Wandering CoCo

Yikes! (A Sidenote)

2009-09-18T19:27:00.003-04:00

It has been many, many months since my last post. My trip continued on, unbounded, into the wilds of Asia. My blogging did not. This is my apology for being a total slacker, for abandoning my blogging responsibilities, for doing all these fantastic things in wondrous Asian places and not writing about it here at all. Mostly I've disappointed myself, but hey, I'm throwing this apology out to the world at large anyway.

Suddenly, the inevitable has happened: 6 months have passed, I'm back in the States, the trip is over. >sigh< I am compelled to write about everything that went down in the Far East and do some serious catching up. So I will. My stories & photos will appear here, much belated, but true to form. Dates will not match up, inevitably things will be left out, but this blog will be an accurate representation of ALL my travels, damnit. So stay tuned.

I would, however, like to take a quick moment to blame China. There are scores of excellent, inexpensive, high-speed internet cafes littered around China that, aside from the haze of stale cigarette smoke that hangs in the air, have only one flaw: they block access to thousands and thousands of websites. My blog is one of them. (Why?!?) The Great Firewall of China is no myth, and is a very efficient system for censoring boatloads of useful & unbiased information from its billion citizens. I could access Facebook in China for exactly one week of the seven I spent there. In any case, I was robbed of time to update this blog because I quite literally couldn't even get near it. Damn you, China.

No No No No No... NO!

2009-06-12T03:14:00.007-04:00

Immediately upon our arrival in Cambodia, we were confronted with what would become one of the many themes of the next 2 months: how to say "NO," over and over and over again. This is, of course, thanks to the plentiful touts & other characters, endlessly offering up whatever possible item or service you just might fork over some cash for.

It began, in a bad way, in Poipet. After getting our passports stamped, we found ourselves surrounded by a varitable sh*tstorm of touts. All were wearing suits (madness in this heat!), wielding "official badges" (ha!), and offering insanely overpriced transport (do I LOOK like a moron, or are YOU just one?). After the whole thermometer incident, I'd had it. I looked at Tim with utter despair, at one point covering my ears with my hands and shaking my head. I couldn't do much but walk away. Tim handled things well, laughing at people and joking around, but eventually the only thing either of us wanted to do was walk away. So we did. Amazingly, one tout followed us a half kilometer down the road, first on foot, then on a motorbike, then in a taxi! Fool. By that point, we were resolved not to spend one thin dime with those bastards. Graciously, an honest taxi driver came by and took us on to Battambang for the RIGHT price, we left that little mongrel in our dust, and in a speedy two hours, we were far from Poipet in lovely Battambang.

I purposely came to Battambang to experience a "real" Cambodian city, and it was a good call. We didn't do anything all too exciting in our time there (being burned out on the whole journey), but had a nice time strolling around its streets and getting a real, and much better, feel for Cambodia. What we found were delightful people, full of smiles & cheer & grace, who were nothing but friendly and helpful. Sure, we had to say "no" plenty of times, but it wasn't so bad.

The real "no" game began in Siem Reap. I knew it was coming, Siem Reap being a huge tourist town, and it wasn't even quite as bad as I'm imagined. But more or less every few feet, you had to say no to some tuk-tuk driver, massage parlor lady, or kid selling postcards. I wouldn't have minded so much, except that these people began to come up to our tables, while we were eating, offering us random crap as we chewed away. My "nos" became a tad more firm at these times. Eventually, we did have to say "yes" to a tuk-tuk driver, when it was finally time to go see the legendary Angkor Wat.

Journey Into Cambodia

2009-06-12T02:36:00.012-04:00

After leaving Vang Vieng, we had our eyes on the prize: Cambodia. But we were way up in Northern Laos. Originally, we thought about heading into Cambodia via Southern Laos, bussing it all the way to Siem Reap. Then we started looking at maps, and realizing the actual distance required to travel this route, and it wasn't looking good. Plus, knowing full well the realities of bus travel in Laos -- meaning that a few hundred kilometers that should take mere hours take over half a day, if you're lucky -- we just weren't feeling it. But flying was a financial non-option. The Thailand trains were calling our name.

So back to Thailand we went. We skipped over Vientiane, not wanting to waste any time rambling about in a random city (with no climbing in sight). We spent an entire day sitting on several different buses to make it from Vang Vieng to Vientiane, then from there over and across the Thai border. I knew we'd only be spending a couple quick days there, but as always, it was a tremendous delight to be back in Thailand. Within seconds of crossing the border, I could smell the fish sauce frying with garlic, chili, and sweetness wafting through the air -- the distinctly Thai aroma -- and my empty belly was rumbling away. We killed the next 24 hours in Nong Khai, eating our way around the city, until it was time to catch the train.

Out of sheer excess and a hefty dose of curiosity, we opted for the first class cabin on the train. It was certainly a first for me (First Class?! Usually an unheard of travel term!), and my, what fun it was. We had a whole air-conditioned cabin to ourselves, a plush little room with loads of space and even free bottled water. Fortunately I remembered to bring a couple beers along so we could celebrate properly.

Early the next morning, we arrived in Bangkok. The Hualamphong station always amazes me ... for a huge train station in the middle of a huge city, you'd think it would be a crazy nightmare, but really it's a chill place and not entirely all too bad to spend a few hours in. We decided to keep the train a-movin' (literally) and bought an onward ticket to the Cambodian border. After feasting on Thai food one last time at a street vendor's stall in the sweaty mid-day heat, off we went.

The second train was decidedly worse. In fact, it was pretty awful. A 6 hour ride on hard plastic seats, crammed in with loads of other people, no A/C, and some serious train-chug-a-luggin' noise. My main mode of distraction came in the form of an ancient, pug-faced old man sitting in front of me, who between bouts of staring absent-mindedly at his hands & drinking from a Pepsi can rolling around on the floor, would whip out a comb and try to smooth down the few grey hairs left on his head that, inevitably, would get whipped around by the wind every time he put the thing down.

The next morning, it was time for the border. We had heard loads of nightmare stories about this particular border, Poipet, and fortunately had the insight to read up on all the scams at wikitravel.org beforehand. We made it through the tuk-tuk driver who tried to take us to a travel agent to get our visas beforehand (scam!), the guy at the Thai border who tried to get us to buy a visa beforehand (scam!), the guys on the Cambodian side trying to get us to buy a visa beforehand (scam!), the "official" border agent saying he must charge us a 100 baht fee to process our visas (scam!), and almost thought we'd made it scot-free. Then came the "Health Quarantine." We filled out a bullshit form, no problem, and then they wanted to take our temperatures... big problem. We thought it was a clear scam (suspisciously high temperature leads to bribe), but what was worse, we didn't want that disgusting, unclean ear thermometer anywhere near us. We bitched to high hell for about 15 minutes, yelling at people, wondering why the Cambodians weren't being tested but we were, refusing to acknowledge these so-called doctors' explanations, until finally a border "official" told Tim that if he wouldn't have his temperature taken then they'd have to go "have a talk" in a private room. Well, that did it. We cringed at the ear thermometer, but that was that. Naturally, we whippped out the hand sanitizer immediately (for the soiled ear), but before we knew it we were stamped into Cambodia.

Same Same But Different, Part II (Lao Lao)

2009-05-31T07:05:00.014-04:00

The last month has been some of the most rapidito traveling I've done in a long time. I've managed to bus my way through 4 different countries in the last 4 weeks, seeing & doing incredible things along the way (well... naturally). Anyway, that's my excuse for not keeping up very well with this here blog. But here I am trying. Accept my apologies, get over it, and let's get to it.

So after the inevitable departure from Ton Sai, I spent a quick week in Northern Thailand, revisiting the lovely city of Chiang Mai and the very fun rock climbing crag located nearby. Mostly we spent the week climbing, but it wouldn't be a visit to Chiang Mai without meeting up with old friends & hitting up the bars a little bit. I was sad to see that Chiang Mai's infamous "Rasta Bar" area has changed tremendously, no longer a bustling area of some three dozen bars, but a much more toned-down area of two dozen semi-okay bars at best. Sure, I found some nice spots to grab some overpriced buckets and even catch some tunes, but it surely wasn't the same rockin' reggae scene it once was.

Suddenly, the 30 day limit for Thailand was up again, and it was time for Laos. This time around, I did almost the same loop as 2007 but totally in reverse: Houay Xai - Luang Prabang - Vang Vieng - Vientiane. Starting in the border town of Houay Xai was an interesting choice, mostly because it presented only 2 options for the inevitably long journey to Luang Prabang. The first option was a two-day journey on a slow boat down the Mekong, which seemed to us overly touristy, overly expensive, and overly long. We opted for the bus, which was supposed to take only 8 (ha!) hours, but took in fact TWELVE. And so began our Series Of Bad Calls. Bad Calls #2-4 were having to stay in not one, not two, but FOUR different guesthouses in LP because it was so damn hot, we couldn't afford air-con (sigh), and just kept choosing the losers. Then of course, we sealed off our Bad Calls with ol' #5, which was choosing to ignore every travel agent that told us there was no local bus to Vang Vieng, going to the bus station ourselves, and then paying the exact same amount for an 8 hour ride in a total clunker that we would have spent to be in an air conditioned minivan. But it wasn't a total bust, because I finally got the see the Kuangsi waterfall, which was absolutely incredible. We spent the day swimming in its epic terraced pools and cooling off better than any stupid overpriced Luang Prabang A/C possibly could have.

Vang Vieng was instantly pretty awesome. Sadly, the actual town of VV is still the same death trap of identical touristy restaurants with zombied-out kids watching reruns of "Friends" played 24 hours a day on maximum volume. If anything, it's just bigger & more mind-numbing than 2 years ago. But that, clearly, is not why I returned to Vang Vieng (though I'd really been dying to catch up on all my early 90s Friends drama). It's for the shockingly gorgeous scenery all around, the lovely lazy river lifestyle, and the rock climbing.

Not surprisingly, this time around I did loads more climbing than before. In fact, it was 100% the focus of our time in VV, which shouldn't come as a shock to anyone who has paid any attention to my life in the last year. In 07, I'd only been to one of VV's crags. Little did I know that there are handfuls of crags all around! We spent every day except 2 climbing, and explored 4 different crags (one of them we even came back to again). The climbing was really fantastic, and it felt good to get back on the rock after the withdrawal of leaving Thailand. In reality, it'd only been a week, but it felt like forever! We even had the good fortune to meet up with Seth -- our stalagtite-dominating friend from Ton Sai (see previous post) -- and all climb together for a few days.

On our last day, we went back to a huge piece of beautiful limestone that we'd seen from the bus on the way into town. We found out that it had been recently bolted and was climbable, and decided to go for it. It was probably the most jungley crag I've ever seen -- the whole wall was covered in spider webs, the ground was covered in sketchy rocks & brush, swarms of butterflies surrounded us, lizards scattered around, and we even got snuck up on by a local machete-wielding dude who hung out and watched while he inspected our rock shoes. But it was pretty rad, the routes were beautiful, and it was definitely a new experience for me!

Go Deep

2009-05-21T00:37:00.011-04:00

Most of my days during my 3 weeks in Ton Sai went something like this:
- Wake up when it gets too unbearably hot to sleep any longer (usually about 9am, a good 2 to 3 hours after the power got shut off).
- Have breakfast of delicious banana pancakes at Green Valley Resort while swatting away mozzies.
Get climbing gear together, refill the water bottles, scope out a morning route.
Climb.
- Break for lunch and the way-too-intense-for-climbing mid-day heat. Generally this meant eating phenomenally delicious pad thai at Kruie Thai restaurant right on the beach for 70 Baht ($2).
- Spend the afternoon lounging on the beach, in the shade, perhaps quickly jumping on the slackline.
- Choose a new wall, and climb until it gets dark.
- Have beer at sunset.
- Return to bungalow of questionable integrity, take a cold (only option) shower to get rid of a phenomenal amount of grime, and head out for grub Thai dinner.
- Depending on the cash flow situation and plans for tomorrow, either go out for beers or chill and go to bed earlyish.
- Wake and repeat.

While most days more or less followed this tremendously enjoyable schedule, we diverted from the itinerary a few times. Unquestionable, one of the biggest highlights among these diversions was going Deep Water Soloing (DWS). DWS is where you hire a longtail boat for the day, and spend the day going out to funky-shaped islands, climbing the rock, and when finished, jumping directly into the water. Deep Water = a safe depth in which to jump off the rock into the warm turquoise Andaman Sea. Soloing = climbing, with only shoes on and nothing else, no ropes, no protection, following whatever lines you find suitable.

We had the good fortune to round up a fantastic group of hyper-enthusiastic North Americans, stoked on climbing & socializing & ready to make the absolute most of the day. Everyone climbed their hearts out all day long, while the rest of the crew not on the rock watched from the boat, cheering like a bunch of drunken high school kids in the 4th quarter of a tied game where the home team's about to push on to the championships.

Naturally, climbing wasn't the ONLY thing on the menu; there was plenty of drinking involved. We brought a nice stash of beers & flasks of Sangsom (Thai "whiskey"), and then took a break on the aptly-named Beer Island to suck down some cans of Chang and grub on some overpriced but still delicious food.

Inevitably, the climbing -- for the competitive & slightly intoxicated boys on the boat -- became a (how shall I say?) kind of "stick"-measuring competition for attainable height. A certain stalagtite, hanging a good 60 feet above the water, was selected as the goal, with each dude climbing higher and higher. "Well, I touched it, you touch it with TWO hands!" "OK, I touched it with TWO hands, you have to jump ONTO it!" Eventually, the stalagtite was not just touched but climbed onto and even higher up!! Seth, the grand champion, ended up about 90 feet off the water and jumped all the way down. Unfrickinreal.

It was a superb day. And timed just a few days before we sadly had to depart, it was a tasty icing to spread over the top of the delightful little cake that was our 3 weeks in Ton Sai.

Same Same But Different

2009-05-20T02:16:00.011-04:00

After wrapping up a quick hop & skip through China, it was back on to my familiar, beloved, delicious, and beautiful Thailand. This was my fifth trip into Thailand in the last 3 years... proof enough of my true feelings for the place. I started doing the math and realized that, in fact, Thailand is second only to the U.S. in places where I've spent most of my time. It's now even lapped Spain, where I studied abroad for 4 months way back in '04.

It's hard to describe the feeling I get each time I return to Thailand. Knowing exactly what's going on, how to get around, how to bargain, where to sleep, what combination of delicious delights will make up my meals for the day... those are all lovely, comforting things to feel in any country upon return. But Thailand's got something different. It's the smiling people, the epic sunsets, the smell of fish sauce + garlic + chilis, it's the Tom Yum Kung and Som Tam and Pad Thai Tofu, the rainbow colored tuk-tuks hauled by the remnants of an old hog, bargaining in my broken Thai that always ends with laughter and a wide grin, the giant blow-up photos of His Majesty the King taking photographs from 20+ years ago proudly displayed in the middle of traffic ... what can I say? This Is Thailand. I love it here. And I can't help but keep coming back.

Of my 4 weeks in Thailand this time around, 3 were spent down south in old familiar Ton Sai & Railay, and 1 was spent up north in Chiang Mai en route to Laos. It's become sort of inevitable at this point that upon my arrival in Thailand, I will proceed immediately to Krabi Airport, hitch a ride to Ao Nang, hop on a longtail boat, and get my ass to Ton Sai beach as quickly as possible. If you happen to have ever read my blog in the past, you can understand why. Ton Sai is dear to my heart, a gem of a place, and home to some of the world's most epic rock climbing. The whole place is nothing but huge limestone cliffs, soft sand, turquoise water, and nightly beach parties.

Mostly things were the same as before, but certainly not everything. As the Thai saying goes: same same but different. Prices are higher (a natural but nevertheless frutrating inevitability), April was surprisingly crowded, many restaurants that used to be phenomenal have now altered their best dishes to watered-down tourist-friendly and less-tasty versions, the funky little bamboo bars have both sprouted up by the handful and been taken over by larger resorts... the usual kinds of things. But the rock is still epic, the monkeys run free, Ton Sai "road" is still a potholed mess of a dirt path, Dream Valley has the same exact p.o.s. overpriced bungalow for rent, the heat beats down like there ain't no tomorrow, and life is good with a capital muthafunkin' G. It's been interesting to watch Ton Sai evolve over the last 3 years, at a pace that at times truly frightens me. I guess I just feel lucky to be checking it out now.

China: WTF?

2009-05-09T03:39:00.005-04:00

China is a country of very extreme contrasts. In any given moment, in any given place, you can experience the strange dualities that seem to define much of China. The beautiful alongside the disgusting, zen among the chaos, balance within incongruencies, harmony not too far from the barely tolerable. Normally, during my travels I will keep my famous "best & worst" lists for each country I visit in the back of my journal. But in China, thanks to these strange extremes and all the oddities in between, best & worst just didn't seem to fit. Thus, my "China: What the F*ck?" list was born.

Generally, when I saw something fitting for this list, the dialogue would go something like this:
Courtney: "What the F*CK is that about?"
Erica: "Yup, that's China for ya."

Here are a few excerpts from CHINA: WTF?
- man painting a wall blue, in the middle of the day, wearing a suit
- man gutting a fish for a restaurant on the concrete floor on an alleyway
- taxi drivers refusing to drive us once they knew our destination (this happened probably 6 times)
- "no cars" sign posted on a small, quaint footpath in the middle of the park
- complete lack of internet cafes due to government censorship of the internet
- strip malls built in sacred spots (ie Jing'an Temple)
- "Take Me Home Country Roads", sung Chinese ballad-style, blaring out of speakers at the Hangzhou train station
- woman holding a bouquet of not flowers, but stuffed teddy bears
- getting cut in line every single time
- the lead-poisoned milk scandal & subsequent execution of the farmer who started it
- taxis cutting off cop cars, while speeding
- enormous popularity of Haagen Daaz chains
- vendors pushing carts through insanely crowded train cars, over & over again
- people blowing snot rockets into their hands
- is it really so hard to smile?
- men gardening bushes to clear the path, then parking their bikes full of clippings in the middle of the sidewalk, thus totally blocking the path
- 70% of adult males smoking 30% of the world's cigarettes
- speciality on the dim sum menu: "aerobics frog"
- children "fishing" for tadpoles at the dirty lake in the park and collecting them in water bottles
- guards at the park telling people to stay off the grass, then tossing garbage directly into the lake
- Lays potato chips in fruit flavors (blueberry, lychee, lime)
- stop lights with only red & green arrows, each pointing in 3 different directions

Asia: Round III

2009-05-05T02:59:00.012-04:00

On March 31st, I arrived at the International Terminal of LAX for the umpteenth time. I had wrapped up my life in Utah, spent a couple weeks preparing for my travels in LA, and even managed to squeeze in a quick trip to Nor Cal to visit friends & family. It had been far too long since I'd hopped on an international flight, and I was very ready to go.

I arrived in Shanghai, via a quick layover in Seoul, well-rested and with few hassles to report (thanks for that Ambien, Mom!). Erica met me at the airport, we got on the airport bus, and were at her apartment in central Shanghai in no time. On the way there, with our crazy bus driver weaving through lanes and honking at everything that moved, we passed by a construction site where a handful of Chinese men in hard hats and flip flops were welding a piece of steel about 6 inches from the road, wearing no eye protection whatsoever, at 9 o'clock at night. There was no doubt about it: I was definitely back in Asia.

I spent the next week mostly in Shanghai, with a few days of checking out nearby Hangzhou thrown in. Shanghai is a big, Asian metropolis with plenty of the modern mixed in with the ancient. The traffic seemed absolutely dead-set on running me over, the subways were clean but jam-packed, bicyclists pedaled down the most crowded of streets alongside motorbikes & taxis, charming alleyways abounding with charm and stories of laundry drying in the breeze would pop out of random urban blocks, people of all ages practiced Tai Chi around every corner... it was the China I had been expecting.

Hangzhou was a breath of fresh air -- literally and figuratively -- with its beautiful silver lake and multi-tiered pagodas popping out of the mysterious mist that perpetually lingers in the air. I wandered around the shores of its lake and finally felt like I had discovered the other, more zen-like side of China. Whereas Shanghai was the modern, crazy China I had expected, Hangzhou was the more etherial, ancient China I had dreamed of.

From the first hour, China presented many challenges to me. The language barrier was absolutely huge -- in no place I have traveled to before has English been so absent. The basic Chinese I struggled to learn was essentially useless, given that I couldn't understand anyone's responses and, frankly, was probably pronouncing everything wrong anyway. An ever bigger challenge was the food issue. I have been a vegetarian for 5 years now, though I'll dabble in fish if & when it sounds good. China seemingly is unaware of what vegetarian food is, and even when I would try desperately to order tofu or vegetables dishes, they would inevitably arrive with chunks of pork floating around in them. (I will say, however, that on my last day in Shanghai I discovered a restaurant with a 100% vegetarian and MSG-free menu that was divine!!) Initially, I had a radical itinerary planned, but once my jet lag kicked in, and the reality of my Chinese travel challenges set in, I opted to take it easy, abandon my grand plans, and shift my pace down to a much more leisurely one.

It was -- as it always is -- a good call. I became familiar with Shanghai and got to discover many of its beautiful parks. On a Sunday, I went to the "kite-flying park" and spent hours walking around as old men played chess in secluded leafy corners, Tai Chi masters taught classes to the public, and traditional Chinese music ensembles got together to play music & sing songs. That same day, I also got to have not one but TWO exceptionally delicious meals with Erica's family, who were also visiting from the States.

This first trip to China was only a short one; essentially, an extended layover to check things out & visit Erica as I made my way on down to Southeast Asia. But I'm headed back after my rounds in the South are done, with even grander plans for traveling through southeastern China, Tibet, and Beijing.

Another Adventure Born

2009-05-05T02:19:00.010-04:00

By the end of March of 2009, I'd spent more than 10 months living & working in the US, the longest continuous amount of time I'd spent stateside since 2005. I had unexpectedly landed in Utah after returning from South America in June of '08, and due to a combination of great people & great times, ended up staying far longer than I had initially imagined. It was a good run -- a 6-month-long production job with the Sundance Film Festival, quality time spent with new friends & fun family, many hours of late night Rock Band sessions, dozens of days of snowboarding the Utah pow pow for free, a boatload of adventures rock climbing at classic crags in the States, and a decent share of boisterous nights at the bars. But, eventually, I grew tired of Utah's absurd liquor laws, "private club" membership fees at every bar, oblivious & horrible drivers, the snail's pace at which life crawls by, and was itching for international adventure.

To those that know me, it should come as no surprise that I chose to return to Asia. I've spent quite a chunk of time exploring Southeast Asia, and from my very first time here it's had a special place in my heart. I've been ready to come back since I last left (in November '07), so I guess it was due time for my return trip. Originally, I was thinking only of Southeast Asia, as my climbing partner (& then some) Tim had long since planned a climbing adventure in these parts. The idea of returning to SE Asia as a better & stronger climber was beyond tempting. When I found out my college friend Erica was living in Shanghai, I expanded the picture to include China. Then when I started researching China (oh what would I do without the color photographs in Lonely Planet??!!?), I decided I may as well include Tibet since I was already going to be all the way over here!

Thus, my 2009 Asian travel itinerary/sketch/plan/idea was born. That being said, there is not the slightest hint of doubt in my mind that it will change. But here's the plan:
China > Thailand > Laos > Cambodia > Vietnam > Tibet > China

Machu Picchu: The Final Frontier

2008-07-17T23:16:00.017-04:00

After Desi left Peru, I could really hear the tick-tock of my travel clock running out. I had two weeks to go. I also had a dilemma: what to do with those two weeks. Being more or less completely broke, a little low on energy, and really sick of the touristy hell Southern Peru can sometimes be, I was debating whether or not to even go to Machu Picchu. I had heard a variety of things about it, ranging from the divine to the disastrous. My travel partner, the lovely Biggi from Germany, was in the same boat. We discussed our options and eventually decided to go for it, together, taking our time, and just doing whatever felt right. The goal would not be Machu Picchu itself but rather the journey to & from. Indeed.

First off, you have to understand that there are literally only three ways to get to Aguas Calientes, the tiny town that sits at the bottom of Machu Picchu.
1) Do what everyone else does: take the train round-trip from Cusco on a one-day tourist trap excursion that will cost anywhere from $75 to $300.
2) Take a guided trek through the mountains -- ruling out the Inca Trail because it's always booked up months and months in advance -- which will last about 3 days and cost $300-500.
3) Go the completely hairball and roundabout back way, taking overcrowded buses and shared taxis through tiny pueblitos until you reach a hydroelectric plant, at which point you & your stuff walk for 2 1/2 hours down the railroad tracks.

Take a wild guess which one we chose.

It took 9 1/2 hours of travel in 2 days to get there, but cost only $11 and the journey was actually quite fun, thanks in no small part to my superfabulous travel chica.

After a rest day of listening to loads of reggae in our room and drinking beers with locals, the big day arrived. We woke up at 5am to catch the very first bus up to Machu Picchu. We reluctantly paid the outrageous entrance fee ($42!!!) and made our way to a cozy spot high atop the site, where everyone takes that classic Machu Picchu photo... as did I. There we sat and watched the sun rise. I topped it off with a headstand. I could instantly feel the magic of the place, and laughed at myself for ever having doubted it. Looking around at the surrounding mountains and epic valley in which it sits, it is extremely clear why they chose this particular hilltop to become a site of divine worship. It is a supremely sacred spot.

We wandered through the site for a while, in complete awe at the sheer size of the place and the tangible sense of mystery that lingers in the air. But exploring was momentarily put aside as we got in line to climb the big peak that overlooks the whole thing, Wayna Picchu. They only let 500 people per day climb the mountain, and we definitely wanted to be two of them. It was a steep 45-minute climb, but was easily the highlight of my day. After reaching the summit, we found a nice spot on a sunny rock and busted out the delicious picnic we'd brought with us as we gazed down upon the splendor below. (Yet another bonus of being an experienced traveler: you always pack plenty of delicious grub.)

On the way back down, I struck up a conversation with a lovely kiwi lady named Angie. Within moments of reaching the ground, we met up with her buddies, kicked off our shoes, had a session, and spent the next couple hours lounging in the grass staring at the phenomenal beauty that surrounded us.

Eventually Biggi & I did more walking around, and our general amazement just continued to grow. I didn't realize how extremely huge the site would be, and we spent several giggly hours wandering past 10 foot high Inca walls into alleys and neighborhoods, discovering carvings & statues & even water fountains along the way. The whole thing is just so fantastically magical, sacred, and awe-inspiring all at once ... it's hard to even describe.

Truth be told, it was a bit like Inca Disneyland with the expensive entry, lines of people, tour groups, and the cheesy statues & crappy overpriced restaurants in Aguas Calientes. But so what?! It was a totally freaking awesome experience that I wouldn't trade for anything.

Guess I can say that about just about everything, everywhere, and everyone that graced my life for the last 18 months. I am endlessly grateful, overwhelmed, and overflowing with joy that I DID IT. And it ruled.

Muchas Chelas!

2008-06-23T01:33:00.003-04:00

The actual trip from Lake Titicaca to Cusco was a bit of a nightmare. It was another one of those classic Third World bus journeys, where the aisles are so crowded that some stranger's ass is shoved in your face, the police hop onboard and start searching around for suspicious cargo (which they find), you take a pee break during the raid and end up running down the highway with your pants down thinking the bus is leaving without you, then once back onboard you'd bet the farm that you could run faster than the bus was chugging along. Aaaaaaah, South America. Not really anything new for me, but a whole new world for Desi. Nevertheless, we made it, many hours after our tickets promised.

After our first night in town, spent frantically searching for food at midnight and feeling uncomfortable in our cattle-call of a hostel, things started picking up for the better, and quick. We found our new home in Hospedaje Inka, a converted old farmhouse on top of a hill in the charming little artsy neighborhood of San Blas. The view down to Cusco below was reason enough to make the big breathless hike all the way up to the joint, but combined with free breakfast, amazing hospitality, peace & quiet, and the fantastic roster of other travelers also staying there, it instantly ranked as one of the best hostels I've ever shacked up at.

Within minutes we met Biggi, a German girl traveling solo through South America. Free-spirited, easy going, and tons of fun, Biggi would become our partner in crime for the next week, and my travel partner & kindred spirit for my final three weeks in Peru.

Desi & I had some mighty big plans when we got to Cusco, but things didn't exactly play out quite as we'd imagined. Machu Picchu was high on the list for her, as it is for most visitors to Peru, and all those who go to Cusco. Somehow, we'd mixed things up in our heads a little bit and hadn't realized that the ONLY way to get there would cost either hundreds of dollars or many days' worth of time. Sadly, Desi didn't have the time to spare, and by the time we figured all that out, it was too late to get it together. But in true Desi fashion, she just shrugged, laughed, and was over it.

Fortunately, over the course of several days in Cusco we'd discovered something else that would more than adequately bide the time: Chelas!! That's Peruvian slang for BEER.

Now, Desi & I are no slouches when it comes to the fine art of late-night alcoholic escapades, but partying in Cusco took things to a whole new level. Cusco boasts a thriving international nightlife where every single night of the week you can find spectacular live bands playing for free and hip bars throwing huge dance parties. Those Chelas are each over a liter in volume, and they hand them out for around $3 a pop at the bar. Add to this an eclectic group of travelers from around the world and the ever-present friendly locals (who will inevitably stay out later than you, every time) ... and you've got yourself one hell of a party.

My favorite night? The one where we started out with happy hour at Ukuku's, jumped back over to Siete Angelitos for some live reggae, then ran back across town to Ukuku's, where we spent so many hours shaking it down to the DJ's manic shuffle of salsa & American pop songs that we failed to notice the time ... until the bartender Cesar finally pulled us outside onto the balcony at 5:30am to prove that yes indeed, the sun was up. And the party was still going.

Man, there's nothing quite like having one of your favorite people in the world come meet you in one of the greatest countries in the world, where in one of the coolest cities in the world you finish off your 9 straight days of fun, laughter & antics with an endless stream of libations & celebrations.

Des: it was so awesome. Can't wait to do it again.

The Surreal World

2008-05-25T15:23:00.010-04:00

Next stop on our saucy Southern Peru trail was Lake Titicaca (and yes, that is in fact its real name). The lake sits way up at 3,812m (12,507 ft) and aside from being the largest lake in South America, is also the highest navigable lake in the world. The lake is teeming with islands where indigenous people still live mostly traditional lives, but the main attraction is a group of 42 "floating" islands.

Called the Uros islands for the people who live there, these islands are a very surreal sight to see. In attempting to escape from the wrath of the Incas, the Uros created islands to inhabit by hand using only totora plants (reeds), which grow readily in the lake. The islands are anywhere from 3 to 5 meters deep, and every last thing on them is made of these reeds. The ground, the homes, the boats, benches, observation towers, and of course plenty of kitchy tourist souvenirs. Truth be told, these islands are a bit of a tourist trap, but it was spectacular to witness nonetheless. Walking around on the islands feels a bit like tramping on a waterbed, and you have to keep an eye out for the occasional sinkhole. Obviously, Desi and I avoided the souvenir stands and restaurants like the plague, and instead sat in the sunshine on the shores of the islands contemplating how something so spectacularly surreal could be possible.

Naturally, we also went out to the bars the night before. Lured by free drink coupons, we ended up in a random bar getting happy hour specials on Pisco Sours long after happy hour ended. What was originally some decent music with a few people swaying around turned into a huge bumpin' dance party with a bunch of college buddies from Georgia. We were reminded of many a fun college night with our fun college homies, many years ago ...

Our original plan was to go further out into the lake and do an overnight homestay with an indigenous family, but unfortunately Desi was battling with a nasty bout of altitude sickness (the town of Puno resides at a hefty 3800m). So, in true travel form, we spontaneously completely changed our plans and headed out on the next bus to Cusco.

Sauced Down South

2008-05-25T14:14:00.012-04:00

I had fully been planning on avoiding Lima altogether, but nevertheless found myself there briefly a couple weeks ago. But no matter... I had a special agenda: to pick up my friend Desiree from the airport! Desi is one of my best friends from my UC Davis days, and somewhere around mid April, needing desperately to get off her Island (aka NYC), she suddenly decided to come visit me in Peru. Desi is the kind of person that I have tons of fun with when we're doing nothing at all, and we've always dreamed and talked about how ridiculously awesome it would be to travel together. I couldn't have been more excited.

Before we even put her bags in the room at the hostel, we stopped for a beer at the bar. This was a particularly appropriate kick-off to our journey, since the next 9 days together would involve quite a bit of happy hours, bar-hopping, beer sampling, general silliness, and nonstop laughter. Naturally, we went out that night in Lima and were lucky to find a cool little reggae bar nearby. The next day we walked around a bit, but were highly disappointed at how closely parts of Lima resemble Southern California, what with the ginormous shopping malls, ritzy cliffside apartment buildings, and McDonald's, KFC, even a Tony Roma's. We didn't stay long.

After a short flight, with 2 free Cusqueña beers onboard, we happily arrived in Arequipa. Known as the White City, Arequipa is a dazzling gem of a town, especially at night. We found a fantastically cozy little hostel right in the center of town, and got to business straight away. Luckily we'd arrived on a Friday night, so the bars were going off in a big way. We took advantage of the abudance of drink specials going on, and Desi & I tried our first Pisco Sours, the national drink of Peru. We were also pleased to discover that every region of Peru seems to have its own variety of beer; here, we were tossing back nice, grande Arequipeñas.

The next day we explored a little neighborhood called Yanahuara. It reminded me a lot of southern Spain, which isn't all too surprising considering the Spaniards themselves are responsible for the architecture around here. It was a lovely, peaceful stroll away from the tour groups and touts in the city center. But the best part came afterward ... ceviche! We stopped into this tiny cevichería and almost thought we´d been completely jipped, when all of a sudden two plates of the most incredible ceviche arrived. It was Desi's first ceviche ever, but it was also the best one I've ever had. And it cost us about $2 each.

Clearly, we were off to a good start.

Back in the Harness Again

2008-05-08T20:09:00.010-04:00

Once I was safely back down from the mountains, the agenda was clear: time to go climbing. Though I climbed briefly in Quito (Ecuador) on a fake rock wall, I hadn´t been on real rock since November, and hadn´t done any outdoor climbing thus far in South America... Ridiculous! I had about a week left in Huaraz to see what I could pull together.

I had been searching hard for other climbers for a few days, but nothing was turning up. Finally, when I had just about given up hope, I found not one but two awesome partners. I overhead Jo, from Britain, talking about cilmbing over breakfast, and though she had other plans to go trekking, she changed them rapidly as soon as I pitched the climbing plan. She couldn´t have been a nicer or more pleasant person to spend a few days with, not to mention a great and supportive climber. Tom is a climbing guide from Colorado, who I´d heard about and had been searching for for days. I finally found him when I wandered into a dorm room and saw an enormous Black Diamond backpack and climbing gear spilled all over the room. He only had a couple days left in Peru but was up for a last minute change of plan to head for the rock. Like Jo, he was an easygoing, super fun person, and needless to say an excellent climber. Go team.

I had heard about the climbing area, called Jatun Machay ("big cave" in Quechua... what caves??), from a helpful German tour guide in Huaraz. I saw pictures of the place and was immediately sold. It has a very space-age, surreal quality to it: it´s located at an altitude of about 4100m, and the funky-looking rocks themselves seem to sprout out of nowhere. There´s a great refuge there, built and run by an incredibly friendly Argentinian man named Andrés, with a huge communal kitchen and a cozy fireplace around which I spent every evening.

The rock itself is a unique mix of granite and something else (no one could quite tell me what), that is found only in the Cordillera Blanca here in Peru. It wasn´t the friendliest of rocks -- my hands are recovering from a mix of cuts, scrapes, shreds, and general abuse: a sure sign of a few great days of climbing. But it was great fun to climb on. I had to build up my confidence a bit since it had been a while, but by the third day I was leading some really fun routes. (yup, that´s me on the rock in that photo, looking a lot more hardcore than I really am)

Despite my aching arms, bruised legs, and cut-up hands, it was a fantastic climbing adventure. Even getting there via cramped minibuses and shared taxis was fun. Most importantly, I finally got on some rock in South America, in an area that is mostly unknown and absolutely spectacular. And after pumping out on crazy cracks and thin faces, we were rewarded with technicolor sunsets and sparkling starry nights. What more could I possibly ask for?!

High on Life (and Altitude)

2008-05-07T18:59:00.012-04:00

Huaraz was my top Peruvian destination before I even got here, and I set aside two weeks to explore the surrounding area. As a city, it´s not much to look at, but it wasn´t the city I came for; it was the mountains. The Cordillera Blanca (White Mountains) are an epic range of snow-capped peaks that are the second highest mountain range in the world next to the Himalayas. Huaraz sits in a valley in the middle of it all, and is surrounded by huge, looming peaks as far as the eye can see. I arrived my first morning to find the sunrise painting so many peaks orange and pink that I couldn´t even count them, and I knew immediately this was going to be an amazing stop.

It didn´t take long to meet the right people and get a trek together. Within two days of my arrival, I´d met 4 other people that were up for exploring the mountains, and we were off. Altogether, we were 2 Americans, 1 Irishman, 1 Brit, and 1 Norweigan. Since our plan was to go up one valley and down another, we opted out of hiring a guide and doing the trek with an agency, and instead carried all our own gear & food for the 4-day journey.

Day one we mosied up Valley Quilcayhuanca, an absolutely textbook glacial valley that just got better with every step. On either side of the steep valley walls, you could see some serious snow-capped peaks peeking out, and at the very end of the valley was an enormous snow-covered mountain with a massive glacier creeping down its center. The weather was pleasant, and the sun made for a bluebird day. The going was slow but steady, with plenty of curious, horn-clad cows blocking the trail and bright purple wildflowers to admire.

We had a lovely evening where we cooked a delicious pasta & soup dinner, and sat around a small campfire enjoying the peace and quiet. The night, however, was not so lovely. It started seriously raining when we went to bed, and didn´t let up until about 2am. There were 3 of us sharing what should have been a 2-man tent, and a tent that would have been better suited for the desert and not the mountains. The rain came in, in a big way. I woke up in the middle of the night to find pools of water inside of my sleeping bag, and my feet and legs were so cold that I couldn´t fall back asleep. The tent itself seemed to be collapsing, and it wasn´t long before my 2 other tentmates found themselves in the same position.

Come morning (at long last), it was time for some changes. The other American chica, Carisa, had suffered from a nasty bout of altitude sickness the day before, and not feeling 100% better was hesitant to go on and UPwards. The two of us decided we would head back and change our plans a bit, and leave the rest of the trek to the remaining threesome.

As it turned out, Carisa & I had an amazing time. We spent the night at a cozy mountain lodge called The Way Inn, taking utmost advantage of their adobe sauna and duvet-clad beds. The next day, we went on a 30 kilometer round-trip hike up and down Valley Cojup, the one we would have been in on the trek anyway. The end goal of the hike was Laguna Pachacocha (4560m), a lake that sits at the bottom of the incredibe glacier we´d been staring at all day long. It is hard to describe the feeling of hiking up a valley towards an epic mountain glacier all day, but it sure is a good one. The lake was quite literally breathtaking. Even though the sky was completely full of clouds (in fact, it started snowing the moment we arrived), the lake was radiating a pure, crystal blue. Far off in the distance, I could even see an iceberg floating in the middle of it. It was a long day, and the hike completely kicked our asses, but in the best possible way.

Exploring the North

2008-05-03T12:41:00.008-04:00

Once safely in Peru, I spent a few days in Chachapoyas, more than happy to not be sitting on some form of transportation all day long. But Northern Peru has more than just great vibes and a lack of tourists to enjoy; one of the main attractions are scores of ruins that are rarely visited. The biggest set of ruins is an amazing pre-Incan fortress high atop a mountain called Kuelap. It was an amazing place that really blew me away. After entering the narrow passageway through the immense fortress walls, I could see ruins of the round houses everywhere. They have discovered 420 such houses, so far, and an archeologist working on the site reconstructed one house to represent what the village might once have looked like. One of my favorite things at Kuelap was what first appeared to be a pile of rocks, but in fact was an ancient compass designating north, south, east, and west. In addition to admiring
the ruins, I was really loving the dense vegetation of trees, vines, and orchids that covered the stones, and really added to the whole mysterious aura of the place. Quite an experience for my first set of South American ruins.

One of the best things about traveling by myself -- and there are many -- is being able to change my plans spontaneously, whenever I feel like it. Originally I´d planned on going through the mountains on another multi-day hairball journey to get to Cajamarca, but after looking at maps and a calendar, I changed my mind. I hopped on a night bus, and made it all the way down to the coastal city of Trujillo by morning. Done.

Trujillo wasn´t very exciting, despite some colorful buildings and very colonial architecture. But nearby was another set of interesting pre-Incan ruins called Chan Chan that I set out to explore. Originally I planned on doing it completely on my own, but was met outside the ruins by a guide named Moses, and mostly just wanting an excuse to think in nothing but Spanish for an hour, hired him for $4. Chan Chan used to be a completely adobe city, the largest one ever known to the world. In fact, they estimate that some 60,000 people used to live there! Much of it is understandably eroded, but the main palace is still pretty much in tact. Most interesting to me were places for their worship of the sun and the moon, including huge pools of water that they´d collected via underground passageways. It was a strange place, to tell the truth -- something about seeing nothing but neutral, sepia tones in all directions. But fun to imagine what it might have been like hundreds of years ago.

After the ruins, I jumped on a minibus for 5 minutes and found myself back at the Pacific Ocean for the first time in 3 months. The little village of Huanchaco was a
nice little mid-afternoon stopover, and I spent a couple hours eating a huge plate of ceviche, and admiring the collection of totora (reed) boats strewn along the shore.

One, Two, Cha Cha Cha

2008-04-21T13:28:00.011-04:00

After over 1,000km and way too many delays in buses, I needed a quick break before I continued my journey south. I stopped to spend my last few Ecuadorian days in Vilcabamba, a beautiful little town nestled into the Valley of Longevity that´s famous for its supreme mellowness. It was the perfect rest stop. Although I debated indulging myself with a massage or a horseback ride through the mountains, in the end I decided to save my money and instead spent my days hiking and seriously chilling.

It would have been easy to get stuck in this peaceful haven of good vibes and the easygoing lifestyle, but I was anxious to get to Peru. My last afternoon in Vilcabamba, I looked out over the valley to find a beautiful rainbow. I took it as a sign that my journey to Peru the next day was going to be a good one. I was right.

Feeling ambitious and confident, I opted to take the rural La Balsa border crossing from Ecuador to Peru that foreigners rarely go for. I was slightly hesitant at first, finding myself trapped in that cycle of negative thought that can make almost anything seem like a bad idea. Not wanting to submit myself to that kind of thought process -- and trusting my gut instincts -- I went for it. It was one of the best journeys I´ve had so far.

I started out with a 6am bus ride through foggy mountains that descended into incredible hills covered in jungle foliage with tiny villages emerging out of the dense vegetation. I arrived in the small town of Zumba, where I killed a couple hours sitting at a table at the bus
terminal at a local family´s very basic restaurant. They asked me plenty of questions about my traveling, including of course the normal inquiries as to my age, my marital status, and why in the world I am traveling by myself. Mostly I spent my time with 8-year-old Carol, who after drawing several beautiful pictures in my journal decided to try on both of my backpacks. Could she be a future world traveler? I hope so.

I was excited to discover that my next form of transport was the "ranchera," open-air rows of benches mounted on the flatbed of a heavy-duty truck (you can see it in the background of the first photo of Carol). It felt like an adventure ride at an amusement park, and was equally as fun as riding around in huge Land Rovers in the Masai Mara in Kenya. We bumped along for 2 hours, stopping twice to deal with some serious mud that stood in our way. I wasn´t nervous at all though... by this point, I´ve seen the crappiest of vehicles make it through the worst of situations, so I knew this huge beast of a truck wasn´t going to be a problem. Naturally, there were guys carrying several chickens seated behind me, a few people sleeping (which seems to defy the laws of existence), and an old guy with his dogs practically sitting on my backpack (which I was grateful for because at least it meant my bag wouldn´t go flying out of the truck).

The scenery was absolutely jaw-droppingly beautiful, enhanced further by the perfect weather and the excitement of the ride. We made it to the rushing river that marks the Ecuador-Peru La Balsa border and seeing nothing of importance on the Ecuador side, I walked over the bridge into Peru. A few minutes later I had it pointed out to me that I had neglected to get my exit stamp from Ecuador, so back across the bridge I went. I entered the police office and found 3 immigration officers in shorts and flip-flops engaged in a riotous card game. I interrupted the game to have my passport stamped by one of the "officers," but the other two were impatient and kept prodding him to make a move all the while. It was an easy ordeal, and I promised to return soon to Ecuador on my way out... they said they´d be waiting for me.

Back over in Peru, my immigration officer was a mullet-clad, jeans-and-t-shirt-wearing young man, who was listening to salsa so loud that I had to shout at him to be heard. I filled out a piece of paper, got a stamp, and then he invited me to drink a beer with him while I waited for my shared taxi to depart. I would have done it, too, but my ride was ready to go as soon as I was, so I bid the border farewell and kept on moving.

My shared taxi was an old, white, Toyota station wagon with a cracked windshield and a friendly driver who sang along to sappy Peruvian love songs. I was joined by the two guys from the ranchera and their squawking chickens, as well as a couple bottles of pure cane alcohol they´d brewed up at home which they spent the whole ride drinking. We slowly traveled along a particularly crappy road, but somehow made it to San Ignacio right after sunset, where I took a cold but divine shower and crashed out early.

Day two of the journey involved a bit more coordination and stamina. I took a
minibus to Jáen (where the inevitable chicken rode right next to me), another minibus to Bagua Grande, and finally another piece of shit shared taxi all the way to Chachapoyas (or simply "Chacha") -- with rides in crappy Asia-esque motorbike taxis across town shoved in between, since there don´t appear to be many central bus terminals here in northern Peru.

The journey was totally nutty and at times completely illogical, but tons of fun. Truthfully, it was easier than I expected; the biggest challenge arose from possessing enough stamina, patience, and good faith to make it through the day. The scenery was some of the best and most diverse that I´ve seen, particularly in such a short time span. And there came a certain secret pleasure from knowing that I was the only gringo around for miles...

Bumping Along the Quilotoa Loop

2008-04-17T18:10:00.005-04:00

After departing Cotacachi, Lauren and I decided to go for one more adventure together. We´d been planning on checking out the Quilotoa Loop about 6 weeks before, but were deterred by a series of landslides and a string of changed plans. This particular area of Ecuador was a must-see because of its challenging accessibility, tiny and unspoiled indigenous villages, and mindblowing scenery. It did not let us down.

We started out early one morning and took buses as far as we could physically stand it. We ended up in the tiny, endlessly charming village of Zumbahua, a good deal into The Loop. Our timing couldn´t have been better, because we´d arrived in time to check out its famous Saturday morning market. Indigenous folks from all around flock to Zumbahua for this weekly ritual, and often haul their variety of goods in on the most popular form of local transport: llamas. We browsed the market for a couple hours, checking out the good on offer: stands of colorful yarns and clothing, bright and fresh produce, stalls of traditional indigenous shawls and skirts, and even squealing animals waiting in line to be slaughtered and sold right there on the spot.

To arrive in our next and far more remote destination, we hopped on a local bus. We sat on the bus and waited for over an hour, as the passengers crammed themselves into it. By the time the bus took off, it had turned into a foul-smelling mess of people and goods: clearly a baby had made a mess of a diaper or two, sacks of potatos and onions and fish were reeking up the air, I had two barely-alive chickens on top of my feet, and to top it off someone had spilled a particulary disgusting batch of homemade booze all over the floor. After an hour and a half bumping along the most nail-biting road I´ve experienced in Ecuador yet, we made it to Chugchilán.

The next day, we realized that the road we´d traveled in on the day before was no longer accessible due to heavy overnight rain. Fearing the worst (ie, getting stuck in the Loop and Lauren missing her flight home), we decided to proceed onwards ´round the loop in the same direction. This was the most "exciting" bus ride yet. About an hour in, we hit a major landslide and got stuck in the mud. Instantaneously, a few guys jumped out and began to dig us out with shovels. It worked. Then 20 minutes later, a woman started screaming "stop!" because the entire back of the bus -- where I was seated -- began filling with smoke. The cause of the white smoke pouring out of the ceiling was determined to be an "electrical malfunction," which after some apparent "disconnecting" classified us ready to be on our way. I was skeptical, but the problem never resurfaced. An hour later, we got a flat tire! At this point, I just had to laugh. The tire was fixed incredibly quickly and, miraculously, we made it out of the Loop to our final destination without any more problems.

Crazy as the bus rides were, truthfully it was all part of the journey. And nothing could beat the views.

The End

2008-04-17T18:05:00.002-04:00

For my last couple weeks of volunteering, I was unexpectedly joined by Lauren. I´d been dabbling in a variety of projects in the area, as usual, but when Lauren showed up I thought it would be best to use her experience teaching English as a second language however we could. We traveled about an hour together to a nearby elementary school, where we taught English to 4 different classes in 4 hours. It was a whilrwild experience. Some classrooms even had two different age groups together, because there just isn´t enough space or enough teachers to take care of everyone. We left feeling exhausted and overworked, but definitely had some fun -- especially teaching "Head Shoulders Knees & Toes" to giggling groups of young´uns. Aside from the teaching gig, I continued to work at Runa Tupari translating new website material from Spanish to English and selling tours, and helped my family do some gardening and planting at home.

After 4 1/2 weeks that absolutely flew by, it was time to say goodbye. For my last night, I decided to buy a couple of little presents. The first was a purple potato peeler for Maria; one day while cooking lunch together she mentioned not having one and needing to buy one (as I was struggling like an idiot to peel the potatoes with a dull knife). The second was a large, delicious chocolate cake from my favorite cafe in Otavalo, where I would begin every day with a slice of cake and (real!) coffee for $1. Not surprisingly, little Sayani was extremely excited and quite literally couldn´t keep her hands off of it. We all had a great last night together, taking tons of photos and even looking through old family photos. It was a bittersweet goodbye -- it felt like the right time to be moving on, but the experience had been so great that I was a little sad too.

Reaping the Benefits

2008-04-14T18:53:00.008-04:00

One the many projects I was involved with during my volunteering period was UNORCAC`s community-based tourism operator, Runa Tupari (www.runatupari.com). They are based out of the city of Otavalo, and have on offer a bunch of tours throughout the local area that include activities like hiking, mountain climbing, and visiting indigenous communities. As the dedicated and hard-working volunteer that I was, I was able to take part in a bunch of these tours free of charge.

The first outing I went on was a four-hour hike up to the summit of Fuya-Fuya (4265m; 14,075ft). It was steep going in steadily increasing fog and rain, but tons of fun. I couldn´t get enough of the amazing flora and fauna of the páramo (Andean highlands), and snapped loads of picturs of the amazing things growing underfoot. We even saw an Andean fox (though I didn´t have time to snap his photo). All the while the amazing Mojanda Lakes were below us, so really any which way I turned I was treated to something beautiful.

Feeling exceedingly confident and enthusiastic, two days later I decided to go for a much bigger mountain: Volcano Cotacachi. We started the trek at 5am, and for the first few hours were treated to an exceptionally good view of the area. Sure, there were still some clouds around, but shockingly no rain! It was 5 hours of straight uphill hiking, not exactly an easy chore with my legs still aching from the other climb 48 hours before. Whoops. But no matter, I still made it. We hiked up to where the snow began -- about 4800m (15,800ft) -- but since we didn´t have proper gear that´s where we had to stop. On the way up and down, we saw 6 different llamas chilling on the high mountain slopes, all of whom stopped to check us out with that particular curious stare so unique to llamas. It was a classic South Ameriacn moment.

Later that same week, I accompanied a Danish couple on the indigenous community tour, acting as translator. The tour goes to three different villages in the area, each one specializing in a certain indigenous crafts. We watched a woman using a stone to pound together pieces of reeds to make mats (a full day´s work for $3); a demonstration and performance with traditional Andean instruments; and a weaver and his wife who process and create wool masterpieces in a tradition that hardly anyone uses anymore. Fascinating as they all were, I couldn´t get over the cuteness of the weaving couple. I mean, have you ever seen anything cuter than this old weaving mama?

Holy Fiesta

2008-03-29T14:04:00.008-04:00

Last Saturday, my two favorite little Ecuadorians were baptized. Sayani (3) and Apauki (5) received their holy cleansing in a tediously long nighttime ceremony in the central church of Cotacachi along with another two dozen tiny people from surrounding communities, half of whom were, not surprisingly, asleep for the whole thing. But this was hardly the main event.

Immediately following the ceremony was one big-ass party. About 100 people came: family, friends, friends of friends, community members, their children, even a few random dogs. The celebration kicked off at 11pm, when a DJ arrived with three enormous speakers and began pumping out ear-poppingly loud cumbia. (Sidenote: Cumbia, though originally a musical form from Columbia, has infiltrated Ecuador to become something of a national musical phenomenon. To paraphrase Lonely Planet, it does indeed sound like a "three-legged horse" trotting along to a Latin blend of rhythm, bass, horns, and words. More often than not it´s all produced on a single electric keyboard. Cumbia is everywhere, from restaurants to bus rides to grocery stores, and at times is sped up to such a frenzied tempo that it becomes "psycho cumbia.") Food was of course the first order of business, and each person was served up some soup and various plates, all of which naturally included the poor dead creatures mentioned in my last post. Interestingly, the guinea pig (cuy) was cut into pieces and served directly into people´s bare hands, along with a whole potato. People were pretty stoked on the cuy. It was about this time that the alcohol began to surface.

Drinking in Ecuador is a very communal affair. It goes something like this: someone walks around with a bottle of alcohol. There are three choices, and three choices ONLY of what to consume. Pilsener, the national beer; agurdiente, homemade sugar cane alcohol; or box "wine," this absolutely repugnant sugary crap artifically flavored with chemicals and in the resulting neon color it becomes, bears an eerily odd resemblance to nuclear waste (I tried my best to stay away from it). The bottle beholder walks around the party with a small plastic shotglass. When you are approached (and everyone is), you accept the shot gleefully and select another person with whom you make serious eye contact and dedicate the toast to. This person is thusly deemed the next recipient of the shot. He, then, follows suit by consuming the booze and selecting the next drinker. This process resolves around and around and around until, inevitably, it rolls right around back to YOU. Naturally, everyone gets real wasted real fast.

I retired around 4am, but the party did not. In fact, the cumbia continued at headache-inducing volumes until 10am! The DJs went home, but my family continued to play music music through their own speakers. When I finally emerged from my room around 2pm, haggard and not very well rested, there was a crew of about 5 guys who were still going. They hadn´t slept, were still drinking, and would in fact continue to do until the following night! I don´t know how they do it.

The best part of the night, for me, was the dancing. Although I got very, very tired of endlessly hearing cumbia -- especially with some of the same popular tunes repeated over and over again -- I was rewarded with a break from it, when they played selections of indigenous highland music I had never heard before. Everyone got into two large circles, and essentially shuffled around in time to the rapidly changing tempo of the music until someone decided to shout "VUELTA!" and it was time to turn around and shuffle in the other direction. And in case you´re wondering, out of all the dozens of slaughtered animals, by the end of the night only the head of one of the pigs remainded. Great success!

Dead Meat

2008-03-22T13:30:00.009-04:00

This weekend is cause for huge celebration: the baptism of both Sayani and Apauki, the two youngest children in my family. Preparations have been underway all week long, the majority of which involve an abundance of dead animals. In these parts, there is no butcher or deli, no convenient little shop where you can buy your neat packages of pre-sliced meat. No, sir. Around here, dinner amounts to the slaughter of that cute little creature that´s been running around in front of the house all week, and the long, complicated process invovled to turn it into food. Never have I been happier to be a vegetarian.

I returned home from volunteering on Thursday to find the entire family out by the stream, gathered around a pig that had just been slaughtered a few hours before. They had its intestines in their hands, and were slowly and patiently moving along the, ahem, debris trapped inside. Yummy. Nearby was a huge cooking pot filled with blood and various organs. They made sure to point out the other pig chowing down a few feet away, who was doomed for the same fate the very next day. In true Ecuadorian fashion, later on the pig was strung up in the middle of the house, right next to kitchen. It has remained there for the last two days, draining blood and getting stuff full of herbs and whatnot to prepare for the grand all-day roasting.

The next animals in line after the pigs were the guinea pigs. That´s right, those cute little fuzzy creatures you had as a pet when you were a kid. They are called ´cuy´ (for the sound they make), and are an Ecuadorian delicacy. I knew this one was coming, but was thoroughly shocked to see a pot full of sixteen of these little guys, throats slit and skinned, looking like scary little rodents. Just doesn´t seem right, but that´s the way the coookie crumbles around here. They get roasted whole, and according to some friends of mine who´ve tried them, they´re actually almost as gross as they sound. I will say, there was some comedy involved when I walked into the kitchen with my camera: Maria and her sister-in-law went to great lengths setting up this shot, arranging the guinea pigs to face the camera as best as possible, laughing heartily all the while.

Next up were 20-something chickens, and a dozen rabbits. Yesterday from morning ´til night, my casa became a slaughterhouse.

In all fairness, there have been plenty of other preparations for this giant fiesta. For example, I went to the market with María to buy lace for the new blouse she´s making for Sayani. And there have been dozens of relatives around the house to help with some construction, clean-up, and all kinds of cooking that doesn´t involve slicing the throats of innocent little animals. But for some reason, that action has sure seemed to stick out.

Truth be told, I´ve been kind of fascinated by the whole process. Of course, I have less than no desire to eat any of these creatures. But I mean, if you´re gonna eat meat, this is the way to do it. Raise the animal right in your backyard, slaughter it yourself, put in all the legwork it takes to deal with the carcass, and then eat every last thing except the head and bones. I´ve been a source of much comedy this week, what with my crazy questions and facial expressions which have ranged from shock to horror to astonishment. The best of all was when Apauki ran into dinner one night squealing and wearing the pig´s toenails on his own fingers. I couldn´t hide my expression of horrific disgust, but it quickly turned into nothing but pure smiles as everyone in the room burst into laughter (mostly at my reaction) for the next couple of minutes. Ahhh, life in the campo.

Alternate titles for this post included:
A Vegetarian in Carnewonderland
Lessons in Death
Adventures in Slaughter
Waste Not, Starve Not
Your Cute Furry Pet = Dinner!

Mi Familia Indígena

2008-03-21T18:16:00.009-04:00

This is my family. They are a group of tremendously lovely, warmhearted, indigenous Ecuadorians with whom I am currently living out in the lush countryside of Cotacachi. We eat at least 2 meals a day together, always chatting and laughing in Spanish about me, Cotacachi, Ecuador, and the world. To them, I am Cocito: the affectionate, familiarized modification of my Third-World moniker, Coco.

This is Pedro, father and husband. He used to be the president of Santa Bárbara, the community of some 250 people where they live. Nowadays he spends his days working on various construction and development projects around the area, always returning home for dinner around 6pm with a huge smile on his face. Like everyone else I´ve met in the village, he is always anxious to know how I´m doing, and how I feel about the community and Ecuador in general. My response is always the same: I love it.

Then there´s María. She had her first child at 18 and married at 20. Now at only 38, she has five children and is the true head of the household. She instantly took me on as yet another daughter, and is a constant fountain of generosity and compassion. She´s always calm and responsive to my daily barrage of questions, ranging from cultural traditions to soup recipes to words I can´t seem to remember in Spanish. She´s spent her whole life here, but told me she secretly wishes she´d gotten to spend some more time on her own before settling into married family life. No kidding.

The three older daughters are Anita (20), Alicia (17), and Apacha (14). Here I am with them, dressed in traditional indigenous garments at the request, and to the delight of, my family for this week´s Semana Santa (Holy Week) celebrations. (The only other non-sister is the one to the left of me... by the way notice how I´m the tallest person in the photo, that´s a new one for me!) They are all beautiful and look stunningly alike. Anita is currently living in Quito and going to college, but the other two help with every last activity around the house. They wash the clothes, clean, cook meals, attend to the animals, and watch the little ones when María is attending to other issues. I don´t think I know another teenager anywhere who would be capable of half of the things these girls do on a daily basis.

Then there´s the little ones: Apauki (5) and Sayani (3). A constant source of joy and amusement. They are also best friends with each other, with is pretty much the cutest thing to watch. They spend their days doing kid stuff: getting filthy, chasing chickens, kicking soccer balls, running around, loving life. They are always glad to see me when I return from wherever, greeting me with hugs and jumping and sleeve-tugging, and it always makes my day.

And finally, there´s Grandma. Or, at least I think that´s what she is. I can´t quite figure out where this lovely old lady fits in, but I´m pretty sure she was introduced as someone´s mama. But she´s always hanging around and I´m relatively sure she lives in the tiny shack on the property. She always gives me the biggest smile I´ve ever seen whenever I walk by, and chats away to me in Quichua even though I hardly speak a word. And though she has large cataracts in both eyes, she giggled like a little kid when I showed her this photo of herself.

Life in the Campo

2008-03-19T09:47:00.013-04:00

Last week, I finally packed up and headed out of Quito to begin volunteering. After quite some time of researching and nearing moments of hair-pulling, I finally found the perfect opportunity for myself. I am working with an organization called UNORCAC(http://unorcac.nativeweb.org/who.html), which stands for Union of Peasant and Indigenous Organizations of Cotacachi Canton. They are committed to improving the quality of life for indigenous Ecuadorians, as well as preserving and maintaining the rich cultural heritage of the region, through a variety of development projects. The region of Cotacachi itself is stunningly beautiful, with enormous volcanoes towering all around, magical crater lakes to be discovered in my free time, and dozens of indigenous communities scattered around the lush green mountain hillsides.

My first day, instead of going to work, I was invited to attend a traditional cooking workshop. About a dozen indigenous women from surrounding communities were invited to attend, and to learn more about their own traditions. The end result was both to share traditional cooking methods, and to produce a cookbook. It was a fascinating experience, which mostly involved creating various fascinating things with quinua -- croquettes, tortillas, empanadas, llapingachos, soup... you name it. Though my status as a vegetarian prohibited me from sampling a few of the dishes (and also, as ever, amazed all the locals -- why would anyone ever not want to eat meat?!?), I gorged myself on the rest of the food while everyone else ate their lunches full of carne, and it was delicious.

The next couple days I spent at the guardería, a day care center/preschool a stone´s throw from my casa for local children ages 2 to 5. Although it was fun to play around with the children, it presented a bit of a dilemma. It was completely disorganized and chaotic, with the day spent letting the kids run around and play however and wherever they wished, without the slightest shred of discipline or routine. There were no group activities, and nothing resembling basic childhood education. As someone who was a lot of experience with small children -- and regards them as incredibly able, intelligent, incredible tiny people -- it was disturbing and intensely sad to watch these little ones miss out on the chance to expand and enrich their young minds. However, being well aware of the large cultural gap between my life and theirs, and bearing in mind the fact that my ideas of cultural and educational "norms" are somewhat irrelevant to a culture that is not my own, I was careful not to place judgment or critique on the women running the guardería ... instead, I have noted many things as "suggestions", and am being encouraged by my volunteer coordinators to discuss these issues. So we shall see what I can do to help out there.

In the meantime, I´m trying my hand at a variety of other projects. It´s also Semana Santa (Holy Week) which means that there is no school, and people are celebrating every day and night the crucification and resurrection of Jesus. Or something. I am familiar with Semana Santa traditions from when I lived in Spain, but things are different here. They carry their saints on platforms around the city and eventually to the church, but fortunately, the saints here in Cotacachi are not life-sized, and are not the gory, bleeding, crying, disturbingly graphic ones so revered in Spain. It´s also a fully campo (countryside) affair. I attended the first of the processions, where people -- mostly indigenous -- from surrounding communities brought bundled offerings of plants, corn, herbs, and other crops grown in their own fields. A pickup truck followed alongside the procession, blasting over a loudspeaker the songs being sung inside the cab by a woman playing guitar, while hundreds of people casually marched along, talking amongst themselves and munching on ice cream and toasted corn. Yet again, a breath of fresh air that Spain´s traditions didn´t fully ensue here: that scary men dressed in KKK outfits waving torches and playing scary music to a completely silent audience were nowhere to be found.

Bailando la Salsa

2008-03-10T12:56:00.005-04:00

When Friday rolled around, it was time to party. Lauren & Ari came back to Quito, and after a full week of researching volunteer projects and trying to get things in my life together (both here and back in California), I was ready to let loose -- especially since everything had so nicely and conveniently come together on Friday afternoon. My Ecuadorian friends had good reason for celebration too, since it was Edison´s birthday. After a couple of warm-up beers at a restaurant, the choice was clear: off to Seseribó for some salsa dancing!

Seseribó is a salsateco right in the center of Quito. Unlike many other salsa venues in town, it is dedicated to ONLY playing salsa, and is frequented nightly by the best salsa dancers in Ecuador. I mean, these folks know how to do salsa right. I could easily spend a whole evening gazing only at their feet... This was my second, and hopefully not my last, visit to Seseribó. All night long until 3am, we were treated to salsa pura y salsa vieja: classic and pure salsa, straight from the Caribbean and mostly from the golden salsa decades of long ago. Super divertido.

Landslides and Glacier Climbs

2008-03-05T11:49:00.013-05:00

Eventually it became abundantly clear that it was time to get back to the mountains. Lauren and I formulated a new plan that would, slowly but surely, get us to a particularly heralded stretch of mountains a couple hours south of Quito where we could spend a few days hiking. When we arrived at the Quevedo terminal to transfer buses, we were shocked to find that it was not possible to get where we wanted to go. Why? A massive landslide, not surprising consider it´s the rainy season and we´d already driven past several in our many kilometers of travel. So we sat in the sticky bus station, opened up our Lonely Planets, and being the fantastic and efficient travel buddies that we were, rapidly formulated a new plan. Go back to Quito, and leave the next day for a different adventure. But on the bus back to Quito, we suddenly came to a complete stop and were delayed for nearly 2 hours as yet another landslide blocked our path! It could have been worse, we decided, and in the midst of waiting I struck up a conversation in Spanish with our neighbors. They asked me, "How do you like Ecuador?" I responded sarcastically, "Right at this moment?...", and was greeted with a chorus of giggles from half of the bus.

Our plans began to change. We made it to Quito, though quite late at night. Thus, leaving the next day became out of the question. Instead, we went rock climbing here in the city at the Rocódromo. As luck would have it, we ended up meeting some great locals. One such local, Andrés, invited us out that night for drinks and dancing at some funky bars, and suddenly leaving the next day became out of the question as well. We ended up staying in Quito all week long, and enjoyed the city in a whole new light as Andrés showed us a good time via exquisite desserts, salsa dancing, independent movies, and epic city vistas.

When the weekend rolled around, Lauren and I parted ways so she could join newly-arrived Ari for some romance, and I went off with Andrés and his mountaineering club to Volcán Cayambe to try my hand at ice climbing. All the experience I´d racked up climbing rocks in Asia was irrelevant -- ice climbing is a whole different story and I was a complete novice. Fortunately, it was the perfect weekend for me to learn, as the club was up there just to practice and not to reach a summit. Mostly we stayed on the same little stretch of glacier, practicing walking up and down in only our boots, handling the ice pick, using the deadly-looking crampons, and ascending and descending vertical shafts of ice. I even practiced doing a rescue -- the kind of thing that would happen only in the very worst of the worst situations. It was one of the hardest damn things I´ve ever done, but I sure learned a thing or two about knots, safety, and the dire importance of working quickly.

I´d seen plenty of glaciers in my time, but never had I been actually on top of one.It was an amazing feeling. No less spectacular were the views from the mountain early in the morning, down and across hundreds of kilometers of the Andes, with the enormous peaks of Antisana and Cotopaxi popping up through the clouds. It was one of the most physically demanding things I´ve ever done, and the following Monday my thighs were so ridiculously rocked that it was hard to walk on even the tiniest steps. But with my confidence boosted and a little experience under my belt, I can´t wait to try it again.

Temperatures Rise as the Pace Slows Down

2008-02-23T13:33:00.007-05:00

I headed 6 hours farther south down the Panamericana, the mountainous road that cuts straight down through the Andes of Ecuador, on a particularly miserable bus ride (see previous post for the failed attempts at taking the train). It was a foggy, bumpy, uncomfortable, and long ride... but the next stop was well worth it. Cuenca is an endlessly charming old colonial city, just the right kind of size to make it completely walkable, approachable, intriguing, and delightful all at the same time. It was also the warmest place I´d been yet. Frankly, I felt like I was back in Spain. This doesn´t come as too much of a surprise, seeing how the Spaniards are responsible for all of its architecture and city planning (much of which dates from the 16th century). I spent days lounging in beautiful parks, eating delicious helado (ice cream), wandering the streets, seeking out vegetarian cuisine, admiring churches, and even enjoying a budget-extending raucous night out in a city that really does feel decidedly European and sophisticated in a very nonchalant kind of way -- just like Spain, but minus the flamenco.

Mostly, Lauren and I took it easy in Cuenca, but we did have a very unexpected adventure one day. We read in the guidebook about the local University-run Orquideario, a nursery where they house and grow all species of orchids from Ecuador. We jumped on a local bus to get there, but after seeing absolutely no signs at all and traveling for some 15 minutes along increasingly empty-looking roads out of town, we realized we´d gone too far and turned around. We got on the same bus headed in the opposite direction, and asked the driver to drop us at the University. Instead, we ended up back in downtown Cuenca. Ok, new plan. We ate lunch and decided to grab a taxi this time. However, our taxi driver had never heard of this strange orquideario word we kept repeating, nor the street it was listed to be on. And neither had the other 12 taxi drivers he asked. Hmmm... eventually someone actually picked up the phone at the university and gave me slightly confusing directions from a nearby hotel. Well, we made it to the hotel but wandered around in the heat for half an hour until finally a kind woman at the hotel, the first person who´d heard the word, directed us to it. We rejoiced when we finally found the one and only sign hidden down a dirt path. The good news was this place was well worth it. It housed over 500 kinds of orchids of all shapes, sizes and colors, some of which could have easily passed for space aliens or deep sea creatures. It was amazing.

Eventually we decided it was time to check out the beach. We´d heard a lot about this place called Montañita, famous for its excellent surfing waves and the party scene. It was nice to be at the beach, but wasn´t quite what I had imagined. First of all, it was hot. Really hot. And when it wasn´t hot, it was rainy. But ok... it is the beach in Ecuador after all. Second, it was pretty touristy. I recognize the fact that I am endlessly biased after spending so much time on so many amazing beaches in Southeast Asia, but the truth is that tourist towns don´t do it for me anymore, and for better or worse it takes a damn nice beach to impress me. Third, we arrived on a Friday night to find the place disgustingly packed full of locals from Guayaquil with no free hotel room in sight. After a good 90 minutes of wandering around, we did eventually snag a room way far down the beach, but it wasn´t exactly a friendly welcome. But no matter. Fortunately, once the weekend passed the city folk went back home and the place chilled way out. I spent most of my time lying in the hammock outside of our room, reading my Bob Marley biography, and going for the occasional swim. We were lucky enough to have 2 really awesome surfer dude neighbors, who provided plenty of fun company and good times. And the absolute best thing about Montañita were the little roadside beach bar stands, chock full of fresh tropical fruits and plenty of alcohol for whipping up incredible and cheap cocktails. I had the best mojitos ever, all four of which went down far too easily... luckily, I had that hammock right outside the door to get me through the next day.

Happy Days in the Central Highlands

2008-02-13T13:11:00.008-05:00

Supposedly, one of the classic journeys in Ecuador is to take a train ride on an old steam locomotive through a treacherous stretch of high mountainous tracks called "The Devil´s Nose." The ride originates in Riobamba, a mellow non-touristy town in the Central Highlands surrounded on all sides by gorgeous mountains. Lauren & I specifically headed there to take this train ride, but things played out quite differently than we had planned on.

Our first attempt to take the train was unsuccessful, since the train decided not to run on the first day following carnval. So rather than wait two more days in the city, we opted to go 40 km away to the base of the mighty Volcano Chimborazo and enjoy the outdoors. This was an excellent call. We stayed at a tiny hostel that used to be a train station on the now-extinct railroad, and were treated to home-cooked meals, generous hospitality, and absolutely breathtaking weather & views all around. I even learned to play chess from a French climber staying there who had summitted SIX mountains in 10 days!!! The following day, we went for a lovely hike along the old railroad tracks, casually taking in the scenery and exchanging enthusiastic waves & smiles with the locals. We even made friends with a local girl who was walking a donkey down the road, and she asked us if we would so kindly give her a little gift of candies. Unfortunately for her, not only did we not have any candy on us, but I adamantly refuse to give those kinds of gifts away to people who don´t have access to dental care. Sadly, many tourists choose to give candy away though, and primarily to children.

Finally, we headed back to the city for Round 2 of the train excursion. And guess what? We failed again. It turned out the train for the following day had already been booked up, so we we were flat out of luck yet again. But not all was lost. Randomly, while eating a delicious lunch of potato cakes, eggs, salad, avocado and beets at the market, we met 2 guys originally from Riobamba who have been living in New Jersey for the past decade, Vinny & Carlos. They couldn´t have been nicer people, and immediately took it upon themselves to show us the best possible time in their hometown. And that they did. The first night, after taking us out to dinner at a delicious pizza restaurant, we went back to Vinny´s apartment and climbed up to the 4th floor of his building to watch the nearby Volcano Tungurahua spewing out surreal clouds of glowing red lava. It was my first time ever seeing an active volcano erupting!

We also met up with another Carlos, one of their buddies from high school. It turned out that he owns a hacienda (farm) up in the mountains about a half hour outside of Riobamba, and he is a professional horse trainer. Our three new friends had been trying desperately to convince us to stay an extra day in Riobamba, and it took one mention of the phrase "riding horses" to instantly convince to utter a very enthusiastic: OK!!!!

It turned out to be easily one of the greatest days we´ve had in Ecuador. We spent the day hiking around the hacienda through the beautiful and foggy Andes, rode beautiful horses, were treated to a huge and delicious lunch, and even tried our hands at milking cows! Lauren was an instant pro, but I couldn´t quite figure it out. It was still fun nonetheless. The fun continued back in Riobamba that night, when after a decandent dinner of "the best ice cream in the world" (according to Vinny), we danced the night away at Vinny´s farewell party with a dozen of our new, wonderful Ecuadorian friends. The fun we had could never have been matched by a train ride with a bunch of tourists. Once again, a change in the plans turned out to be the best course of action. Vinny, Carlos and Carlos showed us exceptional hospitality and we are incredibly grateful to them for everything they did for us. ¡Grácias, amigos!

¡Carnaval!

2008-02-05T18:41:00.000-05:00

Carnaval is quite the celebration in Ecuador. It´s nothing like the classic Brazilian carnaval, or the New Orleans Mardi Gras, it´s something uniquely Ecuadorian. Basically, everyone stops working for a full 4 days (sometimes more), and does this: covers everyone in buckets of water, sprays cans of "carnaval foam" on young and old, parades down the street in lovely costumes and homemade floats, plays slightly altered versions of this same damn annoying carnaval song over and over, and drinks more alcohol than the body should ever see.

I traveled to Guaranda, a small highland town that rarely sees many visitors. But during this time each year, tens of thousands of people (mostly Ecuadorians) pour into town to celebrate their famous carnaval. I had two partners in crime: Lauren, my awesome travel buddy of the moment, and Chris, a Brit we met in Quito who decided to come along for the ride. Being gringos, we were extra special targets for hits of water, foam, and flour; but we fought back with a vengeance. Armed with our own cans of the disgusting, pastel-colored, bathroom-cleaner-smelling crap (think: silly string meets shaving cream, but gone wrong), we moved in and retaliated on every group that doused us with the nasty stuff. It was super fun.

We spent a few hours wandering through the craziness, and then finally got some nice seats right on the street to watch the dancers & partiers pass by. But just like everywhere else in the town, this was a primo spot for getting sprayed -- in the face -- with that dreaded foam. As an added and unexpected bonus, our hotel room had a killer view right out the window onto the parade, so we spent the rest of the day watching from the comfort & privacy of our own room -- and of course throwing foam and flour down on all the people below us (hee hee).

It has, however, had a bit of an expiration date for me. I mean, it´s plenty of fun to get attacked by water, flour, foam, and eggs for a day, but two... three... FOUR... I´m over it. Tonight is the end of it though, and at the moment I have to admit I´m hiding out in an internet cafe to avoid being drenched by the groups of dudes in the back of pickup trucks driving around the city to cover people in water.

Oh yeah, it´s also my 26th birthday. In case you´re interested in the statistics, it´s my 3rd birthday in a row abroad. And the 4th out of the last 5 that I´ve been abroad. It went like this: Spain, Davis, Thailand, Kenya & Tanzania, Ecuador. Dizzamn! Been all around this world.

A Few of My Favorite Things

2008-02-05T18:16:00.000-05:00

It´s only been a week , but already I´m falling in love with so many things in Ecuador. Here are a few:

The bus rides. Although not every traveler would agree with me, due to the condition of the old clunkers they use to transport people and their belongings across many kilometers of often sketchy roads, the scenery is so unbelievably spectacular that it makes up for any discomfort. Just yesterday I took a ride from Guaranda to Riobamba on a road which literally circles around Volcano Chimborazo -- at a startling 20,823 feet, this gorgeous snow-capped beast is the highest mountain in all of the Americas north of here and actually the furthest point from the center of the Earth. A few days before that I left Quito on a bus that climbed across Andean ridges, over 13,000 feet, while poncho-clad indigenous folks cultivated their plots of land on the steep slopes. They are all quite literally jaw-dropping journeys. I also have to admit that I love the deafening music (cúmbia or reggaetón ONLY) they play during the ride, it just matches the view so perfectly.

The fruit stands. This is nothing new for me, that is: adoring exotic tropical fruits and the colorful and delightful ways in which they are displayed around the world. But with each new country comes brand new types of fruit. Lately, I´ve been enjoying the mora (raspberry), claudia (yellow and plum-like), and uvilla (tiny orange and a tad bitter). Plus, due to Ecuador´s climate, I am enjoying insanely cheap and delicious versions of my old favorites: avocados, pineapples, and bananas.

The plazas. Europe was the first place that taught me to adore the plaza, a public space of enjoyment and relaxation, usually including a fountain or monument, and often adjoined by a beautiful church or gardens. Each of Ecuador´s cities and towns are teeming with lovely plazas. Each one is charming, and an iglésia is usually not far away. And you can rest assured to find an older Ecuadorian man reclining on a bench, wearing the classic black brimmed hat, watching you walk by and gracing you with a simple "buenas."

Here I Go Again... On My Own

2008-01-30T12:56:00.000-05:00

That´s right... I´m back out in the world for another adventure. This time it´s all on my own, and I couldn´t be happier about it. Of course, just like my previous solo adventures have proven, being "alone" never really means being alone, because of the loads of fantastic people you meet as a solo traveler. Ecuador, even on my first day, has been no exception.

I actually made my first friend on the plane, before I even landed. I was stoked to discover several other solo female travelers waiting for the plane bound for Quito, and it didn´t take me long to strike up a conversation with one of them. Then on my way to my hostal, I made friends with my cab driver -- an endlessly charming and adorable older quiteño man who assured me that Ecuador is the best country in the world, and Quito is his favorite part in the whole country, one that he wouldn´t trade for anything. This was also my first long conversation in Spanish in a while, and it went perfectly well. I guess all those days and nights of practicing Spanish in Spain are still buried down there somewhere, looking to come out of hibernation.

Once I arrived at this charming little hostal and made it up the labyrinth of skinny steps, well, I had half a dozen new friends in minutes. In fact, I already have plans to take off this weekend for an Afro-Ecuadorian beach town with two other girls to celebrate the 4 raucous days of Carnaval! ¡Olé! In the meantime, I´ll be taking it easy here in Quito, a lovely city set in a strikingly beautiful Andean valley at the cool altitude of 10,000 feet. There are plenty of Spanish-style churches to explore, not to mention plenty of craft and food markets to be discovered. My hostel has also this fantastic 4th floor rooftop terrace with a view that speaks for itself... que bueno es.

Doing the Rounds

2008-01-02T20:28:00.000-05:00

I have been putting some serious miles on my Delta account lately. Not that my jetsetting around the world hasn't racked up a good amount of those frequent flyer suckers, but lately I've been going a little crazy here in the States.

I left DC on the good ol' Chinatown bus headed for NYC. Once again, I had the great fortune to arrive on a snow day. Naturally, we all went out to the bars my first night in town, and after closing some random dive in the East Village at 4 am, we walked outside to find everything coated in a lovely white layer of winter glow, with the snow continuing to fall. It was also my first time ever seeing New York City covered in snow after all these years, so I was a mighty happy camper.

New York wasn't completely about hitting the bars, though. Desiree, my gracious host and former UC Davis partner-in-crime, was on vacation the entire time I was there, so we decided to make the most of it. Among the many fun, productive, and totally awesome things we did all week were: stopping at Grimaldi's for Brooklyn's "best pizza," taking a leisurely and stoney walk across the Brooklyn Bridge, hitting up any available Happy Hours, searching out tiny travel bookstores, eating at a tiny Indian restaurant fully decked out in miniature chili lights, and returning to the "Avenue Q" lottery on 45th three different times until we finally WON the lottery and snagged ourselves front row seats for $21!!!! I think we were the most excited people at the show too, which may or may not have had anything to do with the several beers we pounded at Happy Hour just prior to the performance. Regardless, we sang Avenue Q songs on the Subway all the way back to Bay Ridge, and didn't stop laughing for at least the next couple of days.

New York was also about seeing family. I headed north of the city to Westchester to revisit my cousin Beth and her 3 unbelievably adorable little girls, who I lived with last year for 5 months while preparing for my big journey. Not surprisingly, they all dressed up in their very finest and favorite outfits, which by the end of the evening included tap dancing and roller skating through the kitchen. Love it. I also made time to catch up with my former boss Lisa & her two supercute little ones, as well as another family I babysat for in Brooklyn. My final night in town, Desi & I went out to reconnect with the extended college-days family, and hit up the bars with Erica, former Davis homie & roomie, and Sarah, former Davis guest star. Needless to say, that was a crazy night.

Staying on the visiting-family-I-haven't-seen-in-way-too-long tip, I turned back around and headed to Utah. There, I managed to both chill with a whole load of crazy cousins and go snowboarding on the lovely fresh powder dumped all over the state. Due to the deadly combination of financial insufficiencies and morning hangovers, snowboarding took a backseat to hanging with the cousins & my bro. It was for the best: I spent my week there doing a whole lot of drinking, playing an embarassing amount of Rock Band (which, in case you were curious, I totally rule at), visiting hilariously seedy Salt Lake City karaoke bars, and laughing more than I have in a loooooong time. I also celebrated the New Year in classic Neely-boy style; which meant plenty of Jim Beam, endless bowls, champagne at midnight, dancing around with a 40% off Thanksgiving turkey bowl, bows & ribbons as last minute costume ideas, and other utterly ridiculous antics.

Taxation Without Representation

2007-12-09T17:29:00.000-05:00

I arrived in Washington DC last week on the day of a huge snowstorm. Everyone on the plane seemed highly concerned, but no, not me -- I landed in the Capital with a huge, silly grin on my face and a genuinely giddy attitude about the whole affair. Come on, it's snow! It's beautiful! I haven't seen any snow at all for 2 years! My old housemate (and soon-to-be LA resident) Kevin picked me up at the airport, and whisked me away to the blue house with the purple door in Columbia Heights, where I spent the evening hugging other housemates, building a snowman, drinking wine, and watching Project Runway. What an arrival!

The following 10 days have been par for the DC course: visiting favorite bars, reuniting with my DC homies, stopping in at Busboys & Poets for free drinks, attending lively social gatherings, drinking Baileys & hot chocolate and Yuenglings, and lots & lots of dancing. The weekend was packed full of events, the first of which was a Latke party at my old place. This is a yearly Hanukkah tradition, where hundreds of little potato pancakes get fried up, leaving the house and its residents smelling distinctly like fried food for quite some time, and lots of random & not-so-random people come over to eat the food and start a dance party in the dining room.

Naturally, the morning after brought your typical Saturday brunch, cooked up by me & Annie and served promptly around 2pm once everyone dragged themselves out of bed, just in time to eat but somehow conveniently missing out on the cooking part. The next night saw another party, this one for a non-profit called GirlsRock DC that Annie is helping out with. She, of course, went all out with the costume (it was a "hair party"). While she played hostess, Wes & I held up the fort outside; until he got a rather lesbian-like haircut early in the morning (in all fairness, all the other clients that evening were lesbians) and for a mix of odd reasons eventually we all decided it'd be best to get the hell out of there. It was a rather strange affair, but for $5 I got to both help out a good cause and drink a bottomless cup of beer. Not bad.

J Tree!

2007-11-28T02:00:00.000-05:00

After all these years of living only 135 miles away, I finally made it out to Joshua Tree National Park (or, affectionately, J Tree). I had no idea it was so close to L.A., and what's more, I had no idea how frickin' awesome that place is.

I spent 6 months in Asia this year, and -- as my previous blog posts have made obvious -- a good deal of that time was spent rock climbing. By the time I left a few weeks ago, I had finally crossed over that painful beginner threshold, feeling pretty good about actually being able to climb rocks. Now, this is no way means that I actually know what I'm doing, but rather, that I can figure some stuff out and make it up the rock. Which, after many days of struggling up routes, counts as a huge accomplishment to me.

J Tree is a whole different story from what I'd gotten used to in Asia. The rock in Asia is mostly limestone, and the routes are bolted for sport climbing. J Tree is trad(itional) climbing on towers of quartz monzonite, with lots and lots of crack.(Crack climbing, that is.) You have to learn how to jam your hands, fingers, even entire arms & legs into cracks to make it up the routes. I also had to learn the fine art of taping up my knuckles & fingers to avoid leaving pieces of flesh attached to the rock. Also, unlike Asia, it was damn cold. Winter in J Tree brings low temperatures and high desert winds, with the rock itself sometimes getting so cold that it chills your hands to the bone. This was an entirely new experience from climbing limestone in Thailand in my bathing suit, reaching for the chalk bag every few moves because I was so drenched in sweat from the sticky humidity that I could barely stay attached to the holds.

Fortunately, I was out there with my homies Charley & Tatiana -- yes, the folks who appeared in my blog sometime back in May when we met up with them in Thailand for a couple weeks of killer Ton Sai climbing. They were full of helpful info about how to deal with the gnarly cracks, and answered my many questions about how those funky-looking pieces of trad gear actually work.

All in all, it was a total blast. The weather was perfect, the climbing partners were fun, the routes were challenging and always rewarding. My climbing is rapidly turning into a full-blown addiction and I'm loving it.

Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

2007-11-10T01:56:00.000-05:00

Well, I decided to make some radical changes to the set of various travel itinerary options I've had in front of me for a while, and at the moment find myself -- brace yourself, it may come as a shock -- celebrating Thanksgiving with my American family in that city of superhighways, boob jobs, and taco stands that happens to be my hometown. That's right folks, I'm spending the holidays in Los Angeles.

Here's how it all went down. I had been trying to make a decision about what to do next in this journey for quite some time. I'd been juggling with a string of ideas, but eventually decided it sounded best to head over to right-next-door India to do some serious yoga. And, I had to leave Thailand. My visa was running out with no chance of renewal, so I hopped on a flight down to Kuala Lumpur thinking I would rush and get my Indian visa there, and hurry off to a yoga program I'd found that started 10 days later. Then, the time came to go get my visa and I just didn't go.

After many weeks of indecision and confusion, I finally got to grips with the fact that I was not ready to be doing this. I'd been pressuring myself into a decision that I was mentally and emotionally unprepared for, and on top of feeling pretty lost about my life in general, was just straight up burned out. And Buddha knows, the worst place to head off to by yourself when you're feeling tired and worn, is India. At the same time, I was more or less hating Kuala Lumpur and feeling increasingly bored and restless by the day.

So I jumped on down to Bali. I spent two weeks there with the specific purpose of trying to screw my head back on a little, do as much yoga as I could manage, and try to figure out what the right next move would be. It became clear very quickly that I was ready to leave Asia. And the more I thought about it, the more obvious it became that spending time around family and friends was just the thing I needed. And now, here I am.

Everyone likes to ask me if I'm in "shock." But, this is the third big international trip I've returned from straight to LA, so the shock of American flags and immigration officers, of the cultural excesses and obscene traffic jams, of everyone's general unfriendliness and not receiving smiles in return from strangers... that's all American stuff I was prepared for. I spent my last week in Bali trying to mentally prepare myself to peacefully handle these kinds of things.

That being said, I have been completely knocked to the floor in shock about other things I was entirely unprepared for:

1) The price of gasoline ($3.50/gallon)
2) Bumper stickers that say "Give War A Chance"
3) The percentage of cars in dense traffic jams that have only one person in them (90%?)
4) Billboards
5) TV commercials with smiling upper class white women spinning in circles holding onto a good dozen shopping bags
6) Women at bars in LA dressed like complete and total whores (now, I realize I'm coming from a string of conservative, heavily religious countries where this kind of thing doesn't happen; but this does not change the fact that women in LA dress and act like they work at a strip club)
7) Actually hearing Bush's voice on the radio or TV

But, I'm doing alright. Truth be told, it's been really nice to hug my family and hear my favorite people's voices on the phone. Eating Mexican food and watching 'South Park' hasn't been so bad either. I don't know what's next for me, that's what I'm here to figure out. But the journey's not over, I'm just taking a much-needed break. And it is Thanksgiving after all... an appropriate time to look back at the last year of my life with gratitude and awe, and at the same time give thanks for having this place to come back to.

... Do It!

2007-10-29T07:06:00.000-04:00

It's been a long time since my last post, but for good reason: upon arrival back in Thailand, I headed straight for Chiang Mai, a fantastic Northern Thai city and longtime favorite with expats and weary backpackers like myself. And there I stayed for the better part of the last month. Chiang Mai is the kind of place that sneaks up on you. At first, it seems like a fairly busy Thai city, full of motorbikes and shops and markets. But within days, you find yourself awfully comfortable... wowed at the gorgeous wats hiding in every block, smiling at your new tuk-tuk driver friends on the corner, shaking your booty to the live music going on all over town, and practically in love with the lady who makes your out-of-this-world som tam every night at the market for 20 baht. Not to mention, paying only $1.75 a night to stay in a room up on the rooftop of the best guesthouse in town, with hammocks lined up right outside your door.

There's also absolutely fantastic climbing just outside of town, at the Crazy Horse Buttress. I spent a good two weeks alone heading out to this crag with Joe and various climber friends we met along the way, steadily improving my own climbing ability and helping teach a few new friends the ropes (literally). We'd heard a lot about this crag from climber friends in Ton Sai, but it far surpassed both of our expectations. In addition to having loads of great, fun routes on high quality rock, the area itself was exceptionally well-maintained, complete with manicured trails, signs, route & crag information, and comfortable belay areas. I've never seen anything like it! In Chiang Mai, we met back up with two friends from our Laos trek, Taylor & Brandon, and brought them out to the crag to teach them how to get up the rock. We also made sure to take plenty of rest time away from the rock, playing games of 98, asshole, and drinking buckets of booze at the reggae bars.

Due to the arrival of two lovely ladies from my Davis days -- Jen & Caitlin -- I left the North of Thailand for one last hurrah amongst the limestone cliffs of Railay. This was my third visit of the year, but my only one not centered around climbing everyday. Fortunately, there were no lack of ways in which to spend my time with the girls, and our days & nights were full of wine drinking on the beach, beer drinking in bamboo bars, watching Jen completely rock out her first day of climbing ever, eating delicious Thai food, and talking sh... errr... catching up. Caitlin's friend Brooke, currently a resident of Bangkok, also joined us on this excursion along with her new interest Jeff, and the three of us spent many an hour enjoying playing the role of the intoxicated, not-so-subtle, raucous cupid. This is where Jen also christened the theme of the trip (and the title of this posting): DO IT! Such an apt phrase for so many reasons... but, I've also discovered, a good little mantra to repeat to yourself when trying to make decisions while traveling.

This week down in the south taught me an important lesson: nothing is ever the same as you remember it. And especially true for Thailand is: things change mighty fast. Railay, only 2 months after my last visit, was full of tourists and steadily increasing. Worse still, my beloved Ton Sai was not only full of tourists -- a strange thing to see after spending 10 days there with about 10 other people -- but my one and only Chill Out Bar had been torn down (gasp!) and moved to a big, totally non-chill-out structure next door. Farewell to the beautiful longtail boat/driftwood/treehouse/lost-at-sea Chill Out Bar of the past. Then, after saying a somewhat bittersweet goodbye to Krabi, I stopped over at Koh Lanta. I'd spent a week on this little island on my last trip to Thailand, nearly 2 years ago. I was horrified to discover that the quaint, quiet little travel haven that used to be Koh Lanta was quite literally bulldozed, and in its place are piles of rubbish, construction sites, concrete buildings, frighteningly overpriced bungalows, and bad vibes. Bummertown.

So, after a few moments of consideration, I turned around and headed back up north to spend my final week in Thailand back in Chiang Mai. Jen & Caitlin were cruising that way anyway, so I had a good excuse to go back (as if I needed one). Once again, I spent a pleasant week eating, climbing, partying, and chilling in the lovely Northern capital of the lovely Asian country that I love so much. And I don't care what all the stuck-up so-called backpackers have to say lately about Thailand becoming too touristy; it's still wonderful Thailand, full of Thai people, Thai food, and Thai culture. Sadly, it's also full of Thai immigration laws that don't allow a foreigner like myself to acquire more than 3 months per year of free 30-day visas, so I had to leave and can't go back for a while. And it's okay, because it's time to move on anyway. Time to just... you guessed it... DO IT.

So Much To Say

2007-10-07T01:47:00.000-04:00

My final big adventure in Laos -- if you don't count the ride to the Thai border when the bus fishtailed on the muddy, unfinished, winding mountain road -- was a 4-day ecotrek through the jungle-covered hills of Northern Laos to visit three different hilltribe villages. It was probably the best thing I've done on the whole trip.

We had the great fortune to meet our trekking partners on the bus ride out of Luang Prabang to Luang Nam Tha: 2 fellow Californians, and a French couple. We all visited the local ecotourism project office, decided on our 4-day adventure for the amazing price of only $58, and set off. Together with our very cool & knowledgable guides, we made up a fun little group of nine. There is no doubt in my mind that the incredibly great vibe maintained throughout the trip had everything to do with the incredibly great people that made up our group.

Hiking through the various jungle ecosystems was stellar, especially when we passed through towering bamboo forests, stopped for a rest at cold mountain streams, ate delicious homecooked Lao cuisine for lunch, or caught a view of the surrounding hills through a clearing in the jungle thicket. But it paled in comparison to the beautiful villages we arrived at after hiking all day.

In Northern Laos, the ethnic minorities make up the majority of the population, and the many different tribes fall into 4 different ethnic groups. We had the pleasure of visiting three of those four: the Hmong, Lanten, and Khmu. Each day we stopped at a different village, where we would spend the afternoon walking around making friends with the locals and learning about their tribe, followed by a scrumptious dinner cooked by the villagers. Each night, the village chief joined us for dinner and a back-and-forth question & answer session. Via the translations offered by our guides, we were able to ask questions about village life, traditional customs & dress, and their feelings about local tourism. The chiefs had many questions for us as well, but the pressing one was always the same: Are you married? If not, when will you be?

There were so many amazing things that happened in the villages, it would be impossible to try and list them all here. But perhaps the most amazing part of the journey was the trek itself and what it represents to the locals we visited. This trek is part of an ecotourism project, started only two years ago in Laos, that aims to provide community-based tourism that preserves, respects, and benefits both the environment and the villages and their traditional way of life. (www.ecotourismlaos.com) All of the villages were offered the choice of hosting tourists or not, and all are partners in the project, and receive profits from our visit. The very basic accomodation we stayed in was built by the villagers in the local style, so that we would be part of the village itself, rather than playing the role of disconnected observers with cameras in hand.

All three of the village chiefs raved about the project and how beneficial it has been for the villagers. One chief said "Before the tourists came, life was very hard. Now, life is not so hard anymore." Another pointed out the visible positive changes the tourism revenue has brought, such as tin roofs (rather than rattan which needs to be replaced every 3 years), new schools, and ever-growing libraries for the children. They all mentioned how respectful and lovely the tourists had been, and along with bringing some money into the village, people like us had also brought many smiles and friendly faces.

In the Khmu village on our last night -- during a game of team karaoke instigated by our guide Coom Seng (team USA sang "Take Me Out to the Ball Game") -- the village chief improvised a deeply beautiful melody in his Khmu dialect. The translation spoke for itself: "Before, when the foreigners came, they brought war and everyone was sad. Now, the tourists come and they bring peace, everyone gets along, and everyone is happy."

But with all good things come a little bad. There was only one real downside to this journey: leeches. These little bloodsuckers flourish in the floors of the bamboo forests we hiked right through, especially in the rainy season. Unlike the stereotypical image of huge, slug-like, swamp-dwelling creatures I had in my mind, these leeches were tiny and frighteningly sneaky! But a small price to pay for such an amazing experience.

Luang Days

2007-09-25T00:40:00.000-04:00

Luang Prabang is Laos' former royal capital, and during French colonial rule was a favorite spot of colonalists looking to escape their duties and live the good life. These days it's an expat haven, and it's easy to see why. The city has a feel all its own, blending supreme peacefulness with an often hip & artsy vibe. It's located right on the banks of Mekong River, where it meets up with another river, the Nam Kha. The whole entire city was deemed as a prestigious UNESCO World Heritage Site, due to its purely unique blend of French colonial & Laos architecture, its lush gardens and abundant coconut trees, and it's 32 gorgeous wats (temples), all of which have managed to hold up remarkably well despite Laos' recent disastrous history that seemed to destroy nearly everything in sight except this city.

One of the best things to do in Luang Prabang is wander around checking out the temples, which seem to pop out of every corner. Each one is a little different from the other, but distinctly Lao. Wat Xieng Thong was particularly impressive, and it was easy to spend an hour there in awe of its beauty. All the walls are covered in gold
paintings, diligently executed to depict scenes of both Buddhist legends and village life. Hundreds of Buddha statues dwelled on the insides, some reclining, some smiling, some meditating; some are only an inch-high, while the biggest is about 10 meters tall. Even more remarkable were the colored glass mosaics shining on the outside of the buildings, where artisans painstakingly constructed everything from trees, to farming and fishing scenes, to elephants, lions, tiger, cattle, and birds.

Every night from 5pm on, eight blocks of the town are closed off and a handicraft market is set up. I have never, in all of my travels, seen a craft market so spectacular. The sheer size of it is staggering, with women setting up their stalls on both sides of each block, right up next to one another. Walking the whole thing takes about 45 minutes (I do this pretty much every night), and is a visual overload of rainbow colors and staggeringly beautiful patterns. The variety of items available is equally amazing, ranging from silk scarves to quilts, handbags to fisherman pants, silver jewelry to slippers. But the real kicker is the exceptional quality of the items; I have seen plenty of handicrafts all over the world, but none so well-made as these.

And there's the food. Because of the French, every morning I consume a delicious fresh baguette, with or without eggs depending on how gross they do or do not sound. In addition to finding yet more stands to devour som tam (papaya salad a la Laos) and Lao noodle soup for under a dollar, there is a completely vegetarian buffet available for only $.50! Every night I load up with locally-grown bamboo shoots, tofu with mung beans, fried noodles, peanut cucumber salad, squash, green beans, and whatever else can be piled onto the small mountain that is my plate. Accommodation is running me about $1.50 a night, so if I manage to avoid spending money at the craft market, I can get by on around $4 a day!

Rolling Down the River

2007-09-22T03:40:00.000-04:00

Things are different out here in Laos. Time just moves a little slower, I think, or maybe there's just something in the air that makes everything super chill. And no, I don't mean THAT certain something, because the cops seems to be after every trace of skunk in the air. I've never been to a more relaxed country than this one, and that's saying a lot after visiting Indonesia and Malaysia! I have to say it's not quite as cheap as I'd heard, mostly due to the erroneous "fees" and overcharging of tourists that runs rampant, but it's still pretty easy to stay under $10/day. Plus, being the experienced backpacker that I now am, there are ways around these sorts of things.

For example, there is always (always!) a local bus, even when everyone insists that there isn't just so you will pay twice as much for their fancy, special, elite, VIP, I'm-a-far-too-important-white-tourist-who-can't-deal-with-no-air-con buses. Getting out of Vientiane to the village of Vang Vieng was a little tricky at first, but as soon as we arrived at the bus station, we found a local bus and off we went. This was the very first ride I'd ever taken where a motorbike was granted passenger status, and rode among us cheapies inside the bus. The ride turned out to be quite lovely; who needs air con anyway when both doors of the bus are flung wide open?

We made it to Vang Vieng in under 5 hours (woo hoo!), and there I stayed for the next week. Despite its very serious downsides -- way too much concrete, dozens of bars playing "Friends" reruns on maximum volume all at the same time, loads of British wankers drunkenly stumbling around the town, its somewhat strange resemblance to Bangkok's Koh San Road at night -- I found plenty to enjoy. It's a prety small town nustled in amongst absolutely epic limestone karsts with a sizeable river offshoot of the Mekong running through it. We snagged a "luxury" bungalow down on the river, for us a seemingy outrageous splurge at $5/night, blissfully away from the raging stupidity of the main drag. To clarify, the definition of luxury is: a newly built bungalow, towels provided (real towels that don't smell like mold!), a functional and level porch, plenty of floor space to put down all of my shit, something hung on the wall as an actual decoration, and a very clean bathroom with hot water!

Vang Vieng is also home to Laos' famous tubing adventure. You rent a tube for $4, get tuk-tuked up the river 3km, and spend the next however many hours floating downstream. All along the way are makeshift bamboo bars on the river's edge, which you paddle over to and subsequently buy and drink as many $1 Beer Laos as you may need. But that's not all. Almost every single bar has a huge trapezee that you swing out on and then drop into the river below. It is so, so, so, much fun!!! I haven't been on a trapezee since I was a kid, and I can't say I've ever been on one DRUNK, let along swinging from 15 meters up and dropping into the river! I was pretty freaked out at first, but became a full-blown addict once I got over my fears and clung for dear life to that trapezee! Joe left his Chacos at the Last Bar, so we went tubing again the next day and had a completely sober but equally fantastic time. (Sadly, in the effort of not completely destroying my camera, I do not have any of my own photos of this adventure... however, I've stolen some from the internet to illustrate how awesome this was!)

When we weren't lounging around with the butterflies at the bungalow or nursing our tubing hangovers, we would cruise across a bridge, down the road, over some fences, and through the rice paddies to reach a climbing crag! That's right, I was back on the rocks again. There were about 8 bolted routes, of which we climbed 4, and all of them had sweeping views of the peaks and valleys below. I even managed to cruise up a 6a+, twice, and totally loved it. I am happy to say that Laos is both the fourth Asian country I've visited, AND the fourth Asian country I've rock climbed in! And, just for the record, it's officially the 20th country I've been to in my life! (not including the US of A of course)

How Now, Pow Wow, No More Mao, Laos

2007-09-13T06:15:00.000-04:00

Last stop in Thailand was Nong Khai, a peaceful little town right on the banks of the Mekong. Since I'd extended my stay in Khorat a little bit, I had literally one day left to explore the place before my one-month tourist visa was up for Thailand. After playing an unusually active tourist role in the last few days, and enjoying the heck out of it, I decided why not see what kind of things little Nong Khai has to offer. It turned out to have one of the strangest tourist attractions I've ever seen: a park filled with several dozen absolutely ginormous Hindu and Buddhist sculptures. And it was awesome! I'm still not quite sure what the point was, other than to exhibit the oh-so-much-larger-than-life qualities of Asia's most revered deities. I was cool with the gigantic smiling Buddha, but it was pretty frightening to see Shiva 3 stories up surrounded by 7 huge angry serpent heads... glad I wasn't on any substances for that excursion.

The next day I caught a bus across the Mekong and, pow!: welcome to Laos. The border was pretty mellow, but slightly frustrating. I ended up paying for my Laos visa in Thai Baht because I didn't have any American dollars on me, and then walked 5 feet and saw an exchange bureau where I easily could have bought some dollars and saved myself 10 bucks. Thanks for letting me know, Sneaky Immigration Man. After getting my passport stamped, I was warmly welcomed into Laos once again by the Entry Fee booth, kindly requesting that I dish out yet some more Baht before officially crossing over. Quite the exercise in patience, but I've come to learn that every border crossing has its share of demons, and this one wasn't so bad. Thankfully we dodged the tuk-tuk drivers and caught a $.70 bus to Laos' capital city of Vientiane immediately...

In case you're reading this and wondering 'Where is Laos?', well you're not the only one. Here's the rundown. It's Southeast Asia's least visited country, and famous for being one of the most bombed nations on the PLANET. Hard to believe, considering its neighbors are China, Vietnam, Myanmar, Cambodia, and Thailand... Officially, it's the People's Democratic Republic of Laos, having arrived there are decades of disgraceful French colonial control, shameful carpet bombings by the US during the Vietnam War, and frightening communist revolutions and civil uprisings. The history is a sad and depressing one, but Laos (silent 's' ... you can thank the French for adding it on) is a beautiful place with fantastic people. The vibe is so relaxed, and I'm still kicking it in Vientiane. It's Laos' biggest city but, to me, barely feels like a city at all. So far I've managed only to visit one lovely old Wat (temple) and tramp around in the mud of the delightful shantytown everything market, and -- you guessed it -- eat my way through the vegetarian delights of the city.

The Real Deal

2007-09-09T07:56:00.000-04:00

Suffered through my first overnight train trip getting from Suratthani to Bangkok, and surprisingly there wasn't much suffering involved. The second class cabin was a little cramped to say the least, and the fans provided didn't do much to keep the air cool, but I made it through the night OK and woke up to find myself squinting at the morning sun in the middle of Bangkok. Fortunately, I stayed in Bangkok for exactly 15 minutes and caught yet another train straight out of there. That ride involved quite a bit more suffering. It was brutally hot in the third class cabin, and the ride seemed neverending as the train police shuffled us around to different seats (in the same cabin...?) and some senile old Thai man puked out of a nearby window.

The destination, Khorat, turned out to be a surprisingly fresh breath of air. Quite unexpectedly, Thailand's second largest city has turned out to be a very likeable town. It's full of plenty to see and do, and overflowing with charming Thai people and delicious Thai food. But it's also the kind of place where tourists don't matter so much and aren't catered to; it's all about the Thais here. Hardly anyone speaks English, which has been great for both practicing my disasterous Thai phrases and providing the locals with some comedy. There are permanent markets set up in sidewalks with Thai ladies sitting at makeshift wooden tables selling every conceivable fruit, veggie, and animal flesh I could dream of. Dozens of sewing machines are set up in a row on the other side of the street every other day to mend and create clothing. The night markets are completely free of tourist souvenirs and are instead full of T-shirts with ripped-off and/or nonsensical English slogans on them, the kind of clothes Thais seem to love most. Oh, if I only had a Baht for every time I've seen a shirt that either made no sense at all or, unbeknownst to its owner, was shockingly inappropriate...

Obviously, most of my time has been spent eating, eating, and eating some more. It's significantly more challenging to be a vegetarian here, as the local dishes all contain a whole lot of duck tail, chicken feet, pig ears, cow liver, and other frightening animal body parts I would rather not be able to recognize. But, markets abound, full of vegetables I could never dream of, as do food stands hawking nearly flammable renditions of papaya salad (som tum).

Aside from stuffing my face and chuckling with Thai ladies at my perfectly shitty Thai language abilities (hey - I can count to 99!), I've taken day trips to two different sites nearby. In general, I've been pretty burned out on the whole sightseeing thing lately, but these places were just begging to be explored. Each are temple and shrine complexes originally built by the Angkor Empire in the 11th, 12th, and 13th centuries and later converted by the Thais into Buddhist temples. My first outing was to Prasat Phanom Rung, which has been extremely well-restored and sits atop an extinct volcano with superb views of the countryside all around. It took a long bus ride and some serious negotiating with a motorbike driver to get there, but it was worth it. The restoration has really cleaned up and brought out the elaborate designs carved into sandstone walls, pillars, and blocks. Some of it is even hilariously risque; as a new friend from Bangkok said of this photo: "not so nice! ha ha ha!" There also happened to be some kind of celebration going on, with guys playing out-of-tune trumpets, ringing bells, tying white strings across buildings, and lovely Thai ladies dressing up... though I couldn't tell if it was Buddhist, Hindu, or some mixture of both.

Today I hit up the other nearby attraction, another Angkor temple complex in the town of Phimai. This one was way easier to get to, and despite what I'd read, a lot more interesting. Phimai is in ruins, ie no one has paid for the restoration yet, but it is a much larger complex and has a much more impressive 28 meter-tall shrine tower. Tourists are free to roam all over the ruins, which can get pretty tricky as the sandstone and laterite they used to build these things has endured some serious weathering. But around every corner are gems to be discovered: smiling Buddhas, intricate carvings, gravity-defying arrangements of sandstone blocks, strangely Roman-esque pillars, and guardian spirits. In fact, today I learned that Singha is not just the name of my least-favorite Thai beer, but is also an ancient guardian protector that symbolizes heaven. So there, Chang!

All in all, the last five days have been the most "real" Thailand I've ever experienced. It's been blissful wandering around the less-trodden paths out here in Northeast Thailand, far away from the obnoxious farangs (that's us white folk) and the Tourist Trail that claims so much of this country. I've even had the pleasure of seeing the Thais themselves play tourist at the temple ruins. We make new Thai friends everywhere, and get pretty stoked when random Thais of all ages stop to say hello or wave at us from passing buses. Whether it's been cramming into 3rd class trains and buses, walking down city streets, checking in at the hotel, eating at food stalls, bargaining at the night bazaar, gaping at the obscene cell phone displays in the mall, or chatting with American-loving tuk-tuk drivers named Mr Cookie, it's been nothing but huge giant Thai smiles and great Thai vibes.

Som Tam in Paradise

2007-09-05T00:28:00.000-04:00

My first week back in the island paradise of Koh Phangan was spent at The Sanctuary, a little haven of peacefulness on an isolated stretch of east coast beach. I went a little over budget for a few days as I filled up my time with yoga classes and delicious vegetarian cuisine from their lovely but painfully overpriced restaurant. On the day of the full moon party, I attempted to leave the Sanctuary, to go to another beach and skip out on what I'd known to be the stupid debauchery of the full moon party. However, the boat to the next beach sped on by without picking me up, a clear sign that I was not going anywhere that day. Instead, I decided to go to the party with some of my new friends and ended up having one of the most fun nights of this entire trip. I boogied my behind off for about 10 hours, even staying to drink a final beer and dance to the Stones as the sun came up. Gotta love when fate works out like that...

Next stop was the insanely beautiful beach of Thong Nai Pan Yai. It's the kind of beach you dream about but think might not really exist. Most of the days were nice and leisurely, with hours on end spent lounging in the shady white sand or swinging in the pink tye dye hammock on my porch. Occasionally some Chang drinking occured, when it was just too hot and sunny NOT to have a cold beer, or when the tunes from the Funky Buddha Bar called us to come and dance. But far and away the highlight was wandering the little Thai village, and eating. A lot. We were spoilt for choice as far as delicious low-key Thai Mama cooking goes, but managed to find the gem among gems: Som's. Som cooked us unbelievable Thai meals 3 times a days, and I can now safely say hers is my favorite Thai restaurant in the whole world. Mmmmmmmmmm.....

Time Keeps on Slippin'

2007-08-24T02:52:00.001-04:00

I'm back in Thailand, for my third go-round, and somehow it's the end of August. How did that happen? I've got two months left in Southeast Asia, and have clocked over three as of now. Time just keeps on moving faster... In any case, here's what I've been up to since Indo:

I hopped a flight to Kuala Lumpur, and found myself once again pleased to be back in lovely Malaysia. It was a little eerie coming from Indonesia to the 6-lane highways of Malaysia, where as we drove down the road in a huge air-conditioned bus I could have sworn I was glancing out at the high-rises and strip malls of Orange County. But, KL itself was not so bad. Fortunately, there was a great place to go climbing right outside of town at a tourist area called the Batu Caves. We skipped the sightseeing and headed for the rock, and spent 2 days climbing some great routes, escaping the heat, and continuing to meet fabulous locals. But a week in KL was more than enough.

Next stop was the Cameron Highlands, a beautiful outpost of jungled hills, vibrant tea plantations, fruit and vegetable farms, flower gardens, and supremely cool weather. I skipped out on the package tours and did one myself, taking local transport to the next town up, and walking all day through tea plantations, strawberry farms, and browsing colorful veggie stands. Though the Highlands are famous for their strawberries, I found they didn't hold a candle to California's... but still I enjoyed my fair share of strawberry ice cream and organic ripe ones. Afterwards, I took a 3-hour hike through beautiful jungle, and made it back just in time for a giant meal of incredible Indian food. I found the Highlands a little too touristy but beautiful nonetheless, and it was easy to overlook the giant tourbuses in favor of the gorgeous rolling hills. In any case, after careful consideration of my options and finances, I decided it was time to get back to Thailand.

Once again, I got into Thailand and headed straight for the rocks in Ton Sai. I was stoked to find I've improved a lot as a climber, and had fun trying things I couldn't dream of doing 3 months ago. Sweet! It was also the very, very LOW season, so we found a bungalow for about $3 a night and plenty of quiet time. I missed some of my old Ton Sai buddies, but found a new crew of great kids to chill and climb with. The weather was insanely rainy, but was strangely a blessing -- no more days of brutal humidity and ruthless mosquitos. I AM still covered in mosquito bites, and bruises on my knees, but things definitely improved for the better.

And now, I'm back to Koh Phangan, one of my favorite islands in the world, to do a little howling at the full moon and lots of yoga.

Highlights from the High Life

2007-08-02T00:45:00.000-04:00

Of all the places I've been on this whirlwind journey, nearly every day of my two months in Indonesia were a highlight. The delightful people, delicious and creative (and oh-so-veggie-friendly) cuisine, mindblowing landscapes and wonderfully laid-back atmosphere just provided the pleasant backdrop for my individual destinations, each of which dealt a whole new set of things to marvel at. One of my favorite discoveries was that each island in Indonesia feels almost like a whole new country. Each one is a vibrant expression of its own unique culture, dialect, cuisine, and energy; they are at once undeniably unique, yet share a distinctly Indonesian core.

My last two weeks in Indonesia were, of course, no exception to the pattern. I reluctantly left my cozy little setup in Ubud for a taste of the next island over, Lombok. I was greeted with black sand beaches, pony-drawn carts as the primary means of transportation (the ponies were decked out in rainbow-colored garb, no less; had I taken a wrong turn straight for the circus?), a landscape of towering mountains, loads of palm trees, and quite aggressive touts. For the first few days, I kept wondering where all the temples had gone, who was hiding all those offerings, and where they'd managed to stash the gamelan.

The first order of business was to climb Indonesia's second-highest peak, Mount Rinjani. After negotiating a fantastic price (sometimes it really does pay to be a world-wise backpacker), I set off on a 4-day adventure for my very first volcano. Sure, I've seen plenty of 'em before, but never strapped on the old hiking boots to go and stomp around on one (actually the old hiking boots cashed out on me in South Africa; I was doing this one in running shoes). The first two days were mostly intense uphill, first through misty tropical rainforest and then through bright and breezy grasslands. Eventually, we reached the top of the crater rim, a sight I was unprepared for. It was an almost psychedelic landscape of steep cliffs, the towering summit, and weird blues, greens, and yellows of the lake. We hiked down into the lake, and spent the next few hours lounging around a hot springs and eating yet another lunch of mie goreng before heading to the summit base camp.

At 3am the next morning, under a sky absolutely jam-packed with stars, we headed for the summit. It was, at least for me, a very intense few hours. The wind was blowing, the ridge was skinny, and it wasn't quite light out. The sun did come up, providing some much-needed light, but I was still only about halfway there. I found myself at the bottom of the final "push" -- a basically vertical stretch of ash, sand, and rock leading to the pile of orange rocks that marked the 3,726m top of Rinjani -- and didn't think I was gonna make it. But... I did. I slipped, slided, stumbled, fell, crawled, yelled, panted, huffed and puffed my way up, and suddenly, in that strange state of delusion only the very top of a mountain can bring, there I was. On my first real mountain summit. After the debacle that was the Mt Kenya trek, I was wary of going on another organized trek up a mountain, but this one proved all my worries wrong. The weather was perfect, the mountain was inspiring and rewarding, and the trip itself was well-organized, the guide lovely, and it was excellent value for the Rupiah.

Next stop after Rinjani was the Gili Islands, a little slice of heaven just west of Lombok. It was the perfect place to rest my weary muscles, as the Gilis are designed for nothing but serious rest & relaxation. I stayed on Gili Air, and spent the next week taking it very nice and easy. Most days I spent doing yoga, drinking banana milkshakes, swimming in the crystal blue water, puffing down countless spliffs, walking through the charming village, meeting new friends, watching the sun set over Bali, and trying to decide on an appropriate time to start drinking beer. I let my vegetarian diet a little off the hook for a taste of what the crystal seas had to offer, and spent just about every night feasting on the most incredible fish I have ever eaten. For around US$4, I dined on snapper, barracuda, tuna, or squid caught just 30 minutes before, complemented with a baked potato, vegetables, fruit, and even chocolate cake.

For my final two nights, I returned to my breezy third floor pad in Ubud, for a last minute soak-up of the view, the exceptional food, and the Balinese culture I have so grown to love. Melancholy as it may be, it's a rather beautiful feeling to leave a place with a pang of sadness in your heart and the resulting vow of prompt return that manifests itself. As always, the journey continues.

Bali Highs and Lows

2007-07-07T02:21:00.000-04:00

I've spent the last three weeks on the island of Bali, and it's been a pretty intense series of highs and lows. Bali has once again been named Best Island in the World (as the local paper was proud to announce -- don't ask me what surely eminent band of folks presided in bestowing it that fine honor), but I have to say I just might agree. Bali is the kind of place I thought might exist only in fairy tales -- a tropical paradise exploding with all of a traveler's greatest fantasies: white and black sand beaches, skylines of volcanoes both active and dormant, magical hot springs, deliciously lush green rice paddies stacked in brilliant terraces among the palm trees, mysterious temples furnished with spectacularly lavish architecture and artwork, and echoes of gamelan orchestras providing the soundtrack all the while.

My time in Bali began in the dreadfully tacky, Las-Vegas-esque town of Kuta. Home to designer shops, a mess of concrete, and way too many scantily-clad drunken Aussies, it was not exactly the best introduction to an otherwise fabulous island. Fortunately, we decided to rent a motorbike for a few days, and got away from the aggressive touts and shameless tourists in favor of cliffside temples and perfect waves. Thanks to the internet, I happened to discover a rock climbing site right on the beach, where we spent a couple days climbing, camping out, and befriending two of the nicest, most generous Indonesians in the world (who also happen to be professional rock climbers). After about a week though, I'd had enough and was ready to head out.

Next stop was Ubud, where I have pleasantly spent the last two weeks of my time. Ubud is definitely a stop on the tourist map of Bali, and certainly has its fair share of obnoxious boutiques and pestering touts (if I hear "transport?" shouted at me one more time...). But it's a gorgeous place, surrounded on all sides by endless rice paddies and striking natural beauty, and on a clear day I can see five different volcanoes towering in the horizon from the balcony of my room. Ubud is also the place where the spectacular Balinese culture is at its most vivid and accessible, a sort of "must-stop" place for someone as interested in traditional culture as me.

The Balinese Hindu culture is one of such intense color and celebration, practiced by the unfailingly devoted locals, that every day is made to seem like a spectacular holiday. Life itself, it seems, even in its most benign form, is cause for celebration. Traditional wear, worn several times a week for various temple activities, is a pure explosion of color and fabric. No two people dress the same, and get a few dozen of them together and you can see just about every color in the spectrum. Gamelan ensembles collaborate all over town throughout the day, and I frequently find myself drifting in and out of dense, trance-like melodies as I go about my jalan-jalan (walk). Every day, offerings are made to the Gods, placed in strategic locations all over the ground. They are made of palm fronds neatly woven into tiny boxes, inside of which a carefully arranged, delightfully colorful array of rice, plants, flowers and incense are placed. In front of rooms and temple gateways, at the feet of statues, in front of sacred trees and fountains, at storefronts and alters, these things are everywhere. It has become one of my daily activities to hop mindfully around them as I walk down the street. (They also appear to be quite the delicious free lunch for local dogs, cats, and geese)

In addition to being thoroughly awed by the decadent, fascinating culture that surrounds me (and doing my best to avoid literally and figuratively trampling it), I have also dedicated myself wholeheartedly back to practicing yoga and attending to my somewhat damaged spirit. I've found myself at an interesting juncture of life, seven months into the trip, with thousands of miles logged journeying around the globe and thousands more waiting to be tread. I'm tired, in a deep-seated kind of way, and feeling a general sense of confusion about my life and what I'm doing with it. I'm told by the people closest to me that this is a normal phase to be going through in life; but, how normal can it be to be going through it oceans away from everyone I know and love, in unfamiliar lands? Thankfully, I found myself confronted with these difficult issues while here in Ubud, a deeply spiritual place with plenty of outlets for opening up my heart and healing myself. There is not only a fantastic yoga studio here, but there also happens to be an Ashtanga Vinyasa workshop going on. I jumped headfirst back into my practice, and am ever grateful for the opportunity to reunite with one of my favorite pastimes in life. And I'm doing a lot better, reminding myself to take things one day at a time, count my blessings, and never forget to stop and look at the beauty that surrounds me. Inside and out.

Indo Life

2007-06-20T02:55:00.000-04:00

It's been 10 days now since I hopped a ferry and crossed into Indonesia, and if it weren't for my 60-day visa, I might never leave. Things are certainly different here, and I was brought back to Africa immediately: the internet is all dial-up, transportation is all via crowded uncomfortable minibuses on hilariously unkempt roads, cities are smoggy and crowded and lane lanes & stoplights serve little purpose, prices are cheap but seem to triple for white-skinned foreigners, and relatively short distances are made painfully long by misinformation, difficulty arranging transport, and the dread of spending days jammed into the back row of a tiny van with a metal rod jammed into your back. But, that's what keeps things fun, right? Aside from these little third world tidbits, Indonesia is absolutely fantastic. It is 17,500 islands worth of unspoiled landscapes, friendly people, exotic wildlife, unbelievable food, completely out-of-this-world coffee, and unique destinations full of peace, adventure, or whatever you're seeking. The last 10 days has brought me to two of Sumatra's biggest "tourist destinations," and thankfully neither was actually full of tourists. Instead, they've been full of curious, warm-hearted locals anxious to make new friends and exchange foreign languages.

First stop on the island of Sumatra was Bukit Lawang, a jungley hill village famous for its orangutans. They have a feeding centre, where orphaned orangutans are rehabilitated and taught to begin gathering their own food so they can eventually be released into the wild. We went twice, and saw the same old man orang both times, but both times he passed by so close to me that he brushed right up against me. Almost equally as cool as watching a semi-wild orangutan swing through the trees and play around, were the Tomas monkeys, who I affectionately refer to as the mohawk monkeys. Coolest hairdo ever. But the real highlight of Lawang, for me, was the day we rafted down the fairly turbulent river in rented intertubes. After chugging a large Bintang, we floated for a couple hours, enjoying the tranquil scenery, waving and smiling at confused farmers, and rescuing our new friend Roma who couldn't seem to stay on her tube.

After Bukit Lawang, the boys headed to Berastagi to climb Sibayak, one of Indonesia's many active volcanoes. I, however, with the feel of unpleasant minibus travel suddenly fresh in my mind, opted to head straight for the chillest place I could find. So here I am in Lake Toba, easily one of the best places I've ever been. The lake itself was created about 80,000 years old by the collapse of a massive volcano that sparked the last Ice Age. It's the deepest lake in the world (450m) and the island that sits in the middle of it is larger than Singapore. The boys caught back up with me a couple days ago after taking not one, not two, but three minibuses to get here and we've all been relishing in slowing down.

Toba is one of the best places in the world to completely and totally chill out. And as I marked the 6 month anniversary of my trip a couple days ago (June 18), I am more
than happy to be unpacked and taking it nice and easy on this gorgeous, sparkling blue lake. On the days I don't feel like just reading, strolling around, and drinking way too much super strong Sumatran coffee (it is truly divine stuff), I can visit a local market, hike through the super lush mountains (read: bushwhack through the jungle), explore the huge heart-shaped waterfall, drink palm-wine with the locals, or perhaps sample the fresh local magical fungus and see where the day takes me. Just to add to it, the local Batak culture is one that is completly infused with music. I have never, ever been to a place where when anyone picks up a guitar, they can not only play it well, but can sing extremely well too... this is that place. Everyone plays guitar, and plays it well. Everyone sings, insanely well, in luscious 3-part harmonies set to local Batak songs. There is also some fantastic traditional music, which I am endlessly attempting to learn more about. Toba is one of those places you get warned about, a backpacker heaven where life is cheap, and real good, and you just might stay waaaaaay longer than you thought. And it's so true.

Getting Better All the Time

2007-06-05T23:51:00.000-04:00

Malaysia is wonderful. I fell in love instantly, and every passing day proves further that this country is great.

Getting here, however, was not so great. What should have been a few hours' trip turned into a whole day of headaches. We took a minibus from Ao Nang to Hat Yai, a southern Thai jumping-off point into Malaysia. We made fairly good time to Hat Yai, but spent another hour literally driving around in circles before finally getting dropped off at the bus station. Catching the bus to the border town of Pedang Besar was easy enough, except that bus too then spent another hour driving around the city, picking up dozens of people and blasting horrific karaoke music videos at max volume (actually that part was awesome). Finally, we got dropped off at the border, which turned out to be this weird toll-booth looking thing. We got stamped out by Thai immigration, but poor Charley didn't realize he overstayed his Thai visa by a day, so he had to pay a hefty fee. But no matter. After marching through the Thai border, we walked about a half mile down the road (no sidewalks... apparently no one actually walks through this border), got stamped through by the Malaysia dudes (as they blasted Michael Jackson's "Rock With You"... what?) and had to walk another half mile to the actual town. At this point it was about 9pm. After considering hitchhiking, we finally sucked it up and paid to take a cab to the nearest city with accomodation available, the state capital of Kangar.

As luck would have it, there was no accomodation available anywhere in Kangar. We sat at a nearby Chinese restaurant sulking and weighing our options, and by some miracle met a fellow foreigner who directed us to a homestay down the road. The room had a decidedly skanky bathroom and cockroaches the size of my hand crawling up the wall, but it was still a blessing in rather hefty disguise. The next day we moved to a nice, clean hotel down the road and everything has been great since.

Kangar, as it turns out, is completely off the tourist track, which has made it an absolutely lovely place to visit. Malaysian people have been unbelievably friendly and gracious, stopping to wave and smile and honk at us, the only white folks in town. It's gotten to the point where we can't walk down the street without someone that we've met in the last few days stopping to laugh and smile and wish us well. Like elsewhere in Malaysia, Kangar is home to an eclectic mix of Chinese Buddhists, Thai and Malaysian Muslims, some Indian Hindus, and even a few Christians, all living together in one big happy coexistence. It also makes for some out-of-this-world food choices. We've been welcomed with wide open arms, and everyone expresses a genuine interest in where we're from, how we like Malaysia (we love it!), what we think of Bush (we hate him!, and not just in our mouths but in our hearts, as one Muslim asked), and where we're off to next (Indonesia!).

And, of course, the rock climbing has continued. We've been going to a crag that's about 8km away from here, confounding the cab drivers with our assortment of beaners, slings, and other strange looking gear of all shapes and sizes. At the crag, we met yet another group of intensely friendly and fun Malaysians, who were kind enough to give us all a ride back to town 2 days in a row. But after two days, we're done here, and later this afternoon are headed to the island of Penang before jumping off the Indonesia.

Keep on Marching

2007-06-01T04:37:00.000-04:00

After over two weeks of climbing the peaks in Krabi, tomorrow our little threesome is off to cover some kilometers and cross some borders. First stop is Malaysia, where we'll keep on climbing at some sweet-sounding areas that just got put up in February 2007. New routes, fresh bolts, un-polished rock, and few other climbers.... excellent!

After whatever little bit of time in Malaysia, the next stop is looking to be Indonesia! Due to my crappy knowledge of geography, I thought Indo was a non-possibility for this trip, but I was wrong. It's a quick ferry ride from Malaysia over to Sumatra, and then all the other 17,500 islands of Indo are just waiting for us. Well, maybe not... but I'm really excited to discover at least some of what Indonesia has to offer. And even better, unexpectedly including Indonesia into the itinerary reminds me that I'm on the kind of trip, with the kind of freedom, that allows me to go in any direction, at any time, to almost any country. It's a beautiful thing.

On the Rocks

2007-05-26T01:56:00.000-04:00

It's rock climbing mania around here. Thailand is one of the world's top destinations for climbing, and at all times of the year is filled with all kinds of climbers making their way up the enormous limstone karsts all around. I had a rough few days on the rock the first week, feeling like there was no way in hell I could make it up these crazy routes, let alone make it up safely. But fortunately, I am getting over my fears, and each new day brings some more clarity and confidence on the rock.

Our quaint little foursome -- me, Joe, Charley, and Tot -- started hopping onto the limestone crags instantly, and haven't stopped since... although, sadly, Tatiana had to leave us for the pains of real life back in Sacto. We miss you Tot... and good luck with the LSATs!

One of our first rock adventures was to go deep water soloing -- which means climbing by yourself, with no bolts or ropes, up some rock, and eventually jumping (or falling) into the deep turquoise waters below. A group of 8 of us got together, hired a longtail boat, and went around to nearby islands looking for rock to climb up all day long. I was not nearly skilled or confident enough to attempt most of the rock, but had a great time cheering on all my new and old friends as they attempted some gnarly moves and fancy backflips off the rock. The day ended with beers in the water and a ridiculously delicious Thai feast together.

Now, most of my days consist of waking up, taking an easy morning, and climbing in the afternoon. And eating plenty of scrumptious Thai dishes in between, of course. I'm trying to learn some moves and inherit some wisdom from my climbing partners, both of whom are experienced and skilled climbers. I can't make it over any crazy underclingy overhangy things yet, but I did manage my first 6a yesterday!

Out of Africa

2007-05-24T02:30:00.000-04:00

Last week the inevitable finally arrived: I left Africa. The end of my 3 month jaunt in South Africa was over, a day before my tourist visa was due to expire, and the flight I'd pushed ahead 6 weeks was suddenly in my face. It was a bittersweet experience, taking off from South Africa... I'd spent 4 months visiting 4 African countries, each one spectacularly different from the other. It was also the day that marked the 5th month of my trip, hopping around the world and living out of my 3000 cubic inch pack. But the plane was headed for Thailand (via a 4 hour layover in Qatar, my first real glimpse of the Middle East), one of my favorite corners of the Earth, and in Thailand, awaiting our arrival, were Charley and Tatiana, good friends of ours from Cali.

We pushed through a 26 hour train ride, three flights, two layovers, taxi and longtail boat rides, and made it from Cape Town to Railay Beach in Krabi in 3 days.
What a trip. The rock climbing began in a big way the instant we arrived and is continuing to rock (haha) my world today even. In fact, I gotta get off this expensive computer and get ready to climb the limestone outside...

So here am I, 15 months later, back in Thai Thai. I said I'd be back. And now I remember why it was so hard to leave.

The Farm

2007-04-21T10:17:00.000-04:00

I'm a working girl again. Well, sort of.

I'm hanging out a few hundred kilos north of Cape Town at The Farm backpackers (www.thefarm.org.za), where I exchange a few hours of my time every day for free accomodation and a small weekly stipend. It's a rustic little hostel nestled in between some citrus groves and towering mountains, with the kind of fresh air and starry skies that you write home about (or, at least write your blog about). Most days, my grueling routine consists of tidying up, cleaning the kitchen, doing some laundry, and helping with odd jobs around the place, such as planting flowers, "landscaping" (ie cutting back shrubs), and painting. Normally I put in anywhere from 2 to 6 leisurely hours a day, with plenty of afternoon time left to laze about in the sun, read books, make jewelry, go for a jog, what have you. I've also been racking up about 1 or 2 days off a week, although at last count today was my third day off this week...

Life continues to be sweet. After 4 months of solid traveling, it's a lovely feeling to settle in a bit to a place, and even more so, to keep some money in my pocket...

Lush Living

2007-04-05T08:59:00.000-04:00

I had almost forgotten how much I love wine. Almost. But the last two days brought it all back, in a wave of more or less nonstop celebration of the magical grape concoction; a fervent reminder of how much of a wino I really am. And what fun it is.

We headed out of Cape Town on the local train, an hour-long R12 ($1.50) journey into the heart of South Africa's wine industry: Stellenbosch... or Stelly, as the cool kids call it (right, Kevvie?). In and around the rolling green hills of Stelly are dozens upon dozens of wineries, surrounded on almost all sides by huge mountains. The scenery blows Napa right out of the water... In addition to the everyday splendor these wineries provide, it is also the beginning of fall in South Africa, so the vines are all beginning to turn intense shades of red, gold, green and brown.

Seeing how we had minimal time to spend in Stelly, were without a car, and all the wineries are very spread out, we opted for something we usually avoid like the plague: an organized tour. Now, I've said it before and I'm saying it again... I'm not a fan of the group tours. But this one was awesome. It was a full day of adventure, getting shuttled around three different areas of wine country with a bunch of other fantastically lush folks. We visited 4 gorgeous wineries, saw a lot of the countryside, had a yummy lunch (with plenty of wine), tasted dozens of wines
and even some farm fresh cheeses, and learned about the winemaking process. By the end of the day, our quiet group of 12 (some of us were, umm, suffering quite a bit from the previous night's escapades) had turned into a raucous group of wine-loving drunkards, and we began opening & drinking bottles in the van in between wineries. It was a very full day, and there couldn't have been a better way to do it.

Cape Town Rock(s)

2007-04-02T11:07:00.000-04:00

So, Cape Town, in a nutshell, is my new favorite city. It's got a San Francisco feel, with a bit of New Orleans and New York thrown in, but with a very distinct flavor of its own. It's cosmopolitan, metropolitan, funky, artsy, and drop dead gorgeous. Picture this: an enormous mountain jutting out of the top of a peninsula on the tip of Africa. On one side are stunning beaches, huge cliffs, the Atlantic Ocean; on another side, a bay filled with quaint little villages and warm Atlantic waters; and down below the face of the mountain, the bustling city of Cape Town, complete with a waterfront, a fun strip of bars & restaurants that feels like Haight Ashbury, and phenomenal scenery all around. Amazing!

Our divine backpacker lodge, Ashanti (www.ashanti.co.za), is a hop & a skip away from Table Mountain, so one of the first things we did after properly exploring the local bars and supermarkets (tofu!) was hike up to the top. After a grueling vertical hike up a series of boulder stairs in the sweltering heat of the late morning, we managed to make it up top on one of the clearest, most perfect days yet. On top of Table Mountain is all sorts of fun: indigenous flora and fauna not found anywhere else in the world, little trails to take you all over the top, incredible dropoff cliffs, and oh yes, absolutely out-of-this world vistas. The following week or so, inspired by views from the top, we explored many of the surrounding areas.

After getting all over Cape Town proper, we headed out of town for a quick
overnighter to Simon's Town, a big navy port but otherwise cute little fishing village. But it wasn't the fresh fish, fishy smell, or quaintness I was after: it was the penguins. Right next to Simon's Town is home to a huge colony of African penguins. Yes, the same kind that live in Antarctica, but these ones never see snow... instead, they spend their days frolicking in the warm waters of pristine beaches covered with huge granite boulders. And they are damn cute! The trip was worth it just to watch these adorable little dudes waddle about, brey at each other (they used to be called Jackass Penguins), jump over logs, guard and build their nests, and be otherwise totally cuddly and darling -- except for their sharp beaks and, of course, the poo. Everywhere.

About 5 minutes after returning to Simon's Town we headed out yet again, this time to the rock climber's paradise of the Cederbergs. While in Coffee Bay, we met a
Canadian guy named Josh who said he was planning on going climbing in Cape Town, and invited us along. What I didn't realize is that Josh, in all of his 20 years, has become an exceptional climber. He has climbed in competitions with the best of 'em, and is even sponsored by Mad Rock. I went up a few boulders, but mostly spent the next 2 days in complete awe and admiration for this guy. He'd look at a rock that I had deemed more or less humanly impossible to climb, rocks that were seemingly devoid of anywhere to shove your fingers & toes, and he'd just effortlessly race up to the top. The mountains themselves were also fantastic to watch, particularly at sunset when they literally become a burnt cedar color. But in truth, I think the highlight of the trip for me was this little farm stand we stopped at on the way: a brightly colored little shack owned by a South African man who entertained us with stories of getting highjacked in a cab in New York City, all the while shoving perfectly delicious oranges & cantaloupes into our hands. He was probably the most friendly South African I've met yet, and that is a bold statement...

So now I'm planning the next move. I successfully changed my flight, and am now leaving South Africa for Thailand six weeks from now. Tomorrow we're headed to Stellenbosch, SA's wine country... ain't nothin' like a few days of lushing it up right in the vineyards to, uhh, nourish the soul and clear the mind. In any case, the clock is ticking for me to make a decision about which path to head down next... stay tuned...

Wild Wild Coast (Gone Wild p.II)

2007-03-15T06:50:00.000-04:00

As of yesterday, and thanks to the generosity of our new Mainer buddy Greg, our 2+ week extravaganza on the Wild Coast concluded. For now we're chilling in Jeffrey's Bay, one of the world's great surf capitals, and though it's a bit odd to be in such a developed area, we're enjoying the abundance of fresh produce, fresh waves, and bright sunshine. But the last couple weeks were some of the best ever, so here's a rundown of how our wild fortnight in the Transkei went down:

We headed from Durban to Port St John's expecting to spend just a couple stop-over
nights there. Instead, we spent over a week. From the first instant I arrived, I was hooked. People were friendly, chilled out, and after nothing but a smile; the landscape was beautiful and dramatic, a river mouth (originating in Lesotho) emptying into the Indian Ocean, surrounded by tropical jungle and steep cliffs; and most importantly, it felt like Africa again. We fell instantly in love with the backpacker's, Amapondo : perched
on a lush hillside steps away from Second Beach (the best swimming beach), with a big vegetable & herb garden fresh for the (free) picking, good campsites with a great view, and fantastic characters all around. In the first few days, we got covered in mud at the sulfur springs, hiked to Third Beach, boogie boarded endlessly, made friends with many a local, and visited the community center started by the Amapondo Children's Project. The rest of the week was decidedly more relaxed, as we took it nice & easy and enjoyed the multiple meanings of PSJ's catch phrase: More Fire!!

And oh yes... the drumming! There are drums all over the Wild Coast, and people playing them all day. Our first night at Amapondo we went up to a local shebeen (illegal bar) for sundowners, and as local dredlocked drum-maker Bali pulled his homemade creations out of his 1974 bright blue Peugeot station wagon, a crew of local kids banged out some rather phenomenal rhythms. Bali teaches a drum class to these kids twice a week at Amapondo's community center, and I went and observed one such session. Aside from providing tutoring, the Project tries to give these kids a creative outlet as well. I heart Amapondo!

Somehow, we made it out of Port St. John's. Our next stop was Bulungula Lodge, a place I'd been hearing endless good reviews about from every other traveler. My expectations were high, but were easy surpassed. This place is pretty amazing. Bulungula was started by a South African dude named Dave, who after studying social activism for a while decided to put it into play. The Xhosa people own 40% of the lodge in a community trust, and the lodge is completley part of their village. They make up the whole staff, help make decisions concerning all aspects of the lodge, and dozens of them hang out in and around the lodge all day. Part of Dave's plan is to empower the Xhosa, who have been more or less trampled on by South Africa for centuries, and teach them various ways to rise up and out of the extreme poverty most of them are trapped in. I heart Bulungula!

My first glimpse of it, along the rocky dirt "road" carrying us along the home stretch of a 3-hour drive, was from the top of a perch looking down at the green hills, blue waters, wide river, turquoise Xhosa huts, and the sparkling little peninsula on which it sits. It is a completely rural location, and that is part of it's overwhelming charm. Guest accomodation is in traditional Xhosa mud huts, each one decorated a little differently. We, of course, were camping, and scored the best location yet: a little nook under some mangroves, on the sand, right next to the beach, waking up every morning to ocean waves and sunrises. In addition to being a Fair Trade in Tourism member (for reals: businesses get awarded by SA's Fair Trade in Tourism board... how cool is that), Bulungula is also extremely eco-friendly. Powered by solar & wind, they have compost toils, and paraffin-powered rocket showers, both of which are decorated by psychedelic murals made of paint & tile. We spent our days there taking walks, jumping off of sand dunes, testing out the waters, eating at the local restaurant -- a mud hut run by 2 women serving up killer curry or dessert crepes, doing yoga on the bluffs, laughing with the locals, eating fantastic meals (fresh crayfish!), and collecting absolutely mindblowing seashells & decorating the campsite with them. Bulungula is the kind of place that forces you to slow down, breathe deep, forget about the rest of the world and just enjoy life's most simple beauties.

Our final days in the Transkei were spent in Coffee Bay, a beautiful location with a lovely hostel and some killer drumming ... but after dwelling in the magic of Amapondo & Bulungula, we were disappointed. The vibe was off, the strangely prominent begging culture was shoved in our faces, and a whole lot of locals were only concerned with what might come out of my pocket instead of my heart (were we back in East Africa?). Plus, I've been anxious to get to Cape Town, since next on the agenda is going to the nearest STA Travel office and changing my flight so I can stay here in this fantastic country for another 3 months!...

Gone Wild

2007-03-11T05:39:00.000-04:00

Reluctantly, we left Lesotho... but it was time to get to the beach. We headed straight for the Wild Coast, a region of absolutely pristine coastline that, for
mostly f-ed up reasons having to do with cultural misunderstanding, hate, and apartheid, has been left untouched. The region is also famous for Pondo Fever, a certain ailment acquired from a certain magical plant that makes you never, ever want to leave. It's safe to say that I have now acquired a healthy, happy dose of Pondo Fever and am totally in love with the Wild Coast and all the fantastic people, locals and otherwise, who inhabit it.

I've been here for the last two weeks (what day is it?) and it's been absolute heaven. I have lots more to add about this but it will have to wait for another time when the internet is less expensive, works faster, and the Indian Ocean isn't lapping at the white sand steps away from the lodge. So more updates soon.

But for now, I am alive & well, enjoying life to the point of ridiculousness, and feeling like I've finally found somewhere that feels like home. We've been living completely out of the tent, since camping is both the cheaper and way more awesome option at every backpacker hostel. We've also been enjoying the "self-catering" option, which means cooking for yourself in hooked up backpacker kitchens at each lodge. So we've been eating fantastically, sleeping in awesome locations, and saving lots of money at the same time. South Africa is a dream come true.

Into the Great Wide Open

2007-03-11T05:14:00.000-04:00

South Africa is rocking my world. I've been blissfully out of touch for the last three weeks, mostly having too much fun to think about updating the blog. But here's a taste...

It was a bit of shock to fly from into Jo'burg from Tanzania. I remember our ride from the airport to the hostel, feeling completely wowed by riding in a new, clean vehicle on a huge multi-lane (paved!) highway with plentiful signs directing the flow of traffic. What were these crazy inventions? South Africa, though still very much a developing country, is leaps and bounds ahead of east Africa, something that has been both pleasant and disappointing in some respects.

Anyway!... We stayed in Jo'burg for a few days, longer than we had planned on. Joe got pretty ill with a fever & flu-like symptoms on our second night which, when coming from a malarial area, means you've got to high tail it a hospital, which is what we did. The malaria scare turned out to be just a nasty travelers ailment (all too familiar to most of us), but we chilled out in the 'burg for a couple days to make sure all was well. Finally, we decided on heading south.

After a brief stop at a delightful hostel in Pietermaritzburg where we camped among enormous cannabis plants and grubbed on homemade thai curry, we headed for the mountains. The Drakensberg ("Dragon") Mtns run along the border between South Africa and Lesotho, a collection of sandstone & basalt peaks that form a gnarly sharp skyline for endless kilometers. We decided to go up the famous Sani Pass, a death-defying series of insane switchbacks going straight up into Lesotho. However, I saw practically none of the pass on the way up, because I was crammed into the very back row of a minibus taxi (that's South African for matatu), with my bag on my lap & shoved in my face, with 17 other passengers who kept yelling at each other to open the windows. It was pure hell, and easily the longest hour of my life. But Lesotho proved a warm, beautiful welcome... and we spent the next 4 days in pure bliss.

Lestho has been called a "hiker's paradise" and it really is. You can hike for hours, days if you want to, without seeing other hikers or fences to interrupt your path. You would likely see some of the locals, shepherding their goats, cows & sheep, and if you paid close attention, you could probably see their small stone huts blending into the mountainsides. One of my great Lesotho moments was coming around a ridge curve and finding a very small village, where a shepherd was gleefully singing at the top of his lungs, filling the valley with this beautiful joyous song while we made our way through. We were also greeted by another Lestoho shephard on a peak, at the top of a pile of rocks. Dressed in a heavy grey woolen blanket and not much else, he ran straight up the rocks we'd spent at least 5 minutes working on and just stood by us for a few minutes, watching us munch on snacks and devise our next move. The Basotho people don't speak much English, but any lack of verbal communication is made up for by enormous smiles and enthusiastic greetings, which we received from many people. On our last day, sitting by the Lesotho border post hitchhiking our way down the pass, we struck up a conversation with James, a local who was incredibly fluent in English. We discussed many matters, including his recent wedding and New York City, and he explained to us Lesotho's motto: peace, friendship, prosperity. Indeed.

Pole Pole, it's Africa

2007-02-14T05:38:00.000-05:00

I couldn't have been more ready to leave Kenya. Bright and early the Monday
following our climb, we hopped on a bus headed all the way from Nairobi, Kenya to Dar es Salaam, Tanzania. It also happened to be February 5, my 25th birthday. I spent the whole damn thing on a neverending 16-hour ride, the last few hours of which were in rather frightening darkness; but hey, at least I can always say it was the only birthday I spent in TWO countries on the same day. Not bad.

Still desperate for some serious chill time, the next morning we kept on going, and hightailed it to the Dar airport to catch an early afternoon flight to the island of Zanzibar. (For those of you who've asked: yes, Zanzibar does in fact exist, and at times is equally as exotic as its name.) We decided to head straight for the east coast beaches, but alas endured a tad more stress before finally making it anywhere near a beach... we hopped on a dalla-dalla, at first extremely amused by the stops around town to deliver bundles of sticks which were piled about 6 feet high on the roof to various neighborhoods. Next thing we knew, we were racing another dalla-dalla (competition, I guess), and our driver purposely crashed into the other vehicle, knocking off its mirror and hitting a biker on the side of the road. Suddenly it was a full-on street fight, with people coming out of nowhere to yell, push, bang on the vehicles, and generally get all riled up (about ... what?). Anyway, we narrowly got outta that mess and hopped on another bus, crammed in with all our bags and about 20 too many people. I can't tell you how nice the super fine sand, bright sunshine, hot breezes, and warm turquoise water felt to our weary souls... until Joe got brutally stung by a jellyfish 30 seconds after wading into the water. And there went our east coast Indian Ocean swimming. It is, after all, Africa; nothing's easy.

After a few days of taking it very, very easy, we headed back to Stone Town for the remainder of our Zanzibari adventure. Our luck changed for the extreme better when we found an affordable hostel that came with a nice breezy balcony, our own bathroom, and AIR CONDITIONING! I'm not one for the luxuries, but good God I needed this one. And Stone Town is a really fantastic place. We also had the extreme good fortune of timing our visit perfectly with a completely free Swahili music festival right in town! For 4 days, we enjoyed a huge sampling of African music, from the most traditional to the most modern fusions, from taarab to hip hop, reggae to Rwandan, from the sublime to the ridiculous. It was fabulous.

When not dancing to great free music for the last few days, we could also be found eating lots of Italian gelato, sleeping peacefully among our air conditioning, coming up with creative ways to cover up my body just enough to both not insult the Muslims and survive the intense tropical humidity, and enjoying the delicious and shockingly cheap seafood feast laid out by the fishermen each evening in a local park. And also, getting ready & excited for tomorrow's journey to a new part of this crazy continent: South Africa!

Can't Stop the Hustle

2007-02-12T08:44:00.000-05:00

My new favorite quote for Africa. We saw it scrawled across a bright orange matatu in Kenya (old school Nissan multi-passenger vans that whip around the potholed roads and are the main form of public transport), and nothing could be more accurate. You really can't stop the hustle. Hustlers and touts come out of the woodwork here, seeking any and every possible way to take mzungu (that's us white folk travelers) money. My first serious encounter which the sketchiness, aside from the daily flood of dudes trying endlessly to sell crap you don't need (cashews, anyone?), was our Mt Kenya climb.

We were excited about scaling Mt Kenya for months leading up to this whole trip, and Joe spoke with a lot of people before finally settling on our tour organizer. We found two other cool people equally stoked on the climb, an American (living in Japan) and a Canadian, and got it together. After an 8-hour drive in circles around Kenya, we finally arrived at the mountain to find that our group would now include 6 more Czechs and their 10 porters, making our group size come out to a staggering... 25! Something we had never been told, nor would have ever agreed to.

Unfortunately this was only the beginning. The next few days of our trip involved endless amendments to our itinerary, and arguments with our guide who claimed to both have no money, and have no idea what was going on. We sadly began to realize that our trip consisted of more negotiating than hiking.

BUT...! The hiking was fantastic. We went too fast, all the way up and down in about 48 hours, but we did it. Our summit ascent began at 2am on our second full day after no sleep and hardly any food. I made it up to 15,700 feet, 200 meters short of the summit of Point Lenana, but altitude sickness took hold of my belly & my mind, and I couldn't keep pushing upward. It's still the highest I've ever been, and I'm proud of being able to make it that far... and the best part was, by skipping the socked-in summit, we caught the most spectacular sunrise I've ever seen! A glowing flourescent red ascending over the mountains, valleys, and clouds....incredible.

In the end, our trip got cut a day short and we all felt screwed from all sides by everyone. But we did it. Our tour operator came through with apologies, transportation off the mountain, and a speedy refund for our missed day. But we got hustled. Can't stop it.

Gone Safari'in

2007-02-03T07:47:00.000-05:00

It's been a busy, crazy, hectic, lovely, fascinating, and fast-paced last 2 weeks here in Kenya. Africa is full of the extremes, and runs along the polar opposites: beautiful/disgusting, exciting/frightening, electrifying/disappointing, fun/aggravating.... too many to name. There are so many stereotypes that go along with this entire continent, and so many of them have proved to be wrong. I will say that it has been a trying experience so far, but overall worth the effort.

My time in Kenya started with a 10-day safari all over the country with my family, and 8 other folks from Southern California. We went from Nairobi up north to the base of Mt Kenya and Samburu National Park, down to Sweetwaters National Preserve, over to Lake Nakuru (full of flamingos... and tourists) and Lake Naivasha (boat ride among the frighteningly large hippos), and finished off with a few days in the Masai Mara. It was a very luxurious, very full, and very fantastic time. Hard to pick favorite moments since every day was so full of awesomeness, but some highlights were: the sunrise hot air balloon safari in the Mara, yummy vegetarian buffets every day, a family of cheetahs lounging in the shade of our 4WD vehicle, being woken up to
coffee on the front porch & a view of giraffes strolling by, amazing views of snow-capped Mt Kenya, watching chimpanzees roll around & do headstands at Jane Goodall's Chimp Sanctuary, and dancing with the Masai. And so so so much more. I have to admit I was skeptical of the whole group travel thing, but thanks to a fantastic guide, a really chilled out & fun group of people, a killer itinerary, and the abundance of enthusiasm all around, it was a great time.

O Porto

2007-01-14T11:47:00.000-05:00

Spent our last week in Europe in Portugal. We took a nearly 12-hour bus ride overnight from Seville in southern Spain to Porto in northern Portugal, and things were perfect from the start. LIke the name implies, Porto is the world capital of port wine, and we wasted no time getting to a cellar to begin our tastings. The port was fantastic, and we spent much of the week indulging in different bottles.

We rented a car in Porto and spent the next 4 days touring around. We drove along the Douro River, spent a night renegade camping atop a mountain (an accidental detour), checked out the Douro Valley, and then enjoyed the coastal towns of Nazare, Figueria da Foz, Peniche, and Ericeira. After many beach picnics, campouts, grilled fish dinners, and many kilometers, we concluded our second road trip in Lisbon, and spent the next 2 days chilling out in the lovely and fabulous Hostel Oasis, taking it easy and getting ready for our rapidly-approaching journey to the Dark Continent.

Last Day In Spain

2007-01-09T11:11:00.000-05:00

Well, it´s our last day in Spain and it has been quite a journey so far. We´ve covered more ground in the last 3 weeks than I did in the first 3 months of studying here. Crazy. But it´s all been pretty fabulous... except for the damn $ to € conversion rate, which is painful to say the very least.

After a great week in Madrid celebrating the new year, picnicing in the park, checking out the Prado and sleeping in, we headed on down south to sunny, warm, lovely Andalucía. Our first stop was Granada, where we enjoyed flamenco, late night reggae dancing, a sunny hike among hills above the city, an abundance of dreadlock mullets, avoiding Gypsies trying to pawn off rosemary sprigs, our first full moon on the road, and sunrise from the Alhambra (yes, that means we actually were up before the sunrise). After just a couple of days staying in the noisiest hostel ever and overpaying for every café con leche, we were ready to move on.

Next on the list was Córdoba, the city where I spent spring semester of 2004 having the time of my life. Needless to say, I was excited to go back. After a night in a freezing cold, cave-like, sorry excuse for a hostal, we found a room up on the roof of a hostal in the Judería, complete with our own terrace and lovely view of the city. I was really excited to see my Spanish family, but tried to call unsuccessfully 4 different times. After drinking some Guinness at the Irish bar around the corner, I finally
decided to just go by the apartment and ring the bell; within moments we were welcomed into the house by the whole entire family and spent the night eating dinner, drinking wine, and speaking rapid-fire Spanish. We also had the good fortune to go out and botellón with my Spanish brother, and I was happy to find that the botellón is alive & well in Córdoba. It was lovely to be back, but altogether strange to be a tourist in a town that I used to call home. Not to mention, of course, that it´s not quite the same place without all my awesome California buddies there to share it with. (I miss you dudes, but I botelloned, ate helado in Tendillas, hit up the Irish pub, and took a siesta in the sun on the terraza just for you!)

At the moment, we´re in Seville, taking it easy before hopping a midnight bus to Portugal. But we´re making sure to do our last day right, with plenty of wandering around the old city, a picnic in Plaza España, all our clothes washed & dried (oh, the joy of clean clothes), and a 5€ feast along with a whole lotta drinking la sangría del pobre on the menu for tonight (that´s sangria of the poor man, made from ,72€ wine with orange Fanta, for those of you who don´t know, and it is damn good).

I will, undoubtedly, miss Spain once again. But we´re ready to move on. In any case, here are some bests/worsts of the last 3 weeks:

Best:
- jarras de sangría; café con leche cada día; 3 bedroom apt in Barcelona; ,80€ wine; sleeping in; waking up; free freezing camping on xmas eve; balconies; baby Jesus displays; eternal xmas/halloween in Madrid?; mercado lunches; barato borracho; Joe´s made up Spanish; panaderías; hostels with a view; café in bed

Worst:
-screaming bratty fat kids; hostals closed for the winter; vegetariano = con jámon; waking up early; evil santas (they´re still up!); trying to park anywhere; calamari bocadillos; exchange rate!; streets smelling like fumes/dog shit/ trash; scary baby Jesus displays; fireworks and metal storefront doors going off outside the window all night

Feliz Año

2007-01-01T15:43:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! It was New Year´s Eve last night right? I don´t really know what happened.
Madrid knows how to PARTY!!! Damn.
Feliz 2007 amigos.

Road Trippin (¡claro!)

2006-12-27T13:12:00.000-05:00

Just finished up the first of many road trips to come, and my very first holidays abroad. And they were awesome.

After a few days in Barcelona, we jumped up to Lloret de Mar to stay with one of Joe´s friends from Davis who, along with her lovely family, showed us incredible hospitality and all the best of the Costa Brava. I also paid my second visit to the Teatro Museo Dalí, which was much better and way trippier without hordes of summer tourists around.

We picked up el coche in Barcelona on Christmas Eve, and headed straight for the hills. We followed a series of sketchy maps, and the Guía del Camping we picked up, and spent our Christmas Eve camping under the very starry sky. (this was also, evidently, the first time I realized how damn cold Spain gets in the winter!! ¿Donde esta mi calor español?)

Christmas Day we spent in San Sebastian, a cozy (and again, freezing) Basque town in the North. We might not have known it was Christmas, were it not for a massive sweet baby Jesus display overtaking a town park, complete with rock concert lights, very very odd holiday music, and locals singing and dancing along. Naturally, all the Spaniards were out drinking and celebrating after praising the Lord in church, until it was time for siesta and everyone disappeared. But, the biggest reminder that it is indeed Christmastime in Spain, are all the incredibly frightening burglar Santas that everyone hangs off of their balconies. These little gnomes have been freaking us out for the last 8 days.

We finished off the trip with a a drive through La Rioja, Spain´s wine country. Since you couldn´t do tastings at local wineries, instead we decided to drink some wine along the way, and then drink wine all night long in the awesome rooftop hostel room we scored. It was a great trip. Now we´re checking out Madrid, and onto the next adventure...

Oh España

2006-12-21T08:08:00.000-05:00

Barcelona!!! I´m back in Spain for the first time in almost 3 years (gasp), and I feel right back at home. Everything here is wonderfully familiar and I find myself wondering why I ever left. Equally as fun as getting back into the swing of Spanish culture is remembering all the awesome little things I had totally forgotten about: old ladies calling each other "hombre," cafe con leche y pan con tomate, dreadlock mullets, shirts in English that make no sense, gelado, the after-siesta cruise around town, and so much more. The only bit of sadness is that I no longer have a place down south to call home... but maybe someday I will again. And, for now, I have a really sweet 3-bedroom apartment right here in the middle of Barcelona that I am calling home, and aside from being a complete icebox, it´s pretty fabuloso. Oh, Spain.

Ready Set Go

2006-12-16T22:51:00.000-05:00

I am almost out the door and my head is spinning faster than I can keep up with. I'll be on a plane to Spain in less than 2 days, I've crossed pretty much everything off The List, and I've finished up all my lingering commitments in New York. Nothing left to do now but completely freak out for the next 46 hours and race around like a madman in an erratic last-minute frenzy of celebration, elation, and panic. This is really happening, and it's happening, like, now.

I've been thinking a lot about Thailand lately and trying to picture myself there again, peacefully sitting on a beach contemplating the sunset and where on the map I'll be next. All my travel thus far has inspired me to take this trip, but it was really being in Thailand at the beginning of this year that made me realize THIS was going to be the next big thing I did. It won't be long now 'til I am back on a beach on another side of the globe throwing mental darts at the map and watching hour-long sunsets rage across the sky. It's all so surreal, fabulous, and unbelievable all at the same time...

Travel Advice to My Future Self

2006-12-07T18:42:00.000-05:00

In all of my journeys, I keep various lists in the back of my journals... best/worsts, the soundtrack, books, favorite phrases... In preparing for this crazy journey, I've been trying to listen to my own advice. This is a mix of my travel advice to myself taken from my Europe and Thailand journals:

Lessons I've Learned:
- Bring a knife & a corkscrew.
- Clean clothes are overrated.
- Don't wait to take a photo you want; take it in the moment.
- Always try the typical regional cuisine, even if you think you don't have the money to.
- Do not plan more than a few days ahead; plans always change & they will.
- Take travel advice from friends & guidebooks with a large grain of salt; most places were much cooler than I'd heard.
- For the most part, avoid other americans.
- Whatever you do, take care of your shoes.
- Get lost on purpose.
- Pack the minimum & you've still got too much shit.
- Impulse buys make some of the best souvenirs.
- The world is constantly getting smaller.
- Everything always works out.
- When in doubt, trust your instincts. OR listen to a trusted Phish jam.
- Free stuff is usually the best stuff.
- Take the train whenever possible, or at the least avoid flying.

RECUERDA:
* Everything is possible.
* You'll always have you; and you fuckin rock.

The Itinerary... So Far...

2006-11-08T22:37:00.000-05:00

Here's what we've got:
December 18 2006 :: NY/JFK ---> Barcelona, Spain
January 16 2007 :: Lisbon, Portugal ---> Nairobi, Kenya
February 15 2007 :: Dar es Salaam, Tanzania ---> JoBurg, South Africa
March 29 2007 :: JoBurg ---> Bangkok, Thailand

"How Are You Gonna Pull This Off?"

2006-10-30T00:17:00.000-05:00

As of right now, 12:01 am on 10/30/06, I've got exactly seven weeks until I board a plane headed for the next big -- monumentally big -- chapter of my life: an open-ended voyage composed of one-way flights in mostly eastwardly directions through 4 different continents, with no return flight scheduled or planned. Seven weeks until I leave it all behind to chase a dream I've had since the first time I left this continent: to travel around the world without a timeframe, without restriction, without much direction, and with the ultimate goal of settling myself into life in a new country.

So how am I gonna pull it off? I've been getting this question a lot. People really want to know how it can be possible for me to throw my life into a backpack and wander around the world for an indefinite length of time. The answer is simple, really: I just AM. I'm gonna bring all the money I have, and the least amount of stuff I can manage to survive with, and I'm just gonna go. Because it's my dream, and it can come true. Because it's the right time and maybe the only time. Because there's nothing better than traveling!!!