Achilles troubles

Sunday I fly out of Seattle to London, with a tightly connecting flight to Glasgow.  Ah, yes, were it only that tight connection that was of concern this vacation season.

Four weeks ago to the day, I blogged on the horrors of my pulled groin muscle, and its potential effect on my travel plans.  I foresaw that I might not always be able to complete the eleven miles (on average) required on each day's walk, over a seven day period, as our group of six trudged along the Rob Roy Way in southern Scotland.    But I rejoiced that this would be one of the easiest hikes I'd ever attempted in Britain, and that I'd usually be close enough to a road to complete the day's journey by summoned taxi, if necessary.

Well, the groin strain isn't entirely healed -- I still get twinges with exertion -- but something funny has happened since that post.  Even as I drastically reduced my walking distance each day, I developed inexplicable pain in my Achilles tendon, pain that has increased in intensity day by day.

I really don't see how I could even get started on an eleven-mile walk now.  Especially when the night passed swiftly and the time for the second day's walk began.  I teetered on the brink of canceling my trip to Scotland.  I might well have done so if I didn't have a two-week stay in Italy, at Lake Como, attached to the end of it --  a situation where I'll be with others and in charge of our accommodations and, to some extent, although far less than I like to believe, looked to as the source of everyone's daily adventures and entertainment.

My original Plan B was to rely entirely on taxis, probably not even trying to begin a day's walk.  But after much study, and a happy discussion by phone with the British organization that puts these walks together, I've decided to change the Hike to Bike.  The Rob Roy Way -- the walk I have scheduled -- has been designed to accommodate both walkers and bikers.  The more rugged and steep portions of the hike -- i.e., the most scenic portions -- mainly the final two days, are bypassed by paved bike trails with fewer changes in elevation.

I won't have a bike until the end of the second day of hiking, at Callander, where there's a large bicycle shop and rental facility.  I've been assured that the company that hauls our baggage from one B&B or small hotel to another will be happy to carry me those first two days if I don't think I can walk them.  

Once we leave Callander, I hope to be able to coast along with the walkers, on a route that primarily follows small roads or abandoned railway rights of way.  The last couple of days, the bike trail diverges considerably from the hiking route -- hikers leaving well-defined trails behind and climbing across boggy moors and over small creeks -- but then joins up with it again as we near the end of each day's journey.

This alternative sounds perfect, given my new disability -- although I'm aware that biking is also a source of irritation to the Achilles tendon.  But at least I'll be on somewhat easier terrain, and with more mileage gained per each stretch of my tendons.  My last long-distance biking was in 1998, when my nephew and I biked with a guided group in southern China.  We rode 50 miles the first day, in 95 degree heat.  But I was younger then, and injury-free..  In 2023, I'm holding my breath about negotiating eleven miles in 60-degree Scottish drizzle.

On advice of one of my fellow hikers, I've also discovered the hitherto unknown existence of Lidocaine topical patches.  They don't cure a strained Achilles tendon, but they dull the pain to the point that you hardly realize the damage you're probably doing to your body.

And on that happy note, I bring this post to a close.  If I can just survive the next couple of weeks, I will find myself stretched out contentedly in the sun on the shores of Lake Como, a glass of soothing Italian wine in hand.

Vaccine choices

One week ago, I had a Covid booster shot.  This was my sixth Covid vaccination, my fourth booster, my second "bivalent" booster.  

I scheduled it for when I did, knowing full well that it was designed to meet the variants current in October 2022, when I had my first bivalent vaccination, and that updated vaccine would be available in September.  

It was a difficult decision, but it had been over ten months since my last booster shot, and I will be leaving for a month in Europe a week from Sunday.  The shot I received a week ago will reach its maximum effect on my immunity in another week -- two days before my departure.  On the other hand, I had a mild case of Covid, of whatever flavor, two months ago, which supposedly reinvigorated my immune responses.

The variant now predominant in the United States is the new EG.5 mutation.  One of its features is a change in its structure that helps it to evade the antibodies developed in response to prior vaccines and from exposure to prior variants.  Nevertheless, experts so far have seen no reason to believe that it is more contagious than prior variants, nor more serious in its effects.  It's just there, with our having less ready-made immune protection from it.

It's hard for a layman to decide how to respond, especially when experts so far have little data on which to rely.  Within minutes of receiving the vaccine, I was already second-guessing my decision not to wait until after I had returned from Europe, when the updated vaccine would be available.  I now won't be able to receive the new vaccine before mid-December.  

The day after I received my vaccination, the New York Times quoted Dr. Eric Topol of Scripps Research in La Jolla, California:

“My main concern is for the people at high risk,” Dr. Topol said. “The vaccines that they’ve had are too far removed from where the virus is right now and where it’s going.”

Well.  Thanks, Doc!  I'm certainly old enough to be at "high risk."  And I already find myself blaming "long Covid" from my May infection for my recent lack of blog productivity!  

Of course, life is full of hazards, and we can't escape them all.  But I think I'll go back to wearing masks.  Maybe not as compulsively and automatically as I did before the first vaccine was released, but at least in seriously crowded indoor contexts.     

Lahaina Town

From the 1970s until my mother's death in 2003, our family enjoyed a long succession of family vacations on Maui, almost always at the little bay of Napili.  In the early years, there was little development -- touristic -- between Napili and the nearest town, Lahaina, about 6½ miles to the south.

I have hundreds of photos of all those visits, but they are photos primarily of the ocean scenes viewed from our beach; our hikes, especially into Haleakala crater; and the ever changing faces of our family members -- our middle aged parents becoming older, ourselves becoming middle aged or older; and our children being born, one after another, and transforming into first teenagers and then young adults.

Lahaina was always our big landmark, after arrival on Maui, telling us that we were three-fourths of the way to Napili from the airport.  No matter how young or how old we were, we felt the excitement grow.  And at least once during our Napili stay, we would venture down to Lahaina Town, just to look around, mingle with the crowds, immerse ourselves in what we took to be the "real Hawaii" ("real" to us, despite the swarms of tourists); and read signs on historic buildings, dating back to whaling days and maybe even days before Hawaii became an American territory.

Often, but not always, we would have a beer (or other libation) and a burger in what eventually was named "Cheeseburger in Paradise" -- an upscale dive bar (if that makes sense) sitting on the second floor of an old wood-framed building, open to the trade winds, with a view of the ocean waves rolling ashore.

But for some reason, we don't have that many photos of Lahaina.  I'm not sure why.  Maybe we tended to focus on photos of ourselves and of our ever-evolving bodies and faces, and of the hikes we went on, while we still had the strength and enthusiasm to undertake hikes, sensing that we would not always be young, nor some of us always alive.  And photos of the beach and ocean and sunsets, because that's what one took photos of when he went anywhere in Hawaii. 

But Lahaina, beloved Lahaina, seemed a permanent fixture, its best features preserved by regulation.  For us, it had always been there, and would always be there.  The people changed, the density of the crowds definitely increased, but Lahaina itself remained unchanging.  Recognizable in old photos in the same way as Paris and Rome are seemingly eternal and unchanging, while the society occupying them may change radically.  As permanent a sight as the islands of Moloka'i and Lanai across the straits.

I last visited Lahaina this past January, celebrating the 80th birthday of twin college friends who over the years had become virtual family members.  We walked the streets -- well, Front Street, which was the street -- more crowded than ever, and yet always the same.  We visited the parrot man, who has showed off his parrots to at least a generation of tourists, standing in the same location.  Did he ever sell a parrot?  Did he want to?  I never knew, and now I'll never know.

We visited an art gallery, displaying a number of interesting paintings exhibited for sale.  The gallery owner spent a lot of time with us, discussing the art, although it was obvious that we had neither the money nor the inclination to make a purchase.  Now it's all gone.

The great banyan tree, at one end of town, spread its branches over an entire park, providing shade and beauty to the people below.  Up in flames, although I understand that some have hope that it may still live on in some form.

The historical buildings along the waterfront, reminding us that Lahaina was a royal capital, a governmental outpost, and a whaling port long before it became -- like so many other important cities around the world -- primarily a tourist destination.  Important reminders of the history of a kingdom, a territory, and a state wiped off the face of the map in minutes.

And of course Cheeseburger in Paradise?  In a wood building on Front Street, surrounded by other wood buildings?  It never had a chance.  I had my last burger and drank my last drink there ever in mid-January 2023.  I'm glad I didn't realize it at the time.

Lahaina.  We should have appreciated you even more than we did, back when we had the chance.  We should have visited you more than once per visit to Maui.  We should have taken more photos.

But we thought you'd always be there.  We thought you'd never change.  You'd remain in place forever, placidly overlooking the harbor where whalers once docked, even while we and our own loved ones changed and passed from the scene.  

Lahina Town.  R.I.P.

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Photos: 
Top -- Our last meal at Cheeseburgers in Paradise
Middle -- A cheesy mural over the bar in the Pioneer Inn
Bottom -- The beloved Parrot Man displays his wares  

Youth hostels

Tuesday's New York Times contained a story entitled "European Cities Pile on Tourist Taxes."  Cities across the continent are developing ways to obtain money from tourists who admire the cities' historical and scenic sights, and may or may not spend much money while so doing.  Of special concern have been the passengers on cruise ships who sleep on board, and come ashore in vast numbers to crowd the streets and irritate both the residents and the more traditional hotel-oriented tourists.

Cities, both in America and abroad, have long charged hotel taxes, which are tacked onto your bill and may or may not be revealed in advance.  But now many cities -- the article mentioned Barcelona, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, and Dubrovnik -- are imposing or considering visitor taxes on all non-residents who visit the city.  How will the visitor taxes be enforced?  The article didn't discuss that question.  Clearly, visits by cruise ship passengers can be assessed to the ship as passengers disembark.  And hotel guests can be assessed tourist taxes along with the accommodation taxes they already pay.  What about "homeless visitors," the kids who (like me in my youth) slept in a park and hoped to evade police harassment? 

And how about youth hostel guests?

Which brings me to my real topic -- what will these taxes do to the kids who visit Europe on the cheap?  Who in the 1970s were called the "Europe on $10 [or $5] a day" crowd?  The ones who stayed in youth hostels, cooked some of their own breakfasts, did "chores," and moved on -- all for what in, say 1970, would be only a couple of dollars or less a night?

Youth hostels first originated in 1909, but really caught on in the 1930s.  For Americans, hosteling became known -- by those few who traveled to Europe -- not long after the end of World War II.  By the time I first traveled to Europe, as a college student in 1961, hostels were well established internationally, with a branch in the United States.  The American hostel association had few actual hostels, mainly in New England, and existed largely to provide reciprocal privileges in European hostels to American kids.

And it was "kids" who primarily used the hostels.  They were "youth" hostels, after all.  The European hosteling movement promoted hostels as places where German and French young people, rich travelers and poor travelers, young people of all sorts, could rub shoulders, meet, talk, and develop a sense of solidarity.  Early photos show users of hostels as mainly young bicycle riders.  Off-road hiking was less prevalent, and travel by automobile was prohibited, or at least discouraged, by hostel rules.

I obtained my first hostel membership card in 1961.  With three other friends, I had my first hostel experience staying in Interlaken a couple of nights.  We rented bikes and biked around Lake Thun.  It was an exciting and memorable experience -- both the biking and the hosteling.  I spent three weeks between terms traveling solo in England, and found hostels to be easily accessible, full of people my own age, and less intimidating than normal hotels.

In 1970, I traveled for six weeks in Europe, staying almost exclusively in hostels.  In 1961, I had been a bit of an oddity in European hostels.  By 1970, American young people were flooding Europe, and found common ground with European youth with similar social and political ideals.  Traveling alone, as I did in 1970, I would have felt often quite lonely if it hadn't been for the camaraderie among hostel visitors, many of whom were also traveling alone and looking for company.

The new visitor taxes are running about $3 per night.  This sounds minimal, but for a kid bumming around Europe on a tight budget, it could be nearly prohibitive.  But then I wonder whether that type of young tourist still exists.  The prevalence of iPhones makes it easy to avoid our practice fifty years ago of simply arriving in a city and hunting for the nearest hostel (or lining up at the tourist office for assignment to a cheap hotel).  Everyone, I assume, today can find hotels in any price range on-line and reserve them in advance.  

But more to the point, really, is the fact that everyone -- including the kind of college students apt to travel in Europe -- has far more available cash -- or credit card resources -- than we did in 1970.  Everything's different.  I sent frequent post cards home, but was essentially cut off from my family for however long I was traveling.  Kids now can call home, without charge, whenever they feel like it.  And their parents can call them.  Do kids still want the companionship of other kids of all nationalities and social statuses that hostels provided?  Are they still willing to sleep in bunk beds in large dormitories?  (Although some hostels were already beginning to offer smaller rooms for increased prices by 1970 (see inset above).)

A brief survey of articles on-line convinces me that hosteling is still very much alive.  The social advantages derived from group  housing are still appreciated.  In fact, hostels are no longer "youth" hostels, but are sought out by travelers of all ages, young and old, including many who could easily afford a conventional hotel.  Today's more affluent tourists -- of all ages -- can probably afford another three bucks a night in order to help host cities maintain the atmosphere and facilities that attract tourists in the first place.

My fears on behalf of youth hostels probably are merely the nostalgia of an old-timer, looking back on the joys of his youth, when things seemed "different.".  And a reflection of the fact that he himself hasn't taken advantage of the warm hospitality of hostels for too long a time.  Young people change, but their basic needs and desires remain pretty much constant.  

Three cheers for hostels!  And for the kind of people, young and old, who choose to use them.