Issue 6 Jayus 2023

Ethnosphere Connect, Express, Inspire

Jayus

Indonesian (n) : a joke that is so unfunny that one cannot help but laugh

Collection 6 - June 2023

Nate Neading

Masthead

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Rumble in the Jungle

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May the Road Rise to Meet You

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The Long Road to Hana

Contents

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As the sun goes down in the jungles of Colombia, Daniel chooses a rather unfortunate spot to pitch his tent.

The tiny roads of Ireland prove harder to navigate than Madeline originally anticipated.

A fallen tree and power line strand Janice and her family on a residential street in Hawaii.

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Gettin’ Gutsy in Guatemala

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Mzungu Mayhem

Rob navigates the chaotic roads of Guatemala, but does not come out of the experience unscathed.

Marcia recounts what happens when you leave a faucet open when your pipes are frozen in your RV.

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Rain, Rain, Go Away

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Dad Quotes

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Submissions

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July Issue Reveal

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About the Authors

In an effort to save money on their annual family trip to Florida, Maureen’s father gets their family of 10 a tent. Then came the rain.

www.ethnospheremagazine.com

Editor

Madeline C. Lanshe editor@ethnospheremagazine.com

Editorial Staff

Mitchell Dunbar, Maureen Gregory, Madeline C. Lanshe, Marcia Neundorfer, Mike Neundorfer

Designer

Madeline C. Lanshe

Photographers Nate Neading

Writers

Daniel James, Maureen Gregory, Madeline C. Lanshe, Marcia Neundorfer, Janice Spicuzza, Rob Wick

Published by Advanced RV

2023 Advanced RV. All materials contained in this publication (including text, content, and photography) are protected by United States copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, displayed, broadcast, published, or modified in any way without the prior written consent of Advanced RV. Contributors retain all rights to their stories, photography, art, etc. while giving Ethnosphere Magazine/Advanced RV the right to share their work in the digital magazine, print, and any other way they see fit for creative or promotional reasons.

We created Ethnosphere as a place to connect people who are alike and unalike, express pieces of the human experience, inspire, and be inspired.

Nate Neading

As the sun began to set in the jungles of

Colombia, I knew I needed to find a place to pitch my tent before dark. I had already ridden 70 miles that day and was exhausted. I was only a few weeks into my bikepacking journey through South America, and was in a remote part of the country with very few inhabitants, apart from the monkeys, parrots, and iguanas.

Only native communities lived in this stretch of jungle. The jungle didn’t intimidate me though. I was no novice to bikepacking nor camping out. I had ridden my bike coast to coast across the USA, Australia, and New Zealand, and camped out almost every night on those trips.

The jungle in this part of the country was very dense, and finding a clearing in the vegetation to pitch my tent was going to be a challenge.

I knew very little Spanish in those days, and didn’t feel comfortable asking a local if I could 5

camp outside of one of their huts. Not that the Spanish would have actually helped much anyway, as most of the people in that part of Colombia spoke a native language called Wiwa.

As I continued pedaling, I heard the distant rumble of thunder, which drew my attention to the sky. The clouds looked dark, imposing, and ready to burst. A new urgency to find a camping spot took over. I didn’t fancy the idea of getting drenched right before bed.

I looked closely at everything I rode past, trying to scope out any spot that I thought was even remotely decent. I just wanted to get set up before the rain hit. I wasn’t seeing much besides trees, vines, and iguanas. Then, I got lucky. I looked down the road and saw I was coming up to a bridge. The wheels in my head started turning. “Maybe I can take shelter underneath the bridge until the storm passes!”

When I reached the bridge, I looked over the side. To my surprise, there was no water running beneath. It was bone dry–just sand and some small stones and a concrete ledge. I hit the jackpot! I wouldn’t have to clear a camping spot with my machete, and I would have a roof over my tent to protect me from the storm. I finished crossing the bridge and walked my bike down the steep valley to the riverbed. After the usual routine of setting things up and pulling my bike inside, I relaxed in my dry tent while I ate dinner and took some notes about the day’s ride. It still hadn’t started raining. I laid down and quickly fell asleep.

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of more thunder, and the rain pouring down. The thunder had closed in on me and was now much louder. I was glad I’d found such a perfect camping spot. I was safe and dry. I fell back asleep for a few hours.

The second time I woke up, it was not from the sight of sunlight brightening my tent, or the sound of the storm, but by my entire tent floating downstream. I was utterly shocked.

The bone dry river bed was no longer bone dry.

Some water was leaking in from the sides of the tent, but for the most part, and for the moment, it was functioning as a boat.

pushed it through the water it would have been engulfed almost up to the seat, and my attached bags were not waterproof. I muscled the bike above the water as I waded through to the other side. When I reached the ledge, I summoned up all the strength I had, and He-Manned it up onto the concrete above my head.

After that, I had to backtrack and gather the stuff I’d tossed out. The sun had just started rising, so there was enough light for me to see. By this point the tent had floated further downstream. I got in the water again and guided it to safety while trying not to rip or snap it on anything-it wasn’t as easy to move around as I remembered. I felt inside and it had filled up with a considerable amount of water. Once it was out, I made one final trip to grab any remaining discarded items.

Now that everything was safely above the floodwaters, I started taking inventory and removing valuables from the wet bags. I sorted everything out and set the tent back up to dry. When it was all said and done, the only casualties that I discovered were some shorts, pants, and two shirts. The resurrected river had claimed them. Not cool, but all things considered, it could’ve been much worse.

In hindsight, it makes complete sense that I looked frantically for a flashlight and a bandana, during a downpour, a dried up riverbed is going to flood. I definitely didn’t look like a seasoned as the sun hadn’t yet come up. My hair kept falling in my face, making it even harder to see. I camping expert that night. But I guess that’s couldn’t find a light and had only seconds to act. human nature. Many of us ignore warning signs and take the path of least resistance from I unloaded everything I could see, besides the time to time, especially when we’re completely bike and the bags attached to it, throwing them exhausted. Needless to say, I have never made out of the tent to the riverbank. The water was now well over knee deep-too deep to roll the bike that mistake again in any of my travels! out of the tent. All the while, the tent was filling with more and more water. I climbed out. It was The moral of the story: never trust a dry difficult to walk in. My bike was all that remained, riverbed! and I needed to get it to a ledge and safety. If I

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May the Road Rise to Meet You and Grow Wider so You Won’t Get Scratched

by Madeline C. Lanshe

You know when air is hissing out of

the tire of your rental car in the remote countryside of Ireland, you messed up. The question is: how badly?

“The roads in Ireland are tiny!” I remember my mom ranting about this after she and two of my sisters went there for the Irish dance nationals in 2010. The idea of driving on the opposite side of the road seemed much scarier to me than narrow roads. I’ve always laughed about how big of a deal my mom made it seem. The Irish roads humbled me.

When you’ve been Irish dancing since the age of five, it is almost necessary, a rite of passage, to visit the vibrant, green island of Ireland. I hadn’t qualified for Nationals when my other sisters had, so my visit came later, when I was 27, six years out of the competing world. My friend, Hannah (also an avid traveler), was planning to spend one week in Ireland followed by one week in Scotland. I asked if I could tag along.

At the Dublin airport, we picked up our first rental car: a cute little red Kia. Hannah was the primary driver, as we were insured under her credit card, and the nicest rental car people I’ve ever met asked in their magical Irish accents if I wanted to be a secondary driver for an extra 9 euros. With all the driving we’d be doing, it was an easy decision, though I was nervous to drive on the left side of the road.

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Hannah took the first shift, driving us away from the Dublin Airport on an American-sized highway. Our first stop was the Blarney Castle.

We walked the grounds, kissed the Blarney Stone, and continued to Cork and the colorful town of Kinsale.

On day three of seven, I told Hannah I could take a turn. I was surprised by how easy it was to switch to the other side. My brain got comfortable quickly with making tight left turns and wide rights. I’d been needlessly worrying for years. It was a cinch.

The longer I drove, the smaller the roads became.

They were “two-way,” but barely big enough for one vehicle. If someone was coming towards you, one of you had to get over on the side and let them squeeze by. This became an annoying rhythm, the stopping and going and holding my breath as we passed other cars. We parked at a beach on the Ring of Kerry. After skipping stones and taking photos, we went back to the car. A tiny lane led down to the parking lot, and as I drove us up, a terrible screeching sound along the passenger side filled our ears. My wide eyes met Hannah’s before I put the car in park. My heart, which was already racing, dropped to my feet when I stepped out and heard air hissing out of the back left tire. The hub cap was halfway peeled off, and the entire side of the car was scraped. I’d driven too close to a small, sharpedged fence on the side of the road.

Panic was setting in, and despite the cold weather, I could feel the sweat of dread on my body.

Neither of us having any idea of what to do, I kicked in the hub cap, hoping somehow that would help. It was at this moment, of course, that another car pulled behind us, trying to leave the parking lot. We were forced to get back in the car, and I was stuck trying to maneuver it away from the fence without further damage. It scraped again, making me clench my teeth. I drove a few feet and put it in park. The car behind us turned onto the road, not bothering to stop and ask if we needed help. I like to think they were also tourists, because my opinion of the Irish people is too starry-eyed for the alternative to be true.

attention. I got back in the driver’s seat and we continued.

No music, audiobooks, or conversation filled the silence. I followed the GPS, glancing at all of my mirrors several times each minute to make sure I wasn’t too close to either edge of the road. The sun began to set, and exhaustion settled in. My eyes were so heavy I was shaking my head to try to stay awake. Still, I felt I couldn’t possibly ask Hannah to take over. She’d done most of the driving. Besides, we only had about an hour left.

How does the old saying go? Wreck a car once, shame on the unreasonably tiny roads. Wreck a car twice, get out of the driver’s seat and give up the keys for the rest of your two-week-long trip.

After checking to see if there was a spare tire in the trunk (there wasn’t), Hannah and I were at a loss. There were no garages or car shops And that’s exactly what I did after driving the within hours of us. We had no idea who to already damaged side of the car off the road in call for help, and the reception was spotty at a ditch. best. We were about two hours from our Airbnb, so we decided to try our luck, hoping the tire didn’t die on us along the way. The air had stopped leaking out, it seemed, and the tire wasn’t flat. Yet. I could tell Hannah was upset with me, but she didn’t say anything, neither to rebuke nor comfort me. That almost made it worse. She did ask if I wanted her to drive.

I told her no. It had been a mistake, an unfortunate lapse in

That’s right. For a second time within two hours, I’d damaged the car. No leaking tire this time, however. Just white smoke coming from under the hood. Hannah exclaimed: “Madeline!” There wasn’t much else to say. We got out of the car yet again and stepped away. I am no mechanic, but this seemed much worse than some air missing from a tire. I had no idea if anything would catch fire or if the car would explode, taking all our possessions along with it.

This time, Hannah called an emergency number we found on a sticker inside the car.

For the life of us, we can’t remember how that conversation went. It did not end with them sending us help, though, or providing us with directions on what to do. Like last time, a car came along and needed to pass. Conveniently, I’d already driven our car halfway off the road, so there was plenty of room. This time, the person in the other car did stop. He rolled down

his window and an Irish accent rolled off his tongue. He asked if we were okay. I think we said we didn’t know, and we pointed out the obvious: our engine was smoking. “That’s just the water making it steam,” he said, not seeming the least bit concerned. “Open the hood and wait a few minutes for it to cool down before you drive.” With that, he drove off. He’d done his good deed for the day. No one else came by while we waited in silence. After we arbitrarily deemed enough time had passed, I wordlessly handed Hannah the keys, and climbed into the passenger seat.

Hannah’s breathing was heavy and she kept clenching and unclenching the steering wheel.

It was stressing me out to the point where I thought I was going to burst. But I bit my tongue and clenched my own fists. I, alone, was responsible for the situation we were in.

I couldn’t very well tell her, in any tone or

language, that she was stressing me out, could she please breathe quieter.

It was getting darker as we pulled down a long, twisting road to our Airbnb. All I wanted was a hot shower to burn away my memories. The hosts, a friendly couple, greeted us and gave us the rundown. It’s impossible to say if they saw the haunted look in our eyes. This was the place we’d been the most excited to stay–an adorable, classic Irish cottage with trees and fields surrounding us. We’d had plans to do a photo shoot. Needless to say, we were not in the mood.

I tried the shower first. The water never got hot.

The cold water made things infinitely worse, as if no comfort in the world was to be found.

I felt like I was living in a nightmare. This was going to be how I remembered my trip to Ireland. And we were only on day three. I knew

for the next four days, I’d be worried the tire was finally going to give out, stranding us. Our time here now had a filter of stress, worry, and self loathing over it.

When I was dressed, I laid in bed. Hannah went to the kitchen and said she’d make us some tea.

I supposed that would have to make up for the cold shower. While I was talking on the phone with someone from home, tears escaping my eyes as I explained the turn of events, I heard Hannah let out a stream of expletives. My heart, which hadn’t fully stopped racing and was still in my feet, jolted into panic mode again. I rushed to the kitchen to behold Hannah holding a kettle. The black bottom had melted onto the flat stove top, leaving a rubbery mess that dried as we stood there, hardening onto the surface.

Hannah had taken the kettle off its base, filled it, and heated it on the stove, not realizing it

was an electric kettle. I hung up the phone, and Hannah and I searched the kitchen for something that could get the dried rubber off the surface. Finding nothing else, I scraped away with a metal spatula. We removed as much as we could, but the kettle was totaled, and black residue still remained on the stove. I felt as though I had brought this curse of misfortune upon us, and internally took on the guilt for the kettle as well. For maybe a second, I did feel the smallest shred of relief that Hannah had screwed something up too. It didn’t last long as I reminded myself there was a drastic difference between the severity of the two events.

Hannah messaged our hosts and explained what had happened. They sent a short message back. She had to leave them an extra 50 euros to replace it.

We ended up boiling water in a pot. The sun was down, but outside, deer feed had been left on short wooden stools lit by lights in the ground. We sat in front of the large cottage windows sipping our tea, scarred, battered, and exhausted, and watched dozens of deer emerge

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from the surrounding trees to eat. Had it been under better circumstances, I would’ve been giddy.

As it was, I felt dead inside–traumatized.

There were surely amazing things to come, but the threat of the car dying on us, and the terrible feeling inside my body, wold be there until we left for Scotland, where I knew I wasn’t going to take a turn driving. I did end up pulling my phone out to take videos of the carefree deer. I guess I wasn’t completely dead inside after all.

Miraculously, the car gave us no more problems, and the nightmarish feeling dissolved as we explored Ireland. Hannah delivered us safely and with no additional scrapes to the rental car center at the Dublin Airport. Neither of us said anything as the man there did his check. When he got to the passenger side, he asked us what had happened. I thought it was easier to simply say I’d been trying to get to the side of the road to let a car pass and drove us halfway into a ditch. He didn’t question it, probably not at all shocked by an American unable to maneuver the size of their roads.

I filled out some paperwork and we left, the man’s promise that we’d be contacted in the coming weeks about the damages weighing heavy in my heart.

I told this story sparingly when I returned stateside, ashamed of my inability to navigate

the small roads, the shame deeper due to the fact I’d laughed at my mother for making such a fuss about them. What was most upsetting was questioning myself as the competent driver I’d always thought I was, and this identity crisis lasted months after the return, along with the fear that, if I ever wanted to go back to Ireland or Scotland alone, I now had unresolved trauma that would make me hesitant and fearful.

“

”

As weeks passed, I awaited, with trepidation, the phone call from Hannah telling me she’d been contacted by her insurance. I’d spent most of my savings on the trip and didn’t have a couple grand for international car repairs. Eventually, she did get the call. The repair cost not just two grand, but over double that. Maybe the reason I am now able to laugh each time I retell this story is because her insurance, thank the Lord, covered every penny of it. Ironically, and perhaps unjustly, Hannah paid more to replace a damaged kettle than I did after wrecking, twice, our little red rental car.

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The road we were on was a dead end. In both

Because the side road that we were stuck on was directions. very remote, there were only about five other vehicles of tourists stuck with us. Some of the One of the highlights of our 2022 family trip to residents had come out to ask if we needed Hawaii was our day-long adventure on the Road anything. We all congregated in one location on to Hana. Our driver picked us up at 8 am, and the beach, and as the conversation evolved, we our excursions would last until 5 pm. She asked realized that the residents used generators - they each of us to give her one thing we felt we had were not tied to public power. With the small to experience during our drive. I wanted to jump number of tourists stranded and no residential off of a waterfall. Since this tends to be a popular need to restore power, we knew this was not request, we decided to save it for the end of the going to be a priority for the electric company. day in an effort to avoid the peak crowds.

We began to worry that we wouldn’t make our tour the following day, which had a pickup time The jump off the waterfall was as exciting as of 1:30 am, so we could hike up Haleakala to I had imagined. As I walked toward the edge, watch the sunrise.

I couldn’t stop and let the fear settle in, so I jumped without a countdown. My heart was We got to know the other tourists. One of them racing but I was underwater and back up in had just raced his sailboat from Vancouver all seconds. The drop was about 30 feet. I couldn’t the way to Maui and was camping in his jeep believe I did it. At the end, we all needed to for the remainder of his time on the island. He change into dry clothes, but the bathrooms had had a large supply of freeze dried food that he a line out the door. Our driver told us that if began to reconstitute for the group. One of we could hold off, she knew of bathrooms that the families had small children and they were were about ten minutes on our way back. So we worried because they were low on water. Our all piled in the van. driver had several cases for her upcoming tours, so she gave them some. A resident came out to On a residential, dead-end road, there was a let us know that he had food cooking and we public beach, which is where the bathrooms were welcome to come over and eat. This detour were located. It took us a total of ten minutes was turning into a bonding experience, and we to change our clothes and get back in the car. were making new friends.

As we drove up toward the main road, we saw a tree had fallen and blocked our access out.

A torrential storm came, but we stayed outside We were confused because it had happened under a tree, which offered a little protection, so quickly. Worry crept in, and we tried to see socializing, eating, and drinking the last few if we could walk around the tree. The brush beers from one camper’s cooler. This was, of surrounding it was too thick. A resident saw this course, the only rain we saw for the entire two and immediately drove a machine to cut up and weeks that we were in Hawaii. remove the tree. But upon further examination, it was discovered that the tree had taken power It took six hours for the electric company to lines down with it. This meant we’d have to wait show up. They removed the power lines and for the electric company to move the lines and tree within an hour. During that time, we kept the tree. walking to the top of the road to check the 14

progress. We tried not to get excited because we didn’t know how long it was going to take.

When the way was finally clear, we were ecstatic.

We bid farewell to all our new friends and headed back to the rental house. While in the car, our driver asked us what our favorite part of the Road to Hana was. Each of our kids said that getting stranded was the best part. Although jumping off a waterfall was pretty amazing, I had to agree. The bonding that happened amidst the adversity was a special experience you can’t ask for, as I’d requested the waterfall. It was a great lesson on how to handle a situation if it doesn’t go as expected. We still keep in touch with many of the people we were stranded with through social media.

We made it home at midnight, took a one hour nap, and headed back out for our hike. Sometimes the best part of a trip is what you don’t plan for.

As the sun rose on our family, I was filled with gratitude, even for our misadventure.

Gettin’ Gutsy in Guatemala

By Rob Wick

Guatemala is about 2,000 square miles smaller My wife, Amy, had participated in an than my home state of Ohio. According to the GPS, to drive from one side of the country to the other, a distance of about 500 km (310 miles), takes about 12 hours. This means the cross-country drive was supposed to average about 26 mph. This seems slow, and it is, but keep in mind the conditions of the roads. They pretty much just cut a path and pave it, leaving the hills and especially sharp curves in place.

The “freeways” have 90 degree turns in them and run up and down the sides of mountains, with few guardrails, if any. Most of the time, the posted speed limit is 50 kph (31 mph) and occasionally on a freeway you’ll see an 80 kph limit (50 mph). Much of the time, road conditions and traffic don’t permit driving even that fast.

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archaeological dig in Belize and Guatemala when she was in college, and had been wanting to visit again for years. This was why we were there with our two boys, Neal (12 years old) and Ray (10) for a nine day vacation. We flew into Guatemala City, rented a four door Toyota Hilux 4x4 pickup (six speed manual transmission behind a small, four cylinder turbo diesel with a clogged air filter I ended up replacing myself), and then set out on a driving journey that took us to all corners of the small country.

The first couple days went without incident, and we enjoyed a hotel built from logs and reeds. We had to ride a boat across a lake to get over to it.

After that, we traveled to Flores and toured Tikal, an ancient Mayan temple site. It was awesome.

We set off around 8 am from Flores toward Panajachel, on the opposite side of the country.

The 12 hour drive to Panajachel ended up taking over 16 hours, non-stop. The navigation app we were using took us off the main roads and onto more than 2 hours worth of single lane dirt roads through the backcountry and jungle of Guatemala (the most direct route?). This was nerve-racking, but cool at the same time because we were able to drive through some small villages and countrysides that we wouldn’t have otherwise seen. We encountered no less than 3 toppled tractor-trailers along the way, most likely due to the speed around curves going downhill.

At that point it was still daytime, the scenery was spectacular, and the people were friendly.

life that I recognized I had a panic attack. I began hyperventilating and had a bit of a freakout moment. Amy and the boys didn’t see the danger, but knew by my reaction that the situation was bad. After composing myself, I put the truck in 4WD low range and idled more than a mile in reverse, back down the narrow dirt lane, in the dark, until I came to a spot where I could turn around. Amy and the boys by this time were silent.

We returned to the traffic jam to find its cause: a fatal motorcycle accident. Traffic was moving (slowly), but we got to our destination about 1 am. Again, a boat was summoned to take us to our hotel across Lake Atitlan. We spent two nights there, saw a volcano, and rode a “Chicken Once night fell, we got lost. Very lost. Two scary Bus” to a market where I became the main events happened that night: First, we went up attraction, as I was able to stick my ear against a road and encountered several armed men. the ceiling of the bus, much to the amusement They looked like a cartel, or possibly military, of the many people I stood head and shoulders but without uniforms. I pulled around a corner over. Besides the obvious height difference, I at twilight and there they stood, watching us noticed other things about the Guatemalans we as I quickly reversed and backtracked out of met. They were very friendly to us. I did not there. Amy and I were briefly scared out of our feel discriminated against at all. They ate way wits. The boys were too young to recognize the better food than I on a daily basis, and lived very potential danger, but noticed the “cool guns”. modest lives. In many areas away from town, Next, we attempted to bypass a traffic jam they lived a life more like camping full-time than around 10 pm by taking a small road that I had ever seen. Everywhere we went, people seemed like it could get us around the obstacle. seemed very content, although I did notice one This road quickly petered to a single lane on thing that greatly bothered me: many women the side of a hill, with adobe buildings on the and girls had bruises that looked like they’d been right and a sheer drop on the left. I came up inflicted upon them. I saw several black eyes and to a rise in the road where I couldn’t see past hand-print shaped marks on their arms. the end of the hood of the truck (a common occurrence there), and something told me to After leaving our hotel, we headed east toward stop and check the road ahead. When I got our next stop, Antigua. On the way there, I out, I found that the entire left side of the road caused a car accident. had washed away about 20 feet in front of the truck. If I had continued driving, we would The Toyota Hilux has a manual transmission have rolled sideways down an embankment, where reverse is “up and to the left”. Then it’s one I was unable to see the bottom of in the the normal “H pattern” with first gear up and dark. This event was the first time in my adult to the left. You’d think there would be a trigger

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or button to push or pull in order to get reverse, but no. Toyota put reverse and first gear right next to each other and made them very easy to mix up. I was making a legal u-turn on a freeway near Guatemala City, and bogged down in second gear, so I went for first. Instead, I got reverse. I ended up screeching around a curb and felt a bump. At first, I was unaware I hit a vehicle until the guy chased me down in his car and we pulled over (on the left berm of the freeway). The driver got out and stormed back toward me, motioning with his hands that he wanted to fight. Along with him came one of his passengers, an older man who understood a little English (the driver did not). I rolled down my window and talked to them both, in English and what little Spanish I knew. We agreed I

would pay 300 quetzales (about $38.50) to the driver to cover the damage to his Hyundai’s bumper. When I was sitting in the truck, we were eye-to-eye. When I got out to check the damage and hand over cash, you should have seen the look on the driver’s face! His attitude changed immediately and he shook my hand. I then got us the hell out of there.

Antigua was our last stop before heading to the airport, which leads to my final story. We got up and left for the airport in plenty of time to get through customs and board early (so we thought). We ended up in another traffic jam, sitting in one spot without moving for 45 minutes, while we watched our flight time approach quickly. Amy and I resigned ourselves

to the idea of buying four new tickets home, since it seemed inevitable that we were going to miss our flight. We eventually learned that in Guatemala, they manage traffic very differently.

They will take a 5 lane main road (2 lanes in either direction plus a turn lane) and use police to turn it into 5 lanes one direction, switch, then 5 lanes the other direction. I use the term “lanes” very loosely, as it’s literally a free-forall of speed and swerving. I couldn’t believe it when we finally were allowed to go. I drove Mario-Kart-style through 5 lanes of mishmash, going the wrong way on one way streets, over curbs and grass, to get us to the rental car return minutes before our plane was to board.

We ran into the airport, stumbled through customs, and got in line as the last boarders on our plane from Guatemala City to Atlanta. At that point I literally burst into tears out of relief that we’d made it and we were going home.

Amy was relieved, and the boys were overtired and indifferent to our near-miss.

It was a great trip, and the biggest test of my nerves I’ve ever endured. It was my first time experiencing being a minority, and my first experience in a country where I wasn’t fluent in the native language. I was impressed how patient and helpful people were as I drew upon my two years of high school Spanish. It was refreshing to see how happy they seemed, living so simply. When we landed in Atlanta, it was a stark comparison. I was disgusted by how rude people were. It made me wonder why we, as a society, work as much as we do to buy so many things we don’t really need. I also gained a new-found respect for immigrants to our country, and my worldview broadened greatly. I’d recommend everyone try to travel out of your comfort zone, even if it takes you down some frightening roads.

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Mzungu Mayhem

by Marcia Neundorfer

Temperatures were hovering at about 12

Mike exited the highway and pulled over onto a degrees F and the wind was blowing hard on side road. I grabbed a juice pitcher and started a January morning in Cleveland, when Mike scooping up the water. I passed the pitcher to and I set out for Florida in Mzungu, a new Mike, he dumped it outside and then passed it motorhome built by Advanced RV. Mike back. At first, we were both dead silent, grimly said that as soon as we got a bit south, the scooping and dumping. I felt embarrassed and temperatures would rise, and we wouldn’t have stupid and Mike was annoyed. At some point, to worry about our full tanks freezing. When we started laughing. We are not boat people, but we neared Columbus, the temperature was still here we were bailing out our new RV! in the low teens, with strong winds. Mike asked We mopped up the floor with the few towels me to check the faucets. we had on board and turned the thermostat up.

I turned on the faucet in the bathroom.

Things quickly dried out and we determined Nothing came out. The water line had frozen. that no harm was done to the floor, the pipes or About an hour later, with the sun out and the tanks. The plumbing in the chassis was simply temperature finally rising, he asked me to check frozen for a short time. The problem was that again. I stepped off the raised cab platform, we had the heat on in the cab, so we were warm and splash! The floor of the cabin was covered up front, but back in the chassis, the thermostat in about an inch of water. In the bathroom, was set too low, so the chassis heat didn’t come I found the faucet wide open, with no water on. One lesson learned. Another: always close coming out. I’d forgotten to turn it off. The the faucets and maybe turn the water pump off.

40 gallon, fresh tank had completely emptied, At the next truck stop, we refilled the fresh overflowed the gray tank, sink and shower pan, water tank and traveled on, still together, with a and flooded the cabin floor. new story of RV mishap and recovery.

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Rain, Rain, Go Away My parents met when they were both

by Maureen Gregory

The travel budget was limited, and my father students at the University of Alabama; my father resisted all our impassioned pleas to stop at was born and raised in Cleveland, Ohio while Stuckeys and all the other roadside tourist traps my mother was born and raised in Palm Beach, that were advertised on the many roadside Florida. When they married in 1944 and settled billboards. Our disappointment was very vocal in Cleveland, my father promised her parents as our father zipped by the freeway exits that that he would make sure their daughter could had promised us glorious must-see adventures come and visit them at least once a year. He and a trove of gift shop treasures. We stayed kept that promise faithfully. at budget motels, but always with a pool – the one luxury concession my father made. Within As the years passed and their family grew to ten minutes of our arrival, we were splashing in include eight children, we kids knew to expect the water and burning off our pent-up energy. that our summer vacation every year would Meals were almost always sandwiches made by be a three-day-long drive to Florida to see our my mother, with provisions she had packed in grandparents. The annual pilgrimage involved a our large green Coleman cooler or purchased at crowded station wagon with no air-conditioning. a Lawsons store along the route.

There were no seat belts back then, so we were free to move about the vehicle, with usually With the expense of hotel stays increasing every one child in the front seat with Mom and Dad, year, a friend suggested, “Why not try camping? three in the back seat, and the remainder loosely We have a 6-man tent you can borrow and your sequestered in the back section by the tailgate. kids will love it!” The thought of saving money It was three days of being cooped up in the car was always attractive to my father. Less than $10 while singing songs, playing games, arguing over a night at a campground instead of $50 or more the window seats and general mayhem. at a hotel? It was a bargain he couldn’t resist. So

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in the summer of 1965, when I was ten years old, my father decided it was time to explore the world of tent camping. After getting a lesson from his friend on how to set up the tent, which involved poles, stakes and other trappings, all the pieces and parts were loaded onto the roof rack of the station wagon and secured there, along with duffel bags filled with sleeping bags and pillows.

It was a gloomy, overcast day as our passenger list of two parents and six kids proceeded south on the highway toward our first overnight stop in Lexington, Kentucky. (My two oldest sisters had managed to get summer jobs and were allowed to stay home that year, with my aunt as their chaperone.) It was a long day of travel, but my siblings and I were excited at the idea of sleeping in the woods, and hopeful for an encounter with some wildlife. We finally

reached our exit and my mother, the navigator, studied the road map spread across her lap. As she guided us to our destination, we spotted a giant billboard proclaiming, “Dorothy’s Donuts, Always Fresh” located only two miles ahead.

The six of us in the back started shouting “Donuts! Donuts! We want donuts!” No amount of begging, cajoling or whining could convince my father to make the detour. Donuts were not in the budget, and that was that. Our donut dreams were crushed.

The campground was the primitive sort, with no electric hookup, and bathrooms that were a 75yard hike down a dirt path. After a full day spent in the car, we were a boisterous bunch, and ran around exploring the area. My older brother was recruited to help my father unpack and set up the tent. Meanwhile, my mother made sandwiches for our dinner.

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As the light of a new day crept into our dreams, it seemed like we all woke with a start at the same time. “Ewww! I’m all wet!” my sister wailed. “Me, too!” began the shouts of one brother after another. It quickly became evident that it had continued to rain all night, and the water had soaked through the floor of the tent.

We were all laying in big puddles.

We sat on the tailgate of the station wagon, munching our chips, and watching the entertaining drama taking place in front of us. We could see our father’s anger and frustration with the tent growing by the minute. The setup seemed so easy when the friend was guiding him through the steps during the practice time. But now, it had quickly become a nightmare tangle of canvas and poles. After a very long struggle, the tent was finally up, and we all piled in, full of excitement.

My mother got us settled while my father paced outside, trying to calm down from his agitated state. How fun it seemed to us that we were going to be allowed to sleep in our clothes.

A short time later, my father joined us in the tent with a smile and a good night hug for each of us. We had carefully arranged the best sleeping bag and pillow for Dad. He gratefully reclined, slipped his wallet under his pillow for safekeeping, and turned off the lantern. We all entered dreamland together, as a gentle rain began a soft drumming on the canvas overhead.

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My father immediately assessed the situation and yelled “Everyone out of the tent!.” We scrambled out and ran through the rain to reach the safe space of the car, leaving our parents to deal with the soggy mess. We watched woefully from the car windows as they struggled in the rain. The tent had to be disassembled and packed up, along with the water-logged sleeping bags and pillows. Then, the mucky bundles had to be hoisted up and secured to the roof rack.

When they finally burst into the car and sank into their seats, we instinctively knew not to say a word. We sat silently, wondering what was going to happen next. My father’s head slumped forward, coming to rest against the steering wheel, as he panted heavily. My mother seemed

on the verge of tears. Suddenly, my father sat up and yelled “Who wants donuts?” How those three words changed the mood! In an instant, we were all laughing and screaming “Donuts!”

“

Suddenly, my father sat up and yelled “Who wants donuts?”

”

My father followed the billboard directions and we soon arrived at “Dorothy’s Donuts,” a charming cottage that beckoned to us with a sugary aroma that wafted through the parking lot, despite the steady rain. We all made a dash for the door and entered that marvelous place.

“Just one donut each,” my father cautioned as we gazed at the glazed confections laid out in the glass cases before us. After much discussion and debate, we gleefully made our choices.

Ten donuts were tallied and totaled at the cash register. My father reached into his pocket for his wallet. He found that it was empty.

He searched his other pockets. Empty. A bit frantically, he turned to my mother and asked her. No, she didn’t have his wallet. “When is the last time you remember having it?” she queried.

He closed his eyes to concentrate. After a few moments, his eyes slowly opened and his face took on a look of despair. My father had just come to the unhappy realization that his wallet was hidden somewhere among the folds of the soaking wet tent that was stowed away on the roof of the car. In his earlier haste to take down the tent, he had forgotten that he had stashed his wallet under his pillow the night before.

With a stern order for us to stay inside, and with a grim look on his face, my father strode determinedly out to the parking lot to begin the search for his wallet. Once again, we were watching from a window, sheltered from the rain, as our father struggled with the sodden lump of canvas outside.

In hindsight, I can see what a remarkable man my father was. He found a way to swallow his anger and embrace whatever joy he could muster to turn an unfortunate situation into something positive for his children, even if it meant going back out in the pouring rain. That was the caliber of man that he was. I never truly appreciated this attribute as a child.

I am happy to report that, in the end, the wallet was found, the donuts were delicious, we made it to Florida without further calamity, and our family never tried tent camping again.

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“If there’s one piece of advice you hold onto from me, it’s that Plochman’s mustard is the best mustard.”

DAD “Life is hard and it’s harder when you’re stupid.”

“Many hands make light work.”

“Act as if alone.”

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QUOTES “Stop that constant, unnecessary noise!”

“Figure it out, get it done.”

“Never leave a baseball game early.”

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Submissions Who can submit? Anyone! If you have access to our magazine, we’d love to hear from you.

What should I submit? Anything creative and heartfelt that can be shared in digital form! Photography, illustrations, poetry, short stories, personal stories, art, etc.

Why do you accept submissions? This magazine is a space for people to share their stories and passions in hopes it will connect us with others in a positive, uplifting way.

“The ethnosphere is humanity’s great legacy. It is the product of our dreams, the embodiment of our hopes, the symbol of all that we are and all that we have created as a wildly inquisitive and astonishingly adaptive species.” - Wade Davis When can I submit? In each issue, we will reveal the theme for the coming issue. If you’d like your proposal to be considered for the coming issue, submit as soon as you can to give us time to review it with our team, communicate with you, edit, and fit it into the greater picture of the magazine. Otherwise, submit anything at any time. It may fit in a future issue or even inspire the theme of one!

What do I need to include in my submission? Tell us a sentence or two about yourself, how you discovered Ethnosphere, and the work you’d like to submit. If possible, attach any images, PDFs or other files to be reviewed, and the editor will be in touch with you. If you have a story that you think would make for a great article, but you don’t have the narrative prowess to write it, don’t worry! There is an opportunity for a conversation with the editor so that she, or someone on the editorial staff, could write the story with you. ​If your submission is not accepted, don’t get discouraged. There is always a chance in the future. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy all that the magazine has to offer. Even if you are not featured within it, your experiences, dreams, and creations are equally part of the Ethnosphere.

Disclaimer: Contributors retain all rights to their stories, photography, art, etc. while giving Ethnosphere Magazine/Advanced RV the right to edit and share their work in the digital magazine, print, and any other way they see fit for creative or promotional reasons.

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Coming in July: Issue 7 Eleutheromania (n) : A desperate craving for freedom

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About the Authors A resident of Willoughby, Ohio since 1955, Maureen Gregory retired in 2020 after working in the legal field for almost 40 years. Maureen spends her free time volunteering for a variety of local non-profit groups. Travel time includes visiting her son in Manhattan and her daughter near the Mojave desert. Her oldest son lives in Willoughby, so she enjoys having her two granddaughters nearby. Being retired is all Maureen hoped it would be and she highly recommends it.

Daniel James, known as the Barefoot Biker, dreams of biking all seven continents, with four already under his belt: North America, South American, Europe, and Australia. He does most of his travels barefoot, and always has a new adventure on the horizon when he is home in Ohio. He taught English in Italy, and started biking to the Panama Canal from Texas in Spring of 2023.

Madeline Lanshe is a writer from Green, Ohio, with a passion for traveling, rock climbing, and getting lost in the night sky. She taught English for two years in Le Mans, France, which now feels like her second home. She works at Advanced RV as editor-inchief of Ethnosphere. Besides dreams of becoming a published fiction author, Madeline is a volleyball addict. She believes life is about collecting moments of magic wherever you go and immersing yourself in the things that light your heart on fire.

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With a PhD in Nursing, Marcia Neundorfer taught at Case Western Reserve University and worked as a nurse researcher at the University Hospital’s Alzheimer’s Center, and later at Menorah Park Center for Senior Living. She’s been married to Mike Neundorfer, president of Advanced RV for 52 years, and a supporter of all things associated with ARV. She and Mike raised three boys, who now have families of their own. Marcia loves traveling in Advanced RVs with Mike all over the country.

Janice Spicuzza has been working as the client interface for ARV since 2015. She’s been married for over 20 years and has three children. In 2022, she attended a week-long circus school where she worked on various forms of acrobatics, including the flying trapeze. She used to compete in marathons and triathlons, then switched to circus acrobatics in her late 30s. One of her goals is to medal individually in an aerial acrobatic competition.

Rob Wick has been working at ARV since their first van in 2012.

Starting in the cabinet shop as a contractor, his role gradually moved to design and client interaction. He became a full-time ARV employee in 2020. He loves spending time outside, (riding ATVs, driving Jeeps, or just walking in quiet woods away from people), and he bought an 87 acre property along the Ohio River, which has an old log cabin that he is renovating. He can play the tuba, and someday he’d love to own horses.

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