It's been thirty years...Part II

I recently turned thirty. To commemorate this milestone birthday, I'm writing down some of my most amazing memories from the last thirty years. I'll post them here as I finish them. Remember that I'm no author, and these are my memories, described faithfully as I remember them.

Enjoy!

YUKON CONCERTO
For several summers in college I was a tourguide and tourbus driver with Northern Alaska Tour Company. My first year with them we were taken on a teaching tour of the Dalton Highway (or the Haul Road). During this trip I experienced some things that are truly amazing.

The first was at the Yukon River crossing. We were camping there overnight, and it was late spring. The ice was still firmly in place along the banks of the river, but we’d been told that further up-river the ice had broken. After a few hours at the crossing we began to hear large booms, and crashing echoes. Someone shouted “the ice is breaking up” and we all ran down to the rivers edge to see what was happening.

Slowly the huge sheet of ice (much bigger than a football field) began pushing forward, grating along the rocks of the bank. Then a large surge of water came from underneath the ice and lifted the whole ice sheet up. As the water began flowing, the ice began crumbling along unknown crevices, and huge chunks overturned and tumbled in the center of the sheet. Although smooth along the top of the ice, the undersides had been eroded away by the river into thousands of tiny icicle like structures, and when the ice chunks tumbled over, they fell and the tinkling sound of breaking crystal filled the air. Amidst all the booming, tinkling and crashing, the rushing sound of water was building in volume until it was a mighty roar, and then we saw the ice wall – a huge dam of ice pushed up by the river water and being forced downstream. Much like a snowplow it dug into the sheet of ice and furthered the breakup. The crossing is at one of the narrowest points along the Yukon, so the wall was truly huge, and high. We weren’t sure if the wall of ice would fit under the bridge supports - which are nearly one hundred feet above the river.

Eventually the ice wall met the bridge, and collapsed around it. As it collapsed the water along the bank rose almost three feet in just a few seconds. With a last canon-like boom the ice wall fell, and the ice was swept from sight in a matter of minutes. All that was left was relatively placid water with a few small chunks of left over ice. This whole experience lasted maybe twenty minutes in total…and I felt as if I’d heard a full concerto from Nature herself.

HAMMAMS
I traveled to Morocco in 2005 with my good friend Lee Hendricks. There were many amazing memories from this trip, but the most amazing by far, was an experience I was reluctant to do. In many middle eastern and African countries a public stream bath is a traditional community structure. Probably influenced by the Romans, the steam baths are large stone structures, with heated water flowing through the floors and out of spigots in the walls. The roofs are usually open cupola's to let in lots of light, and the interior is clad in light marble or stone. Baths are segregated by sex, with the youngest children going with their mothers.

I wasn't too keen on going to the Hammam because the guidebook said there was no modesty - you stripped down and got a bucket, and for a fee you could hire a lady to scrub and massage you. After traveling for two solid weeks across Morocco, I just didn't feel very safe getting naked in public!. Fortunately for me, Lee was insistent that I do this - and walked me there and back through the streets of Fez. He also insisted I hire the lady to scrub me down.

So, very nervous, I stepped inside the Hammam. I didn't speak any Arabic and little French. The front counter was staffed by a very nice looking young woman in the traditional headcovering - hijab or veil. Morocco seemed pretty liberal, as the women always wore veils in public, but not the full burkas (which cover the face and leaves a sheer panel or slit to see through). Once the hostess figured out what I wanted (with a little help from Lee at the door) she showed me where to hang my clothes, and got me all the stuff I'd need. They use a soft plant based soap for hair and body, and a mitten made of scratchy fabric for exfoliation. A small round comb with lots of teeth scrubbed your hair. My masseuse came to get me, and she was grinning because I insisted on keeping my glasses with me - if I took them off I was worried that I'd fall down some steamy steps and break my neck!

Unlike an American swimming pool - steam baths are a very social place. We walked down a long hallway and all along the way you could see into different steam rooms off the main hall. There was so much talking and laughing! The women were scrubbing their babies and catching up on the latest gossip. Totally different ways of expression than what I had observed in the souks and streets! Put a Starbucks to go cup and they could have been soccer moms waiting for the game to be over. This was somewhat of a revelation to me, as previously the women I had seen were grim, hurrying through the streets, looking neither left or right, and they had their veils tightly wound to obscure most of their neck and lower face. In the hammam they were open chatty, playful, and happy. It was their world.

When we got to the steam room we'd be using there were older women already sitting along the benches. This room didn't have any children in it, although I don't know why. Most of the women there were dark skinned and dark haired. The exception was a striking woman who was at least a foot taller than everyone else and had bronze skin and the most pure, glowing silver hair I'd ever seen. She had several lengths of it, and it wound across her shoulder and spilled onto the seat next to here. She wore probably hundreds of silver bracelets, rings, anklets and necklaces. They were not chains or gaudy silver like you'd find in the Walmart jewlery section. These were plates of silver carved into animals, flowers, script. They looked like armor. She held her head fiercely, even though her eyes were closed and she was relaxing in the steam - I don't know who or what she was, but she held herself like a queen.

I found out later that she was probably a Berber, as the women accumulate jewelery, often silver, and that it is their property, and so is not often removed from their body - even during baths. The woman I saw must have been rich indeed. Her face and beauty is what struck me the most about the Hammam. On the outside world, in the street she probably wore a plain dark robe and veil, indistinguishable from any other woman, but in the hammam she was like a lioness among sheep.