Thank you all for your generous
contributions to the
Breast Cancer Fund.
Once again I am tardy with my thank you letter/travelogue (8
months late to be exact) but like Mark Twain once said, “Never put off until
tomorrow what may be done day after tomorrow just as well.”
For those of you who are daunted by the exorbitant length of
the following missive and don’t want to plow through the whole thing, please
just accept my heartfelt thanks for your donations to the Breast Cancer Fund
throughout the years. Your support means so much to me and to this
organization. Now that I am working for the Breast Cancer Fund full time and
see into the inner workings I am even more impressed by what they accomplish
with so few employees. It is satisfying to have been raising money for them all
these years and I feel so blessed to be able to work with the amazing staff. You
can continue to be helpful by donating to my next fundraising trek to Sikkim, a
region of remote northern India along the border of Nepal. Sikkim is another
place I wanted to go in 1985 when I was traveling around the world but was
unable to get a visa due to the hazardous political situation at the time. I'm so excited to finally have my chance to get there.
For those of you who want to hear of my exploits abroad….read
on!
Sacred Treks: Georgia – Through the Caucasus
I was expecting bleak. I was expecting politically fraught
tensions. I was expecting cold and grey. I had just read “Stories I Stole”
written by journalist Wendell Steavenson about living in Tbilisi in the mid 1990s.
The break up of the Soviet Union had created food, electricity and job
shortages and her descriptions of the country were grim, despite her affection
for the place. At the end of the book the only image in my head was an empty
grey landscape. A lot has changed since her time there and I was surprised at
the differences. Not only are there electricity, hot water and a friendly, open
atmosphere; it is also lush, green and warm, at least in July. It is currently safe
although it may only have seemed so because of my insulated group situation. We
did encounter border guards on horseback with guns but they were mostly overfed
and cheerful. The city streets were safe to walk at night. I loved Georgia and
it’s people and would happily return for another visit.
18-19 July 2014
It was unusual to have traveling companions for the flights
to Georgia. On past treks I flew solo from Hawaii and always had to schlep my
bags into airport restrooms, squeezing my carryon into the tiny stalls since I
couldn’t possibly allow some stranger in the waiting area to watch my bag while
I used the facilities. Why is Seattle the only airport to figure out that the
stall doors should open out so you
can get your luggage in? Leaving from
the San Francisco airport I was able to travel with my good friends Marcy and
Pam so the restroom conundrum was avoided and having an airport meal and bon
voyage cocktail was much more enjoyable with my pals. Since it was a morning
departure I started with an Irish Coffee made with coffee so horrendous it
required copious amounts of sugar and whipped cream to disguise it. It’s only
redeeming quality was a hefty pour of Jameson’s.
 |
| Pam and Marcy |
In the news: A Malaysian Airlines flight was shot down over Ukraine. Our flight from Amsterdam to Tbilisi was redirected south over
Turkey instead of its usual route over Ukraine. Israeli shelling killed four
Palestinian boys in Gaza.
In the seat next to me a Dutch man in a plaid shirt tried to
maneuver his long legs into the constricted space in front of him making me
thankful for my own short stems. The contrast of this mundane observation to
the dire situations elsewhere in the world made me feel blessed, fortunate and
privileged and therefore guilty.
We flew low over brown, barren terrain, reminiscent
of central California, to land in Tbilisi where Eka, our local guide, greeted
us. Marcy and I had met the exuberant Eka before and looked forward to
traveling with her. Eka has a bright white mischievous smile and is playful and
patriotic. With dark, thick hair and large expressive eyes she is an anomaly in
a male dominated society. Despite social constrictions she has managed to
become a respected mountain guide and is well known and loved throughout
Georgia. She drove, paying casual attention to the haphazard traffic, weaving
speedily and distractedly into the heart of Tbilisi.
 |
| Eka |
It was hot with a cool breeze. The streets were full of
stylish men and large breasted women. We passed a statue of Kartlis Deda, the
Mother of Georgia, holding a bowl of wine to welcome her friends and a sword to
vanquish her enemies. The monument was erected in 1958, Tbilisi’s 1500th
anniversary.
 |
| Kartlis Deda - photo stolen from the internet |
Our lodging in Tbilisi was first opened in 1915 as the
Majestic Hotel. Its design was awarded a golden medal at the International
Exhibition in Paris in 1916. During World War I it was temporarily converted
into a military hospital. It was witness to all major political and historical
events in Georgia including the damaging civil war in 1990. It was then
renovated and reopened as the Tbilisi Marriott in 2002 but retains its old
world charm. A liveried doorman ushered
us into the lounge where sparkling chandeliers floated from an elaborately
plastered ceiling. We met with our dauntless leader Cathy Ann and the rest of
our entourage for a welcome cup of tea.
 |
| Chandelier at Tbilisi Marriott |
20 July
After a buffet breakfast with ham, eggs,
sauerkraut, cauliflower, hummus, cucumbers, smoked fish, watermelon and organic
decaf Mt. Hagen coffee we headed out for a day of sightseeing in Tbilisi. The Georgian
National Museum encompasses the Archeological Treasury, Museum of Georgian
weaponry, Museum of Natural History, Museum of Soviet Occupation, Museum of
Fine Arts and of course two gift shops where I purchased earrings because a
girl can never have too many pairs of earrings; even while trekking the backcountry,
as my blingful friend Marcy can attest.
The Treasury overflowed with opulence, gold jewelry and
sculpture from 800 BC through 400 AD, the weaponry inspired me to take up
fencing and knife collecting again and the history of the Soviet Occupation,
Abkhazian genocide and the Rose Revolution was sobering to say the least. On
our way back to the hotel we spotted a funicular leading up to a skyscraping TV
tower on a hillside so we rode to the top and were surprised by a dilapidated,
nearly deserted amusement park. None of the rides were open, Ferris wheel,
roller coaster, water slides, but we were able to quench our thirst with
lemonade and soda from a tiny concession stand.
Our official welcome dinner
took place in an open-air restaurant on the banks of the Mtkvari River. Private
tables were scattered in multi level clearings accessible by stone stairs,
wooden footbridges and pebbled paths bringing to mind an Ewok village. Crashing
thunder and pouring rain added to the bewitching ambiance. Strolling minstrels
serenaded us with traditional Georgian music played on duduki, doli and
accordion. The first of incessant feasts…walnuts with spinach, walnuts with
grilled eggplant, chicken salad, voluptuous tomatoes and crisp, sweet cucumbers,
veal, chicken, pork, beef, sausage, dumplings, bread, kidney beans, plum sauce,
bread, cheese bread, melon, more bread and gallons of Georgian wine.
 |
| Doli, Duduki and Accordian |
21 July
Today we did a walking tour of Tbilisi, winding
through cobbled streets into the old town, passing quaint shops, cafes and 11th
century churches. The city is lush, with maples and pines towering, and flowers
flourishing. We saw oleander, violets, pansies and lilacs everywhere and heard
cicadas, which to my ear had a slightly lower pitch than American cicadas.
 |
| Kura River in Tbilisi glass bridge by Italian Michele De Lucchi |
In the evening we devoured a second welcome dinner.
This restaurant was also on a river but was indoors and much less rustic than
the previous night. Elegant place settings with sculpted napkins did not deter
us from raucous behavior, however. A band playing traditional instruments got
us fired up with their baby goatskin bagpipe and chant like harmonies that
sounded like a combination of Middle Eastern, Incan and Gaelic waulking music.
 |
| Chuniri - baby goat skin bagpipe |
Exquisitely costumed dancers swirled and leapt across the
floor depicting passionate tales of romance. Traditional Georgian dancers start
studying at 5-6 years of age and commit to it for life. We danced with an Iranian family that sat at
the table next to us. Dinner: sautéed mushrooms, marinated mushroom salad with
honey, eggplant rolled around goat cheese, Boboli, Greek salad, corn cake with
cheese, veal casserole, roasted pork, honeydew and watermelon and of course the
luscious Georgian wines which are fortunately lower alcohol than French and
American wines.
22 July
Our 8:45 departure time turned into a 9:15 departure time
this morning, most likely due to several of our gang over-imbibing the night
before. I ate way too much breakfast before our 5-6 hour drive along the
Georgia Military Highway. As we drove out of town we passed watermelon stands
every 500 yards as well as flower vendors with jumbo bouquets of zinnias,
dahlias and roses. Groves of apple and peach trees, arbors with grapes,
cornfields and blackberry bushes piqued my appetite despite my early morning pig
out at the buffet. We passed snappily dressed women in high heels contrasting
with old babushkas in somber black with headscarves and sensible shoes. On our rest stops we saw dandelion, cow
clover, morning glories, foxglove and Rheum Nobile a plant related to rhubarb.
We passed border guards and skirted a partial tunnel, built by the Soviets in
the 1960’s, that had been planned as a link to Chechnya but whose construction was
stopped after only fifty meters had been dug. We camped by Shatili, a village
with origins in the 7th century A.D. There are still just two family
names in the hamlet with only 100 households in residence in the summer months.
There was a festival of sorts going on; two groups, one men, one women, gathered
in the shade of the trees. They were partying, drinking locally made beer and
chacha (Georgian moonshine) and eating freshly baked bread all of which they
generously shared with us. Two girls danced for us while one played a Panduri,
a traditional 3 stringed instrument. We camped in a deep narrow valley beside a
rushing river and ate our dinner in camp chairs; mushroom salad, Greek salad,
chicken, bread, cheese and the ever-present wine.
 |
| Shatili |
July 23
Finally on the trail afoot, we hiked to the medieval
abandoned village of Mutso, where we found bones in huts above the river; the
remains of plague victims who went there to die. Checkpoint police examined our
passports two miles from the border of Chechnya. Distant herds of sheep looked like little maggots from afar. We passed a home where two enterprising youngsters had set up shop with crystals to sell. I bought two for two Georgian Lari, about a dollar twenty US. Then straight up we trudged to 9500 feet, in and out of birch, maple and pine trees, past forget-me-nots, daisies, monkshood and white tiny flowers that smelled like freesia, alpine roses and thyme and herds of cows. There were ranunculus and delphinium and a purple flower on a tall stalk whose nectar we sucked from the buds. It tasted like the honeysuckle of my childhood. Eka and Dot our horseman flew the prayer flags we carried, and we held a quiet ceremony honoring those we know with cancer. We camped on a hilltop with views of snowcapped mountains and green velveteen hillsides, on tall soft grass, which made a luscious bed beneath our tents.
 |
| Eka and Dot |
24 July
Sleep was somewhat altered last night because
someone was snoring so loudly it could be heard several tents away. I won’t
mention any names but allergies had something to do with it. Breakfast included
delicious, fat soft noodles that tasted like they were cooked in beef fat. After
breakfast we trudged 2000 feet up a steep switchback to Atsunta Pass at 11,254
feet. Flanking the trail were rushing creeks in every gulley, lush patches of cow parsley shadowing the rivulets. Luckily it was not too hot as the climb was hard. At the top we were rewarded with champagne that Cathy Ann had carried up in her pack. We sipped sparingly because the steep scree path down the far side of the pass was not something you’d want to navigate while tipsy. Down we went, into Tusheti, in Kvakhidi Valley past the headwaters of the Alazani, the longest river in Georgia. We met a group of Czheck backpackers, sunburnt and weary going the opposite direction and a Swiss couple trekking with their young son and daughter. A lamb was purchased from a local shepherd, butchered, skewered and roasted over a fire.
 |
| Cow Parsley |
25 July
Breakfast today was a course, whole grain, oat porridge, bread, jam, red cabbage slaw and rice salad. I made a mocha with instant coffee, powdered milk, sugar and Nutella. Better than Starbucks. We had an easy day on rolling hills at an undemanding pace. I slipped into my river shoes to cross a creek so that I could take photos of the others crossing on horseback. It felt good to cool my dogs. It is truly wild flower season. Red and white clover, monkshood, polygonacea carneum – a pink puffy cotton candy looking flower, silene lacera with petals creeping out of a lantern like bud, purple geranium, Scabiosa Caucasica, a purple papery petaled beauty, commonly called pincushion flower, bluebells, and orange daisies. We passed a pile of berry filled bear poop on the trail. Brown and black bears abide in these hills. I saw a piece of a mortar shell that is apparently something a local family collects. In 1999 Russia bombed this area of Georgia. Not major bombing, just “tiny” explosives, Eka tells me. No one was hurt. Russia said “oh, sorry, we were aiming at Dagestan. Didn’t mean to hit you.” But Georgia thought they were sending a warning. We had a long lunch near a border guard site then made it to our camp early. We perched on a bluff above the river with a dazzling view of silver birch trees in late afternoon golden light. I trekked back down to a secluded spot on the river, stripped naked and bathed in the icy flow then crawled into my tent refreshed and slightly less grimy than I had been.
Breakfast today was a course, whole grain, oat porridge, bread, jam, red cabbage slaw and rice salad. I made a mocha with instant coffee, powdered milk, sugar and Nutella. Better than Starbucks. We had an easy day on rolling hills at an undemanding pace. I slipped into my river shoes to cross a creek so that I could take photos of the others crossing on horseback. It felt good to cool my dogs. It is truly wild flower season. Red and white clover, monkshood, polygonacea carneum – a pink puffy cotton candy looking flower, silene lacera with petals creeping out of a lantern like bud, purple geranium, Scabiosa Caucasica, a purple papery petaled beauty, commonly called pincushion flower, bluebells, and orange daisies. We passed a pile of berry filled bear poop on the trail. Brown and black bears abide in these hills. I saw a piece of a mortar shell that is apparently something a local family collects. In 1999 Russia bombed this area of Georgia. Not major bombing, just “tiny” explosives, Eka tells me. No one was hurt. Russia said “oh, sorry, we were aiming at Dagestan. Didn’t mean to hit you.” But Georgia thought they were sending a warning. We had a long lunch near a border guard site then made it to our camp early. We perched on a bluff above the river with a dazzling view of silver birch trees in late afternoon golden light. I trekked back down to a secluded spot on the river, stripped naked and bathed in the icy flow then crawled into my tent refreshed and slightly less grimy than I had been.
 |
| Silene Lacera |
 |
| Polygonacea Carneum |
 |
| Forget-me-nots |
26 July
It started to rain at 3 a.m. but conveniently stopped briefly at 5:30 when I crawled out of the tent to pee. It started again as soon as I crept back in. Perfect timing. The rain freshened the air and cooled things down but by afternoon it was clear and hot. We passed moody ruins on the banks of the river. I wished I could see a movie made in them, a re-enactment of medieval times bringing the area to life. We passed a military base headed up by a friend of Eka’s who was in charge of all the border patrols in Tusheti, and had trained in Colorado with the Green Berets. When I say military base it’s not what you would envision. It was one long building with open doors, villagers hanging out, hugs all around, new puppies and lots of wine being drunk. It was not an uptight militaristic vibe. We were welcomed like family and were fed fresh bread, sheep’s milk cheese and homemade wine that were a perfect combination of flavors. When they found out one of our group, La Dawn, was having a birthday they gave her two chocolate bars. We were off the trail and had miles to walk along a hot dusty road to our destination so one of our local guides rode one of the horses at breakneck pace, into the village to get our van, then drove back to pick us up so we only had to walk part way. Now that’s service. Before long I was buzzed on Georgian beer, showered and happy in Dartlo. Some of the day’s sights: sheep shearing, baby cows, donkeys and a white rabbit. La Dawn’s birthday celebration dinner: chicken, coleslaw, grilled eggplant stuffed with walnut paste, boiled Sturgeon from the Black Sea, smoked salmon, bread, vegetable stew, olives, veal and lamb, dumplings and huge platters of peaches, apples and pears all accompanied by gallons of house made wine. The sheets in the guesthouse are scratchy but clean and I slept like a baby.
It started to rain at 3 a.m. but conveniently stopped briefly at 5:30 when I crawled out of the tent to pee. It started again as soon as I crept back in. Perfect timing. The rain freshened the air and cooled things down but by afternoon it was clear and hot. We passed moody ruins on the banks of the river. I wished I could see a movie made in them, a re-enactment of medieval times bringing the area to life. We passed a military base headed up by a friend of Eka’s who was in charge of all the border patrols in Tusheti, and had trained in Colorado with the Green Berets. When I say military base it’s not what you would envision. It was one long building with open doors, villagers hanging out, hugs all around, new puppies and lots of wine being drunk. It was not an uptight militaristic vibe. We were welcomed like family and were fed fresh bread, sheep’s milk cheese and homemade wine that were a perfect combination of flavors. When they found out one of our group, La Dawn, was having a birthday they gave her two chocolate bars. We were off the trail and had miles to walk along a hot dusty road to our destination so one of our local guides rode one of the horses at breakneck pace, into the village to get our van, then drove back to pick us up so we only had to walk part way. Now that’s service. Before long I was buzzed on Georgian beer, showered and happy in Dartlo. Some of the day’s sights: sheep shearing, baby cows, donkeys and a white rabbit. La Dawn’s birthday celebration dinner: chicken, coleslaw, grilled eggplant stuffed with walnut paste, boiled Sturgeon from the Black Sea, smoked salmon, bread, vegetable stew, olives, veal and lamb, dumplings and huge platters of peaches, apples and pears all accompanied by gallons of house made wine. The sheets in the guesthouse are scratchy but clean and I slept like a baby.
 |
| Even Georgian Flies like beer. |
 |
| Birthday Feast |
 |
| Dartlo |
27 July
Hiked part way along a dirt road today until our van joined us to carry us to a delightful inn. The van ride felt like Disneyland, one lane, bumpy, curvy, fun and fast. The scent of pines in the cool, damp air reminded me of the Sierras. We hiked to the ruins of Keselo above the town of Omalo. The towers were constructed in the 1230s during the Mongol invasion of Georgia. There were originally 13 towers. I purchased a painting of the remaining towers from the 17- year-old daughter of the owner of the inn. It was the first painting she had sold. On our hike back through the village we were invited into the home of a friend of Eka’s. Five women, spanning generations and five tiny boys, toddlers playing with trucks welcomed us. They immediately laid out cheese-potato bread, a jug of their homemade wine, sunflower seeds and cookies. The floors were dirt, the room cold and dark. They obviously had little but what they had they readily shared.
Hiked part way along a dirt road today until our van joined us to carry us to a delightful inn. The van ride felt like Disneyland, one lane, bumpy, curvy, fun and fast. The scent of pines in the cool, damp air reminded me of the Sierras. We hiked to the ruins of Keselo above the town of Omalo. The towers were constructed in the 1230s during the Mongol invasion of Georgia. There were originally 13 towers. I purchased a painting of the remaining towers from the 17- year-old daughter of the owner of the inn. It was the first painting she had sold. On our hike back through the village we were invited into the home of a friend of Eka’s. Five women, spanning generations and five tiny boys, toddlers playing with trucks welcomed us. They immediately laid out cheese-potato bread, a jug of their homemade wine, sunflower seeds and cookies. The floors were dirt, the room cold and dark. They obviously had little but what they had they readily shared.
 |
| Keselo |
28 July
Wet, muddy, slippery, treacherous van ride on slick as snot roads today. I was so tired (too much chacha last night) that I slept through a lot of it but woke up periodically to catch the action. Got stuck once, slid completely sideways once, took fifteen minutes maneuvering around an oncoming vehicle at the edge of a cliff and had to back into a field to get a purchase that enabled us to speed up the last hill. La Dawn, who is used to driving ATVs and snowmobiles, had a blast while some of us had heart attacks. Our lunch stop was in Shenako, spitting distance from Dagestan. We feasted on a Tushetian specialty, thick handmade wheat noodles cooked with onions and beef fat and the other usual culinary suspects.
Wet, muddy, slippery, treacherous van ride on slick as snot roads today. I was so tired (too much chacha last night) that I slept through a lot of it but woke up periodically to catch the action. Got stuck once, slid completely sideways once, took fifteen minutes maneuvering around an oncoming vehicle at the edge of a cliff and had to back into a field to get a purchase that enabled us to speed up the last hill. La Dawn, who is used to driving ATVs and snowmobiles, had a blast while some of us had heart attacks. Our lunch stop was in Shenako, spitting distance from Dagestan. We feasted on a Tushetian specialty, thick handmade wheat noodles cooked with onions and beef fat and the other usual culinary suspects.
 |
| Wild Strawberries |
29 July
This morning I had thick, smooth, sweet Turkish coffee and Georgian style blinis; little deep- fried pancakes. We had lunch at Eka’s parent’s house where we spent the night. A walk through Laliskuri reminded me of Modesto with a hint of Haiku; a mix of central California and Maui. Hot, dry breeze, grapes hanging in every yard, little alleys behind houses. We encountered piglets, ducks, chickens, hollyhocks, hibiscus, bananas and fig, walnut and peach trees. In the evening we gathered at Eka’s house for an end of trek celebration. It was an unprecedented party. Never in the history of the sacred treks has there been a farewell fete like this. Eka’s house is massive and beautiful. We moved furniture and danced to the Beastie Boys and the Rolling Stones. Perhaps I shouldn’t say danced, we fell all over one another in our wine soaked silliness, dirty dancing and shedding clothing. At one point I turned around to see Cat on the floor clutching her nose with a chair on top of her. I’m not sure how it happened but I suspect it had something to do with Eka’s exuberant dance moves. Luckily Cat’s nose wasn’t damaged. Oh, and did I mention Eka brought her horse in the living room to join the party? Oh, what a night.
This morning I had thick, smooth, sweet Turkish coffee and Georgian style blinis; little deep- fried pancakes. We had lunch at Eka’s parent’s house where we spent the night. A walk through Laliskuri reminded me of Modesto with a hint of Haiku; a mix of central California and Maui. Hot, dry breeze, grapes hanging in every yard, little alleys behind houses. We encountered piglets, ducks, chickens, hollyhocks, hibiscus, bananas and fig, walnut and peach trees. In the evening we gathered at Eka’s house for an end of trek celebration. It was an unprecedented party. Never in the history of the sacred treks has there been a farewell fete like this. Eka’s house is massive and beautiful. We moved furniture and danced to the Beastie Boys and the Rolling Stones. Perhaps I shouldn’t say danced, we fell all over one another in our wine soaked silliness, dirty dancing and shedding clothing. At one point I turned around to see Cat on the floor clutching her nose with a chair on top of her. I’m not sure how it happened but I suspect it had something to do with Eka’s exuberant dance moves. Luckily Cat’s nose wasn’t damaged. Oh, and did I mention Eka brought her horse in the living room to join the party? Oh, what a night.
 |
| View from Eka's house |
30 July
Yet another quaint village, this one, Signhagi, is a world heritage site. We toured two wineries in Kakheti. Georgia claims to be the birthplace of wine making with a history tracing back to 4000BC. We met Jonathan Wurdeman an American expat who studied art in Moscow and never went home. He now owns Pheasant’s Tears restaurant and winery in Georgia. He cooked for us. Roasted sage, mushrooms with baby thyme, bread made with the yeast that comes from his wine dipped in roasted sunflower seed oil made from his own sunflowers, ratatouille, cheese, beans with coriander seed, thyme and tomato, Spanish tortilla with fruit and chili salsa on top, Baba Ganoush with roasted Turkish chilis on top and lots of garlic, and a different wine with each course. This was by far the most exquisite meal of the journey. Delicately balanced flavors from homegrown crops complimented by wines made in his traditional winery; wines aged in clay urns, buried in the ground, sealed with bees wax, covered with wet sand to control temperature and no nasty additives. I bought one of Jonathan’s paintings of Corsica. It reminds me of Maui. His tour of the traditional winery and his studio were highlights of the trip and an incredible learning experience.
Yet another quaint village, this one, Signhagi, is a world heritage site. We toured two wineries in Kakheti. Georgia claims to be the birthplace of wine making with a history tracing back to 4000BC. We met Jonathan Wurdeman an American expat who studied art in Moscow and never went home. He now owns Pheasant’s Tears restaurant and winery in Georgia. He cooked for us. Roasted sage, mushrooms with baby thyme, bread made with the yeast that comes from his wine dipped in roasted sunflower seed oil made from his own sunflowers, ratatouille, cheese, beans with coriander seed, thyme and tomato, Spanish tortilla with fruit and chili salsa on top, Baba Ganoush with roasted Turkish chilis on top and lots of garlic, and a different wine with each course. This was by far the most exquisite meal of the journey. Delicately balanced flavors from homegrown crops complimented by wines made in his traditional winery; wines aged in clay urns, buried in the ground, sealed with bees wax, covered with wet sand to control temperature and no nasty additives. I bought one of Jonathan’s paintings of Corsica. It reminds me of Maui. His tour of the traditional winery and his studio were highlights of the trip and an incredible learning experience.
 |
| Alaverdi Cathedral |
 |
| Wine Making Implements |
 |
| Kvevri - earthenware wine vessel |
 |
| Signhagi |
 |
| Painting of Corsica - Jonathan Wurdeman |
And that brings us to the end of the journey through the Georgian Caucasus. On rereading I
realize this sounds more like a foodie tour than a grueling trek through mountains but believe
me, there were some grueling days, slogging up and down rugged trails, despite the beauty we
were surrounded with and the ginormous amounts of food we were fed. Pam and I continued
on to Turkey for a fabulous week of sightseeing and more food but that’s a story for another
day.
Once again let me thank you all, first of all for making it to the end of this diatribe, but mostly for helping the Breast Cancer Fund continue to do the work they do to expose and eliminate the environmental links to cancer. Together our little traveling group of 7 raised $39,065.00!
Next up, Sikkim. To donate on line go to
http://prevention.breastcancerfund.org/goto/marie
Or send a check payable to
Breast Cancer Fund to
Marie DeJournette
P.O. Box 402
Mill Valley, CA 94942
Once again let me thank you all, first of all for making it to the end of this diatribe, but mostly for helping the Breast Cancer Fund continue to do the work they do to expose and eliminate the environmental links to cancer. Together our little traveling group of 7 raised $39,065.00!
Next up, Sikkim. To donate on line go to
http://prevention.breastcancerfund.org/goto/marie
Or send a check payable to
Breast Cancer Fund to
Marie DeJournette
P.O. Box 402
Mill Valley, CA 94942
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