm that all you want to do is jump into a clear and frigid glacier lake. Im waiting for the sun!

But now the sun was clenched behind a thick set of blinding clouds, darkening the mountainside with premature night. The wind ripped across the lake and suddenly, I wanted a parka over my bathing suit. Before noon, I had seen a bunch of kids splashing in the waterthey seemed so happy and the water seemed so clear, I vowed to come back and swimafter my hike. But my hike took six hoursthree miles takes longer when youre climbing three thousand feet up. The whole time I was huffing it uphill, I wasnt sure if the trail led to some scenic point or if the highest point was actually known as Scenic Point (it is). Ive always wondered who decides these thingshow does something become generallyaccepted as scenic by the broader public? On maps, one road will be outlined in green, with a

legend informing me that this part of the world has been deemed scenic, but does that automatically render the blank white parts of the map as non-scenic? Everything is scenic, if you think about itbecause merely looking at something transforms it into a scene. At Glacier National Park, some scenes involve floating mountains and glassy lakes, while others involve long lines at the gift shop, a lot of nonplussed mule deer and the occasional grizzly bear. I never saw any bears but I did see all the signs telling me that they were there. Climbing Scenic Point, the sign read something like, If youre not carrying bear spray than its really stupid because you could get eaten like some people have. I never saw any bears but I did see all the signs telling me that they were there. Sentence structure: Complex

I had remembered sun block and bug spray and a reserve camera battery and a hat and sunglasses and water and a waterproof layerbut I had forgotten my bear spray. I had remembered sun block and bug spray and a reserve camera battery and a hat and sunglasses and water and a waterproof layerbut I had forgotten my bear spray. Sentence structure: Compound.

Thus I found myself alone in the woods with bears and no bear spray, which has never really bothered me before, but that signthat sign with big red lettersturned my scene from just a guy hiking to a hiker being hunted with scary music building in the background. This scene does not end well, I thought, and so I waited on the path until a pair of chatty hikers turned the corner. Do you have any bear spray? I asked, without even introducing myself. Yeah, they shrugged, as if it was obvious. Do you mind if I tag along behind you? I inquired, crashing their couples getaway for the afternoon.

They said they didnt mind, so I followed behind until they branched off onto a lesser trail, leaving me to the upper trail and any lurking bears. For the rest of the afternoon, I hopped from one group of hikers to the next, like a frog among lily pads, figuring that as long as I was with others and chatting lots, the bears would stay away. And stay away they didalthough I saw their prints in the dirtbig claw prints in the soft grey sand. At the top of Scenic Point, I searched for the big brown beasts, but only saw a pair of big horn sheep, clinging to the cliffs a thousand feet above Two Medicine Lake.

Walking the saddle to Scenic Point above Two Medicine in Glacier National Park (Photo by Andrew Evans, National Geographic Traveler)

An hour and a half later, I was standing on the shores of Two Medicine Lake, vacillating like a chipmunk on the roadto jump in or to get out? Two Medicine is sacred to the Blackfeet Indians native to Glacier National Park. According to the common lore that gets passed around national parks, Two Medicine was a spot where the Blackfeet underwent their individual vision questsa time of contemplation, solitude and spiritual searching to discover ones purpose and destiny in life. Perhaps this is the real meaning of scenica place where the nature is so powerful, you start seeing and feeling beyond your sensestranscendental. But my final plunge into Two Medicine Lake was not as transcendental as I had hoped. It was merely cold. And brief.

For five minutes, I was alone in the cold water, surrounded by magic mountains and a sky that was closing in on me, so I left dried off and drove on to St. Mary where the next day I met other tourists like me, all of us happy and overwhelmed by the gargantuan topography, all of us out in nature, on our own respective vision quests. I was alone in the cold water, surrounded by magic mountains and a sky that was closing in on me, so I left. Sentence structure: Compound.

In a caf I met an older couple, married 53 years, who had met as college students working summers at Glacier National Park. I met a waitress with purple hair from Missoula, and a Chinese family with sprightly young kids who spoke no English beyond Mountain! Big!, and an elementary school music teacher on summer vacation, who rode his motorcycle from Boston to Montana in just five days. I followed behind his motorcycle on the must-see, cant-miss-it, iconic, memorable, Going-ToThe-Sun Road. This is the Old Faithful of Glacier National Parka parade of obedient vehicles that moves slowly upwards until the road goes up no more. This is the scenic route, and if such things can ever be compared, one might even suggest that it is the most scenic road of allin the park, in Montana, in the world? This is a beautiful and scenic drive, and thousands of people know it, which is why when I drove it, it felt more like a scenic traffic jam. Right the top of the Going-To-The-Sun Road is a scenic parking lot and when I finally arrived, it was full of cars, like a Saturday morning at Target. I cruised up and down the lot, losing three spots to inconsiderate drivers before finally sliding into a vacant spot three seconds after a truck had pulled out. Yesterday, I broke up two fights, one park ranger told me, when I asked him if visitors ever got antsy up here. The two of us were standing at the edge of the parking lot, gazing out across the immense glacial valley, with a single sunbeam poking through the clouds and lighting up the side of Going-To-The-Sun Mountain. Fistfights? I asked, and he nodded yes. People punching people over a parking spot in the most scenic parking lot on Earthimagine! Im sorry I missed that, I told him, guessing which lens and shutter speed I would need to capture a face plant on the Continental Divide in overcast conditions.

Instead I was shooting the whole of nature with my cameramy widest-angle lens aimed at the widest span of natural grandeur. Big, Rocky Mountain clouds cast shadows across the valley, and I simply stood there and watchedfor an hour.

Logan Pass Panorama in Glacier National Park, Montana. (Photo by Andrew Evans, National Geographic Traveler)

For an hour, my world stood still, as the clouds moved and the rest of the world swarmed around me, all of them coming and going on their vision quest, some shorter than others. Teenagers complained to their parents about the cold, biker gangs revved their engines, and another ranger asked if she could borrow a pen to write a few parking tickets. Come back the first week of September, said the first ranger. Its still summer and all these people are goneyoull have the whole valley to yourself. Im sure hes right, and that standing alone on Logan Pass is some kind of magnificent, but I didnt mind all the people because I was one of those people, too. I was a stranger from far away who had traveled to Montana on a vision quest of my own. I was one of those cars that I now watched moving up the scenic base of the mountain like a parade of prostrate pilgrims, creeping higher and higher, into the clouds, onwards and upwards, all of us, going . . . to the sun.

Going-To-The-Sun Mountain (left) in Glacier National Park (Photo by Andrew Evans, National Geographic Traveler).

Midnight in Greece
Posted by Andrew Evans of National Geographic Traveler on June 30, 2013 (9) Share on emailMore

The globe in the National Geographic 125th Anniversary exhibit at National Geographic headquarters in Washington, DC. (Photo by AE, NGT)

My favorite in-flight movie is the in-flight mapthe one that starts playing before take-off, a blinking white airplane icon that inches through the night across a digital map of the world. I find the constant frame of reference somewhat comfortingthe visible proof of my own progress, and a clear reminder that while I am dozing in the cushioned, pressurized, climatecontrolled, seemingly-stationary interior of a Boeing jet planeI am, in fact, traveling halfway around the earth.

In case we are not paying attention (and none of us really are), our Ethiopian Airlines pilot pipes in to inform us that we have already passed over Cape Cod, and how, just about now, we are entering Canada. Lunch is served over the Labrador Sea, and as I stab stuffed pasta shells with a fork, the TV map zooms in and out. I imagine the long parade of summer icebergs floating some thirtyseven thousand feet below us, sailing from the arctic into oblivion. Up here, geography is nearly imaginary. In principle, I trust the in-flight map to pinpoint me on the globe, but the evening clouds offer no landmarksno promise of truth. I work, I dozeI get restless in the air. Across the aisle, a young man reads a book, Understanding Agricultural Markets in Africa. The pages are soporificsoon he is asleep while sitting, a comatose body traveling across the Atlantic, only slightly less cognizant than I. Across the aisle, a young man reads a book

Over Scotland, my seatmate laughs aloud to the ongoing Nigerian soap operas on her screen, while I settle into that early 1970s cult film, The Poseidon Adventure the one where blonde women wearing hot pants climb through scrap metal in a distressed, upside-down ship; the one with a clean-faced Gene Hackman, who calms the survivors of the on-screen tragedy by declaring, There is nothing to worry about until there is something to worry about, okay? This is a good motto for travel, I think. This is a good motto for travel.

I have nothing to worry about. Outside my window it is minus 48Ca deadly temperature if I was out therebut I am in here, where it is warm and safe. We are flying through the atmosphere at more than 700 miles per hour, but my internal organs are still intact. If I was on the ground, the world would be a blur, but up here, the earth at night moves in such slow motion. I have nothing to worry about.

Honolulu, Vancouver, Paris, Moscow, Buenos Aires, Lima, Cairo, Abu Dhabi, Sydney, Tokyo, Blantyre, and Cape Town. Zoomed all the way out, the in-flight map only mentions these citiesI know each of them personally and each is so different. I know each of them personally and each is so different. Sentence structure: Compound.

But on the screen, like last years video game, these places hold no meaning. Up here, the earth becomes nameless and flatonly the glowing green trail of our flight path curves elegantly around the planet. Its called The Great Circle Routethe quickest way between two points on the globe is not directly horizontal. Over a curved surface, the shortest distance may curve up and over, or down and around. This is why my journey to Africa takes me above Belgium and Austria. I pace the aisle of the plane because I have read that this is how not to get blood clots on long flights. I do laps to the front of the lane and then all the way to the back. Half the passengers are asleep beneath yellow satin Ethiopian Airlines masks. Others are in groups wearing matching T-shirts that advertize their church or medical mission to Africa. Most of them want to change the worldand who doesnt? I pace the aisle of the plane because I have read that this is how not to get blood clots on long flights. Sentence Structure: Complex.

Towards the rear of the plane, I overhear two youth pastors discussing their work, Its ridiculously inexpensive to feed children in Africalike fifty cents a day. The in-flight map switches to French, announcing the heure locale is 12:00 AM. At the far back of the plane, I crouch down by the emergency door and stare out the cold, oblong patch of windowthe one that makes me feel like I am flying though space in a submarine. I watch the sparkling lights of coastal cities far belowthread-like roads traced out in street light pixels. Here is a place I have never seen beforenever traveled to: This is Greece, and that black mass without lights? The Adriatic Sea.

At least, this is what the in-flight map tells me. Welcome to Greece. As it zooms in, the in-flight map even points out obscure undersea detailssoon we are crossing the Herodotus Trough. The great Greek geographer himself, rendered to a label on an undersea gash seen only by insomniac airplane passengers who happen to spot it in the second it flashes across so many night screens. I want to apologize to Herodotus for what has happened. How geography has lost its true meaning, and how even now, I am crossing the Sahara in the same amount of time it takes to watch My Cousin Vinny. At dawn we touch down in Addis and the cabin erupts into uniform applause. The lunatic clapping is goofy, if not disconcerting. Shouldnt we reserve applause for special occasions? Is safely landing a plane so unique and extraordinary that we should clap? But on the screen I see the factsmore real than the Ethiopian mountains outside my window. 13 hours in the air. 7,575 miles traveled. And I clap, toonot for the pilots (who deserve it), but for my favorite in-flight movie, that has just ended.

Sleepy somewhere high up over the Atlantic (Photo by AE, NGT)

Parts of the speech: Verbs: Critiquing Have Was. Nouns: German Shepherd Kids. Adjectives: Fat Happy. Pronouns: Some They. Adverbs: Painfully Generally. Prepositions: On Into. Conjunctions: And After. Interjections: Yeah Dude!