Legacy

No, this is not another penguin story.

Hello, my name is Christopher Wolpert.   I’m a psychologist in Portland, Oregon by choice and a world traveler by opportunity.  In relating this story to you, let me first say that if you think there is a hint of sarcasm here and there, you might be right.  But I deny it.

As a present to myself for my fiftieth birthday I decided to take a well- earned sabbatical and go around the world.  Not necessarily in a straight line, but zigzagging as it pleased me.

To be true to my practical nature and to travel light, for footwear I chose my favorite pair of hiking boots and my favorite pair of sandals.  In decent weather, sandals were my preference as I’d gotten used to wearing them for most occasions, and they made my feet happy.

My first stop after leaving the United States was St. Petersburg, Russia.  It was getting close to the end of January and, to say the least, the famous Russian winters were at their finest.

The scenery was spectacular even in the winter.  The architecture and museums were a wonder to behold.  I had some translation difficulties in determining the right intercity transit to take, and experienced trial and error in getting my bearings down pat.  A lot of cold weather walking was part of this stop and my feet were always happy to come back to the hostel at night.

It was at that hostel I had a bad experience with a thieving Russian who shared my room.  Now to understand how this transpired, let me qualify a few things.  I did not carry very much money on my person while being out and about, rather I left most of it in my room fairly well hidden, or so I had thought.  However, the Russian I shared the room with was a nosy professional thief.  I didn’t know it at the time.  But when I checked on my bankroll, it was gone.

I confronted my room mate  who of course knew nothing.  I thought, nothing my foot, and I didn’t mean one of my happy feet.

We sat on the edges of our respective beds staring at each other.  I noticed almost by accident, when I bent down to get a pencil  I’d dropped, that he had a big bulge in his high-topped sock.  Aha!  I thought.  Oh well, that’s life.   I’m going to go get something to eat.

I went to the manager’s desk and had him call the police.  When the police arrived, I pointed at him and told them he stole my money.  They asked him if he stole it.   Of course, he said he did not.   The police then asked me if I had any proof.   I told them I did, that the money was in his sock–an even $1,000.00 American currency.  They ordered him to show them what was in his sock.  He was turning green but he complied.  He then tried to beg off by claiming the money was given to him by a friend who lost a bet to him.  He couldn’t even tell them the amount in the roll.

The Russian Police are not real polite and really don’t give a whack about rights.  They gave me my money and proceeded to beat up the thief.  When they started to haul him off, I ask what would happen to him.  They said nothing serious, that they would book him and pointedly explain again to this six-time loser the error of his ways.  Come morning, they would let him go because they were too crowded to bother housing and feeding two-bit scum.  I’m sure he probably got worked over some more.  Anyway my feet were happy they weren’t in his shoes.

Two days later I boarded a train for Estonia.  It was a wee bit warmer than St. Petersburg, but still wintry.   I arrived in the city of Tallinn, an old world charmer.  The architecture of many of the buildings went back centuries.  My favorite spot was a wonderful little coffee shop that was built into a short cave.  The ambiance was magnificent and I enjoyed the people.  It was tempting to just stay there a while, but I knew I had to keep going for I had a schedule– flexible and loose–but still a schedule.

My next stop was Krakow, Poland and a visit to the infamous Auschwitz Concentration Camp.  Even though there was still snow on the ground, there was no shortage of tourists.  It was a very interesting, but sobering tour, and one sad reflecting on what happened there.  My feet were happy to walk out of that place.

From there I went to Paris.  It seems like I’m going backwards if it’s an around-the-world trip, but I said I would be zigzagging.  When I arrived in Paris, it was getting warmer and some green was beginning to appear on the trees.  I had been to Paris once before but didn’t get to spend enough time in their major art museums.

I always liked Paris.  My only real criticism is the coffee they serve in their otherwise colorful cafes.  The quality is fine enough, but they serve it in the world’s smallest cups.  They must think that it’s liquid gold to be rationed.  I do mean small cups,  I have seen bigger ones in little girl’s play tea sets.  However, drinking from the wee cups gave me a break and my feet were happy for a moment’s rest.

From Paris I traveled to New Zealand.  I saw Christ’s Church which still showed much of the earthquake damage they sustained.  Generally Christ’s Church wasn’t terribly impressive.  My feet were happy to move on to their National Parks which were spectacular.  At one point the elevation gave a great panoramic view.  For reasons I can’t explain, my happy feet, against my will, climbed over a rail and down a hillside, much to the guide’s protest.

At the bottom of that lush green hill were well-maintained concrete paths and more spectacular scenery.  It was obviously part of a park system.  I wondered whether or not my happy feet had taken a short cut bypassing a point where one might have had to pay an entrance fee.  I’ll never know because my happy feet had gotten me lost.  I had no idea as to direction, the well-maintained path was petering out, and it was getting dark.

Now New Zealand is a land of many climates ranging all the way from tropical to mountain Alpine.  I was somewhere in between and as night fell, so did the temperatures.  It was chilly, I was lost, and stumbling around in the brush with only the benefit of a very, very small flashlight my brother had given me.   It was a life saver.

I was an experienced hiker, but I couldn’t see in the dark, and neither could my happy feet.  They weren’t being much help.  Then I stumbled into a small, shallow stream bed, maybe five or six inches deep, and it was flowing down hill fairly rapidly.   I knew I wasn’t very far from the coast, and as any experienced hiker would tell you, follow a stream down and find civilization.

The stream had a rocky bottom with various sizes of stones in it. Fortunately I was wearing a pair of tennis shoes I had bought upon my arrival so I had some foot protection from the rocks.  Still it was a slippery and muddy trek.  I fell on my butt multiple times permanently soiling a once good pair of jeans, not to mention nearly shredding my new tennis shoes.  And then there were all those spooky night sounds from who knows what. Scary and spooky.

Then finally there was a glimmer of light, and after about another quarter of a mile I stepped out onto a sandy beach that still retained some of the day’s warmth.  I could now see all the nearby city lights and I began to get my bearings.   It was another two miles to the city and another mile to where I was staying.

As I plopped into bed, I think I heard my feet sigh and say they were very happy that I’d gotten off them.

Morning came and I was refreshed from a good night’s sleep.  I got myself cleaned up, put on my sandals, trashed the tennis shoes and jeans, and headed out for my next stop along the Australian Coast to go skin diving in the Coral Reef.  That didn’t work out too well as for some reason I and the skin diving equipment didn’t work well together; maybe it was my beard affected the fit, who knows?

Not being one to be completely defeated, I paid to go with a group on a charter boat for snorkeling in some of the more shallow areas of the reef.  That turned out to be a good thing as there wasn’t that much beauty in the deeper parts that I’d intended to skin dive in.  I took an under water camera with me and got amazing shots.  A shark that was about ten feet long swam approximately six feet below me.  I don’t know what kind, but it sure made me nervous.  My feet were happy to get back on the boat.

My next stop was the exotic Fiji Islands.  On arrival the weather was flawless, the scenery beautiful, and the natives sweet and helpful.  I noticed a lot of fancy real estate developments which obviously catered to the filthy rich.  I don’t know whether any of that opulence rubbed off to help the native economy or not.  They lived rather austere by comparison.

I decided to try what was available to me and do my own touring.  Renting a big yellow kayak of ocean-going size good  for island hoping  when they were within eye sight of each other,  I soon discovered negotiating  ocean currents and even small waves was vastly different from kayaking on a river or lake.

In trying to reach the pristine white sand beaches of a neighboring island only about two miles away was an effort because I had to learn on the spot  how to kayak on the ocean.  A straight line was the wrong approach as I soon found out.  That made a two mile straight line into three miles of paddling. However my feet were happy because they were getting a free ride.

Finally I got to where I wanted to go and then discovered I couldn’t paddle right up to the beach.  Rats and darnation!  It was coral fragments and stubbles that protruded up far enough they would have torn up the kayak bottom or got me stuck there to say the least if I had tried to power paddle at them.

Since I don’t give up easily, I figured if I got out of the kayak it would lighten its load enough to rise above the coral fragments.  I was right.  But coral is frequently sharper than a razor.  All I had was my good leather sandals.  Grabbing the tow rope, I walked very, very carefully over the coral until the kayak was safely beached.  I had some good quality time on that beach.   Foraging inland a ways I saw exotic flora and fauna and birds that were a sight to behold.

When I got back to the big yellow kayak, I noticed there were three or four monkeys eyeballing it like they had just found the world’s biggest banana.  I shooed them away even though they protested, towed it out to knee deep water,  got in, and headed back to the point where I’d rented it.   As I got under way, I swear I heard one foot say to the other, “I’m sure glad that’s over; that coral made me nervous.”  I thought I heard the other foot reply, “Yes but we can be happy feet because of those leather sandals.”  I figured I’d just had too much sun.

Sorry to say, but leather sandals really dislike sea water, salt and all. They were ruined, dried out and looking like misshapen old prunes.   I had no choice but to buy a new pair.  That made for some happy feet as they were big on new.

The time passed too swiftly in that blissful setting and it was now time to go back to the States.  I decided to visit my brother in Chicago before back tracking to Portland.  While I was there I stumbled onto a little out-of-the way shoe shop and discovered an eye appealing pair of shoes.  I hadn’t owned a regular pair of shoes for a long time.  I tried them on just for kicks and they were comfortable beyond belief.  I hadn’t had my feet leather encased in a regular shoe for some time.  It felt real good.  My feet confirmed my choice made them happy.

I’m now back in Portland visiting a friend.  While we were chatting, I propped one foot against the lip of his wood stove for a while.  When I put it down it made a funny squish and I looked at what seemed to be a little oil slick.  Whoa!  It was melted rubber; a groove had been melted in the bottom of the sole.  I took off the shoe and hastily pushed the sides of the groove together.  Being somewhat molten but cooling, they mostly went back together leaving only a small groove and a tale to tell.  Now I don’t really hear voices, I just imagine I do.  My imagination heard the shoes exclaim, “No burning feet, thank God for shoes, we are Happy Feet.”

The writer of this tale claim’s poetic license and denies all responsibility for distorted or misinformation, even if done deliberately.  All names have been changed to protect the guilty, the innocent, and those who can’t read.