Anna S. E. Lundberg

Coach, Speaker, Writer

The Nemo II: Sailing the Galapagos Islands

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Following a few days in Quito, it was time for a trip to the Galapagos. After quite some research, I chose a sailing catamaran for an eight-day cruise around the southern islands. I must admit that I used the fact that my dad was joining me for this part of the trip to upgrade to this “first-class” boat. The Nemo II could take twelve passengers along with seven crew members: our naturalist guide, Diego; the captain and snorkel-meister, Henry; Mauricio the first mate; Roberto the engineer; Raul the bartender slash salsa teacher; Ernesto the miniature panga driver, also known as “cheeky monkey”; and Iban the elusive but talented chef.

On arriving at the airport on Isla Baltra, I was thrilled to see the three strapping young men who would be joining me on the boat for eight days; less thrilled to see their respective partners. At dinner on the first night, there were two tables. The first table held the three couples: American, German, and Swiss German. The second table held the misfits: an Asian American who quit his job in NYC and now lives in Nebraska; a 61-year-old man, another Swiss German, who accumulated vacation days for three years in order to be able to take a five-month holiday in South America, his wife and kids back home; a petite French woman and her 11-year-old son; and my 69-year-old dad and me.

I very quickly fell into the routine of the boat. Already by the second day, I had grown accustomed to my time on board being governed by the “ding dingeling” of the bell to indicate the next meal or activity. Every evening at 6.15pm we would have our briefing, when our guide Diego would talk us through the plans for the next day in earnest detail, followed always by: “Any questions about the information, please?” We would have a sit-down meal at breakfast, lunch and dinner, plus a snack in the morning and in the afternoon – the menu was varied, with different local food served at every meal, including all sorts of fruits and vegetables, fresh juices, and dessert every day. Then we’d have an excursion in the morning – a visit to one of the islands to see marine iguanas, crabs, tortoises, sea lions (lots of sea lions!)… – and one in the afternoon – another visit ashore and then a session of deep-water snorkelling.

The day started early, with breakfast at seven; but somehow the early alarm is easier to take when you’re out on a boat in the Pacific Ocean and the most difficult decision you’ll be faced with is whether to wear sandals or trainers – much easier than when you’re in wintry Europe and the day ahead will mean sitting all day at your desk or in meetings. Strange that. Life on board was incredibly relaxed, with everything taken care of, and just the right balance of organised activities and alone time. I’m not really a wildlife person, or an avid bird watcher, so my highlights have been the overall experience of being in the Galapagos, the sailing, the nightly stargazing, and the slow pace of life.

That said, I have enjoyed seeing the tortoises that gave the Galapagos its name, and whose facial features inspired the face of E.T.; the Sally Lightfoot crabs, their bright red and purple colour making them easy to spot against the black lava rocks; the ugly, ancient-looking land iguanas; and the many sea lions frolicking in the bays. The landscape itself has been an experience: the candelabra and prickly pear cactuses, some as tall as trees; the mangroves; the manzanillo poison apple tree; and the black volcanic earth with lava tubes and tunnels. Then there are also the human stories. There is Charles Darwin, of course, and the buccaneers, along with a great Agatha Christie mystery tale of murder and deceit among three European families who came here in the 1930s. At Post Office Bay, I left two unstamped postcards in a barrel to be delivered by hand to their respective destinations in the United Kingdom – a tradition started in the 1700s at the time of the whalers. Let’s see how long it takes for someone to arrive from Norwich or Weybridge…

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Journey to the centre of the earth: My first days in Quito

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Although the Equator actually runs through eleven countries (Brazil, Colombia, Democratic Republic of Congo, Ecuador, Gabon, Indonesia, Kenya, Republic of Congo, Saõ Tomé and Principe, Somalia, Uganda), Ecuador is the country that seems to have made the most of its location, as indicated already by its name.

The Ciudad de la Mitad del Mundo, just north of Quito, is a whole complex of museums, shops and restaurants based around the line of 0 degrees latitude. Unfortunately, the advent of GPS has revealed that the actual line is some 240m to the north of this line. A fact that a separate institution, the Intañan Solar Museum, has used to its advantage in claiming to be built on the true Equator. Here, they let you carry out the infamous experiments that purport to show the physical consequences of being located at the exact mid-point between the North and South Poles: balancing an egg on a nail is supposed to be easier as the gravitational pull is weaker; water drains straight down out of the sink (instead of clockwise in the south and counter-clockwise in the north, i.e. the Coriolis effect) since the centrifugal and centripetal forces cancel each other out; and trying to walk in a straight line along the Equator with your eyes closed would have us all failing a drunk driving test as the confusing effect on your body allegedly makes it almost impossible. The museum also provides you with the most macabre tidbits of information, such as warning men not to pee in the Amazon as this will attract the penis fish which will kill you in just a few days; taking you through the process of how to shrink a human head; and describing how the wives, children, and servants of important men would be drugged and buried alive when those men died, since they would be needed in the afterlife.

My impressions of the rest of Quito were rather limited, as unfortunately the common cold that I brought with me from Europe blossomed into something worse on arrival, leaving me bed-ridden with fever for most of the time I was there. I did manage to take pictures of various churches around town – the white Monasterio de San Francisco right outside our hostel, the Gothic Basílica del Voto Nacional sitting on a hill a bit further away, and in the other direction the Panecillo, Monumento a la Virgen de Quito. Ecuador is 95% Roman Catholic, which I found further manifested in the shrine within our hostel, the religious paraphernalia hanging in people’s cars (alongside emblems of their favourite football team), and a couple of smiling nuns walking down the road.

My culinary experiences were therefore also limited. I had a ‘cappuccino colonial’ (with caramel, whipped cream, and nutmeg sprinkled on top) in a little café called El Cafeto, and empanadas in Cafeteria Modelo, established back in the 1950s. Many of the shops in the historical old town would have put Willy Wonka to shame, bursting as they were with sweets right from the ceiling down to the floor. Another common sight was piñatas and ornate fireworks, the latter having been introduced by the Spanish but now sporting more modern designs such as Disney princesses (I want one!) and Spider-Man. On the roads leading in and out of the city, men and women weaved through the cars selling fruit – naranjas, manzanas, uvas – as well as crisps and cones of fluorescent ice cream.

Quito is at 2,800m above sea level, and I felt breathless just walking up the stairs to my room. This does not bode well for my four-day trek to Machu Picchu – but let’s hope that my cold was at least partly to blame. The weather followed the same pattern every day: glorious sunshine in the morning, clouding over by the afternoon when suddenly the skies would open and a storm would rage (thunder is incredibly loud when you’re up in the clouds!). Despite this clear pattern emerging, people seemed caught unawares, and trade was brisk for the women who appeared out of nowhere to sell umbrellas and ponchos.

Next stop: the Galapagos!

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On my way to Paradise Falls

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I’ve done it. I said that I would do it, would do it, would do it, I said that I would do it and indeed I did!

I haven’t posted in a few weeks because I’ve been rather busy. I’ve been finishing up my current assignment at work without anyone to officially hand over to, done four performances of the musical Chicago with my theatre group, given up my cats to a new owner, and completely emptied my flat.

Such a brief list doesn’t even begin to describe what I’ve been through this past month. My mum often refers back to a school project I did on Helen Keller. At the last minute, my friend had told me that the project was due a week earlier than I thought, so I stayed up all night doing something that should have taken the full half-term holiday to do. I got a good mark for the project, although my messy handwriting was criticised; and of course it turned out that the deadline was later just as I had thought, and in fact my friend had not spent her holiday working on it at all, grr. But my mum’s point is that I demonstrated an incredible determination and stamina to get it done under extreme time pressure.

So I guess I have once again illustrated that tenacity in staying up until 2am after all-night rehearsals to pack my things into boxes; getting up at 7am to have workers come to fix my walls that the cats had ruined by scratching off the wallpaper; coordinating sales and donations of furniture with various friends, colleagues, and neighbours; remembering all the lyrics and dance moves for Chicago, also understudying another role; closing open projects at work and trying to ensure that the systems and frameworks I’ve set up will continue when I’m gone; spending time with my friends and their babies before going away; and trying to eat, drink and sleep somewhere in between. I had a huge amount of help from my amazing friends, one in particular; I had a severe migraine halfway through the dress rehearsal; and my immune system has now given up and I’ve come down with a bad cold. But I did it! I’m now officially homeless and free to travel around South America, including a week-long cruise in Galapagos and a four-day trek to Machu Picchu, as I’ve long longed to do.

I’ve been talking about travelling to South America for years but it really was just talk. I’m not sure what changed – one trigger at least was a lunch I had with someone I barely knew but who was super supportive and inspired me to actually turn my plans into reality. And if you can’t do this kind of thing when you’re young and single, when can you do it? So after not taking any decisions for six years, I’ve now taken them all in one go! Throughout these stressful few weeks, I’ve felt 100% certain that I was making the right decisions, and this has given me an underlying sense of calm. I’m fortunate that my work allows for a personal leave of absence and I have a guaranteed job to come back to, so I have freedom but at the same time I have a cushion of security. I look forward to my journey, both physical and personal, and hope you’ll enjoy sharing in my adventures from afar. Wish me luck! I’m off to Paradise Falls…

A lover of lists

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I am constantly writing lists. Shopping lists, to-do lists, must-not-forget lists… In the past I wrote these lists on paper, now I write them in Notes on my iPhone, or in my shopping list app. This is mostly so that I don’t need to rely on my limited brain capacity. A couple of years ago, I did a “time management with Outlook” training, in which we were told to create task lists, calendar entries, and follow-ups for anything and everything, both at work and at home. The idea was to use tools available via Outlook to organise our projects and next steps, thereby liberating our brains from all those obligations that would otherwise be swirling around in our heads. Although I haven’t exactly implemented the system to the letter, I have to admit that for the last couple of years I’ve been able to let go of work when I leave the office and had less sleepless nights worrying about everything I have to do the next day.

The other benefit of this Outlook system is that you can easily review all your completed tasks at the end of the week to reassure yourself that you’ve actually done something. Sending emails, having meetings, working on endless PowerPoint presentations and 1-pagers… it’s easy for the working week to go by without any concrete evidence of your efforts. Writing lists and ticking off the items one by one gives me a sense of accomplishment. Although, naturally, I never manage to finish everything on the list, as I’m constantly adding to it.

I have also perfected my packing list for travelling and I now have a very comprehensive list covering everything from the basics that I need on every trip through to more niche items for specific types of holidays. When visiting my family in Sweden or England, I won’t need things like shampoo that I have left behind or can easily borrow. On the other hand, skiing weekends and beach holidays each require very different equipment. My ski boots would make an interesting fashion statement in Bali, while my sarong would do little to keep me warm in Chamonix. Now that may seem obvious, but it’s the details that are easy to forget: my wallet with euros, flip flops for communal showers, a torch for finding the door during the night without waking everyone up, SPF 50 sun cream to protect my nose from going all Rudolph… I can just check my list before leaving and I’ll be sure to have all the those little extras to make my trip more comfortable. (Let me know if you want a copy of The List, although the key is to adapt it 100% to your personal requirements. There is no need for men to bring make-up and bras… unless you’re into that sort of thing. No judging.)

Of course I have a special list for my South America trip. It’s a balance between not wanting to forget anything that I might really miss, and trying to heed all the advice of experienced backpackers who say that your biggest regret will be taking too much. The goal, apparently, is to travel with a lightweight backpack of just 45 litres. Sounds great in theory, but I can’t quite see how I will ever manage this…

I also love lists like “the 100 books to read before you die”. There are so many books in the world – It helps to be guided towards a few that you know are going to be worth reading! In a similar vein, one of our former senior directors (Jim Lafferty, a great, if polarising, motivational speaker) once gave a memorable training on work-life balance and encouraged us to write a list of 100 things to do before we die. The idea was to do at least two of these every year. It could be simple things like “wear red lipstick”, which you can complete in one day, or things that require more long-term effort, such as getting your book published. (I’ve done the former, still working on the latter.) It’s actually surprisingly difficult to come up with 100, and most people get stuck around the 50 mark. Speaking of which, I need to look for mine – it’s from the days in which I was still writing on paper, so it’s bound to be hidden away in some drawer at home.

One of my friends once told me that she’s “not a box-ticker”. But I don’t think that’s what I’m doing. Writing lists in no way takes away from the experiences I have along the way, or prevents me from being spontaneous. If anything, it helps me have more experiences, and then leaves me the freedom to enjoy each experience to the fullest. Long live lists!

A Rant about Ticket Inspectors – with a not-so-happy ending

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I’m sitting here on the train from Norwich to London Liverpool Street after a lovely long weekend with my sister and her family. Alas, I was awakened from my peaceful reverie by an Unfortunate Incident. When I boarded my carriage, there was someone sitting in my pre-booked seat (no, that’s not the incident). She showed me that she did, in fact, have a valid ticket for that seat, so I thought to myself how annoying it was that the train company had double booked, and moved to another seat that was free. When the ticket inspector came by, I mentioned “en passant” that in fact two of us had the same seat. It was then he noticed that my ticket was for yesterday. The shock! The horror!

I was genuinely surprised and explained that I had always planned to travel today, I had paid the full price ticket, and I had simply got the day wrong for the return journey. “I’m afraid that leaves you without a valid ticket for today,” he said. I couldn’t argue with that, though I stared silently at him with Puss-in-Boots eyes in the hope that he would show understanding for my predicament. He gave me an unpaid fare ticket, and said that I could appeal online. This I have already done, with an explanation of my honest mistake, and now I must await my sentence that will be communicated to me in the next ten days.*

I’m reminded of another occasion in Geneva where I found myself in a similar position. I was taking the train from Geneva to my rehearsal at the Collège du Léman. My annual bus pass covered this region, so there was no need to buy a ticket. I missed my usual train, though, so I took another to Versoix, a bit further along, to then change and go back to Pont Céard, where the school was. A ticket inspector came on and pointed out that to go all the way to Versoix I needed a supplement of 2sfr. As I hadn’t paid that supplement, I had to pay a fine of 80sfr. Mais bien sûr! The logic is incontrovertible! (I can’t help but sympathise with the frustration that Jean Valjean experienced when he stole just a loaf of bread for his starving family and was sentenced to 20 years in prison.) In the end, I appealed, and my fine was exceptionally halved to just 40sfr. Thank you, Oh Great Ones.

I should, for some balance, inject a positive story at this point: Once, I had forgotten my annual train pass at home. Usually this would mean filling out a form and then going to the ticket office to pay 5sfr. Not a lot of money, but what a hassle, and totally unnecessary. This time, the ticket inspector and I had a lovely chat about how women are so silly with their different handbags (I had left the card in my wallet when I chose a smaller handbag for the day trip to Nyon). Then we were arriving at my station so he let me off! So they’re not all bad.

Digging even deeper through the traumatic memories stored in my scattered brain, I can recall another trip, in England again, travelling with a friend to Woking to go shopping. I bought my ticket, got on the train in Weybridge, and she got on in West Byfleet. When the ticket inspector came on, he checked my friend’s ticket, no problem. When he checked mine, it turned out it was just from Weybridge to West Byfleet. So he wanted to charge me for the remaining stop from West Byfleet to Woking. But not only that, he wanted to charge me an adult fare – I was under 16 at the time – as my initial ticket had been an adult fare. Being in a rush at the station, I hadn’t noticed that I had been given, and charged for, an adult ticket. So I ended up having to pay again, for an adult fare, for a total sum that was significantly higher than the cost of my actual journey and that gouged a hole in my pocket money. And now for the clincher: my friend had a completely outdated and therefore invalid ticket, which the inspector hadn’t noticed!! Grrr.

Now I know that each of these examples is evidence of the fallibility of my brain. And I also know that train companies are profit-driven corporations with rules that must be followed. However, as an innocent, law-abiding citizen who seeks to do right to the best of my ability, this type of incident reduces me to the little school girl who was shouted out at in class and made to stand on her chair for accidentally breaking my ruler in Form 2.

I’ll let you know when I hear back about my Norwich journey – I’m sure you can barely breathe for the excitement.

*Update 7th March: I’ve received a lovely letter from IRCAS (the Independent Revenue Collection and Support) telling me that my appeal has not been taken into consideration because they must follow The Code. (Haven’t they seen Pirates of the Caribbean? Don’t they know that these are more what you’d call ‘guidelines’ than actual rules?) So a penalty fare of £64.10 will be my curse. Ho hum. I hope you put my money to good use, Greater Anglia.