My first passport came into my life somewhere in the midst of my high school years. A solid second chair alto and tenor saxophonist was more than excited that our band director had developed a relationship with a school in Germany who wanted to try out some “band exchange” program. Jazz ensembles from either school would spend a week at the other’s home school playing concerts and touring the country, and having completed two years of studying the German language, I was stoked. Or however you say that in German.
Frantically competing all the requirements, I remember running my mother crazy going from one office to the other, and back home a few times to collect all the requisite documentation. I also remember the day that I got my passport and lavishing in the opportunities it presented me. But more than those memories, I’ll never forget the day our band director fled town with all our fundraising money, taking the dreams of performing jazz music in Germany and touring Europe away from me. Or so that’s how I remember it.
That stupid little book just sat in a drawer and collected dust, only to one day be replaced at its expiration in the hopes of a different kind of adventure…college.
My children’s first passport shares a similar story. Having moved to Salt Lake City, the privilege to travel abroad became an opportunity for us like never before. Instead of just me working my flights to Europe and Asia, non-stop flights across both oceans were in our backyard, and we agreed on seizing those opportunities at every opportunity.
And to start, those passports needed to be acquired. Five kids means there’s a lot of paperwork, and even more fees. But a few weeks of sorting out all the necessities and attempting to make the requisite appointments granted us a quick turn-around time to receive them in the mail.
Our first trip started out as a domestic trip. A nice springtime getaway to upstate New York to partake in some church history sites was intermixed with a quick jaunt towards Buffalo to see the Niagara Falls. And, as anyone who’s been to the falls would say, “you have to cross the border to see the best view.” And so we did, with seven of our passports carefully secured near me in some sort of satchel, we made our first trip crossing our nation’s border to the north, and the kids got their first stamp.
The day was March 15, 2020.
The following day, the border was closed, and the hypotheticals began to flow. What if we were still in Canada? Are our flights going to cancel? How are we going to get home?
Certainly, not the way one envisions welcoming your family to international travel, nor a pivotal memory of vacationing that one would concoct, nevertheless, one that we endured. We found ourselves standing together as a family, seizing these moments to enjoy ourselves and others in unfamiliar lands, not worrying too much about what is to come, but what’s in front of us now. Or at least, that’s how one hopes to fly standby across the earth.
Passports tucked into a drawer, our travels (and my work) kept us stateside, but we made some sweet lemonade out of those lemons. From jumping through some quite ridiculous hoops to travel to Hawaii, to a few jaunts into some more accepting islands and nations, our passports earned a few more stamps, none however were outside the North American continent. Desperately we waited for other countries to follow suit in opening their doors to visitors, and after a few more months of waiting, our second continent was in the books as we touched down in Tokyo, more than three years after we set foot in Canada.
I’ve traveled across Japan for work, and here was my first opportunity to share my love of this great nation and it’s even greater people to my family. In fact, I may have been a little high on this sharing idea because we ended up bringing some of our friends with us. A crowd of eleven of us moving Family Mart to Family Mart, recharging SUICA cards and drinking Pocari Sweat at every opportunity, for over a week, made for some amazing memories. Taking my time-honored travel strategy of 1) just getting there and 2) just wandering around ended up paying off. A detour on a walk to the Tokyo Skytree took us towards a cute little park hidden along a green space amongst the tall mixed commercial and residential buildings nearby that put smiles on all of our faces as we slid down the industrial-looking roller slides and hopping on stones to cross a small stream. Nearby gashapon machines intrigued the curiosities of the young and old, and standing in the various holy places set apart in the country only increased our love for these amazing people. We even got the opportunity to visit with my cousin, who recently moved here to play professional basketball. I’ll never forget in one of our homes we stayed we had a perfect dinner table that we found ourselves taking some quiet moments together to play some cards. But more than that were the memories of us all standing together experiencing new things together as we continued making use of our passports.
Just over a year later we decided once again to escape the cold winter and head south. Having endured a few lengthy flights with all seven of us scattered across the airplane, we packed our backpacks and embarked on Delta’s second-longest flight, from Los Angeles to Sydney, Australia. We departed December 30st in the evening and landed on the morning of January 1st, having likely slept through the pomp and circumstance of ringing in the new year, ostensibly amidst the many nuanced discussions on when it actually happened in relation to the international date line. But we landed, found our rental van, and without much instruction, took to the city streets learning where the turn signal and wiper controls are, let alone the parallax issues of driving on the “wrong” side of the road. Climbing bridges, road trips to the quasi-outback, and a ‘blue bottle’ sting to my shins later, we saw some amazing sights and even conversed with a few interesting people in some austere places. But on one of our drives back to our rental home, we realized the name of the area which we were in is the same as ours back home, and lo and behold we stood at the corner of Evans Avenue together, realizing that in that moment, we had visited three of the earth’s continents and set course to visit the rest together as a family.
The fourth continent was an easy one. Again, having spent many days at work touring around the Netherlands, and having taken Stefani along with me on a couple occasions, I truly yearned for this one. Maybe a little too much. But thanks to an AirBnb host who apparently doesn’t answer emails or phone calls, our first night we stayed at the same hotel I had stayed at for the last five years of flying to Amsterdam. And apparently my Amsterdam Autopilot kicked in, as my son Luke and I took the free hotel bikes and conquered over 20 miles of adventure that netted us a few stroopwafels and windmills that was my usual routine upon arrival. A few days later, we got bikes for the rest of the family, and took off to the west coast of Holland, and found ourselves in the midst of a new adventure as a family. Peering over the rock walls at the beaches below, we once again found ourselves standing together enjoying some sunshine and a few ice cream cones, realizing that the easy continents are done, and the ones to follow were going to require a little more effort than hopping on a direct flight to a familiar destination knowing there’s plenty of AirBnbs ready and willing.
Our attempts to make these experiences more than just stamp collecting endeavors certainly steered Stefani into communicating our desire for our first Egyptian adventure with our new friend Ahmed Mido. Mido and his brother Ramy showed us their genuine love for their country and its people, and the history that made this all possible. Relying on them, I found myself more immersed in experiencing everything around me, able to sense the joy and elation that a few million people were sharing with others as they celebrated the culmination of the month of Ramadan. Watching our children take to the local cultures and cuisines, the reality of the places we saw and stood together as a family weighed on me heavily. Many throw the labels “brothers and sisters” hoping to personify this mythical relationship in an effort to make this world feel smaller and more connected, but here it has become quite evident that this connected existence is in front of us right now.
Naturally, continents six and seven are easily combined in a one-two punch. Most commercial expeditions to Antarctica depart from Ushuaia, Argentina, and, at their great expense, would certainly satiate our “Seven on Seven in Seven” goal, the goal we set in Australia that all seven of us stand together on all seven continents within seven years (or, prior to the graduation of our oldest son Jack). But that’s not good enough for our wanderlust family.
Trepidations in traveling to Egypt were primarily on my end. An unfamiliar land that doesn’t seem to get a lot of good press (or distinctions regarding traveler safety from the US State Department) weighed on me more than it should have. Talking to Mido and Ramy, my worries were erased. And upon our first steps in the country, they were eradicated. Similarly, one of our wild-haired ideas to travel to the Galapagos was put on hold due to political unrest in Ecuador. Having shared our original trepidations with our naturalist Adolfo, we laughed when he said “when are we not in political unrest?”
So, here we are, a family of seven, with Grandma and Grandpa and Uncle Steven along for the ride, currently at anchor inside the caldera of the volcano that is now called Genovesa Island, one of the islands in the archipelago that is north of the equator. But before we set sail around this natural paradise, we spent two nights in the capital city of Ecuador enjoying the history of such a place that exists within the confines of some challenging topography. At over 9,000 feet high, and the highest capital city in the world (depending on your definition of what city is truly the capital of Bolivia), climbing around the city makes your eyes and lungs thirst for more. And just north of the capital is a monument that marks where the equator runs through the volcano-laden countryside. Problem is, the line is a few meters off. Having used that which the French Geodesic Mission determined to be the placement of the equator unfortunately did not account for some of the variances in the shape of the Earth. Nonetheless, we stood amidst this line, marking the second time we’ve been in the southern hemisphere, and celebrating crossing off the sixth continent off our list.
Surely I will write more about our trip across the Galápagos Islands. Our times exploring the awe-inspiring wildlife (that apparently has no beef with humans as they just sit there as you walk by (respecting the rules of a 2 meter distance, obviously)) on the land and in the sea will be memories that will certainly last a lifetime. Relationships with each of my children grew as we dove down beneath the surface chasing sharks and stingrays in the clear blue water, as we traversed the remnants of volcanoes in search of the illustrious short eared owl (which unfortunately we did not see on an island with over 2 million birds living on it), and surely watching Oakli win an auction for the Ecuadorian flag that flew on our ship this last week in support of the expedition outfit’s outreach efforts will continue to inspire me to add even more purpose to my life.
With one more to go, we’re anxiously awaiting our turn to cross the Drake Passage and set foot on Antarctic ice. And thanks to some strategic vacation planning, before the year ends, we’ll be boarding another airplane and making our way even further south than we ever have. Having a few more tasks to cross off on our pre-expedition checklist, the stringent requirements of this feat bring to light the remoteness of this next continent. Medical forms signed by our primary care physician (read: my amazing sister) certify that 1) we are aware that help is at least three days away when in Antarctica and 2) we are able to traverse uneven, slippery terrain. Spending the next few weeks completing those pre-departure tasks will hopefully allow some time to read the heroic feats of those who set their courses due south before us. Certainly, we will have all the requisite equipment, expertise, and experience guiding us along the way to keep us safe, still the physical nature of this journey keeps motivating me to prepare for what I hope is a nice night camping on the ice, which is something my boys and I are excited to experience.
What I don’t think I’m ready for is the emotional journey this will be. This isn’t about just crossing off continents on some cute little map of the earth in our office (because those of you who know Stefani and I would understand we wouldn’t want marks on our walls). This isn’t even about the incessant desire that is found within all of us to share some of these amazing opportunities with our friends and family, as we struggle to find the right words to express our gratitude for those who make it all possible. This next continent marks the culmination of this “Seven on Seven in Seven,” a plan that honestly was a bit of a joke on one of our adventures. But having crossed fifteen countries together as a family, this last continent signals that soon we will embark on a new journey, as soon our oldest will flee the coup and make his way into adulthood on his own.
Having spent the last week staring directly into the various animals in varying states of existence, you’d think having known this day would come, it would be easy. Surely, I have a few months to prepare myself for this shift in our home, and likely our future travels. But I know it will be tough. Tough to recognize the new beginnings that come at the ends of others. But the strength and love that will come from that moments, those that preceded them, and those to follow, will hopefully empower even more gratitude for these blessings that are taking a quick nap before one last panga ride to the beach to explore this inspiring place.
What one started as a joke as we stood together on the corner of Evans Avenue has become something I could have never imagined. A few more hours, and one last panga ride to the beach to step foot on this beautiful place to once again experience something new, standing together, our family of seven, learning more about not just the world in which we live, but in ourselves as well. And this is how it all started. Together.
