tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11973118781612493832024-02-07T22:05:38.252-08:00postcards from the open roadi've always dreamt of a life more extrodinary than ordinary....Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.comBlogger32125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-30764479914753583822012-05-14T16:15:00.001-07:002012-05-14T16:32:07.492-07:00send me on my wayI returned to San Pedro with the terribly brilliant idea of settling down for awhile. There was delicious veggie food, cheap accommodation, and most importantly, amazing people to spend endless hours wasting time with. The town itself invites the laid back backpacker to hang out, party, and connect with the community and I couldn’t see myself anywhere else for the moment. So I got a private room and shower, bought groceries, and settled in immediately.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7xbc_eGomqwqMQrVus-5dAtjjzXJVGEKqMlyk3gFO-KBWp-A-9QKy8GfytN1qmYhtP9E7qjPYsow7a_c7JRHu5XmR0HPhrLZZ6moLnRDUfGhAV2-FuVxgzaF7gIzUOD01DEgYz7Kprtq/s1600/DSC07632.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjj7xbc_eGomqwqMQrVus-5dAtjjzXJVGEKqMlyk3gFO-KBWp-A-9QKy8GfytN1qmYhtP9E7qjPYsow7a_c7JRHu5XmR0HPhrLZZ6moLnRDUfGhAV2-FuVxgzaF7gIzUOD01DEgYz7Kprtq/s320/DSC07632.JPG" /></a></div>
I can’t say I did a lot of terribly productive things during this time. Sure I wrote and exercised a bit, but I spent the vast majority of my time relaxing. Purely enjoying the simple things in life is one of my favorite activities and San Pedro is most definitely a place to do that. And best of all: I was surrounded by incredible, unique, creative, and fun people to be lazy with
There were music festivals, movie marathons, and sunrise hikes. But my favorite activity was the regular community dinners we shared. While I didn’t actually sleep at <a href="http://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100000356461400&sk=wall">Yo Mama’s Casa</a>, I did make that hostel my home. Collectively we’d put in money or vegetables and then spend a few hours whipping up a delicious home cook meal for 20 people. That was no easy task. Usually fueled by smoke and drink, we somehow managed pulling off unique gourmet meals about 4 nights a week, and I never stopped being impressed.
Of course when the night came, we would eventually go out for 10 q drinks ($1.50) and random debauchery at the same few bars we visited almost nightly. It was fun to say the least.
Eventually I got burnt out smoking and drinking everyday and had to escape for some legitimate detoxing. Plus I had card/bank issues and the intention of meeting up with others for travel. But in reality, I knew it had to end at some point. And I hate being the last to leave the party and so I exited semi-gracefully to Xela.
Pronounced “Shaey-la” and located high in the mountains only a few hours away, Xela provided the perfect detox setting. I immediately went to Spanish school 5 hours a day and moved in with a local family. I stopped smoking and drinking entirely, wrote furiously, and began soaking in all the culture I admittedly missed in San Pedro. I felt great. I started exercising regularly again and even went running with the 72 year old grandpa I adored. I also joined a women’s only gym and I must say that was quite the self esteem boost. I showed up late the first day to a class of 6 and while I was concerned I wouldn’t be fast to follow, I quickly learned that I had a massive edge on 40 something overweight Guatemalan ladies. Besides their clumsy coordination and general lack of athletic abilities, I had a natural energy all their tortilla eating must have zapped. I thoroughly enjoyed myself to say the least.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbl5kUDjz2bLb5VHB_Jg3qoMogwCZT8VLjKEePItSdMHzIwb9TgbaBiiFMnWHSr0h3YUD9zwNZTGUUT3PPzymUKwkJ74jv69QF2QJQV-z04iO4nMlmyweLneoPwPSktK6hm1SiyoGHz9Nm/s1600/DSC08257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbl5kUDjz2bLb5VHB_Jg3qoMogwCZT8VLjKEePItSdMHzIwb9TgbaBiiFMnWHSr0h3YUD9zwNZTGUUT3PPzymUKwkJ74jv69QF2QJQV-z04iO4nMlmyweLneoPwPSktK6hm1SiyoGHz9Nm/s320/DSC08257.JPG" /></a></div>
During this time I did notice a vast improvement in my Spanish as my teachers diligently berated the various types of past tense into me. But I probably learned the most from the families I lived with, one of which I truly adored and loved. I went to two schools, one for each week and you can read about my experience at one <a href="http://worldtravelbuzz.com/hola-xela-authentic-experience-spanish-school/">here</a>. Yet the most rewarding experiences are always people related and that’s why my first family with 6 kids (a mix of cousins really), an old grandpa who runs, and a mother with the loudest, most genuine laugh was my favorite experience. I truly settled in cooking together, sharing recipes, birthday celebrations, dancing and singing, and Semana Santa. This holiday is massive in Latin cultures, but even more so in Antigua, Xela’s neighbor. Still, being the second largest city in the country, there were plenty of processions, alfombras, and street food.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip0RxttB7-G0epB04VMR0dUGle1vLaprF15MNNLISk77Gd5OOzQ83AWejtJ1evzGqs8yHHz6WW4C2dDRwUmpWw9zO_cJYsl29M6YTlpwsINEJupqYxDP4glaysHhYkA5e6EsVbbqAV9nBt/s1600/DSC07877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip0RxttB7-G0epB04VMR0dUGle1vLaprF15MNNLISk77Gd5OOzQ83AWejtJ1evzGqs8yHHz6WW4C2dDRwUmpWw9zO_cJYsl29M6YTlpwsINEJupqYxDP4glaysHhYkA5e6EsVbbqAV9nBt/s320/DSC07877.JPG" /></a></div>
For hours and days on end, men and women somberly walk in a procession of up to several hundred people each, extremely slowly, over alfombras. These brightly colored carpets are made by hand hours before the procession tramples over them, destroying this unique art, similar to mandalas. The people carry large, intricate structures dedicated to Jesus and Mary and it can take up to 70 people to carry each one. These processions block streets making it impossible to get around the city but invite a carnival like atmosphere where families for all over the country gather to celebrate ‘Holy Week’, with heaps of cotton candy and Jesus trinkets (obviously). Truly an interesting and once in a lifetime experience, mostly because I never need to go through that again.
But healthy living simply isn’t for me long term; it’s much too boring. After just 2 weeks I was ready to get back off the wagon. My friend from home, travel companion, and work colleague Justin joined me in Xela for a few days of focused work and hiking. He brought his brute caveman friend, Captain Strangelove, with him, someone I quite quickly loved to hate. I had my good friend Kate from San Pedro come and join us and together we climbed the highest point in Central America.
Climbing the volcano Tajumulco was something Sam had inspired me to do and I couldn’t leave Guatemala without conquering this 4222 m feat. While I have lived in higher altitudes, continuously walking uphill with a large pack stuffed with camping supplies is not an easy task. The crisp windy air gets fiercely cold and the altitude cuts your breathing ability in half, more so if you’re a smoker (like I have so unfortunately chosen to be). We were not alone though; we trekked with a large group of 30 people with a fantastic non-profit organization called <a href="http://www.quetzaltrekkers.com/">Quetzaltrekkers</a>. They have an amazing reputation and based on my personal experience I’d highly recommend any of their treks to anyone traveling through Guatemala or Nicaragua.
At some sweaty point we made it to the base camp, just below the two summits. That evening we hiked the lower one to witness a sunset that wasn’t really impressive with so many clouds. No matter, we were still nearly on top of the world and it felt damn good. After not much sleep in our freezing tents, we woke up before 4 am to climb the final ascent to the highest point in Central America. It wasn’t very far, but we were sick, exhausted, and constantly catching our breath. Kate in particular had been properly sick for awhile and I’m impressed I didn’t have to carry her up. But the struggle was well worth it.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVi2eXHPzO0rgJQZ1-Ou3pZsR6C936efwB6AgUFmVKT5N9a0Hh32dIKvcLUcnMdcRIpLGGJy_8oocQgnpy30gNz_fPonv3wi8wGsSnxHnP7PbKWEysiFm63_bnvpIhhwOYkKNXmmowATOv/s1600/DSC_0473+%2528Copy%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:left; float:left;margin-right:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="214" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVi2eXHPzO0rgJQZ1-Ou3pZsR6C936efwB6AgUFmVKT5N9a0Hh32dIKvcLUcnMdcRIpLGGJy_8oocQgnpy30gNz_fPonv3wi8wGsSnxHnP7PbKWEysiFm63_bnvpIhhwOYkKNXmmowATOv/s320/DSC_0473+%2528Copy%2529.JPG" /></a></div>
An array of colors slowly emerged in the distance and the sky began to light up vibrantly. Luckily, we barely made it to the top by sunrise and I’m so grateful we did because it was one of those epic sunrises I will never forget. The sky was clear except for the sea of clouds we were perched above. Yet the chain of volcanoes throughout Guatemala was still visible poking through and I literally left as if I were sitting on top of the world. It was one of those perfect mornings that was made even better by the fierce struggle it took to get there.
The decent felt more like a cake walk compared to the previous day and we nearly ran down the volcano. Beer was much needed when our lungs could open up and I spent the next couple of days recuperating and working in our new hive team: me, Justin, and Captain Strangelove. I was sad to say goodbye to Kate as her path directed her back home. The boys wanted to stop in Sumac Champey for a few days and since I had already seen it, I decided one quick return to San Pedro would be best before I said goodbye to Guatemala.
So I returned for a week of reunions only to discover that most of my good friends had already left. Plenty were still there but the town felt like a Twilight Zone replica of the place I loved so dearly before. The rainy season was setting in, tourism eased off, and I discovered the main reason I loved this place so much was because of the people in it. This goodbye was easier as it was clearly time to move onto the next adventure in my journey.
So I met back up with the World Travel Buzz team hive in Rio Dulce, a small not so touristy city on the Caribbean coast. We worked, visited an orphanage with 300 kids, and met up with some crazy girls the boys had acquired whilst in Sumac Champey. Altogether we took the boat cruise down river towards Livingston, the truly Belizean border island town used for jumping in and out of Guatemala.
We didn’t stay in Livingston though, instead opting for <a href="http://fincatatin.centramerica.com/">Finca Tatin</a>, a gorgeous hidden hotel nestled in the jungle and right on the river. Nature enveloped this place and with as many hammocks as there were, it was virtually impossible not to relax there. Dinners were served family style and the 8 of us loudly took over what was supposed to be a quiet getaway. Not surprisingly, our last night included nude night swimming, super dragons (don’t ask), and heaps of rum. The girls that joined us were just the kind of girls I like: down to party and get weird.
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9nXjEjD8o9TZLBDa8yMYB3BIDTYlxoYd9lvy90PBlrT6Y2WYW64EKeEuLU9tlrxgw97HCrLko2siesJ53PdD8rQAMnpE0gBTSBo7SNhFxSnaXhyKHWhn2St8JCA4luKV_FlaKVX-_CB2/s1600/IMG_3064.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear:right; float:right; margin-left:1em; margin-bottom:1em"><img border="0" height="240" width="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9nXjEjD8o9TZLBDa8yMYB3BIDTYlxoYd9lvy90PBlrT6Y2WYW64EKeEuLU9tlrxgw97HCrLko2siesJ53PdD8rQAMnpE0gBTSBo7SNhFxSnaXhyKHWhn2St8JCA4luKV_FlaKVX-_CB2/s320/IMG_3064.JPG" /></a></div>
During the day we remained active: kayaking a few hours down river, hiking several hours back through the sweltering jungle, and swinging into the river to cool off. The atmosphere was serene with lush tropical forest and a calm wide river. Boats came by every so often, but not near our hotel because it was down a side river which made it more peaceful and secluded.
We were soon on the go again towards Honduras which was really close but inconvenient with public transportation. Two boats and three buses in one day and we made it to the hostel brewery located in the highlands of Honduras. <a href="http://www.ddbrewery.com/">D & D</a> is truly off the map; unless of course you travel with a Lonely Planet. Nonetheless, this hidden gem remains a growing trend among backpackers and locals alike because it is, by far, the best freshly brewed beer in Central America. From porter to apricot ale, they have it all and for a mere $2 a pint. If beer really isn’t your thing though, they have a pool, hammock, fire, and great food.
After a few days there chilling out, exploring the natural beauty of the area, and getting drunk on yummy beer at night, it was time to move on. The Bay Islands were next on our itinerary and we were eager to get there. It’s hard to begin to explain the shenanigans that is Utila, so I won’t and will save it for the next installment. But I’ll leave you wondering about what kind of damage I could do with 50 cent tequila. I know, I know, bad idea. But I’ll never learn. And that's what makes my adventures so entertaining.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-63869446076224271912012-04-07T18:02:00.001-07:002012-04-07T18:06:16.177-07:00caring is creepyThick lush jungle, crystal blue waterfalls, playful monkeys, ancient ruins, cobblestone streets, gourmet food, towering heights, colorful markets, and endless opportunities for fun and debauchery. Guatemala has been more than I ever could have hoped for.<br /><br />In my last blog I mentioned that I had met someone and we decided to travel a bit together. I had never really done this before (romantically) and felt both nervous and excited. Traveling with someone is far more intense than living together: you literally spend every moment in sync. You know everything they eat, when they fall asleep, and when they go to the bathroom. (And if you’re with a French Canadian, you know the size, smell, and color of said bathroom goings.) Traveling with anyone, romantic or not, can be difficult but luckily for me, everything about our journey together was easy.<br /><br />A long time ago I decided not to write about the men I meet or the relationships I have just because it opens Pandora’s Box. The reality is I couldn’t write this blog without mentioning Sam and who he is to me. So let’s ignore the ‘we’ as nothing more than the reality of traveling with someone, no matter who they are. This is a story about my journey through Guatemala. <br /><br />The first stop was in Flores to visit Tikal, the most beautiful and fascinating Mayan ruins I’ve seen. The cool part was that only a tiny fraction of the ruins have been uncovered, which means under the thick grassy hills and through the dense jungle forest you can stumble upon all sorts of ancient architecture. And considering the spread of the park was beyond a day’s walk, not including the vast protected areas, there was a lot to stumble upon. <br /><br />Rather than seeing it all, which you can’t, we spent way too much of our time playing with monkeys and chasing other animals. It was nice to be with someone who wanted to do exactly what I wanted to do, which was get off the beaten path, climb a hidden ruin, and eat a jenky can of beans and bread lunch “talking” to the nearby howler monkeys and trying to get them to growl. (Which we did using an old recorded video of howlers and it was AMAZING!)<br /><br />From here someone suggested a stop at Semuc Champey and it only took one postcard to persuade us that we had to change our plans. One of the important traits in a travel partner for me is someone who can truly go with the flow. Someone who is open to suggestions and understands a change of heart or weather determining where you book your next ticket. Sam is one of these people and that’s one reason we traveled so well together.<br /><br />So then we convinced a couple of friends to join us to Sumac Champey, a gorgeous series of pools and waterfalls nestled in the mountainous jungle. It was fucking beautiful to say the very least. There were also caves to go splashing and swimming through with only candles, a river to swing into and tube down, and then a sweet hike up to an even sweeter viewpoint. But it wasn’t the waterfalls that kept us in town for 6 days; it was Zephyr Lodge, the chill party hostel we adored. <br /><br />Despite our makeshift shack we called our room (no walls and located above the workroom) we kept extending our stay every day based on the scenery, hangovers, and good company. There was so much to explore and see here; simply enjoying the incredible view from the open air hot shower was a favored activity. We had a fun group of people there and had some good times partying. Too good because I woke up with cat whiskers one day and no recollection of receiving them, despite there being pictures of my clearly lucid face. (Thanks again Sam.)<br /><br />From here I learned about a place called Earth Lodge, an avocado farm nestled into the hills 20 minutes above Antigua, our anticipated next stop. ‘Avocado’ was the only word either one of us needed to be convinced to make a pit stop, and again we stayed longer than anticipated. It was quiet, calm, and beautiful. We stopped drinking, went to bed early, and became lazy with our days, but loved every minute. <br /><br />In Antigua we stepped back into tourists’ roles strolling the cobblestone streets, trying all the food we could, and sampling the local brew. We even did a chocolate making class where we learned the whole history, made traditional cocoa using both Mayan and European methods, and then made our own variety of gourmet chocolates. Super delicious and fun! We also visited an organic macadamia nut farm and climbed a volcano. I’m not usually one for cramming lots of tours or activities into a small space but I love that Sam encouraged me to see and do as much as I could here being that my lazy ass probably misses out on so much when left to my own devices. <br /><br />Eventually we made our way to San Pedro de la Laguna, a small traveler’s paradise located on Lake Atitlan. It had been our long term goal of reaching this place and hanging out for as long as possible. Stories of this chilled out community of backpackers had convinced us this would be a place we would like, and we were not disappointed. <br /><br />San Pedro is so small you can walk everywhere you’d possibly want to go, even though most of it is concentrated into a few alleys lined with delicious restaurants, fun bars, and tiendas for everything else. This area had clearly been developed by travelers who were ready to stay put for awhile and wanted a bit of their homes with them. You can find anything from falafel to Thai curries, and all of it is reasonably priced as well. To be honest, Guatemala was not as cheap as I had planned on and it was bothering me, until I reached San Pedro. Finally a place I could afford to eat out well and drink everyday! Even the accommodation was a tiny fraction from what we were paying before.<br /><br />To make this place even more paradise, we already knew a few people in town and automatically joined in the community of people who were staying long term. I knew I would become one of them automatically. At this point I knew Sam was leaving soon, and it seemed obvious I would end up staying here longer than planned so I planned on awhile. <br /><br />While Sam was there we remained active: kayaking, hiking, horseback riding, going to markets, and constantly discovering delicious food. But eventually his time had come and he had to book it back to Cancun fast in order to catch his flight home. But the last thing he wanted to do before he left was climb the largest volcano in all of Central America, located just outside of Xela which was only 3 hours away. But timing is everything and somehow we screwed up our one and only chance to climb the volcano. If there is anyone as good about procrastinating as me, it’s possibly Sam, so naturally as a team we sometimes suck. <br /><br />In the end, we spent our last day together enjoying the simple beauty of a hot spring finished by an evening of cooking and drinking wine. I am extremely grateful for all of the incredible adventures we shared. I have heaps of wonderful memories and pictures to take with me and that’s good enough. After the final farewell, I scoped out some Spanish schools as I knew I’d eventually come back to detox. Then I quickly returned to San Pedro to settle into my next favorite community and home for the following month. And what a truly amazing home and family it turned out to be.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-53435199996477365162012-03-22T16:36:00.002-07:002012-03-22T16:58:08.000-07:00things i cannot recallConsidering how long it’s been since I last updated the world about what I’m doing, I’m sure a summary of most things will be sufficient. I’ll save the ramblings for unnecessary tangents on rooftops. You’ll see why later.<br /><br />I last left off where I was traveling through the Yucatan Peninsula and loving being back in the comfortable life of a traveler. But early on I found a hostel I wanted to work at so just after the New Year I returned to Cancun for over a month of random debauchery.<br /><br />I knew we would be family immediately; not sure why or how, but my co-workers at Ka’beh hostel were better than I ever could have hoped for. First and foremost, there is Joe, and there is no one else on this planet like her. She is energetic, loud, outgoing, and totally unforgettable. There is no way to describe her completely here, but stories of Joe will travel with me throughout my life.<br /><br />Then there was my insta-gay husband from Kosovo and we immediately clicked as we smoked our first bowl together straight away. I could talk to him forever and we connected in so many ways, especially spiritually. He is one of the most interesting people I’ve met and I was lucky to have him as my confidant and guide.<br /><br />There was also the Aussie hippie who was managing and basically running the place and keeping it all together. He was the one who actually convinced me to come back for work and he continued to make me laugh throughout my stay. The last worker was a local girl who didn’t sleep at the hostel, but worked most of the awful 7 am shifts and cleaned better than all of us combined. The final piece of the puzzle was a French-Canadian who had recently invested some money in the place and came down to learn to scuba and relax and enjoy life for a little while. Altogether we were the core Ka’beh family, and altogether we were a bunch of loud, ridiculous, but hilarious drunks. <br /><br />Our staff was small but so was our hostel. Sixteen official beds to rent out, then some hammocks, and even our beds in the staff room of four went up for grabs plenty of nights. The hostel didn’t just feel like home, it used to be one. Converted only a few years ago, Ka’beh quickly became known in Lonely Planet as a party hostel, and lives up to the title to this day.<br /><br />Every night of the week we had activities planned including free bbq and beer pong. My favorite was open bar on Fridays when for just 20 pesos, or roughly $1.50, you could drink as much liquor as you wanted for a few hours. Now that’s some good messy fun!<br /><br />My first shift was during tequila jenga and needless to say, I learned pretty early on that there was a whole lot of leeway in the term “work” around there. After staying up till dawn and getting wild and weird in hammocks, I realized I was going to love working there. <br /><br />As Cancun is a major party destination it was our job to facilitate getting our guests out to the bars and have loads of fun. Not always up for a night of binge drinking, I still had to get others amped to drink and party any night of the week. And it never mattered if it were Saturday or Wednesday, Cancun was partying hard. <br /><br />But that fact rarely affected me; in fact plenty of days I never left past the hostel walls. I didn’t need to, I had everything I needed right there: stocked food and kitchen, internet, and most of all, people I loved being with. I could waste time so easily at Ka’beh because I was genuinely enjoying every moment I lived in. Even though I was technically working, it was so laid back and relaxed I could never take it too seriously.<br /><br />Most often we would visit the roof. A jenky ladder led to an even jenkier roof top, we escaped multiple times a day to talk, relax, and smoke a bowl. We would invite the guests we really liked up to the roof as it was kind of a random but amazing spot. I also slept/passed out on that roof. A couple of times. Naked. Whoops. (Sorry, it’s just that kind of roof.)<br /><br />More than just the hostel workers, our Ka’beh family was extended into our guests that stayed for awhile and really bonded with us. It’s surprising how close people become when they’re not working or studying and instead only enjoying life. It becomes easier to meet people, connect, and bond. Especially if you’re drinking every night together.<br /><br />So many amazing people came and left Ka’beh that touched my heart and made me happy. I wish I could tell stories about them all, but I can’t, so I’ll pick just one: Samuel. He is a French Canadian chef and it wasn’t long before we started hooking up. One thing lead to another and it turns out he’s one of the nicest guys I’ve ever met. He stayed for over two weeks before he had to make a move, but promised to come back soon. When he did, he brought me two pairs of feather earrings, both beautiful and both totally my style. It was around then I really realized this guy might be different. Before he left for good, we talked about wanting to travel together. I wasn’t ready to leave when he was so I planned to meet him in less than a week in Guatemala and we would travel together there. But that’s a whole other blog you’ll have to wait for. <br /><br />Sam was definitely part of the Ka’beh family though, an intricate part that cooked many delicious meals. In fact, we all cooked amazing meals together and that fact alone is what makes us family. Everyday someone would cook something for everyone. It wasn’t planned who, when, or what, but eventually someone would get hungry or feel like cooking and groceries were already bought for us ready to be prepared. No one else was vegetarian but no one minded at all eating veg most the time, considering how much cheaper it is. I loved creating this community and having a time where we all came together and ate. Not around one big table literally, but together with conversation. <br /><br />Since I worked at Ka’beh so long and drank so much, there are obviously many crazy stories to share. But I can’t (and won’t) share them all so instead I’ll just focus on a few. The craziest ones always involve Joe, and her birthday was no exception. It started off slowly with a game of King’s Cup and somehow turned into us making human pyramids at the bars and then stripping to our undies and running into the ocean at sunrise. It was one of those magical seamless nights, the only bad thing was that someone jacked my purse while we were swimming. Not really surprised though.<br /><br />The best part of the whole night was the bus ride back, most of which I don’t remember. What I do recall is Joe staying in her drawers and stopping/directing traffic so we could cross the 8 car lanes. Mind you, it was a Thursday morning around 8 or 9 am and everyone else around was going to work. Joe has no shame but instead a huge heart that wants to keep her friends safe.<br /><br />Even though Cancun had a plethora of large clubs to go out to all night, most heavy drinking nights were spent at home in Ka’beh. It was incredibly cheaper to get pissed back at ours and we had the most fun just being our weird drunk selves. It was a giant blur of spanking with paddles, dressing up in ridiculous outfits, and death defying hammock tricks. The most infamous night of course was Australia Day, when hammock sutra was invented. There were only 5 hammocks, but there were over a dozen people in them, one of which was performing. Joe literally gave lap dances to everyone in the hammocks, carefully balancing herself above everyone’s crotches. Eventually it became too much and a couple of hammocks pulled out from the wall and asses went down on the ground hard. Just another day at Ka’beh.<br /><br />Naturally with this much drinking, people are bound to pass out, anywhere and anytime. (Joe regularly chose to sleep on the main couch, usually close to naked.) But if someone assed out during their “work”, they were bound to get taken advantage of. It started off innocently enough with pictures of the victim passed out with a sign on them saying “hard at work”. (Hard at work quickly became the slogan for our hostel.) Near everyone got a photo with the sign, but sometimes we felt like being artistic with the victim, namely Joe. One night there was a sombrero, empty bottles, and a condom filled with milk all over poor Joe (who is genuinely a hard worker). But that’s what you get for drunkenly passing out while doing math for your checkout at 2 am. Or for living at Ka’beh. <br /><br />I was more than lucky to have this place and time of my life; I loved everyone who was apart of it. The flow and tempo of life was slow and steady but much to my liking. From time to time we were challenged though with the reality of work. If there was a flash storm (and there were a few) we had to get soaked in the rain as we scooped buckets of water out of the alley that threatened to flood our kitchen and into the garden further away. We ran out of water. More than once. And we were lucky if the hot water ever worked. Don’t even get me started with the laundry machine. But overall it was mellow light housecleaning work and checking people in and getting them situation. We had to keep the place clean and everyone happy, that was most important. But in general someone just had to be around 24/7 so that meant someone always had the 11pm-7 am night shift. That was rough.<br /><br />You were allowed to sleep a bit but I rarely did. And after a few days you get properly worn out and ready to sleep all day. The whole schedule of partying, sleeping, and working throws your body through a loop. I definitely adored every minute I had at Ka'beh and could have stayed longer, but it was my time to leave when I did (even though I did so sobbing). I had Sam to catch up with and was eager to start traveling again, this time in Guatemala.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-72178420309679770272011-12-28T19:41:00.000-08:002011-12-28T19:43:07.857-08:00time and time againTime is entirely what you make of it; it’s the same as a glass that’s half empty or half full. One week in a new country is however much or little you want it to be. And for me, one week is full of far more experiences and observations than conceivable back home in the States.<br /><br />I’m not sure why but I was born an incredibly lazy person. I also have a lot going through my mind constantly and realize that no matter what I will never become bored with myself. I might go crazy and need to exit my own head, hence supplemental escapism, but I’ll never run out of things to think about. What this translates to is my ability to travel alone and remain content with just myself. <br /><br />Since I’ve arrived, I have spent much of my time only with myself and have yet to feel dissatisfied. True, I have a lot to sort out right now and also I understand this time is both limited and important. But it allows me to wander markets, discover vegetarian restaurants, and shop as I see fit, without any pressure or expectations from someone else. I realize not everyone is capable of this as the need to share experiences is inherent in human nature. But true explorers and wanderers seek adventure for their own sole appreciation, and I am not an exception. My safety may be a concern for some, but nothing will change my intense desire to discover every random corner of the world one village at a time.<br /><br />While I have only been in Mexico just over a week, I have been observing their culture for much longer. Working in various restaurants, I’ve had many experiences with Mexican people, mainly though men of the lower economic class. While it may seem unnecessary to mention, I do this because class status has a lot of influence on how a person acts or how they view the world. <br /><br />For example, the men I work with are infamous for catcalling and wooing women, to the point of discomfort. Here in Mexico I have had experiences with a variety of classes and it has been noteworthy that middle to higher status males do not participate in this behavior. The Mexican women of higher status simply do not tolerate this behavior as they see it as rude and uneducated. Education is the key here in dividing the classes. <br /><br />The poorer you are, the more necessary it is for you to work and not attend school. The richer you are, the more important it is to receive a higher education and have interaction with various cultures. Studying, traveling, or au pairing abroad, meeting foreigners, and being fluent in English takes precedence over immediate income as it will help them in whatever white collar career they choose.<br /><br />I’m not sure why the endless sexual harassment exists in the lower class, but I know it isn’t exclusive to Mexicans. All over the world men try to prove their manhood by hassling women, although it is predominant in Latino cultures. I wish I understood what they were trying to accomplish: do they think we like this? Does it make them look good to their comrades? Or is it just something they’ve witness since they were children and think is both normal and appropriate? If I had to take a wild guess, I’d go with the last and I can only hope through education this will change over time.<br /><br />I flew into Cancun because of the cheap ticket, not for the intense partying (despite what my past history might insinuate). So instead of hostelling I couchsurfed with a Brit who had been living there for a long time to get a more authentic experience and better understanding of what to expect from Mexican culture. I spent the first few days laying low and figuring out my plan of action. I lazily soaked in the sun on the beach all day and had mellow evenings with my host sharing good conversation and getting inspired. My main focus was creating a travel plan and trying as much delicious Mexican food as I could fit into my stomach.<br /><br />And then, as it always does, it happened oh so quickly. I already had conflicting plans with different cs (couchsurfing) hosts and fast decisions to make. And for anyone who knows me well, you know that decisions are my kryptonite. Despite my desperate attempt to make faster decisions and let them go from my mind once they’ve been made, I still struggle with them everyday. From meals to new places to travel, I have trouble in creating my own destiny. <br /><br />But sometimes, I can hear a whisper from the Universe and I know in my soul where I'm supposed to go. And that’s what matters most I suppose; to be able to read signs and let the Universe be your guide. And that’s exactly how I ended up in Mexico. <br /><br />In allowing myself to accept whatever offers came my way, I have already found confidence in knowing I am exactly where I am supposed to be. The Universe has given me several coincidences that I use as bench markers and reminders that I am right on my path.<br /><br />So I decided to go to the cs party in Cancun being held at a hostel trusting I would meet someone or hear something that would guide me to where I was supposed to be; I knew in my heart this would lead to something good. But in the meantime I had one day to kill and I’d had enough of the Cancun beach; it was time for another.<br /><br />So I set off for a quick ferry ride to Isla Mujeres, a beautiful island with one of the most clear blue tranquil beaches around. I needed a bit of adventure and was ready to challenge myself to meeting new people on my own in a hostel. And after another lazy day on the beach and strolling the town, I set in for an evening at a fun and full hostel. The first person to really talk to me was an Argentinean who spoke no English. I realized my Spanish was going to have to improve quickly so I went out for both food and booze. First I purchased bottle of rum and then I found a chilled out taco stand that most definitely would churn my stomach. The old men running it were sweet enough so I sat and joined them for a long while, practicing my Spanish and drinking my rum. For anyone who has struggled with learning a second language, they understand just how much inebriation helps you both speak and understand a new language. <br /><br />So when I returned to the Argentinean and his friends I was both confident and fluent, and I had some rum to share so they loved me even more. The night rolled on and I knew I was getting into trouble but I loved it. Eventually I met others and we set out from the hostel bar on the beach into town for some legitimate troublesome fun. <br /><br />I used to think trouble found me and not the other way around, but lately I’m beginning to realize I have a real knack for attracting it. Really though it’s the people I choose to spend my time with. I like characters; not boring people. I won’t talk to the people who sit in lounges all day on their computers or go everywhere with their Lonely Planet. I’d rather meet the people doing cartwheels off palm trees or who are clearly on binges that are over 24 hours. These people have stories to tell and the lives they lead are far more interesting, if not dangerous. But these are my people and I’ll be damned if society dictates that I should avoid them. <br /><br />Anywho, my new group was clearly on an intense and long binge to which I was invited to join. I politely declined most of their offerings but liked the fact that I had been taken in as one of their own. The night crept on and soon became morning and I was the last into my dorm crawling into bed with extremely dirty feet as I decided to roam the street without any shoes. (I suppose I look like a bit of trouble myself most of the time.)<br /><br />The next day passed quickly as I got a bit more beach time in and said goodbye to my new friends and sailed back to Cancun for the cs party. I had just enough time to shower and sort myself out before we had to arrive at the hostel to set everything up. It wasn’t just any party; it was a posada, which is a Christmas party that involves traditional food, songs, and piñatas. And for us, alcohol. The large group involved a mix of both Mexicans and foreigners, all excited to meet the other and practice their languages. <br /><br />Salsa was danced, piñatas were beaten, and alcohol was consumed. By the end of the night I had received an offer to work at the hostel as the manager desperately needed help and some time off. I considered it and promised to return for at least New Year’s Eve, although I knew in my heart this was a gift from the Universe. And so my plans once again created themselves. <br /><br />But first I needed to explore a bit of Mexico and so I set off the next day for Merida where my next cs host awaited me. She was Mexican but had lived in both Paris and New York for extended periods of time and was extremely fluent in both languages. She had obviously grown up in a family that valued both education and traveling and the outcome was this energetic, outgoing, and open minded woman. I only had a few days to spend with her though as she had just purchased another ticket to New York and much like my own travels, didn’t know exactly when she would return but knew it would be months. She was more then generous to offer me to stay with her in her final days at home (that also happened to be her birthday) and it was a whirlwind of meeting new people and going places. While I was proud my Spanish came flooding back to me rather quickly, it also challenged me daily and made me super tired at night.<br /><br />Being on my own allows me the luxury to observe people constantly, which in turns creates a natural flow of thought. I ponder questions and come to conclusions about both the world and myself and am constantly seeking more. I look into windows and see homes and families, celebrations and daily life. While this blog will chronologically follow my trail, it will be more or less the observations I make about society that I prefer to share. These are the things that matter most in the end.<br /><br />One thing I have written about before but cannot express enough is how similar we all are as human beings. More often than not, we focus on the differences: our religion, political preferences, skin color, etc. But the truth is we have more things that unite us together than divide us apart. We all go to the bathroom, eat and drink, listen to music, need to sleep. We all have friends and enemies, opinions and preferences (although different, we still all have them). We all have emotions, whether we suppress them or not, and we all have the capacity to love. We feel sorrow and happiness, longing and content. We have family and friendships, and relationships that hurt and help us. We make connections with other human beings, or we choose to avoid them. We are all alike and not alike at the same time and we should celebrate this fact alone because it is what makes us human. The more I travel the more this is made clear to me. No matter the language or skin color, I see families singing songs, couples in love, and everyone laughing. I may not always get the joke, but I smile because I am happy to witness these things. To be exposed to as many cultures and experiences as I have has made me an extremely lucky girl and I do not take this for granted. And what I take from it all is that we as human beings have no natural reason to hate one another, but instead to love. And in the end love is all we have, all we need. The sooner we realize this as a collective society the sooner in harmony we can all live.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-56535294201687576572011-12-13T13:13:00.000-08:002011-12-13T13:21:16.831-08:00freebirdChaos entangles me in a web of heat, people, and Spanish. My pack is heavy, I’m without any sense of direction, and I stick out like a gringo sore thumb. I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing or where I’m going.<br /><br />I’m back baby!!!<br /><br />Most people travel when they take a sabbatical. I, on the other hand, leave the long winding road from time to time to take a taste of the “real world”, to see what it’s like to work a vast majority of your time. Like most sabbaticals, their time is fleeting. Last I left this blog I was in Indonesia being doted upon by my family. Since then I spent 3 more months between Thailand and Malaysia volunteering at an animal refuge and sterilization clinic, couchsurfing with families, and celebrating the Thai New Year with the world’s largest water fight. To be fair, I could (and should) have written some catch up blogs about my final months in Asia. But I found myself preferring to enjoy my time and writing specific articles rather than working on my blog. And home provided me with zero inspiration for reflection.<br /><br />And so here I sit, on my first day on my next big adventure, trying to play catch up with my past. So I won’t. Instead I’ll focus on the moment, and possibly how I’ve come across it.<br /><br />Americans are the first to spout the benefits of freedom although they very rarely understand what it is to be truly free. Most people are tied down to mortgages, car payments, relationships, and the inevitable pile of stuff they simply cannot live without. They become stuck; caught in a hamster wheel only few truly yearn to be free of. And even fewer make the escape. Me? I never joined. I took one look and ran the other direction, even though it involved a huge cliff and a jump down a dark rabbit hole.<br /><br />I don’t know how to describe myself other than someone who yearns to be free; always. To explore the world at my own pace and never feel forced into a life I wouldn’t create on my own. My only guide is the Universe and I trust it to give me wonderful experiences, as it usually does. I believe so strongly in the Universe that if I notice a few signs, I will take the first exit. I know when I’ve stayed my limit anywhere and I’m fully capable of bowing out at any time. The fact that I bought a plane ticket to Mexico without any plan or forethought isn’t a surprise, certainly not to me.<br /><br />I’ve been backpacking many times. I have the gear, the knowledge, and the fearlessness which enables me to be ready to go literally at any moment. And so I did. In the matter of 24 hours I bought a plane ticket, quit my two jobs, and prepared myself for an adventure I hadn’t planned on in less than 2 weeks. And I couldn’t be more excited.<br /><br />I am home here. Not Mexico (and certainly not Cancun). But on the open road guided by my intuition and curiosity. Meeting new people and trying new things. This is what makes me alive, this is what makes me me. I don’t expect people to want the same for themselves or to even understand it. But I will give you a window to my world so you can enjoy it from the safety of your own home, wherever that may be. But I do hope you find your own inspiration to create your own wealth of happiness in your world, whatever that may be. We are all free no matter the shackles that entangle us, there is always opportunity. You just need to listen and look for the signs that tell you what to do. The Universe is always there, but it’s up to you live your life.<br /><br />So what is the plan then you ask? I’m planning on no plans currently. I’ll explore the southern bit of Mexico for a couple of months; relaxing on the beaches drinking margaritas and exploring beautiful Mayan ruins. Eventually I will head towards Belize, Guatemala, and the rest of Central America in no particular order. I will hopefully get some Spanish school in, volunteer somewhere, and ride a moto recklessly without a helmet or license. I will enjoy everyday, take every chance and explore every opportunity. I will be happy going wherever the signs may point and following the long, winding, and unpredictable road I’ve come to adore. And I will share all of it with you. Thank you for reading, joining me on my journey, and for being apart of my life. I appreciate you all. <3Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-15779276168589983772011-01-15T01:10:00.000-08:002011-01-15T01:24:25.196-08:00the good lifePART 2<br /><br />Often throughout my travels, people have taken me in as treated me as family. This is the only time I’ve stayed with people who actually are related to me, despite never having met them previously. But by the time I left, there was no question about it: we are family.<br /><br />My first full day in Jakarta was merely a tiny eye opening introduction to this crazy world I was entering. After some running around, I was indulging in a much needed nap only to be woken by my father asking me to join him at the whorehouse for a drink. I thought he was kidding at first, but he wouldn’t let me go back to sleep and insisted I join him, my stepmom, and uncle for a beer with some nice classy hookers. And in this house, no never means no.<br /><br />As Ping had loaned the money to build this brothel, he was given unlimited free access to anything he wanted, and I really mean <span style="font-style:italic;">anything</span>. He also has a coupon book (not a joke) he can use whenever he wants or give out to friends. And you better believe this book is good for any number of girls he wants. Luckily for me, no one indulged in anything that would later traumatize me, but I did have to remind myself a few times that this <span style="font-style:italic;">actually is</span> my life.<br /><br />What’s interesting about this place was that it was set up as nightclub so you could easily forget it was 4pm on a Tuesday, yet all the girls were piled into a back room lit disturbingly bright with numbers tagged on all of them. They simply sit there altogether chatting, not doing much, as the men stand outside watching them creepily and taking notes on which numbers they want. Later, the numbers are given to “Momma” and she will fetch whoever you choose. They come out for a drink, a chat, and then you can head upstairs whenever you’re ready. I think I might have been the first person to ask these girls what they want to be when they grow up, because trust me, they weren’t all grown up yet.<br /><br />What makes this experience so great is that since Ping knew the owner, the Momma came and not only chatted to us for a bit, but gave me a necklace as a present. (I’m fairly certain young white females are not common there.) When we left we tipped the few girls who sat with us and needless to say, it was a most interesting start to this vacation.<br /><br />Something I learned within a matter of days was not to mention any needs or wants unless I’m very serious about it because it will happen in an exaggerated manner. Say you like lychee (a fruit) and in comes 20 pounds of it. Wish I was kidding. I never expressed hunger because even when I showed slight interest in food, 10 plates of it would make its way to me. Still not kidding. Even after I’ve been given three breakfasts, somehow they think I can eat more and offer copious amounts of fresh, delicious food. This wouldn’t be so awful if it weren’t for my stepmom whose favorite thing to say is, “finish it”. (Thankfully after she left no one has told me to finish anything.)<br /><br />Truly though, if I dared touch something it could soon become mine. I quickly became afraid to touch anything as if I were Midas. When purse shopping I was only interested in one purse, but since it was the most expensive one there, I insisted I didn’t want it. I reassured them many times and told them not to go back and get it. Low and behold a few days later it magically made its way to my room. To be honest, I really wasn’t surprised (or upset…I love my new purse).<br /> <br />What I love best about this family though is how unpretentious they are. Despite their ability to design any number of houses they want or eat constantly at fancy restaurants (and they do both), they love their near dilapidated warehouse and eat at hole-in-the-wall noodle shops. It’s truly not because they’re cheap; they have no problem spending money. It’s because they want what they want and it’s as simple as that. My favorite example of their unpretentious attitude lies in the Kobe beef steakhouse story.<br /><br />The one and only night Ping decided to stay out late was to take us to the best steakhouse in Jakarta to sample Kobe beef, the best in the world. Located at the top floor of an exquisite building with a fine view, we strolled in this classy joint with beer bottles in hand. (Ping goes absolutely nowhere without a couple of beers in the car and in hand, grocery store included.) He also brought his own whiskey bottle and had no problem cracking it at the table. Was he trying to save money? No, he just wanted <span style="font-style:italic;">his</span> whiskey, the best $120 bottle he could find to match the best steak. Now for the best part…<br /><br />He didn’t want to bring the whole bottle so he simply poured some into another smaller bottle. But this bottle was for some cheap as dirt Malaysian crap. So despite the dime he dropped on dinner, he looked like a weirdo strolling in with beer bottles and cheap whiskey in pocket. He just doesn’t care what people think of him, and that’s what makes him the Godfather.<br /><br />Despite not visiting much other than Jakarta, we still ventured to neighboring areas. One of the best day trips we took was to Bogor, the lush, green, mountainous region hours away from pollution. Sure the botanical garden was great, even the shopping was fun, but what made this full day adventure so fantastic was our trip to Jurassic Park. Or at least the closest thing in the world to it.<br /><br />I’m not exaggerating when I say this park is set up nearly exactly how it is in the movie, minus dinosaurs. Instead, substitute lions, bears, hippos, giraffes, ostriches, and every other animal you can imagine. Yes they’re all free and yes they can wander right up to your car. Luckily the dangerous animals don’t usually do so, although I’m not entirely sure as when we were in that particular section it was raining pretty badly and they couldn’t be bothered to do much of anything other than sit under shelter.<br /><br />But when it was clear, the zebras and camels did all they could to nearly poke their heads into our car as we fed them carrots and bananas. Before you enter the park, it’s up to the individual to load up on snacks to feed the animals and attract them close to your car, <span style="font-style:italic;">despite</span> the warnings not to do so. (The joy of being in a country without crazy lawsuits.) Does this park sound crazy? Yes. And was it fun? Absolutely. As an animal rights advocate I hate zoos, more than you can imagine. But I loved this place. Here, the animals roamed free and could stay as close to people or far away from them as possible. Is it entirely natural? No, but it’s a hell of a lot better than being in a concrete cage behind bars with asinine children taunting them.<br /><br />One interesting fact about Indonesia I’ve neglected to mention is that fact that there are no laws. Well, technically there are, but nothing a bribe can’t get you out of. The price of the bribe must be in direct proportion to the size of the law you’re breaking, but everything is negotiable. <br /><br />For example, there are no extensions given to the one month tourist visa. Unless of course you have an Uncle Ping who knows someone in the government he can slip some cash to and an extension stamp will magically appear in your passport. (The immigration officer at the airport was a bit surprised how I got it, but I was clearly not someone to be questioned as evidently I <span style="font-style:italic;">knew</span> people.) The bottom line is, don’t break the law in Indonesia…unless you have the cash to back it up.<br /><br />While the massages, shopping, drinks, and delicious food was absolutely fantastic, it was never the best part. By far what makes this place so special in my heart is how welcome and loved I felt. They took me in and without question I was family. Over time we grew closer; I stayed up late chatting with Aliu, went to Wei’s home in the country no one had seen before, and soon they were all able to predict my preferences. While I might have glorified all the material blessings I’d been given, that’s not the reason I stayed so long. Feeling welcome and appreciated is a priceless gift never to be ignored. And being given a family in Indonesia is by far the most valuable thing I’ve ever received.<br /><br /><br /><br />BANGDUNG BONUS!!!!!<br /><br />My first two weeks in Indonesia was spent vacationing with my dad and stepmom aka being ushered around constantly meeting new people and sharing pleasantries over meals out. It seemed everyone knew my stepmom was in town and had to schedule an appointment with her and her bule family. <br /><br />One of the families we met had three daughters, all near my age, and spoke perfect English as they go to an international school. We hit it off on our first lunch and we were all promptly invited to their house in Bandung the following weekend. (I actually remained close with them my entire time in Jakarta.)<br /><br />Bandung is a breath of fresh air compared to Jakarta. Sure the traffic and malls have followed, but there is a chance to escape up the volcano, go for a hike, and receive at least <span style="font-style:italic;">some</span> peace and quiet. After only a couple of days it was time to leave, but somehow I knew it wasn’t goodbye. Final farewells do not exist in my book and I’m always liable to return.<br /><br />At first it was only for one night, but somehow I stuck around for a week and a half. It started with meeting Jasmine at a birthday party for one of my friends here. She was half Indonesian and half British, but had lived in America for nearly 10 years. Being that she was still in high school, that’s enough of her life to consider her American. She was on two week holiday with her father and invited me to stay for the weekend for a couple good nights out. (Since arriving in Jakarta I had been deprived of any nightlife and after a month I was itching for it.)<br /><br />Our first night was a prelude to the new absurd world I had entered. Entirely different from that of my family in Jakarta, this one was still crazy and unreal in its own way. Cloud 9 is the only way to describe the first night; it’s also the name of the bar up in the hills we went. With live music, good food, and a spectacular view, this place is the perfect place to swig cocktails all night. So that we did.<br /><br />The following day was Christmas and while I was concerned I was impeding on some family day, her dad told me to get ready to <span style="font-style:italic;">really</span> party. Breakfast consisted of guacamole, apple streusel cake, and every other western junk food you can imagine. We didn’t even see her dad all day until we went out at night dressed to kill. Jasmine had a hair straightener, little black dress, and heels for me to borrow so I could escape the backpacker I had been for so many months. <br /><br />Being that I had never spent the holidays away from home, I was hoping for something good. I didn’t care what; I just didn’t want to completely ignore it as I had Thanksgiving, Halloween, and my birthday. And thankfully it was the best Christmas I could hope for as drinks were heavy all night long and the bill footed by her father. A far cry from backpacker’s budgets, I drank everything from shots on fire to tequila, and you could tell at the end of the night.<br /><br />By the time the weekend was over it was clear I needed to come back for New Year’s Eve, but as lazy days stretched into long nights, it became obviously stupid to leave for just a couple of nights.. Besides, Jasmine’s dance on stage and vomit on the table antics were reminiscent of me a long time ago. (A month could be considered a long time to some people.)<br /><br />The week was spent sleeping in, watching Sex and the City, eating dinner out, and if we weren’t partying, we were still hanging out with friends. Luckily for me, her group there could speak English and while it took some time for them to use it regularly, they always made me feel welcome and I loved hanging out with them. From adventures in hot springs to late night movies, I had a great vacation away from my vacation.<br /><br />New Year’s Eve was a whirlwind of a night as we were ready to go out by 5 (even though I only had 45 min to get ready). The traffic in Bandung on the weekends is epic and nothing to be trifled with. We all wanted to be well drunk by midnight and that meant not only an early start on the bottle, but on the road. Starting with classy martinis at a 5 star hotel, we then bought some flashing devil horns and were ready to find trouble at the North Sea.<br /><br />The North Sea is the little bar Jasmine’s father has taken as his own, where he and his gang of friends hole up every night owning the place. They’ve acclimated to only buying bottles as single drinks is just ridiculous. Luckily for me, their drink of choice are gin and tonics. And I never thought I’d meet anyone who likes a stronger G&T than me, but her dad’s is lacking in the T department; pretty much entirely. <br /><br />While Jazz and I planned on venturing to other places all night long, we somehow drank our way through the evening without ever switching venues. At midnight the horns blew, everyone cheered, and then my memory started going. I know I was loud, saying stupid things, and acting a damn fool. But in the end, I had heaps of fun, made it home safely, and didn’t have too bad of a hangover the next day so it was a roaring success. <br /><br />Early Sunday morning it was time to bid farewell. Jasmine and her dad had a plane to catch back to reality, and I scored a seat in their car back to Jakarta. Despite having so much fun, I was tired, sick, and in dire need of recovering my body before I got back on the backpacking trail. While this blog doesn’t give too many specific stories, it’s for a specific purpose. Things that happen in Bandung should stay in Bandung, and out of respect for others I’ll keep these stories to myself. Or I’ll tell them to you in person after I’ve had some wine. The very least I can say is that Jasmine can turn a gay man straight and a straight girl gay.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-9013979831277958012011-01-10T22:51:00.000-08:002011-01-10T22:54:52.240-08:00lifestyles of the rich and famousPART 1<br /><br />All my life I’ve wanted a sugar daddy, just without all gross older man stuff I’m not actually into. It’s been a life dream I assumed impossible, until now. Turns out, the whole time I should have been wishing for a sugar aunt and uncle. It’s rare you make it to 26 years of age without knowing all of your family, but somehow I did. Ok, so they’re not blood family, but if I’ve learned anything from my time in Indonesia, family is family.<br /><br />My father has been with his Indonesian born wife for well over ten years, yet I never knew a whole lot about the life or family she left behind long ago. I had the vague impression she came from money despite her being the biggest coupon clipper I’ve ever known. She also always encouraged me to visit Indonesia and when the chance for my backpacking trip to collide with their vacation here, I jumped on the opportunity to join. <br /><br />After a few solid months of being a dirty hippie scavenger, I was ready for some indulgence and vacation. I arrived quite literally penniless and in need of both a meal and shower (I had been stretching my money my last few days in Cambodia and making a bag of chips last as two meals. A joke the family likes to now tell.) I was rescued at the airport and promptly brought to one of the many malls in Jakarta. After being stuffed with food we went shopping and I was told if I wanted or needed anything just to let them know. At first I appreciated the gesture, and after some time I learned that they literally meant <span style="font-style:italic;">anything</span>.<br /><br />But before I can get into the absurdity and amazingness of my situation here, let me introduce the cast of characters.<br /><br />First and foremost is The Godfather. He’s my stepmom’s brother (aka my uncle) and very clearly the head of the family, the main breadwinner, and the official decision maker. His name is Ping and when he says “jump”, you say “how high?”. Well, I don’t. In fact I don’t know what he says most of the time because he doesn’t speak much English. For the most part, I can tell he enjoys having me around though and likes to show off his bule (white foreigner) niece to others. He insists I join him at lunches, 5 am jogs, or afternoon karaoke just so I can be introduced to his circle of friends. <br /><br />And I do it dutifully too; it’s the least I can do for the roof he’s put over my head, the food in my belly, and the clothes on my back. And accessories, massages, and plane tickets. Yes, Ping is The Godfather for the reason that he makes a shit ton of money and loves to spend it on his family. And by the grace of God I am his family.<br /><br />Yes it’s true; somehow I’ve slipped into a world where money has no value, mostly because there is a seemingly endless amount of it. At first I could tell they had money. It’s only after living with them for over a month I get just how much of it they have, and who they lend it to. Because that’s pretty much what they do, lend people money. It’s as simple as that, yet Bank of Ping lends out hundreds of thousands on a regular basis to government officials, oil drilling companies, and God knows who else. Over time he’s collected favors from every business you can imagine: jewelry makers, whorehouse owners, and senators; and I’ve met them all. <br /><br />But the best and most absurd part of all of this: Ping lives in a shack of a warehouse. Despite his huge financial success and ability to buy several properties a year (and he does) he prefers his 30 year old deteriorating office building as his castle. He is a man who likes simple comfort and is unwilling to change, even if this makes him the butt of jokes amongst his class. <br /><br />Ping loves routine and sticks to his regimented schedule of waking at 4 am, exercising, and then commencing his day. There is no specific daily work schedule; he comes and goes as he pleases; but mostly people come to his office to ask for money. It’s a very relaxed atmosphere as the room is small, no frills, and filled with yelping dogs. The walls are covered with countless photos of Ping with various high ranking government officials and military and one of him with the infamous Indonesian major mob boss. Because he wants you to know who his friends are if you decide not to pay him back.<br /><br />If Ping weren’t a big time loan shark he’d be a bartender because he won’t let anyone pass through his doors without a drink. And when he says “one for the road”, he really means three or four. While he starts asking me early on in the day if I want a drink, he respects my ‘no’ answer; that is until 4 pm. Whenever 4 o’clock rolls around, if I’m anywhere near Ping I’m destined to have a drink in my hand. First he offers beer, then whiskey, and when I’ve declined both, he just gets me whatever he is drinking. No doesn’t mean no to Ping. (And this refers to all aspects of life.) <br /><br />If Ping is king of his castle, then his queen is Alio. Or indentured servant, I’m not quite sure which anymore. Otherwise known as Auntie ATM, she handles the money and loves spending it. It took some time to get used to, but whatever I wanted, I would not pay for, no matter how hard I tried. And I did try. It honestly became a mission and I did everything I could to buy my own earrings and I failed over and over again until the one time I succeeded, only to discover she let me pay because she ran out of cash. <br /><br />In the end though I still wasn’t paying because since the day I arrived my pocket had been stuffed with their cash. I felt uncomfortable with this at first, but after one month it’s become routine. And my biggest fear is that I’ve become far too comfortable with having other people pay for everything for me. I’ve been fiercely independent for as long as I can remember and take a certain pride in paying for all my own travels, despite what other people assume. This is the first time someone else has footed the bill. And to be honest, I kind of like it.<br /><br />Alio is by far my favorite person here as she is my interpreter and protector. She speaks English, although not entirely perfectly, but always has a sense of humor and kindness about her I adore. As a good Christian, she goes to church regularly and prays often and I can tell it’s her faith that is her fuel in life. <br /><br />The truth is Ping has worn her down. He is most demanding on her, requesting her schedule stay similar to his, that she only rarely goes out at night and with his permission, and is at his beck and call. A dutiful wife, she feels she has no other choice, but doesn’t complain. But I can tell it wears her down, physically and mentally. Whenever questioned about the irrationality of a situation, she simply sighs and says, “This is Ping”.<br /><br />On the bright side, she can call the masseuse and beautician to come to the house whenever she pleases to try and relax. And since money is no object, she purchases anything and everything “for health”, no matter the cost. Eye mask for $100? Yes please! Bird’s nest soup for $300? Why not?! As long as it’s beneficial to her health, she’ll invest. <br /><br />As for Ping’s investments, he loves watches. His collection in the hundreds are sprawled everywhere and their value range from $1,000-$50,000, although I’m not sure where he wears the expensive ones to since he never goes at night. Because of his self-imposed 4 am wake up, he goes to bed around 6-8 pm. He won’t leave the house past 4 pm because it will infringe on his schedule; another reason he might be the butt of jokes.<br /><br />One more of my favorite characters has to be Wei, otherwise known as Uncle Wei Wei the tour guide. Tall, thin, quiet, and patient; my other uncle is also at the beck and call of Ping and has played tour guide and driver since my arrival. He drives us anywhere and everywhere, the mall or overnight trips, and I’m curious as to what his life is like outside of here. More evasive than anyone else, he lives far away despite Ping’s offer to house him next door (he owns the surrounding houses yet does nothing with them; he just doesn’t want neighbors. I think Wei likes his personal space. But he always has a smile on his face and a pleasant demeanor. <br /><br />What really makes Wei’s driving skills exceptional is the legendary traffic of Jakarta. Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced, I’m fairly certain I’ve spent half of my time here sitting in a car. Not joking. It’s not as chaotic as Hanoi or death defying as Cairo, but far more infuriating than even LA traffic. It’s nonstop, everywhere, at all times of the day, and what keeps me from venturing out on my own more often. If there is any place on Earth that has worse traffic than Jakarta, I don’t want to go there, although I’m afraid I already have. And that place is called Bandung.<br /><br />Roughly 2-3 hours outside of Jakarta, Bandung is the mountainous fresh air escape from the city everyone needs. And since everyone needs it, they go there on the weekends bringing their cars, pollution, and traffic along with them. Once in Bandung a drive that should take 20-30 minutes without traffic, took 2 ½ hours. <span style="font-style:italic;">Two and half friggin’ hours</span> sitting in car going out of my mind. (It was New Year’s weekend. More stories of Bandung to come.)<br /><br />If there were two words I’d use to describe Jakarta it would be ‘traffic’ and ‘shopping’. This whole place is a clusterfuck of both and I’m surprised it hasn’t sent me out of my mind yet. I suppose free shopping takes the edge off though. I’m not sure why my family here assumes I need to go shopping so much, maybe it’s the holes in my clothes, but it’s pretty constant. I resisted at first, only getting one shirt here, a pair of earrings there. <br /><br />Really though, they’ve encouraged me to do a lot worse damage and a tiny voice inside of me is screaming to do so. But in the end, I have a new wardrobe, new accessories, toiletries, and set of DVDs to keep me very happy. I even have to be careful not to ask for things. If I even touch something and ask what it is, rather than an answer I get, “do you want it?”. Anything I look vaguely interested in and it’s assumed I want it. And since no doesn’t mean no here, sometimes things get bought I don’t really need or want. The shopping situation here is so absurd that all I can do is laugh. <br /><br />At least when my father was here I had someone to laugh with. We were the two bules together and I think explaining who I am was a lot easier when he was here. No one knows why this family has a white niece (or nephew as my aunt sometimes introduces me. Her English isn’t perfect). This was my dad’s second trip here and as I’m told he’s done much better this time around.<br /><br />Adjusting to a strange new world can be surprisingly difficult for most people. Particularly when you’re thrown into another family’s schedule and habits which can be vastly different from your own. My father is a man that shows up not on time, but early. He doesn’t like to wait or make others wait. He makes a schedule for the day and sticks to it. This family couldn’t be more opposite. <br /><br />First they’ll say we’re leaving at 9 am. Then we’ll leave at 10:30 and we won’t know where we’re going. When we get there the plan will change and we’ll go somewhere else. For a go with the flow person like myself this is fine, exciting even. But for someone like my father, this is infuriating. Apparently last time he became incredibly frustrated. But now he knew what to expect so he didn’t make a big deal of it. In fact, he laughed a lot about the ridiculousness and I think appreciated having me to laugh along with him. I’m sure the endless whiskey helped as well. <br /><br />In a nutshell, this house runs similarly to a fire station. You pretty much sit around, relaxing, chatting, eating, and suddenly at the drop of a hat they’ll tell you to go-go-go and you have to be ready. You never know where you’re going or what for, but when they start walking out the door, you better follow. If I ever say, “let me grab my purse” they answer with, “what for?”. In reality I’m not sure since I pay for nothing, and can buy anything I need.<br /><br />As I couldn’t possibly begin to fit all of the tales and observations into one blog, it had to be split into two. But now that you’ve been introduced to the cast of characters and have a basic understanding of this strange world, you might be ready for some actual events. Stories include prostitutes with my father, free range rhinos, and how to cheapen the best steak in the world. Don’t worry, none of these tales are related.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-64479268212503334872011-01-05T18:09:00.000-08:002011-01-05T18:18:24.706-08:00here i go againOpportunities to find bar work in Sihanoukville are abundant, pretty much because every bar in town wants to hire Westerners. While the accommodation and food situation varies from place to place, there’s always one guarantee no one will work without: free alcohol. It is the fuel that keeps the town vibrant and what bartenders need to get through the long nights. True, this kind of offer can get messy but if you can’t handle yourself, I’m fairly certain you wouldn’t last very long in one place. <br /><br />That doesn’t mean you’re not granted some leeway and allowed to go on a binder every now and again. Even if it’s your first night working, you can get so black out drunk you full on disappear halfway through your shift, only to be found sprawled out on your bed, passed out with the lights on and hopefully your clothes on. This may or may not describe my first night working. (Well, it could have been a lot worse you know.)<br /><br />While I had the option of working at a couple of different places, I didn’t really search around too much as Jam’s seemed like the kind of place I would enjoy. The staff was friendly, the vibe was chill, and it was literally right on the beach. But the real selling point was that Jam’s closed a bit earlier than other bars, which meant I could have a social life after work. As if it were really work.<br /><br />Let’s be honest folks: anywhere that not only provides the means but encourages you to be drunk while “working”, is not work. Bars back home do not condone such behavior; but in Cambodia they sure do. <br /><br />You’re probably wondering what I got in exchange for working, because it certainly wasn’t money. Free unlimited booze, naturally, a room to call my own, and some food. Sounded pretty sweet at first, but soon I realized nothing is quite what it seems. My private room isn’t anything to complain about for a week or so, but the roof leaked which created a God awful moldy smell, plus the fan was jenky which meant with the intense heat the room was unbearable during the day. Sure I had a private bathroom, but there was no door, a shit cold shower, and another God awful untraceable smell. <br /><br />And the food? Well, if it did show up it was awful and full of meat. Did the manager know I was vegetarian? Yes, but his response everyday was to “pick it out”. Never mind the fact he bought <span style="font-style:italic;">six</span> pizzas one day, six, but not one without meat. I swear he was testing me. And this is even if there was food provided. After a few days I stopped looking for food. Instead, I was the only bartender who took advantage of the fully stocked kitchen and cooked myself brunch everyday. Every day the Cambodian staff watched with curiosity as I created new Asian Western fusion kitchen sink dishes. Ultimately, it was a decent trade but not possible for more than week or so. Had I any real intention of sticking around town I’d quickly seek out a new bar. But for the time being it would due.<br /><br />While working at Jam’s did not turn out how I expected, in the end I quite enjoyed it. The first couple of days were a bit rough as the shift started at 7 pm but no one really shows up until at least 9. And since I was new and not encouraged to be behind the bar at first, that meant I was sitting alone out front handing out flyers and trying to get people in. It wouldn’t have been so awful <span style="font-style:italic;">if</span> there actual people to hand flyers to. <br /><br />To briefly describe the location, our bar wasn’t on any main walking drag which doesn’t allow for a lot of foot traffic. Also consider it was dinner time and most people want to relax on the beach and enjoy a quiet beer. No one starts looking for a bar until much later (I told you this is a party till dawn town); thus I spent several hours contemplating my life’s mistakes and staring at the water. That, and smoking my early shift spliff, just to get through it, you know.<br /><br />By far the most interesting characters at the bar were the owners, Mr. and Mrs. So. I’m still not entirely sure why this Korean couple well in their seventies/eighties decided to move to S.ville and run a Western bar. They don’t speak English or Cambodian and if it weren’t for the temporary help of the Korean-American manager, there would be zero communication between the owners and staff. Besides the practicality of it all, they made great characters. <br /><br />Mr. So, my favorite, is super tiny, super bald, and super smiley. He walks around in white linens observing everyone constantly like the all knowing Buddha I think he is. Kung-fu Buddha that is, as he really does practice martial arts and can break nearly any piece of wood in half. Bad ass. As for Mrs. So, the bipolar afro haired lady, well, she can be fun or frightening, depending on the day. While she loved me because of my appreciation for Korean culture, she is constantly suspicious of her staff and demanding massages from our on staff Cambodian masseuse/dancer/screamer, Charlie. <br /><br />As the Western staff is constantly filing through new people, there needs to be some constant and that need is filled out by a few locals who can speak decent English. My favorite is Charlie and before I even started working there, I knew we’d get along famously. Charlie is rarely working, instead dancing his ass off behind the bar, and I was in need of a fabulous new gay boyfriend. Of course within days Charlie was near raping me and groping my boobs whenever he could. Not sure why I encouraged such behavior, but it made bartending during lulls vastly more entertaining.<br /><br />Another entertaining part of the job was getting hit on constantly. It was entertaining in the fact that I was never interested but loved watching these silly old men make awful advances. From buying me drinks (even though I got free ones) to facebook friend requests (ummm, no????), it was an endless parade of uninteresting offers. Perhaps I neglected to mention this was a bar filled with DOMs (dirty old men) and prostitutes. I consider this good people watching.<br /><br />The best/worst DOM, hands down, goes to the Russian. A slimy, rail thin old man who didn’t speak a word of English came in night after night making it blatantly obvious he was interested in me. I was nice at first, then evasive, then downright rude. From refusing tips to showing him my “boyfriend”, he never really got the hint. I partly blame my co-worker who gave him information about me in exchange for tips, even though he knew this man was creepy as fuck. (Thanks Sam.) <br /><br />But the culmination of this near week long episode was when through an unnecessary to explain series of events, he had to remove his blood soaked shirt. He then put his arms around me from behind and breathed into my ear, “Stephanie….you….sex…..me?”<br /><br />Ummmm….FUCK NO.<br /><br />It’s at this point I threw up a little in my mouth and made it a point to pretend he no longer existed. I also realized I had to be more defensive with men at this bar as I was the only female staff member and whiskey buckets were $1.<br /><br />Luckily at the end of each shift I had enough booze and friends to head next door to JJ’s, the paint ridden, heavy drinking, dance all night party I couldn’t resist. Trouble can be found in all corners of this bar; I’ve had spliffs, made out, and even been vomited on (thankfully none of these are connected). Basically this is to say that as a nightly routine I was destroying my body. This is how I knew I couldn’t stay in S.ville forever. <br /><br />During the beginning of my time here I did feel a tinge of loneliness. I was experiencing withdrawal symptoms from being surrounded by my alcoholic bullshitting friends from Laos/Thailand and was not liking having to make “new” friends. On a low day I went to lay on the beach alone and basically wished, hoped, and prayed <span style="font-style:italic;">someone</span> from Laos would randomly show up. And as always, I got more than I bargained for.<br /><br />From Rob the ballsack sharing legend from Manchester and his saint of a girlfriend Helen, to Hoover the shirtless American with his love of motos and randomness; it was an endless parade of friends from past adventures. Every single night a new familiar face randomly popped up and I couldn’t have been more grateful. The only ones I expected were four of my favorite boys from Mama Rasta’s/Vang Vieng/Pai. They were coming to celebrate Jack’s birthday, although they showed up earlier than I anticipated. It seemed the Universe had overloaded on my wish.<br /><br />By the time Jack’s birthday rolled around, we were armed and dangerous for an entire day of inebriation. The day before the big 2-0, we ventured out without Jack to pick up the supplies. A full day of beach bar hopping was the only scheduled event and we planned on making total fools of ourselves. An absurd outfit for Jack was selected consisting of skin tight female booty shorts and cami, arm floaties, a gun, goggles, and a huge bucket to be filled with various types of alcohol throughout the day. (Did I mention the Viagra we drugged him with?) The remaining four of us got airplane floating tubes (meant for children) and decided to wear them the entire day. To say the very least we looked ridiculous, and I couldn’t have been more excited for someone else’s birthday.<br /><br />It started normally enough, playing some pool and drinking beers. Then some girls showed up and tequila shots were promptly ordered. (Did I mention I skipped breakfast?) The rest of the day was a blur of laughter, buckets, various bars, spliffs, and Cambodian children swarming us for our airplane tubes. We probably shouldn’t have taught them beer bucket pong but they loved being around us so we couldn’t help it.<br /><br />Day shifted to night at some point, tubes popped or lost, memory blurred, and only pictures can tell the tale of what happened, even though that’s questionable as well. In the end, it was the best birthday ever, even if it wasn’t mine.<br /><br />It was so good that while I was supposed to leave the next day and said all my good-byes, I was too hungover to function and missed all the buses. So I agreed to one last bar shift so I wouldn’t have to change to a hostel and then had to live down the shame of all the questions, “I thought you were leaving today?”. Not the first (or probably last) bus I’ll miss due to hangover. In fact, it’s the third one I can blame on these specific boys. Luckily it’s usually worth it.<br /><br />In the end, I believe everything is meant to be. If I had caught that bus I wouldn’t have run into my favorite couple Ban and Death for one last good laugh and to have a proper girly catch up. The people I’ve met and experiences I’ve had in all of Southeast Asia are entirely based on buses I’ve caught and missed.<br /><br />The following day, I caught the bus to Phnom Penh and spent a half day being a semi-tourist and went to bed early to catch my flight to Indonesia. I was in dire need of a <span style="font-style:italic;">real</span> detox at this point. A luxurious vacation with an abundance of sleep and good food was exactly what I needed. And once again, I got more than I bargained for.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-72360812946759543602010-12-19T22:07:00.000-08:002010-12-19T22:13:31.600-08:00nowhere fastWhen exhausted, sore, and frustrated there’s only one place in the world that can completely rejuvenate the soul: the beach. And luckily for Siobhan and myself, we arrived in Sihanoukville with the sun high in the sky and were eager to get a piece of it. <br /><br />Located in the very south of the country, this backpacker’s paradise has grown exponentially over the years, most likely to its own detriment. Throngs of tourists pass through and faces around town change about as rapidly as new business open up and old ones disappear. Yet there is a constant abundance of guesthouses, restaurants, and bars; so much it becomes bit overwhelming. Basically, it’s a smaller, calmer version of Siem Reap…with a beach. Despite my obvious annoyance with the previous tourist packaged town, this place unexpectedly charmed me. Maybe it was the sea air or the quick and cheap moto escape to a secluded beach, but Sihanoukville (pronounced Sha-nook-ville) had a lot more to offer if you bothered getting off the main strip.<br /><br />With a plethora of beaches to explore, I made it a personal mission to try them all. The obvious first one we ventured to was Serenity Beach, the main drag completely overcome with beach chairs, restaurants, and locals touting everything under the sun. Massages, books, jewelry, sunglasses, fruit, and hair removal were all up on offer and I wish I could say I never indulged. But newbies smell like fresh meat and the children surrounded us making us “free” bracelets, the gimmick being that out of guilt we’d buy something else. (It worked.) But probably the weirdest thing we purchased, really the weirdest thing I’ve ever done on a beach, ever, was threading.<br /><br />For those uninformed on the pain that is beauty, threading is a hair removal process where dental floss is used in a way that rips hair from skin. It essentially is waxing without all the pain, or that’s how it was sold to me. Despite the gentle demo, threading turned out to be a painful and torturous activity, at least for me. Everyone else kept calm and quiet about the uncomfortable process, but I could not. Every now and again I couldn’t help but flinch and let out a yelp. Not only did the beautician ladies laugh it up, but so did Siobhan, the seller children, and the other patrons near us. The particularly painful bit was getting my armpits threaded. An odd mix of pain and tickling, I couldn’t stop laughing and screaming, thus confusing and entertaining the masses. “It’s all for the blog,” I whimpered as I vowed never, ever to submit myself to such torture again. <br /><br />After we washed up and got ready, we headed out for a big night on the town. As it turned out, it was Saturday night and a New Moon, which meant day glow party, and Siobhan and I had yet to go out properly since reuniting. So we wore our worst clothes and prepared as best we could because with these nights, you never know what’s going to happen.<br /><br />What’s day glow you ask? Any Southeast Asia backpacker knows this substance well and stays away from it, unless of course they’re drunk and it’s a moon party. Then you smoother yourself in the neon colored paint and proceed to scream, “woo hoo!!!”. It’s quite popular because you’ll then glow under a black light and it gives you great excuse to meet new people and draw on them. The downfall? The paint is painfully permanent, meaning anything it touches becomes fated as “moon party wear”, never to see the light of day nor the soil of your homeland.<br /><br />So our first night we loaded up on paint, whiskey buckets, and had an absolute blast meandering back and forth between beach bars. It was only my first night but already found three different bars wanting to hire me in exchange for drinks and accommodation. While most that night has been erased from my memory, I had it together enough to realize I was going to stick around Sihanoukville for a little while.<br /><br />One of the greatest and worst things about S.ville is the party always goes until sunrise, no matter what night of the week it is. It took me a few days to adjust, but I always thought it was a great idea to come home, change to my bathing suit, and then head out for some early morning rays. That is unless I passed out during the process.<br /><br />After only a couple of days it was clear I needed a break and luckily for me one was already scheduled in. Siobhan is an avid diver and was eager to go out to one of the many islands for an overnight diving trip. I was excited to join her and be lazy on the beach while she was out being active. So we signed up with a dive company and set out for Koh Rung, a nearly deserted island 2 ½ hours out from shore. <br /><br />Since my bad decision making skills are legendary, no one should be surprised to hear I stayed out all night partying only to come home with less than 10 minutes to pack and get ready to go for 3-4 days to the island. Of course Siobhan was livid as she was certain she wasn’t going to see me and was unsure what to do. I threw everything in together, still drunk and not answering questions, and off we ran to catch our ride. I was feeling fine, certain I would sneak some sleep on the boat, until that is I saw the pile of wood. <br /><br />Not only was there no place to rest my head, but the waves were high, the wind strong, and it was obviously a bad day to be out at sea. No matter, we began our journey with spirits high. After a period of time I became intensely seasick and did my best to hold back the vomit. Some fun was poked at me until everyone saw just how awful I felt and began to show their concern. Suddenly I couldn’t hold it anymore and decided to make my way to the back of the boat so less people would witness the experience, or at least they would be downwind of it. <br /><br />This proved another bad decision as I had no balancing skills with the boat rocking up and down, back and forth, and I was quickly thrown to the ground with my dress torn and my back scrapped pretty badly. With the wind knocked out of me and my back throbbing, I no longer had to vomit, but still had to endure another hour of tortuous high seas. And there went my theory I was a pirate in another life.<br /><br />I have never been so happy to see solid ground and promptly laid down attempting to sleep off the seasickness/hangover I was stuck in. By the afternoon I was well enough to walk to the part of the island with the bungalows we were to sleep in. I was still sick, but completely able to appreciate the absolutely stunning scenery around me.<br /><br />Nestled into the hillside and directly next to the beach, each individual bungalow had its own rustic bathroom and balcony equipped with a hammock and spectacular view. There was only one restaurant on the island and that was the one associated with both our dive shop and guesthouse, only a stone’s throw from our little abode. On our full day there together, after a solid and much needed sleep, Siobhan and I ventured to discover a secluded white sand beach. We walked along the water and through a mini jungle, ducking trees and jumping mud pits. We went until we reached the end of dry ground and even then we had to walk through chest high water to find our perfect beach. Eventually we made it.<br /><br />Before us lay a long stretch of white super soft sand without a soul in site, the beach curved in a ‘U’ shape, meaning if anyone did walk past us we would see them from far away. It also gave me the absolutely secluded beach I had been seeking my entire time in Asia, or at least since I had read ‘The Beach’. So off came my top and out came my spliff, because I wasn’t going to miss a golden opportunity like this to utterly relax and tan beyond restrictive bikini lines. <br /><br />Unfortunately, nature has to find balance and there was really only one catch, although it was a pretty awful one: sandflies. Now they sound harmless but truly these are the demonic cousins of mosquitoes. While mosquito bites instantly swell, if you don’t itch them, they go away. But sandfly bites are of another world. They leave only a tiny red dot and aren’t terribly irritating at first. It’s only after you’ve left the scene of the crime and showered that you realize how totally and utterly itchy you are.<br /><br />While this might be annoying to some, it’s awful for me. You know those people with sweet blood who always get bit more than anyone else in the group? There’s always one and that unfortunate soul is me. While Siobhan suffered a few annoying bites, I was absolutely entirely covered in bright red bumps. The little fuckers preferred my legs to the rest of me, but still managed to get just about everything they could. Not only are these bites obvious and foul looking, but they seemingly never go away. They never stop itching and they itch so fiercely you end up creating scabs, which you will later scratch off as well, and eventually leave you covered in little white scars. Don’t worry, those will itch, too. It has officially been six weeks since the tragedy and I’m <span style="font-style:italic;">still</span> itching. Really. (And yes, that’s how behind on my blog I am.)<br /><br />So why are sandfly bites worth such a long tangent? Because for the following few weeks if I ever wore shorts I had to deal with people gasping and saying, “My God, <span style="font-style:italic;">what</span> has <span style="font-style:italic;">happened</span> to you?!?”. Their pitiful stares and apologies didn’t make up for the fact that I was now the leper on the beach. Nice timing for me to live in a beach town, eh?<br /><br />And that was the plan. I decided to settle in S.ville for a week or so bartending while Siobhan headed towards Vietnam. We headed back the next day on a perfectly smooth and gentle boat ride that I could nap through (oh the irony), and spent our last full day together indulging it up with more beach and western food. We even splurged and went to see a movie, the second one I’ve gone to in eight months. This “theater” was simply a large room with papasan chairs that showed pirated new movies. Completely comfortable and relaxed, they offered services such as ordering pizza, free of charge, as was the added “happiness”. And with mini tables equipped with ashtrays, I knew I’d come back to this $3 a flick sweet spot.<br /><br />Of course there was another night out with memories lost to the buckets we consumed, but it was all well enjoyed nonetheless. The next morning we parted ways, permanently this time, and I was ready to begin the next chapter of my journey. Bartending for bed is not unknown to me and has been something I’d been searching for my entire time in Asia. I resisted the tempting offer in Vang Vieng, but a bar on the beach is not something I could deny. And so I settled in for a week (or so) of complete and utter alcoholism.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-30806347297759779642010-12-13T00:14:00.000-08:002010-12-13T00:18:13.225-08:00black or whiteSome people seek out electronics, some diamond jewelry, but I’m on the hunt for a new liver on the black market. Because after all the antics of Vang Vieng, even a detox can’t remedy the damage I’ve done to my body. But since that isn’t an option (at least not until I get back to Bangkok), I opted for rest and relaxation at 4000 Islands. Or so I thought.<br /><br />Located at the southern border of Laos sits a maze of small rustic islands speckled throughout the Mekong. Up until very recently, even electricity wasn’t available except on the main big island. But as tourism grows on Don Det, the backpacker haven most flock to, everyday brings more modern comforts of home. <br /><br />Yet despite the increasing number of tourists, there still lacks an ATM machine. This in turn determines a limited amount of time as money eventually runs dry. Of course there are ways around this annoyance as the locals will often sell bus tickets on “credit” and will take you to an ATM promptly when you cross the border into Cambodia or elsewhere. Luckily for me, I was aware of this problem (some are not) and brought an extra emergency fund which extended my four days into over a week. A week of more the same same shenanigans I’d been akin to. It’s not my fault though; I blame the various hooligans I’d been drinking with in Vang Vieng who showed up to “detox” as well, naturally.<br /><br />While I intended on solitude on Don Det, the Universe had other plans for me. For starters, two girls I met in Vang Vieng showed up on my bus and it was clear calmness wouldn’t be around for the first few days. Luckily, we held it together in the beginning, but mostly because we signed up for an all day kayaking adventure. A tiny splurge I tried to resist, but in the end I was glad I indulged. A full day of exercise, fresh air, and natural beauty is exactly what I needed. Afterwards of course we did our best to resist temptation but truly, the three of us were not to be trusted with each other.<br /><br />One would think the 11 pm strict curfew would curtail any shenanigans for foreigners, but alas, we always find a way. A porch and bottle of cheap whisky is really all you need. This curfew isn’t really enforced anyway; it’s more or less just the closing time for absolutely everything on the island. Annoying yes, but respectable as the all of the islanders had agreed that peace and quiet is worth more than any amount of money anyone can make from catering to whims of backpackers. <br /><br />Life is slow on Don Det. There are no main roads as the rocky dirt paths are used by motos, bicycles, feet and nothing more. Water buffalos are trotted back and forth for new grazing and children pile on bikes far too big for them. Time does not exist in the specific form, rather in time periods as “dinner” or “morningish”. Corner shops are the extent of shopping and the only electronic entertainment available is the internet, and for such a steep price it’s best just avoided. Besides, that’s not what Don Det is about. <br /><br />For some, the island is boring. For me, adaptation wasn’t even necessary as sleeping in, reading in hammocks, long strolls, and late night smokes are apart of my preferred life. I don’t mind not having a schedule or “accomplishing” much as life without obligations is more enjoyable for me. Essentially, this is the spirit of 4000 Islands. Virtually every bungalow comes with a hammock and the best ones are built right over the Mekong River so you can sit back, relax, and relish the beauty and serenity that surrounds you. Despite the peacefulness available everywhere, I did hunt out a particular favorite lounge zone, and it only took a couple of days.<br /><br />Mama Rasta is the sweetest, craziest old lady on the island and if her joyful spirit doesn’t draw you in, then her cheap delicious food will. Her restaurant’s location is what brought me in but her hearty laugh through her black toothed smile is why I retuned. She has a charm that’s hard to describe and her laid back attitude and desire to please is undeniable. Truly, it is her family that runs the business but without her spirit, they would have nothing. Oh yeah, and they let you smoke freely on the back balcony.<br /><br />Behind the restaurant is a row of only five rooms for rent but unlike all the other bungalows on the island, these are connected by a giant porch equipped with many hammocks and a table which lends itself to a much more social atmosphere. And with the freedom to smoke, food on hand, and lack of 11 pm curfew, this became the perfect place for me and the crew to hang out. What crew you ask? Why, my favorite alcoholics from Vang Vieng turned up the day the very same day the girls left.<br /><br />As I was writing my last blog, I left a cliffhanger insinuating I would run into friends on 4000 Islands. The truth was, I hadn’t yet seen anyone other than the two girls, but something inside me knew I wouldn’t be alone long. Roughly 20 minutes after I wrote that last line, a couple of motorbikes drove past and I shouted at them as they were three of my friends from the boat crew: Hoover the plate licker and Ban and Death, my favorite British couple whom I inevitably run into every place I go. <br /><br />They had rented motos and only had a few days on the island but before they left my favorite alcoholic boys showed up. Four of whom I had met way back in Thailand and two newbies picked up along the way. I quickly showed them to Mama Rasta’s and thus the base camp was set up. This was also the point at which I realized I wasn’t leaving, l wasn’t writing, and should no longer be held responsible for my actions.<br /><br />Days became even lazier, nights more cloudy, and I couldn’t be happier. Opportunities to have a gang of good friends you’re super comfortable with while laughing at old jokes don’t come around often when one is on the road. And I’ve never been on such a tight schedule I couldn’t add a few extra days for good friends. <br /><br />We had such a great time together on our last night that I managed to sleep through my bus to Cambodia the following morning. Luckily, people are so laid back on the island they barely batted an eye and simply said, “Yeah, well, go tomorrow.” That simple. No extra costs, new ticket, or hassle. Just an extra day to relax.<br /><br />The next day I managed to wake up in time for my boat off the island and was ready to begin a new adventure in Cambodia. The journey from one destination to another is often used trying to sleep on an uncomfortable bus and hold your pee. This adventure was no different but involved several bus changes and a border crossing so naturally, some scamming would be involved.<br /><br />After customs on both sides swindled everyone out of a few dollars for “weekend overtime tax” or whatever they said that day, the bus full of weary travelers bound mostly for Siem Reap was forced to wait an obnoxious amount of time for nothing in particular. During this time, a pleasant well spoken Cambodian made his way around selling tickets to upgrade the bus journey to Siem Reap. Being that this destination is one of the biggest tourist draws in all of Southeast Asia (Angkor Wat’s fault), we should have all seen it coming. Unfortunately, only six of us did. <br /><br />Everyone else on the bus easily forked over the $3 to upgrade their ticket to a “more comfortable and faster” bus. The group of five Dutch girls sitting behind me and myself didn’t buy the ticket, nor the bullshit the guy was selling. He really tried with us as well, giving us a special discount offered to no one else. We insisted our already purchased tickets would get us to Siem Reap and even if it wasn’t until 4 in the morning, we were backpackers and well prepared for the adventure. I’m glad I stayed strong with the girls because when the bus stopped for dinner and for everyone to change to their comfortable bus, it became clear everyone had been bamboozled.<br /><br />There was no special upgrade bus. The salesman had mysteriously disappeared with everyone’s cash and left them with nothing but useless paper tickets and a lesson well learned. We all piled on the same bus, everyone patting us on the back for seeing through his convincing argument, and arrived inconveniently after midnight and after 16 hours of exhausting traveling.<br /><br />Being that I was already enmeshed with the Dutch girls, we stayed together in a hotel for a couple of nights while I located my friend Siobhan who I knew was somewhere in town. Pronounced nearly like ‘Shivon’, this English girl with the crazy Irish name and I had met months ago on my first day in Pai, Thailand. We clicked right away and had originally planned to meet up sometime in Laos. But as I move quite slowly and she bounded around constantly, I had assumed I’d never see her again, unless it was in her hometown of Manchester. But somehow it worked out that she bad been to twice as many places as I and was settling for one week to volunteer at an orphanage roughly the same time I’d be cruising through Siem Reap. <br /><br />So I moved hotels as the two of us got on a lot better and I’m not akin to traveling in a large group of girls. (They move too slowly, can’t make decisions, and never bullshit as much as I enjoy.) So while Siobhan spent the days being helpful and productive, I slept in, relished the wifi access in the room, and explored the tourist trap that is Siem Reap.<br /><br />Being that I just came from quiet, peaceful, and secluded 4000 Islands, Siem Reap was a rude awakening of poverty, dirtiness, scams, and an endless stream of people selling crap. From postcards to massages, all the children and legless men never stop hassling the continuous stream of tourists pile driving through town. <br /><br />For those unaware, this is because the ancient ruins and impossible to miss Angkor Wat is located just outside of town. While this generates steady income for Cambodians in the area, it has also created an environment of ‘sell, sell, sell’ that I simply have no interest it. On my first full day I actually started to sprint away at one point shouting “no means no!”, and thus why I found sanctuary in our chilled out hotel. <br /><br />At some point, I needed to venture out and actually visit these ruins I truly was fascinated to see. I hired a cheap moto driver for the day and hummed the Indiana Jones theme the whole day while flying through the seemingly endless ruins. Spread out over miles of flat terrain, this place is easy enough to navigate on a bike, but only if you buy the three day ticket. Time, money, and patience didn’t allow for this with me and I opted for the quickie one day tour of the most fascinating and beautiful temples. <br /><br />The Temples of Angkor were built in the early 12th century and are spread out over a large area. These religious buildings were apart of daily life in this once bustling metropolis center of the ancient world. The most famous temple is Angkor Wat and while this is only one of many temples, it is the namesake for which travelers identify the entire area. It is indeed the most well-intact temple I’ve ever seen but most famous for being the world’s largest religious site. Time had forgotten other sites though as nature overtook what it pleased, the massive structures entwined with monstrous trees and vines. <br /><br />Before visiting, I had conjured up images of Tomb Raider and Congo, yet there was nothing dangerously exciting about these ruins. Just hordes of old, fanny pack wearing, incessant picture taking tour groups blocking all my shots. I tried to borrow a couple of them to take pictures of me but they seemed to misunderstand what I wanted as my feet made the photo, but the ruins did not.<br /><br />Don’t take my cynicism the wrong way: the Temples of Angkor are an overwhelmingly beautiful place I’d highly recommend someone traveling through Asia to visit. But the throngs of tourists and beggar children can’t help but ruin a bit of the grandiose splendor that is Angkor Wat. <br /><br />While Siem Reap is the problem, it is also the cure. Achy feet soothed by cheap massages, weary souls filled by delicious western food, and an endless supply of 50 cent beer to cure just about any ailment. Despite the extremely obvious poverty, this is <span style="font-style:italic;">the</span> place to indulge. And if you couldn’t be bothered to even think about money conversions, you don’t have to. Cambodia reales aren’t worthless, but they might as well be. <br /><br />Dollars are the choice of currency and shoeless children pander whatever they can get (accompanied with a sad puppy face) begging for “one <span style="font-style:italic;">doll-aaar</span> miss”. Sure it is only one dollar, but it also encourages these kids to skip school and not develop a craft or skill. It should also be noted the money never goes to the children directly because their parents are usually nearby with an eagle eye taking whatever they get as soon as they get it. If you want to help, you’re better off buying them some food or donating to an orphanage directly. <br /><br />When the time came for us to leave Siem Reap, I was more than ready to go. I had been seeking the beach for a couple months and I was now only a bus ride away. With a final wander down tourist alley we regenerated ourselves with food and shopping and prepared to leave this oxymoron two faced town of Siem Reap. Siobhan and I had decided to stay together for another leg to Sihanoukville before inevitably parting ways again. We drove right through the gritty capital of Phnom Penh (ok, not drove through. Another bus scam left us with 4 hours to spare in the crack of dawn with nothing to do but try and sleep on some uncomfortable chairs. Somehow not surprised). When we finally arrived in Sihanoukville nearly 6 hours later than expected, we were tired and desperate for sand and sun. And of course, shenanigans. And shenanigans is what we got.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-23548114479143883032010-11-14T19:43:00.000-08:002010-11-14T19:48:06.975-08:00rock and roll all night, party everydayTime in Laos cannot be measured in minutes, hours, nor days. Weeks will flow by without any effort and you will wonder where your schedule has gone, along with your shirt. Most likely, both were lost while tubing down the river in Vang Vieng.<br /><br />My introduction to Laos was crazy, yet merely a premonition of what was to come. I was taking the slow boat cruise from the border of Thailand to Luang Prabang and it would take two full days of sitting patiently on a long boat with about 100 other travelers. I chose this route specifically for this time schedule, and I came armed with entertainment equipment (namely booze and herbs). This journey was rumored to be the best way to get into Laos, particularly if you get a good group of people on your boat. And man, did I luck out.<br /><br />After a lot of unnecessary debate if there were too many people for the boat or not, we boarded the jenky wooden vessel and I went straight to the back. I recognized one person from Pai, although we never got to know each other well. I took the seat next to him and within minutes, there were three of us loudly quoting Anchorman. To me, this is an instantaneous sign of friendship. That, and these English and Irish blokes were already on the bottle so I knew I came to the right people. Soon enough a group had been formed: the loud alcoholics in the back, and I, of course, fit right in. The long day seemed longer with substance abuse, but we were happy and having fun nonetheless. <br /><br />That night we slept on a small island and created small havoc. The four of us rooming together was enough damage, I’m sure. There was the Brit, the Irish, and then the other American known as Hoover because he would lick your plate clean, whether you offered it or not. And you can’t forget Mr. Money, our host and apparent drug dealer as he was trying to pawn everything under the sun (and for a good price too). Of course we met up with the rest of the boat crew again and tried to hold it together. <br /><br />The next day was more of the day before. Only this time we were already damn good friends using sign language to communicate and finishing each other’s sentences. It was all about taking the piss out of each other and for Rob, the legend from Manchester, it was about taking out his balls (or mangina….whichever he was in the mood for). That night we disembarked and it was sad to see our crew already separating, but luckily we had at least a few days together. And I was rooming with a couple of those ridiculous boys and acting as if we were siblings in another life.<br /><br />Luang Prabang itself is a quaint, adorable town with good architecture, food, and a daily night market. Don’t forget, Laos had been conquered by the French long ago and they left behind good architecture and baguette sandwiches. (I have had a large, cheap, and delicious baguette sandwich nearly every day I’ve been here. If I missed a day, it wasn’t intentional.) The town itself had not much to offer but a temple with a good view, some waterfalls, and a great night market. But for our boat crew, it was more about hitting the bottle and having a good laugh. Soon enough, our crew slowly dispersed; some stayed behind and some moved on. Luckily, most of us caught up together in Vang Vieng, the next stop on the backpacker trail.<br /><br />Vang Vieng is a black hole for those with addictions or who are easily tempted. The town is small, laid back, and set in one of the most gorgeous backdrops I’ve seen. At some point in time, bars filled with drunken foreigners overran the place and completely obliterated whatever culture was there before. It’s sad to see from a cultural perspective, but the reality is I participated (and thusly contributed) just as much as anyone else. And to be honest, I don’t regret any of it.<br /><br />The most popular activity by far is to float down the river in an inner tube; something I’ve done many times before in Chico. But <em>nothing</em> like this. The river is lined with bars made from leftover planks of wood and spray painted sheets with signs urging you to drink free whiskey shots before you swing down their homemade zip lines. Just looking at these contraptions makes me feel the pain of breaking my face and scares me something fierce. Yet for some reason, foreigner after stupid foreigner marches up these towers to swing into the river, more often than not doing something stupid and creating a huge, painful splash accompanied by laughter from the crowd. I’m pretty sure an entire episode of ‘American’s Funniest Home Videos’ could be dedicated to these zip lines. And don’t forget the slides. They’ve been made with wood, lined with plastic picnic table covers, and a small hose lends itself as lubricant. Classy.<br /><br />So to summarize, you get dropped at the top of the river, get free whisky, and then there is very little floating to be done between bars which makes it more of a day bar crawl in your bathing suit than a floating event. No less fun though. And at these bars, people get crazy. No sarcasm, no exaggeration; everyone is spray painted, playing drinking games, dancing, and partying like 18 year olds who have just been let out of the house for the first time. And no, the majority of people there were not 18. The average age is probably around 24. (And no, no one can ever guess my age correctly, Thank God.) With zip lines, mud volleyball pits, and spray paint, trouble is bound to ensue. I’m proud to say I’ve survived this event….twice.<br /><br />When the sun goes down, and hopefully a shower has taken place, that’s when the real partying begins. Oh yes folks, it gets crazier. Sure there are some bars in town, great for warming up. Maybe play a game of pool or cards while drinking opium tea or a mushroom shake, just to start the night. But don’t forget to make your way to the Bucket Bar on bar island before 10 pm for your free bucket of whiskey coke. Yes, free, and there are a couple of places that promote this way so if you make your rounds just right, you’ll be sloshed for free. And if you miss the time limit, no worries, these buckets are dirt cheap anyways and pretty much anyone will let you drink theirs. There’s no formal greeting in Vang Vieng such as “Hi, my name is Stephanie”. It’s more like, “wooo hoooo!!”, drink from a stranger’s bucket, and then continue dancing. Yes, that’s’ more accurate.<br /><br />The nights can easily continue until 4 am and without even noticing you’ll have been dancing for 5 hours straight. If you’ve built up an appetite (or simply have the drunk munchies), you’ll appreciate the army of women waiting across the bridge from the island bars. As you walk towards them (and there’s no way not to) they will begin shouting “Sandwich! Pancake!” nonstop and beg to cook some amazing cheap eats for you. There’s no difference in menu, quality, or price between these dozen women so just pick one and then decide if you want a giant sandwich for $1.25 or sweet or savory crepe for just as cheap. I’m not sure if I made it a single walk home without indulging, but then again I’m not known for my self control.<br /><br />Despite all the intoxication and recovery, I managed to get out and do something not involving alcohol. Once. In need of adventure and exercise, I rented a bicycle and headed out in search of the infamous blue lagoon. Vang Vieng is surrounded by caves and lagoons, and truly the ideal way to see most of them is by motorbike. But because I love riding bikes, and because I was unaware how horrific and difficult the roads would be, I opted for the “leisurely” tour. The muddy, wrecked path would have been a bad decision if it were not for the friends I made along the way. Not long after I headed out, I was joined by a fellow biker and eventually a young deaf local boy who prompted our direction. Signs for various lagoons were abundant and we weren’t exactly sure where to go, so we inevitably followed his lead. Knowing full well this boy was looking for a tip, we couldn’t deny his endearing charm. Without a language barrier, since he spoke no language, he was all smiles and sweetness and we followed him all the way to his lagoon and cave. After a quick swim and then a treacherous climb, he did a fantastic job being our guide into the dark, watery cave. No other tourists were inside as we crawled and climbed through the slippery abyss. Eventually he asked for some money and I didn’t mind it so much as he made for great entertainment and photos. <br /><br />Finally, we could make it on our own to real blue lagoon (of course the one he brought us to was a fake). The crystal clear blue water had a massive thick tree bounding up over it with not one, but two levels to jump off of. Naturally, a thick swinging rope was attached and thus created the most fun and beautiful blue lagoon. After a much needed sandwich and swim, a group of us teamed up to explore some more caves. At the end of this long and sweaty adventure, it was time to shower, relax, and prepare for another night out. And possibly fire limbo. Because fire limbo is always an option.<br /><br />If this all sounds a bit too crazy, no worries, there’s plenty of ways to relax in Vang Vieng. The town is lined with TV bars in which restaurants have set up comfortable tables/beds facing towards the TVs at the front and then play movies or shows all day. Some bars are infamous for playing only Family Guy or Friends. Some will play only movies but you can ask them for whatever you want. The food is good, the fruit shakes refreshing, and the opportunity to veg out all day undeniable. If this wasn’t enough reason to waste time for me, then my hotel room alone was.<br /><br />For a mere $5 a day, I had the biggest and most comfortable bed I’ve known in 7 months, a terrific hot shower and private bathroom, free drinking water, wifi in my room, and a TV loaded with English channels, including HBO. I could hibernate there all winter. And if all of this weren’t enough, I was completely surrounded by friends. From Pai to the boat cruise, I couldn’t walk down the street without bumping into someone I knew (and liked). It’s easy to get stuck in a place like this; something so familiar and comfortable. Life didn’t seem to get any easier or cheaper, but it was only a matter of time before my liver and lungs would give out. And after just over a week I left for the very same reason everyone leaves Vang Viang: detox.<br /><br />Unfortunately my bus to Vientiane had people I knew on it so I knew I’d be in for trouble there as well. Not as dangerous though as the capital doesn’t seem to have much going on in the way of nightlife. But I was lucky to have roommates again and the entertainment never ceases when you’re with Jay and Silent Bob. Well, Jack was less inappropriate than Jay but the Russian was just as silent and creepy as Bob. He claimed he couldn’t speak English but understood everything we said as well as reacted with hand gestures and facial expressions. <br /><br />The three of us were on a mission to get free two month visas for Thailand from the Thai embassy. (You only get two weeks crossing the border. But if you apply for it beforehand direct from their embassy, you get up to two months.) It normally takes two days, but for me it would take three. Somehow, I’ve managed to fill my passport up with stamps so I only have one page left and they refused to use it. This meant I had to go to the US embassy first, apply for more pages, fork out nearly $90, and then go back the next day and try again. It was a frustrating few days but after a long stroll I realized it’s nothing compared to my bad days at home. Because at the end of this day, I had some cheap wine, went out with some friends, had a good laugh, and remembered how lucky I was to be exactly where I was.<br /><br />After I ran into more boat cruise members and made more friends off of random tuk-tuks, it was time for me to go. I’ve been aching, ever since I got to Pai over five weeks ago, to be on my own. To clear my head, focus on where I’m going, and hopefully get some much needed writing done. The last five weeks had been very distracting and since I also lack all self-control, it was time to put myself in an environment where there are no temptations. So I booked an overnight bus ticket to 4000 Islands in the south of Laos; a place of serenity, peace, and quiet. Or so I thought.<br /><br /><br />A VANG VIENG POEM BY AUSTIN CHARVET:<br />Vang Vieng Whisked by whiskey engulfed in psychedelic blended fungus smoothie the substance dependent blissed tourists stumbles and mumbles “hello”. He is a damp flesh figure masqueraded in spray paint patterns serving as a tribute to the farang cluster fuck celebrating “holiday”. Such beautiful lethal lead saturated paint designs advertising sinful adolescence convey messages of truth, beauty and meaning such as “cunt” or “too fucked to fuck” The later statement of which I question due to the sloshing of Tiger Whiskey, Hormones and Energy Drink concocted in a plastic bucket equipped with two straws for you and yours truly… a romantic get away accompanied with fire limbo, vomit and the more often then not plastered tourist physically stumbling into your conversation just to say “Because you HAVE to party!”Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-29001462389473217232010-11-04T09:07:00.001-07:002010-11-04T09:07:51.250-07:00bigger than my bodyWhile Pai was beautiful and amazing for an endless list of reasons, the best one is you meet wonderful people there. Sure these travelers love a good drink, night out, and a bit of ridiculousness. But in general, they are laid back, fun, and good natured people who share the same sense of humor. Or at least the ones that I met were. And the best part is that those friendships have stayed with me for weeks beyond Pai as backpackers inevitably follow the same path around Southeast Asia. <br /><br />Accidental run-ins are inevitable and luckily more welcomed than anything. One friend introduces another, then a recommendation given, and then a cool hostel discovery, and then you get an unforgettable experience, new travel partners, and a ton of great stories to take with you. These chain of events can be considered “coincidences”, but they happen far too often and are too interlinked to be left solely up to chance. At least I’d like to believe so. It seems the more you open yourself up to these opportunities and let go of a schedule, the more of these “coincidences” will come your way.<br /><br />The morning I was meant to leave Pai, I got up early to help with a gardening project someone had convinced me to participate in the night before. But the leader had overslept and after awhile I knew I was better off just leaving. At the same time, a girl with her own bike, whom I never met, was going into town to leave as well and offered me a ride. When we reached Pai I asked if she wanted to have breakfast together and she (luckily) suggested my favorite restaurant, The Good Life. I figured it was fate since I could finally manage to catch the free meditation class I always slept through. But after she left, I became distracted, and even though I was 20 minuets early for the class, I <br />somehow missed it. Don’t ask how, just trust the Universe knew to distract me. <br /><br />When I became visibly upset for missing the class (yet again) the owner of the restaurant starting chatting with me and as I said goodbye, she offered a compliment about my purse. I offhandedly replied, “It would look a lot better if it weren’t broken”, as the button snap had been destroyed for well over a month. She told me where to get it taken care of and in fact, Dr. Fix-it was standing right next to me. She explained in Thai, he looked at my purse, and then we hopped on his moto and drove to his shop aka bench on the side of the road. While sitting and waiting for this quick and easy fix, an old Pai friend strolled by. “I thought you left!” I exclaimed and he then explained he had, returned only for a couple of nights, but was leaving again that day. <br /><br /> It turned out we were going to the same place, Chiang Mai, and instead of taking the bus like everyone else, he and his mother had rented a car and offered me a ride. They weren’t leaving until much later than I planned, but then again, I never really have any plans. I had a gut feeling though that if the Universe offered me this ride, and through such a chain of coincidental events, I must take it. (If the gardening guy had woken up in time or if I had made the class for example, I would never have run into this friend on the side of the street.) And thankfully it lead me to one of the best mini road trips ever. <br /><br />My South African friend and his mother were both laid back hippies who smoked the whole way there and cranked Hendrix nonstop. It was great conversation, beautiful scenery, and a million times better than any bus ride. They offered to take me to the hotel they would be staying at and even though I already had another place in mind, I was sure this ride was meant to take me somewhere specific. It turns out, their hotel was actually a reggae bar with some rooms to rent for cheap. Freedom Bar had Bob Marley and Rasta colors on every wall and I knew this rooftop bar would be my new home.<br /><br />While my friend and his mother left early the next day, there remained a lingering spirit of Pai as it seemed people I never thought I’d see again all managed to find this sweet spot. There were also new people who were Pai bound without even knowing it. We passed along our recommendations and secrets and if the Universe brought me to Freedom Bar for anything, maybe it was to send certain people in the direction of Pai. Without any effort, I had a group of friends and never worried about spending an evening alone, even if I wanted to. With friends to eat with and shop at the market, I found surprisingly little free time to myself, every second relished nonetheless.<br /><br />Chiang Mai is surprisingly addictive for such a large city; the food is delectable, the people kind, and the overwhelmingly large night market undeniable. Not surprisingly, I stayed longer than expected. First, it was an entire day’s mission to buy a new camera, as my old one had mysteriously disappeared months ago in South Korea (okay, less mysterious and more drunkenly left it in some bar….I think). That was a surreal and frustrating experience as it was like being in a mall back home, Auntie Anne’s and all. The overwhelming and frustrating day luckily ended with Freedom Bar, my new home away from Pai. <br /><br />The daily night market in Chiang Mai is particularly large, yet the Sunday night one is disturbingly big. I have never seen anything like this and while I was ready to scream because of all the clusterfuck action, I managed to pull it together and get some shopping done. Part of me wished it was the end of my trip so I could go nuts and get gifts for everyone from there. Alas, the experience of endless stalls filled with beautiful yet cheap art and jewelry was enough to satisfy my consumer driven soul. <br /><br />While Thailand itself is known for great cuisine, the north is in particular famous for exquisite flavor combinations. With influence from so many Burmese refugees and an inundation of foreigners setting up shop, delicious food is bound to be found on every corner, and everywhere in between. But even with all these unique tastes and local cheap eats, I couldn’t resist El Diablo’s Heavenly Burritos. Normally I balk at Mexican food around the world. After all, I am from California and my standards are unfortunately high. But something about the look of this place drew me in. The irony of the sign alone was intriguing. Then when I saw the sign for ‘free chips and salsa’ I knew something was right. (Californians take this gift for granted as I have never seen such an offer outside the States.) So I held my breath and ordered a burrito smothered in guacamole. <br /><br />Most may not understand why I take so much time and energy to describe one meal of my life, but if you knew me and my adoration for Mexican food, you’d understand what a huge moment this was for me. This was, by far, the best burrito I’ve found outside of California and, to be honest, if it were home, it I would eat there regularly. Because of lack of supplies, everything had to be made fresh and from scratch, which beats most places from home as tortillas are cheaper and faster store bought. It was so good I had to ask for the owner just to shake his hand. The American born gentleman found my extreme love of burritos hilarious and we had a good chat while I entertained ideas of opening my own burrito shop somewhere in the world.<br /><br />By this point, it became hard to leave Freedom Bar. Not only had I acquired a gang, but the locals who ran it were super generous and fun. This group of Thai hippie guys had one leader: Mama. The sweetest, tiniest old lady who lived in pajamas and drank and smoked like a champ was always making food and sharing with the guests, free of charge. To say she genuinely cared about people would be an understatement. And when they didn’t have any greens to sell, the “manager” just gave me his stash for free. When I didn’t take it all, he dumped it out on my table and said, “No, I said it’s all for you. Just take it”, as if not taking all of his supplies was rude. It’s hard to imagine staying there longer than a week because I would be straight up family by then.<br /><br />But unfortunately my time was up. Giving myself not a single extra day on my visa, I had to get to Laos or face horrifying late exit fees. I had heard rumors of a free two month visa one could acquire from the Thai embassy in Laos, and I knew before I even left I had to get this. There was no way two weeks would ever be enough in Thailand.<br /><br />And so I set out for Laos via an overnight bus to the border and then a slow boat cruise into the first main city. As I mentally prepared myself to be on my own for the first time, the Universe was busy planning something else.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-83273868836940696852010-11-01T00:38:00.000-07:002010-11-01T00:41:38.912-07:00life is a highway...I’m a writer. That means I’m disorganized, messy, scatterbrained, and perpetually late. Okay, that’s a stereotype but at least that describes me. What this means is without deadlines, I’m bound to fall behind. Never mind the fact I’ve been attempting to write articles for other sources and have accumulated a large group of friends which has left little free time to myself, neither of which I can complain about. All I can use it for is explanation as to why my blogs are so late. And let’s be honest, they probably never will be anything else.<br /><br />When I last left off in my journey, I was in love with Pai, the small hippie mountain town in the north of Thailand. Motor scooters were cheap and fun, so I rented one for a few days to get out on the open road. I headed toward Mae Hung Son because the journey was a winding, mountainous, and thusly scenic one, but also because the long neck Karen tribe was something I had been fascinated in seeing for many years.<br /><br />Visiting this tribe is most commonly done with a tour group; the lone wanderer is rare and I was proud to be able to make it there on my own. The long neck Karen is a group of hill tribe people from the north of Burma who have escaped because of prejudice and genocide. They’re not technically granted legal refugee status in Thailand, and thusly are confined to tiny areas where tourists are ushered through so they can have some financial income. While strolling through, one is inundated with “saleswomen” offering the same same crap, yet knowing their story and taking a million pictures dictates I buy some things. <br /><br />What makes this tribe unique is the tradition of wrapping the women’s necks with thick gold wire, starting when they are just young girls. Over time, the band becomes longer and as they reach their elder years, their coiled necks appear elongated and giraffe-like. In reality, the heavy metal is pushing down their shoulders and breaking those bones. After years of wearing these bands, the women become unable to take them off without having to hold their own head up. While this practice seems barbaric, it’s no different from the aesthetic surgery we do today in the western world: purposefully causing harm to one’s body under the assumption what they’re doing will make them more beautiful. And remember, beauty is in the eye of the beholder.<br /><br />The truth is this tradition need not be continued, particularly since its main purpose now is to attract tourists, as that is their sole income. Oddly enough, I was both apart of the problem and solution (income they need vs. perpetuating the dilemma). What these people really need is refugee status, a home to call their own, and a return to “normal” life. One focused on family, community, and agriculture, namely, an ability to create their own wealth and responsibility for it. Regardless of all of the politics though, it was a life dream of mine to meet them in person and learn more about this unique culture.<br /><br />Mae Hung Son has much more to offer though; scenic rolling roads, natural hot springs, mud baths, and picturesque waterfalls. And the best gems are the hidden ones. If there’s no sign in English, and it’s seems to be something, then it must be good. After taking some chances, I finally abandoned the beaten path in lieu of adventure. And I discovered an amazing hidden waterfall that coincided perfectly with the timing of my reading ‘The Beach’. (For those who have only seen the movie and haven’t read the book, you’re missing out.) <br /><br />What was normally a climb I would have never attempted, I was filled with drive and desire to seek out the untouched and selfishly soak in the beauty for myself. I stripped down to my bathing suit, abandoned my shoes and bag, and began to climb up the slippery slope to the middle pool of the double waterfall. I’m not going to lie, I struggled. But with effort comes reward and I not only didn’t die, but I finally discovered an amazing off the beaten path spot that I could call my own. Am I the only foreigner ever to discover this spot? Probably not. But for that moment, I was the only one and that’s something to be appreciated.<br /><br />The best part about my entire motorcycle journey was being so free. Without anyone else’s opinion but my own, I turned down dirt paths when I wanted, ate when and where I desired, and drove wherever my spirit called me. Nothing is quite as freeing as having the wind in your hair, the open road at your feet, and nobody but your own mind to corrupt you. In these few days I began to concoct my plan to buy motorcycle and travel the entirety of Central America. (This fantasy will become a reality….one day.)<br /><br />My return to Pai was sad but enjoyable. Even though I was certain everyone I knew had left, somehow some returned, some stayed longer than expected, and then of course the locals and ex-pats are always around. I decided to spend my last day checking out an organic farm just outside of town I had only recently found out about. I took a bamboo course in which I made several kitchen items out of bamboo with a machete. It’s hard work but made much easier when your Thai teacher just shakes their head, laughs at you, and does a much better job himself and then gives you the near finished product. Nonetheless, it was the experience I appreciated. <br /><br />The farm itself was a shining example of what a collaborative organic farm should be. The owner had the land in his family for many generations and he thought it necessary to preserve it the best way possible. Everything was used, nothing wasted, with purpose and appreciation behind it all. He welcomes help with open arms and offers super cheap accommodation and food in exchange for whatever work you wanted to offer. From gardening to teaching English, the hours and effort is up to you, yet a community of laid-back helpful people has grown. That night was filled with positive energy, wonderful people, and more stars than I’ve seen in far too long. It was the perfect end to Pai, and the perfect beginning of a new adventure.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-64330094280128353692010-09-29T10:50:00.000-07:002010-09-29T11:42:30.421-07:00alright nowAfter sufficiently stuffing myself with noodles and spring rolls in Vietnam, I headed over to Thailand to continue stuffing myself with more noodles and spring rolls. Really, you would think I would get tired of the ‘same same’ meals, but no. Authentic food always tastes best in the country it’s made in and I never plan on taking that for granted. Lord knows when I’m back in the States griping about the lack of spiciness and paying eight times the price, I’ll remember fondly the street pad thai, made fresh and delicious for less than a dollar.<br /><br />For no one reason in particular, Thailand has always been my number one destination. Since I first split off form convention and dedicated myself to discovering the world, I said I’ve wanted to go to Thailand more than any other place. But even at that time, I knew it had to wait. I knew I would go when the Universe told me to, and I knew I had to actively work on my spice tolerance.<br /><br />Thanks to the Food Network, I learned early on that Thai food has been considered some of the spiciest in the world. I was unfortunately born with a highly sensitive palate and could rarely take even the hint of chili powder. But when Thailand became my top destination, I knew I had to work on that. I purposely tortured myself with spicy food for years, thinking “it’s all for Thailand”. It soon became one of the top three on my must-do list: to eat Thai food with the locals and as spicy as they eat it. And six years after I began practicing, I was ready for the challenge. <br /><br />And <em>damn</em> is Thai food spicy and delicious! While cuisine from the north to south is widely different, it all plays with a mixture of tastes: salty, sweet, sour, and spicy. What this means is everything you eat will be super tasty. But I’ve been insisting on spicy with every meal and have subsequently burned the taste buds off my tongue, meaning I now want everything I eat to be extremely spicy. Oops, overkill. But on the bright side .I accomplished my goal of eating like a local. And one papaya salad (the spiciest of all, yet continually makes my mouth drool like Pavlov’s dog just by writing it) was even finished without any water. None during or even after (I didn’t have access to it one time).<br /><br />Luckily, pretty much every place in Thailand can make a mean pad thai. This means from 3 am street snacks to sitting at an actual restraint, cheap and delicious pad thai is nearly on call. And don’t forget the spring rolls, fresh fruit on a stick, or curries. Amazing food is so cheap and easy to come by, I have yet to eat a bad meal or break the bank. I suppose that isn’t a good combination for my waistline, but I’d rather blame the daily Chang beer.<br /><br />I suppose before I indulge too much into the food (too late), I should continue with the storyline of my journey. The day we arrived in Bangkok it just so happened to be some Buddhist holiday (or so we’re told) which meant they were running a deal with the government tuk-tuk drivers. First, what’s a tuk-tuk?<br /><br />Tuk-tuks are a cross between taxis and petty cabs; a driver on a motorbike pulls a covered cart that can hold approximately three people. They’re fun, cheap, and uber Thai. At first when the locals were coming up to us and trying to help without being prompted, we assumed there would be compensation involved. But no, the land of smiles has been running low in the tourism department; a combination of political strife and the world’s foul economy. Subsequently, both the government and the general population have tried their best to give tourists a great experience. And so far I’d agree that Thai people are a very warm, helpful, and friendly group of people.<br /><br />So this first day in Bangkok we were aiming for a huge market that happened to be closed and all the locals were telling us about some holiday and a tuk-tuk deal. We had to grab specifically a government run tuk-tuk and for only 20 baht (70 US cents) we’d get a tour of the area, including all the temples we wanted to see. The only catch was we had to stop and look at a tailor’s and a tour agency, neither of which we wanted to see. The funny (and annoying) part was when walked out after not much time, we had to return later and agree to stay 20 minutes or else the driver wouldn’t receive his government funded gas money. (He had to get a signature from the agent we spoke with to guarantee he held up his part of the deal.) It was all some crazy scam, but not a scam at all really. Because we still got to see what we wanted to, had a personal chauffeur all afternoon, and all for super cheap.<br /><br />That evening we were joined by the missing link friend, Dana, and our first night on the crazy Khao San Road ensued. Dana and I met in Malta and have probably spent more time together in different countries (four of them) together than in our own country. She is also a fellow Chico chica and that’s probably why we have so many hobbies in common. <br /><br />Our night out though was nothing compared to the legendary craziness and drunken debauchery that is Khao San Road. During high season, it’s jam packed with lady boys, barmen shouting their drink deals, unending food stalls, and drunk farang (foreigners) having the time of their lives. It’s all a bit over the top, but something that must be experienced, that’s for sure. <br /><br />During the day, Khao San is much calmer and great for shopping, but still a bit nuts. There food stalls remain as well as some crazies, but mostly the street is lined with vendors selling cute singlets (tank tops), jewelry, and kitschy stuff. But mostly great clothes and you can’t help but indulge in the cheap prices. But no matter how cheap something is, you always bargain for half, then work your way to the middle. It’s apart of their culture really, and if you don’t participate, you’re missing out. But there is only so much time I can spend at a market. Up and down endless isles of the same, same but different crap. People talking at you, pestering you to come over. It gets to be too overwhelming. <br /><br />One of the night markets we spent some time in was interesting for another reason: the infamous ping pong show. What’s a ping pong show you ask? Well, you don’t really want to know. But since you <em>asked</em>…. There are these “sex shows” in which girls shoot ping pong balls out of their, umm, you know. Ho-hahs. Weird, right? Well that’s not all. These guys are constantly coming up to you in the street advertising “you want see ping pong show?” and holding out a (laminated?) list of everything his girl can do with their vaginas. I’m not even sure what they do exactly, because the list just read ‘cigarettes, fish, pool ball, razor blades, electric, etc.’. <em>Electric</em>? Electric what? And hamsters? <em>Really</em>? It gives me the creeps. Yet I’m not going to lie, I’m a little curious. I haven’t had the opportunity (or the stomach) to experience one yet, but wouldn’t cross it off my list.<br /><br />The ping pong shows were at Khao San Road (obviously) as well as the night market, but oddly enough the market was set up on a street of strip clubs. And all their doors were open. It was weird, watching the girls lazily dance or just stand there staring back at you. I would wonder what they were thinking; what their lives must be like. And then I’d get distracted by a cute pair of earrings and continue along the market. It’s a crazy world, that is Bangkok. That’s why it was a good thing to get out of there in two days. <br /><br />We quickly made our way to Sukothai, a town 7 hours north, chalk full of ancient ruins and oozing with charm. Maybe it was great because of the hostel we stayed in where it was quiet, comfortable, and had everything we needed. We were floored about the free bicycles to ride into town or out to the ruins, even though they were kind of jenky. Really jenky actually. In two days we used seven bikes, six of which broke down in some way or another. But if it wasn’t for that flat tire, we never would have had such a great encounter though.<br /><br />After some Jimmy-guided off-roading, both Dana and I got flat tires in which we had to walk our bikes to town (not the most enjoyable task in the intense heat of the sun). But eventually after asking around, we found the bike fix-it shop where a wrinkled and hunched over little lady came out not saying a word. She directly put the bike on its side and ushered us to have a seat. She got to work right away, peeling off the tire, sorting out the hole, fixing it and blowing it back up. Even filled the other tire as well. The woman who fixed my bike was not as old, but just as quiet and mysterious as well. In a matter of moments our frustrating situation was fixed, and while I assumed they could charge us whatever they wanted, it was still only 70 cents. Amazing! <br /><br />The ancient ruins of Sukothai were well worth the effort of getting there though. Stretched out over miles, a bike is best if you want see everything quickly. Plus, it’s part of the adventure. The monolithic Buddha statues have near but all crumbled down, yet their lingering grandiosity still leaves one with their jaw-dropped. Everyone who visits becomes mute as they individually wander around and snap as many angles as they can. Luckily, it wasn’t crowded so most of the shots are without people in them. Although, it did seem to be school field trip day… for everyone. All in all, it was an active, interesting, and fabulous day. But those don’t run dry in Thailand at all really.<br /><br />On the last night in our new, sleek, and cushy bungalows, our roof started to leak. I was awake reading when I started to notice the foot of the bed sopping wet. It was storming outside and it must have been going for awhile. It wasn’t a big fuss; we just slept in another room for the night. But it’s the point that matters. Sometimes in life, a little rain must fall.<br /><br />While traveling with Jim, Mandy, and Dana had been fun, it had also been at a much different pace and energy than I prefer. They had less than one month to spend in the whole of Thailand and I knew I’d be longer. So we parted ways after Sukothai, they to go camping, see Chang Mai, and then head south. I headed north to Pai, to figure out where I was going.<br /><br />Now I already wrote a whole blog about the love that is Pai, but I could really continue into infinity. Now more than ever, being that I’ve spent two and a half weeks here. I find it frightening to think of leaving, so I just have to trust that I will be back. One day for sure, and two weeks won’t be enough.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-26131400473116671232010-09-19T06:38:00.000-07:002010-09-19T06:39:11.753-07:00all the small thingsA backpacker’s life is never dull. Everyone moves at their own pace; some find a new city every couple of days and some linger for months on end. No matter how fast or slow you go, everyday is filled with new and interesting things. From trying foods for the first time to observing strange cultural differences, one can write home everyday about the things they’ve seen and done. Keep this in mind as you think I couldn’t possibly write anything else about Vietnam.<br /><br />Nha Trang is a growing city built next to a long stretch of perfect beach. The sand is soft, the sun is hot, and the nightlife is good. The beach was a three minute walk from our $10 a night hotel and the sun shined every day we were there. Of course it rained a bit too each day, but I’m getting used to this monsoon business and by renting a bungalow, you simply hide under it during the 20 minute shower. But the rest of the time was hot and gorgeous; perfect for sunbathing and relaxing. <br /><br />Actually, you couldn’t completely relax because there were heaps of locals pestering to sell an endless pile of crap. They would pace in front of you, sit on your chair, touch you, and chastise you until you bought something or clearly pissed them off. Sometimes it was snacks, jewelry, or art, but there even was a constant stream of book sellers and masseuses begging you to buy their goods or services. If you dared buy something, you were going to have to bargain hard for it and endure their ridiculous comments. The younger the seller, the ruder and funnier they got. “Why you Cheap Charlie?”, one spat as we argued over a quarter for Mentos. Annoying yes, but it makes for great dinner conversation later on.<br /><br />In an effort not to be entirely lazy, we took a day tour on a boat (hung-over nonetheless). It was a great day of island hopping that seemed to get better and more random as the day went on. I started off by buying some crazy colored sombrero party hats, because we were the only foreigners on the tour and if we’re going to stand out, we might as well have fun with it. The highlight of the day was the “musical performance” where a makeshift drum set and guitar were busted out and the center row of seats turned into a stage. <br /><br />First, a young girl with sparkle jeans and her shirt tied up starting singing. Then came our male tour guide dressed in a women’s bikini, top stuffed and all. We couldn’t stop laughing as he pulled us on the “stage” dancing and rubbing his “boobs” in everyone’s face. Then came a volunteer from the audience to perform and somehow finagled me onstage to sing (God only knows why) Britney Spears. This man in his spandex flowered swim trunks was born for the stage. It was a total riot.<br /><br />Nha Trang was the first place we found with legitimate nightlife. Jim and I could finally dance our hearts out all night long to good music. Well, dancing is a loose term. By ‘dancing’, for Jim, I mean, crawling in the sand, pulling down poles in bars, and elbowing people in the head; all in the name of Lady Gaga. No matter how embarrassing Jim could be, he’s more entertaining than anything and always leaves an impression. Especially on the Irish.<br /><br />One night, while dancing at a club on the beach, a couple came up to us and starting showing us pictures on their camera. They were pictures of us in Hanoi at the beginning of our trip and suddenly we realized we knew these people. And this is exactly why you are never alone when traveling, even if you try to be. Because when I stayed behind Jim and Mandy for an extra day in Nha Trang, I ran into the couple yet again and my quiet self-reflecting night turned into a full-on bar crawl. (I’ll always have a soft spot for the Irish.)<br /><br />The best night out so far though started out at the beach bar and ended with Jim screaming to be peed on. <br /><br /> I left him at the end of the night on the sand by the ocean where he was going in to snag a man who was skinny sipping with a few others. I didn’t think I would see him again until morning but low and behold only five minutes upon my return, Jim ran into the room. “Pee on me! Pee on me NOW!!” he was shouting as he stripped his clothes and darted for the shower. <br /><br />Yup, he had been stung by jellyfish. Mind you, this is 3:30 in the morning and Mandy was sleeping for an early dive the next day, but was up in hysterics as this is the best entrance to a room we’d ever seen. <br /><br />I quickly stepped up and offered my services and luckily we had glasses in our hotel room. But my pee in a cup was not enough for Jim (maybe because I had just gone). But then Mandy’s services were requested, which seemed to do the trick. And so it took 2 whole cups of pee to calm Jim down that night, but a lifetime of shame to live down.<br /><br />The main form of transportation in Vietnam is by motorcycle. Sure people use buses and taxis, and others even have their own cars. But it is much more normal to have your own little motorcycle or scooter. It’s how the family drops kids off at school, how teenagers go on dates, and in every city the best hangout is where everyone can park their moped and simply hang out. Street corners often have old men sleeping in the most interesting ways on their mopeds. And with so many swift drivers on the road, it makes crossing the street for a pedestrian more than a challenge. Slowly though, the foreigner will learn to step out and keep pace walking through the hoards of crazy drivers trusting that they will see you, calculate your speed, and swerve around you. Hopefully.<br /><br />Maybe it’s because mopeds are such an integral part of culture, or because they’re so cheap, but one of the most popular activities for travelers in Vietnam is a motorcycle tour. From one day to one month, you can create your own path by yourself on a rented or purchased bike. Or if you’re like me, hire a driver to show you the “real” Vietnam. I opted for the two day tour to Dalat while Jim and Mandy went for three, but naturally we ran into each other as all the Easy Riders (aka drivers) are friends and visit the same sites. <br /><br />While we stopped a lot along the way, the best part for me was simply taking in all the beautiful scenery with the wind in my face and a sense of danger on my shoulders. I knew flip flops and shorts weren’t proper motorcycle attire but also, that rules from home rarely apply to overseas. Needless to say, I did burn my leg on the exhaust pipe pretty badly. But I still enjoyed the thrill and beauty that is all of Vietnam.<br /><br />In addition to mountains, jungle, and rice paddy fields, we were shown where Agent Orange was dropped and where battles were fought and we proceeded to ask questions about the war. I assumed there might be some animosity leftover towards Americans for coming over near 40 years ago and destroying their land and killing their people. But there wasn’t as they were a nation that had been used and abused by many for thousands of years; we were simply another oppressor on the list. And even though children are still born with birth defects from Agent Orange and trees still won’t grow naturally, they welcome us with open arms and talk candidly about growing up in Vietnam.<br /><br />Part of this interesting experience was doing a home stay in a minority village unlike any other culture I’ve encountered. First, all the houses are long and built several feet off of the ground. Generations of family live under one roof and in the same room no less, (unless of course the foreign tourists are paying for half of the house). These people were unique in that it was a matriarchal society, meaning that the woman had all the power and control. Men had to pay several oxen as dowry to marry and even more if they wanted a divorce. Mothers made the decisions while fathers carried the babies around. And to top it off, this rural village seemed to be more populated by giant pigs, chickens, roosters, and cows than people; and they all roamed freely. This was wonderful for me to see but annoying to listen to while falling asleep and waking up.<br /><br />Being that it was still monsoon season in Vietnam, there was always a chance, neigh a promise, of a short and heavy downpour of rain, and usually when you least expect it. It happened when I was out for a short walk through the small town nearby and I was stupidly without my umbrella. When it began to sprinkle down I decided to wait it out under a tree, thinking this would be decent enough shelter for ten minutes or so of rain. Some time passed and just as I was getting up to walk the rest of the way back to my shelter I saw local children running for their lives. That’s usually a sign you’re screwed if you’ve got no where to go. <br /><br />And then came the monsoon.<br /><br />I have yet to be stuck outside in such heavy downpour and had unfortunately chosen a tree as my protector and was nowhere near public shelter. I cowered into a ball and began to get soaked to the bone. I kept wishing and praying for the rain to stop but when I realized that wouldn’t do me any good, I mustered up the courage to run to the nearest house and shout ‘hello’ from outside the gate. <br /><br />A man appeared at the open window and motioned the gate was open. I kept under the porch awning though he insisted to come in (mostly because I was dripping wet). Eventually I gave in and went inside their home, finally truly safe from that incredible flash storm. <br /><br />The couple who lived here was young and had a small child as well. And they didn’t speak a word of English. I tried to stay in the corner by the door, not wanting to get anything wet. But they came out with a towel, put me in a chair by the TV, and brought out tea and candy for me as well. I stayed there for maybe a half hour as the heavy storm outside roared on longer and more powerful than I ever expected. I began to thank myself for finally admitting defeat and turning to strangers for help. The experience was interesting in the fact that I began to think of this in terms of home. <br /><br />What if during a storm a stranger who didn’t speak any English wandered up to your house and it was clear they needed shelter. Would you invite them in? Feed them? Make them tea? Would you feel completely comfortable or slightly on edge that this was simply a ploy to steal from you or even murder you? Something about our culture has taught us that danger is around every corner and never to trust strangers. Maybe it’s Hollywood’s fault or the news is to blame, (or just CSI); it doesn’t matter. In this sleepy village nestled into the mountains of Central Vietnam, no fear of strangers exists; only pity for silly foreigners who don’t know what storms look like nor carry umbrellas.<br /><br />One of my favorite parts about this village was the elephants. Near the rice patties, in their own open field, were elephants roaming around and walking the streets. At breakfast, an elephant named Beatrice stuck her trunk through the window and I offered her a bread roll. Elephants are such giant gentle creatures I want to spend more time with.<br /><br />Once back on our motorcycle, we sped along the road swerving around the dozens of cows that marched along the side of the road and worked our way up to the mountain town of Dalat. We only spent one night there, checking out the market and recovering from the many hours of sitting on a motorcycle. The next day we rolled into Ho Chi Minh City (formally known as Saigon) and were just in time to watch the fireworks in celebration of some holiday. <br /><br />Mandy set off the next day on her own for Phu Quoc Island as she had been to HCMC before, leaving Jim and I to explore and go nuts on our own for a few days. We were logical in alternating days between sleeping in and lazily walking around town and taking entire day tours of the outlying areas. <br /><br />First we did a tour of the Cu Chi tunnels, the infamous narrow tunnel system that the local peasants held strong and aided the Viet Cong to their success in the south. Because the American army had insisted people from that area either move or be killed, the locals opted to live under ground while fighting to protect their land. An intricate system of tunnels was built with many levels and stretched over 700 km in length. They were dug in the exact size of the person digging the tunnel which means they were tiny and near impossible for any American to fit in. Although they did give us the opportunity to crawl through one, it was obvious we could never have infiltrated this system. They picked a tunnel they had made larger for tourists, yet it was still claustrophobically tiny, uncomfortable, and god awfully humid down there. I have no idea how they did it.<br /><br />The next day, we went to the War Remnants Museum and let me tell you, nothing kills a Friday quite like a visit to a war museum. The realty of the Vietnam War was shown to us in facts and pictures, an unbiased account of the death and destruction that occurred on both sides. I never realized the support Vietnam had from all around the world; Americans at home weren’t the only ones protesting. It was also nice to learn about the American soldiers who aided the local peasants but were unfortunately jailed for such ‘treason’. I couldn’t help but leave emotional and confused by how so much hate and anger could constantly exist in mankind throughout time. <br /><br />At least in the nights, Jim and I were able to escape such deep and tormenting thoughts as we drank and danced the nights away. Luckily for Jim, we found a swanky gay bar that was primarily for locals and had a great time working the dance floor all night long to amazing music. We went there both nights we went out.<br /><br />Our final day in Vietnam was spent on a tour of the Mekong Delta, boating around with rice farmer hats and gazing at the beautiful scenery. They always squeeze in the kitschy tourist crap where they try to sell you products you just tasted; for example, visiting a honey farm or coconut candy making factory (or the same place). It was the perfect quintessential last day topped off with delicious local fare and shopping until we could buy no more. <br /><br />In case you were wondering about the local specialties, pho (pronounced ‘fah’) is number one. It’s a noodle soup served with either beef or chicken and lots of lime and chili and eaten from early morning to late night. It’s served everywhere on the street for merely a dollar, slightly more if from a restaurant. Spring rolls are also available everywhere and I’ll never get enough of that fried crispy goodness. <br /><br />One month in Vietnam was more than most had, yet it felt not enough for me. This country is rich in culture, cuisine, and endearing people. You must seek further to understand their lifestyle than simply coasting through major towns and scratching the surface. I have a lot more to learn and see there, and feel I will one day return to see how they’ve grown and adapted to time and politics. That, and I must return to Hoi An to get some more clothes made.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-26607774892245685022010-09-17T03:19:00.000-07:002010-09-18T02:36:00.383-07:00tomorrow comes todayI’m going Michael J. Fox on you. First, we’re going into the future. Then we’ll go back in time. The future is now, in Pai.<br /><br />Pai is a small town nestled into the mountains made of jungle in Northern Thailand. I’ve been here nearly a week now, more than half of my entire time in Thailand. I didn’t mean to find a new home so soon, but I guess it found me. <br /><br />After less than a week in Thailand I needed to roam free. I split off from my travel partners to find my own space and pace of journey. I had heard about Pai from an Irish couple I bonded with in Vietnam and knew before I even arrived I had a crush. But the second I laid eyes on this town I believed in love at first sight. <br /><br />Artisans from all different arenas fill the streets with live music, beautiful jewelry, and tattoo shops. From street stalls to quality restaurants, cheap delicious food from around the world is very easy to come by. Everyone has the laid-back hippie mentality and moves at a slower pace of life I seem to agree with more. Yoga classes, motor biking, reiki, hot springs, cooking classes and trekking are the main activities people come here to experience. But every person I’ve met has stayed longer in Pai than they originally anticipated, from a few days to 14 years. No joke.<br /><br />It’s hard to write about the vibe of a place, it’s just something you have to feel. And I feel at home here. It’s a place I knew instantly I would have trouble leaving but was grateful for opportunity to sink my feet in a little. And I already have a routine. <br /><br />At 11 am (roughly) everyone out from the night before comes by The Good Life to check in and see who’s still alive. It’s a health conscious restaurant with amazingly delicious food and teas, swing chairs, and even has free guided mediation several days a week. It’s one of the best ex-pat hangouts I’ve discovered. Basically, this entire town oozes with natural remedies and charm.<br /><br />It seems to rain more in Pai than anywhere I’ve been yet, but I don’t mind since the air is cooler and less humid and the landscape is so green. Plus my roof is so thin I can hear every rain drop which I find quite soothing at night. To be honest, rain has yet to hinder any of my plans yet. Even on a day we planned to motorbike all day, we still went out in the pouring monsoon and just took the corners more slowly. We were going to a hot spring so it seemed silly to be worried about getting wet. It was less annoying and more of an adventure really.<br /><br />But when the sun is shining and you have a motorbike, the day can be quite full and exhilarating. There’s so many winding beautiful roads to take and hidden waterfalls to discover. A giant Buddha here, a golden temple there; there’s no shortage of interesting things to see. And to be honest, the best part really is just riding. Having the wind in your face while speeding through local villages; I have never felt more free. It feels refreshing to be in such a stunning environment and to know I have the time, money, and energy to explore it a bit. <br /><br />I live in a bungalow with a decent bed on the floor and a private bathroom for just over $3 a day. Despite the bathroom reeking of urine (I think there’s a leak) and being slightly inconvenient and there is mosquito/ant/cockroach farm that seems to live here as well, I’ve found the perfect living spot. I get free wifi and a hot shower (my only requirements) but appreciate the bonus music here at Edible Jazz. While every bar in town (and there are quite a bit) offers live music every night, this place radiates with musician charm. The owner’s friends are here everyday jamming at some point which I can hear without even opening my door. And if not, she will put music on the speakers and it’s always been good. And they’re all really sweet and generous people as well so I not only feel safe, but comfortable. This place is so wonderful it draws in more people who aren’t sleeping here than are. Maybe it’s the good jazz or the good vibe, there’s always someone cool to meet if you just sit in the hang-out area.<br /><br />Not that I even need a backpacking hostel right now, this has been the easiest place to meet people. Because of the hippie vibe, everyone is open and friendly and I know heaps of both travelers and locals without even trying. I like getting to know a place really well: to know inside and out where everything is, to have a favorite corner shop, and to run into people you know on a short walk down the street. And it’s already happening.<br /><br />At night, the bars come alive with acoustic music and cheap drinks. It’s impossible not to bar hop and inevitably end up at one of the few sunrise bars for last drinks. Conversations start easily and everyone knows someone and groups collide and mingle not only for one night. Add in the fact that this is a small town and you can walk anywhere safely and maybe you can start to see how it’s so easy to get stuck here.<br /><br />Honestly, everyone I’ve met has overstayed in Pai from their original expectations which was the first sign I’d be here more than a couple of days. I’m hoping to get out for a few days of trekking next week which will make departing that much easier when I really have to go, but the reality is life is good here and I don’t feel a pressing need to go as soon as possible. I can afford to just bum around, eat great food, drink a wee bit, take yoga classes, rent a motor scooter, and explore all this beautiful area has to offer. Plus there’s always someone to hang out with and it’s been surprisingly difficult for me to find a few moments to steal away for myself. <br /><br />Despite the fact that I came here to be alone, clear my head, and find a direction on where I want to go next, I’ve quickly appreciated the fact that I had a group of friends my first night here and continue to grow my social circle everyday. (Namely, I’ve had one really good friend here I met on the bus and have spent every meal with since. It’s always the British I befriend and I still don’t know why.) It seems in my life no matter how hard I try to be alone, I never will be. But I don’t necessarily believe this to be a bad thing.<br /><br />So I do suppose in a way I’ve done some soul searching while I’ve been here. The moment I gave myself to the Universe and went with every opportunity, everything has gone smoothly and been a wonderful experience. I have smiled more, felt more alive, and been surrounded by and exuding my own positive energy. Maybe the air is fresher here or the music is hypnotizing, but there’s something about Pai. Something truly wonderful and amazing about Pai.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-46975267337426374512010-09-08T12:28:00.000-07:002010-09-08T12:30:39.124-07:00carry onLife is fleeting. I live my life based on the fact that time doesn’t exist forever for one person. While I know this to be true, it’s a lesson I’m sure I will visit over and over again. <br /><br />Minutes before I was to board a 13 hour bus ride I received an upsetting email about the passing of a good friend’s father. This is the only way I receive bad news on the road, by email, and it never comes at a convenient time. I’ve been friends with this girl since I was 12 and knew her family well. Her dad would pick us up from movies, let us borrow his car, and drank with us when we old enough. I’ve eaten cheesecake with this family on holidays and been scolded by them for getting into trouble with the law. Her father was apart of my life, but more than that, he was a damn good father to his kids, one of the best I’ve ever known. It was too early to be his time. <br /><br />Within 20 minutes of my bus ride, I was a trying-to-hide-myself-from-crying mess when the bus backed into a tree smashing one of the windows. Luckily, no one was seated next to the window, but of course after a quick clean up and some cardboard they sat someone down later on. It was at this moment I was reminded just how fleeting life is. There could be a quick car accident and you’re gone. Or a cancer could be slowly creeping in your bones making you so sick there is no recovery. No matter how you go, we all have an expiration date. That’s why we must live for the moment and appreciate all you have around you. In particular, who you have with you.<br /><br />This is dedicated to Jim Bressler. He was an amazing person and will be sorely missed.<br /><br />***<br /><br />I last left off before my tour of Ha Long Bay, one of those places you see pictures of and think, “I MUST go there!”. At least that’s what happened with me. We were sorted for three days and two nights, one aboard the ship we’d be cruising around in. It sounded adventurous and fun and still I never knew quite what to expect.<br /><br />What stood out most about this tour (other than the breathtaking scenery) was the worst tour guide I have ever had. Ever. He was rude, angry, and downright mean to us all. From how he spoke to us to the rules he set, there were even fines we were to pay for disobeying him. (Seriously.) At one point, when we asked to go to our rooms, he said we couldn’t because “he couldn’t control us then”. Sir, we’re on a tiny boat with 6 rooms, it shouldn’t be that hard to lose us. And I didn’t pay money to be controlled by some self-righteous foreigners hating prick. (Bitterness much? I think not.) He literally yelled at me for being a vegetarian, at Jim for writing our names wrong on a piece of paper, and at some other tourists for asking for a glass with their water. Apparently, glasses are only for wine (regardless of the fact that it’s 1 pm and no one is drinking that overpriced crap, they couldn’t spare one of their 40 glasses). I really could go on and on about this douche bag but there is no need for so much negativity and I’m pretty sure you trust me when I say his rudeness never ceased to end.<br /><br />Luckily he was only our guide for 24 hours but it seemed much longer than that. On the bright side, our group bonded on the fact that our guide was the biggest dickhead any of us had met in Asia so far. The booze and karaoke also helped.<br /><br />Another downer to this trip was the fact that it was raining on and off the entire time. It wasn’t the worst thing that could happen (our guide was actually), but it did make our pictures less than National Geographic status. It also stopped us from lounging on the upper deck which consequently packed us into the dining area like exhausted sardines with a lot of luggage.<br /><br />Our second day and night was on a large island where we were meant to hike around on but instead sat in our hotel rooms as the rain had been pouring all night and morning, making it a difficult and dangerous trek. Luckily in the late afternoon the sun came out and I rushed down to the closest beach, as did everyone else. <br /><br />The next day not a cloud could be seen, just in time to go home. Nice. But first was a bus trip to the other side of the island where we needed to catch the boat from. Despite the sun shining and the high volume of tourists that visit here, the roads had not entirely emptied of the rain. Specifically, one stretch of road had turning into a full on river, no joke. There were a few minutes of “What the fuck?!?!” and “What are we going to do?” and “But what about all of our luggage?”. Then as the locals rowed up in their tiny hand made row boats it became obvious they knew what to do as this has obviously happened before. <br /><br />So we piled our backpacks and ourselves two or three at a time into these rickety boats with water inside as well and were literally rowed down the road. It was hilarious. Mind you, there were several tour groups of people and even locals crossing, motorbikes and all, and it took a good hour or two to get the 50 people in our bus across. At the end of the rowboat tour, it became too shallow to row so we had to get out and walk (not too far) but still in water swimming with foot long worms, enormous crickets and spiders, and other creatures I care not to know what they were. <br /><br />On the other side a bus eventually came to get us and we all piled in laughing because that’s all you can do in situations like that. This is stuff that the word ‘adventure’ was invented for. It means unexpected events that make for a more authentic experience. At least in my dictionary it does.<br /><br />Our final day was spent soaking in whatever sun we could and chatting with our new Dutch friends. Because if there’s one nationality of people I will always make friends with, it’s the Dutch. They’re fun, easy-going, and speak perfect English. And no, I’m not giving up my dream of living in the Netherlands one day. (I also make great friends with the Irish and Germans.)<br /><br />Despite hearing all about the tour, I have neglected to describe what Ha Long Bay actually looks like and why it’s so beautiful. You know that saying, ‘a picture says a 1000 words’? Well, it’s like that, so you’re better off googling it, but in the mean time I’ll attempt to paint a picture. <br /><br />While cruising along the calm blue water you can watch the numerous green mountains jut directly out of the water all around you. It’s shocking, and the mountains are huge and have no beach or coast line; it’s almost as if they have sprouted out of the ground overnight. We were even able to walk around the inside of one because it is a large cave (I don’t know if they are all caves) and what was a naturally beautiful sight had become a Disneyland-like event. Mystical stories are told and true geological explanations are entirely ignored, even when asked about. Brightly colored lights are used to illuminate the magnificent stalagmites and stalactites, making you feel you are inside of a jellybean Matterhorn. The overwhelmingly beautiful part was just how vast this cavern was; I have never seen anything like it and wished that was enough for the Vietnamese tourism board rather than splurging on those Christmas lights. Oh well, to each their own I suppose.<br /><br />Directly after getting back to Hanoi from this trip we were on an overnight bus to Hue located in central Vietnam. When we arrived it was raining all day which put a damper on our plans to see the not-so-many sights we had planned to see. But we weren’t wasting any days so we bought some hideous ponchos (and some road beers) and went marching out in the miserable sideways rain. Palaces and temples are never in short supply here and despite the whole ‘same, same’ reality, we were still going to visit all we could.<br /><br />The next day was fortunately sunny so we set out to hire a personal boat tour to cruise down the Perfume River and visit a few more temples and pagodas. Our kitschy long boat was brightly painted, had a dragon head leading us, and was run by a tiny old woman. No different from all the other boats on the river. I would proceed to describe the sights we saw but it’s a lot easier to say, ‘same same, but different’. Yes, they were beautiful. Yes, they were worth visiting. But no, it’s worth blogging about. I’d rather talk about Hoi An.<br /><br />Hoi An was the next town we went to visit, not too much further south than Hue, but this city has a purpose. Well known for their tailors, it’s impossible to leave this place without getting <em>something</em> made. It’s truly hard to resist the seemingly endless row of shops of women begging to make beautiful things just for you, and for damn cheap. Their work is meticulous and ranges in everything from bathing suits to wool coats. You name it, they sew it. And can do so in as little as 12 hours, it’s damn incredible really. <br /><br />When I say you can get anything made, I really mean it. Flip through one of their many magazines or surf the internet for whether you want, pick one of their fabrics or describe what you want, and they will make it happen, no pattern required. And they can do this with shoes as well. The bottom line is I can’t wait to win the lottery so I can come back here and get everything I’ve ever wanted, designed and made just for me. <br /><br />I went considering getting a wool coat (because I’ve always wanted a mustard yellow coat) but nothing more. I left with a coat, 2 dresses, shorts, a bathing suit, scarf, and sandals. The damage could have been a lot worse. Mandy and Jim came knowing they wanted to get a few things, and they got much more than that. The bottom line is we were all happy with our purchases but all needed to visit the post office and send boxes home (I’m sure we’re not the first foreigners to do that).<br /><br />My favorite part of this whole experience though was chatting with the women. They speak great English (how else can you be such a good salesman?) and are constantly making cheeky comments that keep me laughing. From grabbing my boobs constantly to offering money to see Jim’s penis, we were always being sarcastic and having fun with these ladies. And arguing over the price is essential to the whole experience, regardless of how cheap you’re being. It’s the principle really.<br /><br />It was essential we got out of town as soon as possible as every day we spent there we ended up buying more stuff. Plus our next stop was Nha Trang, a beautiful beach town with great night life and it was calling our names. But I’ll keep that for next time as I don’t like overwhelming my readers all at once. (Too late?)<br /><br />Alright, one more story. You ever wonder what Wal-Mart must do with all those leftover Christmas things that sing songs? Well, the answer is they’ve shipped them to Vietnam and installed them into cars. I thought it was maybe just a few cars, but no, all over this country, cars, trucks, and buses have music that plays when they are in reverse. I suppose it’s handy because if you ever hear Silent Night you can assume a truck might be almost running you over. But it is odd how it’s almost always holiday songs. And most of the people here are Buddhist or non-religious. Strange, but I’ve slowly been considering getting one for my car back home. Just a thought.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-8037379554845538252010-08-29T00:33:00.000-07:002010-08-29T00:36:04.784-07:00are you in?It’s 8 am and the air is already thick with humidity leaving my skin unpleasantly sticky. The tiny female farm workers with triangular rice hats are quickly pacing the streets with their long bows over their shoulders and scale-like presentation of fruit and vegetables for sale. The street corners are packed with people sitting on tiny plastic stools hovering over their hot noodle soup breakfast. A swarm of motorcycles whiz past practically every second nearly taking a limb or two of mine with them.<br /><br />Good morning Vietnam!<br /><br />I can’t quite describe the excitement I felt my first day in Vietnam; it was unlike anything I’ve ever seen, yet I felt completely comfortable. I was in a new world and eager to take on the roller coaster journey that is backpacking. With Mandy by my side, we awaited the arrival of our third partner in crime, Jimmy. <br /><br />Before I begin to describe what we have seen and done, I need to (at least vaguely) describe the absurdity and brilliance that is our group. We’re all from the Bay Area originally, but all received drinking degrees form Chico State. And if you think I’m a loud ridiculous hot mess, you should see these two. I ain’t got nothing on them. So imagine three outrageous Americans who never travel without snacks, ipods and speakers, or miss a happy hour and I’m sure you’ll think Vietnam might not be able to handle us. I’m not so sure either.<br /><br />Our first few days in the capital of Hanoi were slow while we waited for Jim. The standard aimless wandering, sorting through endless piles of the same souvenir crap, and tasting the local street fare. If anything could describe Southeast Asia (or South America for that matter) it’s this phrase: same same, but different. It may sound weird at first but there is so much truth to it for anyone who’s traveled here.<br /><br />Basically, it means no matter how often you change location, seek out something unique to buy, or figure out what you want to eat, it’s all really the same from whatever you’re trying to distinguish it from. Whenever a vender decides to sell something, for some reason they set up shop directly next door to their competition and offer the exact same goods for the exact same price. Whether it’s purses or shoes, a noodle stand or bakery; no one bothers to differentiate themselves from their competitor. And even though restaurants boast their delicious and unique fare all over chalkboards out front, it’s pretty much the standard menu you’ll find all over the country. Sometimes neighbors even have literally the same <em>exact</em> menu. Even when you cross country borders, you’ll find pretty much the same stuff to buy and the same things to eat, really only vaguely different. I’m not saying each country and city isn’t at all unique. It’s just a phrase that encompasses the overall feeling foreigners get when they spend months criss-crossing all over the place.<br /><br />Same same, but different.<br /><br />(They even have a t-shirt with ‘same same’ on it. I would get it but it’s kind of ugly and while I’m holding out for something better along they way, I know it’ll be same same.)<br /><br />This phrase also applies to tour operators and even though I know this, I still always scour cities for the best price and most trustworthy person. But in the end, it never makes a difference because they all work together and hire the same locals to do the grunt work of showing the tourists around. <br /><br />First, it needs to be said that I hate tours. Well, not entirely. They’re convenient and mindless but really only acceptable in small doses. It’s often inevitable for the things I want to do most, which is what most tourists want to do most. I had gotten used to them in South America but like it less and less the more I do them. At least I have the main questions nailed down.<br /><br />What’s included? What are the sleeping arrangements? How many meals do I get and are drinks included? And I’m a vegetarian. Will this be a problem? (They always say ‘of course not’ to the last question but what they mean to say is ‘fuck off, you’re not going to eat much’.)<br /><br />The first tour we took here was a day trip to the Perfume Pagoda: a Buddhist temple nestled deep into a cave at the top of a mountain. It’s located in the countryside outside of Hanoi which is great for escaping the hustle and bustle of that dirty city. We had to drive a few hours only to clamber into a small boat rowed by a tiny local woman for another hour. The scenery was majestic though. <br /><br />The wide river curved and bent a steady stream and tall, green mountains popped out of the ground and created a horizon designed for National Geographic. All the rowers I saw were petite women who covered their entire bodies in fabric to avoid the sun and topped their head with the quintessential cone shaped rice farmer hat. <br /><br />Not only is Vietnam unfortunately hot and humid, but during monsoon season it’s particularly bad. And I swear this day was supremely worse than any other. All you had to do was sit in a boat and still you would sweat through everything you had on. My ankles even had beads of sweat sprouting out, something I didn’t know I could do.<br /><br />After lunch we took the cheater’s way up to the top of the mountain with a cable car ride, mostly because of how ridiculously hot it was. Once up there, we walked around this marvelous site adjusting camera settings for the dark cave but inevitably having to settle for the mental picture. Without much time to waste, we were ushered down the mountain, this time Mandy and I deciding to walk (not bad at all really). The best part was running into a group of female monks all with their heads shaved and singing songs. Another mental picture.<br /><br />The following day was the grand entrance of Jimmy: a loud-mouthed, over-the-top, extremely flamboyant gay guy who is far more effeminate than me. He has even been asked numerous times by locals here if he is a woman. (“Are you a madam?” or “”Are you a ladyboy?”) And there has even been a couple of times locals offered money to see his penis as evidence. You would think the chest hair is a dead giveaway but I guess they figured he was transitioning. Either that or they are used to some pretty hairy women. Eeek. <br /><br />We saved our first couple of days together for catching up and abusing the cheap local beer. We signed up for our numerous tours and buses and even got hot stone massages. A very painful yet relaxing hour massage, the best part being we were all in the same room and Mandy couldn’t stop giggling. Seven dollars well spent.<br /><br />Soon enough it was time to catch our night bus to Sapa where we were due for an overnight trekking trip to visit various hillside tribes. We were supposed to arrive at 5 am, but actually rolled into town at 10. We also had no idea what we had signed up for.<br /><br />Sure there was some walking involved, but we took our entire backpacks thinking transportation would take us from point A to point B. When we got to our meeting spot, because of our lateness, we were hurried to gobble down our breakfast and brush our teeth. Jimmy and I couldn’t even manage to change out of our bus clothes. Ready to begin the day, we were informed to leave our packs as we were hiking 13 km (a little over 8 miles) and not returning for our things until the next day. Still in shock, I grabbed my toothbrush and a pair of underwear because that was all I could fit in my tiny purse. Had I known beforehand I would have rearranged my large pack to have my small backpack, with everything I needed, with me. All I could do though was laugh because no matter how much you read over the itinerary, you always seem to miss the key points.<br /><br />As we set out for our adventure we were accompanied by a large entourage of hill tribe women and children. We were coached beforehand not to buy things from the children as it encourages them to ditch school and sell to tourists. Also, if at any point we decided to buy something from someone else not following us, the tag-alongs would proceed to dramatically cry and inflict supreme guilt. The moment we stepped out of the hotel, the flock of tiny women were upon us: “What is your name”, “Where are you from?”, “How old are you?”, “Will you buy from me?”. I assumed after a short walk they would dissipate. Boy was I wrong.<br /><br />Soon enough we were outside of town and walking through the gorgeous countryside endlessly lined with rice farms. While the questions and short conversations did die down, they did not abandon us. Neigh, we were actually walking to <em>their</em> villages which means they were just going to walk home and guilt us into buying their useless crap. It was amusing at first, then annoying, but in the end utterly necessary.<br /><br />Halfway through our first day it started to rain. Before the rain even started though, Mandy already managed the fall flat on her ass while standing still. She was in for a muddy and painful couple of days. The rain wasn’t bad at first, kind of annoying, but nothing unbearable. Eventually we ended the day at a home stay aka the upstairs open air loft jam packed with mattresses of a makeshift hostel. We had two couples on our journey with us and ended up staying with five other guests as well. As evening rolled into the night, and beers were accompanied by the free local firewater, we got to know each other pretty well. Even our guides, both local girls from the tribes, got involved. Eventually we passed out in our comfortable beds, but still in our hiking slash bus clothes. I was starting to get pretty damn dirty, even by my standards.<br /><br />The next day we awoke to the sound of rain pouring down. Uh-oh. Rain or shine, this trek was to continue. My clothes really weren’t meant for hiking, let alone in straight downpour. Nonetheless, we set out with positive spirits and our helpful entourage. (While they eventually vacated the afternoon prior, they all magically reappeared in the morning. I wasn’t surprised at all really.)<br /><br />Their presence was surprisingly necessary as the path had become incredibly muddy from the all-night rain. What was normally a slightly challenging walk became a treacherous hike of doom. I had abandoned my pathetic, broken umbrella for the use of all four limbs to maintain some stability and so I wouldn’t completely eat shit. Even if I did though, I wouldn’t have been half as bad as Mandy. While she had a few slips the day before, she was downright sliding down the mountain the second day. (Don’t ever wear Converse on a hike.) <br /><br />These local hill tribe women, tiny, fragile, and a few with small babies on their backs, clambered to help us silly foreigners down the mountain. Personally, I had a woman with a 2 month old on her back, and umbrella in her hand, and cheap broken plastic sandals on her feet and she was far more stable than I was solo with my $100 Chacos and both hands free. I’d slide and her foot would be there to stop me from tumbling any further. She was a mountain of strength for which my clumsiness couldn’t stand a chance to overcome. <br /><br />This is also how I discovered mudboarding: the next big thing in extreme sports. If you slide with intention implementing the same technique of snowboarding, it could be fun and challenging. Just prepare to get muddy. <br /><br />While difficult and dirty, this was one of the best hikes I’ve done. By the time we made it to the huge waterfall, the crème-de-la-resistance, it had stopped raining and our hard work was rewarded with a well-earned view. By then, each helper woman from our entourage went to their clumsy foreigner to pester them to buy something. I had bought a bracelet the day before but needed to buy another, as there was nothing else I wanted and had to give something to this incredible woman, six years my junior. <br /><br />After lunch we were given the luxury of a van ride back into town and finally were allotted time for the much needed shower. (It had been a solid 60 hours in the same clothes, sleeping and trekking included. Eww.) Before doing so we tipped our guide as she was better than we could have hoped for and felt she had much deserved it. It seems we were the only ones who did and what must have been a huge sum to her as she insisted on taking us to the market to give us a personal tour, even though her duty was over. She even bought us gifts, which was super endearing.<br /><br />I’ll give a short background on our guide, Dao, mostly because I think she needs to be interviewed about her life and turn it into a book. (It’s very Amy Tan slash Oprah Book Club.) She claimed to be from one of the hill tribes, calling them her family, but also spoke of a husband she had run away from less than a year ago. Apparently she hated the family she had been forced to marry into and hated her life in China. “Everyday I dreamed of coming home to my family,” she said wistfully. One day, they had left her all alone and that’s when she escaped. Literally. She has been in hiding ever since and hopes they don’t find her. She is terribly afraid of what they might do to her, and her baby. That’s right, she has an 8 month old child we had the liberty of meeting for only a few moments. I didn’t ask too many involved questions as it wasn’t my place and it was obviously a time of her life that was painful. She speaks highly of the Vietnamese and Korean friends that helped her get across the border and start a new life. I assume the family she is with now is not of her blood, as it seems the first obvious place to look. I can only assume she was sold by her biological family. Was she beaten? Tortured? Forced into slave labor lifestyle? I don’t know; I only know her story would make a great plot for a book if she ever wanted to sell the rights. And she speaks wonderful English so I reckon she just might. (By the way, she is only 20 years old.)<br /><br />By the evening we were back on another night bus returning us to Hanoi, this one far more miserable than the last. We arrived at 5 am, and had one day until our next tour. Ha Long Bay was our destination and the number one thing I wanted to see in all of Vietnam. Of course, tours are never what they seem but that story will have to wait. This is plenty of sweatiness and pestering old ladies for one blog.<br /><br />“Why you no buy from me?!?!?”Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-74033575009207285212010-08-16T02:00:00.000-07:002010-08-16T02:20:33.545-07:00fortunate foolRight before I was due to leave South Korea, I was able to visit the honeymoon island of Jeju for an entire week. Much like Hawaii, this tourist hot spot is where people come to lay on the beach, hike all that nature has to offer, and in general, vacation. Mandy and I did our best to see all the beautiful waterfalls, traditional villages, and lava tubes we could. <br /><br />We even discovered a new and random museum based on trick art. This surprising gem has artwork of all types that play “tricks” on your mind (aka optical illusions) and encourage you to become apart of it. It’s interactive, fun, and leaves you with a camera full of perfect facebook profile shots. It’s hard to describe; it’s best just to see the pictures. (For this you’ll have to check out my tagged pictures on facebook.)<br /><br />In general, it was a great final week preparing me for the backpacking adventures I was leaving for shortly. One particular day I went for a hike by myself on Mt. Hallasan, Korea’s tallest mountain. I took my sweet time going up and down this dormant volcano thinking I had nothing to be back in time for. When I got to the base though I still had a good half hour walk to the bus stop but decided to reward myself with some orange soda. <br /><br />The seemingly pesky shop owner made it his business to find out everything about me, including what town I was staying in. I was then informed the final bus of the day had already left 15 minutes ago and it was a good 30 km walk back to where I was staying. (I’m not sure how long that would take to walk. Anywhere from 6-15 hours I’m told.) Taxi services were offered but even if I was willing to pay the outrageous price, I simply didn’t have the funds on me. I insisted on walking and just as I stepped away a teenage boy strolled up and offered his translation services. I told him I didn’t need help; I simply missed the bus and needed to walk. The two Koreans talked it out and then decided to try and find me a ride. They asked around for a bit and just as I thought there was no hope, a man with two young daughters getting ice cream said he was from the city I needed to go. Because that’s how my life usually goes. Just when I’m shit out of luck, a stranger comes in and saves the day. <br /><br /> The man didn’t speak much English but we managed a decent conversation and he not only dropped me off at the hostel door, but gave his number in Seoul and the number of his sister in Jeju and offered her home stay services, free of any charge. I’ve found Koreans to be overall a helpful and kind group of people, a quality I’m relying on for the return of my camera. (I’ll explain later.)<br /><br />And finally: the concluding chapter on my adventure at the Jeju airport. In a previous blog I mentioned secretly hiding out in the airport to spend the night, even though it was not permitted. I neglected to mention that I thought I was actually Tom Cruise from Mission Impossible and was crawling on all fours, using windows as mirrors, and running up and down staircases and elevators trying to remain elusive to my enemy aka the security guards. It worked for a few hours until I settled at the bottom of a darkened stairwell, one flight above the basement. I was sure the lights being off guaranteed me no one’s interest in that area, until I finally put my head down to rest. <br /><br />Just then, two construction workers started making their way toward me and without any time to think I dashed, without my shoes, purse, or backpack, down to the dark basement corner. I was convinced they saw my huge pile of things I left in the hall, but somehow they didn’t and continued making their way toward me. I crouched down as low as possible and was amazed to find that they were within a foot and half of me and still hadn’t noticed anything off kilter and continued talking normally. I actually thought I might get away with it.<br /><br />But when they tried to open the door and I was blocking it, they looked down and literally screamed for their lives. The look on their faces was classic: they thought they were seeing a ghost for sure. They bolted as quickly as they could up the stairs shrieking the whole way and the alarm sounding as well. Just as I poked my head around the corner, one was standing there and when he saw me, he literally jumped into the air and continued running to the main floor. I was both scared to be caught, yet utterly amused by their reactions. I made my way with my hands up saying, “I’m sorry, I just wanted to sleep. I have no where else to go”. I was hoping by showing how pathetic I was would win sympathy.<br /><br />When they could see me in the light and realized I was not a ghost but instead a peculiar yet harmless white girl, they no longer seem scared. Or even angry. Security was contacted and I showed my flight papers for the morning. It was obvious I didn’t speak Korean so they didn’t bother talking to me, just figuring out amongst themselves what to do with the dirty hippie girl sleeping in the stairwell like a homeless person. <br /><br />It was already 2 am at this point and there were no taxis or buses available, so I was clear to stay. After some shuffling around, I was settled on the main floor in a chair being watched by one guard. But no one seemed mad; they even kept offering me a fan or a more comfortable chair. I slept the best I could on that cold, hard floor and when 5 am rolled around and the lights came on, I was excused. They took my name but not my passport information and I’m sure the story of the American “ghost” in the hall will live on much longer than any report filed about my disturbance. <br /><br />A couple of days after returning it was our last night in Korea; sad for me but traumatic for Mandy who’s been living there for an entire year. A full evening of Korean culture was planned: baseball, galbi, and noraebang. Baseball games in Korea are vastly different from those at home. To be honest, they are much more fun. For starters, you can bring your own food and booze. (Score!) But my favorite part is all the cheerleading. <br /><br />You see, whenever your team is up to bat everyone is standing and singing along with the conductor who is leading the cheers the whole time. Everyone is placed on their prospective team’s side for this because they have “boppers” which are two inflatable tubes you hit together to make noise and wave them in the air according to the chant you’re singing. They sing popular songs that have been re-written in Korean to support specific players and baseball in general. From ‘Macho Man” to Kelley Clarkson, I never knew the words but always enjoyed singing along. It makes the whole event more interactive and fun. (And don’t forget all the soju and beer you can drink the entire time.)<br /><br />After baseball a big group of us met up for beef galbi, a traditional Korean meal. In the middle of the table is a bbq and the meat is delivered raw and it’s up to the table to cook it themselves. Little aprons are even available to complete the experience. An unlimited number of sides are given and this is where I get to feast. <br /><br />One of my favorite words here in Korea is ‘service’ and it means for free. You get it everywhere. When you buy milk at the grocery store, you get paper towels (service). If you buy enough drinks at the bar, they will give you dried squid (service). You never know when to expect it or how random it could be, but it always makes me happy. (I suppose that’s the Jew in me though.) <br /><br />Anywho, when eating beef galbi (or any galbi for that matter) you get as many of the sides as you want and there’s several salads, Kim chi, radishes, bean paste, a scrambled egg thing, and even some soup. All I buy is the rice for a couple of dollars and then I make as many mini lettuce wraps as I want. Even in a very un-vegetarian friendly country, I can still eat beyond what is necessary. <br /><br />Galbi is a very social and fun way to enjoy dinner and after spending literally hours there (drinking soju…again) we were ready to head out for the night. We met up with some more friends and went for noraebang. This is another truly Korean experience, yet is nothing more than private rooms to rent for karaoke. Not to stereotype or anything, but Asians love two things: taking pictures and singing. Noraebang is a popular activity for groups of young friends and family members of all ages to go and belt out their favorite tunes without the embarrassment of performing in front of strangers. You can even order food and drinks (or be like me and just smuggle in your own booze). Being that Mandy was born with a microphone in her hand and a look-at-me-attitude, we went to noraebang several times, once even just the two of us. It was ridiculous and entertaining every time.<br /><br />This particular night, our tiny room was crammed with way too many people all singing loudly and vying for the microphone. It was the most fun noraebang yet. And unfortunately this is where my memory starts to fade. We went to another bar but I apparently fell asleep on the table and even in the bathroom a bit (big shock). After sunrise we taxied it home and it seems that I crashed in Mandy’s bed fully clothed and with her in it. She politely slept on the floor but I was still utterly confused when I woke up in the morning in her bed and her on the floor.<br /><br />And I was missing my camera.<br /><br />Now I know I’ve had some shit luck on this trip with my camera, wallet, and phone but I still believe there is a chance it’s coming back to me. I’ve already left the country without it but luckily have a friend still living there who is fluent in Korean and she has offered to make phone calls and keep me updated if it turns up. Koreans as a group are very good about returning things and not stealing and if I stood a chance anywhere in the world, it’s there. But I’m not holding my breath. It’s just a shame it happened my last night. (Plus I lost a lot of photos I hadn’t saved to my computer yet and the brand new camera case my mom sent to me only a week prior. Insert sad face here.)<br /><br />The next day I did my best to sleep through a God awful hangover and pack for Vietnam. Mandy cooked all of her leftover food for her closest friends and goodbyes were sadly said. Soon enough Mandy and I were on our way to begin the adventure that is backpacking. Hostels, street food, and overnight buses are all on the agenda for the next two months. Let’s hope nothing is so bad it can’t be fixed by a beer and the re-telling of the story.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-52755378478919097432010-08-10T09:34:00.000-07:002010-08-10T09:37:31.525-07:00weekend warsWhen I initially got to South Korea, I spent the first couple of weekends out on the town in Seoul, staying local and coming home at dawn. Mandy had spent 11 months there so I had plenty of friends and co-workers to meet. But soon enough the weekends were spent out gallivanting the whole of the country. <br /><br />Our first weekend away was to Sokcho, a beach town on the opposite coast from us. It would be the first time I would dip my feet in the Pacific Ocean….on the <em>other</em> side. (I’m so lame, I know.) Of course we planned our weekend at the beach right when it started raining, but that’s really hard to avoid when it’s monsoon season. <br /><br />‘Monsoon’ is a scary word when you’ve never experienced one. But in reality it’s nothing more than frustrating and unpredictable rain inconveniencing your plans. It’s most annoying quality is that it comes quick, hard, and without warning. You might be laying in the sunshine soaking in all its rays and then suddenly the dark clouds emerge and let down a fierce and relentless rain. It usually never stops until you’ve become settled and comfortable inside somewhere. <br /><br />So this particular weekend was one of those; we were supposed to be sprawled out on a white sand beach the whole time, yet instead it all gloom and doom. Luckily we made the most of it by hiking in the nearby amazingly gorgeous National park. We visited a temple with a giant Buddha, roamed around a temple, and took a cable car to the top of the mountain (for absolutely no view in that intense fog), and did it all with umbrellas up the entire time. The moment we came down the cable car, the clouds parted and you could see clear to the top. It was just a nice reminder that timing really is everything.<br /><br />One activity we did that weekend I consider distinctively Korean was the jinjilbong: a sauna and bathhouse open 24 hours a day. These places are on nearly every corner of every city and it’s an experience like no other. Your entrance fee gets you a jail-like uniform and access to various temperature saunas, accessible to both males and females (hence the uniform). We went into a sauna so hot I couldn’t breathe and I thought my skin was actually melting off. I only made it 5 minutes there. There is also a large hangout room where you can watch TV, sleep, or just plain relax in between sessions. Blankets and pillows included, massage chairs available for cheap. <br /><br />In the women’s only section you could take a dip in a cold pool or hot tub, shower, and even pay for a legitimate massage. One strange thing (I did not personally experience) was the ajima scrub down. You pay to stand there naked while a little old Korean lady takes a wiry scrub cloth and rubs the shit out of your skin. This process has been described as somewhat painful (and awkward) but results in utterly smooth skin. <br /><br />The morning we were due to leave Sokcho, the sun had come out and not a cloud could be seen. Not ones to miss literally golden moments, we threw on bathing suits, grabbed some bikes, and headed down to the beach to get whatever sun we could for a couple of hours. Since it wasn’t for long I made the mistake of not putting on much sunscreen. On the bus ride home it was beginning to become clear how burnt I got. It wasn’t until I could only waddle home and then sprawl near naked on Mandy’s bed writhing in pain and constantly slathering on aloe in front of the ac that it was obvious just how stupid I can be. (This wasn’t the first time I’ve made this mistake.) Luckily the picture of my ass and its newly acquired lobster burn line provided lots of laughs for her co-workers. I also peeled for the following 4 ½ weeks. I write this now in hopes that I embarrass myself enough to never do this again. (But I probably will.)<br /><br />Another outing that was the most ridiculous, fun, and overall best thing I’ve done in Korea by far was Mud Fest. A weekend dedicated to nothing but getting down and dirty, I enjoyed every minute on that foreigner infested beach. Sure there were plenty of Koreans, and naturally those girls were still in their heels, even when covered in mud. Mandy had assembled a group of 11 of us to go together with an organization that sorted out the transportation and accommodation, the rest was up to us. <br /><br />When we arrived by noon on Saturday we were ready to go, but the mud was not. Apparently, it was too rainy for the mud to stick (damn monsoons) so there was a pause on the whole event. Fortunately, this gave us time to prepare ourselves aka play King’s Cup and get the sober out of us. Soon enough we had our bathing suits on, our dignity checked at the door, and we were strolling down the beach to the land of all that was mud.<br /><br />Large inflatable structures were erected all over to provide mud slides, mud obstacle courses, and mud wrestling pits. There was also colored mud body painting, mud art sculptures, and of course, mud flinging. A large stage always provided background music and there was never a dull moment. Once covered in mud, all you had to do was run into the ocean and you were clean and ready to get dirty again. <br /><br />Eventually we all made our way back to the hotel, showered, and went out to watch the fireworks over the ocean and continue the shenanigans out in the streets. Sunday was more of the same, but the majority of us stayed sober. Most of us had a fierce hangover and we were due on the bus by 4 pm anyways. Not that any of this stopped us from getting muddy all over again. This time though, the sun was shinning and we were making sand castles. It was a perfect mud festival weekend.<br /><br />Another big weekend for me was when I did a temple stay at a Buddhist sunmudo center. I went to clear my head, learn to meditate, and hopefully learn to kick a little ass. You see, sunmudo is a form of traditional Korean marital arts and while I knew it was going to be difficult, I had no idea just how broken and beat-up I would get. And I loved every back-breaking minute of it.<br /><br />It started with a 4 am wake-up for chanting, meditation, and then breakfast. One lucky day I experienced a traditional Buddhist meal which was very peculiar in that they eat fast, quietly, and leave absolutely nothing behind. Every grain of rice must be eaten and during the special meal, you must even drink the water u wash your bowl in. (It wasn’t as gross as I assumed though, I swear.) Then there is sunmudo training, 108 bows, tea and conversation, lunch and then some free time. One afternoon I was able to learn archery and now I have so much more respect for Robin Hood. Later there is community work, dinner, and finally more chanting, mediation, and sunmudo training before bed at 10 pm.<br /><br />Life at a Buddhist temple is not quite what I had expected. Sure there was peaceful mediation, but this serene environment was a bit shaken up by the swarm of summer school students there who were not attending by their own free will. These kids of all ages tended to be “problem” children and their parents had decided they needed discipline. And discipline they got. I saw a couple of kids get thrown to the ground, hit, and even kicked for acting out or fighting. This seemed out of place with Buddhist principles, but not for a martial arts master who needed to instill some obedience and authority. Also, physical punishment is so accepted in Korean culture that teachers are openly allowed and sometimes encouraged to hit children when they misbehave.<br /><br />But don’t think this is all I saw at my temple stay; it was merely an interesting observation. I spent my time with the other hard-working adults there on their own accord, most of them Korean, all of us struggling. Some workouts were harder than others. The worst was the morning we did our exercises at the temple on the top of the mountain. It started with sprinting up and down the uneven steep stone stairs that were already difficult to walk and graduated to hopping and leaping. The way down was always on all fours with your face first and legs unbent. Naturally, I thought my clumsy self might die so I couldn’t complete that task entirely but they never came down on you if you didn’t, which I greatly appreciated. <br /><br />It’s also important to note here that this was by far the hottest and most humid environment I have ever encountered. Simply by standing outside for a few minutes meant you were covered in sweat. I basically spent my whole three days there living in a sauna, with the exception of my air-conditioned room, which I adored. (Side note: the vast majority of hotels are traditional Korean style, which means no bed and only mats for the floor. I’ve actually grown quite used to it.)<br /><br />My stay at the Buddhist temple didn’t yield the soul-searching fulfillment I was looking for, but I gained a new appreciation for this devout way of life and a knowledge that I’ll never be someone who could live in silence. I’ll always seek out a friend, a confident, and a fellow troublemaker. (My roommate totally joined me when I suggested we leave to get some ice cream. Two days in a row.) But I do still look forward to studying more about Buddhism and meditation. I have actually done it some since I’ve left and I do appreciate the concentrated quiet. The 108 bows on the other hand, I think I’ll leave that at the temple. (Everyday they spend a half hour praying getting up and down on their knees 108 times. It doesn’t sound so bad, but I suggest you try it once. Don’t forget to add the sauna.)<br /><br />While I hope I have painted a decent picture for all you folks about these events, if you search the internet enough you are bound to find some real ones. Because Mud Fest was such a big deal, hundreds of photographers were there and I felt like Britney Spears without underwear the way they were taking pictures of me. Once one person took a photo, five or six more paparazzi would be on you and there was no doubt that at least one of my shots made it somewhere on the internet. And as if that weren’t enough, the weekend I did the Buddhist temple stay a photographer was there taking pictures the entire time, not a moment missed. Let me remind you, this was the sweatiest I had ever been in my life and I was genuinely trying to perform the tasks as well as concentrate on meditation. I must have been his damn muse because he was seemingly always up in my face zooming in on God knows what and I can only pray these photos never actually surface. From these two weekends in a row I have decided being famous is probably the worst thing that could ever happen to someone in a swimsuit and who is very sweaty.<br /><br />Since this was a lot of adventure to share, I’m saving the shenanigans of my final week in Korea for the next blog. And don’t forget I’m including the hilarious conclusion to my escapade at the airport. (You shouldn’t wait long. It’s already written. I just like trilogies.)Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-43773723550053729732010-08-07T11:25:00.000-07:002010-08-07T11:30:12.837-07:00the world i knowI should begin by explaining I’m writing this blog as secretively as possible. I’m currently playing a game of cat and mouse with some security guards at the Jeju airport and so far they’re winning. Apparently, this airport closes around 10 pm and my plan to spend the night here before my 8 am flight is shot. Luckily, I have found a humid fire escape staircase they don’t seem too bothered with. (It’s better than the bathroom stall I had to stay in for a solid 10 minutes.) Oh, the joys of traveling on a budget. (And without an alarm clock. The ultimate reason I concocted this plan.)<br /><br />Anywho, this is my first blog about the six weeks I’ve spent in South Korea. And actually, this is my first time in Asia at all so I have a lot to share. There is much to explain about the culture before I divulge my individual experiences.<br /><br />First, let me explain why I came here. My friend Mandy (originally of the Bay Area but kin to Chico State) has been here teaching English for nearly a year. She was planning on backpacking Southeast Asia for a couple of months with another mutual friend and I decided to tag along, with a pit stop in Korea first. There’s no better way to experience a country than through a local’s eyes. And if you can’t get that, this is the next best thing. I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity, nor that of backpacking with amazing and crazy friends.<br /><br />Korea is the highest paying country for teaching English which makes it both popular and crowded with waeguks (foreigners). Not only do you receive a decent salary, but your apartment and plane ticket are included as well. So Mandy didn’t have much of a choice when the apartment she was given was the size of a shoebox. Bedroom, kitchen, office, and bathroom in something that’s not much bigger than my own room at home. The shower in the bathroom is even hovering over the laundry machine. (And yes, the electrical outlet is directly below the shower head. How do you Brits like that for outlet safety?)<br /><br />So keep this in mind when I remind you I’ve been staying with Mandy for six weeks sleeping on the minimal floor space on a mat. She’s been a trooper for putting up with me that long. At least during the day she works and gets her space (from me, but not people in general). I’ve gone to museums, shopping districts, and temples; but mainly I’ve just played housewife. I sleep in, use the internet, skype, watch (bad) TV, run errands, and sometimes cook dinner. Who knew I’d actually be a perfect candidate for domestication?<br /><br />At least on the weekends we go out and party with friends or get out of town. (The specific trips I’ve done I’ll get into with my next blog. This is just an overview.) It’s been a really good experience though seeing what it’s like to teach English abroad. It seems the obvious thing for me to do; I love to travel and I majored in teaching. (Duh!) People constantly seem to think they’re suggesting this route to me for the first time, yet I couldn’t really give one concrete answer as to why I am so against it. It’s for a faucet of reasons which makes it more complex. <br /><br />Namely, it’s work. A lot of it. And I don’t want to work that much while abroad, at least not yet. I like to relax and enjoy my time in other countries, which is why I work so hard when I’m home. It’s part of that 9-5, 5 days a week concept that I’ve never really jived with as well. And more often than not it seems, the bosses are demanding and a bit crazy. Since experiencing it now, I know now more than ever I would never teach English abroad. <br /><br />That’s not to say it’s not for everyone. Mandy herself enjoys it and is even planning on doing another year, only next time in Japan. She loves the children and since she is a person who likes regular hours, organization, and hard work, this is right up her alley. I wouldn’t ever discourage anyone from doing this; it’s a great way to live abroad. It’s just not for me.<br /><br />With that said, know that there are pretty much only 3 types of foreigners here in Korea. <br />1. English teachers<br />2. Americans in the army (HUGE base here. You know that whole North Korea thing? Yeah, that’s why.)<br />3. People visiting someone either teaching or in the Army.<br /><br />That’s it. The person traveling here for their own personal reasons are few and far between, and I’m not exactly sure why. Korea is a beautiful country with lots of natural wonders, fevered activity, and many surprises. This place has much to offer and I’ve been more than pleased with the time I’ve spent here.<br /><br />Seoul, the capital and where I’ve been living, is immensely big and jam-packed with people. People are constantly coming and going and I do get a bit overwhelmed by the constant clusterfuck. During the day when you check out the landscape of the whole city, you see plenty of lush green mountains popping up all over the place. It’s refreshing but also necessary to their way of life. Most Koreans love hiking and do it daily. Before, after, and even during the work day you will find these climbing spots chalk full of hikers. <br /><br />When you get out of the cities, Korea is breath-takingly gorgeous. It has so much to offer; from postcard beaches to soaring mountains, this place has it all. And in a compact enough space as well. The bus system is conveniently well connected; from the main bus station in Seoul you can get to the furthest point in the country in about 6 hours. Luckily for me, Mandy happens to be a 10 minute walk from this station. (You really don’t understand how lucky this is unless you get just how vast of a city Seoul is.)<br /><br />You can tell the natural beauty of Korea has been inspiring people for generations. The art, food, and culture all reflect that as well. But it’s the temples that I truly adore. I understand I have many more temples to gawk at while backpacking Southeast Asia, but I am a virgin at this point so you should know I nearly fell over in awe when I laid eyes on my first giant Buddha. And when I say giant, I mean mother-effing <em>giant</em>. Temples are literally everywhere in this country and I have only seen a handful, yet every time I am impressed by their details and stamina over time<br /><br />On the other end of the spectrum is the crazy nightlife that often goes until sunrise. From noreabang (karaoke) to jinjilbang (sauna) most places run 24 hours a day. Even the convenience stores put out plastic tables and chairs and stay cracking all night long. (Yes, 7/11 is a great place to start the night. Cheap drinks and good people watching.) <br /><br />This country is fueled by a liquid known as soju. It’s an alcohol similar to vodka, but grossly cheaper. At around a dollar a bottle you can get wasted for super cheap here. Of course there is a catch. (There always is, eh?) Soju, for most newcomers, can rip your stomach and head to shreds. It takes time for your body to get used to this elixir and this was something not told to me until after my first night out. Or really, after my first god-awful hangover in Korea. Some advice: upon arrival to Korea, don’t go crazy the first night, especially with jet-lag. And don’t eat Kim chi (spicy pickled cabbage) if you’re going to drink. Chances are it will return with a vengeance and it’s not pretty… or tasty.<br /><br />Still, most people here prefer to drink soju and get stupid drunk every day of the week. From old men to the working stiff, soju is a big part of culture here. And unfortunately, so are drinking problems. Now I could get all serious about how sad this really is. <em>Or</em> I could direct you to the hilarious website www.blackoutkorea.blogspot.com and you can see what I’ve been experiencing my entire time here. From metro trains to street corners, on garbage piles and strangers, Koreans very regularly get so drunk they fully pass out in the most random of places nearly everyday. And luckily someone started taking photos and encouraging others to do so. I’ve created my own personal collection as well. <br /><br />One reason this happens so much (other than the price of soju) is because of the work culture here. First, it needs to be noted Koreans are workaholics. I’ve been told they have the lowest amount of sleep compared to all other nations, children included. Kids not only go to regular school but take more specialized classes such as English, music, art, math, science, and chess and this generally consumes their weekends as well. <br /><br />This tradition of work consuming life continues into adulthood as they work early mornings, late nights, and fill spare time with activities such as hiking or exercising on the multitude of public equipment all over the city. Even when work is over, colleagues are expected to go out for drinks and/or dinner together. One will bring out the soju and inevitably all will get plastered before heading home to their families (or passing out on the street). If someone declines invitations for such outings, they are seen as rude and anti-social and inevitably this will affect their work environment and even future promotions. No joke. So that is why it’s so unfortunately common to find businessmen/fathers passed out on the metro ride home late at night during the week.<br /><br />These high expectations aren’t only for men and children; women also have societal pressures that seem exceptionally strong. There is a huge emphasis placed on physical beauty here which translates to high fashion and consumerism, body image issues, and even surgery. That’s correct; Korea has a very high rate of women going under the knife in the name of beauty. Common surgeries include nose and boob jobs, but most popular is getting eyelids done (to look more western). As if that weren’t enough, women are obsessed with getting whiter skin so most lotions contain a skin whitening agent. Several times at body shops they’ve tried to get me to join this trend. They obviously don’t understand how hard I’ve worked to get this tan.<br /><br />So here I am: an oversized, heavily tanned, loud, and unfashionable foreigner which translates to impossible to meet men. Let’s be honest: Korean men don’t really go for western women. They’re louder, more opinionated, and if they’re traveling, far more independent than the girlfriends they’re accustomed to. As for foreign men though, it’s the opposite. They’re allowed to be as brash, ugly, and different as possible. Getting a white boyfriend is definitely seen as having higher status and the Korean ladies will giggle, dance, and kiss the night away if they think it will help their chances of scoring that (not-so-attractive) white guy. These men are known as ‘Korean lady chasers’ and are oh-so-common.<br /><br />Once a couple is formed, the females proceed to fully whip their men. That is to say, it is really popular for couples to wear matching outfits (Koreans only generally). I’m serious, and it’s <em>very</em> common. Sometimes it’s only a shirt, sometimes it’s the entire outfit from hats to shoes. Most people insist this is cute. I’ve decided this is the ultimate way for women to mark their territory. It’s a subversive way of pissing on a fire hydrant and saying “this one’s mine. Back off”. <br /><br />On top of this, women can actually get their boyfriends to carry their purses for them. Not for a moment while they try something on, but instead for the whole evening. I’d say that’s just lazy but really it’s the female’s way of keeping her man in line, reminding him who is who’s bitch. Although this is something I’d never dream of torturing someone with, it’s entirely entertaining to observe.<br /><br />While there is much more to share, I hope this provided a decent overview of culture and life here in Korea. My next blog will cover some of the specific adventures I’ve had. From a mud festival to living at a Buddhist temple, I’ve got lots more to divulge. Hope you can handle the suspense.<br /><br />As for my adventure hiding from airport security, well, let’s just say I’ll never make a good spy. I wrote most of this blog until my typing was so obviously loud I had to finish this the following day. There is a pretty hilarious story about my capture and since you’ve read enough for now I’ll give the ridiculous details later. It really shouldn’t surprise me I end up in situations like that often. At least my absurdity can provide entertainment for both you folks and the locals as well. I always leave an impression.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-90622214186472361912010-07-26T08:37:00.000-07:002010-07-26T09:02:44.079-07:00dream on“How do you get to travel so much? What’s your secret?”<br /><br />This is the number one question I receive on a regular basis from friends, family, and people I’ve only just met. Everyone seems to think there’s a trick up my sleeve and I must be a magician who refuses to reveal my secrets. Until now.<br /><br />Follow your heart. <br /><br />It’s that simple. I strongly believe that if you want something bad enough, you can make it happen. If I can, then anyone can. But you can’t make <em>everything</em> happen; that’s the trick I suppose. When you pursue a dream with all your heart and soul, other aspects of your life will suffer. It’s the sacrifice one must make if they want to make their dream a reality.<br /><br />Let me make this clear now: I am not on vacation. I am a traveler and this is <em>vastly</em> different from going on vacation. People seem to think that because I’m in far off places that my life must be easy and without stress. Wrong. <br /><br />I’ve become accustomed to living with chronic bug bites, diarrhea, and sunburns. I often sleep on the floor, in airports, and overnight buses. When I do sleep in hostels, they’re cheap, which also means dirty, uncomfortable, and most likely a bit sketchy. I can share a room with up to 12 strangers coming and going at all hours of the day and night. I get lost, confused, and have awkward conversations in languages I don’t even speak. (Usually involving crazy hand gestures.) More often than not, I’m uncertain that I’m headed in the right direction, only hoping I’ll eventually get to where I want to go.<br /><br />Adventure seeking is also a physically strenuous task. In order to get the most authentic experiences, one must push the muscles and mind to their limits. From a strenuous hiking trip with a badly swollen and infected ankle to climbing down steep stone stairs face forward with my hands for marital arts training, I’ve learned that authenticity makes you incredibly sore. And while cruising in a boat through the jungle I’ve had to endure hours of downpour and get soaked to the bone, only to camp outside and never truly warm up. <br /><br />But when muscles ache, they soon heal and when covered in sweat or frost, eventually you’ll find shelter and a comfortable body temperature. The pain and misery will soon fade away only to leave you with memories and a good story. I know this trauma is part of the entire experience so I take it all in with a smile and some sarcasm. Unfortunately, I’ve traveled with people who are not capable of enduring such annoyances. From crying to complaining, I’ve heard it all and this is another reason I know a lot of people cannot handle this lifestyle. <br /><br />Yes, it’s an adventure, and that I love. But most people are simply not cut out for life on the road. They enjoy a sense of home; a place to feel at ease in and have all of their belongings near them. I have to live with the same very limited wardrobe for over 6 months at a go. (The majority of my clothes have holes in them. I travel with a sewing kit.) I also have to carry everything I own on my back, which makes me really sweaty and exhausted. <br /><br />Most people like to surround themselves with friends and family they’re comfortable with. I rarely see the people closest to me and have to make a new “best friend” every week when on the road. On top of that, many of my friendships from home have suffered. People get hurt or jealous by the fact that I’m rarely around. I lose support, contact, and sometimes an entire friendship with every trip I take and it will never stop breaking my heart.<br /><br />And of course you can’t forget about the relationship issue. A good number of people have the benefit of being in a happy, healthy, and stable relationship. I’ve had no choice but to throw my love life out the window and live a life of near celibacy. Besides, my vagabond lifestyle attracts mainly douchebags and all the good ones are scared by the fact that I could leave them behind.<br /><br />So there’s the reality check folks. Sure, I see my fair share of fun and adventure. From playing with monkeys to riding camels and tomato fight festivals to illegal border crossings; I live a life most people never imagined possible. But I’ve had to sacrifice pretty much every other aspect of my life to sustain this around-the-world dream. <br /><br />Don’t get me wrong, I have no regrets. I <em>love</em> my life. But I needed to clarify what my life is to everyone who believes this fantasy jet-setting vacation dream is easy. To be poetic, traveling is like a rose: beautiful to all who admire from afar, yet full of painful thorns if you get a hold of it yourself. <br /><br />There’s really only one main reason why this lifestyle works for me: it makes me utterly and completely happy. Seeing new places, experiencing other cultures, and finding adventure in random corners of the world is what I am most passionate about. This is what drives me and pushes me forward. From frustrating moments abroad to working at home, traveling is the carrot that keeps me going. Nothing ever seems too difficult because it’s what ultimately makes me happy. From deep within my soul, this is who I am.<br /><br />But before I finish without any real advice, I’ll offer some quick tips on how to travel more often than work. First, I’m good with money. Really good. I watch every penny which means those with shopping addictions are near doomed. Also, with every trip I gain new friendships and people inviting me into their homes. This not only gives me a goal and direction of where to go and what to see next, but a free place to stay. Consider using couchsurfing.org if you don’t know anyone. It’s safe and I’ve had nothing but good experiences, nor have I heard any horror stories. Lastly, I often live off of peanut butter and banana sandwiches and (questionable) street food while on the road. I dream of burritos and cooking in my kitchen constantly, but good food has been a big sacrifice for staying on the road longer. Possibly my most missed luxury.<br /><br />Finally, I want to end on the best advice I can give: design your life as you wish it to be. Search within your heart for what you want to do most with your own life. Is it a career? Or an artistic pursuit? Do you want to write a book? Or become a mother to many? Or own a company? Or maybe it even is traveling around the world. Whatever it is, find your one and only dream that works best with your personality and passions. Anything you want more than everything can and will come true, <em>if</em> you work hard enough and sacrifice for it. It’s that simple really. Design your life. <br /><br /><em></em>Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-79298925205216236382010-07-16T08:57:00.001-07:002010-07-16T08:57:59.170-07:00ramblin' on...As I boarded the train for Paris, it finally hit me that I had only one week left in Europe, which left me both saddened and excited. I had to live every moment and savor every flavor. Luckily, I had one complete day in Paris to myself before I was off to the coastal town of La Rochelle to meet with my friend Celine. <br /><br />Since I had been to Paris before, I spent the day doing the un-obvious. No Eiffel Tower or Louvre, but I did sit and enjoy the scenery. I spent most of the afternoon at the modern art museum and strolling/people watching the rest. I was also very lucky to be couch surfing and the three roommates invited me to a mini dinner party at their flat. Even when I knew no one in that gigantic city, I still managed to get myself into the local scene. Nice.<br /><br />By the way, a lot of people ask me how I can travel so much for so little and always avoid the tourist traps. Get on couchsurfing.org people. Its facebook, but with free places to crash all over the world. You’ll make friends, get insider advice, and travel on the cheap. Highly recommended.<br /><br />Anywho, back to my adventure. The next day I found myself running after my train even though I had arrived 45 minutes early. My inability to take transportation without delay or panic will probably haunt me the rest of my life. Still, I made it safe and sound to the gorgeous ocean side city of La Rochelle. Celine picked me up and brought me to the apartment she shares with her boyfriend who unfortunately did not speak English. (Actually, he could usually understand me, he just responded in French.)<br /><br />Celine and I met in Peru a year ago and I remember her best for dancing on bars and staying out till dawn every single night. As you can imagine, we get on really well. But a lot had changed since I last her. She still enjoys drinks in the evening and partying it up sometimes, but she now has a stable and healthy relationship and a good job with a lot of responsibility. Luckily, while I was there she took a couple of days off of work so we could hang out properly. And fortunately, my favorite part about her hadn’t changed at all: her passionate energy and nonstop boisterous laughter. <br /><br />First, it deserves to be mentioned that I was in France during the first round of the World Cup and my hosts were very much into it. This was the first time I was so spirited about the event and it was probably because the people around me were so passionate. This was also the second of three countries I would experience the event in (and the most zealous). So most of our nights involved having “the game” on in the background, nothing I minded at all. (Although the French were bothered when I told them I was a bad luck charm, especially since they embarrassed themselves both on and off the field. Oops, probably shouldn’t have mentioned that to them.)<br /><br />All over Europe were complaints of the coldest winter anyone could remember and the lacking of spring entirely. France was no different. While it was mid June at this time, rain and clouds still dominated the sky and disrupted our plans for bbq. <br /><br />Nonetheless, Friday still involved a lot of friends and family coming over for drinking, eating, and hanging out all night. It truly is a joy to be able to be apart of people’s lives, even if for just a moment, and meet everyone close to them and experience the world from their point of view. I am always grateful for these opportunities. <br /><br />The following night was much the same as we went out in the country a wee bit to celebrate Celine’s aunt’s birthday. Family is a vital part of Celine’s life, particularly since her father passed away a couple of years ago. It was obvious this entire clan shared a close and important bond. No one really spoke much English, but I was welcomed in with open arms and lots of beer. A wonderful evening of eating, drinking, and even singing ensued. <br /><br />Celine did her best at showing me around town and taking me to beautiful places. Her area was most definitely a vacation hot spot for the French from all over. The air smelled of salt, the ice cream was delectable, and the streets were filled with relaxed, happy people. The days were long but consisted of nothing in particular other than enjoying time and space, something I think the French are well accomplished at.<br /><br />My favorite day there was June 21 aka the first day of summer aka music day. Apparently all of France celebrates the changing of the season by cramming the streets full with musicians of all types throughout the entire night. Celine had even taken the day after off of work in anticipation of the shananagins. It sounds so simple, but all we did was wander around and meet up with various friends of hers and listen to good music. <br /><br />There were cover bands, djs, acoustic hippie girls, hard core bands, and even a little boy trying out his newly acquired violin skills. I felt alive and inspired. And a little bit drunk, mostly because we were carrying around 2 liter bottles of rum and soda. When I get back home (eventually) I don’t think I’ll ever readjust to the fact that you can’t drink in the streets. At least not happily or quietly.<br /><br />The night was grand but didn’t go as late or crazy as expected. Which is to say we started to make our way home around 4 am and lacked hangovers in the morning. This was great though since it was my official last day in Europe and I wanted to enjoy it. So we got into the car and made our way to Celine’s most favorite beach. <br /><br />I had no idea how far away it was; it was indeed an adventure, but a beach well worth the trip. The winding road was lined with a forest of tall evergreen trees and it was hard to imagine we were right next to a sandy beach. Actually, a wide, fine grained sand beach that I fell in love with the moment I saw it. Unfortunately I did not have my bathing suit, but I could still wade in the water and appreciate the splendid beauty that surrounded me. The sun had politely come out and gave the ocean a gorgeous shimmering essence that made me feel as if I were standing in a postcard. <br /><br />Eventually we got hungry, drove to the local beach town, and ate some sandwiches on yet another beautiful beach. We shared stories of our past, what we wanted in our futures, and grew much closer than we ever could have dancing on bars. (That’s not to say our drunken antics weren’t bonding.) In the end, it was the most perfect final day in Europe I ever could have imagined.<br /><br />Early the next morning, I bid Celine farewell as I boarded the train for Paris where I was due to fly out of later that day. When I arrived, I only had a couple of hours to burn so I used them to wander (with my giant effing backpack on) and enjoy my last meal. And of course, I ordered my last liter of house French wine for super cheap. I savored each sip, each bite, and each ray of sun. <br /><br />Soon enough I was making my way to the airport, everything feeling very surreal as I was leaving, yet not going home. I was beginning my adventure in Asia with my first stop being in South Korea. I was excited, yet numb. And a little pissed off when I got to the check-in counter that they were so adamantly against me having a one-way ticket. This has never proven to be such a problem before (ok, in Ireland it was, but this time I had proof of work back home and a print out of my bank account showing I could afford to stay there. This is usually all you should need to accompany a one-way ticket). <br /><br />So I was forced to buy a (refundable) ticket to some place in Siberia (literally), but still had to fork out $50 in non-refundable sales fees associated with the transaction. Merely a little bump in the road, but aggravating nonetheless. Soon enough I was on a plane and bound for South Korea, but with a layover in a country I had never heard of. <br /><br />The greatest part of flying in other parts of the world is the quality of service you receive onboard. Back home in the States you might as well have to pay to go to the bathroom. Abroad, hot towels are given out, decent meals served, and unlimited alcohol service. I tend to take advantage of this service, but never abuse it. Until now.<br /><br />My gin and tonics led to several bottles of wine that I inevitably had to go to the back myself and kindly ask for. The last one I went for, the flight attendant insisted I take extra snacks as well. (Bonus!) When I got off the flight, she told me how impressed she was that I was walking straight. Truth was, I wasn’t even buzzed. Something about airplanes or flying prevents me from getting drunk. All I know is, when alcohol is always free on this airline and I can impress those flight attendants with my drinking ability, well, it’s probably time to lower my tolerance. Although, these people have never heard of Chico State.<br /><br />My layover was in Qatar, a Middle Eastern country I didn’t know existed before I bought my plane ticket. Needless to say, there was some culture shock involved as I traveled from Europe to the Middle East to Asia, all in one day. My layover was short but required a cigarette and I was surprised to find I was the only female in the compact yet very full smoking lounge. <br /><br />Right after I entered, three girls followed quickly, one sitting next to me. She was from South Africa and expressed being uncomfortable the previous time she was there. There were stares and scowls, but I’m used to Western women getting excused from certain societal norms. And I really needed that cigarette.<br /><br />I spent my layover getting to know this woman and appreciating that no matter where you are or what you’re doing, you can meet interesting and wonderful people. I’ll never see her again but our conversation will sit with me forever. It was also really nice to people watch and make commentary with a fellow independent woman in a Muslim country.<br /><br />Soon enough I was in South Korea, a country much more beautiful than I could ever have imagined. I had over six weeks to get comfortable and relax, which is exactly what I’ve been doing. In the next blog I’ll describe the food, the culture, and my favorite part, living with my friend and fellow Chico chick, Mandy.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-43051509140384625222010-07-07T02:01:00.000-07:002010-07-07T02:02:55.561-07:00rollin' with my homiesThe moment I arrived in Amsterdam I was hurried to leave it. Not entirely; just for the weekend. Sophie, my host whom I met in Peru last year, had planned a hippie camping trip out to the woods with some friends and I had been eagerly awaiting this weekend for a long time. Sophie had met me at the train station and brought me to her house for a quick shower and to empty/pack my backpack with camping supplies. Within two hours we were back at the train station and on our way out to nature.<br /><br />Being that it was quite late, the trains weren’t as frequent so it took quite a bit of time until we got to the town we needed to stop in. When we finally arrived we were beyond ready to sit and enjoy our first spliff together. Probably not the greatest idea as it was 1:30 am, dark, and not a soul in sight to help us if something were to happen like, oh, I don’t know, let’s say… we got lost. Because that’s exactly what happened.<br /><br />After some time walking with large, heavy, and awkwardly shaped bags/housing equipment for awhile, Sophie realized she didn’t know where we were. Luckily we live in the era of technology and with some cell phone calls to her friends, who already made camp, we were set in the right direction. And since it was late and we weren’t to be trusted, two of the guys walked to come meet us and make sure we got there ok. And to help carry our bags, or at least that’s what I made them do once we met. We didn’t get to camp until 3:30 am. Thankfully we were able to crash in the other’s tents as setting ours up seemed ridiculous.<br /><br />All that effort was not wasted though. It was truly glorious to wake with the sounds of birds chirping and the crisp, fresh air in my face. We were already there. Our Friday was not ruined with getting to camp and we could simply start our morning the hippie way: with Mikado and spliffs. (Mikado is basically a pick up sticks I grew to love.) <br /><br />And thus began a weekend of utter indulgence with food, smoke, and drinks. Sophie was even amazing enough to prepare space brownies which made Saturday much spacier and that much better.<br /><br />I could write about his weekend alone for pages. Seriously. But being that my whole time in Amsterdam was truly amazing I’ll try to keep it short. (Try.) People came and went throughout the weekend but I was thrilled there was a core group of relaxed and fun people I instantly felt comfortable with. It was the perfect initiation weekend. <br /><br />We went on long walks through the woods, discovered a rad island, played games, chatted, smoked a lot, and also made our way into town both days to pick up supplies. Both nights we had to put on dinner for around 10 people and, I have to admit, we made delicious and inspirational dinners. And the fire roared the whole while which made me very, very happy.<br /><br />It unfortunately started raining Saturday evening but that didn’t stop us form curling up by the fire, even if it was under tarps. Tee-pee tarps actually. You see, these boys were well adept at creating tee-pees out of logs so we had a massive tree tee-pee to hang out in, smoke under, store out kitchen supplies, and even hide from the rain when necessary. We even had a trash tee-pee and other tee-pees just for fun, which came in handy with the rain. <br /><br />Sunday it was obvious the rain wouldn’t quit, even if it wasn’t constant. And we had plenty of weed left and no desire to leave quickly. So someone had the brilliant idea that since there were six of us, we should roll six joints and smoke them all at the same time. In one tent. <br /><br />Everyone seemed to like the idea and so we crawled into a two-person tent, and everyone went to work. Except me. At this point I possessed no rolling skills, as it was something I’ve tried and quit several times in my life. It was only at this moment it became obvious to me how much I needed to learn. Sophie’s friend Gert-Jan was apparently the best and I was told to take classes with him. When I argued I’d been taught before, it was brought to my attention I had never learned in Amsterdam from a local. It was now or never. Good point. So I had Gert-Jan roll one for the moment for me and I was enrolled in his “class” the following week.<br /><br />But this 6 person-6 joint-1 tent dream has a surprise twist ending. First, let me tell you this forest was covered in caterpillars. No joke. I was walking into them hanging from trees constantly and they actually did make it home in some of our stuff. Creepy. But while hot-boxing the tent we could hear the rain roar on outside and were super bummed we couldn’t go out for one last walk in nature. Then we saw a caterpillar in the tent. <br /><br />I’m not exactly sure how A led to B but marijuana is truly inspirational and someone said we should make a human caterpillar. Meaning we hold a tarp above our heads with sticks and walk through the forest as one group, under a giant makeshift umbrella. Everyone was onboard with the obscure idea and so we set out for an adventure. <br /><br />It took some time to sort ourselves out but soon enough we were marching through the forest, wet, muddy, and stoned, but happy little hippies nonetheless. We were so badass that we even managed to roll one while walking. True teamwork that was. <br /><br />Pretty much as soon as we made it back to camp the rain let up. Annoying, but also convenient because we could finally put our tents away and prepare to leave. We didn’t end up leaving until much later and I was sad to say goodbye to that special place I called home for a few days. <br /><br />Once safe and dry back in Amsterdam Sophie had to return (somewhat) to normal life. Sophie works with special needs kids before and after the school day and luckily had some time off while I was there and only needed to work a few days a week. She also had plans with friends and some things to take care of. Thankfully Amsterdam is a city I could never get bored in.<br /><br />The sun had luckily decided to come out and play for the week and I spent most my days relaxing in the rays while smoking freely outdoors. To say my time in Amsterdam was utterly and completely relaxed would be an understatement. I loved every second of the time I wasted and appreciated the convenience and laid-back attitude about marijuana in public. <br /><br />The Dutch have a “live and let live” sort of attitude and as long as you’re not harming anyone, you are free to enjoy life as you choose. No, the streets aren’t crawling with stoners. The city isn’t slow moving or constantly having munchie binges (although it really is the best place to get the munchies). Locals have simply grown up accustomed to the idea that some people like to smoke pot sometimes. Technically, it’s not legal, but most definitely is tolerated. Tolerance people; we could stand to learn some enlightenment. Californians, you need vote pro-cannabis in November!!! <br /><br />Anywho, by this point I had made my way into Sophie’s gang as a regular and I loved how comfortable I was with all of them. We would have smoking nights at their apartments and end up crashing the night, and inevitably most of the following day. Times were good.<br /><br />Sophie lived with her family in a very nice place just a tad outside of the center of the city and luckily for me, her little brother just bought a new scooter and was so over his bicycle currently. So for my entire time there I had what might as well have been a car considering no local travels in one around town. Fact: everyone has a bike. And they use them too. For grocery shopping, going out on the town, and even picking up the kids. (Yes, kids; as in multiples. They have wheelbarrow-bikes for this. It’s the Dutch SUV.)<br /><br />Finally I was in a place where I felt understood. Oddly enough, I was the amateur bike rider. But it didn’t matter because I truly relished cruising around town on my bike in the sun. Such a great form of transportation. The only problem was during rush hour in the center there are massive traffic jams that scared the life out of me, particularly when I was stoned and not sure where I was going. It was actually much safer and more efficient if I just got off and walked at some points. But in general I always looked forward to the bike ride home at the end of the night. Especially when I discovered the dance floor.<br /><br />One of the many great things about Amsterdam is the fact that everything, literally everything, is art. From apartment buildings to ponds in the park; there is beautiful and interesting art everywhere you look in that city. Somewhere near Sophie’s house was an office/apartment complex next to the road that had a very interesting floor out front. It was a large open space area with a checkerboard of lights on the ground. During the day you would hardly notice, but at night, they flickered on and off to create a stunning light show that no stoner could pass by. <br /><br />The first time I saw this landmark I nearly fell off my bike mesmerized. We stopped to watch for a few minutes and it wasn’t long before we decided we had to smoke there. Somewhere during the process we realized we didn’t have a lighter. After some of flagging down of the very few bikers or drivers without any luck we just decided to head back home. <br /><br />Finally there was someone walking and low and behold, he had a lighter! He started to tell a story in Dutch and it wasn’t long before Sophie interrupted him and said “This story is too good! Tell it in English, she doesn’t speak Dutch” motioning to me. Now I only mention this because the Netherlands might be the only country you could demand a total stranger to speak in a foreign tongue and know for a fact they can speak that second language. <br /><br />You see, the Dutch start learning English at such a young age and don’t bother translating most movies and shows, which basically means you can assume 98% of Dutch people speak good English. They don’t think they do, but they’re just out of practice. One day with a native speaker and they can all keep up, trust me.<br /><br />Anywho, all that was to say in this conversation with this random guy, he asked us where we were going after our smoke. Mind you, it was late night/early morning and we were already stoned. I’m not sure why but I blurted out we were going back to the dance floor. He looked confused and a bit frightened as he quickly bid us farewell and made his way far from the weird hippie girls who wanted to smoke and stare at some lights on the ground and called it ‘the dance floor’. Understandable, but I didn’t think what I said was weird…..at the time. And that’s how the dance floor was christened its name.<br /><br />We decided the dance floor would be better used if we had our ipods so we actually planned on bringing them out the next time for this purpose. We actually did a few times; it was how I wanted to spend my final night as well. The dance floor is truly amazing because while there are a few random passersbys, for the most part it is isolated and alone (minus the hundred apartments looking down on it. (If I can’t see them they don’t exist; I only hope they enjoyed the show.) <br /><br />So we returned to smoke, chat, and then dance our asses off. And I mean really dance our asses off. We had a silent disco in which we both listened to our ipods (different songs but in general, Michael Jackson) and both let go entirely of our inhibitions and concerns for what others thought and just danced. Out in the open, by ourselves, for the entire world to watch. Sure there were a couple of awkward pedestrian moments, but I just smiled and laughed as I’m sure I made some people’s nights. <br /><br />When we were done we always listened to chill comedown music and simply sat on the ground captivated by the lightshow. I can’t tell you how happy the dance floor made me. Funnily enough, the night after our first dance off, I saw three girls sitting on the ground there listening to their ipods. Maybe we started a trend. When you throw a rock in a still pond, it’s hard to predict where and how the ripples will flow.<br /><br />Another important part of this trip was reconnecting with Phil… yet again. Remember that crazy Brit I stayed with in Liverpool and then partied twice with in London? Well, there’s no getting rid of him and that’s the way I like it. Phil booked his ticket for Amsterdam while I was still in England and I was looking very forward to meeting up in the magical and amazing land of Amsterdam; and I expected nothing short of trouble. <br /><br />The first day we had together we attempted to visit a museum, a photo exhibition, and be semi-productive. Yet, as somewhat expected, we simply smoked and ate all day. But it was a great day. And at some point, when passing a magic mushroom shop, I mentioned I was finally ready to try mushrooms. (Background info: I decided if I could make it to 25 without trying any drugs, I was then open to trying them after. Last year, when I turned 25, Phil was there to trip out with me on San Pedro, a strong hallucinogenic and cousin of peyote. We had a damn good time. Which is why I mentioned the mushroom idea to him.)<br /><br />So naturally Phil was open and eager to buy some “chocolate” and we dedicated the following the day to pure hedonism. He rented a bike and we set out for a small island nearby to lie on the beach. We did this knowing it might rain later that day but at least we found a place with a bar nearby.<br /><br />The stuff we bought was very light and told it would just give “happy feelings and giggles”; perfect for a first timer. And it did exactly that. We were enjoying ourselves very much until it started sprinkling rain. We are not people who give up easily so we just busted out an umbrella as the rest of the people on the beach went running for cover. It wasn’t until it was obviously a serious storm rolling in that we packed up and darted for the newly opened bar. <br /><br />Soon enough the wind roared, the rain pounded in sideways, and all the locals around us were baffled by the storm that had quickly overtaken us. “What lovely beach weather,” we sarcastically admired and did our best to act normal as we were now in ‘society’, something I was not planning on being apart of that day. <br /><br />Luckily the weird hippie kids were barely noticed and the bar turned out to be an amazing sanctuary. Good music, good food, beer on tap, and even a fireplace made our mushroom adventure amazing. We could even have ‘office meetings’ to help pass the time.<br /><br />Eventually, when the skies cleared up, we hopped on our bikes and made our way to the far side of Amsterdam to meet up with friends. It was already arranged we would have a major smoke and chill session at the boys’ place; not exactly the greatest of plans on mushroom adventure day. But the real mistake was me asking for a Dutch windmill. <br /><br />Dutch people are very kind and helpful and this group of friends was especially so. So when my request was made it was without hesitation that construction began on this incredible project. What’s a Dutch windmill you ask? Simply, it’s a device made out of paper that allows you to smoke four joints at once. It’s not an easy task, and I did not know this beforehand. But eventually, and many warm up rounds later, the Dutch windmill was completed with a tulip and placed in a bong. This was new to the locals and we were all excited to smoke the masterpiece. I was quite impressed with their teamwork and rolling skills. And then I was put on my ass.<br /><br />The day came swirling around me and for about 10 minutes I sunk into the couch unable to move or speak. I was uncontrollably sweating and not understanding why no one else had this horrific reaction. Then I snapped back to reality and realized that there is indeed a way to smoke too much. There is also nothing I regret about that wonderful and wasteful day dedicated to drugs.<br /><br />Now I’m sure at this point I come off as ridiculous and immature, which is probably true, but sometimes in life we all do stupid stuff. Usually it’s done around the age of 16 but being that I’m growing down rather than growing up this makes total sense. You’re probably wondering if I did anything other than waste my mind and body away and the answer is yes (kind of). <br /><br />I participated in an all day soccer tournament between bars and restaurants. It was the most physical activity I had seen in awhile, not to mention the fact that I haven’t touched a soccer ball in 10 years. I am happy to report I didn’t suck and actually did a decent job controlling the field and ball. In fact, I was one of the better ones out there and it’s obvious sports bring out the competitive side in me that has been dormant since my days of lacrosse. It was a great day. (I guess I forgot to mention the free beer and food we were given. It made the games more fun and relaxed.)<br /><br />There was also a concert I attended that was a tribute to Sophie’s father’s band from the 70’s. He was in an ensemble group that told stories with songs and made a huge impact on the local community. Even nearly 40 years later there are still fans that came out to enjoy the tribute and cheer on as the original members went up for a song. It reminded me how lucky I am to know so many amazing people around the world and how by default I get to participate in so many wonderful events.<br /><br />The World Cup began while I was in the Netherlands and it was really the first time I paid any attention. Excitement was in the air as people constantly discussed the match-ups and sported their country’s (ugly) color of orange. For their first game, Sophie and I met up with friends at an outdoor pub in the park which had erected a large screen. We drank beer and cheered the afternoon away as the Netherlands defeated Denmark and I was psyched to be apart of the winning team. (Side note: I seem to be some unlucky charm and doom whatever local team I am rooting for. This was the first time I didn’t experience a loss. Sorry France.)<br /><br />The last thing I don’t want to forget to mention is the boat rides I was able to take through the winding canals of Amsterdam. Sophie’s friend lived on a houseboat and had a small motorboat in which she loved to just cruise around and people-watch on a sunny day. We went out several times and I loved every minute of relaxing and enjoying the scenery. Before, I had only been on those massive tourist boats and this time I was doing it local-style aka picking up people along the way and making snack stops. Priceless.<br /><br />Of course by this point I had taken a couple of spliff rolling classes with Gert-Jan and, as promised, I had conquered this demon of mine. Sure I haven’t mastered rolling yet, but have acquired survival skills that I could use on a boat, in a windy park, or anywhere need be. I am proud to say my teacher, both patient and strict, did a wonderful job with my lessons. At least I accomplished something in Amsterdam. <br /><br />If you’ve made it to the end of this blog: congratulations. It’s nearly as great of a feat as me surviving Amsterdam myself with my lungs and liver intact. Really, I didn’t even board the train without a couple of spliffs and a snack bag. I was on my way to Paris and ready for my final week in Europe. I had a plane ticket to South Korea with my name on it and I’ve been waiting to go to Asia for a very long time. But those stories will have to wait (and be edited to a shorter length). It took a long time to post this because even I was sick of looking at it. That and I procrastinate better than anyone I’ve ever met.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1197311878161249383.post-20222440488673716172010-06-16T16:12:00.000-07:002010-06-16T16:13:52.730-07:00...and this bird you cannot change...I knew this would happen at some point. I knew my blog would back up on me and I’d have to write about something that seemed eons in the past, even though in reality it was only less than a month ago. I haven’t written about my time in Nürnberg yet and I’ve already left Amsterdam. Time glides by easily when days melt together. And I’m sure you all could imagine how effortlessly I can waste time in Amsterdam. But alas, those foggy stories will have to wait. First I need to share the stories of my adventures with German lederhosen. <br /><br />My host Anna has an amazing two bedroom apartment in the little big city of Nürnberg in the southern Bavarian region of Germany. Actually, it was in Franconia but this is only important because of how they brew their beer there (and this only matters because of a story about a beer festival, which I will tell shortly).<br /><br />Anna is happily settled in her life with a great career, apartment, groups of friends, and even the boyfriend to match. I was thrilled she managed to make room for me in her busy life but was happy to find she easily finds balance to a work-and-play lifestyle. She worked long hours everyday while I slept in and soaked in the comfort of enjoying a private apartment for a few hours. Even though the weather was a bit shit I managed to go for long walks and take touristy pictures. In the evenings we always enjoyed dinner together, whether at home or out with friends. Everyday was something different and fun, and mostly because Anna and I could talk forever and probably never run out of things to say. I was well impressed with her ability to wake up early, work all day, and then keep going well into the night. Especially Friday night.<br /><br />Germany’s second largest beer festival just so happened to be taking place while I was in town. Nice. But it was bit out of town actually so she had arranged a carpool out to the forest so we could both drink beer all night long. And it wasn’t just any beer. Franconian beer (apparently) is stronger than others normally, but when they brew it for the festival, they give it that extra percentage of alcohol that will put you on your ass. And utterly destroy your stomach. No one told me this until Saturday when it was too late.<br /><br />The festival was held out in the woods and it was a long row of various companies that sell their beer, set up a biergarten (aka outdoor sitting area), and all hire bands to play music the entire time. Each area has a different vibe and it’s good to scope them all out to find exactly what you’re in the mood for. Or a few different moods.<br /><br />Now I know you’re picturing some sort of Hollywoodized German beer festival with lederhosen, traditional accordion music, and sausages and bratwurst as abundant as the blond Heidi-type girls in their customary dress. But before I scold you for buying into a ridiculous stereotype let me tell you, that’s exactly what it was. Sure most people were dressed normally, but no one could act normal after drinking even one of the abnormally large jugs of beer. I drank two and a half.<br /><br />The festival ended unfortunately early but luckily we had run into a friend of Anna’s who conveniently lived in the town where the festival was being held. And he was even wearing lederhosen. <br /><br />So we went into town to drink more (smart) before we all crashed in one drunken mess on his bed. Early the next morning an evil Franconian beer fairy crawled into my brain and started pounding with a very large hammer. Then he snuck in his friend to the depths of my stomach and he thrashed the place as well. Basically, I spent the following hours writhing in pain with one of the worst hangovers I’ve had in my life. Anna and her friend were enjoying breakfast on the terrace with the first warm rays of sunshine that had shone through in awhile. <br /><br />The reason I’m sharing this shameful morning with you all is for the story about my best worst first impression. At one point when I darted for the bathroom it was occupied by someone showering. I ran to the kitchen to inform my host that I needed either a bucket or a way into the bathroom and we didn’t have long. He knocked on the door, said some things in German, and then it became unlocked and I was permitted to go on in. <br /><br />Now this story is only effective if you understand just how tiny this bathroom is. The shower, with clear glass, was directly next to the toilet that I needed to heave into. After I emptied the life out of me the naked man behind the glass wished me a good morning. I muttered back “Guten morgen. Nice to meet you and sorry about all of this”. <br /><br />A few hours and a power nap later I was back to life. It wasn’t even that awkward when I walked into the living room, looked at the two men I didn’t know, and asked them which one I had already greeted in the shower earlier. Apparently this happens to everyone when they first drink Franconian beer and everyone there had a similar experience. <br /><br />Soon enough we were driven back to town to lie in a park and soak in the sun, the cure for every hangover. Unfortunately it was someone’s bachelor party and the groom was supposed to be out and selling tiny bottles of alcohol. One of the guys in the group bought some to support the cause and to torture slash challenge me to drink one. I figured my liver would go into detox and I’d get the shakes if I didn’t. <br /><br />Saturday night was spent impressively avoiding alcohol at a brewery while watching the championship futbol match. The soccer teams were from Germany and Italy and so the large room was heated with passionate energy. The spirit got me really excited for the upcoming World Cup. It was a shame we had to walk out of there defeated. Regardless, it was the perfect chill night we needed before Sunday.<br /><br />During the day Sunday, Anna and I got out of town and drove to the woods to hike around a bit. We even wandered (slash took a tour) through some caves which were pretty amazing. It was just nice to breathe fresh air and stretch my legs. It also made me realize how much I need nature in my life on a regular basis. But what made Sunday special, was Monday.<br /><br />You see, Monday was another German holiday I didn’t understand and no one bothered to actually care about other than the fact that they get a Monday off of work. This worked out very conveniently for Anna’s friend who happened to be turning 30 that day. So for nearly six months he planned his party out and rented an amazing house and decked it out with lots of food and booze. <br /><br />The party was a great mix of musical performances, good banter, delicious food, and dancing. It wasn’t until the sun was up and the world was functioning again that we made our way home just to sleep and relax out in the sun the next day. <br /><br />The next few days were a bit stressful as a train ticket I was expecting to buy from Munich fell through and I suddenly became unaware of when I was going to leave and how I was getting to Amsterdam by the following weekend. Luckily at the last minute I scored another rideshare leaving Thursday morning from Nürnberg and taking me just into the Netherlands. <br /><br />Unfortunately I had already made plans to visit someone in Munich and I felt like an ass for breaking them. Luckily, my friend already had the day off of work so he offered to take a fast train and come up to visit me for the day. This friend was actually Maria’s cousin and we met at the wedding. And if you’re wondering what you probably are, yes, Germans adore me like they adore David Hasselhoff and both are unexplainable.<br /><br />The truth is he didn’t speak the greatest of English and since we had met previously well-inebriated, the conversation needed to be aided by his pocket dictionary. And since it was raining non-stop, simply strolling or lying in a beer garden was not really an option. But we did stroll, huddled under my much appreciated umbrella, and made the most of the one day we had together.<br /><br />Now if you thought my date to a sex district was random, wait until you read about my ridiculous plan for the afternoon. You see, there was this Nazi museum I was really interested in visiting and didn’t entirely anticipate the awkwardness of going there on a first date type thing. And while it was a total downer and kind of weird, in the end I think it was poetic. Only a couple of generations after my grandfather fought a bloody war on this soil, a Jew and a German could come together in peace and acknowledge that while there are always demons in our past, we can move forward harmoniously, if only we are not doomed to repeat ourselves.<br /><br />So my last evening in Germany was just as it should be. We met up with Anna and some friends for dinner with lots of drinks and for the first time in awhile I wasn’t the one in the language minority. It was a great evening of conversation, wine, and spätzle (the cheese and noodle dish I adore and spent nearly a month seeking out). <br /><br />The next morning I embarked on a near 12 hour journey to meet my friend Sophie in Amsterdam Central Station. It began with a 7 hour car ride with 3 strangers who didn’t lead on that they spoke English until half way through the journey. This didn’t bother me as when we did all talk it was about American politics, culture, and history which most everyone claimed they had a better point of view than me (even without visiting the States). At least in the first half of the journey I could sleep.<br /><br />The story will end here as the moment I arrived in Amsterdam I was running to catch another train for a four day hippie camping adventure out in nature. I promise to write this tale before I ramble on to Asia in a week, as well as a collection of short leftover stories from all over Europe. I’ve been here over three months so there are quite a few. And while I’ll be sad to go, I appreciate the fact that at this exact moment I’m in Paris outside at a café watching and listening to all the hustle and bustle and loving this spare day all to myself. No matter where in the world I am, I seem to be where I should be.Ruby Tuesdayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09596635670563549912noreply@blogger.com1