It started off like a Taylor Swift Song. We were both young when I first saw you …but it quickly evolved into something more like a Carly Simon song when I realised, I’ve got to have you. You see, I had a barefoot childhood and had never placed much thought into footwear except to spend the least amount on them as possible. I even got married in a $20 pair of sandals from Spendless Shoes because I figured I would only wear them once. I was right.
The heel sunk into the grass as I walked towards my soon-to-be husband, and by the end of the reception, I was a barefoot newlywed. Now, for the first time in my life, I needed a decent pair of shoes – hiking shoes to be exact.
The beginning of a love affair with my hiking boots
So there we were. It was the very beginning of 2011 and I would soon be on an adventure to China, one that I needed hiking boots for. It was the most I had ever paid for a pair of shoes and a backpack and I crossed my fingers when I handed over my debit card to the Kathmandu cashier that it wouldn’t decline. It was the start of a special relationship.
My Salomon shoes and I hiked Mount Hua Shan, tripped over some steps in Xian at the Terracotta Warriors, and I narrowly missed throwing up on you after I got bus sick on the way back from the Great Wall. With the assistance of two pairs of bamboo socks, you saved my feet from frostbite when I braved minus-20 degrees in Harbin for the International Ice Festival, and my tears fell on you outside the War Museum, where I learnt the nitty-gritty details of how this site once served as the centre of Japan’s biological warfare efforts.
Why are humans so horrid?
Some of the locals did not appreciate Australian tourists, especially ones that looked like us, with our dreadlocked hair, tattoos and total inability to blend in. A few spat at our feet as we walked past. You accepted that without complaint as well, although it did earn you a ride home in a plastic bag and a spin in the washing machine, even though, technically, you’re not supposed to go in there.
It didn’t stop us though, did it? And thankfully, you were treated better the next time we headed overseas. We still went hiking, this time on the ruggedly beautiful peaks of Bora Bora, Tahiti and Moorea in French Polynesia, where we paused to take in the sparkly blue lagoons.
It had been a hard 12 months that included a miscarriage, many operations, a wheelchair, and self-injections in the stomach as we did our first round of IVF. French Polynesia, and in particular, Bora Bora was just what I needed to herald a new chapter in my life.
2012 heralded a new era
In 2012 I cancelled plans to take you to the USA for a Roller Derby convention. You see, travel insurance wouldn’t cover a pregnancy that was helped along by IVF. Instead, I threw up on you after getting a whiff of dog food one day. Sorry about that. Again, you ended up in the washing machine. We didn’t spend much time together that year.
Fortunately, we rekindled our relationship in 2013 when you took me up Diamond Head in Honolulu, this time with a baby strapped to my front. He turned one and preferred to play with your shoelaces than the toy we bought him in Hawaii.
In 2014, we hiked into a stunning natural pool on the Isle of Pines in New Caledonia. You got wet and salty, and we sunbathed to dry out. It was beautiful, and I still appreciated the comfort you provided. Particularly now that I was carrying extra weight again. This time, not only did I have a toddler strapped to my back, but a new baby was cooking quite nicely.
Once the second baby arrived, we didn’t have much time to go hiking. However, I dreamt about it often. I dreamed of hiking K’gari’s entire length, a section of the El Camino or perhaps a pilgrimage in Japan. In reality, I could barely function. I was blessed with adorable babies but I was not blessed with babies that sleep. That year was a blur.
Vietnam with little ones and feet that were now wider than two kids ago
In 2016, I packed you into my Kathmandu backpack yet again, and you helped me pull two children, one four years old and one barely walking through multiple airports on cute little trunks with wheels until we eventually arrived in Vietnam, where the youngest turned one. She was more interested in playing with the Vietnamese waitresses than your shoelaces and they were just as enthralled with her.
We walked together around Hoan Kiem Lake in Hanoi, rode a wooden boat rowed by a 70-year-old grandmother in Ninh Binh, strolled through kilometres of sand on Phu Quoc Island, explored the ancient city of My Son (constructed between 4th – 14th century), and pounded the streets of Ho Chi Minh City. We spent every single day together and it was grand. You never once gave me a blister, despite the fact that my feet were now wider than two kids ago. I was sorry to head home and take you off.
In 2017, we jumped on a plane, but instead of going overseas, we landed in Australia’s Island state, Tasmania. Boy, did you get a work out there. I wrote a number of articles on hiking with kids over this period and in fact, there were many hiking trips in Australia this year.
We hiked the Noosa Trail Network, pushing the kids and gear in a custom-made hiking trolley, and we strolled around Uluru and Kata Tjuta, or was that the year before? After six happy years together, the years were starting to blur. I went to the island of Espiritu Santo in Vanuatu without you, and I really regretted it. Have you seen the size of a coconut crab before? Horrifying. I vowed to never leave you behind again.
The Cook Islands – I didn’t want to leave
In 2018, I bundled you up yet again and headed for the islands, this time the Cook Islands. You helped run Rugby classes for kids on the islands of Rarotonga, Aitu, Aitutaki and Mauke, where we spent more time on a scooter than on our feet. We hiked through a cave in the pitch black to see the rare Kopeka bird that is endemic to the island of Atiu. I was too lazy to kick you off to jump in the candlelit cave pool so we walked out together wet. I was glad I didn’t kick you off for the invigoratingly cold dip, because I soon discovered that crabs show up further inland here than expected.
I did however, kick you off to go skinny dipping next to a shipwreck on the island of Mauke, only to get busted by a contractor installing solar panels on the island as I attempted to wrangle my crop top over my head. I quickly pretended I was just stretching, but the kids were already starkers and splashing each other in the water.
Luckily, the islanders don’t care one bit about barefoot naked kids who are a little on the loud side, so we fit in well here. I cried tears on you again when it was time to leave. I have never wanted to stay somewhere so much in my life.
The same year, I bundled you up yet again, and we headed to Singapore. We tramped under the Super Trees, through the domed conservatories, along the trails at Macritchie Reservoir, and we pedalled around Pulau Ubin Island. It was amazing, and we didn’t leave until 2019. Little did we know that next year, the world would change. If I had known, I would have spent more time with you.
My diagnosis
Nevertheless, 2019 saw us strolling through the Angkor Archeological Park in Cambodia, the halls of the fabulous Raffles Hotel in Phnom Penh, as well as the bustling city. I may have got both poop and puke on you, but we try not to remember that horrid three days in a Siem Reap hotel room after I ate something dodgy at the temples. You got sandy at Koh Rong Island, and sadly, we walked through a lot of plastic on the beach. You even saved my foot from a needle in the sand here to which I am forever grateful.
Sadly, you couldn’t save my hair; it had been falling out for quite some time, and by the end of this trip, a big tell-tale bald spot confirmed my suspicions that I had alopecia. You don’t care what I look like anyway.
A lot of hair fell on you when we got back home, followed by tears. We spent a few months at home going on small hikes, and it was therapeutic. I got an official diagnosis of my hair loss, and my suspicions were correct. I chose not to have treatment as I’ve been poked and prodded enough in my life. More than I’d like to talk about. It’s only hair, and there are worse things in life than not looking pretty.
By now, we had been together for nine years and were both looking older. We went on a hoorah back to French Polynesia. This time, to spend some time at Teahupoo in Tahiti and explore the islands of Raiatea and Huahine. Despite the number of boats we went on, I didn’t throw up on you this time. Although, I came close.
Covid happened
Covid happened, and we were separated for quite some time. You in the bottom of my cupboard and me at my computer desk, as I worked bare foot and typed instead of travelled. We hung out sometimes, usually to go for a walk in the bush out the back. Given the amount of snakes out there, I’m always grateful for the extra support on my ankles.
We stayed at home exploring the Land Down Under, and spent some time together looking for geocaches on Australia’s longest shortcut between Boulia in Outback QLD and Laverton in Western Australia. Western Australia locked their borders, so instead, we push biked around Uluru, hiked Kings Canyon for the second time in our lives and scuffed around in the red dirt.
I wore you on our daily visits to look after my stepfather, who was wasting away from cancer. The job of making sure he was okay fell to me, with Mum fighting for her own life in a hospital four hours away due to Covid-19. By now, you were so comfortable and worn that I didn’t even have to undo your shoelaces to slip you on and off. I wasn’t wearing you when the cancer finally won, but if I were, do you think I would have got there in time to say goodbye properly? I was 10 seconds too late.
Every time we went bushwalking, which was now daily with the dog, I spilled tears on you for quite some time. Hiking is therapeutic, with the crunch of your feet on the ground, the gentle breeze and the steady rhythm of your breath – I needed this.
Back in Southeast Asia
After four long years of avoiding overseas travel, I packed you in my pink Kathmandu bag once more, and we headed back to Southeast Asia, this time to Thailand. It was the second time I had been but a first for you.
We went 4WDing through the mountains surrounding Chiang Mai, strolled the chilled-out streets of Chiang Rai, made some medicine balls for an elephant, mixed our own tea at Singha Park and stepped on rabbit poop at an AirBnB that had about 20 of them in the garden. There was supposed to be around four rabbits, but apparently, in the previous year, one of the girl bunnies turned out to be a boy, and well – you can guess what happened after that.
I went to put you on today and noticed sadly that your sole is peeling away at the toe. We went for a hike anyway, but your defect now means that we catch the grass as we go. Also, you seem to be leaking a bit because my toes are wet. Don’t worry, that happens to all of us.
It’s been 13 years, which is pretty darn good for shoes, especially ones that have been around as much as you. I’m not quite ready to give up on you yet though, so much like the way we try to fix sick people with horrid medicines so that we can keep them around that little bit longer, I’m going to attempt to mend you tomorrow. But if the shoe glue doesn’t stick, in the words of another few songs, thanks for the memories (Fall Out Boy), they don’t make them like you anymore (Rory Gallagher).
