Kaylin McFarren's Blog - Posts Tagged "adventure"
The Boomerang Effect
“It’s the chance of a lifetime. An opportunity to make unforgettable memories.” That’s what I told my husband, mercilessly badgering him for ten minutes. “Just think about it, honey. We could be spending a fun-filled week in an African game lodge with wild, exotic animals running around. Why the photographs alone would be worth the trip.”
He conceded to my pleading and his auction paddle hit the air. I was amazed when he actually won for $2000. I was sure there’d been a mistake, that people attending the auction hadn’t heard clearly what was up for bid – didn’t understand what they were actually passing up. But I wasn’t about to argue the point. My husband and I had walked away with a bargain. I was never so sure of anything in my life.
“You do understand this covers only lodging,” he scoffed.
I wasn’t about to be discouraged. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll use our mileage. It will be fine. I promise.”
The next day my husband visited our travel agency. When he returned home, he called me into the kitchen. As it turned out, the distance from Portland, Oregon to Richards Bay, Africa would involve traveling twenty-two hours by air to reach our destination. I was briefly stunned by this discovery, but I wasn’t about to let the bad news dampen my enthusiasm. Days passed and my husband’s frequent references to our pending adventure as “non-productive time spent in lumbar torture to see zoo animals” resulted in blowing up and booting him off my itinerary. His disappointment over the news came with cheers of delight.
My moxie daughter Erika eagerly volunteered, assuming the vacancy as my new jungle mate. Her genuine excitement over our adventure surpassed my own and helped me maintain a positive attitude as the wave of unforeseen preparations slammed into me…over and over again.
I spent days on the internet going through my checklist, accumulating the recommended and very expensive bug-resistant clothing, socks, hats, hiking shoes, insect repellent, sun block, binoculars, transformers, and very important digital cameras. Erika called to remind me about vaccinations that were also necessary for our entry into Africa, leaving me temporarily panic-stricken. The clock was ticking and the only place we could receive tetanus and diphtheria booster shots in a timely manner was at a seedy travel clinic in north Portland. Following this harried doctor’s advice, I purchased Imodium, diarrhea pills and stomach cramping pills, and began to wonder exactly what I had gotten myself into. But logic and common sense were nowhere to be found. We were heavily invested and I had convinced myself the worst was now behind us…even as I purchase two prescriptions for a 28-day regiment of Malaria pills.
Claims of insanity from various members of my family wouldn’t dissuade me. Erika and I were the brave ones. We were the chosen. They would all envy our travels and regret their heckling, I told myself. As I struggled with two over-packed suitcases, I smirked at my husband’s farewell words, “Thank you for not making me go.” I pushed aside the realization that the cost of our extraordinary vacation had escalated to $15,000 with the inclusion of airfare and hotel accommodations. In a sympathetic gesture, my dear husband cashed in mileage that had taken years to earn in an effort to cushion the argent hours ahead of us and to lessen his guilt over abandoning me. He would be leaving on his own trip to Japan in the morning, while Erika and I traveled the globe in business class and overnighted in posh Amsterdam hotels. Ah…life was sweet and my husband had redeemed himself.
On August 31st, Erika and I handed over our tickets and passports, and boarded Northwest Flight #92. We toasted our voyage with champagne, enjoyed numerous movies, delicious meals and great service. Although it took ten hours, we were comfortable and excited about what lay ahead. Arriving in Amsterdam, it took us a good day to figure out the currency, train tickets and departure points. Before long, we were taking digital photos in various bars and restaurants. We drank in the pure beauty and history of this beautiful place. I was amazed at how well Erika could navigate us around a city filled with train track mazes, narrow streets, bridges and canals. Without her, I was sure I’d never find my way back to our airport hotel.
After checking in, I opened one of my fragile stickered bags and discovered my buried mirror smashed into a million pieces. This alone should have been fair warning, but I was still convinced luck was on my side. We located an inviting restaurant and after a nice dinner and shared bottle of wine, Erika and I settled in for a good night’s rest. First thing in the morning, we were off to the airport with bags and passports in hand. We checked in and had our passports stamped and were once again living it up in our KLM Flight #591 business class seats on our way to Johannesburg, Africa. Nearly eleven hours later, blurry eyed from lack of sleep, we stepped up to the immigration counter for visa entries into the country. We knew that our pre-arranged, pre-paid driver would be waiting outside the customs area to take us to our hotel.
Erika continued to urge me forward after receiving her passport back, but the look in the female immigration officer’s eyes stopped me in my tracks. She waved my passport high in the air announcing repeatedly, “It’s filled.” I had no idea what she was talking about. There were clearly three pages left in the small booklet and none of the airline personnel in Amsterdam mentioned a problem, only stamped away, happily waving me on my way.
In a matter of minutes, Erika was directed to retrieve our bags while I was escorted by a large intimidating man through winding back hallways to a secured holding area. The immigration official, whose office I entered, seemed to be an African marshal, but no identification was made. He mumbled indeterminable questions while taking numerous phone calls. His impatience was obvious and reduced me to tears when he informed me that my ignorance would be going back with me to the U.S.
For more than an hour, I sat in a small, dingy room across from a Hispanic farmer who was being returned to Mexico due to his non-existent exit visa. I had no idea where Erika was at this point or how long I was going to be kept in this holding area. Immigration officers ran up and down the hallway, stealing a long look in my direction before disappearing from view in the official’s adjacent office. Nearly thirty more minutes passed as I watched the clock approach midnight. Erika was then escorted into the room with a female officer.
When I told her that I had asked for an emergency call to the American Embassy and was told that their office was closed and that I was heading home on the next available plane, she was stunned. She couldn’t imagine leaving me, but the flights were completely booked and she would have trouble getting out of Africa for at least a week. I instructed her to keep going, stay overnight as planned in Johannesburg and then take our connecting flight to Richards Bay on South African Airlines. There was no purpose in ruining her vacation as well.
Before she could answer me, another official arrived and beckoned me and the other detainee to follow him. We virtually ran to keep up with this man down winding terminals, the Mexican gentleman with his backpack and me with a computer-laden bag, until we reached the last two gates that were in final boarding call. He was directed onto a plane headed for Paris and would ultimately be back in Mexico in a few days. The security officer waved for me to hurry as he jerked my bag from me and boarded a plane ahead of me. I was escorted to a seat between two passengers in the last row of the same plane I had just arrived on. Then I was given a form to present to agents in Amsterdam, explaining my “filled” passport as a legal reason to reject entry into Africa and justified penalty to warrant return to my place of origin – the U.S.
For over eleven hours, I sat wide-awake between an African student and elderly Dutch woman as they ate and slept, only requesting water when the dry air became an issue. With my seat tipped back six inches and the seat ahead of me pressed firmly into my knees, I wrapped a thin blanket around myself, shivering while I anticipated facing more immigration problems in Amsterdam and my eventual expulsion from Europe. The two crying babies in nearby seats matched my mood, silencing me completely.
When we finally landed and were told to present our passports after exiting the plane, I knew that I was going to be escorted once again to a plane with its engines already humming at a gate. Instead, I was met with quiet indifference by three officers and had to ask them for directions to the immigration office at the airport in Amsterdam. A young gentleman there listened to my tale of woe, explaining that Amsterdam is more lenient, would have given me the visa for entry on one of the final pages in my passport, but then I was dealing with South Africa. He told me that the U. S. Embassy office downtown was my best bet and would alleviate problems in leaving Amsterdam.
At 11am, with an address, no sleep or food, I hailed a taxi determined to get additional pages and to catch the next available flight back to Africa where I had left Erika worrying and waiting. After a $200 taxi ride across town, I discovered that the U. S. Embassy, which is open only from 1:30pm – 4:30pm, handles only new births, personal threats and deaths of U. S. citizens. A guard at the Embassy gate handed me a plastic card and told me to make an appointment with the Consulate office on-line.
I rushed with my cumbersome bag to a Chinese Internet café and attempted to get on-line with a foreign computer, since my adapter and cords were now in Africa with Erika. As it turned out, appointments at the Consulate office are filled between 8:30am – 11:30am for the next day and their office was closed until 1:30pm. I also discovered on-line that it would be at least a week before I could get an appointment and realized that I had to recourse but to personally call someone to explain my dilemma. With no phones at the café and no Euros in my pocket, I headed toward the central train station to exchange American dollars, to find a phone, to get a train back to the airport, to purchase another airline ticket, and to find hotel accommodations for the night. It was only then that I realized all my clothes and toiletries were in my luggage along with Erika in Africa.
I got a recorded message on the phone at the train station after calling the Consulate office. Frustrated, I decided that if I just arrived on their doorstep, they’d have to deal with me. I called back again with my newly purchased phone card to get an address for their office. However, I fortunately dialed a wrong number by accident and got a real person on the line. After pleading for help, this gal finally gave in, breaking the rules, and told me that I’d have to come the next day by 11:30am and could go have a nice lunch while my passport was processed. I could pick up my passport with additional pages at 2:30pm so that I’d be on my way back to Africa once more.
I was so relieved that I jumped on the train and headed to the KLM airline desk at the airport. After purchasing my ticket to Johannesburg for another $1500, I would be on the next evening’s flight. But the crimp to my plans happened when I discovered that the only flight to Johannesburg occurred once a day at 11:30am. I was now going to be staying in a strange city I had no idea how to get around in for an additional day and my connection to Richards Bay would also force me to spend another night in Johannesburg before I could finally catch up with Erika.
I had this image of Erika alone in a foreign game lodge worrying about me. With no way to reach her, I had to know she was safe. I pondered the distance and the fact that I would now be traveling nearly thirteen hours to spend two and a half days at her side. I had to be out of my mind, but the idea of sitting alone in a strange hotel or sight-seeing by myself in Amsterdam for five days convinced me that I had to take a chance and finish my journey no matter how brief my stay.
I woke up early the next morning, took a shower, put on my hand-washed underwear and newly purchased clothes and headed back to the airport’s train station in search of the U. S. Consulate office. On the way there, the wind was blowing sideways and the rain was pelting me. I stopped by the clothing store at the airport yet again to purchase a coat, knowing that I would be outside most of the day. Then off I ran to the train station inside the airport to insure that I arrived at least thirty minutes before my scheduled appointment. After a twenty-minute $7 train ride, I arrived in the center of town and searched out the Consulate office to get my necessary passport pages.
After being buzzed in, I handed over my tote bag and purse and was searched, scanned and numbered. I relinquished my passport and was told to come back in three and half hours. At this point, I was so focused on my passport, that I had lunch at the nearest establishment and spent the rest of my time wandering around museums with little interest. When the magic hour arrived, I was back at the Consulate office – searched, scanned and numbered once again. I received my passport and immediately headed back to the train station. The heels of my feet were blistered and I wanted nothing more than to get to bed early, knowing that I had to be up by 6am in order to arrive two and half hours early for my flight. I actually took the wrong train trying to get to my hotel and broke down, asking for directions. Two hours later, I was back in my room, staring at the mushy $18 crab salad sandwich room service delivered.
I discover internet hookup was available for $30 an hour on my television and sent messages to everyone I needed to reach, including my husband in Japan, in order to tell them that I was safe and heading back to Africa in the morning. I reserved a hotel room by the airport in Johannesburg and requested a driver through the lodge to transport me to where Erika was still waiting.
I finally went to bed and was asleep for about two hours when the phone rang. My travel agent in Oregon had some bad news to share. My connection in Africa was completely booked and I wouldn’t be able to reach Richards Bay for at least one more day. I found myself sitting in my Holiday Inn hotel room in Johannesburg praying for a cancellation so that I wouldn’t be spending only a day and a half at the Safari Lodge. I hung up the phone and was now fully awake. I realized that I’d spent more time in the air than I had on the ground. But when things couldn’t get any worse, they did. I got another phone call from the travel agency and was told that Erika and my return tickets to the U.S. had been adjusted and through some internal error, our business class seats out of Amsterdam had been switched to coach seats. The only thing that had kept me sane throughout this whole ordeal was the thought of returning home in comfort after another ten-hour flight to Portland.
A question reverberated in my brain. Do I go on or just stay put in the Amsterdam hotel waiting from Erika to return on her way back to the States? Somehow, I had remained committed even with memories of the shattered mirror and my husband’s disparaging words filling my thoughts. I found myself hoping someone in Johannesburg would get sick or miss their flight, just so I could claim an empty seat on the plane to Richards Bay. Morning came and I headed downstairs for breakfast totting my useless computer bag, now convinced that the only wild animals I would ever see in my lifetime lived in the Portland zoo.
I made a point of arriving at the airport three hours before my flight, since my travel agent assured me there were always last-minute cancellations. The KLM agent glanced at all my new pages and stamped one of the original old pages. I checked in and was amazed to discover that my economy seat from Amsterdam to Johannesburg had been upgraded to first class. Was there a mistake? No mention was made when I checked in. Things were looking up. With a little time on my hands, I struggled with fifteen-minute increments on an airport computer to check in with South Africa Airlines to find out if my good fortune was continuing. Unfortunately, the flight to Richards Bay was still full, but an airline agent informed me that I could wait list on my flight before the scheduled departure at 8:35am. Wait a minute! When did the time change from 9:55am to 8:35am, which was what my travel agent had quoted? Then I’m told that if I want to take a chance on the only available flight to Richards Bay, I’d need to be at the South Africa Airlines ticket counter by 7:15am the following morning.
I convinced myself that a miracle could happen. A seat could become available. I decided to weigh my options and board my flight to Johannesburg once again – believing the third time was a charm. Approaching the immigration counter after flying another eleven hours, I glance around hoping not to encounter the same woman who had flagged me – sending me on my boomerang excursion. When I reached the only free clerk available, this woman was so engrossed with flirting with a male officer that she barely glanced at my passport before applying a visa sticker on one of my old pages yet again. I ended up walking away perplexed and headed for the currency exchange counter to acquire African money. The clerk there told me that it wasn’t safe to walk around anywhere in Johannesburg and I should take a taxi to my airport hotel. Following her directions, I waved for a cab, rode around the block and was charged $20. In the morning, I was up by 5am to make sure that I got to the South African check-in counter early enough to add my name to the wait list, only to discover that my hotel was actually attached to the airport and a mere five-minute walk.
From 6:15am to 8:15am, I ran back and forth from counter to counter trying to secure a seat on board, but to no avail. One English gentleman procured the jump seat at an extra cost, but I was told “48…48…that’s all we put on plane.” I was about to walk away defeated and head back to my hotel again when a thought suddenly occurred to me. Why not try another city? Maybe I could fly to the closest location to Richards Bay and get a message to the lodge driver to go there instead. I was desperate and out of options at this point. What would it hurt to take a risk?
I ran to the purchase ticket counter, paid another $250 and was informed that I had ten minutes to reach my departure gate to Durban, which according to the agent was only one hour away from Richards Bay. I realized that I didn’t have time to call the lodge to head off my driver. I looked around for an honest looking face and gave a young man a phone number and 200 rand to place a call for me. I could only pray that he was as honest as I hoped. Once on board, I opened the airline magazine and started to worry about the distance from Durban to Richards Bay on the map. Asking a fellow passenger, I was informed that Richards Bay was a two-hour drive from Durban, which didn’t account for the distance to the lodge. If the driver didn’t get the message, I would be left in an even worst situation.
I was determined to keep positive thoughts. To my delight, as I exited the plane, I spotted a man holding a sign for me. And as it turned out, the drive to Richards Bay and the lodge became a three and half hour bouncing trip in the back seat of a dusty cab. My mental complaints waned, however, upon seeing metal shanties along the road and people carrying water jugs on their heads. I realized that my hardships were only inconveniences. I could enjoy the day and a half that I had left on my vacation and then return home a much wiser, confident and experienced traveler.
A glass of champagne and two outings into the wild later, Erika and I were heading back to the Richards Bay airport preparing to return to Amsterdam. Another eleven hours behind me, we passed through customs with stamps on the same original pages yet again. After two days recuperating in Amsterdam, Erika and I headed to the airport excited to know that we’d be flying back to Portland first class all the way. When we arrived, an hour and a half before our flight on KLM #91, however, my passport wouldn’t allow us to check in for our boarding passes. I was told to get into line for assistance and after agents repeatedly ran into problems pulling up a non-existent reservation number, we were instructed to get into another line and to speak to someone in ticket sales.
With forty minutes to go before boarding, the KLM agent couldn’t figure out what was wrong with our tickets. We somehow had three reservations and no record of any ticket purchases. This sales agent worked for over an hour (as our flight departed) trying to remedy our situation, which could have involved re-purchasing our expensive airline tickets on my maxed out credit card that was still shaking from all the unplanned hotel and airline ticket expenses I incurred. This agent worked diligently and finally located a record with all my mileage. She arranged for us to catch the only flight from Amsterdam to Portland that day via Seattle – which was leaving in twenty minutes. Running all the way to the gate, we discovered that one of us was in business class and the other in coach. Erika volunteered the upgrade and we finally made it to the States after another ten-hour flight. But our problems still didn’t go away.
When Erika got on-line, she discovered that all the flights to Portland from Seattle were booked with the exception of a few seats on a Horizon flight that was scheduled to depart three hours after our arrival. We took the reservations and after landing, we were escorted by a Northwest agent to our gate to wait out our delay. After this final flight, we arrived safely back at the Portland International Airport. I almost kissed the ground to be finally home again. To this day, I cringe every time I think about this trip and whenever I hear someone planning his or her next vacation to Africa.
He conceded to my pleading and his auction paddle hit the air. I was amazed when he actually won for $2000. I was sure there’d been a mistake, that people attending the auction hadn’t heard clearly what was up for bid – didn’t understand what they were actually passing up. But I wasn’t about to argue the point. My husband and I had walked away with a bargain. I was never so sure of anything in my life.
“You do understand this covers only lodging,” he scoffed.
I wasn’t about to be discouraged. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll use our mileage. It will be fine. I promise.”
The next day my husband visited our travel agency. When he returned home, he called me into the kitchen. As it turned out, the distance from Portland, Oregon to Richards Bay, Africa would involve traveling twenty-two hours by air to reach our destination. I was briefly stunned by this discovery, but I wasn’t about to let the bad news dampen my enthusiasm. Days passed and my husband’s frequent references to our pending adventure as “non-productive time spent in lumbar torture to see zoo animals” resulted in blowing up and booting him off my itinerary. His disappointment over the news came with cheers of delight.
My moxie daughter Erika eagerly volunteered, assuming the vacancy as my new jungle mate. Her genuine excitement over our adventure surpassed my own and helped me maintain a positive attitude as the wave of unforeseen preparations slammed into me…over and over again.
I spent days on the internet going through my checklist, accumulating the recommended and very expensive bug-resistant clothing, socks, hats, hiking shoes, insect repellent, sun block, binoculars, transformers, and very important digital cameras. Erika called to remind me about vaccinations that were also necessary for our entry into Africa, leaving me temporarily panic-stricken. The clock was ticking and the only place we could receive tetanus and diphtheria booster shots in a timely manner was at a seedy travel clinic in north Portland. Following this harried doctor’s advice, I purchased Imodium, diarrhea pills and stomach cramping pills, and began to wonder exactly what I had gotten myself into. But logic and common sense were nowhere to be found. We were heavily invested and I had convinced myself the worst was now behind us…even as I purchase two prescriptions for a 28-day regiment of Malaria pills.
Claims of insanity from various members of my family wouldn’t dissuade me. Erika and I were the brave ones. We were the chosen. They would all envy our travels and regret their heckling, I told myself. As I struggled with two over-packed suitcases, I smirked at my husband’s farewell words, “Thank you for not making me go.” I pushed aside the realization that the cost of our extraordinary vacation had escalated to $15,000 with the inclusion of airfare and hotel accommodations. In a sympathetic gesture, my dear husband cashed in mileage that had taken years to earn in an effort to cushion the argent hours ahead of us and to lessen his guilt over abandoning me. He would be leaving on his own trip to Japan in the morning, while Erika and I traveled the globe in business class and overnighted in posh Amsterdam hotels. Ah…life was sweet and my husband had redeemed himself.
On August 31st, Erika and I handed over our tickets and passports, and boarded Northwest Flight #92. We toasted our voyage with champagne, enjoyed numerous movies, delicious meals and great service. Although it took ten hours, we were comfortable and excited about what lay ahead. Arriving in Amsterdam, it took us a good day to figure out the currency, train tickets and departure points. Before long, we were taking digital photos in various bars and restaurants. We drank in the pure beauty and history of this beautiful place. I was amazed at how well Erika could navigate us around a city filled with train track mazes, narrow streets, bridges and canals. Without her, I was sure I’d never find my way back to our airport hotel.
After checking in, I opened one of my fragile stickered bags and discovered my buried mirror smashed into a million pieces. This alone should have been fair warning, but I was still convinced luck was on my side. We located an inviting restaurant and after a nice dinner and shared bottle of wine, Erika and I settled in for a good night’s rest. First thing in the morning, we were off to the airport with bags and passports in hand. We checked in and had our passports stamped and were once again living it up in our KLM Flight #591 business class seats on our way to Johannesburg, Africa. Nearly eleven hours later, blurry eyed from lack of sleep, we stepped up to the immigration counter for visa entries into the country. We knew that our pre-arranged, pre-paid driver would be waiting outside the customs area to take us to our hotel.
Erika continued to urge me forward after receiving her passport back, but the look in the female immigration officer’s eyes stopped me in my tracks. She waved my passport high in the air announcing repeatedly, “It’s filled.” I had no idea what she was talking about. There were clearly three pages left in the small booklet and none of the airline personnel in Amsterdam mentioned a problem, only stamped away, happily waving me on my way.
In a matter of minutes, Erika was directed to retrieve our bags while I was escorted by a large intimidating man through winding back hallways to a secured holding area. The immigration official, whose office I entered, seemed to be an African marshal, but no identification was made. He mumbled indeterminable questions while taking numerous phone calls. His impatience was obvious and reduced me to tears when he informed me that my ignorance would be going back with me to the U.S.
For more than an hour, I sat in a small, dingy room across from a Hispanic farmer who was being returned to Mexico due to his non-existent exit visa. I had no idea where Erika was at this point or how long I was going to be kept in this holding area. Immigration officers ran up and down the hallway, stealing a long look in my direction before disappearing from view in the official’s adjacent office. Nearly thirty more minutes passed as I watched the clock approach midnight. Erika was then escorted into the room with a female officer.
When I told her that I had asked for an emergency call to the American Embassy and was told that their office was closed and that I was heading home on the next available plane, she was stunned. She couldn’t imagine leaving me, but the flights were completely booked and she would have trouble getting out of Africa for at least a week. I instructed her to keep going, stay overnight as planned in Johannesburg and then take our connecting flight to Richards Bay on South African Airlines. There was no purpose in ruining her vacation as well.
Before she could answer me, another official arrived and beckoned me and the other detainee to follow him. We virtually ran to keep up with this man down winding terminals, the Mexican gentleman with his backpack and me with a computer-laden bag, until we reached the last two gates that were in final boarding call. He was directed onto a plane headed for Paris and would ultimately be back in Mexico in a few days. The security officer waved for me to hurry as he jerked my bag from me and boarded a plane ahead of me. I was escorted to a seat between two passengers in the last row of the same plane I had just arrived on. Then I was given a form to present to agents in Amsterdam, explaining my “filled” passport as a legal reason to reject entry into Africa and justified penalty to warrant return to my place of origin – the U.S.
For over eleven hours, I sat wide-awake between an African student and elderly Dutch woman as they ate and slept, only requesting water when the dry air became an issue. With my seat tipped back six inches and the seat ahead of me pressed firmly into my knees, I wrapped a thin blanket around myself, shivering while I anticipated facing more immigration problems in Amsterdam and my eventual expulsion from Europe. The two crying babies in nearby seats matched my mood, silencing me completely.
When we finally landed and were told to present our passports after exiting the plane, I knew that I was going to be escorted once again to a plane with its engines already humming at a gate. Instead, I was met with quiet indifference by three officers and had to ask them for directions to the immigration office at the airport in Amsterdam. A young gentleman there listened to my tale of woe, explaining that Amsterdam is more lenient, would have given me the visa for entry on one of the final pages in my passport, but then I was dealing with South Africa. He told me that the U. S. Embassy office downtown was my best bet and would alleviate problems in leaving Amsterdam.
At 11am, with an address, no sleep or food, I hailed a taxi determined to get additional pages and to catch the next available flight back to Africa where I had left Erika worrying and waiting. After a $200 taxi ride across town, I discovered that the U. S. Embassy, which is open only from 1:30pm – 4:30pm, handles only new births, personal threats and deaths of U. S. citizens. A guard at the Embassy gate handed me a plastic card and told me to make an appointment with the Consulate office on-line.
I rushed with my cumbersome bag to a Chinese Internet café and attempted to get on-line with a foreign computer, since my adapter and cords were now in Africa with Erika. As it turned out, appointments at the Consulate office are filled between 8:30am – 11:30am for the next day and their office was closed until 1:30pm. I also discovered on-line that it would be at least a week before I could get an appointment and realized that I had to recourse but to personally call someone to explain my dilemma. With no phones at the café and no Euros in my pocket, I headed toward the central train station to exchange American dollars, to find a phone, to get a train back to the airport, to purchase another airline ticket, and to find hotel accommodations for the night. It was only then that I realized all my clothes and toiletries were in my luggage along with Erika in Africa.
I got a recorded message on the phone at the train station after calling the Consulate office. Frustrated, I decided that if I just arrived on their doorstep, they’d have to deal with me. I called back again with my newly purchased phone card to get an address for their office. However, I fortunately dialed a wrong number by accident and got a real person on the line. After pleading for help, this gal finally gave in, breaking the rules, and told me that I’d have to come the next day by 11:30am and could go have a nice lunch while my passport was processed. I could pick up my passport with additional pages at 2:30pm so that I’d be on my way back to Africa once more.
I was so relieved that I jumped on the train and headed to the KLM airline desk at the airport. After purchasing my ticket to Johannesburg for another $1500, I would be on the next evening’s flight. But the crimp to my plans happened when I discovered that the only flight to Johannesburg occurred once a day at 11:30am. I was now going to be staying in a strange city I had no idea how to get around in for an additional day and my connection to Richards Bay would also force me to spend another night in Johannesburg before I could finally catch up with Erika.
I had this image of Erika alone in a foreign game lodge worrying about me. With no way to reach her, I had to know she was safe. I pondered the distance and the fact that I would now be traveling nearly thirteen hours to spend two and a half days at her side. I had to be out of my mind, but the idea of sitting alone in a strange hotel or sight-seeing by myself in Amsterdam for five days convinced me that I had to take a chance and finish my journey no matter how brief my stay.
I woke up early the next morning, took a shower, put on my hand-washed underwear and newly purchased clothes and headed back to the airport’s train station in search of the U. S. Consulate office. On the way there, the wind was blowing sideways and the rain was pelting me. I stopped by the clothing store at the airport yet again to purchase a coat, knowing that I would be outside most of the day. Then off I ran to the train station inside the airport to insure that I arrived at least thirty minutes before my scheduled appointment. After a twenty-minute $7 train ride, I arrived in the center of town and searched out the Consulate office to get my necessary passport pages.
After being buzzed in, I handed over my tote bag and purse and was searched, scanned and numbered. I relinquished my passport and was told to come back in three and half hours. At this point, I was so focused on my passport, that I had lunch at the nearest establishment and spent the rest of my time wandering around museums with little interest. When the magic hour arrived, I was back at the Consulate office – searched, scanned and numbered once again. I received my passport and immediately headed back to the train station. The heels of my feet were blistered and I wanted nothing more than to get to bed early, knowing that I had to be up by 6am in order to arrive two and half hours early for my flight. I actually took the wrong train trying to get to my hotel and broke down, asking for directions. Two hours later, I was back in my room, staring at the mushy $18 crab salad sandwich room service delivered.
I discover internet hookup was available for $30 an hour on my television and sent messages to everyone I needed to reach, including my husband in Japan, in order to tell them that I was safe and heading back to Africa in the morning. I reserved a hotel room by the airport in Johannesburg and requested a driver through the lodge to transport me to where Erika was still waiting.
I finally went to bed and was asleep for about two hours when the phone rang. My travel agent in Oregon had some bad news to share. My connection in Africa was completely booked and I wouldn’t be able to reach Richards Bay for at least one more day. I found myself sitting in my Holiday Inn hotel room in Johannesburg praying for a cancellation so that I wouldn’t be spending only a day and a half at the Safari Lodge. I hung up the phone and was now fully awake. I realized that I’d spent more time in the air than I had on the ground. But when things couldn’t get any worse, they did. I got another phone call from the travel agency and was told that Erika and my return tickets to the U.S. had been adjusted and through some internal error, our business class seats out of Amsterdam had been switched to coach seats. The only thing that had kept me sane throughout this whole ordeal was the thought of returning home in comfort after another ten-hour flight to Portland.
A question reverberated in my brain. Do I go on or just stay put in the Amsterdam hotel waiting from Erika to return on her way back to the States? Somehow, I had remained committed even with memories of the shattered mirror and my husband’s disparaging words filling my thoughts. I found myself hoping someone in Johannesburg would get sick or miss their flight, just so I could claim an empty seat on the plane to Richards Bay. Morning came and I headed downstairs for breakfast totting my useless computer bag, now convinced that the only wild animals I would ever see in my lifetime lived in the Portland zoo.
I made a point of arriving at the airport three hours before my flight, since my travel agent assured me there were always last-minute cancellations. The KLM agent glanced at all my new pages and stamped one of the original old pages. I checked in and was amazed to discover that my economy seat from Amsterdam to Johannesburg had been upgraded to first class. Was there a mistake? No mention was made when I checked in. Things were looking up. With a little time on my hands, I struggled with fifteen-minute increments on an airport computer to check in with South Africa Airlines to find out if my good fortune was continuing. Unfortunately, the flight to Richards Bay was still full, but an airline agent informed me that I could wait list on my flight before the scheduled departure at 8:35am. Wait a minute! When did the time change from 9:55am to 8:35am, which was what my travel agent had quoted? Then I’m told that if I want to take a chance on the only available flight to Richards Bay, I’d need to be at the South Africa Airlines ticket counter by 7:15am the following morning.
I convinced myself that a miracle could happen. A seat could become available. I decided to weigh my options and board my flight to Johannesburg once again – believing the third time was a charm. Approaching the immigration counter after flying another eleven hours, I glance around hoping not to encounter the same woman who had flagged me – sending me on my boomerang excursion. When I reached the only free clerk available, this woman was so engrossed with flirting with a male officer that she barely glanced at my passport before applying a visa sticker on one of my old pages yet again. I ended up walking away perplexed and headed for the currency exchange counter to acquire African money. The clerk there told me that it wasn’t safe to walk around anywhere in Johannesburg and I should take a taxi to my airport hotel. Following her directions, I waved for a cab, rode around the block and was charged $20. In the morning, I was up by 5am to make sure that I got to the South African check-in counter early enough to add my name to the wait list, only to discover that my hotel was actually attached to the airport and a mere five-minute walk.
From 6:15am to 8:15am, I ran back and forth from counter to counter trying to secure a seat on board, but to no avail. One English gentleman procured the jump seat at an extra cost, but I was told “48…48…that’s all we put on plane.” I was about to walk away defeated and head back to my hotel again when a thought suddenly occurred to me. Why not try another city? Maybe I could fly to the closest location to Richards Bay and get a message to the lodge driver to go there instead. I was desperate and out of options at this point. What would it hurt to take a risk?
I ran to the purchase ticket counter, paid another $250 and was informed that I had ten minutes to reach my departure gate to Durban, which according to the agent was only one hour away from Richards Bay. I realized that I didn’t have time to call the lodge to head off my driver. I looked around for an honest looking face and gave a young man a phone number and 200 rand to place a call for me. I could only pray that he was as honest as I hoped. Once on board, I opened the airline magazine and started to worry about the distance from Durban to Richards Bay on the map. Asking a fellow passenger, I was informed that Richards Bay was a two-hour drive from Durban, which didn’t account for the distance to the lodge. If the driver didn’t get the message, I would be left in an even worst situation.
I was determined to keep positive thoughts. To my delight, as I exited the plane, I spotted a man holding a sign for me. And as it turned out, the drive to Richards Bay and the lodge became a three and half hour bouncing trip in the back seat of a dusty cab. My mental complaints waned, however, upon seeing metal shanties along the road and people carrying water jugs on their heads. I realized that my hardships were only inconveniences. I could enjoy the day and a half that I had left on my vacation and then return home a much wiser, confident and experienced traveler.
A glass of champagne and two outings into the wild later, Erika and I were heading back to the Richards Bay airport preparing to return to Amsterdam. Another eleven hours behind me, we passed through customs with stamps on the same original pages yet again. After two days recuperating in Amsterdam, Erika and I headed to the airport excited to know that we’d be flying back to Portland first class all the way. When we arrived, an hour and a half before our flight on KLM #91, however, my passport wouldn’t allow us to check in for our boarding passes. I was told to get into line for assistance and after agents repeatedly ran into problems pulling up a non-existent reservation number, we were instructed to get into another line and to speak to someone in ticket sales.
With forty minutes to go before boarding, the KLM agent couldn’t figure out what was wrong with our tickets. We somehow had three reservations and no record of any ticket purchases. This sales agent worked for over an hour (as our flight departed) trying to remedy our situation, which could have involved re-purchasing our expensive airline tickets on my maxed out credit card that was still shaking from all the unplanned hotel and airline ticket expenses I incurred. This agent worked diligently and finally located a record with all my mileage. She arranged for us to catch the only flight from Amsterdam to Portland that day via Seattle – which was leaving in twenty minutes. Running all the way to the gate, we discovered that one of us was in business class and the other in coach. Erika volunteered the upgrade and we finally made it to the States after another ten-hour flight. But our problems still didn’t go away.
When Erika got on-line, she discovered that all the flights to Portland from Seattle were booked with the exception of a few seats on a Horizon flight that was scheduled to depart three hours after our arrival. We took the reservations and after landing, we were escorted by a Northwest agent to our gate to wait out our delay. After this final flight, we arrived safely back at the Portland International Airport. I almost kissed the ground to be finally home again. To this day, I cringe every time I think about this trip and whenever I hear someone planning his or her next vacation to Africa.
Wowzers!!
Since Armada is an avid writer and has books listed on Goodreads, I just had to share this amazing review she sent to me after reading an advance copy of Buried Threads. Now if all of my reviews were this good... :)
"If you happen to see Lara Croft, Indiana Jones, and Robert Langdon in line with food stamps, you can thank Kaylin McFarren's Buried Threads for putting them out of work. Instead meet Rachel and Chase, treasure hunting partners and lovers who are vastly unprepared for what awaits them in the perilous streets of Japan. There is no misdirection and no lucid confusion at all throughout the story as to who is good, and who is bad. Instead Kaylin McFarren brazenly lays out all her cards - but the brilliance of Buried Threads lies in the cards Ms. McFarren has hidden up her sleeve.
Although the novel is told through rotating points of view, giving you a perfect 360 of what is going on, Rachel stood out as the true protagonist as she arrives in Japan to join her boyfriend and fellow treasure hunter, Chase, in a search for a select set of swords. The yakuza set the story on fire, tracing every step and making their presence known with every single page as they watch Rachel and Chase in their quest. Guided by Shinzo, a psychic Buddhist monk, and swordswoman Yuki they embark on a mission that would make even hardest of tomb raiders reach for a pair of Huggies. Add in the complications of organized crime and the inexplicable, and you'll soon learn their task is for only the bravest of souls.
Ms. McFarren has handed you a front row seat to Japanese culture and an introduction to the dangerous world of the yazuka; adorned with the vibrant addition of geishas and revenge schemes, peppered with spirits and close calls underwater, then finally sprinkled with a dash of toe-curling romance. There isn't a frivolous moment to be found in over 300 pages, and neither are you given the opportunity to breathe. Just as soon as it's been figured out, everything changes and you're whisked away even deeper into this eccentric world. There is more than just treasure at stake as Rachel and Chase race to find the swords. Instead the entire fate of Japan rests in their hands.
Ms. McFarren comes off as intelligent and knowledgeable in her quest to share this story. She also manages to take a foreign world and paint a visual picture for even the most unacquainted of paper-and-ink travelers. As I understand Buried Threads follows the events of Severed Threads, but easily stands on its own without needing to read the other installment - except after reading this, I just might have to. After I read Buried Threads again." – Armada West, author of Undefeated
"If you happen to see Lara Croft, Indiana Jones, and Robert Langdon in line with food stamps, you can thank Kaylin McFarren's Buried Threads for putting them out of work. Instead meet Rachel and Chase, treasure hunting partners and lovers who are vastly unprepared for what awaits them in the perilous streets of Japan. There is no misdirection and no lucid confusion at all throughout the story as to who is good, and who is bad. Instead Kaylin McFarren brazenly lays out all her cards - but the brilliance of Buried Threads lies in the cards Ms. McFarren has hidden up her sleeve.
Although the novel is told through rotating points of view, giving you a perfect 360 of what is going on, Rachel stood out as the true protagonist as she arrives in Japan to join her boyfriend and fellow treasure hunter, Chase, in a search for a select set of swords. The yakuza set the story on fire, tracing every step and making their presence known with every single page as they watch Rachel and Chase in their quest. Guided by Shinzo, a psychic Buddhist monk, and swordswoman Yuki they embark on a mission that would make even hardest of tomb raiders reach for a pair of Huggies. Add in the complications of organized crime and the inexplicable, and you'll soon learn their task is for only the bravest of souls.
Ms. McFarren has handed you a front row seat to Japanese culture and an introduction to the dangerous world of the yazuka; adorned with the vibrant addition of geishas and revenge schemes, peppered with spirits and close calls underwater, then finally sprinkled with a dash of toe-curling romance. There isn't a frivolous moment to be found in over 300 pages, and neither are you given the opportunity to breathe. Just as soon as it's been figured out, everything changes and you're whisked away even deeper into this eccentric world. There is more than just treasure at stake as Rachel and Chase race to find the swords. Instead the entire fate of Japan rests in their hands.
Ms. McFarren comes off as intelligent and knowledgeable in her quest to share this story. She also manages to take a foreign world and paint a visual picture for even the most unacquainted of paper-and-ink travelers. As I understand Buried Threads follows the events of Severed Threads, but easily stands on its own without needing to read the other installment - except after reading this, I just might have to. After I read Buried Threads again." – Armada West, author of Undefeated
Linda Yoshida writes the book on giving
Front Page - Portland Tribune, Clackamas Review, Oregon City News
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
Written by Ellen Spitaleri
Although Linda Yoshida may not call herself a Renaissance woman, it is easy to think of her that way. She used to own a large art gallery and is still a major supporter of the arts, and she is an author, who has published three books, with another one on the way.
But more importantly, Yoshida, along with her husband, businessman Junki Yoshida, supports communities throughout the metro area with several charities, especially the Soulful Giving Foundation.
Linda Yoshida’s father died from colon cancer, and during the process of his death, she kept a journal, which provided the basis for her first book, “Flaherty’s Crossing.” She donated 100 percent of the proceeds from the sale of that book to colon cancer research.
Then she visited Randall Children’s Hospital at Legacy Emanuel and found out about the Cancer Center for Children. The visit made her realize she needed “to spread out and do more for cancer research. I would love to see treatment start with children. So I sat down with my husband and we came up with the Soulful Giving Foundation; after all, giving comes from the heart and soul.”
The Yoshidas started the foundation five years ago, and the result was an event called the Artful Giving Blanket Concert, held on the grounds of their home in Troutdale. “It combines all the artistic elements — music, visual arts, food and wine. Since everything I do is about the arts, it seemed like a natural connection,” she said. Guests pay $50 for a ticket to the grounds, set up a blanket and enjoy everything happening around them in a forested, natural setting.
“This is an opportunity for the community to come together, and 100 percent of the proceeds benefit Randall Children’s Hospital at Legacy Emanuel and Providence Cancer Research Center,” Yoshida said.
And what does she like best about giving back to her community? “I have received a number of letters from people who appreciate what we do. They see we want to help them. It is easy to just write a check and donate money, but with the foundation, we see people coming together and that is so much grander.” She added that she appreciates the support she gets from board members, all of whom have a connection to cancer in some way, and from more than 100 volunteers. “We welcome volunteers and sponsors. We love to see people affected by cancer find an avenue to help others, and dedicate a contribution to someone they’ve lost,” Yoshida said.
Although she and her husband are Troutdale residents, the board members for the Soulful Giving Foundation come from across the tri-county area, including Angela Fox, publisher of the Clackamas Review and Oregon City News. J. Mark Garber, president of Clackamas-based Pamplin Media Group, Gov. John Kitzhaber, Metro Council President Tom Hughes and U.S. Sens. Jeff Merkley and Ron Wyden, who are honorary chairmen of the foundation.
When she sat down to write “Flaherty’s Crossing,” her first book, Yoshida decided to come up with a pseudonym that would honor both her own Irish heritage and her daughter, Happy Valley resident Kristina McMorris, who also is an author. Yoshida chose to write under the name Kaylin McFarren; the Kay is based on the letter K, for Kristina, and Yoshida’s own maiden name, McFarren. “I am 100 percent Irish — both my parents’ families emigrated from Ireland,” she said, noting that the name is also a dedication to her aunt and her great-grandmother, who also were writers.
“Flaherty’s Crossing” is based on Yoshida’s own father’s death; it is a novel about love, loss and the power of forgiveness when a young woman, who is estranged from her father, hears his deathbed confession. “I had a strained relationship with my father, and we tried to connect before his death, but he passed away before we had that opportunity. So I thought about a character whose father comes to see her as a ghost, to complete those issues in life,” she said. As she set about writing her second book, Yoshida made a decision to self-publish her work, noting that she can now be her own boss and write when she feels like writing.
Both her two most current books, “Severed Threads” and “Buried Threads,” fit into the romantic suspense category and have sold so well that she is now working on a third book in the series, “Banished Threads.” In “Severed Threads” we meet deep-sea diver Rachel Lyons, who is called upon by a museum director to assist Chase Cohen, her former love interest, with the recovery of a cursed relic from a sunken Chinese merchant ship. She has no intention of cooperating, until her brother is kidnapped by a drug-dealing gangster. In order to save him and gain control over her own life, Rachel must not only overcome her greatest fears, but also relive the circumstances that led to her father’s death in a diving accident.
In the most current book, “Buried Threads,” published in October, readers meet the treasure-hunting duo again. “They have been invited to Japan to look for a sunken treasure, but this job is much more complex and dangerous than anything they have done before. Shinzo, a Buddhist monk, tells them if the treasure isn’t found, then the destruction of Japan will happen,” Yoshida said. Other elements that come into play are beautiful, exotic women, some of whom can fight their way out of most situations, Japanese gangsters, hungry sharks and eels, restless spirits, and lots of obstacles that Chase and Rachel must overcome to survive.
Yoshida noted that 20 percent of the proceeds from these two books will be donated to children’s cancer research.
Yoshida’s third book in the series, “Banished Threads,” is going to be more of a mystery-thriller. In this book, her duo will go to England to visit Rachel’s uncle and will become embroiled in an art theft.
The word “threads” ties in to all of her books for a reason, she said, since Asians believe that love and people are connected by threads, and if you lose someone, the thread is severed. But, if you choose to, you can keep the memory alive, or you can move on and develop a new relationship.
Her biggest thrill is to see her books in print: “It is so exciting. I feel accomplished that I started something and finished it.”
To read excerpts from or purchase Linda Yoshida’s books, visit her website at kaylinmcfarren.com. Her books also are available at Amazon.com.
Wednesday, 11 December 2013
Written by Ellen Spitaleri
Although Linda Yoshida may not call herself a Renaissance woman, it is easy to think of her that way. She used to own a large art gallery and is still a major supporter of the arts, and she is an author, who has published three books, with another one on the way.
But more importantly, Yoshida, along with her husband, businessman Junki Yoshida, supports communities throughout the metro area with several charities, especially the Soulful Giving Foundation.
Linda Yoshida’s father died from colon cancer, and during the process of his death, she kept a journal, which provided the basis for her first book, “Flaherty’s Crossing.” She donated 100 percent of the proceeds from the sale of that book to colon cancer research.
Then she visited Randall Children’s Hospital at Legacy Emanuel and found out about the Cancer Center for Children. The visit made her realize she needed “to spread out and do more for cancer research. I would love to see treatment start with children. So I sat down with my husband and we came up with the Soulful Giving Foundation; after all, giving comes from the heart and soul.”
The Yoshidas started the foundation five years ago, and the result was an event called the Artful Giving Blanket Concert, held on the grounds of their home in Troutdale. “It combines all the artistic elements — music, visual arts, food and wine. Since everything I do is about the arts, it seemed like a natural connection,” she said. Guests pay $50 for a ticket to the grounds, set up a blanket and enjoy everything happening around them in a forested, natural setting.
“This is an opportunity for the community to come together, and 100 percent of the proceeds benefit Randall Children’s Hospital at Legacy Emanuel and Providence Cancer Research Center,” Yoshida said.
And what does she like best about giving back to her community? “I have received a number of letters from people who appreciate what we do. They see we want to help them. It is easy to just write a check and donate money, but with the foundation, we see people coming together and that is so much grander.” She added that she appreciates the support she gets from board members, all of whom have a connection to cancer in some way, and from more than 100 volunteers. “We welcome volunteers and sponsors. We love to see people affected by cancer find an avenue to help others, and dedicate a contribution to someone they’ve lost,” Yoshida said.
Although she and her husband are Troutdale residents, the board members for the Soulful Giving Foundation come from across the tri-county area, including Angela Fox, publisher of the Clackamas Review and Oregon City News. J. Mark Garber, president of Clackamas-based Pamplin Media Group, Gov. John Kitzhaber, Metro Council President Tom Hughes and U.S. Sens. Jeff Merkley and Ron Wyden, who are honorary chairmen of the foundation.
When she sat down to write “Flaherty’s Crossing,” her first book, Yoshida decided to come up with a pseudonym that would honor both her own Irish heritage and her daughter, Happy Valley resident Kristina McMorris, who also is an author. Yoshida chose to write under the name Kaylin McFarren; the Kay is based on the letter K, for Kristina, and Yoshida’s own maiden name, McFarren. “I am 100 percent Irish — both my parents’ families emigrated from Ireland,” she said, noting that the name is also a dedication to her aunt and her great-grandmother, who also were writers.
“Flaherty’s Crossing” is based on Yoshida’s own father’s death; it is a novel about love, loss and the power of forgiveness when a young woman, who is estranged from her father, hears his deathbed confession. “I had a strained relationship with my father, and we tried to connect before his death, but he passed away before we had that opportunity. So I thought about a character whose father comes to see her as a ghost, to complete those issues in life,” she said. As she set about writing her second book, Yoshida made a decision to self-publish her work, noting that she can now be her own boss and write when she feels like writing.
Both her two most current books, “Severed Threads” and “Buried Threads,” fit into the romantic suspense category and have sold so well that she is now working on a third book in the series, “Banished Threads.” In “Severed Threads” we meet deep-sea diver Rachel Lyons, who is called upon by a museum director to assist Chase Cohen, her former love interest, with the recovery of a cursed relic from a sunken Chinese merchant ship. She has no intention of cooperating, until her brother is kidnapped by a drug-dealing gangster. In order to save him and gain control over her own life, Rachel must not only overcome her greatest fears, but also relive the circumstances that led to her father’s death in a diving accident.
In the most current book, “Buried Threads,” published in October, readers meet the treasure-hunting duo again. “They have been invited to Japan to look for a sunken treasure, but this job is much more complex and dangerous than anything they have done before. Shinzo, a Buddhist monk, tells them if the treasure isn’t found, then the destruction of Japan will happen,” Yoshida said. Other elements that come into play are beautiful, exotic women, some of whom can fight their way out of most situations, Japanese gangsters, hungry sharks and eels, restless spirits, and lots of obstacles that Chase and Rachel must overcome to survive.
Yoshida noted that 20 percent of the proceeds from these two books will be donated to children’s cancer research.
Yoshida’s third book in the series, “Banished Threads,” is going to be more of a mystery-thriller. In this book, her duo will go to England to visit Rachel’s uncle and will become embroiled in an art theft.
The word “threads” ties in to all of her books for a reason, she said, since Asians believe that love and people are connected by threads, and if you lose someone, the thread is severed. But, if you choose to, you can keep the memory alive, or you can move on and develop a new relationship.
Her biggest thrill is to see her books in print: “It is so exciting. I feel accomplished that I started something and finished it.”
To read excerpts from or purchase Linda Yoshida’s books, visit her website at kaylinmcfarren.com. Her books also are available at Amazon.com.
FREE GIVEAWAY!!!
Just completed an audio book for Severed Threads - the first adventure in the Threads series - with John Jaret, an incredibly talented actor who has the ability to make stories come alive. As a result, this new format is now available at Amazon and iTunes, and Audible is also giving away 25 FREE copies!! All you have to do is send your contact information to kaylin@kaylinmcfarren.com so that I can provide you with an easy access key. This freebie would make a great gift for yourself or someone in your life who enjoys listening to stories filled with suspense, action and romance. For more information about this story and the availability of other audiobooks, be sure to visit: http://www.audible.com/pd/Mysteries-T...
Thanks!! Kaylin
Thanks!! Kaylin
Great Advance Review on Upcoming Release!
The saga of Chase Cohen and Rachel Lyons continues in book three of the Thread Series! The inimitable treasure-hunting business partners sail to England in the hope of asking Paul Lyons, Rachel’s uncle, for his blessing. Rachel, on the other hand, is not only dealing with morning sickness atop thoughts of her soon-approaching marriage, she is also riddled with a flurry of “what-ifs.” Chase’s relationship with Paul is rocky at best. Yet that pales in comparison to the serious family issues—more like skeletons in the closet—that are at stake in the Lyons household, especially when Sloan, Paul’s step-granddaughter, and Rachel are kidnapped.
Mistress storyteller and award-winning author Kaylin McFarren spins another action-packed adventure shrouded in mystery in her latest sequel. McFarren opens with a supposed tryst that morphs into an unexplained death. Grabbing her audience’s full attention, McFarren quickly shifts gears to the emotional and sexual tension brewing between Chase and Rachel, her two featured characters. Critical to McFarren’s writing style is how she slyly weaves in an array of colorfully complex characters—many of which function as foils for the purpose of building her dynamic cast—while undergirding her story with themes of the lovers’ anxiety and their unfolding relationship. Equally critical is the inclusion of a handful of supportive characters that play distinctive roles in the development of both the storyline and series.
Lightly punctuating her third person narrative with omniscient viewpoints, McFarren provides readers with windows that take snapshots into her character’s thought processes and inner turmoil, especially when she places them within life-threatening scenes. Although the bulk of her story is grippingly fast-paced, McFarren keeps readers engaged by throwing in a variety of sexual scenes that range from steamy to downright disturbing, as well as off-the-wall unexpected moments. Great “unexpected” examples include Chase inadvertently overhearing a sexually skewed hypnotic session and artistic representatives attending a posh dinner with bags on their heads, just to name a few.
Amid chapters replete with alternating character scenes, plenty of un-clichéd scenes, and romance—all set within suspenseful environs, McFarren’s tale would be incomplete without the infusion of a bit of history. Inspired by her love of the arts as well as owning and operating her own art gallery, McFarren aptly sprinkles in elements of art, giving particular attention to the works of the eccentric abstract painter Morris Graves. Also of interest is the way she portrays aspects of London, such as the infamous Soho district.
As with Severed Threads and Buried Threads, book three closes on a cliffhanger—one that indubitably will keep readers on edge anticipating its sequel. Well written and absolutely enthralling, Banished Threads is a wonderful addition to McFarren’s award-winning series!
Pacific Book Review by Anita Lock
Mistress storyteller and award-winning author Kaylin McFarren spins another action-packed adventure shrouded in mystery in her latest sequel. McFarren opens with a supposed tryst that morphs into an unexplained death. Grabbing her audience’s full attention, McFarren quickly shifts gears to the emotional and sexual tension brewing between Chase and Rachel, her two featured characters. Critical to McFarren’s writing style is how she slyly weaves in an array of colorfully complex characters—many of which function as foils for the purpose of building her dynamic cast—while undergirding her story with themes of the lovers’ anxiety and their unfolding relationship. Equally critical is the inclusion of a handful of supportive characters that play distinctive roles in the development of both the storyline and series.
Lightly punctuating her third person narrative with omniscient viewpoints, McFarren provides readers with windows that take snapshots into her character’s thought processes and inner turmoil, especially when she places them within life-threatening scenes. Although the bulk of her story is grippingly fast-paced, McFarren keeps readers engaged by throwing in a variety of sexual scenes that range from steamy to downright disturbing, as well as off-the-wall unexpected moments. Great “unexpected” examples include Chase inadvertently overhearing a sexually skewed hypnotic session and artistic representatives attending a posh dinner with bags on their heads, just to name a few.
Amid chapters replete with alternating character scenes, plenty of un-clichéd scenes, and romance—all set within suspenseful environs, McFarren’s tale would be incomplete without the infusion of a bit of history. Inspired by her love of the arts as well as owning and operating her own art gallery, McFarren aptly sprinkles in elements of art, giving particular attention to the works of the eccentric abstract painter Morris Graves. Also of interest is the way she portrays aspects of London, such as the infamous Soho district.
As with Severed Threads and Buried Threads, book three closes on a cliffhanger—one that indubitably will keep readers on edge anticipating its sequel. Well written and absolutely enthralling, Banished Threads is a wonderful addition to McFarren’s award-winning series!
Pacific Book Review by Anita Lock
Midwest Book Review's Appraisal
It’s been rumored that Banished Threads concludes a vivid mystery series revolving around sleuths, spies, and treasure hunts: so those who have relished Kaylin McFarren’s prior books should be prepared to read slowly, carefully, and enthusiastically, because this final book will end the series unless Kaylin surprises us all.
That said, Banished Threads should not be missed by either prior fans or newcomers, and twists the threads of family ties to their breaking points, as it uncovers stolen paintings, a missing granddaughter, an uncle accused of murder, and a plot to destroy a family.
Rachel and Chase have their hands more than full, especially since Rachel faces building her own future family circle, which may become endangered by her actions.
Taunt scenes of confrontation between characters, underlying issues of trust, forthcoming nuptials changed by unexpected voyages, and the terror of a kidnapped woman are all wound into atmospheric descriptions of setting and psyche alike. But it’s the psychological depth that keeps the protagonists filled with life and three-dimensional personalities: “He’d been protecting her from his psycho partner in the next room—a man who would beat her to death if given the chance. She slowly opened the door, exposing her fears and vulnerability. Then she slid down to the floor and stared straight ahead, waiting like a mouse in a trap.”
These revelations, liberally peppered throughout a story of danger and motivation, keep the plot moving quite a step above the usual genre mystery: “Where are my friends? She wondered. Maybe they never existed outside of her imagination. They were as phony and wicked as the fairy tales she had once believed in—the fairy tales her language teacher had enjoyed reading in boarding school and had cruelly destroyed the night he snuck into her room. It suddenly dawned on her that, no matter where destiny took her, she would always be caged, always be trapped in her childhood nightmares. Begging for love, begging for power. Begging to wake up and be free.”
Mystery and thriller readers will find this level of description setsBanished Threads apart from more singular plots as it evolves into a gripping story of life and death told on many levels, using real living, breathing protagonists whose actions and thoughts move beyond the art and intrigue circles they traverse.
Quite simply, Banished Threads is an emotion-charged ride through a series of close encounters that are as psychologically gripping as they are filled with action.
Mystery and thriller audiences are in for a real treat. – D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review Banished Threads
That said, Banished Threads should not be missed by either prior fans or newcomers, and twists the threads of family ties to their breaking points, as it uncovers stolen paintings, a missing granddaughter, an uncle accused of murder, and a plot to destroy a family.
Rachel and Chase have their hands more than full, especially since Rachel faces building her own future family circle, which may become endangered by her actions.
Taunt scenes of confrontation between characters, underlying issues of trust, forthcoming nuptials changed by unexpected voyages, and the terror of a kidnapped woman are all wound into atmospheric descriptions of setting and psyche alike. But it’s the psychological depth that keeps the protagonists filled with life and three-dimensional personalities: “He’d been protecting her from his psycho partner in the next room—a man who would beat her to death if given the chance. She slowly opened the door, exposing her fears and vulnerability. Then she slid down to the floor and stared straight ahead, waiting like a mouse in a trap.”
These revelations, liberally peppered throughout a story of danger and motivation, keep the plot moving quite a step above the usual genre mystery: “Where are my friends? She wondered. Maybe they never existed outside of her imagination. They were as phony and wicked as the fairy tales she had once believed in—the fairy tales her language teacher had enjoyed reading in boarding school and had cruelly destroyed the night he snuck into her room. It suddenly dawned on her that, no matter where destiny took her, she would always be caged, always be trapped in her childhood nightmares. Begging for love, begging for power. Begging to wake up and be free.”
Mystery and thriller readers will find this level of description setsBanished Threads apart from more singular plots as it evolves into a gripping story of life and death told on many levels, using real living, breathing protagonists whose actions and thoughts move beyond the art and intrigue circles they traverse.
Quite simply, Banished Threads is an emotion-charged ride through a series of close encounters that are as psychologically gripping as they are filled with action.
Mystery and thriller audiences are in for a real treat. – D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review Banished Threads
Great News!!
YAY!!! Buzzfeed picked Banished Threads as one of the top seven books to read in 2016! Check out this list by visiting: http://www.buzzfeed.com/rebecas486c54...
RT Review for Banished Threads
Romantic Suspense
BANISHED THREADS
Kaylin McFarren
4 stars
HOT
Readers will get quite a thrill from McFarren’s latest Threads novel! Chase and Rachel are back in this fast-paced romantic suspense, based in an art gallery in England. It’s full of family drama, stolen art, kidnapping and even more exciting sex between the globe-trotting couple. The story moves along at a brisk pace with plenty of peripheral characters to keep things interesting.
SUMMARY: Treasure hunters Rachel Lyons and Chase Cohen sail to London looking to secure her uncle’s blessing for their upcoming nuptials. Pregnant, Rachel is starting to have second thoughts about the future. Those doubts take a back seat when they arrive in England and priceless artwork is stolen from Rachel’s uncle’s art gallery. The drama skyrockets once her uncle’s granddaughter is kidnapped and Rachel and Chase are dragged into a dangerous, life-threatening quagmire. (CreativeEdgePublishing, Mar., 259 pp., $9.95)
Susan Roberts, Romantic Times Review Source
Kaylin McFarren
BANISHED THREADS
Kaylin McFarren
4 stars
HOT
Readers will get quite a thrill from McFarren’s latest Threads novel! Chase and Rachel are back in this fast-paced romantic suspense, based in an art gallery in England. It’s full of family drama, stolen art, kidnapping and even more exciting sex between the globe-trotting couple. The story moves along at a brisk pace with plenty of peripheral characters to keep things interesting.
SUMMARY: Treasure hunters Rachel Lyons and Chase Cohen sail to London looking to secure her uncle’s blessing for their upcoming nuptials. Pregnant, Rachel is starting to have second thoughts about the future. Those doubts take a back seat when they arrive in England and priceless artwork is stolen from Rachel’s uncle’s art gallery. The drama skyrockets once her uncle’s granddaughter is kidnapped and Rachel and Chase are dragged into a dangerous, life-threatening quagmire. (CreativeEdgePublishing, Mar., 259 pp., $9.95)
Susan Roberts, Romantic Times Review Source
Kaylin McFarren
FREE, FREE, FREE!!!
SEVERED THREADS, the first book in my THREADS Series is FREE right now on Amazon Kindle. Click the link below to download and enjoy Rachel and Chase's adventure of a lifetime tonight!!
http://www.amazon.com/Severed-Threads...
IN THE MIDST OF IT ALL
Han Solo once said, "You know, sometimes I amaze even myself.” I guess I could honestly say today has turned out to be one of those times. With the next installment in my Threads series officially underway, I found myself paddling out and surfing a creative wave this morning, completing four difficult chapters in a matter of hours. I could attribute this sudden burst of creative energy to the fact that I love writing thrillers, especially when there are suspects for a gruesome murder popping up everywhere or, in my case, on multiple ship levels. After writing three books in my Threads series and developing a band of deeply flawed characters, it's great fun to reveal a side to their nature you never expected to read. So with that subtle hint shared along with a rousing mental "rah", it's back to work for me, writing another action-packed adventure that will hopefully be as engaging to read as it is to write. If all goes well and according to carefully laid plans, Twisted Threads will make an appearance on book sites before the first snowfall in December.
Kaylin McFarren
Kaylin McFarren
