E and A's Odyssey

The Last Post

2007-06-12T07:06:00.000-07:00

Two more nights. That’s it. After 11 months of sleeping in new cities, eating exotic foods, meeting interesting travelers, touring ancient ruins, bringing toilet paper with us wherever we go, and carrying all our shit on our backs, the trip is over. And to use the word “trip” to describe this year seems to fit perfectly.

Showing off her vertical leap in the Uyuni Salt Flats. I have a picture of me doing the same thing but I barely got my feet off the ground. Pretty pathetic.

Two hours after getting hit in the face with a stick while playing stick ball with some friends in Thailand. Definitely the scariest moment of the trip. Luckily I was drunk so I didnt feel the pain.

Sometimes difficult but most of the time exhilarating, this trip has been the best year of our lives. Upon return this Friday we might not look all that different to our friends and family, but we certainly feel different. We are forever changed by this experience and will carry the memories and lessons we learned with us wherever we go.

Besides being bit by bugs all over the world, Andy and I were also snipped by the Travel Bug. I did very little exploring before this year and now, as I sit in my overpriced hostel in Lima, Peru, awaiting my flight home Thursday night, I can’t help but think of all the places I haven’t been and where I want to go next. I’m not talking about taking another year off, but I do want to see more, risk more, DO more. Andy, when thinking about her year and what she learned, talked about her love of reading. She also mentioned how she is inspired, upon returning, to take time for herself to be creative with either a painting class, dance class or French horn lessons. Back in the Bay, some ideas we’ve had to change up the routine is to limit the amount of TV we watch, cook more, create a book exchange and book club amongst friends, and play more board games.

Yeaay! We dont have to carry our shit everywhere starting Friday!!

When going over this last blog post, Andy said she wanted to include some things we learned about the world, as well as how to be a better traveler. So we sat together and came up with these two lists.

Top ten things we learned about the world:

We learned how terribly poor the air quality is around the world and that littering is commonplace.
We learned how small the world actually is. We ran into someone Andy grew up next to in Connecticut and someone who was college roommates with my friend from NJ.
We learned that everyone knows Arnold Schwarzenegger is the governer of California.
We learned that the world is filled with cigarette smokers and that smoking in public is accepted.
We learned that everyone we talked to hates Bush and the American policies. People weren’t anti-American, they were just upset with the war.
We learned that there are many people taking a year off to travel and that Americans receive little vacation time compared to the rest of the world.
We learned that landscapes and fauna repeat themselves.
We learned that the pace of American society is faster than most places we visited. You’d be surprised how many people sit in parks all day, every day.
We learned that, despite the lack of security around the world, we felt safe pretty much everywhere we went.
Overall, we learned that the world is filled with friendly, good-hearted people willing to lend a hand to someone in need.

Top ten traveler tips:

1 - Always ask for a discount, even if the price seems non-negotiable.
2 - Things to always keep on you: toilet paper, snacks, camera and a few layers.
3 - When purchasing any kind of transportation/tour/travel activity, ask lots of questions to be sure you know what you’re getting. And don’t get upset when what you receive differs from what they told you.
4 - Always check your bed/sheets/room/shower before agreeing to stay in a hostel.
5 - When buying bus tickets, check other companies for different prices, reserve seats on the opposite side of the sun and away from the bathroom, and watch your luggage get loaded and during stops.
6 - In the third world, if a restaurant’s ambiance is pleasing then the food is probably not that good and normally more expensive. Flourescent lighting, plastic chairs and locals normally means quality food.
7 - When a taxi driver tells you a price, always half it and work up from there.
8 - Skype is an inexpensive, easy way to call home from anywhere in the world using the Internet.
9 - Some random useful items: can opener, wine opener, bungee chords, eye patch, earplugs, headlamps, a spork.
10 - Did we mention to always ask for a discount? With a smile of course!

Happy as a clam during a stop at an icecream parlor during a hike through the woods of Coroico. Seriously, this homemade helado store popped up out of nowhere. If you think my smile is big, you should have seen Andy.

A few days ago, Andy and I sent an email to all the people we met while traveling: Germans, Kiwis, Swiss, Windy City citizens, New Yorkers. We had over 50 people’s email addresses! As we went through the list of people we were sending our thanks to for making this trip so wonderful, we began telling stories to each other. “Remember when this…” or “Remember when that…” We have so many stories that only the two of us will know. We experienced this year together and we’ve watched each other grow and change and flourish.

Andy and I spent more time together this year than we ever have and it reiterated to me why we chose to spend our lives together. She looked at me the other day and said smiling, “I can’t believe I’m not sick of you yet.” I looked right back and said, “Ditto.” It’s funny to think about my fears before we left on the trip. I was worried that Andy and I wouldn’t get along and we’d drive each other nuts. Presently, me feelings couldn’t be more different. I love her more now than I ever have. This year has opened my eyes to how funny, smart, energetic, friendly, compassionate, interested in learning, and magically amazing she is.

Andy all suited up for her trip into the Potosi Mines in Bolivia.

Eric all suited up for going on a boat to see dolphins in Argentina.

And our next adventure awaits us back home. Andy is teaching again at Prospect Sierra starting in September and I am looking for a job that inspires me. I will settle for nothing less. I already have one option on the table that looks to fit that one requirement, so things are rosy. Also, upon returning home, I plan on continuing my writing ways. M.L. Spinrad and James Austin – two writers and friends from the Bay Area – have been offering me support all year via email and the three of us have agreed to continue working together. I couldn’t be more excited for the possibilities. (If you know anyone in Hollywood who wants to read screenplays written by a loveable guy, let me know!)

Presently, as we drink our instant coffee, eat our stale bread and wait to leave smoggy Lima, what we feel most is happiness – just an overwhelming sense of gratitude for everything. For our life back home, for each other, our lasting memories and overall experience. It’s the wildest trip we’ve ever been on and believe us when we say we’ve been on a bunch of crazy trips in our lives. Our only hope is that the fun doesn’t stop here.

For those looking to continue reading about my life, I have started a new blog discussing my life back home, people I encounter, things that rile me up.

http://talkinboutmyview.blogspot.com/

Thank you all for reading. This blog has been one of the best writing experiences I’ve ever had and I appreciate your feedback and comments more than you could imagine. Without you, the blog would have been just an online diary.Hope you enjoyed the pics of Andy and me doin’ our thang! So, I guess this is goodbye. Goodbye!

"Goodbye," says Andy.

"Goodbye," says Eric.

And the award goes to....

2007-06-01T11:56:00.000-07:00

Andy and I just watched another spectacular sunset here in Los Organos and we started talking about the best sunsets we’ve seen this year. Then, because of a bug that recently crawled into Andy’s stomach, we started talking about the best and worst bathrooms of the year. This, of course, led to many giggles. So, as our trip winds down, we decided to compile a “Best” and “Worst” list of our adventures. Hope you enjoy our trip down memory lane. We sure did!

BEST STREET FOOD

ANDY: Hands down, the veggie pad thai in Bangkok. Right before we left for the airport, on our way back to San Francisco in January, I had to have one last taste of the perfect dish. Some were better than others, but it never disappointed. (Cost: around $1).
Runner up: Fresh juice in Bolivia ($0.25).

ERIC: Empanadas in Argentina were my favorite. So many different types to try. Roquefort y ham baked gently in a super fine crusty pie was the best. (Cost: $0.30).
Runner up: Fried chicken on Ko Yao Noi, Thailand (4 pieces for $0.50).

BEST MEAL

ANDY: Social Paraiso, an upscale, refined eatery in Buenos Aires, did everything right and still stands out as the best meal, from appetizer to dessert. We had medallions of meat, glazed mushrooms and the chocolate sampler to finish it off. (Cost: Eric’s parents paid).
Runner up: Eggplant Mousaka, greek salad, pita, tsastiki in Agios Giordos, Greece ($7)

ERIC: It’s a no brainer. Social Paraiso was the best. We oohd and ahhd through the whole night.
Runner up: Special Chicken Curry with vegetables served in a hollowed out coconut in Pai, Thailand ($1.60)

This is a picture of us trying to pick which amazing dessert to eat first. So many tough decisions we had to make this year.

WORST MEAL

ERIC: The anorexic duck I ordered in Karlovy Vary, Czech Republic. There were about two bites of meat on the whole thing and it was served with boiled potatoes and two pieces of lettuce. (Cost: $8)
Runner up: Every other meal we ate in Czech Republic.

ANDY: We ate at a fancy restaurant our first night in Prague and we got the beef goulash. There were three small pieces of meat and one small potato. (Cost: $10).
Runner up: The taco I ate four days ago that I am reminded of every 20 minutes. (Cost: $3.30)

BEST NIGHT OUT ON THE TOWN

ANDY: New Year’s Eve on Hot Ton Sai, Thailand. We partied with old friends and new ones and rang in the new year together. We hired a long-tail boat to take us to the road-free beach and walked on mud flats at the end of the night. We bar hopped, watched fire dancing and sat underneath the fireworks. Good times. (Cost: Can’t remember).
Runner up: My night out with Serena in Salvador, Brazil.

ERIC: The Pink Palace, baby! I have never drank so much in my life and yet, I was the last man standing. A crazy good time with Brad, Sam, Katie and Lloyd of London. Stay away from the pink ouzo! (Cost: Not sure, but worth every penny).
Runner up: San Francisco with my peeps!

BEST SPLURGE

ANDY: Flight from Chiang Mai to Luang Probang, Laos. Our other option would have been a three-day odyssey down the Mekong River that we had only heard bad things about. The tourist companies called it “The Slow Boat.” (Cost: $90).
Runner up: Ko Yao Noi Island Resort massage in Thailand. (Cost: $45)

ERIC: The flight from Arequipa to Mancora. What would have taken us 30 hours on a loud, bumpy overnight bus, only took us 6 by plane. We needed a break from all the Bolivian rough housing we endured. (Cost: $180 each).
Runner up: Flight from Chiang Mai to Luang Probang. (Cost: $90 each)

BIGGEST WASTE OF MONEY

ERIC: The hotel in Den Helder, Holland. It was a stinky room above a smokey bar in a cloud-covered fishing town with nothing to do but walk around the stinky town. (Cost: $75)
Runner up: All the winter hats I bought and then subsequently lost while traveling in Argentina. (Cost: $15)

ANDY: The first class seats on the train from Villazon, Bolivia to uyuni, Bolivia. There were no pictures of what we were getting but we had heard about bench seats as apposed to recliners. When we got in the train, the only thing different from second class was that we got a crappy meal added on to our 8-hour trip served hastily by the dining car. We paid 4 times more for that filet of llama meat and rice! (Cost: $20).
Runner up: Every meal in the Czech Republic. (Cost: It makes me hurt thinking about how much it cost)

Absolute blandness at its best. Can you believe how much we paid for this dump?

BEST HIKE

ANDY: Fitz Roy in Argentina was the most exhilarating, memorable and challenging hike of the year. 9 hours of majesty.
Runner up: Mountainside hike in Coroico, Bolivia.

ERIC: Fitz Roy was my favorite as well. I pushed myself beyond what I thought I was capable of and I came out on top. Literally, I was on top of the mountain. What an amazing feeling.
Runner up: Isla del Sol in Copacabana, Bolivia.

BEST BOOK

ERIC and ANDY: We both agree that the best of the best was The Kiterunner. We cried our eyes out when we finished. A masterpiece!
Andy’s runner up: East of Eden.
Eric’s runner up: Three-way tie with the The Artist’s Way, The Traveler and American Pastoral

BEST BATHROOM

ANDY: Ko Yao Island Resort in Thailand. Great, hot shower, beautiful tile work, a flush toilet. What more can you ask for?
Runner up: Los Organos beach house.

ERIC: The outside huts that housed our toilet and shower in Coroico, Bolivia. You just can’t beat having a view of mountains and lush valleys while doing your business.
Runner up: Los Organos beach house.

This picture does not do this ¨john¨ justice. The view was friggen spectacular.

WORST BATHROOM

ANDY: I had to pee on our trip from Coroico to La Paz. The driver stopped at a rest area. The door was locked to the public bathroom so I went around back and squated. Next to me was more trash than I could have imagined. As I was doing my duty, trying my hardest to avoid the stench that surrounded me, I shared the space with three pigs rooting in the shit that accumulated 3 feet from me. Ah Bolivia!
Runner up: A tie for second between all the toilets in Asia that I have conveniently blocked out of my memory.

ERIC: The bathroom at the second night of the Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia. It was flooded with excrement and the stench could knock out a horse. Truly despicable.
Runner up: Squat toilet in Vang Vieng, Laos at my favorite hangout bar on the river.

BEST ACCOMODATIONS

We created a ranking system for all our temporary homes throughout the year and we finally tallied the scores. Dorky, yes. But we had a lot of time on our hands. Below is our list of top five places and bottom five places. (Don’t worry, Dad, you guys cracked the top five – chocolates on our pillows was a nice touch!)

BEST
1. Las Casitas in Los Organos, Peru
2. Ko Yao Island Resort in Ko Yao Noi, Thailand
3. Hotel All Suites in Buenos Aires, Argentina
4. Mark and Andy Rubin in Las Vegas, Nevada
5. (TIE) Hotel La Bluette in La Barra, Uruguay
5. (TIE) Cordoba Apartment in Cordoba, Argentina

WORST
74. Hotel Avenida in Uyuni, Bolivia
75. Overnight train to Berlin
76. Alojamiento Aroma in Copacabana, Bolivia
77. Uyuni Trek Night 1 in Uyuni, Bolivia
78. Uyuni Trek Night 2 in Uyuni, Bolivia

MOST ADVENTUROUS MOMENT

ERIC: Taking the world’s most dangerous road from La Paz to Coroico. Thankfully the clouds and rain kept me from seeing how bad the road really was. I had psyched myself up for this trip for a week before and I knew there was no avoiding it. (Cost: $25 each)
Runner up: Jumping from a tree into a lagoon in Vang Vieng, Laos.

ANDY: Walking on the glacier with crampons in Argentina. It felt like we were going to slip and fall in a crevace at any moment. It was a great day! (Cost: $80 each)
Runner up: Scuba diving with Abby in Thailand.

MOST MEMORABLE CULTURAL EXCHANGE

ANDY: Rat’s birthday party on Ko Yao Noi, Thailand. We were invited to celebrate with him and his friends. We ate yummy seafood and sang songs with him and his friends around a bonfire.
Runner up: A five-hour conversation with a Cambodian man while riding on a bus through his country.

ERIC: Spending an evening with my Spanish teacher, Javier, in Cordoba. We ate empanadas and talked about music, tv, and the Argentinian way of life.
Runner up: Getting to know the bartender and his family at my favorite river hangout in vang Vieng, Laos.

BEST PURCHASE

ANDY: That’s a hard one. We splurged on a tapestry hand woven in Bolivia. It took one woman three months to make. We can’t wait to hang it.
Runner up: Customed tailored leather coat in Buenos Aires.

ERIC: My white cloth button down beach shirt that I scored from a street vendor in Corfu, Greece. It’s so light and breezy and perfect for a chilly nightime beach sunset.
Runner up: The hippie necklace I bought in Salta, Argentina.

Ahhhh cow hide!

MOST IMPRESSIVE WONDER OF THE WORLD

ANDY: Ankor Wat. It was just unbelievable. The temples were scattered over fifty miles and it left me in complete awe.
Runner up: The salt flats of Salar de Uyuni in Bolivia

ERIC: Walking on the glacier was about as surreal and spectacular as life can get. I felt like Superman returning to his ice cave. I had cool, sharp metal spikes attached ot my shoes and I trekked up and down ice for two hours.
Runner up: The penguins in Puerto Madryn, Argentina

THING WE MISSED MOST ABOUT HOME

ANDY AND ERIC: Our communtiy, both family and friends, serve such an immense role in our lives and you have all been missed dearly during this year. We thank you for reading this blog and staying connected with us while we stomped around the globe.
Andy’s runner up: Fluffy
Eric’s runner up: Las Palmas Chicken burrito

We´re comin´home soon floofmeister!!

BONUS CATEGORY

MOST DEDICATED BLOG COMMENTOR

ERIC AND ANDY: Hands down, Jamey “the King” Austin. You were diligent, my friend, and we appreciated knowing that whenever we posted something to our blog, we could count on an insightful, funny response within a few days. We got you an award for your efforts that will be hand delivered in exactly two weeks!
Runner up: Mark “The Shark” Spinrad.

Highest Spot South of Havana

2007-05-23T12:12:00.000-07:00

Copacabana, nestled on the tip of a peninsula jutting out into Lago Titicaca, was the perfect stop to finish off our time in Bolivia. The town’s focus is tourism and there are daily tours to the surrounding areas that afford some of the most majestic landscapes on this planet.

Sunset on Copacabana. One of the most tranquil
places we have been all year.

After a 6-hour bus ride from Coroico, we plopped ourselves down at a cheap, dumpy hostel. In fact, it was our cheapest room of the year – only $1.20 per person! Unfortunately, you get what you pay for. Our bed made creaky door noises at the tiniest movement, the high-altitude, nighttime air rushed in and froze our bones, and the five flights of stairs winded us every time. We decided after a sleepless night to move to another hostel. For only $3 a person, we scored a clean, new room wth perfect views of Lake Titicaca and the evening sunsets.

Finally, after a good night’s sleep, we woke up early to catch a boat shuttle to Isla del Sol. We were told the boat was slow, but we weren’t expecting it to feel like slow motion. The ride, which should have taken about 30 minutes, slogged on for a little over 2 hours thanks to the fishing-boat engine attached to a vessel that seats 100 people. The scenery was beautiful but the wooden benches took their toll on my tushy after a while.

A view from Incan ruins on Isla del Sol.
Nice framework, Andy!

We arrived on the dreamy island around 10 a.m. and began our four-hour hike from the port in the north. We walked amongst small fishing villages, Inca ruins and peaceful, hillside farms. It was a gloriously sunny day and and the air was crisp. This mini-trek from north to south ranked high on our favorite hikes of the year, slightly behind Fitz Roy and narrowly eclipsing Coroico. Despite the throng of tourists we shared the boatride with, our time on Isla del Sol felt like an escape. Nature engulfed us and the serenity of the peaceful place was overwhelming. We walked along, up and down the rolling hills. It was a garuantee that every five minutes either Andy or I would stop and say, “This is fuckin incredible!” or “Can you believe this?” or “What a great day!”

Walking amongst farmland at almost 15,000 feet!

We arrived back on Copacabana around 6 p.m., exhausted and smiling. The boat ride home was just as slow but it didn’t seem to bother us as much this time. We embarked during sunset and walked to the nicest restaurant in town. It had been recommended to us by a couple of Brits we kept bumping into. We took their advice and plopped down in the dimly lit restaurant for some nachos, fajitas, chili con carne and beer. Coming from the land of Mexican food and missing it dearly, this meal was divine. Granted, the Bolivian flare changed the familiar tastes at times, but the chef’s heart ws in the right place and we devoured what was brought to us – and it only cost us $8!

We made it to Peru - the last country on our yearlong odyssey!

We left Copacabana on a bus the next afternoon and our destiination was Arequipa, Peru. After a month in Bolivia, we were ready to leave. It was an amazing country and the people were friendly and relaxed and cared very little for the fears that run rampant in many parts of the developed world. The cities were unique to anything we saw this year and the natural wonders that dot this grand land were breathtakingly beautiful. I truly hope to one day return.

Arequipa´s mountainous surroundings
make you stop and stare at every corner.

After an ardous, 11 –hour bus ride from Copacabana to Arequipa, we settled for the next three nights in the heart of Peru’s “White City.” It is a sophisticated, rich city surrounded by towering, dormant volcanoes. It sits at 2,600 meters and it was a nice break from the thin air of Bolivia. We walked around the downtown area the next afternoon and were bombarded by tourist restaurants that charge three times more than they should. We were throwing out “No Gracias” faster than we ever thought possible. They would follow you down the block, not giving up. We realized you just have to ignore them and they go away. I hate ignoring people, but I learned that is the only way to get them to stop buzzing around your wallet. This never happened in Bolivia.

My birthday was coming up and Andy suggested that we go shopping. I had a pair of jeans I’ve been traveling with for the entire year and thanks to some stains and weight loss, the pants were shot. They sagged mightily and were frayed on the bottoms from constant wear. Buying jeans has always been an issue for me. The right size is always hard to find and I hate pushy saleswomen who keep handing me ugly jeans to try on. We went into a department store and after 2 hours in a cramped dressing room, I came out with two pairs that I loved. And what was even better was that I have gone down two sizes since leaving the states last July. It was an amazing feeling that I am convinced is the driving force behind miraculous weightloss ambitions. Because of the low prices, we decided to splurge and get me new shoes too. I got a pair of army green Adidas and I felt like a new man. I haven’t had new clothes in a year and it suprisingly made me happier than I could have thought possible.

My ´Magic´ year. 32 baby!

Arequipa was a great city and we enjoyed our quick stop there. We got some yummy food, shopped a little, went to the best local market we’ve seen all year, and saw some live jazz music. Our eyes, though, were on the prize that lay ahead. We were basically done traveling and wanted our final three weeks to feel like a vacation. We picked a small town called Los Organos in northern Peru, near the Ecuadorian border. It sits on the unspoiled beaches with the Pacific Ocean slapping up against it. The weather and water are supposed to be warm all year and, because it is low season, the prices are just perfect for a couple coming off a year of spending.

We found a mansion fit for 20 to spend our final three weeks. We offered our editorial services to the owner in exchange for a lower rate and he obliged. We were charged with taking new pictures of his rental property to be used for his web site and in exchange we get the use of the house and swimming pool. We’ve been here only one day so far and we are in heaven. The house turned out to be nicer than we could have imagined. We are completely isolated from the other backpackers trekking around this world and there are no tour companies or taxi drivers yelling at us to spend our money with them. In fact, the closest town is an hour and a half walk away. There is a private beach only 40 yards from our house and we can hear the waves as we sleep at night.

The view from our porch. Ahh, serenity now!

So far, I’ve been doing a lot of bird watching and contemplative staring. I woke up early this morning while Andy dreams in the bedroom. I’m watching the local fisherman float by on their driftwood rafts and makeshift oars as the large sea birds wait for scraps nearby. This could be the best place on earth.

Peace outside La Paz

2007-05-12T14:54:00.000-07:00

We didn’t tell anyone about how we got to Coroico, only that we got there safely and that we loved it. The small mountain town sits in a fog-covered valley only 3 hours from the bustling Bolivian capital of La Paz. The only way to access Coroico is by a winding, downhill road that hugs the mountains that lay in the east. The road has a name too. Unfortunately for us it is called “The World’s Most Dangerous Road.” It plunges more than 3,000 meters in only 80 kilometers and sees the most fatalities annually of any road.

Heeding the advice of my cousin Harris, who urged us to take risks this year, we decided to give it a go. Skipping the cheap public buses that tend to falter on the rugged road, we opted for a private car. We paid a hefty price to secure our safe passage and in hindsight, we were glad we splurged. It was a rainy, cold, foggy day and our driver kicked ass down the death road. At times, he went a bit too fast for our taste, passing cars on blind turns, but overall it was a positive experience. The old car also tended to spew exhaust into the seating area and the noxious, blue fumes englufed us during the entire trip. Andy passed out for a bit. I, however, was alert and holding on for dear life the entire time. Luckily the fog obscured the depths to which we would have dropped if our driver made one slight miscalculation.

Our driver, Enrique, was quite the professional, despite the noxious
fumes circulated through his body.

We arrived in Coroico safely and we both breathed a sigh of relief when we saw where we were staying. We opted for a meditation retreat 20 minutes outside of the town center called Hostal Sol y Luna. There are only about 10 cabins here and they are all separated perfectly to give off the feeling of solitude. We were perched high up the mountain with a view of the town and the valley. Because of the fog, we didn’t realize what a spectacular vista we had until day three when the weather cleared. Condors soared by our bungalow and green valleys appeared like a magic trick.

It's all about the view, my friends!

On our first night, we ordered yummy quinoi soup and spaghetti bolognese from Maria, the chef at the hostel. As we were waiting for our food a young, married couple sauntered in. Their “hello” outed them as Americans and the conversation flowed easily. As we talked, Stephen mentioned that his friends Geoff and Brittany were both teachers in the Bay Area. My ears perked up at these names because I know two people back home who sport those professions and names. Turns out, as luck would have it, Stephen was college roommates with Geoff Hinman, a friend of mine from Westfield. We were stunned by the friend we had in common. It was bizarre to think that we had to come all the way off the beaten path to bump into each other. They, too, are traveling the world for a year and Geoff had informed them to keep an eye out for us. They had even read our blog a few months ago!

An epic meeting in a surreal place!

So we had our dinner together and talked through the night. The next day, we received a funny invitation posted to our bungalow door asking us to join them for dinner. Andy painted a watercolor of the view from our bungalow and on the back wrote that we accepted and would bring dessert. We arrived at their small cabin high up the hill with a bottle of crappy Bolivian wine, rum, pineapple slices and chocolates. Stephen was slaving over the burner, churning his homemade tomato sauce. They had already whipped up a nice batch of guacamole and the four of us began what was one of the most enjoyable evenings of our trip. We were having a dinner party in the middle of nowhere! How fun!

They were leaving for the salt flats of Bolivia and we were planning on staying a few extra nights in Coroico, so this was it for our foursome. Despite the short encounter, it was a perfect meeting. We laughed about our bizarre meeting, compared the junk we were traveling with, and discussed the joys of taking a break from the work world. The evening proved magical and we look forward to meeting up with them, either in their hometown of NYC or when they come to the Bay Area to visit Geoff.

Andy on a cliff during our hike through the coca fields.

The next day, Stephen and Melanie left and Andy and I decided to go on the classic waterfall hike that is touted in all the tour books. It was finally a nice, warm, sunny day and we hopped away on the four-hour hike around noon. We scampered up the hill from our bungalow for 20 minutes and wound up on a flat, trail that hugged the side of a mountain for the remainder of the hike, dipping in and out of the jungle. We passed through coca and coffee farms and watched as the workers picked the fruits of their labor. The fog burned off and we had spectacular views of the surrounding towns and the river that runs through them. We reached the waterfalls and nodded with its beatuy. The return trip followed the same path and we trekked along effortlessly, talking about returning home, home improvements, friends we miss, and the first place we are going to eat upon our return. It was a glorious day capped off by some more quinoi soup, a yummy Greek salad and a local stir fry made lovingly by Maria.

Andy' self portrait from the second floor of our delightful bungalow.

We have a few more days in Coroico to soak up the serene calmness and then we are off to Lake Titicaca, Copacabana and Isla del Sol. The area is considered the birthplace of the sun by locals, and modern-day ancestors of the indigenous people mystically accept these legends as their creation story. It is a traveler must see, according to the people we’ve met and tour books we’ve read. From there, we head to Mancora, a small beach town in northern Peru. We found an amazing beach house thanks to some slick negotiations on our part and plan on spending the final three weeks of our yearlong odyssey there, basking in the fleeting freedom of the road that we have become accustomed to.

Bolivian Snapshots

2007-05-12T13:59:00.000-07:00

We decided to do less writing and show more pictures. Those of you who are sick of slogging through my 1,000 word posts are probably jumping for joy. Don't worry fearless readers, I have another post about our time in Coroico, Bolivia coming soon. But for now, enjoy the pics!

Rachine, Michael and me took a tour of the Potosi mines at “Cerro Rico”, rich in silver and tin. The infamous Potosi silver mines have a tragic history, where thousands of indigenous and African slaves were worked to the bone (and often death) in one of the cruelest and most dangerous working conditions in the world.

Potosi, which claims to be the highest city in the world, boasts some of the prettiest colonial architecture in Bolivia, a remnant of the more glamorous past of this once thriving mining town. “Cerro Rico”, the rich mountain, dominates the landscape at every turn.

We stayed at the Grand Hotel in Sucre and it was a nice splurge. The courtyard was lush and serene and afforded us an escape from the smoggy air that surrounds you when you walk the streets.

Dancers from the La Paz Folkloric Ballet Company performed in Sucre as part of International Dance Week celebrations.

Weaving is one of Bolivia’s dying art forms. Here, a traditional Tarambuco woman weaves a “lapiz” (tapestry) row by row. One lapiz of the size shown takes about 3 months to make. We splurged and bought one so you will be able to see it hanging in our living room when we get home.

We took an afternoon trip out of Sucre to see the largest collection of dinosaur tracks in the world. The museum also boasted lifesize replicas of the extinct animals that roamed the lands. Touristy, but fun nonetheless.

The sun gate at Tiwanaku, a pre-Incan temple outside of La Paz. When the solstice comes, twice a year, the sun is perfectly alligned with the statue in the background.

Our tour guide (left) and another local man, demonstrate that their faces resemble the face carved into the temple at Tiwanaku. The tour was interesting, but way too long for both of us! (9 hours)

La Paz was breathtaking from up above. The city was built in a canyon and the houses climb the rocky walls as far as the eye can see.

Police barrackades littered the streets of La Paz. It seemed there was a different demonstration every day we were there. Fireworks going off, people chanting, machine guns drawn. It was a surreal experience.

The indigenous people still wear their traditional clothes ands hats as they walk amongst the wealthy Bolivians.

Mr. Bookworm

2007-05-08T06:39:00.000-07:00

During our three months in Argentina, I’ve continued my voracious appetite for books. Despite a stint in Cordoba where cable TV sidetracked me, books have fed my need for entertainment. It’s been a while since I recounted and reviewed the books I’ve read, so I thought I’d run down a quick list of those titles that I relied on to feed my imagination. Some of these books I read in Thailand. Sorry, I’m kind of behind on this book posting.

The Traveler’s Guide to Buddhism – I picked up this 100-page guide to the foreign religion in Pai and breezed through it. It was written by an American living abroad with help from a Buddhist monk. It was extremely intriguing and at times, made a lot of sense to me. I learned that to be a true Buddhist, one must not lie, kill anything, steal, take drugs and, wait, there’s one more principle. Shit, I can’t remember. I guess I’m not a Buddhist. Also, everytime I saw another traveler smash a mosquito that was munching on their ankle, I thought to myself, “Not a Buddhist, huh?” 4 stars

The Lives of Lazarus Long by Roberth Heinlein – Science fiction at its best, Heinlein is the master of mixing science with sex. It was a very interesting story of a man who is able to live over 4000 years through cell regeneration. It follows his family’s growth though a future where sex is not definied by marriage and monogamy. Anything related to sex was considered normal, including incest, bestiality, and pedophilia. The bizarre world that Heinlein created engulfed me and I, again, became enthralled with how smart sci-fi writers must be to be able to create something so vast out of just an idea. 4 stars

The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood – Atwood is one of my favorite authors and again, she did not disappoint. What a treat this book was! The story revolves around a sad, evil woman who seemingly wrecks one home after another. The women who have lost husbands because of her methods band together when they hear she has died. Supernaturally, she shows up back in their lives only to begin causing mayhem once again. Atwood is a mesmerizing writer and I recommend any of her books if you are interested in experiencing true genuis. 5 stars

The Beach by Alex Garland – Made popular by the movie starring Leonardo Dicaprio as a traveler who finds bliss on an undiscovered island in Thailand, this book was a quick, solid read. The author preys on those who have been to Thailand and he wonders, like many others, where the unspoiled nature of the magical place went. I had seen the movie a while ago and the book was much better as a whole. I enjoyed this as I sat on the beaches of Ko Yao Noi and the author’s style was inspirational. Simple, funny, true to life. Recommended to those who have traveled to Thailand. 3 stars

By the River Piedra I sat down and wept by Paulo Cahlo – Short, sweet and inspirational, Cahlo once again leaves me in tears. I loved this story of love and passion and was spurred on to follow my calling to be an artist/writer. I learned that no matter what you decide to do in life, success takes work and effort. The story centers on a woman who threw away her dreams in exchange for a normal, secure life. She goes on a journey searching for her childhood sweetheart and is confronted by the universal question: Is it better to have loved and lost than to not have loved at all? This book comes highly recommended to anyone who feels stuck in the daily grind. 5 stars

The Wind-Up Bird Chronicles by Haruki Murakami – Long, slow and mystical, this story traces the many histories swirling around urban Japan. It was intriguing for me to immerse myself in fiction from a different culture. Murakami’s style was nap inducing at times and enthralling at others. Quite famous in his homeland, Murakami wove an intricate tale of lost love and family secrets, while bringing in the history of the Japanese people, their wars and the land. If you are looking for a page turner, then steer clear of this one. 4 stars

Honky by Dalton Conley – This is a memoir based on the life of a white kid growing up in a mostly ethnic neighborhood of Alphabet City, Manhattan in the 70’s. Recommended to me by James “The King” Austin, I read it in a day and loved every page. I also truly got into the memoir style of his writing. It’s hard for anyone to remember life when they were 7 years old, but Dalton crafted an intriguing tale of race relations from the perspective of a caucasion boy surrounded by cultural and social injustice. This one comes highly recommended. 4 stars.

Companero by Jorge G. Castaneda – A sprawling history of the life of Che Guevara, this biography tackles the politics of Latin America using Argentina’s favorite son as the subject. I knew very little of the history surrounding the rise of Cuba and was mesmorized by this man’s struggle for freedom over imperialist nations. This was an unbaised account of the political history in the 50’s and 60’s, and while I’ve never really been a history buff, I was eating up all the info this book possessed. Again, this is not a page turner. 4 stars.

Holy Cow by Sarah MacFarland – Another memoir, this one follows an Aussie couple that move to India to live and work. It follows her search for the meaning of life and, after reading it, I subtly began to wish we had gone to India on this trip. The protagonist explores the country’s spirituality by going on mini-excursions to the corners of the vast land. I imagine this novel would resonate more with those who’ve been to India, but I found it intriguing nonetheless. 4 stars.

The Curious Indicident of the Dog in the Night by Mark Haddon – This was one of those masterpieces that I could not put down. It is written from the point of view of a 15-year-old boy with Ausberger’s Syndrome, a disability that makes it impossible for a person to read emotions and social cues. People diagnosed with Ausberger’s are normally very smart in concrete subjects like math and science, but lack the ability to understand or remember facial expressions. My sister works with special needs children and this book gave me a whole new perspective on the work she does. Kudos Stef - you are a star! 5 stars.

Running Dog by Don Delillo – I have seen books by Delillo everywhere and had never read anything he has written. I was out of books and I decided to splurge and buy myself this novel of intrigue and mystery. I found it utterly impossible to read. His style was lost on me and I found it muddled and confusing. Despite being one of the shortest books I’ve tackled this year, Running Dog took me forever to finish. The story revolves around a journalist trying to uncover the identity of the buyer of lost Nazi sex tapes. Good premise, I guess. Some of the characters were great and the scenes crafted were obviously genius at times, but the ending was a dud and I felt like he made the reader decipher what was going on too many times. 2 stars.

The Artist’s Way by Julie Cameron – This is a self-help book that Andy and I have been reading over the last three months. Its goal is to unleash the inner artist inside all of us. It involves journal work and “Artist Dates” that force you to confront blocks in how we see ourselves. I began to draw and paint and take photos and write screenplays and shorts stories using her encouragement. It has opened my eyes to my talent and I thank god every day that I decided to read this book. For anyone who feels stuck and uncreative, this is an amazing way to urge you to open up the journal, take out the paints, or put film in your camera. 5 stars.

The Lost City by Clive Cussler – This was another science fiction novel that I found very readable. It didn’t knock my socks off and I got a little annoyed with the funny one-liners he tried to encorporate into the dialogue. I mean, who talks in puns? But the story was interesting and it took twists and turns that I didn’t see coming. This is a great book to read on the beach, as it took me about two days to read 600 pages. Hey, long bus rides come in handy some time. 3 stars

The Gringo Trail by Mark Mann – A story of friends, drugs and traveling in South America. It was a very interesting book written by a British bloke who was trying to find himself. Lost and confused, he signed up for an adventure through Ecuador, Bolivia, and Peru with his Party Animal friend Mark and his girlfriend. The geographical and cultural history included in the book was what I loved most. A great read, especially considering we are living the trail that he is describing. In fact, we stayed in one of the hostels he wrote about staying in. 4 stars

Flamingos, salt and tubbing

2007-04-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

Andy and I made our way from Salta, Argentina, to the small town of Uyuni because we had read about a surreal 3-day driving experience through Bolivia’s salt flats and high altiplano that shouldn’t be missed. The town is the jumping off point for tourists who brave the slow train or bumpy bus rides to get to this remote area. It sits at 12,000 feet and the minute we got off the train I felt the cold, thin air rush through my body.

It's all about the Toyota 4-Runner. Our car was a beast and it had a cool lion decal on the side there. Ever since I was a kid, I've been a fan of decals.

After reading all the warnings about breakdowns and poor planning on the part of some of the tour operators, we dilligently researched different companies. We found Juan sitting behind a desk, more than willing to explain to us what his tour offers. His English was perfect and his smile and demeanor were infectious. Andy and I knew we had found our guy the minute he began to talk. We met Michael and Rachine, two friends from Ireland traveling together for a year, in the train station. They were in Uyuni for the same reason we were so we linked up with them when booking our tour with Juan.

We were warned that the trip involved a lot of driving, but I figured I could handle it. We hopped in our Toyota 4-runner with Juan, Abel the driver, our two Irish friends and Helmut and Martin, two older, German men who were traveling around South America for 6 weeks.

Amazingly, no one sold salt shakers at any of the tourist gift shops.
C'mon people!

Our first stop was the Salar de Uyuni, a 12,300 square kilometer salt flat an hour out of town. We stood in amazement at the vast landscape that was dotted with piles of salt dug up by workers who make around $5 a day. The sun was glaringly hot despite our altitude and we were all feeling relatively healthy at this point. We walked around the salt museum that was built originally as a hotel. Because of the harsh natural environments, they turned it into a tour stop. The entire building was made of salt bricks, even the beds. I accidentally leaned on one of the salt pillars holding up the snack shop counter and almost knocked down the entire operation. You’d think salt bricks would be sturdy, no? We snapped some photos and then headed to Fish Island, a small piece of land resting in the middle of the salt flat, where we ate lunch. We got a chance to hike to the top of the island and take in the view surrounded by cactus, cactus and more cactus. At almost 13,000 feet, Andy and I were winded after a 15-minute stroll to the peak of the island. This was when my head began to pound.

The view from the top of Fish Island. Out of all the flags we've encountered, I think I like the Bolivian one the most. It's like candy.

Andy and I posed on top of this enormous wine bottle. The flats afford picture takers great depth and opportunities.

After a yummy lunch of quinoi, llama meat and cucumbers, we said goodbye to the salt flats and hopped back in the jeep for a bumpy 2-hour drive to a small town where we would be sleeping. We passed red and yellow quinoi fields, dramatic mountain ranges and free roaming llamas. It was peaceful and quiet in our car, despite the 8 people that were crammed in. They gutted the trunk and added 3 more seats to maximize profits. I like when I come along a tourist activity and realize that someone was using brainpower.

Juan, 2nd from the right, explains how the native's graves were robbed over and over again. Helmut is on the right and the Spanish speaking local who ran the tour is in green. Yours truly is on the far left. Did you notice I shaved my beard?

Our first night was spent at a basic hostel that featured a bed and well, that’s about it. To give it one star would be overhyping the establishment. After a quick rest, Juan took our group to a mummy graveyard that was a 20-minute walk out of town. We put on all our clothes because the sun was setting and the night air was crisp, to say the least. We paid our 5 Bolivianos (60 cents) and had a local man walk us around the 600-year-old cemetary. There were only 25 skeletal remains left in the more than 50 caves that dotted the hill. With the help of Juan’s transaltion, we learned the graves were robbed over and over again by Chileans, Incas and the Spanish. During the mini tour, the sun dropped in the sky behind our backs and afforded us one of the most spectacular sunsets of this year – equal to anything in Greece or Thailand.

These mummies freaked us out. We weren't expecting to actually see skeletal remains when we popped our head in the first cave.

The sunset to end all sunsets. Truly one of the best I've ever seen.

That night was a difficult one for me as I was suffering severe altitude sickness. I slept about two hours total and spent most of the night in bed with a headache to end all headaches. I couldn’t turn my head without feeling immense pressure at the back of my neck. I needed some Cranial Sacral Therapy bad. I woke Andy and she soothed me to sleep by rubbing gently on pressure points. She was a real trooper for staying up with me.

The next day started with a long, bumpy ride through the countryside to see the migrating flamingos that feed and rest in the lagoons dotting the area. The long-legged pink birds stood peacefully in the shallow waters, feeding on algae and small fish. Juan explained that the birds hopped from lagoon to lagoon throughout Chile, Argentina and southern Bolivia looking for warm weather and abundant food. We watched and listened in amazement as they interacted and squawked loudly to each other. Judging from the weather, I guessed it was time to leave Bolivia.

We had nice pictures of the pink flamingos, but this shot of one of the babies was my favorite. The ripples and reflection were perfect. Kudos Andy!

After stopping at some wind-swept rocks jutting out of the barren land and a couple more lagoons featuring red and green algae, we continued our drive south. Inactive volcanoes sat dormant outside the jeep’s windows as we drove past dried lava fields to our hostel. The conical mountains that erupted regularly 40,000 years ago now serve as reminders of a time when this land was growing. It was jaw dropping, awe-inspiring, and breathtaking.

If the first hostal we stayed at was barely 1 star, the second night got a negative 2 star. We were housed in a cement building, sleeping on cement blocks featuring 20-year-old, sunken mattresses. We were at 15,000 feet now and I could barely think straight. It was about 10 degrees outside and we had no heater in our room. All we had was each other’s body heat and a few Alpaca blankets. To add to things, we were waking up at 5 a.m. to go to the hot springs to watch the sunset. So I slept with my bathing suit on underneath my long johns and jeans.

Michael had an altitude watch and I was addicted to asking him how high we were.

I got a poor 2 hours of sleep that night and woke up ready to soak my bones in 100-degree water. It was pitch black outside and Abel must have finally hit the wrong rock as we suffered our first flat tire of the trip. According to Juan, most trips get between 3 and 6 flat tires. So we were doing well, I guess. He changed it in about 5 minutes and we were back on our way to the waters that we so desperately craved.

Pure, absolute joy abounded as we sunk into the hot waters. Rachine is in between Andy and me and Helmut is off to the right.

We were the first people there and Andy, Rachine, Helmut and I stripped down to our bathing suits as the sun began to rise. We plunged in and a wave of perfection soothed our frozen body parts. It was absolutely what we all needed. About a half hour later, Juan had to drag us out of the pool to eat our breakfast. More than ten different tour companies had arrived by then and the loud, young Israelis dominated the scene, so I was OK with getting out.

Andy and I pose in front of the vast red lagoon. Can you tell we were cold? I was wearing every piece of clothing I brought with me on the trip.

The rest of the final day was pretty much a blur. We drove to Green Lagoon to snap some more photos. Then we dropped our German friends off at the Chilean border and picked up two young French travelers who we were taking back to Uyuni. We had 8 hours of driving left to do and all we saw ahead of us was bumpy, mountainous road. I scored the front seat for the ride home and sat there staring out into absolute nothingness, thinking about the trip, my life, my future. It was a solitary time up there as the rest of the group yapped on. I could feel my headache subside as we descended back down to Uyuni. It was a welcome feeling.

There is a road, no simple highway...

So we arrived back in Uyuni and I spent a couple more sleepless nights in the town washing our clothes and figuring out where we were going next. I needed to get lower, while Andy seemed to feel no negative effects from the thin air. She had a vision of visiting the Silver Mines of Potosi, a once wealthy and bustling city for the Spanish in the 1500’s. It also claims to be the highest habitation in the world at almost 16,000 feet. Woof! I decided to leave Andy to explore that area with Michael and Rachine. I continued on 3 hours to Sucre, Bolivia’s most refined city. It sits at only 8,000 feet and I was in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. Andy should be arriving here in a few days.

I met two solo travelers from Switzerland and Poland on my way to Sucre and we decided to find a triple room together for the night to save money. Tom and Andrew, both my age exactly, were very friendly and we talked throughout the evening about the esoteric nature of Paulo Cahlo, World Cup Soccer, NBA player nicknames, the power of love, and Bush’s constant blunders. Despite going our separate ways this morning, I wound up bumping into both of them as I explored the city streets. We made plans to meet for drinks later and I look forward to continuing this chance encounter with two extremely interesting people.

Ooooooahhh Brazil!

2007-04-18T15:05:00.000-07:00

As I was packing my bags in Cordoba, my new friend Caryn (who’s from San Francisco) assured me, “Oh, you’ll love Brazil! It’s so colorful there!” She was right! Brazil, despite being neighbors with Argentina, has a very different flavor than other South American countries. The people are more diverse, the clothes more revealing and the heat makes everyone a little sweatier.

This is the view from a hike through Rio's enormous, urban forest. You can see the lagoon, city and beaches of Ipanema.

I met Serena in the Rio airport and we were off on another of our many world travel adventures. Over the years, we’ve been to Peru, Costa Rica, Israel, Greece, Mexico and all over Europe. And now, it’s Brazil. We took the cheap, but long way to our hostel via an airport shuttle that wove its way through the bustling streets of downtown Rio. Finally arriving at our hostel, The Mango Tree, on Ipanema Beach. (Ipanema is the birthplace of “basso-nova” think “The Girl from Ipanema” by Stan Getz, which we were singing all week.) The streets of Ipanema were alive with people of many colors and sizes, festive rythmic samba music and smoothie joints on every corner. We wandered the neighborhood and ended up where the real action is in Rio, on La Praia (the beach). Rio’s beaches are a scene to behold, with different groups congregating in different sections – the yuppie families, the gay men, the large African women and the teenage pick-up areas by the volleyball nets. Scattered amongst everyone are white (and crimson) tourists and parading young women sporting thongs and tight, tanned tushies. We tried to fit in with our sarongs spread out and chose a spot next to some other girls about our age, although our conservative bikinis and Serena’s pale skin probably gave us away. It was refreshing to notice that not only the thin young women were wearing string bikinis, but women of all shapes, ages and sizes were flaunting their bodies.

The Corcovado (or slangly referred to as "The Big White Dude")
watches over all of Rio.

Rio surprised me. I was warned before coming of all of the dangers there. And while the threat was real (2 other travelers in our hostel had been mugged the day before we got there), we took every precaution and had no problems. I didn’t realize what a beautiful city it would be – the combination of the mountains, beach and largest urban forest in the world. The nightlife was pumping, at the Rio Scenarium, where we saw a 9-piece all-women samba group and drank the national drink Caperinha’s made with Cachaca, a rum-based alcohol, lime and sugar.

Brazilians display tremendous national pride. The flag is everywhere - on their flipflops, sarongs and even painted on cobblestone streets.

After four days in Rio we were off to Salvador de la Bahia, the northern city with a strong African influence remaining from the slave trade. Pelhourino, the old colonial section of the city was extremely picturesque with many brightly colored buildings, cobblestone streets and churches built by the Portugese. Wandering the streets were African women in huge hoop skirts and headresses itching to pose with tourists willing to pay a few bucks. The town is famous for it’s music and capoiera. So we sampled them both. We decided to take a capoiera class, which was a private lesson where we learned some basic moves – jenga, eskiva, and oi. This ancient form of martial arts uses repetition and special capoiera music to keep the dancers in time, which is crucial when kicking your leg over someone’s head and cartwheeling are involved. We had a blast, and felt proud of ourselves for trying it, but we were so sore the next two days we could barely walk!

On Tuesday nights in Salvador there is a festival in the streets and samba bands, drum ensembles and basso-nova duets line the alleys and squares. We found a lively band on the stairs of an old church with people packed in grinding to sexy music. Afterwards in the main square, we joined in with the African drum ensemble as they lead a group dance class at 2 am with all of the locals and tourists. Another highlight in Salvador was our night eating moqueca (a coconut-based stew with fish and shrimp- YUM!) and then a visit to an authentic Candomble ceremony. Candomble, a cousin to voodoo, is a matriarchal religion based in music and dance – originating in Africa – that has been practiced in secret for hundreds of years. Only in the last 10 years has it become legal and has welcomed visitors to its’ ceremonies. The ritual we witnessed was a regular Wednesday night tribute to the god of the streets, which harbors both good and evil. The ceremony, which took place in a tiny stifling room, was initiated by a poweful black woman dancing to drums with a cigarette and a glass of champagne, part of the ceremony. Gradually more and more people came and began dancing and drinking and smoking and becoming literally entranced by the music and the goddess – eyes rolling back into their head and falling to the floor. At one point the visitors were brought into a back room and cleansed with popcorn by the head “priestess.” This practice is said to heal skin disease. Then, of course we were asked for a donation. Although we thought at first that this was a show just for tourists, by the time we left there were over 50 people there dancing, drinking, smoking cigarettes and being entranced by the goddess of the street. Definitely an experience I’ll never forget. We decided to contribute to the cause by giving one dollar.

The plateaus of the Chapata Diamantina National Park.
The entire park is bigger than The Netherlands.

Cooling off in the waterfall outside of Capao with Brasilian teenagers vacationing during Semana Santa (Easter Week).

Our next stop in Brazil was Capao, a small, hippie mountain town in the Chapata Diamantina (diamond mines) national park. Although is took 10 hours to get there, we were rewarded with a laid-back village surrounded by green plateaus and waterfalls. Unfortunately I came down with a nasty flu and was bed-ridden for a few days, but at least Serena got to enjoy the park on a full day trip. One highlight was checking out a local folkloric festival featuring traditional “farol” music with some traveler friends we met at a communal restaurant.

Serena showing off our comfy hammock/porch in her beach attire in Morro.

Hanging out with my new friend by the pool in Morro.

Our last stop was the tropical island of Morro de Sao Paolo, a relaxed beach town with no cars and abundant coconuts, acai (delicious amazonian berry drink) and fresh seafood. We spent our last few days relaxing on the beach, and spent some rainy afternoons just enjoying each other’s company, playing backgammon and laughing about our many adventures. After packing up our newly purchased Haviana flip-flops, samba music and some other chatchkies, we headed to the airport to part ways.

No cars on Morro, only wheelbarrow taxis. All day, "taxi-drivers" where schlepping tourist's bags from the pier to their hotels.

A view of Morro's first beach from our boat trip.

Can this year get any better?

Serena and I can now add Brazil to our travel belt, and I’m sure we will have many more adventures in the future. I left Brazil with a taste of its’ varied and lush landscapes, creative and eclectic foods, warm and diverse people, and a laundry bag full of sweaty clothes.

Say goodbye to Cordoba, say goodbye to my baby

2007-04-15T12:11:00.000-07:00

It’s our last day here in Cordoba after 6 weeks of pure bliss. The decision to come here and spend an extended period of time couldn’t have worked out better. I am sitting at my favorite WiFi café, sipping my café doble and wondering what the final 9 weeks of our trip will hold. It is hard to imagine that we are nearing the end of this odyssey, but I knew the time would come. We still have a boatload more to see and many unforeseen adventures await us, but at times, I get sad thinking that we are rounding the homestretch.

Since I last wrote, life here has been grand. I took my final Spanish exam and passed into the second level, so that was nice. My skills are still prtty weak, but I feel energized to continue studying when we return home. Also, I worked all last week for Nouveh magazine with a great editor, Kara. I spent my four hours a day setting up style guidelines for the new publication. It’s only been on newstands for three months and Pablo the publisher and Kara are working to decide its focus. I was there to help with font choices, color schemes, content, etc. Because the magazine is so new, they are still in the process of finding contributors. I eagerly threw my hat in the ring and feel blessed that this opportunity came knocking. I was tapped to write an article on our travels in Croatia as well as an article on the growing popularity of Hybrid vehicles. I also have a chance to write a “think-piece” on nanotechnology. If I can find time to research and interview people via the Internet over the next few weeks, I could feasible have three articles published in the May issue. How cool is that?

I'm certainly going to miss the bed in our Cordoba apartment. Down comforter, yummy pillows, nightstands. I can't imagine our sleeping arrangements will get much better than this.

I also must mention the benefits of being alone over the past two weeks. It’s been a rare feeling for me to experience the solitutde of life. Being married and together with Andy for almost 13 years, I am normally checking in with my wife on the simpliest of decisions. We’ve been a couple so long that to receive time on my own was a treat. I would walk around the city aimlessly, turning at corners just because I could. It was a very intoxicating feeling, one that I think is essential to my life goals. I realized during my time here in Cordoba that I want to be a writer when I return. Not just for fun, or as a hobby, but as a profession. I get excited when I make time for my creative side and that time is most available when I isolate myself. Don’t worry, I’m not going to go hide in the woods with my laptop, but I did learn I am most productive when I am acting as a hermit.

Andy and Serena pose together after hiking to a spot high above Rio. Que linda!

I also learned that I am productive and adventerous in a whole different way with Andy around. She has such a zest for travel and her desire to see things allows me to experience life in a whole other way. For example, last night we saw a Tango Dinner Show that, if alone, I would not have gone to. It was so much fun to watch the local crowd sing along to their favorite tunes. I was trying to think how it was similar to something in our culture and all I could come up with was maybe a lounge act playing Sinatra tunes. The dancers were incredible and the accordian player displayed jaw-dropping talent.

Andy returned from Brazil two nights ago glowing. She had an absolute blast with Serena in the colorful countryside and perfect beaches, and has been raving about Rio, Salvador, and her other adventures. She is planning a blog post in the near future, so keep checking back for that. It’s been a treat to listen to the stories and see the pictures from her time in Brazil.

One of the many pictures Andy has taken over this year that will go in her "Door Series." C'mon, you know you're excited to see pictures of doors.

So our bus leaves tonight at midnight for a small town six hours north of Cordoba called Termas de Rio Honda. It is a small hot springs town that caters to those looking to relax in water. Basically, it’s our kind of town. We are planning on a few days soaking and then off to Salta, a larger colonial city about 5 more hours north, towards Bolivia. It’s time to get back on the road, despite feeling sad about leaving this amazing city. We should be entering the wilds of Bolivia in about 8-9 days and hope to spend quality time learning about the indigenous South American people. Argentina has been spectacular, by far one of my favorite places on this whole trip. However, we both feel its time to remove ourselves from the comfortable surroundings of this country’s European vibe and head to the bumpy roads and unique cultures that lay to our north. And as much as I enjoyed my time alone, I am thrilled to be partnered again with Andy as we finish up our travels.

Simple Twist of Fate

2007-04-05T07:23:00.000-07:00

I spent an evening with friends the other night. We ate dinner, drank beer, smoked cigarettes and talked. Sounds easy enough, right? Well, if you throw in the fact that everyone was speaking Spanish, it was anything but normal.

Javier, my teacher for the last three weeks, invited me to his apartment to feast on homemade empanadas with his girlfriend Belen. I accepted nervously, thinking that I could handle a night getting to know my newfound friend. I knew he would be conscious of the language barrier and speak slowly, repeating things when I needed him to. When I arrived I was surprised to see two strange faces in the tiny livingroom. Javier’s other friends – Veronica and Bernardo – were there and I knew that I was in for an adventure.

I just received thsi photo from Javier via email so I thought I'd include it with the appropriate post. The other pictures included in this post are just for visual affect and have nothing to do with the actual story.

I instantly realized that my Spanish skills were lacking when the conversation began to pick up speed. They were interested in my travels and asked me questions that I was able to answer. Soon, they began to treat me normally, not like some traveling fly on the wall eavesdropping on their lives, and the flow of their words left me in the dust. Bernardo, a guitarist and singer in a Pink Floyd-style rock band, was discussing a music festival and the politics rooted in the band selection. Being an avid concert-goer, this is something I know a bit about, but I was completely unable to express what I was thinking. My brain was working overtime to try and comprehend what he was saying. I would get hung up on words, trying to remember the definition and then before I knew it, he was on to a whole new concept.

There was a connection though as Bernardo’s warm smile and mellow demeanor shone through his rapid-fire talk. Javier would stop to explain things to me when he saw my “scrunched-up-forehead-look-of-confusion” that he knows so well. I found out that Bernardo had heard of my favorite band Phish and I told him to look up The Grateful Dead. Surprisingly, they were foreign to him. I tried to download some of it to his MP3 player but it wasn’t compatable with my iBook. I also told him about Pink Floyd’s connection with the movie “The Wizard of Oz.” He knew what I was talking about when we finally came up with the translation for the word wizard. (I had to pull out my dictionary to help. In hindsight, I should have had it out the whole time.)

This is the porch attached to our apartment. I love
having a private outdoor space. It's a great place to
read and soak up the fresh air. Plus, you can see
into the living rooms of the other apartments.

Javier’s other friend, Veronica, was friendly and inviting and peppered me with questions about my trip, my work, my computer skills, etc. She spoke equally as fast and Javier reminded me not to be afraid to ask them to speak slower. I took his advice and I was able to actually hold a conversation about graphic design.

As the beer continued to flow, so did the discussions. I found out that Seinfeld is huge here and that everyone loves Kramer. (I tend to disagree as I think Elaine deserve a bit more credit for the show’s success.) Other topics included hiking Machu Pichu, the atrocities at Aushwitz, their love for the boardgame Stratego, and differences in salaries between our countries.

Dinner was called for 10 pm and I wound up staying until almost 2 am. I had a slight beer buzz towards the end of the night as The Beatles played on the antique stereo. It was that music and those smiles that made me feel at home in this incredible foreign place. Despite the language barrier, I realized that friends are friends no matter where you are. They joke with each other, show affection for one another, and socialize in pretty much the same fashion that I am accustomed to. I was surprised at how comfortable I felt, especially considering how nervous I was when I arrived. It was a special night, one that ranks extremely high in the “perfect moments” category of this year.

Andy snapped this photo of a courtyard in the center
of Cordoba. Not sure why, but I just love this picture.

In other shocking news, on a whim I applied for a job as a layout design editor for a California magazine whose editorial offices are here in Cordoba. After a very informal interview, I was offered the job and I start today! The rag is based out of Fresno and is a glossy, hip, sleek publication for the young elite. I am only signed on for two weeks but I may try to talk Andy into staying an extra week in Cordoba when she returns from Brazil so I can continue the work. In an even greater twist of fate, I may even get a chance to publish an article on my travels.

So just like that, I finished my Spanish course and now I am getting ready to start my new job. Living abroad, even if only for a short time, has proved extraordinarily enjoyable. I can only imagine how incredible it would be to stay someplace for an extended period of time. Maybe one day I’ll get to describe it for you, but for now, I am just going to soak up my remaining two weeks here in the heartland of Argentina.

Semana 3 en Cordoba

2007-04-01T12:34:00.000-07:00

I decided to go to a different café this Sunday because I just couldn’t take another soccer crowd. Instead I found a WiFi place with people glued to a tennis match. Go figure.

Well, this week was pretty much the same, which means this blog posting will be shorter than most and not feature any pictures. Andy had finished up her class and spent her remaining time in Cordoba soaking up the comfort of our apartment. It’s been raining here like its February in the Bay Area and I’m kind of enjoying it. We’ve been chasing the summer all year and this was our first time experiencing cold, rainy weather in a long time. We hibernated for a few days and it felt good.

Andy flew to Brazil early Thursday morning and according to an email from her, things are going great. She met Serena at the baggage check in the airport of Rio, Brazil, and the two of them opted for a cheaper, two-hour bus ride form the hotel to their hostel. In hindsight, Andy said they should have taken a cab. They’ve been exploring the city by day and the discos by night. Andy said the beaches are amazing and so are the Brazilian tushies.

As for me, yep, you guessed it. I’m reading, writing, watching TV, swimiing, and going to the movie theater. I saw the flick “300” yesterday. Holy cow, what a great time! I only have two more days of classes left because of a holiday Monday to honor the soldiers who died in the Falkand Islands War against England in 1982. And then, because of Easter, school is closed Thursday and Friday. I take my final exam on Wednesday. Wish me luck!

The Spanish immersion class has been amazing. It has inspired me to want to continue to study the language when I get home. I need another three months of this intensive work to feel remotely confident, but for now I can ask for things I need and that feels good. More than anything, I have made a friend through this whole experience. My teacher Javier is a funny, introspective, sincere, amazing person who has opened his world and his thoughts to me. I feel I have a friend for life and hope that one day I can get him to come to California to meet my family. Ciao!!

Semana 2 en Cordoba

2007-03-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

I’m back at the bar watching Sunday futbol and some team just scored a goal after 50 minutes of passing the ball around. Stand up and cheer! Anyway, time keeps chugging along here in Cordoba and our Spanish keeps getting better and better. I had my first random conversation with a local where I was actually able to hold my own. It was a proud achievement for me. Unfortunately, after talking slowly with this nice man for ten minutes while eating lunch at my favorite vegetarian restaurant, I realized he was a born-again Christian trying to convert me over to his team. “Jesus Christo es tu savior, es mi savior, es un savior por todo!” he exclaimed. “Jesus no es mi savior, lo siento,” was my reply.

We spent this week in class learning past tense verb forms and vocab words to use at the supermarket. This was Andy’s last week of lessons and she was determined to eek as much info out of Javier as possible. We were fortunate to be in Cordoba, the student capital of Argentina, during one of the most important political holidays of year. On March 24, the country stages demonstrations and parades to commemorate and honor the lives lost during the mini-holocaust that took place here between 1976-1980. During the four-year massacre, babies were taken from their home and either killed or sold, intellectuals went missing and never returned, and many activists were exiled or murdered. It was a dark stain on the country’s history and one that it will forever remember. The locals march for human rights and everyone seems to care. From my point of view it was uplifting to behold a country that continues to place importance on their history while also trying to recover from a devastating economic crash in 2002.

The march for human rights was a sight to behold. After weathering years of dictators, the rain could not stop the country from speaking their truth.

We had a very intense coversation with Javier about the atrocities that took place and how the pysche of the Argentinian people suffered because of the trauma. He mentioned how many politicians of today pretend to care and back certain groups in an attempt to win more votes. He also told us voting was mandatory in Argentina. What I think I love even more than learning the language is accumulating insight into the history people live with. It is interesting to nopte that throughout this year I have noticed that much of the world suffers from many of the same mistakes.

This was one of the good pieces of meat that Javier so kindly scored for me.

When class finished this week on Friday, our school threw a traditional asado BBQ fiesta for the students and teachers. Most people were seated around tables talking, while many of the men hovered around the grill looking for scraps from the chef. Before anything was served to the seated, all the grill lurkers got a quick taste of the cooked meat. Javier scored me some fleshy pieces of hot meat and watched as I tried parts of the cow I never imagined people could enjoy. “Muy rico!” I got my first taste of intenstines, blood sausage and liver. For the record, it was all much better than I thought it would be. There was one piece I tried that I had to spit out though, as the look and consistency reminded of something CBS Survivor would make you eat during a challenge. Despite this one mishap, I was proud of my willingness to try new, exotic foods.

No Jeff, I will not eat that blood sausage for $1,000,000.

Andy bit off a little more than she could chew at the BBQ. She's gonna hate me for putting this picture on the blog but I just had to.

On Saturday, Andy and I hit the town. We had tickets to Bela Fleck and the Flecktones at the famous Cordoba theatre and afterwards had plans with two other students from our school to go out clubbing. Caryn is a solo traveler from San Francisco that we met here in Cordoba. We are getting along with her real well and have been having little dinner parties, just the three of us, this whole week. Carlos is a Brasilian government worker on vacation here taking Spanish classes. He speaks almost no English and it has been a challenge to communicate with him. It’s like we are playing a game of foreign password: “miedo? nerviouso? timido?” answer: “scared!”) Despite this, we have had many interesting conversations.

We talked him into buying a ticket to see Bela and he was more than happy with that decision. This was Bela’s first time in Argentina, which means that for most of the people in attendance, this was their first Bela show. To put it midly, they blew the roof off the place. The crowd was rolling in their seats, shushing during quiet acoustic songs, and howling with enjoyment at the virtuosity of the group. Four standing ovations were scattered throughout the performance and the evening ended with the famous soccer/futball chant, “Alé, alé, alé, alé, aleeeeee, aleeeeee!” and then a three-song encore that left the crowd cheering and applaudiing for 10 minutes. Having seen Bela and the Flecktones close to 12 times, I was less blown away than others, but I will say here that this was the most energetic, tight Bela show I ever seen. (And don’t sleep on Jeff Coffin, that dude wails on the sax – he played two horns at the same time again. For those who have never witnessed the ease at which he pulls it off, it is a mind-blowing trip.)

After the show, Andy, Carlos and I met Caryn at the local café and the four of us went to Mitre, the most popular disco in Cordoba. It was filled with mingling teens and 20-something professionals. We were definitely the oldest people there. I’m cool with that though. It makes me feel good to know I can still go to these places and not totally stand out. (That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.)

It was 3 am and we headed straight for the dancefloor. The music was a little too techno-ish for me, but we got our groove on for about an hour before the pounding beats, smoke machine and crush of people finally sent me over my limit. Andy looked cute as ever and was feeling the music. I had to drag her off the dancefloor. We got home at 5 am and slept late into the afternoon today.

Andy leaves next Wednesday for Brazil to meet our friend Serena from NY. The girls are holding their annual vacation together in South America’s largest country. I will be staying in Cordoba the whole time while Andy is off exploring the wonders of Brazil. This will be our second split of the year and my focus for our time apart will be to continue to swim 3-4 times a week at our local pool, study my spanish verbs and finish my movie script.

Semana 1 en Cordoba

2007-03-20T09:32:00.000-07:00

We are one week into our Spanish classes and I feel good. I still get nervous when pressed to speak the native tongue as my vocabulary bank is lacking majorly. But, I’ve found the key is to remember verbs and I can slowly make my way through a deliberate conversation. Despite 10 years of Spanish lessons throughout middle school, high school and college, I tested into the same class as Andy, who had never taken a Spanish course in her life. Go figure.

Andy and I lucked out with our lessons though. Besides our teacher Javier, it is just the two of us in the 4-hour a day class. From 9 a.m. to 1 p.m., the three of us practice conjugating verbs and conversational norms. I was surprised by how much came back to me in the first week, especially with regards to tenses. Thankfully, Javier’s method of teaching is to sit and talk for the first hour of each class. He speaks good English but rarely breaks it out, and only does when he can see our foreheads scrunch up with a dazed look of confusion. We’ve discussed our country’s governments, social security, medical benefits, unemployment rates, Arnold Schwarzenegger’s policies, immigration from Europe and The Godfather – All in Spanish. One homework assingment in particular had me describing the city I was born in – Philadelphia. The hardest part was trying to explain “The City of Brotherly Love” in Spanish, “La Ciudad de amor de los hermanos”- some things just get lost in translation.

Javier poses in front of the recently cleaned dry erase board.
We love getting to know him and learning about his
culture and country. Bueno!

It is especially interesting for me to realize how the inability to speak a language can fatally hinder your ability to say what you mean. I think of all the people I have met whose native tongue is not English. I wonder if they suffer the similar struggles of communication in a foreign language. I want to say that I like The Governator’s stance on solar power innovation but am angry with his school-funding views. I am using loads of brain power trying to say the simplest things. We feel fortunate to have such directed and private lessons and I can only imagine how much stronger my Spanish will get after three full weeks with Javier.

Our time was also spent getting to know the other travelers taking classes at our school. The institution is catered to those looking for an intensive environment and there are people of all ages – from loads of different countries – signing up for lessons here. And, when the learning is done for the day, the school does an amazing job of creating a fun space for people to meet. They organize soccer in the park, tours of the city, trips to a neighboring town to see Che Guevara’s childhood home, asado (traditional Agentinian BBQ) in the mountains, midnight salsa lessons, and happy hour at the bar.

We took a small trip with 13 other students one day to Alta Gracia, a clean, small town 45 minutes from Cordoba center. We went to the home of Argentina’s favorite son and Fidel’s right hand man in the 60’s – Che Guevara. I had recently read an extremely long biography about the man and was entrenched in the politics of the times in Latin America, and the world for that matter. I learned so much about the turbulent era and had my eyes opened to the man behind the popular T-shirt. We saw where he grew up and his energy was scattered throughout the yard, bedrooms, kitchen and the trees that surrounded the Mission-style house.

While reading Che's biography I learned that he sported facial hair
because he hated to shave. He is my bearded inspiration!

After that, we headed to see a Jesuit Missionary compound in the heart of the village. The architecture was beautiful, but the translation of their impact on the indigenous people was lost on all of the students as the tour guide spoke at warp speed in heavily accented Spanish. We all glanced at each other and giggled after each presentation because no one understood a word she said. It was humbling for me because I thought I had learned so much in my first week and yet, one hour of listening to her and I was still in the dark as to the Jesuits goals.

ABOVE: The view of the man-made lake
that the jesuits used back in the day.
BELOW: Students from our school
pose outside the mission in Alta Gracia.

In any event, our first week in Cordoba has been spectacular. The city is hopping with bars and markets and museums and an electric energy that we have not seen anywhere this year. Concerts, independent movie houses and cheap, amazing restaurants are everywhere. There are even Sunday bars that cater specifically to young, single, local men who want to watch futbol. They sit attentively watching and "oooh" and "aahh" in unison when the action picks up. (Sound familiar boys?) Despite the culture similarities of Sunday afternoons glued to the TV, I am still unable to find anything remotely exciting about watching futbol. It’s like watching grass grow.

According to Andy, however, all the people who weren’t watching futbol Sunday were hanging out in the grassy park. Groups of women and couples sat around a lake while drinking their Maté (popular Argentinian tea – pronounced Mahtay). She said, literally, everyone was drinnking the stuff. Tough-looking guys, families, high school skateboarders, and old couples alike sipped the shared drink. Andy has been reading about the local culture and told me that Argentina is one of the least diverse countries in the world. Almost 95% of the population has Italian and or Spanish ancestors. And through this, everything they have in common translates physically into their love for Maté. Literally, every class of Argentinian – upper, middle or lower class – drinks the stuff. Let’s not even start with their obsession with coca-cola, which is consumed daily by the liter and even fed to 10-week-old babies on the street out of glass bottles. ( I swear we actually saw this happen!)

Oh yeah baby! Our luck keeps gettin' better and better.

Just when we thought life couldn’t get any better, we walked past the city’s old symphony hall and saw a poster that had us jumping up and down. Bela Fleck and The Flecktones are on a 10-city Latin American tour and they are coming to play Cordoba’s 130-year-old venue in a week! Weil geil ist das denn? We immediately scooped up two seats in the 12th row ($16 each) for the show and are counting down the days until we get to hear Vic Wooten funktify the “The Star Spangled Banner.”

Our goals for the upcoming week are simple. We want to find a gym to work out in and to improve our abilty to conjugate reflexive verbs in the present tense. Other than that, I am continuing to read like a madman and am hoping to devote some serious time to my new screenplay.

A New Home

2007-03-11T07:35:00.000-07:00

Well, we’ve been to 12 countries over 7 months and our rooms have come in all forms – crappy, comfy, cozy and cush. We've had loud fans, bed bugs, mildew smells and perfect balconies. I felt like we’d seen it all. That is until we arrived in Cordoba, Argentina.

Andy and I had just finished a 2-country whirlwind adventure with my parents. We spent four magical days in the lake district of Bariloche where we stole ashtrays, sipped cappucinos and marveled at my mom’s ability to drive stick after years of inactivity. On one driving excursion, we went to see Argentina’s most famous, posh hotel – The Llao Llao Resort. Another day was spent exploring Villa La Angostura, a ski village that morphs into kitsch hell in the summertime. Our hotel was nice and our rooms looked out onto a pristine lake and mountain view. It was a very peaceful way to start our vacation together.

Move over Jeff Gordon, there's a new driver
in town - and her name is Andrea Rubin!

Upon arrival back in Buenos Aires, we realized it was the weekend of their famous Tango festival and Andy and I, being as relaxed as ever about finding accommodations, did not book anything prior to arrival. We had a hard time locking down a place and just as we were about to lug our bags to a hostel outside of Palermo Soho, my parents’ generosity kicked in. They scored a 2-bedroom suite at their ultra modern city escape, complete with leather couch, a balcony overlooking our perfectly busy street, and a shower that had the pressure of a firehose. Despite having to sleep on the couch, I was in heaven. They provided yummy blankets that reminded us of home and sheets with, according to Andy, an extremely high thread count. (One extra special addition was that The Oscars were on that weekend and we got to have a little party in our hotel room. Unfortunately, everything was dubbed in Spanish and it didn’t end until 3 am our time. But I stayed up for the whole thing and if Peter O’Toole had won, I would have been $60 richer! Oh well.)

Out on the town in Buenos Aires with my beautiful wife.
And you wonder why everyone automatically
talks to us in Spanish?

We spent our days in BA checking out new parts of the city. We went to San Telmo’s antique streets and saw Tango dancers cutting a rug. We checked out the city’s modern art museum as well as the famous cememtary in Recoleta that is overrun with stray cats. I was even able to grab some alone time that I used to go see a movie. (I saw Borat. I laughed hard but was also uncomfortable at times. A must see for any fan of film as I consider it a cross between Spinal Tap and all the Monty Python movies.)

I would describe some of the meals we ate, but I think my dad covered that subject in the previous post. Although, I must mention Social Paraiso’s medallions of meat. It was the most tender, juicy, tasty piece of beef I’ve had so far in Argentina – hands down!

Similar to Arnold and Danny Devito in the movie "Twins"
Dad and I realize we are cast from the same mold.
(Like the beard? I'm not cutting it
until we get home in June. ZZTop or bust!)

Anyway, we headed to Uruguay for a four-day side trip to the elite beach area of Punta del Este. It is where the rich Argentinians go for vacation. And of course, without knowing it, we were there on what amounts to their version of Labor Day Weekend. We arrived after a five-hour taxi-ferry-bus jaunt and during our negotiations with the cab driver at the bus station, Andy and I got in our first loud argument with a local. Apparently bargaining is not that accepted in Uruguay and my mangled Spanish seemed to set off hidden rage in this portly driver. He blew up at me. Cursing me, throwing our bags out of his trunk, gesturing rudely. I didn’t know what to say except, “Facil, facil, facil.” (Easy, easy, easy). We took our stuff and found another driver who took us to our hotel for the price we wanted to pay. Welcome to Uruguay!

The view of the rainbow from our room. A crazy storm
had just blown over our hotel and we were left
with this incredible sight.

The rest of our time there was lovely. We had an amazing room that overlooked a near, empty beach in a Bed & Breakfast just outside the main busy center of Punta. We sipped wine and watched intense sunsets every night from our room. We even got a killer rainbow one night! Their breakfast was amazing as they included huge watermelon and cantaloupe slices every morning along with a tray of tasty pastries. We rented a car again and mom handled it perfectly, despite torrential rains that literally flooded the inside of the car. We were even able to sneak in a sunny day lounging on the beach and swimming in the Atlantic Ocean.

Dad poses in Uruguay with La Bluette's owner Hugo. This guy
was a blast to talk to. he would recommend restaurants
and draw little maps so we could find it.
Show us those pearly whites, Hugo!

We made it back to BA and finished up our trip together in style. Great meals, belly laughs and hugs dominated our final three days. It was two weeks of my life I will never forget.

Just as my parents’ flight took off for Las Vegas, Andy and I were preparing for an overnight bus to Cordoba, the second city in Argentina. Considered the Boston of this great land, Cordoba boasts numerous colleges throughout tis city limits. If you aren’t a student in Cordoba, then you are a teacher. We made a reservation at an Israeli-run hostel, Baluch Backpackers, and stayed two nights, as we had loftier ambitions. We were coming to Cordoba for two things.

First we wanted to take a Spanish immersion class. Andy and I had heard this is the place to do it in Argentina and it was time to learn how to speak properly – or at least how to say “Can you wrap up these leftovers so I can take it home?” And second, we wanted to settle down for a month and find an apartment.

Instantly, thanks to Lonely Planet, we found an awesome school that caters to foreigners looking for intensive Spanish lessons. The director of the school was incredibly friendly and helped us call around the city looking for apartments. What we found was that everything was way out of our budget. After giving up our search for the perfect flat, we made a reservation at a hostel near our school. It was cheap, hip, quiet and livable – not what we wanted but it would work. It only cost $14 a night so we were happy. We went to the school to take our placement test, which Andy failed miserably, and the school director called the last number we had on our list of potential apartments. After our test, we went to meet the property manager at the building. And as we walked into the space, we knew we were home.

Can you tell that I'm happy with my new couch?
We lucked out big time with this place!

The large, 1-bedroom apartment in hip Nueva Cordoba is brand new. It has a leather couch, a full kitchen, an ultra-comfortable bed with a down comforter and pillows. There is a shower, a patio and, of course, a biday. We have Direct TV and a free wireless connection, as well as maid service twice a week. And, to top it all off, it only costs $18 a night!! We were in heaven – absolute heaven. We signed a month-long lease and moved our minimal belongings in Friday. Immediately upon unpacking, Andy and I both came down with a nasty cough, flu, cold. We are spending the weekend before our class begins with tissue in hand, sniffling, sneezing and watching movies.

Despite the nasty sickness, it feels incredible to be in a place that we can call home. As previously stated, we’ve been all over the world in the last 7 months and what we are calling home, in many places, feels cold and uninviting. But now, in Cordoba, we have found a place bursting with warmth and coziness. The city is alive with students and young professionals and Andy and I are excited to begin our Spanish immersion journey in this city that feels like a town. We’ve got a sock drawer, a routine to follow, a couch to sit on, and a doorman to say hi to. It’s the first place on this trip that we feel like we can call home and truly mean it.

Pace yourself (Guest blog by Mark Rubin)

2007-03-05T09:40:00.000-08:00

So I survived a heartbeat of 28 with the help of a pacemaker and was able to embark on an adventure with Andi (mi esposa and Eric’s mother), Andy and Eric. Since we are in Argentina we’ll call them The Andes. Clever, eh?

Andi and I spent three days in Buenos Aires getting used to shopping and shopping and eating and eating. We then flew southwest of B.A. to Bariloche, a town in the Lake Region that borders Chile. Here, we learned a new word thanks to the Hess-Rubins, “tranquilo” – which translates to “chill out, man.” Not that the Las Vegas Rubins lead a busy existence, but up at 11 a.m., breakfast at noon, lunch at 5 p.m. and dinner beginning around 11 p.m. is just a bit too “tranquilo” at times. While in Bariloche, The Andes shopped their butts off – it really helps when the prices are about 25% of the USA.

Lamb Cruxifiction. We saw this display at a restaurant we ate at in Bariloche where, apparently Bill and Hillary dined in 1997. It was also where we saw an out of control 4 year old take a nose dive into a wooden coffee table. Oof!

But let’s move on to more serious matters. Let’s talk about food! Think of the best restaurant you can remember – the ambiance – the food – Peter Lugers in NYC and Ruth’s Chris all over the USA. Think of a steak, juicy, hot, thick – then eat it at a sidewalk table with Argentinian beauties passing by. Sound good? Then, think $60 for a dinner of four that includes a tasty, local wine, sides, desserts and tip. I have no comment on the vegetarian food here, except of course for the papas fritas, which were pretty spectacular everywhere.

The Green Fish! Quick, make a left - our restuarant
is only three "blocks" away.

There is one restaurant, in particular, I must mention. During our stay in Punta Del Este, Uruguay, our friendly B&B owner recommended a place off the beaten path. Our directions to “Marisco” were to drive about 20 kilometers into the forest and make a left at the “Pesce Verde” (Green Fish). We found it with ease, suprisingly, considering we felt like we were in the middle of nowhere. The restaurant was set outside, the floor was natural, white sand and we ate under a canvas canopy. Not even a torrential downpour could stop us. Andi just opened up her umbrella and finished off her yummy white fish (without la cabeza, of course). The rain became too much and we proceeded inside, where little Andy declared our chocolate cake with whipped cream, “the best dessert she’s ever tasted.” However, there was a noticeable downside to this experience. Eric noticed a definitive moustache on our friendly waitress’ upper lip and wanted to go to CVS for some lip bleach. Unfortunately, we were miles away from one, so it had to remain.

Variations on chocolate was pretty exciting.
Which one should I eat first?

(For the record, my favorite dessert was in BA at Social Paraiso, a nouvelle Argentinian cuisine restaurant. It was a variation on chocolate and bananas, five different ways. Mmmmmm.)

Besides eating and shopping, we did do some sightseeing as well. We took an hour-long ferry ride from Villa La Angostina near Bariloche to a national park that featured amazing myrtle trees on the Quetrihue Peninsula. The trail we walked was breathtaking with views of the trees and the Andes (mountains). Being able to walk through the forest that long reminded me how lucky I am to have been fixed and how grateful I am to have a family who stood by me and lagged behind to help.

The hike was almost a mile, up and down steps. Way to go dad! (Nice walking stick, by the way. It even has a compass.)

I must also mention that Bariloche is the chocolate capital of Argentina. Guess how wide Andy’s smile was when we explored Mamushka Chocolate Outlet while Eric and Andi sipped cappucinos at the restaurant next door? Eric also got a lesson from Andi on the streets of Bariloche on how to drive a manual car. They plan on renting a car on the next leg of their journey in Cordoba.

Checking out the view of Chile on our drive around
Bariloche's Circuito Chico. Don't get too close to the edge...

Travelling within Argentina and Uruguay was “tranquilo” for the other three, but not for me. Long lines and crowds are not on my “to do” list. Also, the taxi drivers in BA are just “loco.” One, in particular, looked like she escaped from “The Shining” set. Every time she survived an intersection at 90 KMH, she clutched her rosary and said a prayer. In my opinion, she should have just slowed down.

We left Las Vegas with two bags and a small backpack, and we are coming home – almost three weeks later – with three checked suitcases and three carry-on bags. Andy and Eric bought a chess set, as well as coats, bags, slippers, jewelry, dresses, etc. My Andi did the same, but add clothes for Adam to that list. I have to say, though, when the prices are so cheap, it’s almost impossible to hold back.

The Andes!

So now it is back to reality tomorrow. It was an exciting adventure and a pleasure to see Eric and Andy enjoying life together. I’m thinking how difficult it will be to get back to normal after so long away from home. I wonder, though, how the Hess-Rubins will do it after 11 months. But, I have confidence they will and I look forward to their return and am jealous of the next months they will spend exploring.

El Bolson Bums

2007-02-24T06:00:00.000-08:00

So it’s been a while since the last blog posting. Sorry to those who check regularly, but life on the road has gotten to us. Mellow has been the word of the week for us. After the penguins, glaciers and treks, we decided we needed a break from traveling and touring.

We had heard about this little, hippie town in the northern Patagonia area of Argentina from other travelers and decided to check it out. We wanted to lay low, read our books, try to paint using watercolors, maybe throw a hike into the mix, and possibly do some creative writing.

That is the bedroom window of our apartment.
Look at those mountains, look at those trees...

Well, looking back on our time in El Bolson, we certainly accomplished our mission. We found a sweet apartment near the center of town for a good price. I negotiated the nightly rate down using our extended stay (8 nights) as a bargaining chip. Damn, I love to work a deal now! What’s gotten into me? We had a full kitchen and an upstairs with a yummy bed. We could even see snow-capped peaks of The Andes from our bedroom window. Our landlords for the week were a gentle, young married couple with two boys, age 7 and 4. Roxanna and Mariano were very friendly and liked practicing their English skills with us. She also loved baking sweets and using us as taste testers. No problem! The best treat she offered us was a chocolate-covered cookie with a creamy middle of dulche de leche. Yes, please!!

Our second day in the mountain town, we were shut in by dark clouds and pouring rain. We watched movies on the TV and played cards. Andy began reading Steinbecks’s East of Eden and I am so jealous. It is one of my favorite books and she has no idea how lucky she is to be experiencing it for the first time. I am struggling but enjoying a biography of Ernesto “Che” Guevara, the Argentinian revolutionary who helped Fidel and Raul Castro come into power in the late 1950’s. I knew very little about this time in history and the more I read, the more I am intrigued to know more. I now know the Bay of Pigs invasion was not a bacon-cooking contest.

Andy and I at the lookout point over El Bolson.
Those mountains I am staring at are in Chile!

When the rains let up, we went for a quick hike up the hill from our apartment to a lookout over the town. We stomped up a dusty path 3 kilomters to a large cross standing tall above El Bolson. We could see all the way to Chile from up there. It was a great, little walk, despite our shoes and calves being caked with red clay dirt.

I could not do a blog posting about El Bolson without mentioning the three-times-a-week market in the town center. Knit hats, empañadas de carne, wood carvings, gnomes, necklaces, chess sets, freaky puppets. You name it and the hippie artists in town created it. And believe it or not, it never got old strolling through the semi-circle layout of stalls. In the middle of the artist stands were performing clowns. I watched one guy whose catch phrase that made the crowds laugh was “Que Paso?” His delivery was spot on – gutteral, quick, with a grimace but also quirky so as not to be scary. Although, sometimes, clowns just can’t help but freak people out. He asked me to be a volunteer but I looked clueless because I didn’t understand his question. He then asked, in front of 200 onlookers, “Habla Espanol?” My reply, “Los siento, pero no.” He moved on and got another big guy to help him with his act. I would have liked to do it, but was extremely nervous when I was singled out of the crowd. Maybe some day, my stage fright will die a quick death. I’m sort of over being afraid to perform in front of crowds. (That’s a whole other story.)

Clowns! Run!!

One of the best parts of El Bolson was my office. I found a nice little brew pub/café that offered a WiFi signal and strong café doble for cheap. I spent a few afternoons in a row working on a movie idea I have been mulling around for a while in my head. (Yes another script is on the way!) It was great to have the time to devote to this and I am very aware of that. While I was working on my computer Andy was either out on other hikes, strolling through the market with a purpose, painting her toenails, or reading her book.

We did get off our butts one day and take a local bus to a town 15 minutes south of El Bolson called Lago Puelo. In the town is a beautiful, snow-fed lake with sandy shores that sits at the base of some pretty rediculious mountains. It was a crystal clear day, the sun was hot and we were looking for some good, old-fashioned majesty. We found it on the beaches of this blue water. We brought snacks, sarongs, and our books and it was almost like being back in Thailand. Well, not really, but the water and beach were a nice change from the glaciers and penguins.

Lago Puelo Lake. Que bonita!

We spent 8 glorious days in El Bolson and really had a chance to let go of the need to see and do everything in the tour books. Except for a rampant stray dog problem in town, our time there was idyllic. We cooked yummy meals, played Rummy 5000 (which I won!), strolled through the rocky sidestreets looking at flowers, and listening to impromptu rock concerts in the park. Basically, we slowed ourselves down. It was perfect after all the touristy things we did over the past three weeks.

It wasn't the Beatles on top of a building, or U2 for that matter,
but I am always down for a little impromptu concert.
That's me in the bottom right corner judging the musicianship.
It was a good Latin Rock and the crowd was eating it up.

We were also gearing up for what was ahead of us – a two-week visit with my parents! That’s right, the plan was to meet them in San Carlos de Bariloche for four nights, then Buenos Aires for four nights, then Punta del Este in Uruguay for four nights, then back to BA for three nights. Woof! Currently, we just flew from Bariloche to BA. My father Mark will be guest blogging at the end of their time in Argentina, so I am going to leave all the goodies from our adventure for him. Stay tuned!

Penguins and The Fitz

2007-02-10T07:27:00.000-08:00

After pushing off from the glacially slow Perito Moreno Glacier in El Calafate, Andy and I grabbed a bus four hours north to a tiny town situated inside Glacier National Park called El Chalten. The small village sprung up only 20 years ago to aid trekkers and adventure seekers. While I don’t consider myself either of those, I do like to go on hikes every now and then and El Chalten seemed like a mellow outpost for us to do some walking.

We were at the base of the Andes and our voyage to the tip of South America would seemed wasted to us if we didn’t see the glorous snow-tipped mountains upclose and personal.

The most famous and well-oiled trek in El Chalten was an 8-hour round trip hike to the base of Fitz Roy Mountain. While reading the trail descriptions provided by the park ranger upon our arrival, I was informed that the Fitz Roy hike was the hardest the park had to offer and should not be taken lightly. Normally that type of description would instantly turn me off, fearing that I would wither away during the ascent to Tres Lago, the ice water lake that sits 800 meters above sea level.

But this trip has changed me. Truly, it has. Sure I was a bit nervous when the day begun, but I never thought of backing down. The sun didn’t set until 10:30 p.m. and it rose at 5 a.m. so I had all day to complete the journey to Fitz Roy. We packed lunches, water, power bars, layers of clothing, sunblock, and our camera for what promised to be an epic day in nature. We were gonna get our hike on!

This was the first glimpse we got of our target.
Kinda intimidating huh?

The first 90 minutes were an early morning torture test. We climbed 300 meters in less than 30 minutes and my heart was pumping, my calves were burning and I briefly began to question our decision to try the hardest hike in the area. Thankfully, we reached the first Fitz Roy viewpoint right on schedule and had a breathtaking panoramic of the mountain range. It was a clear sky and the warm sun made me strip off my first layer. The area is known for quick changing weather and a cold, driving rain loomed as a possibility.

We stared at this view for almost 2 hours - and it never got old.

We moved on and glided smoothly into a valley hike for the next 2 hours that took us through meadows, over small rivers, around gently rising and falling hills. It was then that Andy and I encountered some of the most scenic vistas we have ever seen. We kept looking at each other and saying, “This is fuckin incredible!” Literally, we kept saying that. It seemed like every five minutes we had to stop and take it all in.

It was somewhere during the mellow middle of the morning that I found what could certainly be the most perfect walking stick. We were both on the lookout for a natural “cane” to help us relieve the pressure on our legs. Andy was looking hard and settled for a bent, short stick early in the day. I kept up the search and found perfection laying one foot off the dirt path. It was almost like a wizard’s staff, thick but light, curved but determinably straight. There was even a little notch for my thumb. It fit me like a tight pair of Jordache jeans on Brooke Shields in 1982.

Me and my stick. Finding my perfect little helper only
confirmed that this was going to be a great day!

After three hours of walking we made it to base camp at the foot of The Fitz. What I saw scared me. “We are walking up that?” I asked Andy, as the s-turn “path” was visible to us for the first time. It was more like climbing a mountain than a hike. Internally I began to question whether I should or if I could do it. Andy was all gung ho, so I followed. Needless to say, my inner fitness critic was all over me. “You can’t do this. Look at all the skinny people. This is made for them, not you.” I muted my brain and began walking.

After almost 2 long, arduous hours of scampering up sharp rocks, brushing away buzzing bees and wiping sweat from my forehead, we made it to the summit! And holy shit was it worth it. We were rewarded with a perfectly oval lake being fed by the melting waters of a blindingly white glacier. To our surprise, The Fitz looked much smaller than I expected. Only when we were a few miles away did it look so ominously intense. We sat up there for an hour, eating our lunch and continuing to stare at the jutting rocks and the few ice trekkers who were trying to ascend the actual peak.

We made it! Can you believe it?
It took me a while for the reality of our ascent to sink in.

Our walk back was joyous, to say the least. The whole time I was smiling and saying, “We did it. We conquered the Fitz Roy!” The weather had been perfect all day and not until there was an hour left in the hike did the clouds storm in. A light rain and cool breeze began and we were unsure how long we had left until we got back to our cute A-frame bungalow. We tried to pick up the pace but our legs were beginning to feel like jello. My knees started to ache and my lower back showed signs of cramping. We stomped down the final 60 minutes, one pounding step after another. Finally, we succumbed to a quick bout of complaining about our ailments. Inevitably though, we made it home!

We left El Chalten a day later with our heads held high. Very high. We had come face to face with the Fitz Roy peak and would remember that day for the rest of our lives.

A few days later, we would come eye to eye with a completely different beast. And to call what we saw a beast would probably be the exact opposite of what we actually encountered. After 22 hours on an awesomely comfortable bus (seriously, it was a joyous experience) we arrived in the Peninsula Valdez area on the east coast of Argentina. We had left the snow-capped Andes and arrived in Puerto Madryn, a animal lover’s paradise. And why do people come here, from all over the world? Of course, to see one of the largest Penguin colonies in the world!

Strike a pose, little buddy. Freeze, you´re it!

Andy and I, along with our guide, Fernando, and two women travelers from Buenos Aires, hopped in a car and droved south for about three hours to visit Puerto Tomba, home to over 1 million penguins. That’s right 1 million of these little guys, all over the place. And we were promised we could walk with them. I didn’t believe them. Why would they let humans invade their homes?

These two were a vocal couple. We are still trying to understand
Penguin, but I think they were arguing about leaving the toaster on or the heat being turned up too high ;)

We walked along the coast and one after another, we began to see the little black and white hobblers chilling in the holes they dug underneath small bushes. The land looked like New Mexico and the heat was picking up. I was surprised that penguins lived in this climate but apparently the sun allows for a rich marine environment and that means yummy shrimp dinner for the mass of penguins. As we continued our 2 km walk through the penguin homes, we began to realize just how many of them there were here.

A nice day for a stroll on the beach.
Hard to find a quite spot though.

The male and female couples, along with their babies, occupied every concievable spot in our vicinity. The babies were almost full grown and all of them were shedding their fur to get ready for their swim from Argentina to Brazil, which takes four months. As we turned the bend and got our first glimpse of the beach, our jaws dropped. Holy crap, there were a ton of penguins, everywhere! All hanging out on the coast, popping into the water for a swim and some food, playing with each other and standing still like they were all playing a game of freeze tag.

We stood and stared. It was truly unique to be able to witness an entire colony of species in its natural habitat, doing what they do to survive. It would be like a busload of penguins taking a tour to Richmond to watch me eat my dinner or take in a TV show. I was seeing how they lived their lives and it was fascinating.

This is my favorite shot of the day. We deemed these homes
the suburbs of the Penguin colony. My question is,
How do they find their hole?

After snapping shot after shot of the cute little creatures, we walked back to the car and drove to our hostel in Puerto Madryn. It was a straight, 2-hour trip back to our beach town and it left us time to ponder what we had just seen. I couldn’t help but compare the Fitz Roy to the Penguins. Both experiences left me shaking my head in awe. The mountains, as well as the penguins, were waiting there for us. We braved steep climbs, dangerous highways, overnight buses, blistering toes, swarming flies, and high prices to see them. Argentina continues to impress us with what it has to offer and our time here is allowing us to keep checking things off our “Life To-Do List.” Walk on Glacier, check. Hike the Andes, check. Waddle with 1 million penguins, check!

Just the tip of the Iceberg

2007-02-04T14:25:00.000-08:00

This blog posting is from the mind of Andrea Hess

As this year unfolds before me I am constantly reminded of the beauty of this amazing planet. I love learning about cultures and meeting people from all over the world, but for me an equally important aspect is discovering the natural treasures that grace every country we’ve been too. While many of the places we’ve seen have been absolutely gorgeous and breathtaking, two particular experiences have given me a whole new appreciation of the vast diversity and undiscovered mysteries of our great mother: scuba diving in Thailand and ice trekking on Perito Moreno Glaciar in Argentina.

We have experienced such differing landscapes and earthly delights. In Holland we peddled bikes through the peaceful green pastures of Texel Island. In Croatia we rode Kiki, our beloved red-hot motor scooter, through rolling green vineyards, and hiked down rocky cliffs to pebble beaches framed by crystal water and glistening white sailboats. In Thailand we trekked through lush green jungle, searched for perfectly formed shells on deserted beaches and snorkled around monstrous karst formations. Laos showed us the most spectacular waterfall flowing through swimming holes of turqoise water. We explored caves with crystalized stalagmites and stalagtites framing a natural cathedral.

All of these sights were spectacular. Yet, I had seen some other version of them somewhere else in my life. My first ever scuba diving experience was the first time Mother Nature blew my mind on this trip. Abby, my college roomate who now lives in Japan, met us in Ko Ya Noi in Thailand for a week in January. She was set on going scuba diving and demanded that I come with her and that I would love it. Going scuba diving was on my endless (but fun) to do list for this trip and here was my chance to cross something off that list. With some trepidation, I signed up for the “discovery dive” and we set out for a day at sea. After brief instructions my lovely lady teacher and I dove into the ocean and swum hand-in-hand among the creatures.

We spent an amazing week hanging out with Abby in Thailand. Nice wetsuit there ladies!

I have snorkled many times before and always loved it - the feeling that I was peeking into a forbidden and unfamiliar world. Immediately I knew this was different. This time I wasn’t peering in their window, but inviting myself inside. The fish were welcoming hosts and I was in a daze. Never before had I seen so many fish, not a few, or even a few hundred, but thousands of fish of every color, size, shape. As we adjusted the pressure in our ears we sank futher and further towards the coral reef.

What a spot! Crystal blue waters, tons of coral and fish a plenty. Magic (not Johnson) was waiting underneath the surface.

The more we sank, the more I saw - eyes wide open, soaking it all in. Little “Nemo” clown fish were hiding out in the sea grass, baracudas over three feet long were swimming towards the surface, and what was that ahead… a leopard shark over 12 feet long resting on the ocean floor. We floated around a corner and suddenly, without warning multiple schools of fish swarmed around us. We were encircled by a rainbow of fish and couldn’t see more than three feet in front of us. If I could have dropped my jaw I would have - instead, I did the opposite and clenched my teeth around my mouthpiece.

Look at that smile!

The world seemed so much bigger and more complicated and I felt as if what I had experienced as a human, living on the land, was only a fraction of what there was on earth. I was one of my third grade students having an epiphany while learning multiplication and division for the first time, realizing there is so much more to math than addition and subtraction.

This same feeling occurred two days ago when Eric and I visited the Perito Moreno Glacier in El Calafate, Argentina. I had never seen a glacier and neither had Eric. We thought, okay, we have to go see it, we’re here and that’s what you do in the Patagonia region. All the tour companies around town offered a trip to see the galcier and then you could pay for a separate boat ride that took you up close. Only one company offered “mini-trekking” where you actually got to hike up the glacier with crampons (special spiked shoe attachments) on your feet. We decided to splurge and signed up for the hike. “When else are you going to get a chance to climb up a glacier?” we said to each other. We expected a fun day, but neither of us expected to be so completely awed by what we saw and heard.

The sunlight broke through the rain clouds for a brief moment offering us a spectacular glow.

From the bus we caught our first glimpse of the glacier at the far end of Lago Rico. We got out in the rain at the viewpoint to take a photo. It looked like a large ice dam, but we couldn’t tell how impressive it was until we got really close. We descended to the viewing platforms in front of the glacier and while our guide was giving us an overview we heard the first crack. Then a second… third… louder… then, suddenly a HUGE chunk of ice from the edge of the galcier came crashing down into the lake and the echo reverberated between the mountains. We realized immediately the majesty and power we were witnessing.

Doesn´t it look like Superman´s Home up in Antarctica? I kept looking for Ms. Tessbocker.

We stood in awe, staring at the glaciar’s pointy peaks, cobalt blue tunnels and expansive ice field reaching for hundreds of miles onward to Chile and the Pacific Ocean. We eagerly listened and waited for another crack and another chunk of ice to come crashing down and were rewarded with many more throughout the day. We learned that the glacier is moving “at glacial speed”. Well, actually it’s moving forward at an unusually fast speed of 2-3 meters a year unlike other glaciers that move at 2-3 cm a year. The water is also warmed to 4-5 degrees centigrade (up from 2-3 degrees) because of global warming. These two factors make the glacier more active than most and therefore more exciting to watch.

Our guide, Martin, made Andy weak in the knees. She almost filled our memory card trying to capture what she deemed the ¨perfect Argentinian man¨

After lunch we were shuttled on a boat though icebergs to the other side of the glacier where our gorgeous guide, Martin, gave us an overview of glaciology and the Patagonian ice fields. We strapped crampons on our feet and after a quick lesson on how to walk on ice (always separate your feet, and take small deliberate steps-“up like a penguin, down like a monkey”) we set off. After a few minutes getting comfortable on the ice and balancing ourselves against the wind, we stopped and took in the views - incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it! I felt as if I was walking on the moon - the landscape was so unfamiliar that I was in shock.

All alone on the ice. Surreal, huh?

I couldn’t snap enough photos, and although some of them came out great, they cannot capture the feeling we had walking on the glacier. The endless undulating ice hills were dotted with shallow and deep crevices glowing blue. (The blue color is from the lack of oxygen in the ice not exposed to the air.) Our guide invited us to taste the purest water on earth and I bent down eagerly to cup the water in my hand. YUM! At the end of our journey we were surprised with treats - chocolate bon-bons and whiskey (on the rocks of course). DOUBLE YUM!

The happy couple posing with the Perito Moreno Glacier behind us. What a great day!

On the way back Martin reminded us that only the top third of the glacier is visible and the other two thirds are below the surface of the water. Consider also that the highest point of the glacier was over 200 meters above the lake.

I have been truly humbled and awed twice by Mother Nature this year. It has only made me hungry to learn and experience more. I have realized that there is so much more to see on this planet, and that I have literally only seen the tip of the iceberg.

Pretending to be Portenos

2007-01-26T16:25:00.000-08:00

I can’t believe that only two weeks ago I was in Thailand, my legs chock full of mosquito bites and my backpack filled with sand. It’s all starting to catch up to me and the yawns are ruling my world. It’s been a crazy couple of weeks, crazier than I can ever remember in my life. We went from tranquil Ko Yao Noi to Bangkok, then to Oakland and then to Las Vegas. I am currently residing in the Palermo barrio of Buenos Aires. This neighborhood is considered chic, hip, trendy, retro, cool – it is THE hotspot in the city. They call it Palermo Soho because it feels like New York.

Hot tubbing in Las Vegas with the family before heading to Argentina.

Our flight down to South America was uneventful. It was your typical 11-hour overnight ordeal filled with reclining seats in your face and nasty meals. The one shining moment came when Continental showed the movie Little Miss Sunshine. With the Oscar nominations just announced, I was excited to finally get to see this little movie that made a big noise when it was released. I thoroughly enjoyed the show and was impressed with the filmakers ability to seamlessly combine humor and sadness. Every character was realizing lost dreams simultaneously and despite all that, the movie was not depressing, but rather uplifting.

OK, enough of that. When we arrived in BA, we were greeted with a short immigration line and quick baggage retrieval. I always worry that I am going to lose my bag despite it never happening to me. Imagine wearing the same clothes day after day, waiting for your bag to find you? (Come to think of it, I am wearing pretty much the same clothes every day on this trip, so I guess life wouldn’t be so bad with lost luggage.)

Instantly upon arrival, Andy was treated as a porteno (local). Her dark skin and thick hair gave locals the impression that she was one of them. Go figure. She has been mistaken for a local in every country we have visited, except for Holland. (That’s right, the Thai people thought she was Thai – don’t ask me how they came up with that one.) People were asking her question after question in Spanish and her reply always consisted of blank stares, a smile and her catch phrase, “Lo siento, no habla espanol.”

We were met by our taxi driver Oscar at the aiport and escorted to our hostel in Palermo. He was a nice, older man with intensly white hair. He was wearing a clean button-down shirt tucked neatly into his tight jeans. He spoke some English and I spoke some Spanish. I would talk to him in his native tongue and he would reply to me in mine. It was kind of neat to know that he understood what I was trying to say. Michael Jackson’s “Human Nature” was playing on the radio and despite being delirious from the red-eye flight, Andy and I managed to remember the words and sing together in the back seat. We also found out from Oscar that Credence Clearwater Revival is huge in BA. Go figure.

We got to our hostel, walked the steps to our room and crashed. Hard. We slept for five hours and woke confused and hungry. We stumbled to the shared bathroom, showered in hopes of clearing the cobwebs, and embarked on a walk through our new neighborhood. We had our eye on a steak dinner to celebrate our arrival in another continent. I had held out on eating red meat for five months, knowing that we were going to Argentina, the flesh-eating capital of the world. We walked and walked and walked, passing one cool café after another. The streets were lined with fancy clothing stores, ice cream parlors, and authentic pizza joints. We had read about a restaurant that one could call “a Buenos Aires institution.” All the waiters were wearing tuxedos and were old enough to be my grandfather. We arrived at 8:30 at night and we were the first people there. We thought we were headed to a popular spot, but the lack of customers made us nervous. Then as if the bell rang telling all locals it was time for dinner, people started showing up. It was 9 p.m. and the place began to fill. Families with young kids and infants poured in, ready to start their meal. I guess it doesn’t matter what schedule you put the kids on as long as it’s the same, day after day, year after year. Places would be closing in Oakland at this time of night. Talk about a different culture.

Andy was happier about the cheap wine than she was about the ribeye. Try going three months in Southeast Asia with bad, expensive wine.

We got a caprese salad that was killer and shared a huge ribeye steak and mashed potatoes. We also splurged and ordered a bottle of Argentine Malbec wine. The meat was yummy and fresh and the portion was perfect for two people. We chowed down something fierce and I think I smiled all the way through the meal. This was a fancy place and we were worried that it was going to cost a lot. Our fears were greeted with a bill under $30, including tax, tip AND the bottle of tasty wine. We thought we had left affordable dinners in Thailand but alas, it seems to have followed us to Argentina. Thank god, because I was getting used to the bargain deals.

I didn't even know I had dimples until I saw this picture. Can you tell that I'm happy?

We walked home a little drunk and with full bellies all the while trying to avoid dog shit that seems to dot every corner of the city. We got back to our room and passed out, again. We both slept like a raver kid on Tuesday night and woke up remembering snipets of our weird dreams. We realized when we woke that we forgot to hang our dreamcatcher up.

Our first full day in BA was spent finding cheap airfare to the Patagonia region of Argentina. The southern district is famous for its icebergs and beautiful, natural landscapes. It is peak season down there now, with temperatures hovering around 50 degrees. Tierra del Fuego, the tip of South America is a few John Daly drives away from Antarctica, so, needless to say, it’s normally friggin cold down there. We got our tickets for a reasonable price and then the rains came. We found a pizza place to eat lunch and watched as locals got drenched in the relentless afternoon rains.

I don’t know how, but like a switch turned from on to off, the rains stopped. We walked back to the center of Palermo to find a café where we could sip on café con leche and surf the Internet for rooms in El Calafate, the town we are heading to in Patagonia. As if someone, somewhere was reading our minds, we found the perfect spot with Wifi, awesome coffee and air conditioning.

Can we get a translator please? We saw this walking around in the rain. It's amazing how many grafitti signs we've seen during our travels condemning Bush's actions. It's about time we get a woman in the oval office. Our country could use some sensibility. Hillary in '08!!

As I sit in here, four hours later, I marvel at the incredible spot we found. The people watching is top notch and the Internet connection is faster than lightning. To my left, a couple is kissing over their Mate. Off to my right, a young girl sits with her mother and her mother’s mother. I love watching generations connect. A good-looking family of four sits in front of me playing a board game and sipping hot chocolate, while three men sit next to them, laptops out, pondering something business oriented.

Andy went window shopping for an hour, while I write and wait here for her return. We don’t have a plan for tonight just yet, but our options are plentiful. Life for us over the past four weeks has been super social and filled with activities. We’ve partied with old friends and made new ones along the way. We reconnected with home, visited parents and enjoyed the break from the road. But as I sit here now, in this ultra-suave bar, I am reminded that I have no plans, nothing on my to-do list, and nowhere to be. It is the greatest feeling in the world.

Halftime in our hometown

2007-01-20T11:07:00.000-08:00

What a trip! I mean, seriously, it’s a trip of a lifetime to come home without really staying home. It’s just plain bizarre to check in with your life in the middle of the type of experience Andy and I signed up for. So far, it has been surreal, unreal, really freaky, and tons of fun. Just like I would do on the road, I found a café, snagged some WiFi for the price of a coffee and popped open my laptop. Not off to see museums, Andy is still on the run seeing people, doing things and running errands, while I continue to take it slow. We are treating this 6-day adventure in our hometown as just another stop on our trip. Before we know it we will be gone, like a dream.

We made it! 25 hours from Bangkok to SFO. The Taipei airport was quite nice people. If you get a chance, check it out.

The whole ordeal was planned as a surprise over two months ago and thanks to my bro-in-law Josh and some others in the know, it went off without a hitch. It was absolutely priceless to witness each person’s face as we sprung our image out of nowhere into their reality. We had invited our friends over to my sister Stefani’s house under the pretense that we were homesick and we wanted to call there and talk to everyone using cheap Internet rates. They knew they would get to talk to us but had no clue they would be able to hug us and see us.

“Stunned,” said Mark the Shark as he thought back on the flawless surprise party. “It didn’t even sink in that I was talking to you.”

Stef almost peed her pants after we surprised her. She was a little tipsy from the wine bar she was coming from and completely stunned.

We were not supposed to be anywhere near home until June. The possibility of us sitting in a living room or walking with friends to get coffee at Hudson Bay Café in Rockridge was not even on the radar.

Andy and I, granted, were nervous as hell about coming home. We missed everyone so much but we had said our goodbyes in July and we were out on the road in an attempt to experience something different than the East Bay. We had received mounds of advice when we left, some about malaria medicine, some about what shoes to wear on travel days. But one piece of advice stuck with me and stays with me throughout our trips.

Surprise! Matt Green and Heather give us great big tribe hugs when they finally accepted our presence.

“When you get home, people will be doing the same thing they were doing when you left. Very little will change. So don’t rush your trip. Come home when you are ready,” said Mike Murphy, a close friend that I found through my cousin’s yearlong travels in 2002. It’s not that people at home are stagnant in their life. In fact, it is far from that. Babies have been born, houses have been bought, flamboyant cousins are getting older, men have stepped up and popped the big question, jobs have been quit, and jobs have been found. Life is moving for everyone here. And it is so incredible to come home and get updates on our friends’ momentum.

You can always count on Sacco, Jamey, Tara and Gabs to go out dancin till 4 am on a Sunday night. Andy and I love those kids!

And yet, like Mike said, things have stayed the same. The restaurants still serve our favorite dishes, certain streets are still clogged at 5 p.m., Thursdays remain Survivor night, my college friend Mitch still hosts open jazz night at Amnesia in the Mission, certain friends are still down to party late into the night on a moment’s notice. All is right in the East Bay and it’s comforting to know that my life is still here when I return in June.

So we have one more full day here in the East Bay and then it’s off to Las Vegas to see my parents for four days. And then, with a snap, we are off to Buenos Aires and Tierra del Fuego. Before we know it all the comforts of The States will be gone and Andy and I will be back out on our own. Both of us are looking forward to strapping on the backpack and hitting the unknown.

I bipped myself and it made Annie Mac laugh till she cried. And hey, Elon, mind your own board!

Harris' winning roll in the championship round of the Backgammon Tournament in Oakland on Jan. 18, 2007. The tourney was held in honor of Harris' birthday. Double fours to seal the deal. Great action shot Andy!

We are calling this time at home “Halftime.” We are assessing what went well in the first half, applauding those moves that worked and tinkering with those plays that fell flat. We are gameplanning for the second half, trying to throw a few new wrinkles into the mix. We definitely feel like we are winning and we don’t expect a letdown in the second half.

Going Home

2007-01-16T14:47:00.000-08:00

For five months we’ve been on all sorts of transportation, some slow, some fast, some dirty, some perfect, some rickety, some swanky. All the while each public transport we sign up for takes us to a unique place. Every foodstand our bus stops at on the side of the street or terminal we disembark from is new. And now, as we sit on our 11-hour China Airlines flight from Taipei to San Francisco, with only 2 hours to go, I can’t help but think about our destination. For the first time on this trip, I know everything I need to know about where I am going, how to get around, what to beware of. I know the subway system, I know the highways, I can read the street signs. And as I think about how familiar it will be to return home, even if it is only for six days, I can’t help but assure myself that I have been changed by my travel experiences. And these differences allow me to see my familiar world in a whole new light. It will be a new place to me even though I’ve lived there for almost five years.

(That's us during one of our fancy dinners with Andy's college friend, Abby, who came to Thailand and stoke dus out for three days!)

As I reflect on my time away from home, I keep coming back to one glaring change that has occurred within me. My confidence. Before our trip I would rarely speak up when I needed or wanted something. If I am with Andy, then yes, I would let my voice be heard. She is the one comfort zone I can always trust in. But when it was regarding someone I didn’t know, I would just let things be, not wanting to disrupt any unseen flow that may be working in that particular environment. If a waiter seemed busy and I needed more ice, I would normally let my need for frozen water remain just that, a need. Of course that is just a small, uninmportant example of life before my trip. Needing ice can hardly be described as heroic. My problem was that I did not want to bother people. I liked my fly-on-the-wall life. I went unnoticed, observing life as it happened in front of me.

For a while, once the trip began, I continued living the same way. People would push me, the waiter would ignore me, smoke was blown in my face at every café. I sat and watched other people get what they wanted by asking for what they needed. Andy was always my motivator back home. She could call up an airline and pepper the customer service person with question after question without a hint of apprehension. And on the trip, she seemed so relax while interacting with flight attendants, cab drivers, shop owners. She has no fear.

As soon as we got to Thailand I quickly realized that my approach to life, while on the road, would leave me completely lost. I needed to climb through my fear of confrontation. Our first week, I found myself on a whirlwind adventure of complacency. I accepted what was given to me, even though it wasn’t what I paid for and I kicked myself afterwards for not speaking up about it. My best example is paying for a 14-hour bus ride and receiveing a 22-hour odyssey. What was supposed to be an easy overnight trip became a Forest Gump box of chocolates, “You never know whatcher gonna git.”

Travelers, tourists, whatever you want to call us, are fish food for those working in the industry. And it took about a week to realize that if I didn’t demand to receive what I wanted, I would be walked on. I began to assert myself, not waiting for Andy to take the lead. I would initiate the bargaining discussions and fight for my price. I didn’t always get it of course, but my ability to show no fear resonated in my heart and mind. I was fighting back! Not in a malicious, rude, annoying way, but in an honest, straightforward, smiley way.

(The view, it's not just a lame TV show)

I adopted one simple tactic that Andy has employed her whole life and that she had tried to teach me back home. Ask questions. Keep asking questions. When they give you the answer you want, ask the same question again. More often than not, the answers they give you change with each inquiry. Question what they tell you and speak your truth when the moment arises.

In the three months we spent in Southeast Asia, I have become a smart traveler. I am not the best traveler due to my inexperience, but I feel I am making some major progress. As for bargaining goes, I am not there to make friends, I am there to get a price I am happy with. I now know that the shopkeeper or cab driver thinks the same as me. They want to sell their goods at a price that makes them happy. We are truly in the same boat.

I realized this just the other day during our waning time in Bangkok. Andy and I had set aside some money to spend because we knew we were flying home. We wanted to buy as much as we could with an allotted amount of money and everything had to fit in a large duffel bag that we also had to purchase somewhere on Kao San Road. We split up. Andy was looking for jewelry, scarves, and clothes. I was looking for t-shirts, a new murse, pants, and presents for the kids back home.

I worked my way from stall to stall, haggling with professionals. They see the likes of me every day, a hundred times over. My technique was to half every initial price they gave me and hopefully we could meet in the neighborhood of my number. I actually began to enjoy it. Can you believe it? I was almost smiling as the negotiations were going on. It was a sight to see. I was throwing out catch phrases that I thought they could understand. “Special price” or “Discount” or “Happy Hour”. I’d say things like, “C’mon, you can do better than that.” Always with a smile though. Always smiling. I looked them in the eyes and I even got a few chuckles out of them throughout the back and forth banter. They liked my style.

(This was where we stayed for our final two nights on Koh Ya Noi thanks to Abby. It was a seriously phat bungalow. Seriously. Sorry didn't bring my camera while bargaining. Instead you get shots of the good life.)

As we left our hotel the next morning for the airport, we went in search of a cab. We had been in Bangkok two other times and had taken cabs to and from the far away airport a bunch of times. I knew the fare and I was not going to budge from my number.

“300 baht you, 300 baht her,” the cabbie said as we approached him from our side street.
“No thanks,” I said with a smile. “ I find another cab.”
“What you want to pay?” he replied.
“300 for both, we pay tolls too. Total is 365 baht”
“OK sir 450 baht plus you pay toll.”

I walked away smiling and said I would find another person to drive me to the airport.

“OK sir, 400 baht plus toll.”

I had him on the ropes. He had come down without me even countering his second or third offer.

“No thanks, I want 300, 300. That’s what I pay. I’ve been to Bangkok before. I know the price. 300.” I began to walk away again.

The driver, an older man with a round face and thinning hair, began to smile. He knew he had been beat and Andy and I could see he was going to take our offer of 300 baht plus tolls. He stopped me from hailing another cab.

“OK OK, sir, 300.”

He helped us with our bags filled with dirty clothes and presents for everyone. We popped into the back seat and let the air conditioning hit our sweaty faces.
“Ooooh, you good bargainer,” he said. “Where you from? Israel?”
“California,” I replied with pride.
“Ooooh, America, lot of money. You bargain good. Ha ha, good, good. America. Good bargainer. You. Ha ha.”

All the time he says this with a high-pitched voice. I couldn’t see his face but the words were spoken through high cheeks and a grinning mouth. He was my last test and I had passed with top marks. I had a price I wanted and I stood my ground and I gained his respect for sticking to my objective. I arrived in Thailand without a clue and I left with a cab driver’s admiration. As we drove through the smoggy traffic toward the airport, I looked out the window and smiled to myself, knowing that I had stared down my biggest issue – the fear of confrontation – and I had won.

And now, I am only a few hundred miles away from the west coast of California, from my home with all my comfort surroundings. My friends, my burrito shop, my park, my car. But besides bringing back presents for friends and knickknacks for my house, I bring back a new attitude. I am not afraid anymore of speaking my truth. I have lived a long time accepting what is in front of me and now, thanks to five months on the road, I can ask for what I want without trepidation. Also, I am fully aware that I deserve to get what I want.

Peak Experience

2007-01-05T19:48:00.000-08:00

Peak season in Thailand means many things. Prices for all accommodations are raised. Pad Thai costs a $1.50 instead of a $1. The beaches are packed with families and long-tail boats will run you double what it normally is. But also, peak season brings the perfect possible weather and tons of parties that would be absent during low season. The best part of peak season is that it brought us our friends who can only take time off around Christmas and New Years.

We had already spent a week with Rachel on Koh Ya Noi and when Bryan arrived the foursome was complete. We spent five amazing days, just the four of us, exploring the amazing scenery in this breathtaking Thai beach land.

Andy and I had scoped out this area back in October and decided it would be a perfect place to ring in 2007. There were DJ’s flown in from London that were spinning on the secluded hippie beach and reggae bands from Bangkok on the bill at other bars close by. We also had Sam and Brad - our awesomely cool Chicago friends that we bonded with at the Pink Palace in Greece - that were meeting us for the festivities. They were traveling with their two girlfriends from home and we were planning on an epic night.

Woo Hoo! We made it to Thailand!!

Leading up to New Years, Bry, Rachey, Tan Andy and me were basking in our time together. One particular day was spent kayaking through the impressive Karst rock formations that jut out of the clear blue sea almost randomly. We explored the caves exposed by the low tides and even got underwater pictures of little fishies thanks to Bryan’s underwater apparatus. The weather that day was perfect and we got a nice little shoulder workout thanks to all the rowing.

Andy and I manuevering through a small opening thanks to the low tides. Nice shot Rach!

Nice camera settings. What's the point in having a kick ass digital camera if you don't know how to use it. Good on ya mate!

Rachel and Bryan took an alone side trip to Krabi town to see the Tiger Temple one day. The Buddhist monastery was built long ago atop a mountain and it sports one of the best views of the entire Phra Ngan Bay. And guess what? It’s only 1200 steps up an ardous mountainside to see it. Andy and I backed out and let the two of them explore on their own. I was templed out after 2 ½ months in Southeast Asia and Andy was just being lazy. Listening to them describe the place made me wish I had gone but I am glad they had that experience, just the two of them. I would have gone just to see the monkeys at the bottom of the steps eating each other’s butts. Gross but enthralling, don’t ask me why.

Thatsa alotta friggin steps. Watch out for vertigo Rachey...

That's right folks. That monkey is sniffin his friend's butt.

On New Years Eve, we had a posse of 8 people looking for some Thai rum and a sandy dance floor. We got all dolled up with glitter, makeup, clean clothes and a full wallet. We were headed for Hot Ton Sai – a beach unaccessible by roads. We chartered a long-tail boat for $1 each and hopped quickly over to the area after walking through the family resort shows put on by the ritzy establishments.

We found a nice place on the beach to chow down some dinner before we put back some drinks. The Pad Thai Palace was run by a drunk Thai lady who couldn’t keep her hands off us. She was in a festive mood and was scampering around her dirty, streetside shack, taking our order and wishing us a Sawadee Pi Mai (Happy New Year). She was a character and we wished we could have taken her with us for the evening. She would have been a hilarious addition to our group.

We wound up at a bar off the beaten track around 10 p.m. and had a couple drinks to get things going. There, we found people already in the mood. One British guy was so drunk that he had gotten his foot stuck in a rope knot hanging from the bar’s rafters. Everyone was laughing at him and no one was helping him. He also tried to hoola hoop despite having no balance and very little rythym. Sam and Brad’s friend Aesha (who is now our friend as well) is a hoola hooper and fire dancer and was trying to give him pointers. Thanks to the alcohol though, he was a lost cause.

We moved on and ran into a nice little beach scene where people were spinning poi and romantics sipped drinks on a perfectly lit, sandy beach. Aesha gave it a try and thanks to her low-hanging dress she almost caught on fire. Brad and I were clutching our big bottle of Samsung Rum and neither of us moved to help her. Who says chivalry is dead? The girls thankfully rushed to her aid and saved the day.

After an awesomely large fireworks show that stretched from our beach to the ritzy beach we took our boat from, we got our dance groove on. We found an awesome breakbeat sound with a perfect dance floor. We perched ourselves right by one of the speakers and let the music take control. At the time very few people were dancing. But once we got our group of 8 on the floor, others joined in. By the time we left at 2 a.m. there over 20 people packed on our sandy area by the speaker. It was a party!

Sam and Brad in the spirit of things. Are they a bunch of hotties or what?

We had to leave the scene a bit early because the boats back to our hotel stop running and we didn’t want to be stuck on a remote beach all night. We hopped in our floating vessel and thanks to a late-night low tide, we had to trek out through the mudflats. I was clutching our almost finished bottle of rum. Sam and Brad’s other friend, Sarah, bit it hard on a rock and skinned her knee. The alcohol took care of her pain, but her dress was soaked and we felt bad for her. She was a trooper though and laughed off the entire scene.

Sharing the boat back with us was a gay couple from Toronto who we instantly bonded with. Abel and Nikki were just about as drunk as we were and they were a friggin riot. Abel and I refused to get out and help push the boat into the deeper waters. We clutched arms and drank our drink and laughed our heads off. It was like we were best friends and yet I had only met him 5 minutes ago.

We were now a 10-person group and no one was ready to end the party. We headed off to another bar near our hotel and talked sluggishly, slurring every other word. Sarah and Aesha went to bed, then Rachel and Bryan. Sam and Brad came to our room for a nightcap after Abel wandered off by himself.

I was feeling good at this point. It wasn’t until Sam and Brad left and my head hit the pillow when the spins began. I began to sweat and feel sick. Uh Oh. I slept on a wet bathroom floor in my underwear with arms clutching the toilet for two hours. I got out what I needed to and went back to bed.

Despite the unexpected ending of me praying to the porcelain god, the night was perfect. We danced, laughed, drank, and made new friends. Rachel and Bryan were off to Chiang Mai the next morning and I don’t remember saying goodbye to them. We had an awesome time together and I can’t wait till we are reunited back home again so I can hear about their time up north.

Our experience on Railay was a reunion of epic proportions. We saw our friends from home and got all the stories we missed out on back in the Bay. Also, we were back in touch with our traveler friends from Greece. We are at the halfway point of our trip and we couldn’t ask for a better experience so far. South America is next and Andy and I are so excited to see what unexpected adventures lay ahead.

Miracle on Thai

2006-12-29T18:48:00.000-08:00

Sometimes you have a day when miracles happen. Not walking on water or anything like that, but the tiny miracles that make life perfect.

The day started the night before, actually. We were eating dinner in the small town on Koh Ya Noi at a Welsh-run, streetside restaurant. While there, we bumped into a few Americans making their living on the island. Tim is teaching English to both children and adults on a one-year program. Hector and his mother Barbara are here building a dream house and living the good life.

It was the final night of a special fundraising festival for one of the secondary schools on the island. We tagged along and were warmly welcomed by southern Thailand hospitality. Childrren were dancing, food was offered, and of course, fireworks were going off. We took in some karaoke at a coffe bar set up off to the side of the stage with Tim and talked about his life on the island. He was greeted every ten seconds by another one of his students. It was like walking around with a celebrity. They took pictures with him, shook his hands, wanting to meet his white friends.

Even though Tim may look serious here, he was a California chiller through and through

Afterwards Tim, Rachel, Andy and I popped over to a bar near our bungalow and saw a trio of musicians with their acoustic set up performing with the beach and sea as their crowd. We ordered some Thai Whiskey and soda water and drank and listened to the politcally charged songs. Like Bob Marley before them, the group performed sweet songs about strife and inaction in their native land. Tim, who speaks solid Thai, was translating lyrics for us and the evening took on a whole new meaning.

Two other Americans walked into the bar. One was a science teacher from the Bangkok area and the other was his friend from home, Minnesota, who was here on holiday. Eric comes to Koh Ya Noi often for his breaks from teaching and Lee was basking in a slight sunburn, jet lag and Beer Chang. (Because there are two Erics in this story, we will call science teacher Eric, “El Hog” because I learned from Lee that that was his hometown nickname.)

Discussions ranged from Bob Dylan and Prince, living abroad, life in an insurance office cube, and Christmas in paradise. We learned that El Hog, Lee and Tim were going on an island hopping boat trip the next morning with their friend Guy, a 39-year-old Thai man who was, as everyone describes him, “the shit.” He was cool, funny, happy, good looking, long haired and peaceful. And his infectious smile and good English skills made him an asset worth more than gold.

His father came to the islands and taught the local fisherman how to use nets to catch fish. He was also a local storyteller. He passed along his skills to his son and Guy now runs tours and teaches those he encounters about their surroundings and the history attached to it all.

Lookin' good and ready for our boat trip!

The trip for the morning was set. We were to meet on the beach near our bungalow to be picked up by Guy and a recently shalacked long-tail boat rented for the day. Our captain Aup was all smiles as well and full of life. All the guys played the Thai version of hackysack on the beach while waiting for Hector and Barbara to meet us. The girls napped on the sand in the shade. As we waited, two women staying at our bungalows passed by and were invited to come along on the journey. German Kirsten and Swiss Karen, apprehensive at first by being invited on a boat by a bunch of guys on the beach they didn’t know, let the flow of miracles continue and jumped onboard with only a moment’s thought.

The perfect still life picture with the flops, bananas, hat. This was taken during our lovely trip through the small islands

It was Christmas Day and there I was, cruising on a private tour of heaven with whipping wind, strong sun and new friends. We stopped at a sand bar beach caused by the high tides and frollicked in the sand and got to know each other. We drank beers, smoked cigarettes and prompted Guy for local lore. He was a bit subdued but every now and then you would get a nugget of material about the naming and formation of the uninhabited islands.

Moving on, we motored through an opening in one of the islands to a mangrove lagoon with crystal blue waters, starfish littering the sandy bottom and karst rock formations towering above us like Fifth Avenue in Manhattan. Everyone went off exploring the shady undersides where the rock met the water. Kirsten, Andy and I held back and floated face up in the warm waters. As if it were harder to get any more mellow and happy than we all already were, the vibe settled into a comfortable zen-like experience. It was one of those moments when you knew something special was happening.

We were exploring the mangrove lagoon and we thought we had everyone. Rachel was going all Jacque Coustea on us and we almost left her alone in the water taking pictures of leaves. She snapped this of all of us after we realized she was missing

We carried on to other hot spots with many other people that rented boats looking for the same thing we were. Some were a little too crowded for our tastes so we moved on to a stretch of beach close to our island and completely empty. Because of the tides, the beach at Ko Hong was curled like a lower-case R into the sea. A small group took a rock-scampering hike to the top of the tiny island while a few others stayed on the beach to be still and quiet for a moment.

I don’t speak Thai and our boat captain Aup didn’t speak English. The two of us were on the beach while the others were seeking their spectacular view. We tried to communicate and then began using the sand as a blackboard to write our names. He would write mine in Thai and I would write his in English. We “talked” about riding Harleys and Choppers and The Eagles song Hotel California. He hummed the melody while throwing in the word California at the appropriate time.

That's me from the peak of one of the islands we hit. Rach went with the group to the top, while I stayed down below practicing my hackysack and learning hot to write my name in Thai

Our boat trip was complete and we headed back to the main island. Just then, a beautiful miracle popped up as Guy and Tim invited everyone to their friend’s birthday party. He owned one of the smallish-bungalow resorts on the island and was treating whoever got the invite to a buffet-style dinner of prawns, crabs, squid, and bottomless drinks.

With only an hour to prepare, Rachel, Andy and I took our cold showers and rinsed off the salty buildup that covered our bodies. Refreshed and looking festive, we headed out to Lamlai Resort and settled into the Thai hospitality that was coarsing through this Koh Ya Noi’s veins.

Rat, the birthday boy, had never met us but on this island that seems to be more of a reason for an out-of-the-blue invite. He welcomed us with hugs and smiles and said, “Everything free, come! It is my birthday!” Everyone from the boat was there as well as Tim’s co-teacher Joy, a Thai woman with a generous face and warm eyes. Also on hand were a couple of travellers from Washington DC on a yearlong trip like us.

This is Guy with barbara on his chair and Hector off to the side. Not the best picture but a great shot of Guy's intensely laid back vibe. This was from the birthday party after a couple of drinks

The evening was spent drinking whiskey and beers while telling stories and stargazing. There was a quick bout of fire dancing that took over the grassy field we were hanging on. The mood was festive as Rat’s local friends began to play their guitars and sing together versions of popular southern Thai songs. The guitar players were the same guys playing in the bar the night before. And we found out later that they were famous in the area for their songs.

(Nice work Rach on this picture. She had already downed four thai rum drinks before snapping this photo. That in itself makes this one even more impressive)

As the night wound down, the sun from the day and liquor from the evening were wearing on all of us. We huddled in a large circle and listened to the songs and I couldn’t help but think about the moments from the day that will forever be stained into my brain.

We stumbled onto this island through a roundabout recommendation and were apprehensive about the lack of information we could dig up about the place before we arrived. There is not much the tourbooks can say, logistically, about Koh Ya Noi; two paragraphs would suffice. But in our week living here we have learned more about Thai culture and their way of life than any other place we visited. We were met with hospitality and generosity at every turn and consider this slice of Thailand a hidden gem that will forever be on our radar of places to return.

Koh Ya Yes!

2006-12-23T20:49:00.000-08:00

The reunion was sweet. I ran into my hobo traveler friend while waiting for Andy to return from her solo jaunt. We continued to ttalk about our blogs and making money on the Internet while I looked down the road patiently. As she walked up the back alley near Khao San Road in the heart of Backpacker Central, I saw her eyes and then her cute face and she did that thing with her smile that warmed my heart.

We kissed and hugged quickly because PDA is a no no in Thailand. The hobo took off and we sat and talked all night and had to force ourselves to go to sleep at 2 am. There were so many stories to tell.

Bangkok had cooled down considerably since October and I’ll say it here, outloud for everyone to hear, Bangkok was pleasant – almost like California in the October. There were breezes during the afternoons and I could sit in cafes without dripping all over the place.

We spent our time in the bustling city gettng new lenses for our glasses and checking out some of the gigantic malls in the downtown area. We are talking six-story malls with tiny shop after tiny shop selling designer knock offs. I couldn’t wrap my brain around the size of the place and felt overwhelmed quite quickly. Andy was much the same. We wandered around each floor laughing at its enormity, especially considering the place was flanked by two other malls of equal size selling the same shit.

(Me, looking as hairy as ever!)

One particular mall was all electronics. Ipods, laptops, cables, hi-def TVs, playstations, pirated CDs and DVDs. Six floors of gadgets. Jason would have loved it. We almost called the Seidlers to see if the prices were good but it was 3 am SF time so we figured he must have just gone to bed. Later that night we went and saw a movie at the fanciest theater either of us has ever been in. Leather recliners, private bathrooms, seat service. It was posh. We saw the Denzel flick Déjà vu. Most enjoyable. And then on our movie ticket it said we could bowl a free game in the bowling alley next door. So we ate dinner and rolled a game. (I won with a pathetic 121, Andy scored 79) It was also the nicest bowling alley we’ve ever seen. Scantily clad ladies helped us get our shoes and we had table service while we played.

What was on both our minds though was the impending arrival of our friend Rachel. She was on her own journey. After 18 hours on the plane, Rachel arrived at our hotel around midnight. She found the place perfectly and the three of us talked into the night. We were leaving on a plane the next morning for southern Thailand so we, again, had to force ourselves to get some shuteye.

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(The ladies posing on the long tail boat from Phuket to Koh Ya Noi. I was going to take a picture of the preggo lady but thought it was inappropriate at the time.)

As we flew south for an hour and half we talked about life back home, vacation time, relaxing, the holidays, things Andy and I had missed, our nephew Adam. it was great to be connected to home and it was comforting to have the familiarity of a friedship. It’s one thing to meet random people and have interesting conversations, however brief during our travels, but it’s an entirely different thing to talk with a great friend about life.

We landed smoothly and snagged a taxi to the pier. We were headed to a small fisherman island nestled in a bay an hour boat ride from Phuket. We haggled for the taxi price and then tried to also haggle for the boat ride to Koh Ya Noi. The ferry captain wouldn’t budge, pointing to a sign on the wall saying the prices were regulated. Andy had just spent a month with a professional haggler in Vered and she taught Andy that ever price was negotiable. Not so in this case. We tried everything and the guy wouldn’t waver.

There were mostly locals on our boat and a few other travellers. One local in particular was an extremely pregant woman who, halfway through the ride, began to go into contractions. We all looked at each other with nervous eyes, hoping that there would be no water breaking or labor screams until we made it to land. She handled it admirably. She layed on the wood planks and like a true Hemingway hero, suffered in silence. We were all quite impressed.

We took a pick-up truck taxi to our bungalow and were pleasantly surprised to find a hillside home perched like a nest waiting for our arrival. It had a nice big porch and a hammock for lazy relaxing. It also sported a fridge and hot water heater. Andy and I were stoked that we could make tea, coffe, and oatmeal and keep drinks cool. It’s been a while.

(How cool are we? Rachel hopped on her automatic bike, dubbed "Limey" for the week. While I chilled on "BeeBee." We were on a pier after making a wrong turn. Hard to imagine considering the island only has one road, one stop sign and no traffic lights.)

All three of us were getting over varying types of sickness for the first two days so we took it slow. But eventually the calm island vibe killed of the germs better than any antibiotic could. We rented mopeds and hopped around the island waving at locals who yelled with smiles on their face, “Sawadeecap!” (Hello in Thai) We saw the rubber plantations, rice fields, ocean views, villa construction and local markets. It is a quiet place that tourism seemed to have forgotten. We barely saw another white face and it was refreshing, especially after our experiences down south in October.

The other night we decided to go get a drink at a bar down the street from our bungalow, wondering if there was any nightlife on this seemingly desolate island. We found a gem. A local man named Mat owned the Pyramid Bar and he told us there were other Californians living on the island. One was a teacher living here for three years teaching the locals English. Another was a man who split his time between Las Vegas and Koh Ya Noi. He was building a dream house on the island and his mother, a 62-year-old tripper from Venice Beach, was here with him to help and supervise the construction.

(Because there are few tourists to this island, the beaches were virgin territory for shell collectors. Andy has a plastic baggie filled with the perfect pieces for the soon-to-be-started mosaic tile project for the cinder block wall behind the hot tub.)

We drank and talked into the night. I sipped my strong Long Island Iced Tea while Andy and Rach knocked back some gin and tonics. It was incredible to hear about the experiences teacher Tim has had living here. He filled us in on all the stories about the Thai king, the local affinity for littering, the types of birds on the island and the best views in the area. He seemed happy to be talking with us and we enjoyed his company as well.

Today is Christmas Eve and we are going to hang on the sandy beach near our hotel during high tide and then go for a hike to pne of the premiere views on the island.

We have a few more days here and then it’s off to Railay beach close by to meet Rachel’s husband and our friend Bryan. Also meeting us there are the traveler buddies we met in Greece, Sam and Brad. We can’t wait for the addition to our trio and it warms our heart to know that we get to spend time ringing in the New Year with our close friends from home and our new friends from the road.

Going Solo

2006-12-18T21:35:00.000-08:00

Waving goodbye to Eric from the back of a pick-up truck, I had a premonition that my three solo weeks were going to be an adventure from the start. I didn’t know, however, that I was going to be more social in the three weeks alone than when I was with Eric. What I take away most from my solo travels is how many locals and travellers I met that left me with lasting impressions and in one case a close friendship that I hope is not fleeting.

Me, alone

I arrived in Ventienne, the serene capitol of Laos, after three hours on a comfortable air-conditioned bus. (By far one of the best bus rides I’ve taken this year, except for the 20-year-old Irish boy who fell asleep on my shoulder.) The scenery was beautiful - changing from large karst formations along the river to sprawling green rice fields. For the next few days I wandered around Ventienne, walking everywhere. One day I rented a pedal bike and went to retrieve my visa from the Cambodian embassy and go for a swim at a local pool. I have found a new love for bike riding and rented a bike many more times on my solo adventure.

The view from the top of “Patuxi” the miniature Arc de Triumph of Vientiene, built out of the cement the US donated to Laos to build a new airport runway. It is called the “vertical runway” by expats in Laos.

After swimming laps, the only other person at the pool befriended me and invited me to join him at the Wat next door for a traditional Laos sauna and massage. As we cruised over on our bikes I learned that he was a graduate student at the only university in Laos, studying women’s rights in Laos and the increasing problem of trafficking young women to China and Vietnam. There were three other people at the sauna, and we laughed when we realized we were all from the Bay Area. “Of course you’d find all the Bay area people getting saunas and massages,” the bartender from Van Kleef’s in Oakland joked.

I thanked my new Lao friend before he left for a basketball game, but he insisted it was his job to host visitors to his country and said he’d try to meet me for lunch at the vegetarian buffet (for $1) in town the next day. I never saw him again, but his relaxed, outgoing and genuine nature was reflcted in almost all of the Laos people I met. Life is slower here and the people seem less stressed and less busy than in other places I’ve travelled.

After five days in Ventienne I decided to take an overnight bus to Pakse and make my way to Don Det, a tiny island in southern Laos, part of Si Phan Don (the four thousand islands). Vered and Helen were already on the truck when I got on. I wanted to talk to them, but was waiting for the right moment. Helen didn’t hesitate to start the conversation and asked where I was going and if I was travelling alone. After finding out we were all headed in the same direction I felt excited that maybe I would have some new companions. Helen was from Scotland and travelling alone for some time. Vered was from Israel and had a few weeks to explore southern Laos and Cambodia before heading back to Bangkok. They had met a few days before on the bus to Ventienne.

Once our bus arrived in Pakse at 6 am we were approached by another bus driver to get a ride to Don Det. We were still half asleep and decision-making seemed very difficult. But after 20 minutes of debating we all decided to jump on the bus to Don Det and not waste any time. The bus dropped us off at a pier in the middle of nowhere, and pulled away quickly. Although the boat drivers were overcharging us, we had little choice and after waiting for 10 minutes - hoping others would arrive at the pier - we decided to pay $2 each for the ride to Don Det.

Amazing tree across from my bungalow in Don Det. I loved staring at this every day.

The rickety wooden longboat meandered through the swampy, muddy Mekong for about 30 minutes. We arrived - after 17 hours of travelling - on a sandy beach at the tip of the island. The three of us jumped out into the water, donned our backpacks and headed down the path to find the perfect bungalow with a comfortable hammock and river views.

This monkey was a pet to a local Laos family. It had an earring on its other ear. But this was the best face shot I took.

The pace slowed down even more in Don Det. Here, the Mekong River splits into many smaller rivers and waterfalls and is dotted with tiny islands rich in wildlife and lush vegetation. Don Det was a backpacker’s heaven - a quiet island with no electricity (except for nightime generators) and no cars. A respite from the outside world and nothing to do but doze in and out of sleep on your hammock after a bike ride to the waterfall.

View from the Sunset Bar in Don Det.

Sunset was spent every night, where else, but at the “Sunset Bar” drinking Lao-Lao mojitos with new friends from all over the world. (Lao Lao is homemade Lao rice whiskey.) We learned to order our drinks by 4:30 to ensure we would have them by 5:30 at sunset.

A fleeting glimpse of the endangered Irawaddy Dolphin of the Mekong.

The first day we rented bikes and cruised all over the island. Everywhere we went people greeted us with a bellowing “Sabaidee!” We’d reply back just as loud and with a large smile. The waterfalls we rode to were beautiful, but for me, the friendliness of the Laos people made the bigger impression. Helen and I took tubes down the Mekong one day with Na, our new Lao friend who had been a monk for seven years and now ran a small travel booth. On the painfully slow three-hour tubing journey I asked Na a million questions about his life as a monk and how Don Det has changed in the past few years because of tourism. He told me of his dream of building a restaurant with river views and unique food and asked me all about teaching and America. As we floated down the river we began to understand a little more about each other’s culture and country and started to joke with one another.

Monks at the river beach laughing at us in our bikinis.

After 5 days of chilling on Don Det, Vered and I headed to Cambodia (Helen had already left) to begin a new adventure. We journeyed to the border (a wooden hut in the forest) and made our way to Kratie via longtail boat, minivan, walking, minvan, ferry, and bus. Vered and I had become fast friends and realized by the time we left Don Det that sometimes you meet someone you feel you’ve known for a long time and it’s just “sababa” (Hebrew for cool). Although we were from different countries we had a lot in common, were clearly on the same wavelength, and wanted to travel at about the same speed. We had a great day exploring Kratie (northern Cambodian town) on bike with other Israeli travellers we met and seeing the endangered Irawaddy Dolphins of the Mekong (only about 100 are left in the world).

Vered and me at the rustic Cambodian/Laos border. Our friend Adam from Australia is making a funny face on my left.

Our friendship deepened as we shared a room together and watched “The Amber Frye Story” on HBO (about the Scott and Lacy Peterson Case), shared brownie ice cream sundaes, and taught each other new card games. We journeyed to Siem Reap together to explore the temples of Angkor Wat. We both wanted to see everything and planned three full days of discovering Angkor Wat from morning through sunset. At night we had vibrant discussions about topics ranging from fashion to the similarites of Buddhism and Judaism, and the current situation in Israel.

A statue at one of the temples of Angkor Wat

Angkor Wat was amazing and magical. Having a new friend to enjoy it with made it more memorable. She even convinced me to get up at 4 am one morning to see the sunrise!

Angkor Wat at sunrise. Wow!

The jungle taking over the ruins of the Ta Prohm temple at Angkor Wat. Amazing and magical!

So, I come away from my three “solo” weeks having seen amazing sights. But the feeling of connection to people, especially my new friend Vered, is my lasting memory. I had intended to be recluse and a hermit, have some quiet thinking time to myself. However, I have learned about being flexible this year and because of this flexibility I met many people by changing my plans on a whim. This created a real sense of adventure for me and instead of travelling alone I ended up surrounded by people. As Vered says, “Humans gravitate towards each other; we are truly social creatures at heart.”

Vered and me by an ancient tree.

The People

2006-12-15T21:24:00.000-08:00

Last night I was grabbing a quick pad thai on the streets in Bangkok and a man noticed how I said pad thai with vegetables. “Thatsa very american accent you got there,” he said as he waited for his veggie fried rice. Turns out he’s from Fort Wayne, Indiana, and was a fellow IU Alum. Even more, he makes a living writing a travel blog, www.hobotraveler.com. We spent two hours discussing everything from religions to computer showrooms in Bangkok to how hard it is to shag an Israeli girl. When I got back to my hotel room I began to reminisce in my head about all the people I had encountered along the way so far and it made me want to record their images and stories, no matter how short and insignificant they were at the time.

People like to talk to me. I'm not sure why. Even in the states, I get randoms coming up to me.

Easy to make friends with a cutey like this.
***

Europe was filled with less backpackers than I thought it would be and we didn’t really meet anyone similar to ourselves. There was the lady who rented us a room in her apartment in Amsterdam, Colette. She was short with red spiky hair (dyed not natural). She smoked a lot and didn’t really make a huge effort with us, nor us with her. Then there were the two German hippies we stayed with in Berlin. Annette and Johannes. Jo was all smiles as he showed us around the apartment. We arrived at 8 am and we woke him up. His hair was a mess, sticking up like we forced his finger into a light socket. Annette had blonde natty dreads and was sexy in a German accent kinda way. I had a long talk with her one night about music festivals, the world cup, California, Berlin before the wall came down. I hope to see her again some day although I probably won’t.

In Karlovy Vary I bumped into a wandering homeless-type at a bus stop that asked me how long it would take to walk into town. He was speaking the unfriendly sounding native language. I was waiting outside my hostel and he seemed lost and disheveld. It was interesting how many people thought I was native Czech. Must be the beard.

In Poland we had a long and confusing conversation with the front desk ladies who were the only people we encountered who spoke no English. None. Zippo. We were trying to check in and they were lost. Their 50-something faces were rough and downturned and their hair was done up like it was Friday night. Of course there was plenty of make up lathered on and they were both smoking.

We met two backpackers in Hungary as they made breakfast one morning in the hostel we were all staying at. Names forgotten here as it was two long ago, but one was 20 years old, cute blond girl from Boulder and the other strapping dude was from Fort Collins, Colorado. They met in Prague and were traveleing together for the short term. They talked of the places they had been and were friendly enough towards us, the elders in the hostel. It was one of our first conversations with an American since we had left. In that same place I put myself in the fire and went to the common room where the Aussies were drinking heavily, dominating the scene. I sat myself down next to a 24-year-old Belgium guy who rather than going to school for his degree in Marine Biology should and could have been a male model. He had long, flowing hair and the perfect face. We talked about his schooling and journalism and the lack of a “free” press in the world. He was smart but probably that was overlooked when talking to others because of his stunning features. Even I was mesmorized by him.

In Croatia we came across Marco and his brother, whose name I forget. They ran a bike rental shop and sold wine out of their shed. Marco painted and smoked cigarettes all while always keeping his wine cup half full. There was no way he saw it as half empty. I never asked but I’m sure he always looked on the bright side. We talked about the beauty of Vis, Croatia, and the quiet serenity that ruled his existence. He was as happy as I had ever seen a man; content, giving, all smiles. He liked to pat my stomach and nudge my arm, not sure why though. When we returned the bike after a week we met his brother, a little older, a little bigger, but just as warm. We talked about Croatia as a whole and they debated in Croatian where the most beautiful places are. We were headed to a more popular tourist island next and they argued, playfully, regarding its charm. Even though we couldn’t understand a word they said, brothers are no different there than they are in America.

Our friend Mena. She was making her "the place was closed" face

In Greece we met a solo traveling man who was a bit older and was running from island to island trying to find a good sunset and a quiet beach. He wound up at the Pink Palace with us and hated it. He seemed old, sad and needy. There were others in Greece as well. The brothers who owned the hotel we stayed at for three weeks, Yanni and Vasilly. They looked like your typical Greek stereotype would. Thick heads of hair dominated their features. They had dark skin and larger than necessary noses almost as if they were bred to smell things from miles away. Both treated us with warm greetings using our names every time we walked through the restaurant. “Hallo, Areek and Andrea. How ar yoo?” Then there was the couple we met from NYC while in Athens. Yanni and Menna popped into and out of our lives quicker than some TV shows. We spent two glorious days exploring the sites. They will stay embedded in our minds forever as the connection that grew was stronger than we had anticipated.

In Thailand we met people at a much more rapid pace. First, there was an Israeli couple who sat in front of us on the 18-hour bus trip down to the islands. Never got their names and didn’t interact with them much, but we did make eye contact many times and to me, that was enough. We smiled and commiserated about the travel ordeal we were all embroiled in just using our facial expressions. There was Big Nigel, an expat on Koh Samui who ran an American-style BBQ restaurant. He was 400 pounds of joy and only rarely missed his former Los Angeles life. He talked about Tivo and video games and traffic and full moon parties. He was big fun and believe it or not, he was sweating more than me.

On Railay beach there was a woman traveling alone who asked to join our table as we drank beers and watched the sun set behind the warm, salty waters, the same waters that were part of the tsunami a year ago. She was from Sacramento and had just arrived. She was friendly, a bit too loud for my tastes, but not to the point of annoyance. She was just a little more type A than I’m used to. Also, we met two girls from England who had quit their jobs to travel for six months. We shared a long-tail boat together and they were hard bargainers. They forced our driver to give us money back because he had initially overcharged us. I could never do that. And with the Pound as their exchange money, they were haggling over 20 cents. I loved that scene. We shared the taxi boat with some German ladies, one of which I am sure I saw in a porno movie once, got upset with us for bitching about the price. “It means more to them than to you. Let him have it.” We felt miserly in the end.

Andy making spring rolls. A good way to meet people is by taking a class. Damn that day was fun!

We met Chris during our cooking class. We ate sooooo much that day. I strapped it on and envoked the spirit of the Shark

In Chiang Mai, an older, bald British man sporting a physical ailment walked up to me out of the blue. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with him but he kept shaking his head like he had a tick. He wanted to shake my hand. His eyes were popped wide open and he rarely blinked. He introduced himself and I to him. He held my hand longer than necessary and told me I looked like his brother Eddie. I took my paw back and thanked him, although I’m not sure if that was appropriate as I had never met his sibling before. Then he was gone.

In Pai, I tried to make conversation with a cool looking hippie couple. We were picking out movies at a theater house where you can rent a movie and they give you a perfectly set up living room to watch it in. (Brilliant idea by the way) They were rude and unwilling to put any effort into the initial back and forth. When I asked where they were from, their reply peaked an eavesdropper’s interest. “Portland,” the girl said. Out of nowhere an older man in his 60’s pops out like a hedgehog, “I’m from Portland!” The three of them talked as I sat there being completely ignored. I got up and walked away, didn’t even say goodbye. Never saw them again. I met an expat bookstore ownere in Pai who told me about the mudslides and floods from the previous year. He was cool but also very cold; something about his unwillingness to ask me any questions about myself. It was all me, the journalist, asking him questions. He also wouldn’t buy my already read books and forced me to run around to three other bookshops in the heat trying to get a good exchange.

In Luang Probang, Laos, we shared a taxi from the airport to the downtown area with an Aussie couple on their honeymoon. He was a massive rugby player who was happy and friendly and she was a cute blondie who liked tube tops. We had dinner with them and talked through the night. We got drunk because that’s what you do with Aussies. He told us about a horrific accident he was in where he almost died. They were riding bikes and he got hit by a car. It had only been six months but he had made a full recover. He even showed us his scars. Also in Luang Probang we met a lesbian couple from Canada at the waterfalls. They were friendly and we shared a moment swimming in the blue waters at the base of the falls. Later I ran into them in Ventienne, Laos, and shared a dinner with them at a restaurant on the Mekong River. We talked through the sunset about pushy Vietnamese and women travelers who showed too much skin.

I tried to make friends with the elephante but he was hit so many times by his handler, he wanted nothing to do with me.

My shortest and most memorable meeting happened just two days ago when I bumped into three older women traveling from Nong Kha to Laos. I was going the opposite direction to Bangkok and they peppered me with questions about Laos. I answered dutifully as a man walked up to sit with them. Lucas was short, dark skinned, big nose, white curly hair, lazy eyes and wide smile. He was wearing freshly bought army paints with the legs tucked into high, black shiny boots and a black t-shirt. His face reminded me of my Uncle Sam's face. (No, not that Uncle Sam, I really have an uncle named sam) He had a European accent but spoke perfect English. In the ten minutes that we talked I learned more about him than I know about some of my closest friends. He was Jewish and his family escaped Poland. As he said slowly and with a fierceness that I assumed he carried deep inside “that asshole Hitler made us all run.” I told him I was Jewish and his eyes lit up. Lucas was 42 years old but looked a bit older than that. He was a retired UN worker and had a daughter going to high school on the upper east side of NY. We talked briefly about his pension, my weight and having kids. He advised against having them and that made us both laugh. Lucas gave me his cell phone and home numbers in case I wanted to call him. He seemed taken with me despite only knowing me for about 600 seconds. He was an enigma and will remain that way in my mind. I know a lot about him but almost nothing about him at the same time. His cell phone ran and he had to pick up a friend at the 7-eleven. And just like that, Lucas had vanished.

The thing about traveling is…

2006-12-13T06:13:00.000-08:00

Andy and I have been on the road since mid July. Crazy right? Well, it’s hard for us to believe. The perpetual vacation isn’t even half way done and I feel like an expert already. This coming from a guy whose only long-term vacation was driving around the US, hardly putting myself in a foreign environment. Sure some parts of New Mexico and Texas felt like the moon, but all the signs were in English and I had my car. Compared to the adventure we’re on now, that was a walk in the park.

But there are some things I’ve learned along the way that I thought I’d share with you faithful readers.

Lesson 1:
Everyone, wherever we’ve gone, has spoken English. Sure, it’s broken and the vocabulary is limited, but still people know enough to get their point across. What’s even more bizarre is that all the travelers speak English too. So when you have a group of Germans, Israelis, Spaniards, Americans, Brits, its English that binds them. Sure you can learn how to say thank you and hello in the countries native language. But it always comes back to English.

In one particular instance, on the way home from visiting Auschwitz in Poland, we were stuck on a minibus for an hour with two students from Belgium, one traveler from Chile and another from Germany. Andy brought up the point that everyone in Europe seemed to speak English and the two Belgium guys rattled off a list of five or six different languages they spoke. And according to them, English was more difficult to learn than the rest. Crazy that most Americans only speak one language. I mean I took Spanish for a decade in my school years and I still can’t speak it with confidence or power. Why is that?

It’s comforting to know though, that if I need to interact with someone, they can understand me. Rarely can I switch the tables and try to understand their native tongue.

Lesson 2:
It’s much easier to meet people when you travel alone. I guess a guy or girl sitting alone at a bar or at a café looks more vulnerable to a couple or another single traveler. My time away from Andy has allowed me to be sought out by others. I haven’t even tried that hard and I met person after person with ease. Andy apparently has made a friend while on her own that she continually emails me saying that she feels like she’s known her forever and feels a serious connection to. They have spent almost two weeks together.

One particular night I was sitting by a bonfire at a riverside bar in Vang Vieng, Laos and a young bloke from England comes up to me and sits down. I was alone and, at the time, so was he. His name was Josh and he sported longish, faded Army pants and a button down shirt. He was drinking a Beer Lao and smoking a cigarette and he was all smiles.

“You mind if I sit down?”
“Sure.”
“So I saw you sitting over here alone and I thought I’d come up and say hello.”
“That’s nice of you. My name’s Eric.
“Mine’s Josh.”
And then he just launched right into it.

“So, right, like, I saw you sitting here and when your traveling, you gotta just walk up to people and start a conversation. Unless you want to just sit alone all night,” he said still smiling.
“Yeah, it’s been kinda hard for me to do that.”
“Well sure. But it’s all about freedom. No one know you, right, so you can just be open and warm.”’ He actually said this to me. He continued. “And if you get bored, you can just make up an excuse to leave. No hard feelings, ever. How awesome is that. And how many times have you been with your friends from home and all you wanted to do was get up and walk out. But now, everyone you meet is knew and fresh.”
“Yeah, good point.”

I found out he was a plumber from London and was in month ten of his yearlong trip. He looked more relaxed than me even though I can’t imagine getting any chiller than I feel right now. He went on to talk about how proud he was of himself for traveling alone. He was so calm and inviting and friendly, without sporting an ego or bravado. I peppered him with questions about where he’d been, who’d he met, what he’d done, if he was nervous about being alone.

“You see, that’s the thing. I’ve met so many people just by walking up and saying hi.”

A group of people he had befriended a few days before walked up and he got up to say hello to them. He thanked me for the conversation and he moved on. I bumped into him the next night (both of us wearing the same clothes - wash day, nothing clean, right?) and we shook hands, said “Cheers” clinked our beers and I moved on. It was a liberating experience.

Lesson 3:
Walking is fun! Without a car, my feet are my transportation and I need them to take me where I want to go. At home, a car is a luxury. Listening to your radio or cd or ipod, you are able to go wherever you want, seemingly for free despite gas prices. But when traveling, you have to walk to the local bus or to the subway or to the Tuk Tuk drivers. Many times you find out how far something is and when they tell you 4 kilometers, you think to yourself, “Shit, that’s nothing.”

So now we walk. We even made up a song called “Hoofin’ it!” We decided to stay a bit outside downtown Krakow and at first I thought we made a mistake. But after five days of walking to and from the hot spots, I felt free. I could go wherever I wanted, make a left or a right or just continue going straight ahead.

One particular night, it was late and we had trekked all over the city. Our feet were tired and we had at least 2 kilometers left to get to our hotel. We decided to walk instead of finding a bus or tram and then having to wait for it to show up. Just as we made that decision, it started to rain. We said “Fuck it, let’s keep going.” This spawned the “Hoofin It” song. We should have wrote down the lyrics because god damn, they were funny, but alas, I would not do it justice to try and make them up here on the spot. Just know that we rocked out on those sidewalks, laughing our tails off. Until of course one of us pushed it too far and came up with a not so funny verse. It was bound to happen. And then just as we felt the ache in our tootsies, our hotel appeared. Walking. Who knew?

Lesson 4:
Not being expected to tip your wait staff is friggin incredible. It took us a while to stop feeling bad, but for the most part, tips are not expected. Sure, you can round up here and there. In Europe, if service was extraordinary, throwing down a buck or two is much appreciated.

The other night, in fact, the waiter didn’t understand what was happening when I tried to leave him a tip. The exhange rate turned the tip into about 30 cents, but he kept giving it back to me. I insisted, saying, “For you. For you.” He continued to return it to me. I smiled and just walked out, leaving the money on the table.

But the lesson, because that’s what we’re talking about here, is tipping as an obligation just sucks. And, Americans are the biggest tippers in the world. Brits rarely give more than 5% at home or so I was told by a guy I befriended in Greece. He was blown away that Americans routinely give 15-20%. He found it laughable. Seriously, he laughed.

Lesson 5:
For Canadians, I think sewing their country’s flag on one’s backpack or baseball cap is a slap in the face and judgemental to a fault. I know why they do it, but don’t they realize what they are insinuating and how the statement they are making generalizes a population that is so incredibly diverse.

They do it so people don’t think they are Americans. OK, sounds simple enough. But I think there is something hidden deeper. Why don’t they want people to think they are American? And why are they the only citizens to display their nationality? My theory is that it is presumed Americans are loud, rude, obnoxious. Funny, I haven’t met one American who fits that bill. The ones that did were from London, Israel and Australia. But anyway.

I met a couple, Nic and Sandy, in Laos who were awesome, incredible, funny, chill. They had been traveling for almost a year and were almost finished. We spent the night talking, drinking, getting to know each other. He’s a musician and mosaic artist. She was a bartender. When they told me they were renting motorbikes the next day, I invited myself along and they said, “Sure!” And they meant it.

We spent the whole day hanging out. We went to caves and lagoons and then had dinner and watched the sunset together. They are planning a trip to Burningman next year, so I knew they were on the level. So I said to myself, Screw it. Ask them?

I brought up the Canadian flag debate I was having with myself. And I think I said some things that could be considered harsh.

”It stinks of self importance,” I said. What I wanted to say was that I don’t think people are really looking at you as much as you think they are.
“Everyone thinks we are American.”
“So just tell them you’re not,” I replied.
“But it’s frustrating when people think you’re American.” Apprantly they get treated differently when locals know they are Canadian.

The conversation didn’t last long and I started my headtrip thing where I felt I had offended them. I kept running the conversation over and over in my mind. I let it sit there for a bit and then apologized to them. He said cooly and with complete honesty, “It takes a lot to offend us. No worries at all. Seriously”

I don’t think I ruined any potential relationship we might have. (if you’re reading, Nic and Sandy, hi guys!) I guess I just get frustrated to be lumped in with people who give me a bad name. Aw shit, I’m rambling now.

* * *

So of course there are more lessons, but for now, that’s all I got. I leave you with a few sayings I’ve picked up over the trip so far that I like.

“Same same, but different.” (Laos) It means, “similar, but with a slight, almost insignificant difference.” Amazing how useful it is.

“I was pissed!” (England) Easily translated to “I was drunk.” Brits use this a lot cause it seems like they are always drinking. At least the one’s I have met. But I don’t want to generalize. ☺

“It’s a wee bus ride.” (Ireland) Wee translated simply to “small” or “short.”

“Wei geil ist dass den?” (Germany) Exactly translated into “How cool is that then?” My German friend said it’s used when something unexpectedly awesome happens.

“No drama.” (Australia) A couple we had dinner with one night from Australia kept using that when we tried to make plans to possible meet up the next day. It means “no worries.” (But you gotta say it with an Australian accent to get the full effect. Try it. Now!)

Beer Lao! C'mon! Beer Lao!

2006-12-05T03:58:00.000-08:00

I’m not even sure how long I’ve been in Vang Vieng. Andy was with me for the first 6 days or so and I think it’s been another six days since she left. It feels like I’ve been here for a month, but I know that’s not the case.

(That's my bungalow with the red roof in the distance. Don't worry, that bridge is sturdier than it looks. I cross it everyday. No problems so far.)

Andy has been off trekking down in Southern Laos while I have stayed in our riverside bungalow. We needed different things and were both excited to go at our own pace. I have spent my days nailing down a semi-routine. Wake up, work on my movie script (anyone interested?) for an hour, go get some fried rice and vegetables by the bar 50 yards from my hut, return to my writings, go into town, check email, watch a movie, eat dinner at one of the TV bars, go get a drink near the river, head home to work on my writing a bit more, read my book, go to sleep. Sure there are slight variations in the order of those things, but for the most part, my life has revolved around writing.

It’s been liberating to create fiction. It’s my world and I run the show. And I’ve let go of worrying about what finishing a screenplay means. Do I want to sell it? Sure, in a perfect world, I’d be the next Charlie Kaufman. But in reality, I’m just happy I came up with an ending that works. Who cares if someone else thinks it sucks?

During my alone time here I also befriended a super-cool architect from Berlin. Holger is a freelance builder and we had more in common than one might think. He is 39 years old, a bit gray haired and thinning, skinny build, tall, a big warm smile and a non-chalant personality that was easy to be around. (We met while watching Chasing Amy in a TV Bar. The CD started to skip with 20 minutes left in the movie and I couldn't remember the ending. Crazy, I know, I'm slipping. Anyone? Did they stay together or become friends?)

(I found a think buddy, Jamey. He reminded me of you.)

We would meet occassionally and randomly for drinks by the river. We watched the sunset together and debated the merits of Trance music, the glaring magnetic force between men and women as well as why we clash so frequently within the boundaries of personal relationships. Heady stuff. Many times, though, we just swung in our hammocks and looked at the river and mountains. “Wei Geil Ist Das Denn!” (German translation – How cool is that? – He taught me that saying, obviously)

(I've been staring at this view alot in the past two weeks. Sorry, only pictures of my adventures. Andy's got the camera and I've got the computer.)

We met the owner of one of the bars, whose name was DD. He explained in very poor English that he was having a Full Moon party and that he needed a sign to display. He asked if we could create one if he supplied the materials. Holger and I looked at each other and nodded casually, seeing that we had nothing else on the agenda that day. It turned out kinda shitty, as we only had two colors to work with and didn’t really collaborate so much as just drew together. We got the message across, nonetheless.

I received a couple emails from Andy regarding her trip down south. She spent five days in Ventienne, Laos’ capitol city. She hopped around the city taking in their version of the Arc de Triumph and some more temples. Also mentioned was a nasty fall on the street when she scabbed her knee. hrrmmpphh. She found a lap pool and swam everyday as well. On her way from Ventienne to Pakse, she met two women journeying solo, but were travelling together for this particular leg. One of the girls is Israeli and the other is from Scotland. They were all headed the same place so they formed a trio. (Not a band, just a clan of cute traveller girls. But if they put out a CD, I would buy. OK, rambling… sorry.)

Apparently on their way to Pakse, Andy experienced our trip’s first flat tire. It’s about friggin time. Things were a bit too smooth so far. After a couple hours to fix it, she was on her way. Deciding to forgoe Pakse to stay on schedule with the girls, Andy kept truckin' after 14 hours on the bus, continuing on another 4 hours to Don Dett. In the 4,000 Island area of southern Laos, Don Dett is a small remote island. I haven’t received word, upon writing this, how life is going there other than there is only electricity for 4 hours a day and life is super slow. Of course though, there is email on hand.

Andy is heading on to Angkor Wat with her Israeli friend as the Scottish chippy is heading her separate way. From there, the duo may check out the Cambodian islands. Yes, while that phrase Cambodian Islands may sound like an oxymoron, it does in fact have an undiscovered coast. It has only recently flourished into a blip on the radar of a backpacker looking for the next hotspot.

(Andy snapped this when we went walked up to the elevated mountainside cave. C'mon, does that not look like a ... Wait, I'll let you decide.)

I am heading to Ventienne for a couple of days and then to Bangkok to get my glasses fixed and some clothes made before we meet our friends from Oakland. We’re gonna make them mule it home for us. Andy too will probably be heading to Bangkok a little earlier than our friends. While no meeting point or date has been set, I can’t wait to see her and give her a big hug and a kiss on the knee and hear all about her solo journey. And as for her, she gets to be the first to read my script.

A new country

2006-11-27T00:10:00.000-08:00

Thailand just kept getting better and better. We started out a sweaty mess in Bangkok and ended up in a little slice of heaven in Northern Thailand called Pai. Here, the nights are cool, the days are breezy and the air was absent of smog.

After our trek out of Chiang Mai, we took a windy road through the moutaineous north country for four hours and wound up in a small town nestled in a valley of green and brown rice paddy fields with lush mountains on both sides. A simple river with wide banks ran through the town of Pai as bungalows were scattered along its shores.

(Our bungalow in Pai. We deemed the look "Bamboo-chic")

We didn’t do much in Pai, mainly because people go there for that exact reason. We rented a motorbike for the week and rode around to the nearby attractions. There was a waterfall about 5 km west of town near one of the mountain springs. We rode out there, looking to cool off in the natural waters. On the way, we stopped and had an interesting chat with some old Thai ladies on the side of the road. We didn’t speak any common words but we smiled, bowed, smiled, hand gestured for the waterfall and then moved on. Gotta love that! Once there, the view was beautiful but the swimming hole was small. We also spotted a thin snake slithering into the water just as we were about to go in. Needless to say, we hestitated for a bit, and then I said, “Screw it, I’m hot, I need to get wet.”

Another day, we went out to the natural hot springs in Pai and were charged 8 times more than locals. Andy was hot under the collar but we decided to pay the jacked up fee anyway. We figured we were giving money to keep the parks clean and available and we probably won’t ever get a chance to see these springs again. The hot springs were too hot to go in for me, unfortunately. Andy, however, had paid her entrance fee and damn it, she was gonna soak in hot water. So she plunged in the shallowest, coolest part of the river that sprang from the hot source – still about 107 degrees Farenheit. I put my feet in but that was it. The pools at the mouth of the spring were so hot (80 degrees Celsius) that the park sold eggs that you could submerge in the water to get hard boiled eggs! Someone was using their brain. Kudos!

(That girl is a professional soaker. We are entering her in the soak off competition at Harbin Hot Springs when we get back. She's a 4-1 favorite to win the whole thing.)

Pai nights were spent chowing down on the yummiest of yummy curry dishes at The Curry Shack, a small bamboo restaurant run by a brother sister team. Their special dish was the Coconut Chicken Curry with Vegetables served in a hollowed out coconut. I deemed it “The curry that kept on giving!” With the brown rice and a shake, the whole meal ran me $3 and was, by far, the best food I have had on this trip. Sorry Greek souvlaki, sorry Dutch fries, this curry nabbed top honors so far.

Pai had gobs of live music options too. One night we ventured out of town a bit to a bar called BeBop where we took in a truly unique scene. A Chiang Mai blues, jazz group played covers of Stevie Ray Vaughn, Buddy Guy, Credence, etc. The American blues filled the bar as Thai teens sat in large groups and drank beer with ice cubes in it. Andy and I were the only white people there the entire time. I’ve never felt like more of minority than I did that night.

The best part was the interlude between opening act and headliner. A good-looking Asian guy, probably around 25-ish, popped up on stage with a mic in his hand. He was wearing stylish jeans and a white, Haines style, v-neck tee shirt. His hair was fashioned a little like early Elvis’ locks with the whispy bangs, greased back sides. The jazz trio behind him began a standard jam while he held the mic to his hip and snapped along. Then he began his rendition of “All of Me” (Why not take, All of Me?) and it was perfect. His English accent was spot on and his voice was like butter. Halfway through, he began to scat simultaneously with the guitar solo. I don’t get blown away easy, especially from a cover song, but these guys rocked my world. It was so refreshing and new and they had some serious talent. Unfortunately, Thai people don’t clap when a band finishes a song, and as hard as it was, I was following their lead when it came to the culture norms. But after the guitar player’s solo, the skat and the finish of the song, I couldn’t contain myself. I clapped. Not too loudly, but enough that they could hear my acknowledgement.

(Andy's getting good, isn't she? Nice angle, good juxtaposition of the man made idol with the natural branch background. If I were a photo editor I would give this a Gold Star sticker.)

We spent a week in Pai and if not for our visa running out, I could have stayed there for another month. It was that chill of a place. So we were moving again, this time to another country. We packed our bags and wound up in a former French colony in Northern Laos called Luang Probang. Despite being so close in proximity and culture and religion and weather and past history, Laos and Thailand couldn’t be any more different. Laos instantly felt quieter, even from the moment we arrived at the city airport. (We decided to fly there after weighing the prices between that and the three-day van, slow boat trip from Pai through the Mekong River to Luang Probang. It was the wimpy way out but we were thankful for our decision after hearing horror stories from other travelers we met about their brutal experience on the overpacked slow boat.)

Luang Probang was incredible. The city, with only about 30,000 people, was a big adjustment for us as we were coming from Thailand, a world where tourism was overtaking its surroundings. In Laos, life is slower, the kids are happier and the stray cats are friendlier. Here everyone wants to practice their English with you, asking you the common questions. Not like Passover, these questions are a bit more real. “Where are you from?” “How long have you been here?” “When are you going home?” Occasionally you’ll get the “Are you married?” or “How old are you?” questions. Unlike the Bangkok Tuk Tuk drivers steering us in the wrong direction, Laos people were so helpful and smiling. It was such a great feeling and it made me want to sit down and talk to them, without fear that they were trying to sell me something. They just wanted to talk English. It was cool.

(Another Wat To See. Hard to get capture the beauty of these temples with pictures.

One day, Andy was strolling through the back alleys of Luang Probang taking in the Wats and Buddha statues everywhere when she came across a small office. In it was a non-profit group publishing books in Lao and English for hill tribe children. Their goal is to get tourists/travelers to buy the books and hand them out in villages when kids ask for candy or money. Andy fell in love with the idea and asked if there was a way we could volunteer. The guy didn’t hesitate, what with our teaching and editing backgrounds, and jumped at the chance to get us in the fold. We wound up being the third read on a short book about the wonders of the world, written for 8th graders. We were in charge of finding any grammatical mistakes as well as making all the changes that other editors had suggested. We were given a three-day deadline for it and we ran with it! Despite being told not to focus on subject matter and only on grammar, we found a lot that sounded innacurate. So we read it, made up some research questions for ourselves and went online to answer them. (Fact checking can be fun once in a while. Try and do it as a career and watch oneself crumble under the tediousness.) The project was a success and we felt great about contributing to this worthy cause. Sure it didn’t read that great and in the end, I would have rather re-written the entire thing than hand it in with my name on it. But the guy told us not to worry too much about content and that the real goal was to have the kids learn how to read English. We kept reminding ourselves of that.

Luang Probang came and went quickly. There was an amazing night market and cool cafés were set in big, open air spaces that lined the main road. Because it was a former French colony, the town kept some of the trait of its previous parents. Besides the surreal French architecture encorporated into the Laos-style homes, the locals kept the French bread baguettes and the pastries! We hadn’t had bread, real bread, since Europe and it was nice to get a sandwich. I stayed away from the pastries, bad news bears for me, but Andy indulged here and there and I got to see that closed-eyes satisfaction face that she makes so well.

Our one daily excursion from Luang Probang came when, thanks to advice from friends, we went an hour out of town to see the famous waterfall. The drive there was bumpy, dusty and windy. But it wasn’t far and the reward was worth it. The water was turquoise blue and the main falls attraction must have been a 200-foot drop, at least. There was a dirt path up the side of the waterfall. It was a bit damp so I took off my flip flops and hiked it in my bare feet. What an amazing experience to climb up the side of a hill with no shoes on. I had never felt more grounded to the earth than at that moment. We got to the top and had an unbelievable view of the valley and the slash-and-burn farming techniques. We stood on the ledge of the falls and looked over into the pools. Later we walked down the other side, me still barefoot, and headed to one of the many pools at the bottom that you could go swimming in. We found one deep pool and cooled off in the blue water.

(What is it about waterfalls that attract humans to them? We've decided to ask this to our loyal readers. Why do we flock to them in every region of the world.?)

Five days came and went in Luang Probang and it was time, once again, to move ahead. We headed five hours south to a traveler friendly, riverside town called Vang Vieng. The town is famous for three things: stunning scenic mountains, tubing down the river and TV bars. Lining the main street is bar after bar of places to watch TV. Crazy! It said so in our tour book, but I didn’t believe it until I got here. They show everything, including episodes of Friends, The Family Guy, The Simpsons, as well as thousands of movies. The other night we watched the new movie "The Departed" (loved it) and "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" (friggin classic). Can’t beat a Jack Nicholson double feature!

(It's the little things you miss about home when travelling. Like watching a movie.)

We also did the tubing thing and all I have to say is wow! Slowly meandering down the river, bars are situated perfectly on the banks with old ladies screaming “Beer Lao! C’mon! Beer Lao!” They have men with long ropes and they throw them out to you and fish you in so you can drink their beer. Someone is using their brain again! The younger, more adventurous, more drunk travelers were swinging on rope swings into the deeper parts of the river as we floated by. As far as mellowest days on the trip are concerned, this one was close to the top.

(We took a day trip from Vang Vieng to the caves. Only a 2 kim wlk actually. We had met a German traveller named Hoiger at one the TV bars the night before and planned the trip together. Along the way to the caves we had to cross this bridge. Kinda looks like a mini Golden Gate Bridge?)

We are about to shake things up a bit from here on out, though. Andy is going to keep moving through Laos and Cambodia and I have decided to stay in Vang Vieng for a couple weeks to write, relax, unpack, get to know some locals, maybe even go tubing again. For the next two weeks, Andy will be heading through southern Laos on a pilgrimage to see the fresh water dolphins and then on to Cambodia to take in the ancient Buddhist temples at Angkor Wat. From there we plan on meeting up in Bangkok close to the time our Laos visas run out, sometime in mid December. We are both a little nervous to be apart from each other in this strange world, but I feel that, if there was anywhere in the world to do this, Laos is it. I have faith in the people here to help us and guide us on our solo journies.

Book Reviews, Part 2

2006-11-14T22:48:00.000-08:00

And the reading continues. I was on a furious pace in the beginning and have cooled slightly since my last book review posting. I am getting quite good at swapping used books for others and have been fortunate to snag a couple of gems in the process.

And special thanks go to Dean for showing me how valuable an excel spreadhseet can be in keeping lists of things. Before we left, Dean sent me his spreadsheet detailing weather mixed with tourist peak seasons, color-coded in an excel megalist. It freaked me out. Normally, my anal side is repressed by my mellow, let it be attitude, but with all this free time on my hands, I allowed myself to let it out!

So now I have a list of Title, Author, Genre, and my own personal rating system (1 star = shit; 5 stars = epic, brilliant, perfect). Geeky yes, but I imagine I will look back on this list and appreciate having it. So now on to the books…

The Devils Playground by Stav Sherez – A crime thriller that takes place in Amsterdam can only be one thing, good, debaucherous fun. The story pits a depressed Londoner confused by his Jewish heritage sucked into a who-done-it plot after helping a bum off the streets with a place to stay and some food. He is dragged to Europe’s sin city to help solve the case of Nazi snuff films being auctioned online and tortured girls found in the city gardens. It was fast paced and very exciting. Also, after spending some time in Amsterdam on this trip, it was nice to imagine bikes, streets, tourists, canals. It made me want to go back to Amsterdam … sort of. (4 stars)

Amrican Pastoral by Philip Roth – Roth is considered one of America’s greatest writers and after reading Goodbye Columbus 10 years ago, I was positive he was a genuis. I loved that book. This sweeping saga follows the life of a former high school stud athlete throughout. It starts in the days when he was idolized for being Jewish, blonde haired and an amazing football player in Newark, NJ. It followed through his marriage to Miss New Jersey and then continues to his life as a married man, taking over his dad’s glove making business. When the 60’s hit, his daughter becomes part of the anti-war movement and the main crux of the story is about how he deals with life turning out differently than he expected. He tried to make everything perfect. I loved this book. At first it was slow and dull and I wasn’t sure where it was going to go. But when I realized Roth’s style of describing everything, and I mean everything, I really got into the story. He went into detail on the most undetailed events ever. Every character had his/her backstory and it taught me to not get hung up on plot but rather to focus on descriptive narrative. It also made me think about the importance of parental influence on their children and how people are who they are from the minute they are born. (5 stars)

The Icon by Neil ? – I gave the book away before writing down the author’s name and I can only remember his first name was Neil. The story is of a stolen Icon painting from a Greek church during World War II and the subsequent fight to find it and destroy. It follows the Icon through all the hands that have touched it and found that it possesses a healing, eternal life mystique to it. But it also makes men do horrible things to possess it. It was good, nothing special. I called what would happen in the end before I was half way through it. The book was partly set in Greece and I liked reading about the countryside while we were there looking at it. (3 stars)

The Agressor by Andy Ncnabb – A former UK special ops guy writes about espionage, oil money, America’s imperialism, and murder in this action packed thriller set in Russia. I really enjoyed reading this one and finished it in about two days – a true page turner. It’s funny, as I read more and more of these “thrillers,” I seem to get the formula and they sometimes blend together. I’m not saying these guys are unoriginal. Each story has its own feel, but I think I have seen the light. (3 stars)

Anansi Boys by Neil Gayman – I freakin loved this booked. It’s a dark, comic tale about a family of spiders who are actually in human form. Weird sounding? Wait till you read it. It begins like any other story about a schlub of a guy who doesn’t know where he comes from. Then it turns into a fantasy world of animals, tales, magic, witchcraft all still staying based in reality. I won’t even try and describe the plot, but I will say there is a twist at the end and I was smiling for a few days after finishing it, thining about how awesomely crafted it was. I highly recommend this book. (5 stars)

The Chamber by John Grisham – I know, John Grisham, yawn. But I was in the mood for some legalese and who better to turn to then Mr. G. It was the story of a man on death row, sitting there trying to appeal his crime just before his execution. The KKK man was committed to die for blowing up a building in the 60’s of a Jewish lawyer who was fighting for the civil rights movement. The lawyer’s kids were in the building and they both died. The plot was not all that important in this one, although it was a solid story. What struck me was beginning to think about the death penalty and its uses and its effectiveness. I am still slightly torn on the issue but feel deep in my heart that killing people for killing people is just the most absurd theory ever thought up. (3 stars)

A Short History of Tractors in Ukranian by Marina Lewycka – A tale spun about two sisters in their 50s trying to stop their 80 year old father from marrying a 30-something Ukrainian, blonde bombshell who, according to them, is after her father’s pension and their inheritance. It was funny and simple, yet as the book unfolded, the story got deeper into this fractured family’s history of persecution. I really liked this book despite its weird title and bland-sounding, back-cover jacket description. Solid effort and I’m glad I read it. I chuckled often and outloud while reading it – can’t say that about every supposed comic novel. (4 stars)

The Traveller by ???? - Mix one part Matrix with a little Davinci Code and throw in a little Peaceful Warrior. This book floored me. It was a story of our current society of being monitored by being hooked to The Grid. We live our lives attached to computers, magazine subscriptions, shopping. The governments know everything about us. It is a fact that a British citizen is filmed 200 times a day just by going to the bank or the mall or driving through an intersection. We are being monitored and The Man (in the book they call it The Tabula) wants free thinkers out of the way. Those who don’t follow the normal path of life, (ie. Work, shop, consume) is targeted for destruction. The main characters are Travellers, those who can leave this realm and vist other realms of the universe. There are harlequins that are nasty band of warriors sworn to protect travellers from The Tabula. As the Travellers become closer to extinction the Tabula tries to obtain one of the enlightened souls and use his power as a weapon for total control of the people. Apparently the author envisions a three-part book so the ending of this one was kind of a cliffhanger and I will surely be reading the final two chapters of this story. It was enthralling and scary and a must read for anyone who thinks government is unjustly crossing the civil liberties line. (5 Big Stars)

I Never Played The Game by Howard Cosell – How do you follow up one of the best books you have ever read? Why not with a scathing account by Cosell of the atrocities of the NFL and Boxing commissions. It was fun reading and I needed something light after The Traveller. I don’t really remember much of Cosell’s career in journalism, only the portrayal of him by the Asian kids in the John Cusack movie Better Off Dead, but he sounded like a real egomaniac. He kept praising himself for his impact on sports and bashing those who didn’t agree with his stances. I liked reading about the Georgia Frontiere scandal with the LA Rams in 1979 and then about Sugar Ray Leonard in the early 80’s. Also, his account of the debacle on Monday Night Football with Frank Gifford and Don Meredith was amusing. And of course, his relationship with Muhammed Ali was touching. It was a bit too detailed oriented for me though. He would write five pages about a conversation he had with a boxing commission official. I would have liked more about the man, Howard Cosell, and less about the people that, according to him, tried to do him harm. (3 stars)

Get Shorty by Elmore Leonard – Just finished this and thought it was great. I read one of his novels earlier in the trip and loved that as well. His dialogue is infectious. It’s so freakin real. How does he do that? It’s one of those books that makes a writer think to himself, “How am I ever going to be as good as this guy? He’s incredible.” Some of you have probably seen the movie. I have not but I heard it was solid. The story of a mobster trying to switch careers and become a movie producer all while trying to tie up loose ends on the gangster front. I read it in two days without even trying. If you haven’t seen the movie, this one comes highly recommended. (4 stars)

A less beaten path

2006-11-08T19:14:00.000-08:00

In Thailand it seems to be getting harder and harder to get off the beaten path. Every city, town or village has a vast infrastructure set up to cater to the tourist. Apparently, the Thais have caught on that their beautiful, majestic country is one of the world’s hot spots. And they are seizing the opportunity to cash in.

(Beautiful and there are no 7-elevens or Starbucks anywhere. Phew!)

In the northern city of Chiang Mai, a place many Thais consider the gem of Thailand, it feels as if every local runs a Hill Tribe Trek through the surrounding jungles. When you enter the downtown area of the old city, storefront after storefront promises unforgettable packages that allow the tourist to go elephant riding, bamboo rafting, and sleeping in an authentic hill tribe hut. It has become what Chiang Mai is known for, some would say. And the last thing you want to do on a supposed trip away from the tourists is to run into other tourists. It kind of kills the mood, you know?

Chris, a fellow traveller from Australia that we met during the day-long cooking course we took with a transvestite chef named Wa Wa, recommended the trek he did that was organized by his guesthouse. After spending an hour listening to Map, the hotel owner, describe how quiet and peaceful and “non-touristic” the trip was, we jumped on board and hoped that what we heard described was what we were going to get. In Thailand, like in the movie Forest Gump, you never know what you’re going to get.

(Our fellow trekkers doing their impression of Baby and Patrick Swayze from Dirty Dancing. This is my dance space, this is your dance space.)

Well, this decision worked out perfectly. Our internationally flavored group consisted of four Germans in their 30’s, one 20-year-old Swedish girl travelling for a year, one French lady who is an agricultural economist, a gap year British guy, an american boyfriend-girlfriend team from Oregon, my wife and myself. We were all young, eager and extremely aware that we didn’t want to exploit the local people with our trek through the villages. We also all wanted to get away from the grime and pushiness of Thailand’s touristic boom.

(Workers in the field)

As we ascended into the thickness of the wet jungle on the first hour of the hike, the path we were following felt pristine. The landscape was filled with farmers harvesting rice, cows grazing, and mountains slightly obscured by the sweaty haze the sits peacefully in Thailands’s sky. I was a sweaty mess after only 45 minutes but I allowed my mind to let let go of cleanliness associated with society. I was dripping perspiration like New York Knicks center Patrick Ewing at the foul line in the fourth quarter of a heated NBA game.

Our trek leader, Deng, was a 38-year-old Karen tribesmen. He was a short, powerful man whose subtle eyes, warm smile and soft voice enhanced our experience. He finished every sentence by saying “yeah” and adding a giggle. His manor was very deliberate with his answers, responding to every question we asked him as if he had never heard it before.

(Deng was an incredible leader. He seemed so at ease all the time.)

He would stop the group randomely and point out plants and their uses. At one point, he picked up a smooth, brown, oval nut measuring one inch in diameter and explained that Thai kids use them to play games with. He said they find them, play with them and then sell them in the market to tourists. We passed it along the line of trekkers so we could all feel it and because I liked being in the back of the line, I got to keep it. We also learned what trees make good kindling for fires, what plants not to touch and that if you did touch that certain plant the only way to get rid of the itch was to use the ambiotic fluid gathered after a birth. Seeing that no one on our trek was nine months pregnant, we avoided that plant at all costs.

With the help of his machete, Deng pounced into the jungle and cut us all the perfect bamboo walking sticks. They were strong, smooth and more helpful than I thought they would be. Our ascent to our first-night beds was steep and we kept going for about three hours. The warmth of the day was filtered through the clouds and the large, elephant ear leafs and it was nice to have breaks from the glare.

(The bamboo hut we slept in the first night. Cozy, ain't it?)

Meals were taken care of for the entire three days so all we had in our packs were a spare t-shirt, a warm cover, toilet paper, flashlights (or torches as they say in Europe), some candy for the tribe children, any medicine you needed (sleeping pills were a nice touch after a long day), dry socks, and water shoes. Remembering a suggestion from a friend who did this trip a few years back, I brought a frisbee with me. He explained that it’s an easy way to break down the language barrier between our tourist tribe and the local tribes we would encounter.

(Look Adam, we're riding an elefante!)

Our experience with the Dara Ang hill tribe, like our trek leader Deng, was mellow and authentic. My biggest fear was that the tribe would be on display for the white people to stare at like animals in a zoo. It was far from that. We entered the village riding elephants and climbed down off the backs of the mammoth, peaceful beasts as the children watched. They all were yelling politely, “Hello, Hello!” We waved and called back, “Hello, Hello!”

(I saw this little boy playing by himself with a bike so I went over and had a giggle fest with him. Then he started throwing dirt at me so I left.)

Instantly upon arrival I took out my frisbee and showed it to 20 barefooted kids who were staring at my American belly, Oakley sunglasses, and hiking boots. The tallest raised his hands and called for it. I threw it to him. Most of the children scattered but watched intently. They seemed afraid to try. I had a 20-minute toss with this one boy who, without any help from me, threw the disc perfectly. Maybe this frisbee idea is not as unique as I thought it was. The kid was a pro. But we played on and then another boy, a few years younger, jumped into the fray and was equally as good. He was a wild child, flashing spinning kicks in the air when it wasn’t his turn to throw the disc. We played together for about an hour in the tribe’s dusty field. Without words, we connected and just like I will never forget them, I hope they won’t soon forget me. It was the highlight of the trek.

(Andy and our trekker buddy, Joe, dances around the fire with the local tribe children)

While a lot of the trek is based around the tourists’ desire to break free from the maps and taxi drivers and the must-see sights laid out by Lonely Planet, one of the added bonuses is to get to know other travellers. The 11 of us were all from different backgrounds, countries and value systems. But as we got to know each other, we realized that despite all our differences we are all quite similar. Age differences didn’t matter. We taught each other card games, recommended books that made us cry, pined over health care systems from our native lands, and compared alotted vacation times. As usual, everyone wanted to know if we supported George Bush and like always we had to say, “No, we don’t.” And then many of them replied, “How come every American we meet doesn’t like him?” The only way to answer that question is to say plainly “America is a very divided country right now.”

The group was a loose family. We knew each other now and the barriers that normally would stop us from conversing in our normal, back home lives were crumbling away. As we slid down the mountain using the wet, moss-covered trail, the bamboo stick became an extension of my right arm. A blister had formed between my thumb and my pointer finger as I gripped it fiercly. It saved me falling on my ass about 15 times. As my knees began to shake from the impact of walking down hill, I contmplated what I liked better: downhill or uphill hiking. Both are difficult but in completely different ways. Like America with Bush, I am divided on this issue. I have concluded that hiking is never constant bliss. You are up and down, loving it, hating it, breathing heavy, coasting, challenging yourself, wishing it were harder, beating back prickly branches, enjoying the open trail. Without a trail description, I was walking blindly and each turn was new and unplanned. By the end of the three-day adventure, I was so proud that I took what the jungle gave me and I smiled with every change.

(Sweaty and happy, we finished the trek!)

As the group was escorted back to Chiang Mai in a pick-up truck plush with two benches, my mind wandered to the wonder of our three-day adventure. With our sweaty knees touching each other, I looked around at the others in my group and could feel their satisfaction. We walked almost 20 km during our trek and we caught a fleeting glimpse into the natural hillsides that were void of the tourist offices, tuk tuk drivers and drinking pubs that have grown like a virus throughout Thailand. We met tribepeople who lived a life so different from what we are accustomed to. And yet there was a sense that their feelings and thoughts were not much different from our own. We had succeeded in blazing what felt like a new path.

The real Thai Delight

2006-11-01T23:22:00.000-08:00

OK, so the sweating has ceased very little. But I am getting used to it in a weird “I’m dripping but so is everyone else” kinda way. Last we left you, Andy and I were headed down to the island of Koh Samui in the Gulf of Thailand.

We hopped on one of the VIP tourist buses that run throughout this country. Tourist companies line the streets in every city, selling their cheap trips to foreigners (Thais call us farang). We snagged a 14-hour overnight bus trip from Bangkok to Koh Samui for $9 each. The bus ride was the beginning of us letting go the normal routine of travel. Everything the travel agent told us was a bit skewed. The trip took 20 hours. The bus dropped us off in the middle of the road at 6 in the morning and we had to ride in the back of a small pickup truck for 40 minutes to get to a ferry. We didn’t share the ride with any chickens in the back, but it was as rustic and dirty as we have gotten so far in this trip.

(Me, with puffy eyes, trying to smile during our pick up truck taxi to the ferry.)

We arrived at our bungalows in Koh Samui and collapsed. Our bus and its passengers braved a driving rainstorm, a two-lane highway that should really only be a one-lane highway, shady rest area fried rice, and ice-cold air conditioning to make it to our destination.

We stayed at Shambala Bungalows on Big Buddha Beach and it was very peaceful. Most of the farang stay on Chaweng Beach, a built up portion of the island’s west coast that has every Western store imaginable. Familiar places such as Haagen Daaz, McDonalds, Adidas, and Basking Robbins littered the small beach community. We went there for the day to check it out and it was quite disgusting. Every person on the street selling the same shit; sunglasses, watches, sarangs, pirated DVDs. We even made up a little song called “Buy My Shit”. We have been singing a lot of songs on this trip and that one, we think, when the record comes out, will resonate with the masses.

(Andy enjoying her American breakfast at Shambala Bungalows. Isn't she cute?)

We spent five days on Koh Samui trying to rid our lungs of Bangkok. We slept late in our fan-cooled bungalow. We ate delicious curries and street food. We read our books and laid in the sun. We went swimming in the salty sea. One day, we took a long walk along our road to see the big buddha that adorns the northern most tip of our beach. Along the way we ran into a local fish and produce market. We walked through the stalls and were amazed at the vastness of their selection. About halfway through, we witnessed something that I am still trying to erase from my memory. Positioned right next to the skinned frogs and two stalls down from the eels, we saw rats sitting int heir own blood. Andy felt the need to take a picture. I kept walking and suprisingly goose bumps had emerged on my arms despite the 90-degree heat.

(Another reason Andy and I have decided to eat as vegetarians! OK, so I started to eat chicken every now and then, but for the most part, I am meat free. OK, and maybe a little pork here and there too. But you know what I mean. Andy, though, is holding true.)

We walked some more and made it to the immense buddha. We scurried up the steps and sauntered around it, admiring the beauty and size while lightly dinging the 22 bells surrounding the massive idol. As the sun set in the distance between the islands of Koh Samui and Koh Phang Ngan, the two of us breathed deeply and sunk deeper into the relaxation that has engulfed our spirits.

(One of the bells we rang.)

Our next stop was East Hat Railay Beach in the Krabi area. We were headed there to scope out some places to hunker down during New Yeasr Eve week. Our friends from the Bay Area, Rachel and Bryan, and the couple we met from The Pink Palace, Sam and Brad, are coming down there to hang with us and we were on a mission for the perfect place.

We couldn’t have snagged a better location. After adjusting to the fact that everyone jacks their prices up three fold during that week, we were able to find a nice place to reserve for us. It is on the Mangrove side of the three-beach area and we are on the least attractive side. Luckily, the other two beaches are less than a five-minute walk away. The Railay area is known as a rock-climbing mecca. There are huge kyst rock formations jutting out of the land and the sea, creating perfect conditions for the adventerous types.

Andy and I scored a brand new bungalow at a nice resort for super cheap and lived the good life for five nights. We had a pool and laundry service and a maid if we wanted it. Surely we could have found a bungalow up in the hills for far less the cost, but from the stories we heard from other travelers we talked too, some of those places could pass for a zoo. We heard one guy say he found a rat in his room, a spider the size of his hand and some octopus thing in his no flush water bucket.

One night we decided to get drunk. We went out for a yummy inexpensive dinner at Mom’s Place and were drinking Chang beer like it was the last Chang beer on earth. We began playing pool and well, we were terrible. It was fun but damn, was I rusty. And I think this might have been Andy’s third time ever playing. Needless to say, she was pretty bad. There was not a Paul Newman or Tom Cruise in the bunch.

During our pool extravanganza we met a couple from Montana who are traveling for a few months through Thailand and The Phillipines. We were on our way out to check out a Reggae band called The Ugly Bugs who were on tour from Chiang Mai. They were playing at the bar next to our pool table. We invited them to come with us when they were finished playing pool. After about ten minutes of listening to The Bugs covering Bob Marley, Patrick and Anna, sauntered over and had a seat with us.

They had been on Railay for about two weeks and were leaving the next day. We sat and talked about places to go in the area, things to do, things not to do, coming to Burningman next year, and the overcrowdedness of Thailand in general. The girls went off to another bar to check out the scene there and Patrick and I launched into an intense, yet alcohol fueled discussion of American politics. He was very informed and I listened intently to his ideas of a possible revolution away from our two-party system of fraternity brothers. The girls returned and we continued our fun times. We closed the place down and at 2:30 in the morning we all decided to head back to our homes. We hugged and said, “See you at Burningman next year!”

(I love this picture of me. Just thought I'd add it to the blog.)

The next day we went snorkleing and kayaking off the West side of the beach and we had an absolute blast! We found hidden caves and glorious families of fish swimming merrily through their coral homes. I’ve always been a bit freaked out by being able to see what’s in the ocean. They leave me alone and I leave them alone. It just works well for me that way. Andy, on the other hand, can’t get enough of snorkeling. We compromised efficiently and decided to go to another spot that was supposed to be chock full of life. Kayaking was strenous and fun and we made up chants to keep us in synch. During this second outing a storm appeared and we wound up hunkering down on another small sandy cove that was ours alone. We watched the crazy storm rain down on us and we played charades to pass the time. It was one of those moments when you knew a memory was evolving. “Hey remember that time when we played charades on that empty cove?” We were both feeling extremely present.

(As we walked along the beach in West Railay, we witnessed this amazing sunset.)

We went to bed early that night because it is time to switch up the trip’s vibe again. We are headed for Chiang Mai in Northern Thailand where we plan on doing a three day trek through the jungles, take a cooking class, do a silent meditation and get away from the oppressive night time heat. We woke up in the morning and this time, with the 20-hour bus ride from Bangkok to Koh Samui fresh in our minds, decided to fly up north. For a minimal amount thanks to the numerous budget airlines in Asia, we got up here in 10 hours. Normally, by bus the trip would take 40 hours. As I keep saying to Andy about the decision to fly, “It was a no brainer. Absolute no brainer.”

Three Nights in Bangkok

2006-10-23T23:22:00.000-07:00

Right now, all I can do is sit here and sweat. When I was told, or rather when I read about the humidity, I thought, pshaw, I lived in New York in the summer and had to commute by subway with pants on. David Letterman did a skit that summer where he fried an egg on the subway platform. How much hotter could it be than that?

After three days here, I am longiing for the wind tunnels the large NY buildings created on those humid days. Not only is it humid, but the air is very still. Add to that the thick, soupy smog and the commerce on every street and it is quite hard to breathe.

(We saw this during a walk around our neighborhood. It made me laugh and it was really cool looking.)

We arrived early in the morning after an 11-hour flight from Athens through Bahrain to Bangkok. Bahrain was an absolute trip. It is a small island country in the Persian Gulf just off the east coast of Saudi Arabia. During our hop through the Middle East the in-flight tracker showed us flying over Syria, and Lebanon, just missing the west border of Iraq. They would show us our flight speed and altitude and how many miles we were from our destination. Then at the end they had a picture of our plane with what looked like a little bug moving on the screen. It turned out they were showing us where we were in relation to Mecca.

We landed in Bahrain and had about 2 hours to kill before we flew to Thailand. Everyone was dressed in traditional middle-eastern garments and the few English-looking people we saw stood out as the minorty. Coming from Europe, we were so used to blending in that this served as a solid wake-up call that we were transitioning to another culture, another world.

We arrived in Bangkok in a daze. We took some sleeping pills on the flight and they didn’t really knock us out, but rather made us unable to complete thoughts or sentences. We arrived at our hotel in Bangkok and we had a nice room with a king size bed, air conditioning and our own bathroom for $15: our cheapest room yet on the trip. Andy couldn’t take the heat and needed sleep. I felt the need to walk around a bit to get my bearings. I got a nice yummy lunch as the sweating began. I went back to the room and then collapsed for a few hours.

That night we walked around our neighborhood of Kao San Road, the backpacker traveler center. The bars and street vendors and tuk tuk drivers all wanted our money. We were hungry and decided, after much searching, to go to the first restaurant we encountered on our initial exploratory walk. We have decided to eat as vegetarians here to avoid unknown meats. Andy got a pad thai veggie and I got stir fry veggie with a side of rice. For dessert we got mango with sticky rice and coconut milk. It was pure heaven! Coming from the heavy meats and cheeses and bread of Europe, this was a huge delight. When our bill came we owed 130 Baht, the equivalent of about $5. More so than the food, the price was right.

After dinner we walked around Kao San Road and as Andy perused the inexpensive clothing, I stood on the street to soak it all in. Within a matter of 15 seconds of standing alone, I was offered a sex show where the woman shoots a ping-pong ball out of her… well, you know where. I declined, but mulled that decision longer than I probably should have. I mean, how often do you get a chance to see that? We walked home afterwards and again passed out due to the jet lag.

(The craziness that is Kao San Road. Anyone up for a game of ping pong?)

The next day we woke up at 1 p.m. and slowly ate breakfast ($3 for two egg breakfasts and two yummy smoothies). It was really too hot to do anything so we went into the air conditioned Internet café and caught our breath. Before we knew it, the day had passed and it was time for dinner again. We decided to walk to Chinatown for a meal and despite the sun already being down, the heat was oppresive. We kept getting lost because our map would randomely leave out street names. We knew we were headed in the right direction but we were walking, more or less, aimlessly. We happened upon a surreal sight in a park in the city. There was a man on a platform leading close to 200 people in a heart pumping aerobics session. Hanson, the now defunct pop trio that in my opinion really had potential in their heydey, was being played over the speakers, sped up like an Alvin and Chipmunks version. We joined in but I began to sweat profusely within 2 minutes. Andy did her best to keep up, but she too began to drip uncontrollably. We laughed, took a few pictures and moved on.

After bumbling through the city, we found Chinatown and it was hectic and exhausting, just like Lonely Planet said it would be. We found a restaurant and had an overpriced (for Thailand standards) yet delicious meal. We walked around a bit more and then decided we needed the comforts of our hotel room, away from the chaos. We hailed a tuk tuk driver and haggled for a price to get us home as quickly as possible. During this trip in the three-wheeled, open-air motorcycle taxi we realized just how smoggy Bangkok was. We were choking as we sat in traffic, discussing emmission standards, global warming and life expectancy in this city.

(I bought a pair of cool, thailand traveler pants. The lady helped me wrap them around for the first time. It was like a diaper.)

The next day, upon Andy’s urging, we went out seeking The Reclining Buddha housed in one of the many Wats (temples) scattered throughout the city. During this exhaustive walk we were accosted by three different smooth talking Thais who wanted to take us on a sight seeing tour of the city. They all told us the Wat was closed and that they would take us to the other Buddhas for $1. Andy almost fell for it. I held my ground and demanded we see for ourselves that the Wat was closed. Lo and behold it was open to all and we avoided being scammed. That was one of the best feelings I’ve had on this trip. I avoided being a stupid tourist. Go us!

We arrived at The Reclining Buddha and were amazed at the size and beauty of the idol. The pictures don’t do it justice. It was a purely spectacular sight, jaw dropping in fact. Apparently the reclining nature of the Buddha was supposed to portray his moment of enlightenment. After wandering around the statues and other temples in the Wat, we snagged a tuk tuk back to our neighborhood and decided what we needed most was to cool down. Our hotel has a pool for a small extra fee and we went for it. They could have charged us $20 a person to use it and we would have. Luckily it was only $1 each so we were in heaven. We swam for an hour and cooled our bodies down considerably. I have never seen Andy sweat so much. She prides herself on her lack of sweat build up. She bowed to the power that was Bangkok.

(That's one big buddha!)

(Worth two shots. Although the size is kinda hard to represent. Somethings you just gotta see for yourself.)

After a late lunch of pad thai and stir-fried rice at one of the numerous street vendor stalls, we decided to both get massages. Ahh, it was so relaxing to be treated to this Thai delight for only $5 a person. (Can you tell I’m hung up on how much things cost here?) Afterwards, we had a couple of drinks and went back to our room for a long, well-deserved sleep.

On Saturday, October 21, 2006, we headed for Koh Samui, an island in the Gulf of Thailand. We are booked on a 14-hour bus trip that leaves Bangkok at 6 p.m. and arrives Sunday at 10:30 a.m. As we leave the city we are left with some wonderful memories of uncontrollable sweat, cheap eats, amazing temples, sketchy tuk tuk drivers and a wonderful air-conditioned room. (Thanks Dean!) Our plan is to trip around the south for about ten days and then head to Chang Mai in Northern Thailand to begin our adventure up there. After exploring Thailand of the north, we are headed to Laos for a few weeks and then to Angkor Wat in Cambodia.

Our first few days in Southeast Asia were a whirlwind of activity and it is preparing us for what lays ahead. Upno writing this, we are only three days removed from Europe and it seems so calm and peaceful in comparison to where we are now. As time progresses we are sure to feel comfortable here at some point. But right now it is overwhelmingly foreign.

Finishing up Greece - Off to Bangkok!

2006-10-17T04:14:00.000-07:00

It’s the night before Andy and I leave for Bangkok and we know that everything is about to change. Since Aug. 1 we have been tripping around Central and Eastern Europe, making ourselves at home in all of the typical ways in which an American assimilates with Europeans. We haven’t stood out too much, except for me wearing shorts, which is apparently very un-hip here. We tried all the local fare, took in a couple of American Hollywood movies, checked out the must-see museums and even partied quite hard in a few cities.

But now, as we flip through our Southeast Asia Lonely Planet, reading about all the cultural differences, it has just hit us that the first leg of our trip is over and that we are on the cliff of an utterly life-altering experience. Neither of us has been to an Asian country before and besides hearing of our friends’ recent travels there, we know pretty much nothing about what we are getting ourselves in to.

For the past three weeks we have been hunkered down on Corfu, Greece. After spending two weeks at a nice, inexpensive studio apartment on the beach, we moved up the coast a bit to a town called Pelekas. We found a trippy, hippy hostle named The Rolling Stone that is run by a cute couple and their twin daughters. The wife, Ira, was German and her husband, Themis, was Greek. They were so incredibly nice and accomodating and we were really taken in by their generosity and peaceful nature. Their smiles were addictive and infectious. Besides the fact that the rooms were kind of sandy, you had to shower while sitting on the toilet and the mosquitos seemed to have the run of the place, the aura of the place was warm and cozy.

(The hang out chill space at The Rolling Stone)

(E and the local dog Sophie in front of the hostel's shuttle)

The beach was a short jaunt down the driveway and it was less crowded and more natural than Agios Giordos. The water was, again, crystal clear and warm. And the best part about the whole experience was that we were there to meet our friend, Ms. Gina Fong/Seidler. Our Bud G was there for a retreat with her Scanner friends and it was an absolute treat of all treats to get some loving from home. As we walked out of our room the first day we were there, we were preparing to trek up the huge moutain to get into town to find G. As we turned our back to lock our doors, much like when you are dreaming and all of a sudden some random person shows up, there she was, G, saying, “What’s up party people?”

(Born to be wild)

Ahhhh. We hugged and laughed and hugged and were just so taken with a familiar face, especially this cute one in front of us. We went down to the beach and sat on the sand and talked and talked and laughed and hugged a little more. After all, they don’t call us The Huggers for nothing. Throughout the week, we got a ton of love from Gina and it was excellent. We had yummy pizza one night for dinner in Pelekas Village and then after we walked G home to her hotel on the hill. The next day, Gina rented a four wheeler and Andy and I scooted around on our trusty bike named Fabrizio. We went back to Agios Giordos to do some sunning. The clouds didn’t cooperate so we just hung in a café, checked our email and read our books.

The whole experience of being with a friend from home was surreal and then quickly changed to comforting. We were so isolated from home, except for blogs, email and one call home, that to jump back into a friendship was, at first, bizarre. We both felt like we had changed so much from when we left and we wondered if G could tell. Did she notice how we have grown? Did she think we were different? After the initial shock, it turned totally mellow. Gina was still Gina and we love her for that. And despite feeling like we have changed, we were still both ourselves. Weird, huh?

So on our last night at The Rolling Stone, a nice looking American couple from NYC popped in during dinner looking for a room. Andy and I were eating and we turned around to wave hello when it was quietly announced that there were two American couples at this trippy Pelekas hostel at the same time. After eating, playing a game of Backgammon (the world’s cruelest game), and then subsequently cleaning our dirty dishes, we sat and had a drink with the couple from NY, Yanni and Menna. As if the world was not small enough, it apparently came to light that Andy and Yanni were both from Westport! And if things couldn’t get any weirder, Yanni and Andy grew up two houses away from each other. Friggin crazy, right? So once that was out there, our friendship, in its infant stage, was growing up rapidly. We talked into the evening chill and watched together as the moon rose over the cliff guarding our hostel from the flat lands of Corfu.

The next day the four of us had lunch on the beach together. Andy and Menna went snorkeling around the rock outcropping while Yanni and I had an epic one-hour long frisbee toss in the shallow waters of the beach. We were diving all over the place to make the perfect catch. We realized that we were all going to be in Athens at the same time, so we made a plan to sight see together. Andy and I had once again, scored a new set of friends.

After an 11-hour bus ride from Corfu to Athens with only one bathroom break, we made it to our hotel in Athens. The countryside of Greece is breathtaking, truly incredible. We snaked along the coast as the sun beat through the tinted windows, creating marbled beads of sweat that formed on my recently shaved head down south toward my new fu manchu moustache. We listened to our ipod the entire time and we received awe-inspiring sun streaks through the cloudy sky timed perfectly to a jazzy Phish jam. I got the chills.

The next day was election day in Greece and we met Yanni and Menna at Syntagma Square where our plan was to hike to the Acropolis and see the Temple of Athena, The Parthenon, The Temple of Dionysis and all the other unearthed artifacts that are scattered throughout the ancient city. When we arrived, a hand written note on the gate informed us The Acropolis was closed due to the election. Shit all, we said. We opened our Lonely Planet Greece and from a payphone called the other museums on the list of possibilities. All closed as well. Well, what do you do when you got nothing to do? You eat! We went and got some yummy, tasty, delicious Souvlaki in the touristy section of Athens. During the meal, we were bombarded by street vendors selling all kinds of street shit. There were magnets, barking fuzzy dogs, Donald Duck umbrellas, fake Coach purses, and harmonicas. Andy had always wanting to learn how to play the instrument and was recently inspired by our Bud G who whipped hers out the other day on the beach and began wailing. She haggled with the local and snagged one for 4 euro. Get ready world for the cuter version of John Popper!

(We just found out the Acropolis was closed. Mwa)

As we walked along after the souvlaki feast, there appeared out of nowhere a microphone and a cute young blonde newswoman who wanted to hear our take on the election. We tried to give her a few soundbites and then moved along. It was really hilarious! I wonder if we were on TV? We’ll never know I guess.

(Hey, are you from Westport?)

So Day Two in Athens was a do over. We went back to the Acropolis and it was open and swarming with tourists who were shut out the day before. Despite the mass of humanity buzzing around us, we thoroughly enjoyed the sites. There was a lot of restoration going on and we pondered whether it was necessary to try and recreate what was once such a marvelous structure. Menna and I both thought that fixing the temple was like an old woman getting a boob job to try and look young. Sure, her boobs look nice, but come on, we know it aint the real thing. We both agreed at there is majesty in crumbling relics. After the Acropolis we had a nice lunch (more Souvlaki!) and then took in the Museum of Archaeology. Old statues, beautifully ancient vases, even little stone balls, were uncovered for our modern eyes. Some of the exhibits dated back almost 6000 years! And because we made it there so late in the evening, the crowds were gone: truly the perfect way to browse the 10,000 square meter museum.

(The money shot. The Parthenon sans crowds. Good work Andy)

So now, as I type, Andy is alseep with the Lonely Planet Southeast Asia book on her chest and we are leaving for the airport in the morning. We are flying from Athens to Bahrain and from Bahrain to Bangkok. Europe has been absolutely incedible. I feel like I got a taste of what I wanted. I saw some sites and did the touristy thing from time to time, but what I sought was an experience where I understood and got to know the local people and their lives. I saw the countryside and awed at its history. We saw where our ancestors came from and we will never forget the feelings that were stirred up. And now, we head to a land that is as foreign to us as anything we know. We are there to represent the western world and we hope that it is as fun, suprising, magical and intense as Europe was. Somehow I think it’s going to blow our minds. I hope it does.

Corfu, Greece

2006-10-06T02:25:00.000-07:00

(The beach in Agios Giordos where we have perfected being bums)

(Whatch out people - Andy has learned how to use the settings on her digital camera. Thanks Brad!)

(Having drinks with our new friends)

(The view from our room in Agios Giordos.)

(I did a little photoshopping to this image. How cool am I?)

(We took a day trip to Corfu Town and got this view of the suprisingly cool city from its Old Fortress, which is now just ruins)

(The infamous Pink Palace. Shudder.)

(Ahh. The sunset from our room one night)

Pics Part 3: Budapest, Krakow, Vis, Dubrovnik

2006-10-06T02:05:00.000-07:00

(The temple in Budapest. Look smore like a church if you ask me)

(The thermal baths in Budapest rocked!)

(The tower had wireless access on top of it - welcome to the future!)

(A sign outside a Polish football stadium. I had to take the picture)

(No dryers in Europe, just clothslines)

(Harvest time in the vineyards throughout the small island of Vis)

(Ahhh, we made it to the sandy beach!)

(Our room was through the brown door on the right)

(The signature beach on Vis)

(So pretty its worth two shots)

(Andy outside the walled city of Dubrovnik)

(Pretty amazing looking city. Isn't it?)

(Cool shot of a fort overlooking Dubrovnik)

Pics Part 2: Karlovy Vary, Prague, Dusseldorf

2006-10-06T01:41:00.001-07:00

(I found my long lost Czech uncle!)

(Andy in her element)

(The view from the hot springs public pool of Karlovy Vary)

(Eric on top of the world)

(Andy with her Alt Beer at a Dusseldorf music festival)

(Cool building in The Dussel. This one is for you, Auntie Barbara)

Can you picture us traveling for a year? These might help

2006-10-06T01:41:00.000-07:00

No words, just pics this time around. These are from Amsterdam, Den Helder and Berlin.

(i liked how the flash reflects off the wheel. Also, the sky and canal behind. mmmm)

(Sidewalk in Amsterdam. Only here will you find this randomly as you stroll past a church)

(Black Sheep runs like a sony in a beta)

(My arse was sore for a week after this trek)

(We saw these red berries or rodebessen all over the place. we finally bought some and they tasted like crap. But they look so cute and yummy!)

(Another cool Berlin Wall pic)

(Hey, whose that shady guy behind the tree?)

(Andy in front of Brandeburg Gate, the site of many famous uprisings in Berlin. Also notice how many cranes are inthe picture. Berlin had cranes everywhere. The building boom is out of control here!)

Greece Lighting

2006-10-02T04:16:00.000-07:00

This trip, in its planning stage, was about many things. We wanted to visit where our ancestors were from and spend a rediculious amount of time relaxing. We also wanted to see exotic places and meet different types of people. Mostly though, our goal was to connect with each other without the vices of TV, work, and friends around to distract us. Basically we wanted to isolate ourselves from our society. We needed a bit of a break from obligation; obligation to our bills, jobs, families and friends.

What we have found so far is that we are enjoying one another more than we ever have. Oct. 1 was our two-month traveling anniversary and we have bickered less on this trip than we ever have. We laugh at each other quirks and continually come up with word plays on every foreign sign we see. Being a former headline writer, this is one of my favorite past times. In a nutshell, Andy and I are doing great!

But now, after two months on the road, we were aching for some other people to talk to. Friends, family, and work companions fill a whole in our lives that we, as partners, cannot and despite our self-imposed isolation, Andy and I were itching for some conversation.

During our two-day ferry melee from Croatia to Corfu, Greece, we had a daylong stopover in Bari, Italy. We were wiped from the first leg of the trip and we arrived at the port with no money in our pockets and 8 hours to kill. And for some bizarre reason, there were only two working ATM’s in this bustling Italian city. After walking the entire city looking for money in oppresive heat, we finally found it and then we decided to split up for the day to explore at our own leisure. I took a nap on a shady green patch of land along the water and Andy walked around wondering why everything was closed from 1 to 4 p.m.

(Chicago's North side never looked so good! Sorry about the south side north side mix up. I know lots of people from the Chicago area and i could be shot for getting that wrong. Again, my deepest apologies. Go Cubbies!!)

When we returned to the port we met a couple from Chicago that were getting their backpacks out of the storage room where we too had checked our stuff for the day. They spoke English so we started up a brief conversation. Mostly, where are you from, how long are you traveling, where are you headed, and so forth. We realized that we were staying at the same hotel in Corfu. A place called The Pink Palace. We had found it on the Internet from their website that promised car service to and from the ferry, two free meals a day and the fifth night free. It also promised drunken nights, plenty of promiscuous activities and legendary toga parties. Not exactly our scene but we were mostly inticed by not having to cook for a week and the free trip from the ferry dock. Because they had bought a Eurorail pass that in hindsight was not worth the money, the Chicago couple had to take a different ferry to arrive in Corfu. We said our goodbyes and assumed that we might see them when we got to The Pink Palace.

While waiting for our ferry to Greece we also noticed another couple our age that were headed to Corfu as well. They were from New Zealand and were carrying skateboards attached to their packs. We had a similar discussion with them about where we’ve been and what our plans are. They were only traveling for 6 weeks and Corfu was their last stop. As passengers began to board the 11-hour overnight ferry, we wondered if those two conversations would be enough to satiate our desire for outside stimulation.

When we got settled on board, Andy and I decided to get drunk. What else do you do on an overnight ferry with no comfy seats and only one indoor lounge that permitted cigar and cigarette smoking? We saw the New Zealand couple, and we asked them if they wanted to eat dinner together. They quickly said yes. So after two more bottles of wine that we shared with them and countless discussions ranging from their homeland’s diverse beauty, Peter Jackson’s flop King Kong, unemployment benefits that last a lifetime in New Zealand, and 9-11 conspiracy theories, Andy and I were completely loving this couple. In the end they invited us to come to New Zealand and sleep on their floor if we decided to detour through their enchanted island.

We were picked up at our ferry port by a pink bus that took us directly to the party palace. When we arrived, at 6 a.m., they greeted us with a shot of pink ouzo (black licorice tasting liquor – nasty!) and a very detailed breakdown of the check in procedure. It was at this time that they changed their price on us. When I protested, they got shitty with me. I made them take me into the back room and explain their web site to me. It was the most misleading homepage ever and I let them know this. Let’s just say there never was a fifth night free. I offered to rewrite it in proper English so it would make more sense in exchange for a free night. They laughed at me. After originally reserving five nights we decided to only stay two nights. I didn’t want to give them my money. It was a tourist scam that maybe college kids would fall for but not me, oh seasoned traveler of the world!

Later that afternoon after a long nap on the beach, we bumped in to our Chicago friends, Sam and Brad. We swapped travel stories where Sam recounted being woken up by a ferry worker lightly stroking her sleeping shoulder, whispering “Igomenitsa, Igomenitsa” into her ear. (Igomenitsa was their docking city – quite creepy) We made a plan to eat dinner together and went up to our rooms to watch the sun set over the calm Adriatic Sea.

When we arrived in the nightclub/dining room called The Paladium, we saw Sam and Brad waving us over. We began talking about everything and anything and it felt liked something instantly clicked between the four of us. It was amazing to recount all the similarites we had as far as getting ready for the trip. Like the decision to get rolly bags over traditial backpacks, how much we spent at REI before pushing off for the year, or six megapixels versus 8 megapixels. We laughed, we drank, we ate bad spaghetti with some sort of meat patty. I think it was beef. Andy is convinced it was turkey.

(Aren't they cute?)

Seated next to me was a young traveler from England named Lloyd. He was wearing a Fast Times at Ridgemont High t-shirt and that allowed me to immediately start up a conversation. Lloyd was 20 years old and traveling for the summer with his girlfriend Katy, who was 18. Lloyd and I gabbed about existentialism, Burningman, bartending, married life. You name it and we probably discussed it. We called it an early evening due to all of us being wiped out from the ferry travels of the last two days, but we made a plan to meet on the beach in the morning to soak in the sun together.

We met up with Sam, Brad and Lloyd down on the far end of the beach, away from anything pink. Katy was getting her diving certificate so we saw little of her during the daytime hours. We floated in the water, talked more about why shower curtains in Europe don’t extend to the floor or why you can’t flush toilet paper in Greece. We recounted cities we didn’t like, meals that we can’t get out of our head, and the difficulty of uploading pictures to Blogger.com.

The sun was setting and Sam, Brad and Lloyd had begun drinking. Andy and I made our way back to the “palace” to remind them that we were checking out in the morning. We had found a nice, clean, recently remodeled apartment on the beach for 10 euros less than what we were paying now and we were very excited to leave.

Again the six of us met for dinner and this is where the fun really began to burn out of control. We had some more mystery meat for dinner but our focus was mostly on the drinks. By the end of the meal, we were all doing shots of this red liquor that we had named Hot Head because it tasted like those red-hot candies with the bomb on the front. I think I did about 8 of those. Due to a saying at the Pink Palace, “What happens at the Pink Palace, stays at the Pink Palace,” I can’t go into too much detail. But I will say that the evening invloved some yummy kisses, ninja regailing, broken glasses, red puke, blackouts, falling off bar stools, drenching each other with water and perma-smiles. For the record, I was the last man standing at the end of the night, despite finishing off the evening at 3 a.m. with three shots of Frangelica – ooof!(For another account of the week's activity see brad and sam's blog
http://sambradsworldtrip.blogspot.com/)

(She drove that thing all by herself! What a trooper)

Th next three days the six of us were inseperable. We rented four wheelers one day and hopped around to some other beaches. We ate dinner together at the only non-Greek restaurant in town, The Chinese Garden. Another night, Andy and I had everyone over to our apartment where we drank a little more and told more stories. It’s amazing how much you can talk about when your friendship is only five days old.

(Strike a pose as the sun sets behind us)

Brad and Sam took off to Santorini and Lloyd and Katy were making their way to Munich for Oktoberfest, while Andy and I hunkered down on Corfu for another two weeks. We wanted to unpack our bags and not move around too much. We are staying in Agios Giordos on the west side of Corfu with an amazing sandy beach at our doorstep awaiting our friend Gina, who is coming to Corfu in a week. I am doing a lot of creative writing and we are getting our sit up, push up, yoga routine into action. Our balcony overlooks an amazing beach and cliff and we are watching the sunset every night.

Spending this amazing time with our new friends, it occurred to me how important a role our friends play in our life. They bring out different sides and voices and perspectives that would remain dormant if we spent all our time with the same person. It got me thinking about all the wonderful people in my life and how excited I am to have you all back into my fold when I return home next year, seamlessly fitting back into the role that we play for each other. And now, after opening up to these strangers we met in the port town of Bari, Italy, we have four more friends to help us grow and lighten our souls.

A Hard Rain's Gonna Fall All Over Us

2006-09-25T08:35:00.000-07:00

Andy and I have been traveling through Croatia for almost two weeks. We spent a week on the island of Vis decompressing from Eastern Europe and we loved every minute of it, almost to the point of not wanting to leave. But the world is a big place and we’ve only got a year to take as much of it as we can. So we reluctantly left, figuring that we weren’t going to find a place as peaceful and chill as that enchanted island.

(The cafe with the blue awning was our daily coffee shop and our apartment was right up that alley next to the cafe. Location, location, location)

From Vis, we hopped a two-hour ferry back to Split and then ran from one dock to another to catch a speedier hydrofoil from Split to the island of Korcula. You should have seen Andy with her rolly bag. She was cruising! This island was much different than Vis and equally as beautiful in completely different ways. Korcula was drastically larger and much more populated with tourists. We found a small fishing village called Lombarda that was 5 clicks from the island’s main town, Korcula Town. We haggled with more locals over rooms and finally wound up at a hotel that had Internet access, a pool and maid service. It was also the same price as the local apartments that we would have normally wound up renting, so it felt like a no-brainer.

We were planning on checking out the local sunbathing scene until the weather roared out of control. Andy and I are very used to thunderstorms, rain, lightning and wind. We were unprepared for what we were about to experience. Our first day was cloudy but still patches of sun burst through to give us a warm afternoon. At 2 a.m. I was immersed in a book and Andy was snoring cutely next to me. Then a flash lightened up our room as if there was a throng of paparrazi on our balcony, trying to get a glimpse of the elusive traveling duo. One second after the brightness, thunder crackled so loud that I thought we were doomed for sure. Andy woke up and almost screamed. “Huh? Wha? What the hell was that?” she mumbled. The storm was overhead and it was relentless. Rain streamed down and the lightning and thunder was simultaneously ringing. We heard screaming in the hallway and people were stirring. After about 30 minutes of this, Andy calmed down and surprisingly, was able to fall back asleep. I was up, trying hard to finish the book I was consumed with. At 4 a.m. as I flipped the last page of my book, the storm started again. I have never experienced a storm so loud and so close. Andy slept through it.

The next day was more of the same. Every two hours it was if the apocalypse was coming. The rain did not let up and we sat out by the poolside bar, drinking coffee, playing chess and watching the storm under our protective awning. This lasted for another two days with only patches of clear blue above us. We did score an amazing sunset one night due to the clearing sky and remaining clouds.

(That poncho only cost $1.50. And it only lasted one rain storm. Go figure)

From Lombarda we were headed to Dubrovnik, the southern-most city in Croatia, for two nights before we headed to Greece. We booked a three-hour bus trip from Korcula to Dubrovnik and I was apprehensive about the drive. I knew about the hairpin turns in the mountains and the slick roads from the constant rains. This trip was about taking risks and I had to put my life in someone else’s hands for a few hours. I had no other choice.

The beginning was uneventful as we meandered along the low coast road. Then we began to ascend the 2000 ft peak and our bus driver, who probably drove this road every day, was as relaxed as two sunbathers on a yearlong journey. He lit a cigarette and then took a cell phone call while going 50 mph. With a sure death to our right and passing motorists on our left, I was cursing him in my mind. “Pay attention, damn it” I uttered almost silently to no one in particular. He sparked another cigarette and then took another phone call. I was ready to just tell him to pull over so I could get out and walk despite still being two hours from our destination.

(caught red handed!)

We made it to the bathroom break in the middle of the trip and I let out the biggest sigh of relief ever. However, my anxiety was only about to get worse. During this “bathroom” break, our bus driver proceeded to walk into the small store where we had stopped and buy a beer. That’s right, the guy chugged a beer in front of all the passengers! I couldn’t believe it. I watched him as he cupped it in his lap, trying to obscure the can. I whipped out the digital camera and was able to snap a perfect shot of him guzzling the drink, preparing to use it as evidence against the bus driver. If we arrived at the bus station in Dubrovnik safely I was going to complain. This was all I could take.

After traveling through a few more cell phone calls, three more cigarettes, an amazing thunder and lightning spectacle and then a subsequent double rainbow that we literally drove directly under, we arrived safely in Dubrovnik. I was so thankful that we were alive that I decided not to complain. I didn’t have it me. I was drained after spending the last three hours clutching the back of the seat in front of me.

(Pretty city)
We found a room in Dubrovnik from a nice lady at the bus station. The rains however, continued to pour down during our stay in the town named the “Pearl of the Adriatic.” The next day we went into the beautifully majestic old town and walked around the stone alleyways. And just like The Truman Show, someone, somewhere, must have said, “Cue the rain, cue the lightning, cue the thunder.” It came out of nowhere and it was as intense as anything we had previoulsy encountered in the last week. Tourists scurried like rats under awnings to wait out the sheets of water. The streets turned into small rivers as people took off their shoes and walked around barefoot on the slick marble to save their shoes from the flowing mini rapids.

Despite the weather, Dubrovnik was amazing. The locals, only 14 years removed from a very bloody war for their independence with Yugoslavia, were as kind as could be expected. The city’s old town is filled with everything a tourist could need. There were coffee shops on every corner, Internet cafes, pizza restaurants, and expensive jewelry stores. I even found a barbershop where I got my head shaved for $9. The gruff old man, with unkempt gray hair and stubble that had grown wild for at least five days, did an admirable job on my noggin.

(This guy is a professional. Right?)

It is now 10:30 p.m. on September 19 and we are sitting on a massive ferry with its sights set on Bari, Italy. Our plan is to go to Corfu, Greece and we realized the cheapest way to get there is by braving two consecutive overnight ferries. We could have taken a 30-hour bus trip with four transfers through Albania, but after our most recent bus trip we decided against it. Tonight’s trip leaves in a half hour and arrives on the eastern coast of Italy at 7 a.m. We then get to wait around in Bari to catch our next ferry that night, also at 11 p.m., which arrives in Corfu at 6.am.

We bought the deck seats that entitled us to a seat in the smokey bar. Luckily the ferry is pretty much empty and we have spread out our sleeping bags on one of the many cushy sofas. “The Animal”, a Rob Schneider vehicle that garnered little attention when it was released, is playing on the big screen TV and I just can’t get myself to watch it, despite it being in English. I’m not that desperate for entertainment.

Books, glorious books

2006-09-18T10:12:00.000-07:00

Since the trip began one of the biggest changes in my daily life is the emergence of reading as entertainment. Back home I would read a book every now and then. I always loved immersing myself in a story, but the TV and Internet was always there to divert my attention from the written word.

One of my goals for this year was to get back into reading as pleasure. And with the lack of TV and the numerous times that reading a book was the only option available to me, I have accomplished my mission. We left the states August 1 and in almost 6 weeks I have read 11 books. I’m like a batter on a hitting streak, a craps player with hot dice, or even Tom Hanks during his Forest Gump, Apollo 13 and Philadelphia run. I can’t control my appetite for books.

I thought I’d run down the list, giving you all quick reviews of the 11 books, in hopes that some of you may decide to put down the clicker and pick up novel. Mostly I am being judgemental of my previous habits. It was so easy to click on the boob tube and watch pop culture unfold in 30 minutes. With books, the opposite is true. Reading takes time and that is a luxury I have and one that I am using to explore writers and their different styles. I can’t stop reading and I’ve never felt like this before. (note to reader, this posting is kind of long and I won't be hurt if you skip this one. Really, I won't be hurt)

“The Alchemist” by Paulo Cahlo – Andy was amazed I had never read this book and after finishing it, I understood why. This book was made for me. It had inspirational passages on almost every page. The story is of a shepard who decided to give up the security of his job and current life for something that he wasn’t even sure existed. He went on what many would deem a fool’s search for gold. It was the first book I read on our journey and it set me straight. Andy and I had made the right decision to go on this trip and that we didn’t want to spend our whole life wanting and never doing. Just like “Travels with Charley” by John Steinbeck, this book energized me to see new things, talk to strangers and experience the world. If you’re looking for a push, then read “The Alchemist.”

“Diary of Anne Frank” by Anne Frank – We bought the extended version of her diary and after lumbering through Anne’s dislike for her mother and teenage fascination with the boy who was hiding with them, I am glad I read it. It wasn’t the most entertaining book I’ve read so far and I don’t even know if I would recommend it, but I must say it was amazing thast the person who wrote it was only 13 and that she had the energy and will to document her life so vividly. Occassionally she described the political discourse between the adults in the house but mostly she focused on her family’s annoying habits. It read like a 13 year old girl’s diary.

“A Long Way Down” and “Fever Pitch” by Nick Hornsby – You may know the writer from his novels “High Fidelty” and “About a Boy.” Hornsby is the writer I aspire to be like. He is funny, simple and his stories are enthralling. “A Long Way Down” is about 4 completely different people all deciding to commit suicide on New Years Eve on the same roof. A bond is instantly created and the story unfolds with them helping each other cope, in some hilarious way, with their unique problems. I read this quickly and despite it being about suicide it was actually a very uplifting tale about the rollercoaster that is life. The other book by Hornsby was an autobiographical look at his obsession with Football (soccer to us Yanks). I knew very little about why people in Europe, and all over the world for that matter, are obsessed with football. But now I get it. He describes life lessons set against a backdrop of monumental games. For anyone that loves sports in general, you will eat up this book.

“Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep” by Philip K. Dick – To begin, I am a huge Sci Fi fan. I always thought that if I read enough about the future and earth’s inevitable downfall I would be prepared when something drastic occurred. For example, if the earth is hit by a huge meteor and it is not instantly destroyed I know to first head for the hills, conserve your dried meat and fruits and that gasoline and a gun will be your saving grace for the short term. So when I read Sci Fi novels I am always aware of the lessons they teach me in the present times. So to the review, Electric Sheep was awesome. I’ve always loved Dick’s writing style. The dude is weird, to say the least. He is from the Bay Area and has always harbored a sense of paranoia about government and was a big drug experimenter. Read “A Scanner Darkly” if you really want to experience a Philip K. Dick novel. Electric Sheep is the story behind the movie Blade Runner (which I now really want to see) and it is a great post-apocalyptic detective novel about androids that escape slavery on Mars and head back to earth. They begin to feel human and they want to be left alone. On earth there are no living animals, only android representations of animals. To own an animal is a status symbol. I don’t want to give too much more away, but I just want to say that it is an amazing book, one of my favorites so far on this trip.

“Way of the Peaceful Warrior” by Dan Millman – Set in Berkeley this new agey, spiritual novel follows the life of a gymnast searching for more out of life than the normal motions we all go through. Like in “The Alchemist,” Millman sets up our character for a fall and then unfolds his enlightenment through unexpected twists and turns. I have been evoking the peaceful warrior side of me on this trip so far. I am trying very hard to let what happens just happen. If it rains, then I laugh and say, “Yeah, it’s raining!” If someone pushes me while in line to get on a bus with limited seating, I try to smile and say, “go right ahead, dear.” The book was good. Nothing life shattering for me but it was fun to read about a human’s struggle and ultimately his success.

“Invisible Monsters” by Chuck Palahnuik – This is from the guy who wrote “Fight Club” and “Choke”, two books I loved. Also, this one did not disappoint. It’s the story of a model who is horribly disfigured in a car accident and then about her subsequent life on the run with two prescription addicts. One is a guy who wantes to be a girl and the other is her boyfriend who she keeps feeding estrogen pills secretly to get back at him for dumping her once she became a “monster.” I guess from that sentence you can tell that this book is about as random and weird as they come. I recommend it only because you will have never read anything like it, ever!

“Mr. Paradise” by Elmore Leonard – I read this in a day. It is a crime novel from the guy who wrote “Out of Sight” and “Get Shorty.” Very urban and real and gritty and the dialogue he puts together is so solid, I envied Leonard after the first chapter. It’s about two models/slash hookers who get caught up in a scheme to steal inheritance money from an old, rich guy. I love all the plot twists and again, the dialogue was where it was at for me. I can’t wait to read more of his work.

“The Night Garderner” by George Pelecanos – I found this book in our room in Split, Croatia and it was an unedited manuscript. It is a crime novel about a serial killer in the DC area. I read it quick and didn’t really enjoy the ending all that much. I also was unsure why he had a separate plot line going for the entire novel that only vaguely touched the main storyline. I imagine the edited version came out by now and I wonder if it is different than the version I read. But I would not recommend this book.

“Night of the Fox” by Jack Higgins – This is a story of an undercover american spy who goes into German occupied territory during WWII to save another american soldier who has knowledge of where and when D-Day will occur. Despite the hokiness of it, I really enjoyed reading it. It had that “Exodus” by Leon Uris feel to it. Fiction based in fact can be entertaining and educational at times. The writing was good but nothing to write home about. Oh wait, I guess that’s what I’m doing. Well, you know what I mean.

“The Kite Runner” by Kaheld Hosseini – I don’t really know where to begin with this. Out of the 11 books I have read so far, this was, in my opinion, the best of the bunch. It is a story of a father and son from Afghanistan and how their fortunes rise and fall with their homeland’s fate. First off, I have never read a book so quickly. I literally couldn’t put it down. I woke up at 10 a.m. and began reading it and I did not put it down until 4 in the morning. I even tried to go to sleep at 2 a.m., figuring I would save the ending for the next morning. But after 30 minutes of laying in bed, wondering how it would all pan out, I put my headlamp on, trying not to wake Andy, and read until the last page. I even cried. I don’t think I have ever cried while reading a book until this one. It was such an intense journey for the main character. I started out hating him for his prejudice and lack of goodness and in the end, with all the numerous plot twists and nail biting, I grew to understand his plight. Forgiving yourself for your past is something that I think everyone struggles with at some point in one’s life. God knows I struggle with it. This book has received a lot of great press and I avoided reading it because I didn’t want to follow the masses. I sometimes get like that. Don’t ask me why. I also didn’t want to read about war in Afghanistan and about all the pain and suffering that I can’t do anything about. But what I gained from reading this sweet, sensitive novel was that I knew nothing about Afghanistan and its history. I learned about the Taliban regime before September 11th and what their people have been going through since the 70’s when the Russians came rolling in. Your past plays in your head like a one-man show and honesty about it rings in your ears for only you to hear. If anything this novel taught me about forgiving yourself, redemption and about how life constantly moves forward. Hosseini writes, “After all, life is not a Hindi movie. Zendagi migzara, Afghans like to say: Life goes on, unmindful of beginning, end, kamyah, nah-kam, crisis or catharsis, moving forward like a slow, dusty caravan.”

Croatia. Who knew?

2006-09-09T03:12:00.000-07:00

If you’ve been reading our blog so far (Jamey, Shark, Harris) you know that we have spent many days visiting with and learning about our roots. We took in so much information about our culture and past by visiting places like Krakow, Berlin, Prague and Budapest. Since we left NYC on August 1 we have been traveling around what was WWII German occupied Europe. We chose this venue for our opening travels because of its history and its link to our Jewish heritage and family migration. It was something we needed to see.

(Andy with all her bags, rolling or not, outside the Dusseldorf train station getting ready to head to Berlin for our first overnight train)

There were times over the last five weeks when I, more than Andy, was feeling a bit overwhelmed by the constant movement of our days. It is not that I didn’t enjoy seeing the sights and taking in what Lonely Planet told us were must see attractions. It is just that, as the days wore on, I became ready for a new routine. We’d wake up and make a plan for the day. Most of the time those plans involved us “hoofin’ it” to find the bus or tram stop. Or sometimes we would just skip the trams all together and stroll around and through whatever Old Quarter we were in at the time, bearing crowds and tourist prices for 10 hours every day. I actually enjoyed walking all over the place. Learning how to navigate each city’s transportation system was always a challenge we both loved. (For the record, Amsterdam had the cleanest trams, Berlin had the most efficient trains and Krakow had the meanest metro police)

(The dynamic duo after soaking in thermal pools in Karlovy Vary, Czech)

After Aushwitz and Poland we headed to big, bustling Budapest. I wasn’t aware of how large this city was going to feel. We decided to stay a little bit out of town (that’s like calling Chicago a town, but I digress) in a hippie youth hostel run by traveleres whose goal was to create the perfect hostel. It was filled with all these young college students wandering around Europe. When we arrived there were 9 Aussie guys there drinking and smoking and yucking it up. Bob Marley was playing over the surround sound speakers. Andy and I had the only double room while everyone else was in colorfully painted dorm rooms, 8 people to a room. They had a TV lounge where some watched movies, a quiet platform just off that room was for people to lay on big pillows and read books. There was a cat named Tiger who slept the entire time we were there. We felt a bit old being there, me with my balding head and mortgage and life experiences, but still I was able to fit it: at least that’s what I told myself.

Budapest was, for lack of a better phrase, just what I expected. It had the grand castle buildings, beautiful churches, and former communist thing going for it. It had the Jewish heritage and the harsh sounding language. It had the meat stews and big beers. It had it all. It’s not to say we didn’t appreciate our time there, but I think both Andy and I were eyeing the prize that lay beyond Budapest.

(Eric getting ready to leave the Budapest hostel and head to Croatia. Ren, you can see the face I have on. It was hot and smelly in Budapest and i was ready to leave)

While in Krakow we had bought plane tickets to Split, Croatia, and personally, my brain was fixated on that shift away from being land locked and museum touring. From everything we had read, Croatia was very similar to Italy but cheaper and less touristy. Seeing that I had never been to Italy, that didn’t mean a whole lot to me, but anyway, I was still excited. We were ready for rocky beaches, fresh fish and warm weather. After a 2-hour tram, subway, bus trip with all our shit from our hostel in Budapest to the airport, we boarded a Sky Europe plane and flew 50 minutes to Split. The instant we got off the plane, we knew things were about to change. The countryside was rocky and burnt, a drastic difference from the cold, rainy climate we were used to in Eastern Europe. We boarded an airport bus and headed to the center of Split to haggle with old ladies for a room in their house. We knew we only wanted to spend a night there because all the tour guides said to leave Split and head to one of the islands as soon as possible. The water was calling us and we wanted in!

We picked the most remote island we could find and set our sights on a quiet town without trams. We packed our bags, again, and took a 2 hour ferry to the island of Vis. As the huge floater trucked along through the open waters of the Adriatic Sea, we began to let loose all the rushing around we had become accustomed to in the big European cities. We were not prepared for the island vibe to hit us so quickly, but I think we were both ready to allow our brains to stop thinking and just be. We could not have made a better choice.

(The view from the top of the mountain on our way down to the town of Komiza on Vis. Check out the windy road I had to navigate. Crazy!)

Vis is a tiny, 8-mile long island with two towns. We instantly found a nice lady who rented us a large apartment with satelitte TV in her house 2 minutes from the town road for $30 a night. We decided to stay here for a week to really let the place get in to our bones. The first day we arrived we walked for about 25 minutes to the end of the harbour and found a rocky beach for us to go swimming. The sun was hot and we were finally able to leave our room, apartment, house without our umbrella. We get to the beach and dive in to the crystal clear and warm water. St. Germain and other ambient music plays from the small beachside shack serving beers. Many of the women there are topless and Andy reminds me that European women are much more open when it comes to sunbathing. I smile.

(Eric and his trusty new pal, Kiki)

We swim for an hour. I sketched a cool lighthouse and island off the coast of our beach that afternoon while Andy fell asleep in the sun, worshipping the warmth. We hiked back into town and stopped at this fancy café along the water where we ordered fruffy island drinks and laid back to watch the sunset. I think we may have set a record for unwinding faster than anyone ever. On day two we, much to my prodding, rented a motor scooter named Kiki and went off exploring the rest of the tiny island. I was in heaven. My woman, with her arms wrapped barely around my shrinking midsection, had a hard time relxaing while cruising around the desolate, smooth roads. She relented as we pulled up to our destination. We wound up basking in the sun at a perfect cove. Sandy sea floor and calm waters were what we wanted. And we got it! As the sun began to lose its strength, we hopped back on the motorbike and headed for our home. We arrived just in time to catch the end of a Beverly Hills 90210 episode (dubbed over in Croatian of course) where Colin gets Kelly hooked on coke and Brandon is acting high and mighty over everyone else.

(Andy, chillin)

So as we sit in our room, turning our brains off from the intense journey we just went through in Eastern Europe, I can’t help but smile and think about how much I learned about my religion and past, how lucky I am to be experiencing this trip in all its incarnations with my beautiful, sun-kissed wife and how happy I am to be on an island where the only thing to do every day is figure out which beach to go to.

Reflections

2006-09-01T07:03:00.000-07:00

(andy's first post)

“Are there still Jews alive today, mummy?”
“Why yes, dear, there are.”
“But where do they live?”
“Oh, all over, there are even some here today.”

This was a snipit of conversation I overheard at the impressive new Jewish museum in Berlin between a British girl and her mummy. I felt like saying, “Look, over here- a real live Jew is standing right next to you, alive and kicking!” And, when I think about it, it is amazing that any of us are still alive- and not just alive but thriving and successful and powerful.

(Holocaust memorial in Berlin)

Coming “home” to my ancestors’ countries of Germany and Poland has been very memorable. I have run through the gammet of emotions, it is hard to make sense of them all. Germany was the hardest for me- a place where Hitler and all of his followers agreed that exterminating Jews was a necessary step en route to world domination. I wanted to look into the eyes of the elderly Germans and say, “How could you have let the Shoa (Holocaust) happen? Why didn’t you stand up and do something?”

I felt somewhat entitled- I’m not going to pay for the subway because, not only does nobody check for tickets, but a free subway ride is the least that Germany can offer me after what they did to my people.

In Prague, I felt proud of the beautiful synogogues that were still standing and held their own against the cathedral at the castle. The Spanish synogoue in particular, with its Moorish designes, stained glass windows and gold plating was regal. We laughed at the irony of the “Jewish Quarters” in Prague and Krakow, which are now big tourist attractions and thriving neighborhoods.

In Amsterdam, I felt despair, after seeing the words “F—k Israel” grafitied on a small holocoast memorial. After what the Jews have been through, how dare people deface their memory and criticize our homeland.

I have felt anger, and have started to undertand how Jews have been blamed for thousands of years throughout history for everything! From the death of Christ to the Black Plague in medieval Europe (Christians said Jews had poisoned the wells) Jews have been blamed, and exterminated or chased away from their homes, in an ongoing diaspora. After WWII we finally were given Israel, a tiny piece of land for all Jews to call home and a safe haven if (and when) we are hunted again. In Prague I saw pictures drawn by children from the Terezin concentration camp displaying images of hope with families marching to freedom in Palestine. Even Anne Frank writes of the hope of Palestine in her diary (which Eric and I just re-read). I started to deeply undertand why Israel is unrelenting in their fight against all who attack them. We are not going to take it anymore. We have the capability to fight back, finally, and now we are not going to sit back and let others boss us around- never again!

(eric with umbrella walking under the gate leading to Aushwitz.
The words mean Work will set you free. The jewish workers who
erected the gate put the B upside down as a silent protest)

This week, on a stormy day, we visited the Aushwitz & Birkenau concentration camps, where about 1.5 million of the 6 million Jews were killed during the Holocaust. I do not have words to express my feelings right now. I will saw that I have never felt so in awe of a place. These death factories spread out over miles! It is not even fair to say that the Nazis treated the Jews like animals, for animals are treated far better. The camps consisted of rows and rows of “human stables”, where people slept four or five to a level on straw beds if they were lucky and usually starved or froze to death. The exhibits took you through “disinfecting showers” where the “lucky” prisoners who were selected to live (mostly strong young men) were sprayed down and deloused with chemicals, or had experimantal medical procedures done to them. We saw “Block 11” the death block where prisoners were taken for punishment or shot to death on the wall outside. The jail in the basement of Block 11 had ridiculous torture cells such as the cell with a one inch square window where prisoners usually suffocated to death or the “standing cell” where four men in a four foot square cell would have to stand for four or more days, often dying of exhaustion or hunger.

(Barbed wire at Aushwitz)

We gasped at piles of preserved “evidence of genocide” that the Nazis forgot to burn or didn’t have time to discard before the camp was liberated in January 1945. Whole buildings filled with shoes, eyeglasses, crutches, even beautiful tallit (prayer shalls) took our breath away. The most memorable for me was the room full of hair, which was removed from the dead bodies, packaged in large bags and sold to textile companies to make cloth. Although all of the displays were behind glass windows, the stench of the hair permeated through the cracks in the display case and engulfed the room with the scent of death and decay. The nauseating stench of the hair caught me off guard. Suddenly, everything became real. The decaying hair was not just an inanimate display of mismatched shoes or broken eyeglasses, but had been killed by the Nazis as well.
Worst of all were the gas chambers, most of which had been dismantled and blasted with dynamite right before the camp was liberated by the Russians to destroy the evidence. (In fact, most of the prisoners, except for those who could not walk were taken to central Germany before the camp liberation so they wouldn’t discover the size of the camp. Only about 7,000 prisoners were left at Aushwitz/Birkenau mostly women, children and the weak.) The trains pulled into the camp, past the main gate to the dividing platform where families were forever separated. A few men and women who were fit to work were quickly examined and pointed to the right; everyone else marched forward towards their death. They did not want a panic, so everyone was instructed to disrobe for a shower. Then, people were herded into the “showers”, 2,200 at a time, where they stood under imitation showerheads waiting to be cleasned. Zycolne B gas was suddenly dispersed through the vents and within 20 minutes all the screaming had quieted and the job was done. Bodies were sent on elevators up to the crematoriums. How efficient!

(Gate at Birkinau as seen from the dividing platform)

On the bus home from Aushwitz we met a young German man who was very friendly and talkative. He explained to us that in Germany people still feel very ashamed and now “they will do anything for peace.” He explained that he has visited four concentration camps and in the German curriculum WWII and Jewish culture and history are intertwined in every subject- even music where they learn Klezmer music. He shared that he doesn’t feel any personal guilt, but that he found out recently that his grandfathers, both of who were in the “less violent” section of the SS army, participated more than he used to think in the atrocities. He explained that Germany still feels little national pride, and that you rarely see German flags hanging from windows. The World Cup soccer games this summer was the first time he could remember seeing German flags being waved with pride in his hometown of Dusseldorf.

He explained that Germany feels a responsibility to educate the world on the Holocaust and to ensure that it never happens again. I know that I will never forget.

When we got home from the long, wet day at Aushwitz we put on some dry clothes and went out to eat and reflect on the day. In honor of our fallen ancestors, and to spite our eternal oppressors, we decided to splurge at a chic Italian restaurant, ate until we were bursting at the seams and toasted our Jewish ancestors with some smooth cabernet. Lechyium!