global local

reasons to love chile...

2012-02-14T14:04:00.000-08:00

las once
nectarines
manjar
olives
good wine

today you find me in: buenos aires

2012-02-06T22:00:00.000-08:00

January has taken me from Austin, Texas to Buenos Aires, Argentina. 3 days into February I find myself sitting in a very posh cafe just outside of the Microcentro with a view of blooming palo borrachos with their gorgeous pink flowers scattered across the green of the neighboring park. I'm in town visiting Courtney who is busily working on her expenses on the other side of the table. Summer is in full swing here, walking along the streets one can hear the air conditioners humming in full swing, their condensation dripping on unwary pedestrians floors below.

settling in...

2011-03-03T22:10:00.000-08:00

I’ve been meaning to write on this blog for months, but it seems in being settled I have less time for everything. It appears to me, that regularity takes up more time than my inconsistent day to day wanderings ever did. I suppose it is because I fill up much of my spare time boiling beans, grocery shopping and going to the gym. All that sounds quite mundane and boring, but quite the contrary, to me the novelty of being in one place still hasn’t worn off.

Antigua is an interesting place to live, at the very least I love living by volcanoes. I stare at them on my way out in the morning, watching the inconsistent ashy rumblings of Fuego spill across the morning sky. At night, as I am walking home, I choose a route which allows me to stare contentedly at the hazy silhouette of Agua.

After 3 years of being self contained I feel funny trying to grow roots. I constantly feel like I should be packing my bags and to move on—but I like the notion of being settled. It has its pleasant aspects—cooking for oneself, having routines, meeting people or at least making slow attempts at doing so.

All in all I still haven’t gotten my sea legs or land legs, and my job doesn't make it any easier. Most of January I spent out of Guatemala and February didn’t fare much better. Maybe I’ll never really stop and grow moss or roots but for now I like the sensation of trying.

niagra

2010-11-11T17:24:00.000-08:00

Ask alex, I am a water fall cynic, but Niagra took my breath away. I was just in Toronto for a business trip, which took me to the fantastic town of Niagra and the falls themselves. From my 16th floor room at the double tree I could see one half of the falls and the amazing mist which they create.

In a half hearted attempt to rid myself of a hangover I went for a run down to the falls and was blown away. They are big, I mean kind of huge. The air had that great crisp early winter chill where just breathing feels like it is doing your body good. The water is the color of liquid jade, and the mist is freaking amazing. Actually, I think I will let the photos do the rest of the talking...

pausa

2010-11-11T17:14:00.000-08:00

Sometimes life tires me out. Getting on my plane from Bush internat'l to Costa Rica two nights ago I was struck just how f'n tired I am right now. Leaving the life of a paid wanderer behind I thought would provide a bit more stability but the last three weeks have been anything but stable. Not that I can complain, I've been surrounded by friends, been inspired by the company I work for, been more excited and enthusiastic than I've felt in a LONG time, and drank a wee bit too much. And maybe that is exactly why I am tired. Living life to the extremes tires a person out. I spend so much time running from place to place like a crazy woman, drinking it all in, but everyone needs a pause, a break, a moment of stillness.

Traveling for a living has taught me this. To search out that place between breaths, between places, between people. To search for a quiet spot in the in between. I am learning how much I need this to survive. How I need to make a little time each day where I am alone, not talking, not working, not really doing anything. And how stopping for a moment we realize the absolute beauty which surrounds us.

november is here... well almost

2010-10-22T18:20:00.000-07:00

I like to forget what month it is. I realize that we have almost 10 days of october left but as I am missing out on Halloween I've decided to forgo the end of October and move straight into November. Plus we've just gotten our first winter rains here in Northern California so I feel fully justified in this calendrical adjustment.
Today I drove up to Kenwood in Sonoma county under the rainy skies, passing by fields of grape vines, their leaves turning a fall yellow. The hills are yellow too, that ruddy yellow of dried grass, but a couple more days of rain will turn them their winter silvery gray. As I drove I was thinking about the normal descriptors people use for gray: gun metal (or maybe that is for cars), steel, aluminum, etc. I decided that the sky was the color of that pale almost white ash that develops in flakes on burning logs, ash gray. And the light was flat, pressing the hills into a painted backdrop of burnished gold grass with the dark olive stain of oak trees lining the clefts in the hillsides. It was a pretty drive.

packing

2010-10-22T18:05:00.000-07:00

My room looks like a bomb went off, which is not a real deviation from standard practice, but gives me anxiety all the same. I've realized that 3 years of living out of a back pack has given me some strange habits; the one at hand being a deep desire to know that I am all packed up and ready for the next day's adventure. The problem is that this packing for this departure is a bit more complex than my normal day to day packing and repacking of Poppy (my Osprey waypoint 65L pack). In the next two weeks I have to brave November in Toronto, the beginnings of the dry season in Costa Rica ( I just checked the weather there: a high of 80 with thunder storms), and then I wrap it all up by moving to Antigua, Guatemala... for a year.
Moving is not my favorite activity, though the prospects of having my own little place where I can grow a basil plant and make coffee and put up photos sounds AMAZING. Right now I am focusing on those images rather than the overwhelming feeling that thinking about packing brings up. ufff.
Catch you in Guatemala or Chepe or Toronto.

travel residue

2010-09-21T15:31:00.000-07:00

I was laying in bed last night reading Paul Theroux's brilliant Ghost Train to the Eastern Star and found myself sifting through my memories of Asia. The sounds, the smells, the snippets of memory which stay with you. It is funny how after time memories of travel begin to feel dreamed up, how what once were crisp edged experiences become more and more hazy strange. What is even more striking is that a writer can capture aspects of these places which bring memories back to life. They awaken forgotten sensations and experiences, sharpen soft edges, and stir up emotion. There is something about Theroux's writing which so captures places. It makes me want to re-read the Great Railway Bazaar, a book I read on my first travels to South East Asia and re-live a bit of that adventure.
Thinking back on all of it I wish I had spent more time writing and drawing about all of my travels. I suppose there is no time like the present.

God brought me there.

2010-09-19T20:53:00.000-07:00

I am sitting in the huge echoing restaurant of Hotel Sahara in Santa Ana, San Salvador. Directly in front of me there is a long table full of God lovin' people. At the center sits a typical overweight thick wristed man with a neck wider than my thighs and a petite phillipina wife. According to him, God spoke to him last night and told him that he needs to learn spanish. He then went on to say that he had had no interest in visiting his wife's birth country until God told him to go there.

God never speaks to me.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not really all that dissapointed by that but I can't figure out why (S)He spends his time talking to this Yanqui.

3 years on.

2010-09-08T17:14:00.000-07:00

Today on the breezy bus to Rio Dulce I was ruminating that it is closing in on three years since I started this blog and my adventures to Central America. It is hard to believe what started out as a dream, "man I wish someone would pay me to travel!" has turned into a reality.
These days things have seemed to melt into a sort of soup of memories and dreams. My waking reality is so much like my dream time that I often find myself struggling to find the borders between memories and things I've dreamt up.
In that vein I just finished watching Apocalypse Now Redux which was a trippy experience to say the least. The critical traveller eye in me wanted to know what dreamed up ruins Kurtz was hanging out in. Another part of me was horrified to see such a familiar landscape under the damaging hand of war. Watching these American soldiers thrashing around in the Vietnamese jungle fighting a senseless war dredged up some of my current thoughts on my Motherland.
As I spend more time out of the states I feel like I am getting a better understanding of how the rest of the world sees us. This goes hand and hand with my slowly growing understanding of our history of forcing ourselves upon impoverished nations in the name of founding democracy while extracting huge economic benefits for ourselves. How are we fooled over and over by this same story? What happened during the last century in Asia and Latin America is playing out again in the Middle East. It is hard to feel proud of a nation which values improving our economy over the lives of people.
None of this is meant to sound like arrogant rantings of an ex-pat. Ex-pats are generally overweight and have tanned themselves with in an inch of turning into leather so I'd generally like to avoid that classification. Anyhow, sorry for the absolute random tangent that this blog entry has taken. I blame all the deet I had to use yesterday in the jungles of tikal.

glimpses

2010-08-30T08:18:00.000-07:00

Memories of a country are often formed from series of images which build up into a sentiment or a feeling while loosing their fine detail. I always chastise myself for not walking about with a notebook in which I could record the details of those swift moments, glimpses of what makes a country unique.
I was thinking of that this morning while walking the damp cobbled streets of Antigua in search of breakfast. Sitting on the stoop of a cafe was an old man who I often see there selling carved wooden angels. The image of him jogged my memory to another moment in Antigua when I found myself walking behind a man stooped over with a meter tall wooden angel bound to his back by a piece of rope which stretched across his forehead. For whatever reason the image of that man moved me and I felt compelled to buy the angel just to relieve him of his load. Then of course reason sank in and I continued past him down the road to forget about that moment until again this morning.

suchi

2010-08-20T11:45:00.000-07:00

After a day of following unfit people up hillsides and listening to Don Pablito's recounting of the atrocities of the civil war, the sun went down-- but not before doling out an insane sunset. I'm not totally sure how this photo happened, my skills aren't very precise, but finally after taking about 50 shots I managed to grab the exact gold of the clouds. I was standing up on the rooftop of my hotel where I could catch the sounds of Suchitoto settling down for the evening. Rooftops have that lovely way of managing to let you observe with out forcing you to be a part of everything, sort of the perfect place for me at the end of a long day. I like the quiet that evening brings, the chattering of birds as they settle down for the night, the slowly quieting hum of people heading home at night.
I'm in Suchitoto, a small town about two hours outside of San Salvador which sparkles with that magic of a not quite discovered place, and makes you feel like an ultra-savvy traveler for just knowing it exists. I've spent my last two days here soaking up the beauty of its white washed walls and tile roofs.
There is something so satisfyingly beautiful about those curved red tiles. They turn a range of reds and browns at sunset, colors which I have fallen in love with. The roofs were the same in Trinidad, where I spent most of an afternoon trying to coax the color from the worn-out palette of my 16 year old water colors.

a surreal life

2010-07-19T07:15:00.000-07:00

My life lately has taken on the feeling of a chapter out of 100 Years of Solitude: multiple generations of my family eating meals at long tables telling stories of my great grandparents, grandparents, and parents; dreams which feel like life; life which feels like dreams. Add to all that my outing to see the Surreal Friends exhibition at Chichester's Pallant House Gallery and every thing has started to take on a sepia tinted fuzzy-ness. Surreal Friends focuses on three European women who fled Europe during World War II and met in of all places, Mexico. Their work is influenced by the surrealist movement and is rich with magic filled details, straight out of the works of Hieronymus Bosch (that's a remnant of all those expensive Art History courses I took at the Dub, parents take note!). I went with my mum/mom, and her best friend Judy. Watching them chatter in hushed voices in the galleries reminded me of a trip to the museum of Modern Art in San Salvador which I took with a one, Alexandra, a bit earlier this year.
Seeing the art and learning about the lives of these 'European Bitches,' as Frida Kahlo nicknamed them, was inspiring. Even more so after Eva told me that if I found myself an apartment in Colonia Roma she might come join me to live in D.F. The serendipity of her comment being that Colonia Roma is where these three women made their home during the 40's.
Learning about these creative women standing around their kitchens, telling one another stories, finding inspiration in friendship, laughing about the absurdity of life, sharing their knowledge and encouraging one another to create art, all during a time when women were expected to be perfecting their Sunday roasts, gives me even more faith in the strength and determination of the fairer sex. Though these days my dream kitchen in Colonia Roma has to be a virtual one, formed of brief emails, inspiring blogs, long winded chat sessions, and the occasional post card from my breath taking group of friends, I am grateful for what I have.
(image: Leonora Carrington, The House Opposite)

Alex and spicey mango.

2010-04-27T10:46:00.000-07:00

I am a cantankerous terrible person to travel with, but somehow Alex managed to put up with me for a whole week as we soldiered through El Salvador visiting hotels and chatting up the locals. She got to eat her first shrimp ceviche on the black sand pacific coast, ate pupusas which I am pretty sure gave both of us 'funny tummy,' survived the wild streets of Santa Ana, and tried mango with hot sauce all over it while drinking cocktails on the sidewalks of Juayua.
Anyhow Alex knows how to appreciate all the things that make traveling great and even managed to take the piss out of me a couple times. That's all I can ask for out of life, sassy friends, good mojitos, and a nice sunset.

being here now

2010-04-17T15:44:00.001-07:00

I often find myself trying to recreate the sensations of being in Asia, just as one might try and remember an old lover, trying to recover the nuances, the fine details. It is funny, I knew that this would happen. It isn't a desire of wanting to return, but just a nostalgia for a time in my life. Sometimes, when it is hot, as it is today, I re-imagine the heat pressing down on my back, the sweat drawing rivers down the small of my back. I'm in Chichen Itza (well just outside), the hammering footwork of the traditional Yucatecan dances thunders from down the hall, and all the tourists look damp and uncomfortable. Ice cream or ice lollies seems the most accepted solution to the pounding sun. I opted for doing my accounts over a tour of the ruins under cloudless skies. One can only admire 'el castillo' so many times before it just becomes another 'pile of rocks.'
Back to my first tangent, Asia. My recovering of memories, or attempts at it, highlights the very core of travel. Newness, stimulates us, it fires all sorts of excitement in our nervous system. Think of your first view of the crested pyramids at Tikal, the first scent of lavender in the fields of France, your first sip of wine, the smell of Hawaii as you step of the plane. After a while these things fade, they become less impressive, the become rote, or routine. After a little while Hawaii smells like any other place, our demons and hold ups follow us and we become ourselves, the same cranky self we are at home just in an exotic locale.
But here is the very lesson, those first moments are when we are hyper-aware, when our senses our sucking up every vibration of information, we are open and in the moment, more focused on the sensations, than the email we might have to send. And I am pretty sure that is where the delight in living life comes from, the more in-the-moment we can be, the more engaged in what is actually going on around us the more satisfied we feel with life.
The thing that scares me is that modernization and technology seem to want to move away from that very concept. Actually I am guilty of it as this very moment, I am sitting at the outskirts of, 'one of the world's new 7 wonders,' with headphones in, typing away on my netbook. What does this have to with Asia? When I made the choice to leave Asia I suddenly became aware that my time there was suddenly limited and I wanted to take advantage of everything. But I realized that running about like a crazy woman trying to do every last thing was never going to happen. I instead turned to trying to enjoy every last experience that I could have. But this isn't something one can do only while traveling, it is an everyday practice to enjoy the very process of living. When is the last time you took the time to enjoy the process of bathing? Of eating? Of sleeping? We have the chance to make our very living into a ritual of joy and pleasure and yet so many of us turn it into a chore.
Maybe this is all way too woo-woo and out there, but I think there is something to this. Something to finding pleasure in the very act of being. At least this thinking helped me get my expenses done.

a memory experiment

2010-04-08T12:00:00.000-07:00

I was Antigua, Guatemala for the last 3 days of Semana Santa. For a lot of people this is a reason in itself to come to Antigua. And to be honest I had been wanting to see what it was all about since I had heard about it. My friend Alex was with me for the first night (friday) and with her background in Art History and Latin she was pretty geeked out about the whole thing. And I have to say the whole thing is really quite impressive, but I didn't take a single picture.
I didn't really think about it at the time, but a while into it I made a conscious decision not to take a photo. I wanted to see if memory is really affected by not having a photo to reference it. My idea being that for so many travelers travel has come down to digital images. Imagine (or maybe you can just remember if this has unfortunately happened to you) that your camera is suddenly lost after an incredible 2 week vacation. Feel that sinking in your stomach, that ache of desire, what is it that you are missing? What is it about these images that we are so attached to? Most of us never print our photos out. Most of our friends aren't all that interested in seeing them. And yet sometimes its seems that our photos are more important than our memories, in fact that our photos are our memories.
I wanted to see if without a photo would my experience of Semana Santa be changed. Though a photo doesn't capture the smell choking smoke of Copal that turns the streets of Antigua in to eerie gray passageways, nor the thundering music which signals Jesus' death, nor the slow swaying walk of the men and women who stoop under the weight of the huge platforms loaded with life size wooden sculptures of Jesus, Angels, Saints and crying Marys, something still impels us to snap away. But what it is that makes us so attached to our images? Is it this crazy idea that with out a photo we will some how forget where we have been?
I was thinking of this again today as I was walking down the streets of Livingston to the bank. When we focus on capturing the image we forget to take the time to absorb the details. Considering this as I walked I tried to take the time to absorb more details, the sounds, the smells, the people. And now I wonder if my memories of those slow moving marches are sharpened by the fact that while they were passing me I could focus entirely on that moment and not on framing a photo, or if my memories will fade with age and I will wish for a photo to remind me that I was there.
The truth is, I won´t know the answer to this for quite sometime. Memories take time to settle into the creases of your brain. Some make an imprint so strong that they never seem to fade, and others are forgotten precisely the moment they happen.
In all honesty, my strongest memories don´t have a photo with which to associate them. They are standing 9 miles out in the wilderness on my first back packing trip gazing out at an endless sea of evergreen and granite. Or the feeling of walking out in to Little India my first night in Singapore, the scent of spices and rhythm of bollywood soundtracks pulsating through the heavy air. Or a moon rising over the freeway overpasses with Mt. Tam in silhouette as I paddle in from practice. Sometimes that ache or desire to capture a moment is the very thing that makes us remember it with precision. In our inability to otherwise document it, we take the time to tatoo the present moment into our minds, where it will stay with us, regardless of crashed computers or lost negatives.

2010-04-01T20:13:00.000-07:00

A train of thought:

2010-03-24T17:27:00.000-07:00

The loneliness of travel. a catch-22, which captures me between a home with friends and family whom i love and a life that can't include any of those comforts but is ripe with adventures and discoveries. To travel is to miss things, we set off and leave our beds, our toilets, our comforts into an unknown. But by now most of what i encounter isn't an unknown, I have settled into a rhythm, not unlike from that movie, Up in the Air. I am one of those restless souls, who sometimes looses patience with the need to document every moment digitally, I know the menu, I walk with purpose and direction, rarely with a map. I hate my arrogance and impatience. I miss the days of constant new-ness, where getting lost leads to a million new discoveries. What is left is mostly routine, and yet the loneliness persists. I am constantly leaving, constantly saying goodbye, creating new friendships with marked shelf lives, 2 days, 3 days, 2 weeks, one month. I often feel like there is a zen buddhist teacher sitting in a slate kimono repeating an endless koan of, 'let go, let go.' And it is true, this lifestyle is a lesson, we can't hold on, we are at our essence alone and yet a part of everything. Beauty can morph quickly into sadness and loneliness, an unshared sunset, a missed joke, a lost story. And yet beauty, magic, and mystery effuse everything: the discovery of a bright pink wall, grapefruit eaten in a park to the sound of bird song, a taxi driver with a map of where you are going. I am coming to terms with the gray-ness of everything, in my life there is no longer a good or bad, everything just is.

8 de marzo

2010-03-15T21:26:00.000-07:00

I love this poster and was trying to explain to Jesus that if it were a poster for women from the states it would have had to been written differently to address our own gringa-ness.
I had meant to take a photo of this poster near the bakery I passed every morning on my way to La Brujula for my morning coffee. Of course by the time I got my camera and myself in the same place to take it, the poster had been covered by some other poster advertising a man in a sombrero.
Anyhow, I encountered this one on my last night in Oaxaca covered up by a poster for an event with a Buddhist nun. So sorry to the nun, because I pulled her poster down to take this photo.
Anyhow, 8 de Marzo was pretty tranquilo en Oaxaca. Jesus and I did discuss the difference between men and women here in México. It is interesting because although it is similar to the issues we have in the states there is an underlying difference in culture. Machismo is such an integral part of the culture here, for better or worse, and that directly impacts women.
Anyhow, I am too tired to get into the subtleties of this complicated subject, I just mainly wanted to share the photo. xx

sunday in coyoacan, d.f.

2010-03-15T17:55:00.000-07:00

dia de las mujeres

2010-03-07T20:48:00.000-08:00

Women's day is tomorrow and here in la ciudad de Oaxaca there are sure to be demonstrations in the Zocalo (that's the nick name for Mexico's parque centrals). I was reminded of this up coming holiday whilst reading a most inspiring post on Rambling Spoon. The post is travel and food writing at its best, illuminating the things that are so easy to overlook and reminding us to give thanks for what we have.
As for Oaxaca, Jesus (not to be confused with THE Jesucristo) my espanish teacher has lots of interesting opinions about the state of women's rights here in Mexico. I'll be sure to pick his brain and report back on his opnions, the goings on here and my take on all of it.

Happy Oscars.

rambling in oaxaca

2010-03-03T18:33:00.000-08:00

I´m in Oaxaca living with a local family and making another attempt to cement all these abstract verb tenses into my poor brain. It´s funny no matter what the time seems to slide by here and I can never accomplish what I set out to. In fact today I was on my way to try to finish my painting of Sto. Domingo when I got waylaid running into a Oxacan gallery owner, Miguel Angel. He took me to an art store and to an art studio, where I suppose one can take art courses which move at Oaxacan speeds. I managed to peel myself away and walk all the way to the cathedral when I ran into Hailey who is attending the same school as I am. So I gave up all hopes of arting it up and got a coffee with her.
But hell, it´s so nice to feel like I can mañana my life away here. Normally I feel like I HAVE to do stuff because I am always moving on to the next place.

I put some photos of it here down below. And a random calavera because they are super chido.

a subjunctive méxico

2010-03-03T18:10:00.000-08:00

ahead of the curve

2010-02-28T19:32:00.000-08:00

Still on coffee, the New York Times had an article today about London's coffee scene. They had the smarts to mention my favorite drink...

'Though it’s recently been co-opted by chain stores, the “flat white” is also a symbol of serious coffee: it’s basically a cappuccino-size latte — flat and white — a style imported from Australia (some say New Zealand) when a wave of baristas emigrated from those countries. (Australians and New Zealanders are to espresso what Russians are to chess: they’re just better at it.)'

Which makes me giggle just a bit after my flat white blog entry.
On a similar note I finally began my coffee guide on nextstop.com.

briefly...

2010-02-22T15:11:00.001-08:00

I'm back in Cayo, sitting under a ceiling fan which is struggling to stir the heavy afternoon air. I arrived here yesterday, driving the last hour in the dark through air fragrant with orange blossom. Today I have been slow and lazy like an iguana. My group went out to see the famous caves I opted for lunch in town and a visit to the post office.
I've been back in C.A. for almost two weeks and it has been a bit wild and wooly. I've been serenaded by Mariachis on the back roads of Palenque, dove in two new cenotes (hello rainbow cool-ness) and partied with 28 Finnish doctors. No rest for the weary.
Probably my favorite discovery is a torta place in D.F. that has been making tortas since 1936! Carnitas y aguacate. Hot damn.

"Can you tell me when we get to Polk?"

2010-02-04T23:41:00.000-08:00

O.M.G. Seriously. This week has flown by. I made a mad dash to 'the city' today with Lindy. I may have purchased another bag. HOLY HELL. Only Gemma princess of the bag, heir to the t-shirt and scarf throne could justify another bag purchase. It stems from a desire to find the perfect bag combination for the vagabond lifestyle. I am sadly coming to realize this may never happen.
I digress. The point of opening up the blog to write was to share my SF adventures. I think I shall make a list:

After an art supply binge at Flax, Lindy and I stumbled upon De Lessio which is sort of a form of salad bar heaven. I'm not sure words can suffice.
Had you ever wondered where all the SF bike messengers hang out? I found out today that they congregate at Post and Market, outside of my friend's office. I might even go as far as to say that one can find a plethora (and I don't use that word lightly) of them wearing plaid shirts with pearl cowboy-shirt snaps in a size m/l. I confused one such messenger with a homeless man, and the only way I knew the difference was the presence of his ultra-trendy stickered bike. I'm not trying to be rude here, this was an honest mistake.
New fashion has hit the Apple store with the release of the iPad -- royal blue t-shirts. They look like a bunch of cheerleaders. Not a good color choice Mr. Jobs.
My current non-foodie lifestyle of worshiping 3-in-1 instant coffee and pan dulce led to a total overload when I entered the SF Ferry building. I was so overwhelmed that I didn't try a coffee at Blue Bottle Coffee which according to some makes some killer individual drip... hmmm that reminds me I keep meaning to make a world coffee guide on nextstop.com .... manana manana, right?
Drinking nebbiollo at 2 in the afternoon is not for the faint of heart. Vic was so impressed I had to give him a fist pound when he picked me up from the ferry.

Bed. Out.

the flat white

2010-02-01T22:42:00.000-08:00

After a LONG lapse of time I'm back in the blogasphere or blogosphere or whatever. As my last entry was about drinking coffe in Leon it feels appropriate to get started again with another entry on one of my favorite beverages.

I know it is hard to keep up with me, but I did make a quick, unplanned jaunt to New Zealand in the early parts of January. The whole thing didn't quite pan out as planned, but what does? Anyhow among some of my very exciting revelations while there was a pretty epic experience: THE FLAT WHITE. A couple years ago my friend Zach converted me from lattes to cappuccinos, we had this whole theory the cappuccinos were the tacos of the coffee world, a total digression. But I have been converted once again, the shit thing is you can't get one here especially not from those under trained high school students down at coffee roasters.

So what the hell is this drink you might ask? Look I am not totally sure, but what you should know, is that for me, a flat white is the perfect ratio of milk to coffee. None of that stiff ass foam in a one inch layer on top, just a thin layer of perfectly creamed milk. AWWWWW man. Plus the thing that may make me love it the most is that you don't have to chose a size. I still don't know what was wrong with small, medium, and large, but this whole starbucks-ization of drink sizes does my head in. To this day when dealing with that tall/grande b.s. I just point at the size I want, but with a flat white these shenanigans aren't an issue.

Finally Kiwi dairy in general kicks the s--t out of anything that I've ever encountered in the states, except for
Straus' from West Marin. They've got it going on. But seriously, the butter and the milk smell, well, grassy. The milk just tastes better, it's creamy and lovely.

Seriously I had gotten sick of all the anti-American commentary on the coffee front, I defended ladro, and zoka, and told these uppity kiwis that we have award winning baristas up in Seattle. But then I realized somthing: most people have gotten to know us through our largest brands. If all you knew of coffee from the states was Starbucks you might think we only have shit coffee. And that is such a shame as we do have incredible idependent coffee roasters. Just as we have an incredible microbrew culture, which might be hard to believe if you've only ever tasted Bud. So, yes, I am missing my flat whites, but I am also challenging you coffe snob Kiwis to come and give our coffee a chance as well. You might just be surprised.

P.s. if you have the pleasure of visiting wellington here are some coffee suggestions:

Midnight Espresso (178 Cuba ST.)

Apart from having lovely coffee they also serve a ridiculous selection of vegan and veggie foodstuffs. They get their coffe from wellington's own Havana Coffee Works.

As a good Wellingtonian wouldn't be caught dead in a Starbucks I checked out a couple of the local chains, I enjoyed flat whites from both Mojo and Fuel.

Neat.

rarrr! (that is me growling like a lion)

2009-12-18T21:45:00.000-08:00

I've just hit the ground running in Leon, Nicaragua. Being a tour leader in a new place can be a bit of a nightmare, but these days I try to see it as a chance to explore and discover information and I see it as a bit of a challenge. I'd done a bit of googling about Leon last night and stumbled upon nextstop.com, where you can create your own travel guides. It is a pretty cool site, that combined with wikitravel I came up with a couple cool places to check out, my favorite being Cafe La Rosita which is just off of the parque central. Holy hell, they have the best iced coffee I've had in AGES and a killer orange cake. Oh me oh my, I am a sucker for a good cup of coffee. Anyhow it was another one of those days that was made better by a bit of time playing in a cafe. That combined with a HILARIOUS trip to the police station to report a stolen camera (a story which I won't recount here) made it a memorable first afternoon in Leon.
Tomorrow: beaches.
ADIOS CHELES!

back in c.a.

2009-12-11T16:48:00.000-08:00

It is true, fair readers, that I have returned to Central America. This has been a bit of a surprise to some old friends. Most of my amigos ticos have no idea where Thailand or Cabodia are, so I've been telling them that I was in China. Now they've all started the rumor that I have spent the last six months eating tiger penises. Seriously.

on the plastic stool

2009-12-02T21:47:00.000-08:00

it finally happened....

2009-12-01T05:49:00.000-08:00

This was breaking news almost two weeks ago, which is kind of indicative of the speed at which news in my life moves, none the less it happened: I ATE DURIAN. It took, 3 separate visits, and a cumulative 9 and a half months spent in Asia but I finally bit the bullet. And you know what? It smells a whole hell of a lot worse than it tastes. I also am proud to report that I ate it in Kampot province which anyone who has spent a bit of time in Cambodia knows grows the best durian.

How did it happen? On a countryside tour of Kampot by bike and boat which I wend on with the majority of my group. We went along the river following the main (paved ) road, then on to lesser red dirt roads and finally veered off on to sandy little tracks where you would loose all control and come to an utter and complete stop. This of course would cause me to giggle like a small child and slowed our progress considerably. When we finally made it back to the packed red dirt road everyone was a bit dusty and the local guide decided that durian was what the situation needed. Not far up the way we found a khmer woman selling durian at a wooden stand on the side of the road. Next thing I know we had a small durian cracked open and I was putting a custard textured lump in my mouth. Honestly it tastes a bit like a banana custard mixed in with the smell of overripe tropical fruit. It was the kind of thing you eat and you aren't sure if you absolutely love it or hate it, not unlike that fish sauce dip that comes with spring rolls, or less exotically chococheese, or strangely for me: white chocolate. So yea man. Don't fear the durian, give it a go if you get the chance and if your name is Jon you best be eating some while you are in Asia next month.

An interlude in the travel advice...

2009-11-28T02:34:00.000-08:00

I'm in Saigon's international airport drinking a $4 (74,000vnd) illy cappuccino while three swallows fly around the curved ceiling of the departures hall, which is paneled with acoustic tiles. Dave says they absorb sound and he is right, as he points out there is no echo in the whole long hall. I figure the $4 accounts for the nice view of the grassy runway which leads planes out of Paris of the East and off to other parts of the world.
We commemorated our last morning in Vietnam with Doner Kebab bahn mi eaten on our way up to have coffee at Highlands coffee (a prevalent coffee chain here). Coffee is a big part of Vietnamese culture, ca phe is drank thick and dark and strong. In fact an ad for instant Vietnamese ca phe showed a guy being punched in the face by his coffee cup, and it can feel just like that. Both Dave and I opt for the slightly less potent ca phe sua, coffee with a 1.5 centimeter or so layer of sweetened condensed milk. Mixed up and over ice it is a nice afternoon kick in the pants.
Most days we've been having a 'nosh.' Come 4 I'm ready for some coffee and Dave, let's be honest is always ready for a beverage. It gives the day a nice rhythm. One afternoon, even after having coffee with my friend from Hue, Mr. Khoa, we still wandered down to the river to have another round.
That's actually been one of the nicest parts of having David here, having the chance to introduce him to some of the people I've worked with over the last 6 months. It was pretty funny to see Khoa (who is just pushing 5 feet) walking on the street next to Dave. Ms. Ha, my tailor-friend in Hoi An also insisted on taking Dave and I to Cao Lau, a famous noodle dish from Hoi An. All the girls from the shop took us over to the market where we squatted on child-sized plastic stools. They all giggled as Dave's knees poked above the table and he housed two servings of the noodles.
Cao Lau is one of my favorite Vietnamese dishes. It consists of square noodles which are a bit soba-like, slices of pork, squares of crackling, and various herbs. You pour both rice vinegar and soy sauce on top and then doctor it with your choice of chile powder, chile paste, pickled chiles and shallots, or lime. It was one of those fantastic moments seeing Dave across the plastic table from me while we sat in the middle of the bustling chaos of a local market.
I have to give David a lot of credit for his stellar traveling skills. I think I had more frustrated moments than he did (especially when we turned around on our way out of Halong Bay to retrieve the forgotten fish). Not many people can hit the ground running in a country like Vietnam; he wasn't phased by much, even when confronted with crossing in front of walls of Vietnamese traffic.

guide: cambodia (p2 to start more to come)

2009-11-27T07:27:00.000-08:00

CAMBODGE KAMPUCHEA CAMBODIA

If you have any sense at all you are going to fall in love with Cambodia. Like anywhere it does have its frustrating aspects (NO I DON'T WANT A TUK-TUK YOU JUST SAW ME STEP OUT OF ONE!) but speaking from a tourist's perspective (not of pcv or ex-pat) Cambodia offers up the goods. Boasting an enviable swath of coast line, jungles, ruins, haunting history and decaying colonial cities, Cambodia counters the resort lifestyle of Thailand and the chaos of Vietnam with a difficult to describe charm. Most people end up in Phnom Penh, so we'll start there and then move out.

PHNOM PENH ('p squared')

Upon first glance I wasn't quite sure what to make of Cambodia's capital city, I arrived at night, and night time arrivals are always a bit disorienting. In the light of day I found PP a mass of slowly deteriorating colonial buildings mixed in with the typical skeletons of concrete structures which were variously in some state of falling apart or being put up. It was familiar and yet distinct and though I found PP at first, tiring, dirty, and unappealing I soon found myself enamored with its charms.

I wrote a bit about PP when I first came to Cambodia on a mission to spend as much time consuming coffee and pumpkin soup with Michael as is possible to cram into a single month. I loved it then and I still love it now.

Most tourists end up down by the waterfront, which isn't an awful place to hang out. PP makes it incredibly affordable to live out your Indochine fantasies, you can spend the afternoon buying silk, eating exquisite food and follow it all up with a cocktail on the terrace of the FCC as the sunsets behind the red sandstone of the National Museum or a pretty nice view of the confluences of three rivers. There is quite a bit to see and do so we'll try and break it down....

things to see...

National Musuem: which might be very cool, I have never seen it and no one ever managed to convince me it was worth a trip inside. It is built in traditional Khmer architecture out of a really nice red sandstone. It is definitely worth taking a photo of, but I'm not making any promises regarding its contents.

Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda: so maybe this is going to make me seem like a bad Tour Leader but I never ventured with in the walls of the palace. Louise told me it was worth a visit, but somehow coffee always got in my way. Maybe that is a bad excuse, but I figured it couldn't be that different to the Royal Palace in Bangkok. You can correct me if I am wrong. Just remember to dress conservatively, no tank tops please!

S-21/Toul Sleng/Genocide Musuem: This place has a lot of different names and it is certainly worth taking some time to see. I find the idea of coming to Cambodia and not learning at least the basics of the history a bit lame. The museum makes all the stories, all the facts hauntingly real, you don't have to linger, but I think it is worth getting a guide and listening to what they have to say. I've been twice, and although even just sitting outside makes me feel a bit queasy, I encourage you to go. Afterward you can reward yourself with a cool beverage at the bhodi tree cafe right across the street.

Choeung Ek/Killing Fields: The Killing Fields were the last step for prisoners after leaving s-21. Guides hang out here and are happy to show you around the site, but it is well signed and I think wandering around here silently is usually more than enough. They have a constructed a large stupa to store the skulls of the victims, it is a raw look at a sad time in Khmer history.

If one were to take off in the morning at about 8, stopping first at s-21, then at the killing fields you could be back in town by about lunch time and visit Friends for lunch. Friend, the restaurant, supports Friends International the charity. After a sobering morning it can be nice to relax in a place which you know is giving back to the local people and has a profound effect on many young people's lives. Next door to the restaurant Friends runs a store which has been recently redone.

Continuing in that vein, places to shop...

There are a lot of markets in PP most people's favorite for touristy needs is the Russian Market (no they don't serve borscht). Though at its center it is your run of the mil market, the outer layers are choc-a-block with all the crap tourists love: ceramics, lacquer, t-shirts, knock-off rolexes, pirated dvd, gap clothes from the nearby factory, silk scarves, embroidered wallets. You HAVE to haggle or you will get robbed blind, be ready to walk away and compare prices. Central market is huge and it is more than possible you will get lost just trying to get into the market itself. The building itself has been under restoration for the last few years and the work is starting to show, its art deco architecture has been served well by a new coat of lemon yellow paint. Even if you just stop by to take a picture it is worth the trip. Nearby is the Sorya mall, the tallest building PP. Ride the escalators to the top to earn a nice view of the city. They also have incredible collections of pirated DVDs for sale.

Where to eat:

FCC (all the tuk tuk drivers know it) great for happy hours

Elsewhere and the rest of 278 (tell your tuk tuk driver to take you to golden gate guest house) my favorite street for bars

Garden Cafe (#4, St. 57, very near 278 next to smateria) has absolutely everything one might imagine wanting to eat.

Nature and Sea (on the rooftop in 278) awesome salads and smoothies.

Warung Bali (just up the road from the fcc, across from the National Museum) cheap great indonesiian food.

Friends (v. close to the National Museum) everything is good, omg.

Romdeng (street 178) classy Khmer food in a gorgeous colonial house (also part of Friends International).

The Shop (street 240) for a totally french and fabulous moment, don't miss their sister store, Chocolate (also on street 240).

Enough already! Enjoy.

pix pix pix. ur welcome vic.

2009-11-24T05:26:00.000-08:00

Images (top to bottom) The venerable Tich Ouang Duc's car, Hanoi alley wall, the glorious Edwardarons on Ti Top hill (photo credits to Tom), Ti Top beach sunset.

'and what do you sell?'

2009-11-24T05:12:00.000-08:00

David is absolutely fascinated by the Vietnamese economy. It all started in Hanoi which is staggering in the guild layout of the Old Quarter. There are blocks which only sell one thing: shoes, towels, coffee, spices, welded metal, buddhist paraphernalia, pictures of Uncle Ho, you know all the basic necessities. And more than that there are stores that only sell one thing, which I think is what sparked David's favorite new game to play while walking down the city streets...
'Hey what do you sell?,' his monologue begins.
'I sell rolls of foam.'
'I sell car batteries!'
'I sell used medical equipment.'
'I don't even know what I am selling, but I am selling something!"
This has gone on a number of times, it usually makes me laugh pretty hard. But Dave is right, he sums it up by saying that every place is a shop, and that is true, everyone is selling something. Today on our way over Hai Van Pass (ala Top Gear, picture Clarkson having his first moments of enjoying riding his motorbike) we stopped to take a photo and from out of nowhere an old man with a cleft lip, three teeth, and one eye missing appeared to sell us a map of Vietnam. During our stop at the railroad crossing (where Clarkson poetically sums up vietnam in a touching monologue) it was a 12 year old kid selling postcards and begging loose change for his money collection. And finally, the most impressive example of over the top salesmanship are the vulture ladies at the top of the pass who will not let you off without at least consuming a beverage and considering some pearl earrings.
Now we are in Hoi An, a city of colonial beauty and a shopaholics worst nightmare. If you aren't shopping you must have your eyes closed. The Vietnamese are incredible sales people, they put the Israelis that sell that Dead Sea stuff in Mexico to shame. It is exhausting and inspiring all at the same time.

travel advising continues... THAILAND

2009-11-22T20:48:00.001-08:00

My pending departure from Asia has motivated me to try and sum up a bit of my experience in a 'guide-esque' documentation of some of my favorite places, things to do, and foods to eat so that those of you who have the opportunity to visit this incredible region might benefit from my travels here. Plus I have a bit of free time....

THAILAND

BANGKOK ('Bangers,' 'KOK')

Loud, modern, huge, overwhelming at first. Most backpackers end up being spit out into the bowels of Khao San and the 24 hour honkey circus which is perpetually in motion. I struggle with Khao San, it has a lot of convenient aspects to it, but it also kinda sucks. Some might say it 'isn't Thailand' which is kind of like saying a tomato isn't a fruit. Regardless you should give the whole thing at least a gander, it is an amazing tribute to all things traveler oriented. The whole swirling chaos exists for a reason and if you can learn to exploit it for what it is good for Khao San can be a kind of fun quirky experience. I higlighted a couple of my favorite spots here in an earlier post.

Of course Bangkok is much much more than Bagalamphu. My favorite thing to do in Bangers is to head to Siam Paragon, which is a big mall. I don't typically find myself wanting to spend a lot of time in malls but this one has a number of things in its favor: 1. air conditioning that allows you to forget about crippling heat and humidity 2. hands down the most amazing supermarket I have ever seen 3. movies (PONYO!!!) and a selection of 3 different types of popcorn. Seriously the supermarket is something else. Find the ladies with the rice crackers with coconut sugar, sesame and pumpkin seeds. They are ridiculously good. Plus the food court goes on for ages, every type of fast food a Midwesterner could want, surprisingly cheap thai food, as well as a plethora of ice cream/gelato/fro-yo places. Siam Paragon is part of a long chain of malls all linked by either the BTS or raised walkways. In fact most of the BTS (KOK's MRT/tube/BART) is lined by huge malls. If you needed to spend a lot of money you could do it quickly in Bangkok.

Other cool things to check out:

Boat rides on the klongs (canals), which is consequently one of the fastest ways to get around in Bangkok.

Wat po, home of the giant and incredibly impressive 40m long reclining buddah (Mandy is a HUGE fan).

Nancy Chandler does an awesome map of Bangkok, I'd suggest picking one up if you are planning on spending much time in the area. I'd say it is a must have if you were living there.

CHIANG MAI

I never feel like I have enough time in Chiang Mai. We always stay at Mandala house for work and it is cool enough that I have spent time there on my time off as well. The price is right, it has a good location, and the staff are super friendly. Chiang Mai is famous for its night markets, which are absurd sprawl of stands selling everything that one might want to cart back home: strings of christmas lights decorated with champa flowers, Karen silver jewelery, lanterns which fold flat, hill tribe tote bags, Thai fisherman pants, knock off Tiffany's, the stalls run as far as your eyes can see, the markets spill into one another forming blocks of frenzied consumerism. To one end of the markets is the Old Chiang Mai Coffee shop, it is a funky little cafe/gallery serving a ridiculous chocolate cookie cream cheese sandwich. Derlish. Que mas? Ahh of course there is ever famous cooking courses in Chiang Mai. I've always taken them at the Chiang Mai Cookery Schol, because Sompon is a BAD ASS. They are super professional and you will be blown away by what you can learn in a day. I think that taking a cooking course also gives one a deeper appreciation for the local cuisine. You will be more able to understand the flavors in the foods and possibly be motivated to try new dishes (rather than spending your whole time eating Phad Thai --- boooooring!). Finally people often come to the North of Thailand to ride an Asian elephant. This can be an amazing experience, especially if you do it at one of the more responsibly run organization. I wrote briefly about this on an earlier post, there are a number of elephant camps around Chiang Mai but two which stand out are: the Elephant Conservation Center and Elephant Nature Park (which also runs a veggie restaurant in Chiang Mai). Both programs take good care of their elephants meaning that you can feel like you and the elephants are both benefiting from your experience.

Finally: Nancy Chandler also made a map of Chiang Mai which is another fun way to discover some hidden gems.

PAI

Cutesy to the max, Pai is a fun mellow place to escape the city and see some pretty stunning countryside. In their same same but different way Pai has been totally overrun by cute boutique like shops, it is a bit out of control. But it is a fun place to kick around for one or two nights. The van ride from Chiang Mai is a bit crazy, there are about a million curves but it isn't too bad. Many people use Pai as a base for some more in depth explorations: moto touring, hill tribe trekking, ventures towards Burma. It is a bit overdone tourist-wise but the setting is pretty idyllic. Dini and I stayed riverside in a place called Rim Pai , which was a bit pricey but gorgeous and totally cute. There is quite a bit of good food around Pai, in the late afternoons there is a well organized fresh market with some good street foods, otherwise most of the restaurants whip up the normal delicacies.

UP NEXT: Cambodia

LINDY, I CAN FEEL YOU JUDGING ME ALL THE WAY FROM SAN ANSELMO!

2009-11-22T08:30:00.000-08:00

David is not good for my attempts to go wheat-free, or at least bread-free (which is not some shallow attempt at weight loss or at being trendy, it is actually because every time i eat bread i end up feeling ready to barf). Anyways he found this ridiculous article in the New York Times. So of course this afternoon, pressed for time and starving after an incredibly frustrating return trip from Halong Bay (which included 40 minutes of backtracking for a styrofoam box of fish) we set out in the general direction of Hoang Kiem lake, and not feet from the famous Bia Hoi corner we stumbled upon a man slinging said sammies. All wheat-free resolve had crumbled days before during a rushed attempt to eat brekkie before departing for the glorious wonder of Halong Bay so I didn't even pretend to resist and we ordered two right there and then.
Maybe we should back up here and discuss what bahn my (ban mi or some combination of spelling) are exactly. As the NYT will tell you, and I can tell you as well, the word translates to 'bread,' but usually refers to a sandwich in a mini baguette wrapped in newsprint. They are most frequently purchased on the street from a vendor, you choose the fillings: pate, laughing cow cheese, chicken, pork or in this case Doner Kebab. Then you have your veggies (cucumber is a MUST), chili sauce, and maybe some mayo. Dave sums it up as, 'a vietnamese sanwhich,' which I suppose if you are "into the whole brevity thing" covers it.
Anyhow our first round was not on the traditional baguette, it was some sort of slightly denser, more toothy than the standard mini-stick, right-angle-triangle wedge of bread, which was great. The pork's fat was all rendered and spiced with a sort of Vietnamese take on the chinese 5 spice. Add a bit of lettuce and onion with a squirt of chili sauce to the mix and we were in business. We consumed round one on the way to the DVD shops which line the streets near Bia Hoi corner and by the time we had finished our first round of buying pirated media (don't judge) it was time for round two. Look I get that normal people would say that this was excessive (and I am sure LINDY is having a fit thinking about her over-sized children chowing down in Hanoi) but whatever, we were hungry. So round two was accompanied by some small talk with a couple Aussies and a bit of a wait, but it was worth it. This time it came in a baguette with the addition of purple cabbage and it was fabulous as well. Why are sandwiches eaten while walking down the street so damn satisfying? After our second course it was back to DVD/music purchasing.
Then we took a walk around the lake over to KOTO so that we could do some more eating and support a good cause. We did hold back, just split a main (marinated chicken supreme or something to that end) and tempura vegetables, and then there was creme brulee (i am weak when it comes to this) as well as coffee. I mean this is the shit that happens when you have too many things which you want to eat and not enough time. I blame our crazy ass driver for the not enough time part of the equation. So I guess, judge all you want, my belly is full of Vietnamese goodness and yours probably is not. UP NEXT: a flight to hue and an adventure with Mr. Khoa.

Dave arrives.

2009-11-20T08:35:00.000-08:00

Today has been grand. I started off with a round of goodbyes, a passion fruit, pineapple, banana and mango smoothie in a very windy Nature and Sea, a final purchase at Smateria, and then a jaunt in a tuk-tuk to the airport. Then it was time for my final goodbye to Cambodia, which was sad. Cambodia has become pretty homey to me. I get by with my terrible Khmer, I love the food, and I had a couple of really lovely friends here, so it was pretty sad to see the Khmer landscape fall below my airplane as we soared off towards Saigon.
I guess I moved on pretty quickly because there was a person, a very large important person waiting for me in Saigon. After rushing through immigration and an energetic wait at the baggage carousel I managed to do a very excited skiphopshuffle to THE DAVEMAN!!!! After months of imagining what two EDWARDARONs (Eva I know you know just how to pronounce that) would be like in Asia we finally had our answer: loud and entertaining. Food of course was necessary, Dave had already fallen in step with the coffee with sweet milk, there may have been some noodles, and some spring rolls, Dong was disseminated. It was exciting. Then Dave managed to throw his sunglasses to the floor as we tried to pass through security, which resulted in a comedic exchange where the sunglasses tried and failed to pass through the x-ray machine, only to be rescued by the force of a briefcase which managed to part the curtain of rubber strips, all the while Dave was faffing about trying to retrieve them, I may have snorted in laughter.
We managed to board the plane to Hanoi in great style, upon which we were served two types of compressed meats, pickles, tomatoes, salad and a very dense roll. I had a coffee, Dave did too. Upon landing in Hanoi we suited up in our respective hoodies/fleeces and braved the taxi circus only to be matched with a man with a penchant for finding the most ass-backwards way into Hanoi. Whilst driving along, Dave described Hanoi as, Poland meet Puerto Rico meet Hawaii meets England, something about the Soviet-like architecture, the incompleteness of most of the buildings, the palm and banana trees, and the rows of houses. Give the guy a break, he's jet-lagged.
With a bit of trouble we finally arrived at our $28 a night hotel and set off for dinner. David was incredibly impressed with the traffic in Hanoi, and the driving, and the general chaos. It is pretty crazy here and it was funny to have Dave weaving in and out of Vietnamese traffic with me. I steered him to Little Hanoi (which you may remember me mentioning in an early post) and we ate that eggplant and Dave almost lost it. I also introduced him to the wonders of morning glory with garlic. He may never recover. Then I dragged him to the other end of Hoang Kiem lake to sample Fanny's ice cream. It was a pretty full on evening. Now he is in the big bed making snuffling noises, I'm in the small bed typing away. Tomorrow we are off to see the Magical Halong Bay, should be a riot. I'll try to keep up, but somehow I sense that this should be an exciting next ten days.

pure magic.

2009-11-16T08:01:00.000-08:00

Forgetting the hords of tourists, red plastic chairs, ridiculous chatter, and how tired I was, this photos just about conveys the experience of an elusive sunrise at Angkor Wat.
I spend a bit of time thinking about how photos have almost over taken the actual travel experience. No photo can properly convey the dicomfort, humidity, heat, and annoyances of travel here. The smells and sounds are lost, the dust, torrential rains, and sweat fade as we reduce our travels down to a series of images. Yet we persist with our obsession of capturing our travels visually, we walk around seeing places through a view finder, more focused on our photos than on giving pause to exactly where we find ourselves. People tell me over and over that without their photos they might forget where they've been and what they've done. I can't imagine that one could ever forget the majesty of Angkor Wat, nor Tikal, nor the Pyramids. Even though countless photos have been taken of these monuments we still need proof that we have been there. Of course one photo of us posed awkwardly in front of these places will not do. We need hundreds of images, and these days I wonder what we even do with them. Thousands of unfocused images make their way onto facebook, we email some back and forth, but mostly they just sit, taking up hard drives.
I often pause in my frenzy to document the beauty of the places I travel and try to just absorb the moment. I notice the heat pressing down on me, my annoyance at the trivial things people manage to talk about in the presence of such beauty, how my eyes ache with tiredness, the empty rumble in my stomach, the itch of the mozzie bite on my ankle, and how the sky went from indigo to almost white with guazy peach clouds stretched across it's curve.

vacation for the girl whose job is vacation

2009-11-03T15:08:00.000-08:00

Images, top to bottom (St Peter and Paul, Godalming. Mirrors, Camden Market. The North Down Path, near Farncombe.)

I've been dreaming about being cold for months. Now I am cold and it kind of sucks. I do like getting all cosy and snuggly in my new hoody, and I like wearing socks, I like layering, and hiding beneath the blankets because my nose is cold, but the idea of the tropics all of a sudden seems appealing. Bring on sweaty knee pits, cheap cold beer, mozzies, gap year travelers, tuk-tuk drivers, and all that Asian craziness.
Honestly everyone thought I was nuts to go from SE Asia to England in November, but I love autumn. I like yellow and red leaves, crisp air, feeling like Christmas is around the corner. It has been incredible seeing my family, hugging my mom, eating fish pie at Judy and Jeremy's, meeting Isla, seeing Charlie and Eliot being parents, going for walks, seeing art and very hairy pregnant cows. I haven't drank this much tea in ages, nor ate this much toast or cheese. MMMMMM.

laundry list from the far east

2009-10-09T02:34:00.000-07:00

1. I am staring at the molding of my colonial ceiling, or maybe it is a colonial recreation it seems hard to believe that this might be a french era building. The internet keeps turning on and off, making a conversation with Snr. Tiago impossible. The ipod is on shuffle leaving me feeling a bit frenetic.

2. Paul Theroux is my writing hero. On my moto ride home from Hong Kiem lake to my hotel I saw a guy smoking out of a bamboo bong which reminded me of seeing another man doing the same thing whilst on my run along the shore of Halong Bay. At the time I thought to myself I need to remember that, write it down or something, but of course I was running and forgot all about it until this afternoon. This relates to P.T. because he boggles my mind with his ability to document the minutiae of the travel experience. He is salty and bitter mixed with acute observation, though at times I think he is a bastard I respect his writing and his ability to capture that certain angle of light which illuminates what it is to be a traveler.

3. When it comes time to leave this place I will miss the moto-bikes. I know they are dangerous but I just can't get over how good the wind feels in your face. I hate being cooped up for hours and hours in air conditioned buses. I miss the smells, the sounds, the chaos. Everything feels raw and alive when seen from a moto.

4. Little Hanoi 1 still makes aubergine with garlic and it is as good as I remember it. Can you have cravings for something for 2+ years running? Dave we are hitting that place up when you get out here.

5. I am officially out of the loop with almost everything.

typhoon ketsana

2009-10-04T08:00:00.000-07:00

A natural disaster hits and I know nothing of it until all the danger has passed (I blame bad coverage in the Bangkok Post). I missed all of the mud-filled drama and only suffered through one serious down pour in Saigon. Only now that I am in Hoi-An, which got slapped hard by this typhoon, do I realize that the shit went down and big time. The hotel I am currently staying in has water marks 4 feet high and this is at least a third of a klick from the river. On our train ride from Nha Trang to Danang we saw billboards that had been knocked over, trees ripped up with roots exposed, and rice paddies which had been turned into fields of muddy mush. It was a bit like turning up at the end of a party only to watch the cleaning crew do its thing.
On my run this morning I was musing that it is a testament to the Vietnamese people that 5 days after a typhoon Hoi An is up and running again. Yes there is more mud and garbage in the streets, and there are a lot of downed trees, but the internet is working! Holy hell. The tailors are still doing roaring business, Cargo Club is serving brownies, Tam Tam cafe is making cappuccinos. Ok, so the old pontoon/plastic barrel bridge is gone, most of the road along the river is still coated in mud, and the fish market has never smelled so bad, but that is nit picking. Compared to the cluster fuck of Hurricane Katrina, the recovery from Ketsana, at least in this neck of the woods, is remarkable.

The following link has some amazing photos from the typhoon. Check it out.

how to give back (and not make things worse) while you travel

2009-10-03T18:35:00.000-07:00

To assuage some of that first world guilt we all carry around a lot of people come on my tours and want to 'give back.' I think that this is a great, fantastic, and honorable intention, it just goes wrong so many times. Rather than attacking the tourists for not having a clue and constantly sticking their foot in 'it,' I figure I can write something about how to give back in a good way and maybe one or two of you fair readers will learn something and actually make a difference while you'' are out exploring our fair planet. All of this is based on my experience, and in no way am I claiming to be an 'expert.'
1. Stop giving things to beggars, especially kids.
Hey I know kids are cute, and when they have dirty snotty faces and ask you for food you really really really really want to give them something. It feels really cruel to stand there with your pringles and not give them anything but giving them chips/apples/ a bottle of water is a shitty thing to do. Why? If kids can get food by standing outside a gas station where they know tourist buses stop, they are going to do it. Why sit in school with a growling belly when dumb gringos are going to give you something to eat? One kid turns to three, three to five, and suddenly half the school is out begging and not going to school. If that person isn't a kid, why are they going go get a job if they can survive just fine on handouts? Aid, handouts, gifts, anything that is given with no impetus to improve oneself only hampers, it doesn't encourage development (look at what has happened to all the First Nations in Canada and the US).
2. Don't buy things from kids.
Kids are cute, are you really going to bargain with a 5 year old? Parents are smart, if their kid can make more money than them why are they going to send them to school? Kids who work on the streets are exposed to a lot more dangers as well. Child sex abuses are rampant through many areas of the developing world, when kids are working on the streets they are more exposed to these dangers.
3. Don't volunteer in a place which doesn't require a minimum commitment of time and a background check.
We wouldn't want our kids exposed to just anyone who walked in off the street and wanted to hang out with them, you shouldn't want other people's kids exposed to that either. You should want a place that you volunteer for to care about who has contact with them. Kids are also very sensitive to change, if you can't commit to make a positive difference by volunteering for a longer period of time figure out another way to give back (0ften a monetary donation is the best way to do this). I know that people love the idea of volunteering at orphanages, after-school programs, etc. But the main purpose of volunteering is to improve these kids' lives, not to take cool photos of you with kids, or to make you feel good, right?
4. Buy from fair trade vendors
It costs more because it is fair trade, make sense? If you are on a budget, buy one or two smaller items from a fair trade place. If you have a bit more to spend try and buy the majority of your gifts/souvenirs/etc from fair trade vendors, co-ops, or collectives.
5. Don't buy antique textiles, jewelry, artifacts, shells, coral, bones, etc.
Often times Maya and Hill Tribeswomen will sell their priceless textiles for a pittance to support their families. You take it home and ancient techniques as well as a small chunk of cultural heritage are lost. Unless you are a collector you really won't be that hurt by buying something new. As far as things from the natural world go, unless you really hate the environment you can understand that if everyone goes home with a black coral bracelet from Khao San soon there will be no coral left. Not so different from Ivory, animal skins, etc.
6. Eat somewhere that makes a difference
Asia is full of amazing projects which give back to the local community: Friends, Romdeng, Java (all inPhnom Penh), Starfish Bakery (Sihanoukville), Sala Bai and Chakmar (both inSiem Reap), Makphet (Vientiane), Tamanak Lao (Luang Prabang), Staff of Life (Danang), KOTO and Baguettes y Chocolate (Hanoi), Streets and Blue Dragon (Hoi An).
I'm told there is a similar project in Granada, Nicaragua, I'll have to check it out when I am back.
Full belly, satisfied soul, happy person.
7. Support smaller, locally/family run businesses.
The same reason it makes you feel good to go to your local book shop rather than Barnes and Nobles, staying at a small posada run by a family, or eating at a small cafe will stimulate the local economy and give you a family experience.
8. Give some money
Choose a project that puts a smile on your face, look at their financials and give them some of your hard earned dough. It'll probably a tax write off (not that I even know what that means).
9. Pay a bit more when you go to ride the Elephants
Projects which take better care of their animals usually cost more. Do you know how much it costs to feed an elephant? Plus you don't want to ride a sad elephant. Elephant Conservation Center and Elephant Nature Park (both just outside Chiang Mai) are great projects. Tiger Trails (Luang Prabang) also runs a much more humane operation.

Cool resources: stayanotherday, childsafe, friends international

Happy travels.

dodging traffic

2009-10-03T18:31:00.001-07:00

I will start with where I am right now and hopefully from here I can get out all the words that seem to spill out whenever I am out on a run, or on the train, or walking around and can't get my fingers to a keyboard.

I've started running again, for a number of reasons, which aren't exciting or worth discussion, but it has been an interesting cultural study. Namely because people here in Asia rarely run. Usually if you do see them 'running' it looks more like a shuffle in plastic sandals with a towel tied about their head or neck while they are clothed like they are ready to go off to the market or to work. Then picture me, tall, foreign, bouncing along in my trainers in running shorts sweating like crazy. The thought actually makes me want to laugh, which people do, sometimes they shout, the more polite ones just stare, and the kids all yell, 'HELLO!' Adding to this is that there is almost nowhere to run. The main streets are clogged with a constant howling stream of motos, trucks, buses, and people all scrambling to get somewhere. Sidewalks are collections of broken french colonial tiles, cracked pavement, rebar, trash, shit, people, parked motos, and ankle biting dogs. No wonder I lay in bed so many mornings talking myself into getting up and strapping on my shoes.

But like anything there is the good as well. Asia gets going early and running HAS to happen early (midday heat starts to get crippling about 9 am). 6 am Vietnam looks pretty different to 8:30 am Vietnam: past 8 the freshly caught fish are on their lasts breaths and the morning dew has dried off the produce. There is something magic about being out on the streets as Indochina revs her engines to start another day. I've run past monks collecting their alms, a man cutting ice with an electric saw, flapping baskets of the freshest fish one can encounter, past a huge rat that had been killed by a street dog, and had my fair share of dog run-ins (and as Mandy knows 'I'm afeared of dogs').

Running here is a metaphor for doing practically anything else here, it is exhausting, frustrating, chaotic, exhilarating, and exciting. I wouldn't give up my trail runs in the Marin hills, but dodging motor bikes while trying to maintain a steady pace has its charm.

oh my....

2009-09-28T04:36:00.001-07:00

vietnam is beautiful.

pai-licious

2009-09-25T09:35:00.000-07:00

An elephant was ridden, I got thrown in the dead dog river once again and got the flu from it.

Mandy and Gem heart Pai! (but we forgot to buy the t-shirt to prove it)

eggplant, ginza, crabs, and other delicacies

2009-09-17T07:40:00.000-07:00

Not quite in focus but I am not a professional.

Pakse day market, Laos PDR.

voyuer

2009-09-10T03:15:00.000-07:00

sin titulo

2009-09-10T02:42:00.000-07:00

Where to begin? I've been trying to work on a blog post the last while but nothing seems to stick. My friend B is traveling through Central America and I read his blog, which just drips with all that fresh travel enthusiasm, add to that his impressive writing skills and I have started to feel like a bit of a farce. On the other hand this blog moved on from being a serious attempt at a travel narrative a long time ago. So what is there to say?
Life has been pretty good lately. I took some time off at the beginning off the month and did a fast at a retreat center in Phuket. It had been quite a while since I had had a vacation from racing around so I was more than pleased to sit in my little villa, read, drink hot water, write in my journal and take about 4 naps a day.
I have also FINALLY found the most kick ass laundry do-ers in Bangkok, just a quick jaunt from the Royal and frenetic Khao San road. It is located on Banana alley, just by the Boots, before you get to Ranee's (mmmmm). Freshie clothes always put a smile on my face. Not only that I have found some lovely places to eat that serve salads which make me feel like I am back in California. SHOCKING! Cafe Corner is my favorite, to get there you follow the boots road over the bridge and take a right on SOI 2, when SOI 2 ends you take a left and it will be right there. Between this place and som tum as well as the juices at Ethos (on the street behind the burger king at the bottom of Khao San) I have been a happy girl. This has put Banglumpu (the general Khao San 'hood) and me on pretty good terms. Which means being in Bangkok feels less and less like a prison scentence and more and more like being in my (like it or not) neighborhood. Is that all it takes to make me happy? Jugo de remolacha (0 betabel para los gueys) and a good lavanderia? I have a feeling some people might be able to relate. My final new discovery was my new THAI salon where I got my haircut (nothing drastic!) which was nice, but the fantastic part was having two Thai ladies blow dry it at the same time. My fancy blow out looked awesome until the monsoon chaos which left most of Rambutri street under about 4 inches of standing water after about 30 minutes of rain and my hair back in its normally wild state. Quite impressive.
What else? I had a delicious snack of these swirly pork (??!!!???) crackers that Meesh and I were a bit obsessed with last September. This was on the way to Kratie where I caught sight of the very endangered Iriwaddy river dolphins. Pretty cool, not unlike seeing whale sharks, but on a sweet long tail boat. Kratie is pretty kick ass, meaning there isn't much to do once you've seen the dolphins, other than playing cards and drinking beer. The place is semi-infested with huge rats, so I find that sitting cross legged in your chair is probably a good practice.
From Kratie I dragged my group north to Laos, which surely deserves its own post. Photos should come as well.

Update of sorts from a girl out of sorts...

2009-08-25T01:44:00.000-07:00

thoughts, ideas, and general randomness from 'the road.'

Observing a passing landscape is more enjoyable from an open window than a closed one, if I can't smell a place how can I understand it?

Walking along the street in Luang Prabang I smelled orange oil from the green skin of a peeled orange that a grandmother was sharing with her grandchild. It brought back the face of la chapina who always sold me overpriced oranges on the Belize/Guate border. She'd jam chile salt in them and I would always buy two, one for me and one to give to my driver.

Drivers slow so as not to atropear (run over) baby chicks, dogs, roosters, small children playing on the road's edge, and pigs. Our bus squealed to a stop yesterday to spare a chick's life, which made me think about just how valuable that small bit of animal protein and bone must be to a rural Lao family, and also highlighted the deep respect the otherwise wild driving bus drivers must have for that fluffy bit of life. The more grown up and gallant roosters with their orange heads and green tails always beg the question, of 'why'd the chicken cross the road?' as they race across almost leaving a cloud of red dust in their hurry.

I have been quietly suffering from what I can only equate to an amputation or deep heartbreak since May. I miss C.A. like I cannot quite explain. I tried to compare it to dating the wrong man whilst knowing you are in love with someone else, a simile which my parents found quite captivating. Nonetheless it is true, I feel like I left my heart somewhere along the Panamerican which seems ridiculous in the face of all this beauty.

Vang Vieng and I have finally made a truce. I stick to riding a bike through the jaw dropping landscape to visit its plethora of caves and leave the river and its fashionable tubes to its more hip visitors.

Happiness surely equals noodle soup.

I miss long sleeves and pants.

Out.

self-reliance and a very beautiful road

2009-08-17T07:52:00.000-07:00

a blog entry inspired by two minds...

"When you are traveling you are your sole support system, and that is hard and it gets tiring." -AG

Garrie makes an incredible point here, something that for so long I had been wanting to put into words. Every time I go to make a decision I have only myself to rely on, an exhilarating and exhausting prospect.

2.
“Travel, which is nearly always seen as an attempt to escape from ego, is in my opinion the opposite. Nothing induces concentration or inspires memory like an alien landscape or a foreign culture. It is simply not possible (as romantics think) to loose yourself in an exotic place. Much more likely is an experience of intense nostalgia, a harking back to an earlier stage of your life, or seeing a serious mistake. But this does not happen to the exclusion of the exotic present. What makes the whole experience vivid, and sometimes more thrilling, is the juxtaposition of the present and the past--- London seen from Harris saddle.” (Paul Theroux – The Happy Isle of Oceania, which by the way is an INCREDIBLE book)

In my case it was Lake Atitlan seen from the karst of Vang Vieng, and that moment was so strong I felt like the breath had been knocked out of me. In the presence of so much beauty I was reminded of how much I miss my home. And maybe that is what this is, a realization that for me, Central America is home. It took flying half way around the world to realize that. I was talking to Sarah today about the possibility of coming back and she said, 'coming home?' and my heart said, 'yes, coming home.' I am home sick, which is a strange and yet lovely realization.

que EMO gringita!

2009-08-15T23:25:00.001-07:00

The other day someone said to me that we never realize what we have until it is gone. This isn't a new or original idea, I think there is an extensive collection of literature, music, and art all dedicated to it, but it has been a long time since I've felt that way. I'm not sure if it is a result of being on the road for more than 2 years, or if it is my spiritual superiority over normal mortals, but I have started to learn how to appreciate what you have in front of you. I spend a lot of time thinking about this concept, especially as the world feels posed on the brink of a big shift (2012, global warming, financial crises, failing monsoon rains). My conclusion is that I think we should spend more time appreciating what we have right now and not worry so much about the stock markets, the price of gas (petrol for you pommies), and Jessica Simpson's fat but beautiful tour.

I find myself using my day to day struggles as good fertilizer for writing and for spiritual development. Even my reoccurring loneliness for friends, family, and far off places has begun to feel like reminders of what a great life I have rather than something that brings me down.

Yesterday on our epic overland tour of Highway 1, a drive which means a lot of back tracking over hundreds of kilometers (an incredibly inefficient travel day for an Edward like me) through Vietnam, I started thinking how we can never get away from anything. You can fly 100,000,000,000 of miles from home and find yourself depressed over the same thing. As soon as we accept our reality, as soon as we drop our habits of reacting the same way everytime we start on the real journey.

It's funny I created this blog to record my travels, but more than often it feels like a one sided conversation about spirituality, laced with personal references (inside jokes we called them when I was 13) and my weird sometimes romantic, sometimes existential, sometimes humorous views on the world that I am a part of.

Today I am in Vientiane, sitting by the window in cafe JOMA. I've limited myself to one cup of coffee and have been keeping watch of the weather for the past hour while I wait for the Internet to resume. It was very windy for 20 or so minutes while rain made vague threats and finally culminated in a brief but violent storm. Now the leaves are calm again, stirring in a slight breeze, and the sky has lightened a bit, though a dark patch remains. There is steady traffic at the 24 hour atm. I've got Emiliana Torrini playing on my ipod and I am not sure if it is the gray sky or her voice or the coffee or the rain, but it feels very Seattle-like this afternoon.

the best place in vietnam

2009-08-10T19:39:00.000-07:00

I realized something last night: I have gotten complacent in my travel. Jaded or hardened or whatever you want to call it, but last night snapped me out of it. We were on the SE2 bound for Hanoi, in the plushy Livitrans cart: luxury attached to a howling creaking mess of cars that reek of urine, durian, and sweat all mixed in with stale cigarette smoke. And I have to say something right now, I have gone flash packer because I f---ing hate that part of the train. I hate sleeping on patched dirty mattresses with only a thin sheet between me and god knows what. I hate the cockroaches and the mice and the slimy feeling of everything on the train. I feel like I am caught in some Orwellian nightmare rocking my way through a ghost-like Vietnam cast in misty silhouettes.
Some how one of my passengers convinced me to walk the length of the train to the bar car, through eleven miserable stinking cars just to buy some crap Vietnamese beer. I went because I had this feeling, one that kept coming up: I'm stagnating. I've gotten to used to comfort: air conditioning, tourist food (free brekkie), private transport, I'm getting boring. Vietnamese trains should stink, they should be nasty and freezing cold. I finally said to myself, "I'm not scared of smells, or dirt, I dig this shit. I love the raw wild west chaos that C.A. used to dish out daily and which Vietnam will dish out if I just let it." So off we went, loosing balance, running and shouting, crashing into people's feet, stepping over floor picknicks of ramen, and getting stared at for 11 cars. And we arrived into the most brilliant fuck off bar strapped to the back of this clattering mess of a train. Greasy steel tables crammed between wooden booths, every one filled with 4-6 Vietnamese yelling over tables littered with Heineken cans, balled up pink napkins, cigarette butts, and plates of seafood (side note- train seafood is a terrifying thought). We grabbed the last spot, half a booth with a table covered in bins of silverware and chopsticks and cracked two bia 333 (ba-ba-ba). It was the kind of moment that calls to mind cramming pax on overfull chicken buses (GET ON, WE'RE IN F----ING GUATEMALA!), it is that feeling of being absolutely at home with the clamoring chaos of the world around you.

'you go number 2.'

2009-08-09T03:32:00.000-07:00

I just got in from my most recent motorbike tour through Hue, which hands down has to be my most favorite thing to do in Vietnam. It is the ideal way to experience all the beautiful minutiae that make travel so exhilarating and breathtaking. Probably more so because motorbikes are so classically Vietnamese and somehow accentuate the whole experience, just like a good wine can do for a great meal.
The rice is turning gold in this part of the country and the stalks have begun to tip over from the weight of the grains. The lower part of the stalks remain green leaving the fields a lush green bronzed with ripeness. It is funny for me to think back on my first trip through Hue, when they were tilling the muddy fields and burning stalks from the last harvest. Now these same fields rest on the verge of another agricultural cycle and I am still here being stunned by Vietnam's beauty.
We stopped at one point to see water buffalo and two calves neck deep in green water staring at us from behind a cluster of giant bamboo. Then we passed a cyclo loaded down with fire wood being peddled by an old man. Another cyclo creaked by with two meter and a half tall gas canisters. Two girls squatted on their heels played in a flower pot, lost in their own world. Above it all the purple gray clouds just obscured the late afternoon sun. How much poetry can be locked up in one hour in Vietnam?
On our way home from the tour a moto passed me, the man driving was dressed in a white button front shirt with thin stripes, his girlfriend straddled behind him in a flowing pink blouse with a cascade of ebony hair down her back. He smiled at me as they passed, his girlfriend reaching under his chin to secure his teal helmet under his chin. They were so beautiful that it made my chest tighten, not in that air brushed hollywood way, but in that beauty of fitting perfectly into the scene.

The title is quote from one of the moto drivers explaining that one of my passengers would now be riding behind another girl after we lost the use of one of the bikes to a flat tire. It consequently made me giggle into the wind for five minutes straight.

tạm biệt!

Train Phở

2009-08-08T00:05:00.000-07:00

Across the street from the Ga Nha Trang (Nha Trang train station) is a row of food carts, bánh mi, nước mía, and then 3 phở carts. My favorite is the third, and in my pathetic terrible vietnamese I ask for, "Phở ga." Into a small plastic container go soft rice noodles, young onions sliced longways with most of their tops taken off, little rings of green onions, a squirt of plum sauce, a squirt of sweet chile, a bit of boiled chicken, bean sprouts, and finally, stock. My favorite part of the process is the stock ladeling, the lady swoops the ladel over the top of the steaming pot, scooting the fat, bits of bone and other stock making debris out of the way, then it is one and a half ladels of steaming stock turning the plastic container into a noodle swimming pool. The whole thing is packaged up in a plastic bag with a spoon and wooden chopsticks and back to the train station I run.

I would wager that until you have experienced the incredible-ness of Phở you haven't really experienced vietnam. Though my train phở is always enjoyable it doesn't hold a candle to my favorite the phở from Saigon.

My first night in Saigon I ate phở on a child-sized plastic stool at 2 in the morning. Knees near my ears, two of my passengers by my side, ripping basil off its stem and smothering the whole mess in sweet chile sauce, it is one of those perfect travel memories.
The nice thing about phở for me is that it is a comfort food. I used to go to the Phở lady up the road from my dorms after especially nasty cold rowing practices. My mom introduced me to the place and the lovely Vietnamese lady that ran it. She always gave my brother extra noodles and served us homemade yogurt at the end of the meal. It was where I first got hooked on lemon juice. It was a little slice of Vietnam before I even knew what that meant.

Mith Samlanh (Friends)

2009-07-29T20:45:00.000-07:00

Things strike me sometimes, they leave me with my breath caught halfway up my throat with their absolute inspiring beauty and make me want to scream for joy at the brilliance of humanity. Friend International makes me feel like that, staring into toddlers' faces, and a lot of other things. But Friends (and its associated projects: Makphet, Romdeng) and another project very similar to it in Hanoi, KOTO (know one teach one) give me a lot of HOPE. And inspire me in a big way.
Both take kids off the street and teach them highly sought after skills: how to cook, how to serve, how to speak English. In countries with fast growing tourist industries, these skills are priceless, they give these kids skills that are in demand and are taught a level of service one rarely encounters in Asia. And the energy in these restaurants pastes a big fat grin on my face. I was struck one morning, while having brunch in KOTO, by a strange tickiling energy that vibrated at the pit of my stomach, a feeling of being home, a feeling of wanting this, a feeling of knowing that maybe I had finally found a calling...
I have a little seed of an idea germinating in my heart right now, one that involves kids, pollo pibil, a restaurant and Guatemala. Sort of a Amigos Chapines if you will. Anyhow something like that will take some funding as well as some serious planning and commitment. It is an idea for a future Gemma who has settled down a bit. A girl can dream....

bangkok saturated

2009-07-18T00:31:00.000-07:00

the brian food list: ASIA

2009-07-15T19:14:00.000-07:00

Brian is on my trip right now, and he is kind of dorky about food like me. So I keep harassing him about food things I think he needs to know about and finally decided that maybe it was better to just write a blog entry about it and then he could read it at his own speed and I could stop geeking out. And then I was thinking that maybe having an ongoing food list might be cool. So I'm going to start with Asia because that is where I am.

To start....

MAKANSUTRA

You know when some one does something and it is just so awesome you can't really describe it? Makansutra is one of those things. Their reverence for street food in inspiring, they have a rating system that makes me smile, and have dedicated food guides to some pretty damn cool places. If I ever get my shit together I would do this for taco stands and other delicacies in Mexico. In Singapore they have a dedicated food center called Gluttons Bay. It located down on the water front near the symphony hall (which is aptly called 'the durian'). Don't miss the skate wing, or the mee goreng, or the satay, just make sure you go hungry.

Speaking of satay, there is this incredible satay place in Melaka called Capital Satay. If you love peanut sauce this place may be heaven. In fact an article on Melaka was what inspired my first adventure to SE Asia.

a big happy slow family

2009-07-14T19:37:00.000-07:00

I like dysfunction in simple tasks. To be more clear in this statement, I find dysfunction to be a zen koan put into practice. I love and hate dysfunction and in that way my reaction to dysfunction is an indication of where I am at with myself.
For some reason I keep going to the same place in Bangkok to get things printed by the same confused Thai lady. Talking to Eva today I realized why: it is totally Latin. It is that, "si dios quiere..." approach to life, you can't rush god, or cows, or thai photocopiers, or banana shakes, you know? Sometimes I find myself cursing myself for coming to the same damn place. Yet at other times I can't help but stand there and internally chuckle at how brilliant it is that a lady who runs a copy shop has to read directions about how to print a word document.
I mean efficiency is great sometimes. But at other times I am stunned by the coldness of all things efficient. I find myself wondering what happened to all the warmth and friendliness. I mean in the States I can get shit done about 20x as fast as I can here but it is usually without incident, or if there is drama it is yours truly that is causing it. I had a giggle fit calling my bank to find out my login information. Laying on the tile floor of my hotel room in Hoi An laughing while some poor guy in god knows where tries to figure out my damn login name. He must have thought I was crazy, but then again if you cause someone to smile are you really crazy?
The thing that I know is that happiness is a choice, you either make the decision to see the joy, to laugh at the absurdity of my thai photocopying lady or you can get all pissed off and start blaming people.
You choose: comedy or drama.
I'm planning on laughing all the way down the road, wanna come?

quick and dirty guide: the central 7 and mexico

2009-07-01T20:11:00.000-07:00

(B this entry is for you)

I'm thinking someone should pay me to be a travel adviser, or something to that end, but maybe I will get paid back in street phad thai and good karma for all this writing I am doing.

B asked about belize/honduras versus costa rica/nicaragua which I would say are two very worthy choices to choose between and led me to think about what all the countries are like in central. I'm planning on getting to writing mini-guides on those countries that I have not yet covered but I figure I'll start with a what we might call a country briefing. I'm starting North and moving South, try to keep up. Oh and these are my opinions, nothing more.

MÉXICO

Mexico has just about everything. Rich in culture, diverse in landscape, I can't really cover it all here. But my general feeling of méxico is, 'GUAU!' It is big, it has states, and the food in INCREDIBLE.

You could spend months or years exploring it: surfing, diving, mayan ruins, climbing volcanoes, visiting pueblitos, getting yourself lost in churches, meeting the indigenous people, swimming in lakes, exploring canyons. Chiapas is fantastic, the Yucatan (and associated states) is divine, and D.F. will blow your mind.

GUATEMALA

My soul lives in Guate. Highlands, black beans, incredible textiles, gorgeous colonial cities, TIKAL, and the warmest latinos on the block, what more can you ask for? Did I mention the coffee and chocolate?

BELIZE

For a cultural shmorgasborg, postcard beaches, and lush jungle Belize takes the cake. It is small, accessible, easy to get around, and full of friendly faces. Belize combines lots of outdoor activities with a carribean attitude, plus just about everyone speaks English. It isn't as cheap as other countries, but you can do it on a budget. Most people go for the diving, end up exploring a cave or two, and maybe some nice ruins. Don't miss the Marie Sharps.

HONDURAS

Considering the current political strife, Honduras might not be your first choice. Honduras is in a word: strange. The catrachos are different from the other Latins and the Bay Islands are a world unto themselves. Copán has lovely ruins (but is more Guatemala than Honduras), las Islas Bahia have some great diving (and it is CHEAP), I've heard other places are great, but I haven't seen much. Most people stick to the islands and head on to the next place. If you want to get off the beaten track and see something new it could be a glorious adventure, but I am not making any promises. Combined with Belize it could be a cool diving vacation (there are direct flights between Belize city and San Pedro Sula).

EL SAV

Can't comment too much. Heard the coast is a great place for surfing. Pupusas seem motivation enough to check it out, but then again most people don't travel just so they can try the local food.

NICARAGUA

Could the Nicas be any nicer? Seriously. My best best best friends all live in Nicaragua. Traffic is usually caused by cows. Nicaragua is considered the next big thing though the economic crisis may have slowed that for a bit. If you want to experience almost everything Central has to offer (islands, volcanoes, diving, surfing, jungles, colonial cities) you could stay in Nicaragua and see almost everything. Boasting two of the longest coast lines in the region, two colonial gems, and decent infrastructure, it combines the variety of Costa Rica with the wildness of the other countries.

COSTA RICA

Costa Rica has grown on me. The people are unique and possess a subtle culture that will crawl into you heart and find a home, just give it time. If you like wildlife, getting outdoors and varied landscapes you will be blown away by Costa Rica. Not as safe as some people will have you think, it is still welcoming and lovely. The tourist infrastructure makes doing things a breeze, but there are still relatively undeveloped pockets, they just require 4 wheel drive and a bit more patience. Make friends with the Ticos, they know the best places and love to have a good time. Throw Nicaragua in the mix and you have an interesting balance of two very different cultures, the opportunity to do more outdoor sports than you can imagine and a hundred possibilities for adventure.

PANAMA

My Panama experience is limited to Bocas Del Toro, and I dug that. Panama City is rumored to be quite and adventure, David and the highlands come highly recommended. Plus there is always the added temptation of trying to reach Colombia overland from here. Send me a postcard if you make it!

So there you go, brief, succinct, and obviously biased. Hope that gives you some insight.

sorry, but tubing is not the coolest

2009-07-01T18:13:00.000-07:00

The beginning of my previous entry begins with a famous Paul Theroux quote about the difference between 'travelers' and 'tourists.' People who identify themselves as travelers, most often are 'backpackers' on a 'budget.' 'Tourists' are the honkeys running around paying too much for everything with their noses in guide books, yelling loudly in English, right? Usually they are stodgy and old and don't have a clue. They are on packaged tours. They usually have too much money. '

Travelers' on the other hand what are they like? They usually will tell you, with an air of superiority, that they aren't tourists. They've had 'real' experiences, maybe they smoked opium with a hill tribe, or they've eaten street food (though I am still not sure Phad Thai cooked on Khao San really counts), or maybe they've even had amoebic dysentery or if they are really lucky scabies. 'Travelers' are hard core, they stay in $3 a night hostels and can live off of $5 a day. 'Travelers' look down on 'tourists,' who of course have too much money to have had any 'real' experiences.

I guess I am just tired of this perspective. Perhaps it was the half a day I just spent in Van Vieng, a place that for me sums up almost everything bad about tourism. Just about every real 'traveler' who as earned their stripes in SE Asia has passed through this place. And I imagine (just as I do about Cancun) at one point Van Vieng was a pretty cool place to hang out. But most backpackers would have you convinced this is the highlight of the SE Asia circuit. “Why?” you might ask. The answer can be summed up in three bullet points...

cheap drugs
tubing on the river
cheap liquour

Now I am not so old that I don't like to party, and I feel like I have done my fair share of it. I also feel like I am a pretty adventurous and fun loving person. But I also think of my self as a culturally aware citizen of planet Earth. And from everything I have read about and experienced in Laos, semi-nudity and drug use aren't high up on the list of how to be a culturally aware, sensitive, sustainable traveler. And though I enjoy a night out with friends I would prefer to experience a different culture while traveling and enjoy a party when it isn't offensive to the local culture.

What bothers me is all these experienced travelers who wax on about how amazing Laos is, how fantastic all the people are, how beautiful the culture is (and I am sure they will go home and talk about all their really amazing interactions and experiences in SE Asia) don't see how tubing/doing drugs/wandering around in the bathing suit all add up to the erosion of the very thing they say they love.

One might defend all these poor youthful backpackers by saying that the Lao people make all these things possible and that if they really found them so offensive they could just stop providing the services. Well that is a pretty un-capatilist perspective as this is is a huge source of income for the Lao that work in the tubing/drug industry in Van Vieng. Imagine, a pancake lady can make 10,000 kip a pancake selling them to all the stoned travelers, maybe she only sells 2, that is more than $2, double the average wage of more than 70% of the country. You think anyone that has the ability to make money off these dumb drunk tourists... ooops I mean travelers isn't going to do it? They would be stupid not to. Just like most people presented with an easy source of income the Lao exploit it even if it is eroding their culture and exposing their kids to Western culture at its ugliest.

I'm sorry if this all sounds harsh, but just imagine if a group of tourists showed up in your hometown, got really drunk, dressed offensively, did a bunch of drugs, all the while your kids were playing in the street. How would that make you feel? And what would you think of the people that were doing it? Now add a couple more things to that image. Backpackers are notoriously stingy (sorry, anyone in the tourist industry will back me up on this one) so now they are nickel and diming you at every turn, stealing hotel soap, extra bread from the included breakfast, never tip, and generally are only looking out for their own benefit. Yet these people who reluctantly part with their money will also exhibit incredible material wealth their $200 backpack. These people are wandering around with a couple $1,000 dollars on their back while fighting you for a $1 a night discount on their room. Can you even imagine what the Lao people must think?

Now contrast that with our original image of the bumbling tourist, does he look so bad?

My point is that as travelers we are representatives of our respective countries and cultures, we have a great duty to our hosts as well, we should be respectful as we visit their homes, walk softly in their countries. No one likes a rude guest, everyone appreciates the person who arrives with a gift, cleans up after themselves, acts graciously, and remembers to say thank you. And now with all these amazing NGOs and social projects we have a chance to maybe leave a place we visit a little bit better than we found it.

I guess maybe not thinking that Van Vieng is cool might make me 'uncool' in the eyes of some really awesome hard core world travelers, but the thing is I don't really care. The more I live in this world I realize that my friend V's grandfather is right, life isn't the number of breaths you take it is the number of moments that take your breath away. You may be able to blow your mind in Van Vieng, but tubing isn't going to take your breath away, nor is partying with a bunch of 18 year olds on their gap year, nor is smoking opium or getting ripped on happy pizza. But watching laughing kids play in the river or people planting rice in the shadows of Karst peaks might just tighten your chest with the intrinsic beauty of simplicity. Too bad all those kids were too busy drinking Lao lao on the river to notice the beautiful world that was passing them by.

Because I think it would be wrong to slag off travelers (who are most of the time just tourists with less money and bigger egos) and not give suggestions, I'll give you my perspective on how I think we could all be better tourists/travelers/guests.

The first thing is not to travel beyond your means. You are working with a ratio of time versus money. What happens to most long term travelers (were talking over a month here) is that you think you have more money than you do and end up just scraping by towards the end. This is NOT the way to do it, you want to go home with money in your bank account. Good advice: take the amount of money you think you need, now double it. When you are scraping for money you end up cheating a lot of people, not to mention yourself because you may not be able to do what you want to do. I am not saying that being on a budget is a bad idea, I have had some very memorable experiences being on a budget, but there is a difference between budgeting and scraping by. Money gives you flexibility, it will get you out of tight situations. Another good rule: if you can afford a beverage other than bottled water you still have enough money to tip.

Yea, so tipping is a BIG F'N DEAL. Round up! If your bill is 17000kip you can afford to leave 20,000. That $0.30 means a hell of a lot less to you than it will to your server. Don't drink your big beer lao and then roll your eyes at me when I suggest a tip. Imagine if your 3,000 kip makes it possible for your waiter's kid to go to school, how would that make you feel?

So how do you save money/budget? Eat on the street (not in the tourist strip you idiot) walk around until you find a bunch of locals, check out their plates and point at what looks good, then gesture the number one and point at your chest. Congratulations, you've just saved yourself $2. Now stop drinking those damn fruit shakes. Stop eating pizza, sandwiches, pancakes, chips. Stay in a room with a fan not a/c. Find a friend to share a room with, or stay in a dorm. Walk everywhere you can, or explore the public transport, how are the locals getting around? Now do it yourself. Interact with some local people, that is why you came all this way isn't it? Or maybe you just came to talk to more people like you?

Personally, when it comes to budgeting what I've figured out is that I like certain things to be nice and other things I am not that fussed about. I spend extra money on a nicer hotel because that is my home, but I don't really care if I have to survive off street food to save some money. So you figure out what is important, pay more for those things. You might have to have money for beer, but you can stay in a total dive and eat pb&j for weeks on end. Just make sure to be friendly and polite to the owners of your dive and maybe offer to make them a sammie. Did you know that if you offer someone food they might want to have a conversation with you and BAM, you've had a unique incredible local interaction.

Learn the language, talk to the locals and they might SMILE at you. A genuine smile from someone is like a ray of light blasting you in the heart. Learn, hello, thank you, how much, and how to count to ten, it maybe the best thing you do on your trip.

Try the local food, not that watered down shit they make for westerners. Eat Thai food that makes your eyes water, eat Som Tham with balls of sticky rice, crouch on a plastic stool in Saigon and slurp pho, eat at the damn taco stands, there will always be time for spaghetti bol at home.

That is the big lesson, if it is the same, if it is comfortable and normal then why travel? Get out of your comfort zone, try something new, that is why you left home in the first place.

Read a book about the place you are visiting, learn the history, try to understand why this place is the way it is. What is growing in the fields? why do people dress that way? What do they believe? What are families like? Start paying attention, what makes this place different from your home? Write your thoughts down, draw pictures, think about it. And don't just take a million photos and think that is sufficient to 'capture' the place. Put your camera down, take a deep breath and think about how each of your senses are stimulated by this different place. What does Oaxaca smell like? What is the exact flavour of pineapple when floating on the Mekong river? What does Bangkok sound like at four in the afternoon? How does your skin feel under the sun while sitting at Angkor wat? Absorb your travel experience, immerse yourself in it. Take a moment to think about how you might put it to words and then do, write yourself a postcard about a simple detail you've noticed, and really mail it to yourself, when it arrives it will be like a little piece of magic, you may treasure it more than anything you purchase.

Find a local supermarket, or street market, stare at everything, try a new fruit, look at what is and isn't available, and wonder how the world works with out readily availalble peanut butter.

Research local projects and NGOs that are trying to make the local people's lives better and participate. Spend a bit more on a fair trade product, even if you buy the cheapest thing in the store you are making an impact. Buy fewer things, but things that you know will leave a positive mark on the country. And buy from women, when money is put in women's hands it goes to kids and food. Men just aren't as reliable.

Learn local customs, learn what is offensive and don't do it, dress like a local, check out a temple/wat/church/mosque and pray, leave an offering, and thank the local gods that you have been so blessed to have the freedom to travel.

See you on the road.

la casa de paños y pensamientos

2009-07-01T01:21:00.001-07:00

“Tourists don't know where they've been, travelers don't know where they are going.” Paul Theroux

If Paul Theroux is right then I am totally f'ed. For the most part I am totally lost. My memories have turned into a swirl of faces and places, sometimes I suffer from what feels like mental vertigo. I can't find the line between dreams and memories (then again, maybe there really isn't much of a difference). Recently as I was pulling up to the airport in Phnom Penh I couldn't remember where the hell I was. Somehow Saigon is now north of Hanoi (at least in my mental geography). The whole thing might freak me out, but it have a feeling that this is what a life of constant movement will do to you....

“Life used to be life like/now its more like showbiz/ I wake up in the night and I don't know where the bathroom is/ and I don't know what town I'm in/what sky I am under” -Ani DiFranco

In the same vein I found myself asking Tiago one day: “Where do the towels live?” I can't put a number to how many times I have found myself standing naked and dripping with water wondering where the damn towel is, only to find it folded like a swan my bed. But for me, like Ani, 'the road is my home,' and because of that I shouldn't really complain about loosing towels, that just comes with the territory, especially as people make my bed for me and I don't have to pay an electric bill. But all of that doesn't stop the world from rising up and swirling around, tossing me around like a rip tide. Sometimes I remember dreams about passengers that I had months prior to meeting them. My vocabulary is a mish-mash of spanish (how many times have I said, “Si?” to a Laoatian?), australian, american and pommie english. I miss so many things that the dull ache of absence has become my constant companion. Yet that rawness that lonliness or desire creates makes all the beauty I encounter taste a bit sweeter. As Che says in his Motorcyle Diaries, all meals peppered with hunger taste better (or something to that point) so it is true for my encounters with hidden vistas and unexpected friendship. When you hunger for intimacy, friendship, or comfort, their sudden appearance is all the more welcome.

Dad- don't worry I know this is a bit introspective, maybe it is all the rain and the mist cloaking the karst landscape of Laos, but I've got a big cup of JOMA coffee keeping me warm and a lot of love eminating from Northern California.

la guia: GUATE GUATE GUATE

2009-06-30T07:07:00.000-07:00

Alright, I've had another request for more Central America information, well two in fact so I'm going to try and slap together a couple posts on that. Plus the wee compu has been down and out for a couple days (seems I picked up a virus) so I've got a lot of words to put down. First things first we'll tackle GUATE.

GUATEMALA, GUATEMALA (AKA LA CAPITAL)

Right. So you will more than likely have to experience Guatemala city unless you are lucky enough to be arriving overland via some other fabulous place. Get in and get out is my approach. Everyone is going to tell you it is dangerous and I think it is, but then again I spent very little time there. Anyhow the airport has NOTHING, some mayan ladies selling galletas chicky and that is about it, no joke. To get from there grab a shuttle ($7-10) or a cab if there are a few of you ($30). People are very helpful, but will rip you off if you act all super gringo (and then you deserve it). From there probably easiest to head to...

LA ANTIGUA GUATEMALA

Most people just call it Antigua and it probably deserves its own post. Where even to start????
To sleep there are hundreds of hotels, good hostel is the Yellow House, they make some mean oatmeal and spaghetti (!!!) for brekkie. Check out the parque central, on the side opposite the cathedral, behind a bookstore is lovely (though pricey) cafe condessa. Have a very North American moment at the Bagel Barn (off parque central) If you want to do a trek use O.X. Sky bar is awesome on 1 avenida, and there are some cool shops around there. I still love Fernandos (7 avenida) for coffee and early morning wifi.
I will admit that Antigua is Guatemala at its most organized and cleaned up. It is a pleasure to wander the streets, but is lacking the hard edge of the highlands or the funky soul of Peten. For me it was always all about indulgences: breakfast of fruit at the ceviche place, sammies from epicure, hair cuts on la septima avenida, pupusas at la rana y sapo, hanging with friends, and of course it is beautiful. If you can find your way to Santiago Zamorra to visit the weaving cooperative or out to Vahalla to the Macadamia nut farm, do it.
From Antigua most people head to the Lake usually via...

CHICHICASTENANGO

Market days are thursday and sunday, though I prefer sunday as there are often processions which can be a lot of fun to see. Bargain, but be kind, these highlanders work hard for their money. Check the back of textiles to see if they have been hand embroidered or are machine made. Great woodcarvings and some unique jewlery, otherwise everything is same same but different and you are better off buying from a weaving cooperative on Lake Atitlan.

LAKE ATITLAN

PANAJACHEL
Most people end up here first and a lot of people don't like pana, but it is one of my favorite places as it is just a crazy weird part of guate. There is a fantastic little deli/restaurant on the main road with a tree growing in the middle of it, somehow i can never remember the name of it (algo de fuego or somethin'), but they have banana curry soup and it is SO good. Also there is fantastic Asian food at Chinitas (also on Santander) she makes some amazing blue corn pancakes and there is crazy live music every night. Oh and on your way out of town grab brekkie to go at Panapan bakery. The market right in town is fab, and they sell the wool clothes from Solola. Also if you don't want to go all the way to Chichi for a market you can check out the market just up the hill in Solola (grab a chicken bus). I'm not positive, but I think market days are sunday???
From Pana take the launchas out to other parts of the lake, they are going to rip you off on the launcha ride, but there isn't a lot you can do about it.

SANTIAGO ATITLAN

Nested at the foot of a volcan, cruise over to Santiago and get a little kid to take you to see Maximon, a local diety. very cool. You can buy the local traje there, all the fabrics with purple stripes and embroidered birds are from this small village. The church is also fantastic, a great example of traditional Catholicism. The main alter is carved wood and dedicated to Jesus and corn. All the Saints are represented by wooden sculptures that are dressed every year in cotton outfits. Pretty awesome. From herre you could grab a launcha over to Santa Catarina del Popolo to check out weaving cooperatives.

SAN PEDRO

Back packer ghetto, drugs, beer, good pizza and angry juice ladies who will shake their shredded plasitic bag fly swatters at you. If you want to hang out with stoned back packers or have ridiculously good pizza (up the hill, first right) then it is your place. Otherwise it is hilly and often smells funny during coffee harvest (they dry the beans out, so it stinks of fermenting coffee berries). You can also rent kayaks here and cruise around in the protected bay.

SAN MARCOS

I lived here in this place of hobbity paths through the coffee bushes. It isn't a utopia as some hippies may have you believe, but it is great. Xamanik up on the hill has great parties but is a loud place to stay. You can check out La Paz for accommodation, yoga, and good but very slow food. Explore, try and get lost (you can't really) and get a massage (Flower house or the San Marco Holistic Center). More kayaks if you want and adventure, or hike out to the rocks to jump in the water or to Russel's dock for some nice sun bathing. I think San Marcos has some of the best swimming on the lake.

JAIBALITO

Casa del mundo or Vulcanos Lodge are both very special amazing places to stay if you get a chance.

SANTA CRUZ LA LAGUNA

La iguana perdida is a good place to loose yourself for a couple do nothing type days. They do great family style dinners and Belle might still be around doing morning yoga (nothing like downward dog in front of gray blue volcanos).

When you finally peel your self from the gorgeous waters of the lake head up the mountians to...

QUETZALTENANGO (XELA-JU)

For me Guatemala is the highlands and Xela is the heart of the highlands. Most people who head this way go to language school (1 on 1 classes, 5 hrs/day, room and board should cost between $130-180) cruise around a choose one that feels good to you (my heart lies with Miguel Angel Asturias). The opportunity to live with a Guatemalan family will enrich your travels and understandings of this incredible country.
I like el cuartito for cute drinks and wifi, exploring mecardo Minerva for those plastic market baskets, and discovering all the hidden bars and restaurants. Oh and La Luna for hot chocolate, Blue Angel for vegan cookies, and the famous chocolate place near Mercado Flores (Doña Pancha), la fonda del che for peruvian flute music. There are always things going on at the gorgeous cathedral and lots of cool NGOs to support.

SEMUC CHAMPEY/LANQUIN

Confession: I never made it out here. L-A-M-E. I know. But I will get there ok???
Anyhow everyone says it is amazing and very worth the long travel time to get there. So just go.

RIO DULCE

Grilled cheese and the bungalows at Tijax. Nuffsed. From here take a boat ride to...

LIVINGSTON

Tapado at Bugga Mamma's. Chat with some Garifunas then grab a boat on to Honduras or Belize or back to Rio Dulce.

FLORES/TIKAL

I love Flores. Cool places to drink right on the water, a gorgeous lake, could you ask for more??
Amigos is a cool hostel, but tons of the hotels are very affordable, just make sure you get a fan and a place with a pool is always nice. Grab a launcha to take you to the mirador at sunset, bring beers and hike up to the lookout. Very cool. Lots of nice places to eat: Villa del Chef (killer mojitos which are 2 por 1 during happy hour 4-7), Cool beans for pancakes with fruit, and Las Puertas (near amigos) does nice veggie food plus the owner's husband plays classical guitar every night.
I think Tikal is done best if you head out there about 11, do a picknick at the grand plaza and then cruise around. By about 2 all the tour groups have left and you have the place practically to yourself. Pretty awesome. Sometimes you can catch sight of a toucan in the afternoon.

Obviously this is not an exhaustive guide, nor is this all that detailed, but it gives you a bit of a sense of Guate.
As far as getting around, the tourist shuttles are more comfortable but the chicken buses are far more entertaining and often a bit faster, if you can believe it. Spanish skills help out a lot but you will learn as you go.
Enjoy. Drink as much Zacapa on the rocks as you can, eat some pepian and make sure to give the Chapines lots of love.

images: bangkok bound

2009-06-19T03:17:00.000-07:00

On the other side of the glass

2009-06-08T04:23:00.000-07:00

I am on the road between Saigon and Phnom Penh. My belly is full of Khmer noodle soup and my head full of thoughts that loop around into questions creating a mess not unlike the rice noodles that I've got swimming in my stomach.

I remember Michael telling me about these very buses which careened in front of her ,Cambodian home, kicking up dust. A blur of white faces protected by glass from the hot dusty existence of rural Cambodia as they raced between HCMC and Phnom Penh. This was back when I was still in C.A. I must have been in Guatemala at the time, because I remember telling her stories of seeing similar buses cramming themselves into the twisty streets of Solola, and it all caused me to think about what it means to have experienced a country and the insulated nature of tourism. My passengers are always talking about “doing” countries or even whole regions after spending a few days in them, “Oh yea, I did Laos, it was fantastic.” Maybe the very act of claiming to 'know' a place we admit to not knowing it at all. Or maybe we only know our very unique personal experience.

I can't claim to know every twist and bump of this highway, and yet I feel attached to this stretch of pavement, for I feel like it might lead me back to Micaheal, someone I miss very much. Or maybe I feel it leads me to a type of authenticity that I feel is so often lacking on the traveler's path. Regardless I find my eyes scanning each hamlet for that familiar ordering of mobile phone shops, market, soy bean juice ladies, and sugar can juice vendors which add up to Svay Chrum. I search to place the memories I have from those days that I spent with Mikee, suffering from the heat, from sleeping on tile floors, from being so far from the comforts of air con, of regular electricity, western food, and western comforts.

I remember our arrival back in Phnom Penh after just 5 days in Svay Chrum, the moment we walked into our $12 a night hotel room with air-con and private bathroom and thinking, money or wealth means you are able to afford comfort. You can insulate yourself from the pains and discomforts of poverty: from rocks in your rice and beans, from mosquitoes, from heat, from cold, from the sun, from physical labor. But the thing those uncomfortable 5 days also taught me was that in all our insulation we have lost contact with some of the things that make humans human. Westerners have a disposable outlook on life, something breaks, you buy a new one, something is lost, you can always replace it. Teeth, marriages, hips, ipods, rain coats. We are so wealthy that we have replaced food which is meant to provide calories with calorie free counterparts, we don't have to move to produce wealth so now we pay exorbitant funds to burn off all our material wealth which lays itself down in the form of a protective layer of adipose tissue, insulating us further and further from our environment. We have shaped parts of our environment so extremely that in places it is unrecognizable. And this is a spreading phenomena, driving into Saigon yesterday I awoke from a cat nap and was lost as to where I was. The suburban sprawl that covers the United States has reached its hand around the globe and has begun to sculpt parts of southern Vietnam. Do we want to live in a world where it is hard to discern between Michigan and Saigon? Is that the goal?

And this all leads me back to my initial thought about these air conditioned bubbles shuffling 'intrepid' travelers who have dared set out to such a wild untamed country.

Svay Chrum slides by as a smear of buildings, how can so many memories be linked to just another collection of same same corrugated tin buildings? Isn't that the strange thing about life? There is beauty, magic, and treasures beyond all belief, the trick is opening your eyes to see them as they are often hidden in strange places: in soy bean juice bought at a muddy market, in the laughing eyes of a vietnamese bus driver, in the unexpected views of the grenadine red sun rising over the gaggle of ducks as your scifo Vietnamese government train rolls past. And I am starting to believe the key to hapiness is being able to see these treasures, to be appreciate all the tiny minutiae that will eventually add up into a joyful existence.

I'm not sure this entry leads anywhere, but maybe that is a good thing, the nectar ,after all, is in the journey.

la amistad

2009-06-04T09:43:00.000-07:00

I have been mulling over a concept for the last months, in all honestly it was a thought that came to me back in September. I was sick in bed in Cambodia, and I remember thinking, all it takes is one person." One person can make the freshi lady room home, pumpkin soup into a feast, and long bus rides into adventures. One person can chase out the ghosts of lonliness, doubt, and fear. One person, whether they are only in your life for 2 weeks, 2 hours, or a lifetime can cast the light of a thousand candles.
I spend a lot of time on my own, a lot of time surrounded by strangers, and I am always missing someone, some place, something. I guess that could mean I could spend a lot of time sad, weepy, and down, but that seems like telling the universe that I don't believe it is going to come through for me: That I don't believe in the potential for magic, for new friends, for new adventures with old friends, for coincidence, serendipidity, for joy (even if it has to be bought in 1.5L bottles).
Friendship comes to those who trust, friendship comes to those that give and give and give, for those that find laughter in the dusty cockroach ridden happy house stops. Friendship is what will save us, it is what drives us, and what makes life so damn sweet.
French fries are never as good as when you have someone to steal them from your plate with a plastic pair of chopsticks.
Think that over.

facebook directed advertising goes commie

2009-06-02T19:47:00.000-07:00

I LOVE VIETNAM (GROUP)

Join the best group and show your love to this beautiful, wonderful but strong and powerful country. Join Vietnam!

my membership is still pending....

good bye sirmadame!

2009-05-30T02:45:00.000-07:00

I am attempting to actually get my clothes washed.

I will break this sentence down for you...

The Vietnamese or SE Asians in general do not value clean clothes or the pleasure of clean clothes as much as Latin Americans or myself do. My evidence is my last 3 attempts at clean clothes:
1. Saigon - clothes come back individually tagged, don't smell of anything in particular, I keep forgetting to remove tags and being poked for total duration of wearing
2. Hoi an - give my clothes to random man who weighs them and puts them in the basket of his bicycle, clothes come back smelling clean, but upon further inspection they are just about as dirty as they were when I gave them to him. Plus I spend 24 hours wondering if I would ever see my clothes again.
3. Hanoi - random place on Hon Bo street, no washers in sight, clothes come back smelling like cigarette smoke and are not clean.

What does a girl have to do around here to get a nice Mayan lady to wash her clothes on the rocks of Lake Atitlan? Seriously. Na na knows how cranky dirty clothes make me.

Laundry's done. I'll report back. And sorry, I know this was a dave style rant. And the post title is just something random that my junk boat porter kept saying.
je je

vietnam otra vez

2009-05-26T20:34:00.000-07:00

When I go to get a new job (at least one year in the future) and some one asks me what doing this job taught me I am going to say it was an ability to go with the flow and deal with what life dishes out. If you don't have flexibility then you are fucked.
Yesterday I met Jorge, who is L-A-T-I-N-O. Pinche latinos, always f'ing my shit up. I fly 41 hours from Latin America and they still manage to find me and keep me on my toes. Honestly this wasn't really Jorge's fault, I should take the blame, it is all my crazy idea generating mind's fault. The situation goes something like this:
I am sitting in the oasis of JoMa, coffee heaven in Laos: wireless, good coffee, comfy seats. Jorge appears in typical latino fashion: loud, passionate, full of life, and he is freaking out a bit because he is running a trip blind with a tough group. So we do the TL decompression thing: talk about crazy pax, what we have been doing, etc etc. Then we decide to go pay our bills at our local operator. This ends up being more complicated as we get lost, have the wrong address, find a tuk-tuk, get lost again, get found and realize that Jorge doesn't have a Vietnamese visa and he is leaving TOMORROW (which is now today). Of course Jorge is Peruvian and the Vietnamese embassy probably only have a vague idea of where Peru is, and have decided that Jorge is not coming in. I am gringa, si? And though we are a nation of Imperialist puppets we are allowed to go into their proud Vietnamese nation. So now the shit goes down, PINCHE JORGE gets to take my AMAZING group through Laos, and I have to go back to Vietnam. I like Vietnam a lot, but Laos is my place, it is my Guatemala. So man I am pissed.
I guess this is my way of telling you I am going back to Vietnam.
Damn.

This all is compounded by having an absurd experience trying to get out of Vietnam just 2 days prior. We crossed at what the Lonely Planet dubs, 'a remote crossing,' which was pretty obvious as we arrived during lunch hour and the whole place was empty. Well except for the WC attendant who was very clear that the toilets cost 5oooVND to use. I guess it was worth it, they were relatively clean. Anyhow, after the end of lunch call sounded we loaded all the passports through the WINDOW FOR EXIT OF FOREIGNERS FROM VIETNAM and started to wait. Then it turned out that two of the passports hadn't gotten stamped upon entry. So now we are in 'remote' Vietnam with a man telling me, 'no stamp, no Laos." GREEEEAAAAT. After the man makes 5 phone calls, makes photocopies that he doesn't have a place to file, we finally get our stamps and are allowed to leave. Plus there was a thorough investigation of the extra pages that have been stuck in my passport, they didn't seem to impressed by the taping job that the American Embassy in Costa Rica had done. I just can't wait to do that all over again.
The beauty of it is that as soon as you get out of Vietnam it all immediately shifts to Laoatian smiles and good vibes. Vietnam may have Hoi An, but Laos has my heart.

better than sweet corn

2009-05-25T22:06:00.000-07:00

Moto tours of Hue kick ass, even with the slight tinge of goma.
(from top to bottom,
rice paddy outside of hue,
pagoda fence posts,
mr. khoua,
lotus blossoms as seen from the japanese covered bridge near hue)

vietnam through a broken lens

2009-05-25T21:53:00.000-07:00

rice and noodles have made it hard for me to poop
i miss the peeling off skins of black beans flavored with salsa lizano
and bilingual thoughts
but i am here steaming and sweating like a potato baking in its skin
here is a place that i never thought i would last
a place i don't understand
filled with plastic bags and a lilting choppy language i can't claim to know
i stumble through hello and thank you often speaking vietnamese to laoatians
and responding with 'si' as often as 'yes'
but here i have found a part of myself that i never expected to discover

(view of hoi an from thu bon river, bow of boat on thu bon river and my bia larue -- i returned the bottles to a very pleased vietnamese man, fishing on the thu bon, sunset)

last days

2009-05-16T00:46:00.000-07:00

procrastination leads to blog entry.

summation of the last few weeks
thoughts.observations.notes.ideas.wishes

thailand is brief, just enough time for a couple bottles of neon orange orange juice and green curry

the tips of my fingers have started to peel off, what does that mean?

buckets at angkor what? lead to a rough ride to P2 which noodle soup cures, I miss nana

get lost with my group in P2, tuk-tuks save the day and deliver us at Mee Goreng heaven

Ipod induced napping on the bus leads to strange lucid dreams

could Lebo be right about Deli pickels saving the world??? all this poverty in Cambodia is making me hope so

I wish I had brought my black gauchos and not my teal ones

I see a one armed mine victim filling in the potholes along an unpaved portion of cambodia's national road 4 and find myself wondering who is paying him for his work

cambodian children thrive on the beach front town of Sihanoukville selling braclets and when not successful swearing at tourists

Handwashing can be incredibly satisfying.

Crossing the border to Vietnam is striking - how can a bridge lead to such difference? I already miss counting in Khmer.

More ipod, more strange dreams.

I eat frog for the first time.

I get my laundry done in Saigon, everything comes back individually tagged

Night train delivers me to Nha Trang, why is train sleep so satisfying?

confused yet? me too. but life is a beautiful mystery.

back to kampuchea

2009-05-07T20:56:00.000-07:00

I've made it to Cambodia.

After some deep breathing and wu-sah's I started my first SE Asia tour, I've got a really nice group of young brits, a renegade kiwi, a lovely italiana and, GRACIAS A DIOS, una mexicana y dos colombianas! Which means I've gotten to speak spanish and eat green curry, could this be heaven? Really what I am learning is that leading tourists is a skill that you pick up, and works anywhere, at this point I just have to learn the route, because the day to day stuff is about the same. Plus now I have a little dry erase board to write my groups notes on so I am like a serious professional these days.

Really life is pretty good, and I was musing to myself on the bus yesterday (ala Stealing Beauty) that happiness is a choice. It was a beautiful ride, Cambodia is so flat that in some places you can practically see the curve of the earth. It is dry season right now (though that didn't stop some scattered bursts of precipitation) and most of the rice paddies are turned red dirt, a couple men were out plowing, and there were skinny cows, "just like from pictures," as put by my italiana. The cows are great, but my heart lies with the water buffalo, whom I have a particular fondness for after almost running one down last fall on the way up north on the muddiest road EVER (right Nana?).

Love to all!

sawadee kah

2009-05-04T20:01:00.000-07:00

Nothing like going to log in to your blog and finding it in thai script. That by the way is my way of saying that I have arrived here in Thailand.
After being FREEZING cold in california for nearly two weeks the 29 degree (90F for you gringos) heat is AWESOME. And I better get used to it because that is how SE Asia rolls (mikee knows). Cold is a strange concept here, and when it is found it is usually machine generated.
The whole flight/travel/bag retrival/customs/bus here was pretty standard, really the only complication was my constant sneezing freaking out my row mates. Maybe I should get myself a face mask and a shirt that says, "NO HAY GRIPE PORCINA AQUI!" Or maybe that would really freak these people out. Damn that just made me laugh out loud. Sad really. Plus I am guessing that about 1/2% of them can read spanish.
In typical Gemma fashion I got myself all turned around trying to get to Khao San road to check my email yesterday, and then did it again this morning so now my poor feet are a bit sore. I guess the intelligent thing would have been to wear the keens this morning and to look at the map, but I am one stubborn girl and I love a good blister. I only mention this as I was totally convinced when I was back in the states that Chaco flips cannot give you blisters (MOM), but now upon further thought I remember that I got some gnarly blisters back when I first got to Singapore, so now all bets are off.
Most of my time thus far has been me sitting in the green house cafe somewhere on Soi Rambutri Banglampoo ( and yes i did have to look at a map and a menu to get that road name right). And basically what I am half remembering and half discovering ( I guess one might simplifiy that and call it re-discovering) is that street names are a pain in the ass here, not so unlike in Costa Rica (el lado sur de la casa con el techo negro, 100m este de el arbol con los monos azules), but here every thing/place/street has about 3 different names with different spellings. I have yet to make it to the regional office here so I fill my time sitting at the green house cafe laughing at backpacker fashion (which makes the CA travelers look real tame - excluding Argie street artisans and anyone who thinks they are a 'local' in pana-pana-panajachel) and trying to understand the international dateline and how it will now effect my communication with the rest of the world (things look a bit dire).
Really I can't complain, I am trying to take it easy with the thai food, don't want to start hating green curry my first week here, and trying to stop myself from buying music on itunes with the promise to myself that I can go crazy at Laundry in Siem Reap (Mikee understands). So yea, thats all I've got to say for myself other than the fact that I do miss beans. I've never understood all the bean hating that tourists like to do in C.A. Really maybe they never learned the gloriousness of gallo pinto.

Out. (Oh and I'll try to take it easy with the ellipses next time)

chickens on the bus, fish in my stomach, nicas in the sea!

2009-04-28T15:43:00.000-07:00

adios

2009-04-17T21:31:00.000-07:00

While driving from Fortuna to Chepe, past the fields of yucca, framed by hills and the occasional volcano, along a road lined by tree fences I thought about roots. I have put down roots here in Central America, my home is a vast network, sort of a sequoia like mess of friends, cafes, hotels, drivers, other tour leaders, waiters, park benches, and bus seats. How can a bus ride feel like home? How can the staff of a Nicaraguan Mexican restaurant feel like family? Yet both those things are, or maybe now, were true.
I kept and keep thinking, "No puedo, no puedo..." or maybe, "I can't, I can't..." a strange mantra that I felt might protect me from leaving, and yet here I find myself ensconced in California. Re-entry feels bearable because I know I am leaving again and because I have been distracted by an onslaught of great friends and family. But to have left all of that, "gracias a dios," pichazos de aguacate, AMOR, amigovios, Israel, Ometepe, the chicken buses, the smell of high land Chapines, ducual frijoles volteados con platano maduro y queso, flirtations en español, gallo pinto de La Parada, and not being able to say "nos vemos suuuuuuper pronto" to my favorite tico/nica/chapin/catracho/mexicano friends and mean it.
Does the promise of fish sauce and green curry really stand up to that? It better, otherwise this gringa is buying herself a flight straight from Bangkok to some undisclosed central american location.

Quick and dirty guide: the road from Cancun to Belize

2009-04-10T12:52:00.000-07:00

An ex-passenger of mine requested some info on Central America for an upcoming trip. I have acquiesced, but figured rather than putting it in email form that the blog might be a better approach so that more people can benefit from all my hard typing. We're starting in the Yucatan because that is where Rich is starting, and that's what I felt like doing.

QUINTANA ROO

CANCUN
I am not a fan, the one thing I do dig is Gory Tacos not too far from the ADO station in Cancun on Andador Tulipanes No. 26 S.M. 22. So you can do that, eat a Torta and think of me. I like to stay a Kin Mayab for a couple reasons: they serve anchor butter with their square bread toast, the staff is friendly, and it is walking distance from the ADO station. The ADO is consequently probably the cheapest way to get to/from the airport unless you have two people, then walk outside the airport and grab a cab, should be between $25-30.

Far better in my opinion to escape Cancun and head to....

ISLA MUJERES
Mmm I dig it here, great food, nice people, awesome beach.
Take a cab from Cancun to Puerto Juarez, grab the every half hour ferry (70mxp) and you arrive in what might be one of my favorite beach towns. Tons and tons of hotels abound, I like Los Bucaneros (used to stay there for work) or right across the street is Ronaldi's pizza I am a pizza addict, I know. The hotel above Ronaldi's is nice, huge beds. Both are located on the boisterous and fun pedestrian street, tons of great restaurants etc. I am now a huge fan of beach front Minino's for their pescado entero (get it fried, but be prepared it comes with the head on). Breakfast at Cafecito is divine, they make a jam out of bananas coconut and pineapple, and even the New York Times says it is good. Also Manana makes nice brekkie and lunch, plus they have used books. My newest haunt (they have coffee and wifi) is Magagua or something like that. It is a cool open air cafe with comfy chairs and a fast connection, good for doing expense reports. A nice lady told me Cafe Mango is great, I've never made it there, but maybe you will.

To do: Take a trip out to Isla Contoy, or if it is the season head out on a whale shark trip. Both are worth every penny I promise.

PLAYA DEL CARMEN
Don't waste your time, you didn't come to Mexico to hang out with fat Americans sprawled on 100Mxp chaise chairs.

PUERTO MORELOS
If you dive, might be worth a trip down here, catch the ADO then a cab into town. A good base for cenote dives as well. Check out Dive In Puerto Morelos and eat at La Terraza, good food and a bit of an asian fix as well.

TULUM and CHICHEN ITZA
the two crowning glories of my Biggest Blow Outs of Mexico list. Don't fuck around, go to Uxmal or Tikal instead. Unless you like tourists, if you like tourists have a great time.

BELIZE/BELICE

getting to Belize from Mexico requires a bus to Chetumal, then you grab a bus to Belize city. Belize City is not worth a visit, so just grab a ferry to...

CAYE CAULKER
Oh man, welcome to a slice of paradise. Two words: CAKE MAN. So, find yourself a hotel, deposit luggage, put on bathing suit, grab some BZD and walk down to the split. Buy a belekin, start drinking and wait for the Cake Man to come. It is not an exact science but somewhere between 5 and 6 Bunz appears and he comes with cake. It is all excellent but my two favorites are: key lime pie cake and the macaroon brownie. It will change your life, this I will guarantee.

I dive with the attitude filled Frenchies and you absolutely have to do the Snorkeling Sail with Raggamuffin (you can miss out on the rum punch, it is lethal). Wear sunscreen. I like Gertrude at the Ocean Pearle, she is nice, keeps the place clean and there are hammocks.

when you finally tear yourself away from C.C. on your way to Guatemala you can visit...

SAN IGNACIO
Eat at Hanna's, order a lamb quesadilla it is HUGE. Then stroll down the street and sign up for either the A.T.M. or Crystal Cave with the lovely boys at Hun Chi'ik tours. Both are amazing sacred mayan caves and the tours are worth every penny. Both Benjamin and Rudy are incredible guides, tell them I say hi.

Stay out at Midas, the owners are sweet and the rooms are lovely, plus it is out of town. Walk over to Hodes and get your self some rice and beans. mmm.

going south from C.C. you can cruise downt the Hummingbird Highway to...

HOPKINS
crazy, small, but I love it.

PLACENCIA
The caye you can walk to, small, mellow, beachy.

Before leaving Belize make sure to: eat and buy Marie Sharps hot sauce, eat rice and beans, check out a cave, go snorkeling or diving

0

2009-04-10T11:07:00.001-07:00

The fool has forever been one of my favorite tarot cards, it is a point of departure and of arrival, a meditation on the ever never endingness of the cycle of life. It sits at 0 in the major arcana, both the first and last card of the spiritual journey towards whatever one might seek: knowledge, peace, enlightenment. And at this exact moment in my life it speaks to where I sit.

Big decisions, big steps, big adventures, it all feels like stepping off that cliff into the unknown. The hard part is to do it with trust, without fear, with love in your heart, with an empty mind. When we give trust to the universe, when we open a space in our hearts for what will come, miraculous things happen.

I had been asking the universe to give me a push in a direction, to give me a next step, and it has come. So now it is time to step off that cliff again, which looks like hopping on a flight to Bangkok to start take a new position leading trips in SE Asia. I am telling myself that the butterfly which is flapping around in the pit of my stomach is not of nervousness or fear, but one of the delights of the unknown. Off I go...

No. 38

2009-04-08T20:41:00.000-07:00

Living down here has its benefits, like when you get a couple days off and get to go on cutty cenote diving adventures with your dive instructor friends. In between my last trip (Yucatan Panorama - a hilarious stint in the peninsula) and the one I am currently running my ever frustratingly brilliant scheduler left me with two unoccupied days in Quintana Roo. Shannon, who I met way back (as in last year) on Utila now lives in Puerto Morelos, a mere 15 minutes from the Cancun Airport. Awesome. So after a lot of motivational speeches to myself to leave Isla Mujeres (keep in mind moving requires also moving Mary my pack who has gained some weight lately) I loaded both Mary and myself on to the ferry and on to a bus southward bound. One taxi ride later and there I was shooting the shit with Shannon.
Fellow gypsy/vagabond/homeless travelers who make their living on the road and aren't out to prove their superiority over "tourists" but rather need someone who understands what it is like to live on the fringes of other people's vacations are hard to come by. And when I find one all I want to do is sit down and talk shop: the difficulties of constantly being friendly, how impossible it is to have a boyfriend on the road, and the frustrations of wanting to have a simple house plant. Have I mentioned that this lifestyle has made me even more grateful of friendship? Getting to spend all afternoon talking to a like minded soul was like a breath of fresh air.
So after forgoing lunch for dark chocolate, we made our way over to Teraza a small Asian influenced spot with gauzy curtains and paper lanterns blowing in the wind. The restaurant is upstairs on a little terrace (hence the name) with a nice view of the zocalo. As we were finishing up our Oriental Salad (with strawberries, shrimp, aguacate, and a peanutty dressing) and pasta a strange thing happened. All of a sudden a man in a kilt started playing the bag pipes, and then young girls started doing highland dancing. And then I had one of those feeling like, WTF? Where am I? Which isn't that strange of a thing for me, but still Scots in Mexico?
Of course investigating was in order, which for me culminated in a 12 year old girl dressed like a cow girl (picture the cow girl from toy story but in a skirt) dancing some sort of complicated scottish jig. About that time Shannon and I looked at each other and simultaneously thought and said, "Lets get the F out of here." Which we did, but along the way Shannon hugged everyone in town. Finally we sat down and got some margaritas. And man, not two minutes went by before some fucking weird ass Canadians busted up our party inquiring after where to go in Caye Caulker. I kid you not, I asked if they were going to pay me for my advice. That is really the equivalent of asking a doctor to examine you while he is sitting and having a scotch right? Any how they had some bizarre mustache hair growing and we gave them a quick run down on where to go, and they still didn't offer to buy us a drink. Bad manners if you ask me.
So then it was hugs all around, and finally we made it off to bed. The next morning the wind was still blowing so no boats were leaving the harbor, making centoe plotting in order. After a lot of misfires we finally got our motely crew of cenote divers assembled: Tony (20, Texan, Dive Master), Shannon (26, Native Louisianan, Dive Instructor), and me (25 - still!, Californian, DMT - at least I pretend). Now let me set the scene, Tony is the only one who knows where the cenote is, I am downing 1.5L of freezing cold bonafont (my favorite of the mexican waters), Shannon is worrying about a chicano lost somewhere between California and Mexico. Off we go, down the highway, then left on to the cenote road, along the asphalt, then off the asphalt and on to a dust yucatecan limestone road. Of course by then I needed to pee. So like I figured it was the perfect time to try peeing standing up. Right there along the side of the road I pissed myself, or on myself, or something, much to both Tony and Shannon's amusement. After I clean myself up we take off again and soon realize we have lost the cenote. I mean we still know where we are, but we don't know where the cenote is. The thing is that cenotes don't move, so we double back head back the way we came and finally after asking 4 separate mexicans, locate the turn off (the sign had moved, the road had been paved, or maybe Tony chiefs too much) but we were on our way. The Kinh-ha cenote is located down some evily bumpy dirt road, but the day had that feeling of late summer, kind of dusty and hot air, nice breezy all grassy smelling. And there we were rolling along, windows down, music going, friends, laughter, off on an adventure. We pull up to the cenote, load up the gear, check the air, discuss how to remember right hand release on your weight belt (which somehow is still easy to forget), and then waddle off loaded down, ungraceful, and desperate for cool water. Down the ladders to the wooden platform of Kinh-ha cenote which sits under a ceiling of limestone graced with two large circular openings, one has the ladder that leads to the platform, the other is lined with roots like Rapunzel's hair dangling into the sapphire blue water. Weight belt, bcd, fins, mask, off the platform in some twisty lift push launch which turns out more graceful than I had planned and I am in the cool water of the cenote. We bumble about a bit on the surface looking for the line and I start to realize how deep this thing is, the blue starts out a lush jewel tone but quickly darkens to almost black below. A swath of light is cut in the area below the root decorated opening, illuminating the fine roots making them look even more like a honey blond hair trailing in the water. Finally we decide to descend, try to locate the line and then follow it back up. All of us are over-weighted and we fall quickly into the darkness. The water is eerily clear and yet you can't see to the other side, the cenote is round but with layers and layers of stalagmites dripping down, finally at the bottom are silt hills and valleys studded with lost items (spectacles, turtle shells, masks, twigs, etc), and all around are blind cat fish who seems to hang around me for the length of the dive. We find the line, and take off to explore the hills of accumulated organic matter, it is like being on another planet, like walking on the moon. At one point I almost sink into the ground, it stirs up into a murky cloud and I have the feeling that you could keep falling and falling through all that debri. We start tracing a path along the side of the cenote slowly moving higher, exploring the formations, I do somersaults, Tony checks everything out, and Shannon cruises along. The whole time I feel like I am on some strange drug trip, both Shannon and Tony look like they are floating in empty space, it is hard to get your bearings, the bottom is murky and all hilly, and you can't quite see across, the wall we are following is a curve, looking up the surface looks mirrored, the ladders that penetrate morph into a kind of escher like confusion. As we cruise along I keep turning back to see stalagmites silhouetted in the deep turquoise of the water, a grand vista. We keep getting closer and closer to those roots and the light and the all of a sudden we are on the surface only to be greeted by a legion of fleshy blond french tourists who have taken over the cenote.
In a bit of a daze we negotiate our way out, watch a man cannon ball in the spot we had surfaced in moment before, collect our gear and go to warm ourselves up in the outside air. It is still dusty and warm outside, but I feel changed, like my center of balance has been thrown off. It takes 20 minutes or so to readjust, to pack, to get back on the road. And off we go, good bye strange other worldy cenote, we are back driving through the long light of late afternoon, past the papaya trees, past the dust, past the spot on the road where I peed, back towards Morelos, towards Mexican beer and a dinner of stirfry, to laughter with friends, towards the future.

classy lady with an iron stomach

2009-02-14T11:13:00.000-08:00

One of the things that my passengers always assume about me is that I never get sick. Like my year and a half down here has been sufficient to arm me against any bacteria I might encounter. I am here to tell you that that is flat out not true. I really really really really wish it was true, because guiding and barfing suck.
Another thing pax love to do is ask leading questions like, "have you ever been so sick you couldn't lead a tour?" The moment a question like this falls from someone's lips I know I am in for it. Call it fate giving me a heads up, or whatever, but more often than not when someone asks about something like that it happens with in a couple weeks.
So it was really no surprise I ended up barfing 3 times on the way from San Ignacio (Cayo) to here (Caye Caulker). Good thing that even while barfing along the highway no one took it upon themselves to take a photo, nor did I shit my pants.
The shitty thing is I went out drinking the night prior to with a couple of the guides I work with in San Ignacio. So of course when I appeared the next day ready to barf my brains out everyone assumed it was the Belekin not evil bacteria causing the problem. Let me tell you all something right now, I have guided groups hung over many a time, and I am old enough to know when enough Belekin stout is enough.Plus, I spent the second half of the night drinking water, even when the crazy belizians insisted I kept drinking, so when I woke up the next day feeling especially blargah I was surprised. The thing about hangovers is they don't give you THE Revenge (as in motezuma's), at least no hang over I have ever had. And that was when I knew I was f***ed.
The thing about the squirt/barf combo is that often when you go to barf you shit your pants. I really have no problem with tossing my cookies in front of just about anyone, but shitting your pants is like a whole 'nother echelon of humiliation, and let's be honest, I humiliate myself enough as it is. So in that sort of situation (Mikee and Eva can back me up here) you just want to be left the hell alone in a bathroom, preferably a sound proof one, I instead had 7 people all waiting to get in a van to drive to Belize City and the boat out to Caye Caulker. Let's review: what I want = sound proof bathroom, what I get = 1.5 hours in a van, 45 minutes in a boat with 7 pax plus my driver.
So off we went, with Joe, who was playing fucking who knows what classic rap on his imitation ipod. Not far along the western highway, pretty close to the taiwanese/belezian ag research center I barfed up rice. Too make the whole experience better/funnier/more terrible a man appeared selling tamales, so my retching was combined with, "Tamales?" I'll give the man props for taking advantage of an obvious business opportunity (tourists stuck in a van) but last time I checked a barfing person is usually not much of a appetite inducer. Finally to top the whole thing off I got back in the car and said, "I am pretty sure I have rice stuck up my nose," and then snotted some right on to my hand. Classy, classy lady.
At this point I passed out, or maybe not at this point, actually I think I told stories about shitting my pants and how happy I was that this hadn't been one of those times, and then I passed out. I woke up right around the belize city grave yard to Kid Rock. Joe really needs to improve his musical selections. And by the time we had arrived to the ferry terminal, after being serenaded by Kid and Sheryl singing, "pictures," I was ready to puke and not ready to have a conversation.
Something else you should know, all belizian transport workers love tour leaders, whenever a troop of tourists appears these guys crowd around asking which one of us is the TL. In the case of being the TL who is hard trying not to barf on a passenger, you don't want to talk to some dude who knows the boat times. Especially when they give you belizian answers, "What time is the next boat?"
"Noon."
"What time is it now?"
"Enough time to relax and have a drink. You the tour leader?"
My answer was barfing on the street. No joke.
I then dry heaved for the next five minutes, and ran past about 500 cruise shippers over to the ATM before downing a gatorade and getting on the boat. Work never stops. The surprising thing is I didn't throw up on the boat, round 3 was after walking down the island, after laying down for 1/2 an hour, but before taking to my group to lunch. And after throwing up the third time I finally put up the white flag, sent the group on their own and passed the f out.

back on the train

2009-02-02T19:22:00.000-08:00

images taken at the Copàn Ruinas, Honduras, Central America

I've been off the blog train for a while now, two weeks in fact. Which is LAME. Because even when I am not writing on the blog shit keeps going down. I like to blame the volcano trail for this sort of thing. The Volcano Trail being the fly by the seat of your zip off pants slalom through central america which I frequently end up leading. This last go round was complete with its wildness, quetzal spottings after late nights at bar amigos, a bit of diving on our stop in Utila, and some ruins visiting in Copàn.
I really dug my last group, they were hard work, but kept me on my toes. I`ve gotten kind of geeked out over birds in the last couple months and a couple of them were really into it. On this trip to Copan I spotted a turquoise crested mot-mot from a fair distances, geeky I tell you.

trembloto

2009-01-15T07:31:00.001-08:00

Guau, so I have gathered that many of you caught wind of the earthquake we recently had down here in Costa Rica. I was in fact in it, not far from the epicenter, but managed to escape unscathed. Coming from California makes earthquakes feel a bit common place, but this one was very strange feeling. Most people reported feeling like they had vertigo, which was exactly what I experienced. I was walking out of the rio toro after finishing a rafting trip with my group. I just thought I had lost balance, but as I set foot on the land itself I realized it too was moving. The quake registered a 6.4 but I think that they way it shook rather than its magnitude was what caused most of the damage.
Now for the kind of scary part...
20 minutes after we left the rio toro a head of water (what we would call a flash flood) surged down the river. The quake also caused a number of landslides with in the rio itself. On a nearby river, the Sarapiqui the whole river was filled with mud and trees, luckily no one was injured.
Additionally La Paz waterfall, or what was La Paz waterfall as well as the adjacent road were both totally wiped out by landslides. That was the very road we had used to leave San Jose the morning of the quake. In fact many of my pax probably took some of the last photos of the waterfall.
I've got a great couple on my trip, Tom and Mariam, I feel like they summed the whole thing up in a nice fashion in saying, "I guess it's just not our time." That's the thing about living next to, or on top of volcanoes, you can't do to much worrying about earthquakes or eruptions, you just have to live your life, and when it is finally your time you can look back on a life you are proud to have lived.

mangrove update

2008-12-27T19:45:00.000-08:00

So, I went on another man-yak adventure in the manglar and discovered the source of all the rice krispie snapping and popping. Turns out it is some clam like animal breathing through the mud. Finding things out is an imagination killer, here I was thinking that it was the mangroves rocking in the breeze, or maybe small mangrove spirits communicating with one another. I guess a little shell breathing in the mud is pretty cool.

cocktails from the city

2008-12-27T16:31:00.000-08:00

I love San Francisco, I miss San Francisco. The City combines so many great things at once, bohemian undertones, a riotous history, a potent melting pot of cultures and fantastic food. We also have quite the history of cocktails, and it seems we are still making an impact, or at least the nyt says so. Read on...

the haps in costa rica

2008-12-26T19:52:00.000-08:00

(Images, from top to bottom, Newly macheted trail and a 'walking palm,' the view from the 'hotel' back down on the disco and dining hall, the famous Rara Avis spine destroying tractor)

I'm in my new christmas sarong sitting in my hotel room in cuidad josefina reflecting on where the last year has taken me. Christmas passed with fewer fireworks but more beach as well as an entertaining round of Secret Santa with my group. It is a bit strange to be divorced from the strange consumer culture of Gringo Christmas and realize what the rest of the world does for the holiday. Strange, but incredibly liberating, I completed all of my christmas shopping in a 15 minute stint on line (books for brothie and pops, an orion magazine subscription for momma and lucky eva). Here christmas seems more to center around family, fireworks, drinking, tamales, church if you are so inclined and/or salsa dancing in the street. I have come to conclude that the Latin way is preferable though there is the possibility of injury by renegade fireworks.

I spent most of the afternoon with Isaac (a fellow tour leader) on the beach discussing why latin/gringo relationships do and do not work, as well as why we need a new name for gringos other than calling ourselves "Americans," which the Ticos find incredibly offensive. The Ticos have a point, America in fact includes both the north and south continents as well as greenland (I think). So the word, American, is kind of a general geographic area, not specific to our country. I am pushing for Statesians, that or Unidians, either really works, or Gringo.

Additionally Isaac explained how he feels like the heavy Gringo influence in Costa Rica has been eroding the core of Latin culture, namely the family. It is true, globalization, mobility, etc, etc... the world's leaning towards mcdonalized homogeneity has an affect here. Isaac reckons that family is more of a responsibility in the States rather than a priority. I feel like that is a pretty generalizing statement, but it has roots somewhere.

Generally in my travels I do see the erosion of a lot of traditions, the revival of others, I see good things happen as the result of tourism, and bad things too. With most of life, I am realizing that it is best to live well, with integrity, to try to do the right thing when presented with choices, and accept what we can't change. It can be hard watching tourists feed monkeys food that is going to make them sick, but I also can't talk to every tourist. I also don't want to be some over aggressive angry chick muttering about how bananas make monkeys sick, how your camera's flash disorient animals, and that yelling in english or botched italian at spanish speakers doesn't make communication easier. I have learned to try inform the people that I can and to pick my battles, and some things I am just learning to accept quietly. Good news is I can brainwash my passengers into believing anything I want, namely convincing them not to buy non-sustainably harvested hardwoods, that feeding animals is bad, that the tap water in monteverde is the best in Costa Rica and it is a crime not to drink it, oh and introduce them to the wonders of guanabana the world's best juice.

Other things worth mentioning....

I finally saw a huge fat male resplendent quetzal and was so excited I forgot all about taking a photo. He sat for 15 minutes, threw up two avocado seeds (a much smaller variety than hass), took a poop, and then flew away. How can you not love a bird that feeds almost exclusively on aguacate?

Rara Avis is my new favorite place in Costa Rica. It is a jungle lodge, 12k out in virgin rainforest only reachable by foot or on the back of a tractor, complete with rastafarian tourguide Wilburth and amazing fried chicken. Riiiigght???

Finally, an important lesson, just because you think you learned how to dance Cumbia once while you were drunk does not mean you will remember how to do it when you get drunk again and try.

Feliz ano nuevo.
damn I need to find the enay on this machine.

raices

2008-12-11T15:20:00.000-08:00

I have a new obsession: mangroves. Man are they a cool ecosystem. I had the chance to go kayaking last week in the mangroves near Manuel Antonio. It was a 3 hour trip, some how I ended up being the only one in a single, but I managed to just keep up.
Mangroves grow in the places where fresh and saltwater meet, they grow in the mud that is deposited by freshwater on its way out to the ocean. The way that they survive living in the oxygen poor mud and water is by growing these crazy root systems that are exposed at low tide. Different species use different systems to accomplish respiration, some have little snorkel like tubes that stick out of the mud, some grow father up the shore line, some have tall root systems that stick out of the water. Ooooo they are cool.
But the best, most amazing part are the super tall white mangroves. They can be 10-20 meters tall, have long trunks and amazing roots that support their heavy trunks. They only grow back from the main canals as they need firmer mud to support them. Along the canals grow the shorter more bushy red mangroves and the pine mangroves.
The nice part about being in the kayaks is that is was super quiet, we could hear everything, and mangrove forests make a lot of noise. Sort of like a bowl of rice krispies, cracking and popping, I am not sure what makes the noise but it is really amazing. The whole thing reminded me of the life of pi, when he gets stuck on that island for a while.
On the paddle back home we fed some capuchin monkeys palm fruits (one of their normal foods, unlike bananas). My passengers were totally stoked on it, I was pretty impressed but kept my distance, I still haven't gotten over the monkey attack in Nicaragua.
There is something so magical about being out on the water under your own command, sans motor, just cruising along. I think that the weirdness or other worldliness of the mangroves makes the whole thing more special.
okay I am going to take my dreamy self and get ready to start my next trip.

la gemma perdida

2008-12-11T14:58:00.000-08:00

coming at you live from San Jose, Costa Rica, ciudad Josefina, with a smog induced sore throat and jonesing for the ocean iiiiitttttttttttttttttt's Hemma!
Ok, so I have been sucking it up on the blog the last while. I keep telling myself I am going to get online and make it happen but life keeps getting filled up with other things. I am not sure what those things are but I have a feeling work might have a bit to do with it.

Mostly the last while has been dealing with the beast of a cold front that trampled its way across Costa Rica. I have never bitched so much about the weather in my life. It was so wet that my shoes started to mold and I forgot what the sun looked like. Finally it made its appearance making my last crew of passengers very happy. I threw myself on a chaise lounge and burned the crap out of my left armpit, so much for sun protective deodorant.

I've been off for the last couple days in SJO, not my favorite place to be stuck, but it does have its charms. I managed to get about half of my clothes stolen (yes mikee I have just decided going au natural is better) so when ALAINA arrived I made her go shopping with me. Shopping has lead me to a cultural observation here... regardless of your actual size everyone here thinks they aren't bigger than a medium which makes shopping and a griga gigante pretty frustrating.

More importantly has been the incredible amount of laughter that has occurred as a result of Alaina y Gemma in Costa Rica. Not unlike most times it is hard for me to recall what exactly was so damn funny, but here are a couple of my top moments...
telling the story of Eva puking in the cab on my, oh wait I mean ALAINA'S jeans in spanish
ordering extra whipped cream on our tcby sundae the day I decided to stop eating dairy
jumping rope in mall San Pedro

Alaina thinks that I should share that I have bought a jump rope in another attempt to not be an embarrassingly out of shape ex-athlete. Good idea dad.

Otherwise it has been randomness, laughter, a bit too much pilsner, an amazing trip kayaking through the mangroves (i should write more about that) and my first sushi since leaving the states (if that isn't a reason to love San Jose I don't know what is).

2 dias en ometepe

2008-11-23T21:13:00.000-08:00

barrilettes gigantes

2008-11-15T16:42:00.000-08:00

Being in Central America long enough to see giant kites twice is pretty amazing. On 1 November, Dia De Los Santos the sky is filled with huge kites calling the souls of the dead back to earth. Though other pueblos also celebrate in this way the two best known places are Sumptango and Santiago Sacatepequez.
Last year I went to Sumptango and had my first taste of pollo pibil sitting near the kites in a dusty field. This year after a crazy morning of yelling at shady tour operators in spanish (no I won't pay $7 to be crammed on a chicken bus full of gringos) Alaina, Erica (alaina's mom) and I made it to Santiago. Unlike in Sumptango the festival itself takes place in the middle of the village cemetary. People walk on top of freshly dug graves of dirt, decorated by marigolds, families eat picnic on top of cement crypts painted garish turquoise, little boys pee on the backs of grave stones with their abuelos standing near by, cerveza Gallo is left below the wooden crosses as an offering. It is classic highlands Guatemala, busy, loud, chaotic, and gorgeous.
Families with 4 generations present watch the kites launch into the air. The crowds suck in a collective breath as the kite takes flight, exhales the same "ahh" or "ohh" as it suceeds or fails. Children fly smaller kites, running across the uneven dirt to get them started.
Some of the kites aren't finished until the late afternoon, all morning crews stand there glueing together the tissue paper to the thick bamboo skeleton. It is a thing of beauty, months of planning, thousands of dollars spent, all for one day.

playing catch up

2008-11-10T12:49:00.000-08:00

I know I have been a bit mia from the blog scene for most of october. I don't have so much of an excuse, unless having too much fun is acceptable. So I may stick with that. Mostly what happens is the choice comes down to tying myself to the tiny eee pc and writing about the stuff that has happened or going out and living life as it comes. But of course things have happened that are worth putting words to. So I will try and give you a quick and dirty sense of what october was all about...
place: seoul, korea
duration: 9 hours
mode of transport: airport shuttles, moving sidewalks, feet
Not being the most organized of travelers (a damning admission for a tour leader) I didn't realize that I was going to have a nine hour layover in Seoul until the last minute. Luckily the day before leaving Phnom Penh I had the chance to pick the brain of PCV whose family happens to live in Seoul. He mentioned there being a Kimchi museum in the city, so after checking out Korean culture at the Korean Culture exhibit in the airport and making a traditional paper dish, I jumped on a bus to the city. This of course was a far more complicated process which required talking to many a tourist office, bumbling my way through and atm, buying a bus ticket and finally escaping the airport. But I did make it out of the airport and all the way to some bizarre underground mall where all things Kimchi are housed.
The museum itself was kind of a let down. I mean I think I may have had unreasonable expectations including un montón de kimchi and maybe being able to try to make some myself. On the other hand you can pose yourself next to a mannequin so it looks like she is feeding you kimchi, but I didn't have anyone to take a photo of me doing it. I did learn about the health benefits of Kimchi and finished up the whole experience with a quick lunch of korean fried chicken and many a sauce at some packed mall cafe. Then it was back on the bus, and back to the terminal to smell every Hermes perfume I could find, and debate purchasing overpriced duty free goods.

place: marin county, california
duration: 6 days
mode of transport: gti, feet, mountain bike
It took me a couple of days to de-asia myself. Which meant washing out the Cambodian dust from all my clothes and eating sushi. I also did a ridiculous amount of online purchasing, and hung out with NAR NAR RAR! Oh and I voted. Just so you all know that, I did vote, Dan at the civic center hooked me up with a ballot and I got to practice my democratic right and darkened the bubble for OBAMA. And before I had the chance to unpack mary completely I was off again to...

place: Chicago, illinois
duration: 7 days
mode of transport: alex's merc, the L, feet, one van cab driven by a polish raver
Chicago was COLD. I spent most of my time fighting with Bubbe over how cold my feet must be, which resulted in the purchase of a pair of brown ballet slipper-esque shoes. Apparently you can't wear flips 12 months out of the year in Illinois. Alex showed off urban living mid-west stlyes, and I enjoyed my last tastes of life in the states. Things learned during my time in chicago: Milwaukee is banging, I hate urban driving, there is good mexican food in the middle of the eeuu, I should use "I" statements rather than forcing my political opinions on impressionable children, and one can make a delicious kuguel with rasin bran rather than corn flakes.

place: Antigua, Guatemala
duration: 2 days
mode of transport: taxi, foot
Upon arriving in Guate I found myself without Mary, which meant, no bag, no change of clothes and two days stuck walking around in my new shoes that at that point had caused my heels to bleed. The next two days I spent waiting for my bag, harassing taca, and eating Korean food. There is a korean restaurant in Antigua, run by a Korean guy. And there is KIMCHI. Holy hell.
Finally Mary showed up, flops were put on, and my smile was regained.

place: Xelaju, Guatemala
duration: 6 days
mode of transport: chicken bus, foot, taxi
Two chicken buses, a light coating of guatemalan dust, a quick taxi ride from Minerva to Las Flores and I found myself dancing in an embrace with ALAINA. Holy holy shit. Nothing like seeing a good friend in a bizarre location. The days were spent dancing to prince, madonna, and michael jackson, eating peanut butter by the forkful, telling stories in spanglish, practicing irregular verbs, cooking to motown, and laughter by the bucketful. Alaina, like me, is not so good with travel plans, we had to cut out of Xela a day early to meet her mom in...

place: Antigua, Guatemala again
duration: 4 days
mode of transport: chicken bus, microbus, foot
Back on the chicken bus to chetumal, than a chase for the bus to Antigua, a ramble to the hotel and we were back. Erica arrived late, but the next day we all reunited over a big fruit breakfast. Something that will forever have changed me is the perpetual availability of tropical fruit here. I get twitchy with out a frequent dose of pineapple, papaya, mango, and melon. mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.
My next trip started on Sunday so besides a jaunt to Santiago for the barilettes gigantes (which deserve their own post with photos) I was running from internet cafes to the korean restaurant to one of the hotels to queso y vino for most of my time back in antigua.
On sunday, the arrival day of my trip I came down with some g.i. bug. So the night before leaving for honduras Alaina held me as I shivered through the night. Big up to the Garries. I love you guys.

Time post Antigua has been mostly spent under the sea. Some of my friends out on Utila have convinced me that getting my dive masters may be the next step for me, I am pretty excited.

I'm in Granada, Nicaragua currently witnessing some pretty wild reactions to yesterdays Mayorial elections. Not quite the same as what just happened in the states. I was with my whole group eating red snapper and watching the states turn blue. It was a pretty amazing thing to witness. The most inspiring part was seeing the international reaction, I was with only one other American, and yet everyone in the bar was plastered to the tv. Change is coming man, change is coming.

More to come on giant kites, maybe some photos, and all the next adventures.

svay chrum

2008-10-24T13:42:00.001-07:00

Though these images can't capture the dust, the taste of soy bean juice, the sounds of pigs screaching before dinner, the long conversations with Michael as we waited for electricity, they do convey at least some fragments of my time in Svay Chrum. Thanks again to Michael and her lovely Cambodian family. Ah kun. rice paddies

along the road towards the wat

sunset at the bridge

rooftop laundry

first day of school

elephants at the wat

2008-09-25T22:55:00.000-07:00

I went to Angkor sometime last week. It was rainy to start, but the weather got with the program and kept things cool, but dry. Later in the afternoon the cloud cover broke up enough to afford me some nice looking light.I have been a bit apprehensive about writing about Angkor. I feel like it was one of those things I heard so much about, how impressive it is, how inspiring and amazing. But this is the thing, they had elephants. Ok so I know that is weird comment, elepants, but you have to keep in mind I hang out in Mundo Maya, there were no elephants there, no horses, no llamas, no beasts of burden to speak of, no wheels. Now I am not trying to compare Maya pyramids to Khmer temples, I just feel that the elephants explain why I feel a bit less bowled over by Angkor. They had elephants to carry those big rocks while the Maya carried them on their backs. But yes, they are beautiful and impressive works of ancient architecture, elephants or no.

The first day I took a tour with some friend's of Michael. We did the whole guide thing, with a tuk-tuk, complete with lunch at the expensive tourist restaurant. I dig on having a guide, as long as you can get a good one, they point out interesting things, give cultural context, and for me make big piles of rocks make a bit more sense. Another part of the guide thing is that they won't get you lost. My second day at Angkor I went back to do some sketching and painting, entonces I didn't have a guide. Though I had been there the day before I still managed to get lost over and over again. Obviously getting lost means getting to discover things on your own, it also means that you can miss some things entirely.

It was really nice to sit and watch the world pass by, and to slow down viewing the faces of Bayon to the speed of my pencil. Plus, being the sketching Barang you become a bit of a tourist attraction yourself.

Images (from top to bottom)
Elephants on the road towards bayon. The exterior of Bayon as seen from the north. Takeo's eastern side. Flags within the temple on the top of Takeo. Alter in one of the entrances of Angkor Wat.

on the road in kampuchea

2008-09-22T20:59:00.000-07:00

We're back in Siem Reap after a couple of bone jarring, gut wrenching days of travel. On the way up we found ourselves mired down in deep mud twice. The first time just outside a small village about two hours north of Siem Reap. M and I spent the 45 minute pause chatting with the locals, including the two in the photo. The second mud caused delay came just after the turn off from the main highway about 3k from the guest house we were headed towards. After a couple minutes of watching the wheels spin we abandoned the driver and our guide, opting instead to walk the kilometers on the muddy road towards the promise of a shower.
We had made the journey to check out the eco-lodge in Tmatboey of the NGO M has been volunteering for and to pick up another PCV who had been teaching English to the local guides. It was actually a very very cool place in the middle of no where. Though I would not suggest it to just anybody (I woke up the next day sore from the ride) but if you like birds and really getting off the beaten track it was a pretty epic adventure. We got mistakenly taken on a bird watching trip to see the endangered white shouldered ibis, which ended up being much more cool than I might have thought. You can check the place out, Sam Veasna Center.
Over night the rain fell fast and hard and we knew the next day the roads would probably be in a worse state. They were. An ankle deep creek from the day before had swelled to almost cover the doors of our Nissan truck. The driver ended up with water in his foot bed after we managed to cross the damn thing. Add to this, four of us were crammed across the back seat of the four door cab. Uncomfortable as it was, being jammed in was a bit better than the jostling around the two of us had suffered through the day prior. Luckily on the ride down the only thing that brought the car to a complete stop were the herds of cows that created grid lock on the one lane dirt road and we made it back to Siem Reap in time for a late lunch.

solving those mysterious mysteries

2008-09-21T23:47:00.000-07:00

One of my favorite parts of travel is interacting with different cultures and coming to know some of their subtleties. But some of those things feel unsolvable, or inappropriate to ask about, and then they become mysteries. One such thing was the inexplicably long nail that many Asian men sport. I never knew really how to broach the subject, I heard all sorts of bizarre rumors about its meaning and felt awkward in bringing it up. That is where having a cultural expert as one of your best friends comes in handy. Michael's 18 month tenure in Cambodia means that she is well versed is almost everything Khmer. Meaning she knew the answer to the mystery of the pinky nail.
So here comes the answer... ready??? you sure? No, it does not signify anything perverse or strange, but is actually a way of showing you aren't a manual laborer. This points out an interesting value in Khmer society, that people want to display the fact that they do not work with their hands. I find this fascinating because it plays into the larger story of how our bodies themselves can be read as cultural texts, many of our culture's values are conveyed through the way we care for and decorate our bodies.
Now if I could only figure out why they prefer pink toilet paper in Central America....

sophisticated lady

2008-09-21T22:28:00.000-07:00

The story that follows is being shared in the tradition of turning my embarrassing foibles into entertainment (poorly written entertainment maybe). If you have a weak stomach, or just don't like hearing about as we put it in spanish, vomitando, don't read on. Otherwise...

Though the road from Siem Reap to Phnom Penh is quite smooth, any bus ride can be destructive after enough vodka. The night before had started innocently enough, but somewhere between $1 drinks and the desire to dance things got a bit carried away. Never the less M and I were highly motivated to get ourselves to PP, and upon awaking at 8:30 we somehow felt that taking the 9:30 bus was a better option than waiting for the 12:30. I admire our enthusiasm, really I do, no matter that we missed the 9:30 and instead found ourselves booked for the 10:30. Finding ourselves with a bit of extra time we spent half an hour bumbling around procuring water, noodles, and bread for the bus ride, promptly throwing ourselves on to what we though was the bus at 10. Of course, this being Cambodia we weren't on the bus, we were on the shuttle to the bus, which meant changing buses in the rainy muddy mess that is the Siem Reap bus stop. Safely on board I had a stunningly terrible realization, I was hungover, and not in that, “Oh, my head hurts.,” sense. No, no, more in that, “Holy shit, I might die, but before that happens I am definitely going to toss my cookies,” sense. As much as I tried to talk myself out of it, Ｉhad a distinct feeling that vomiting at 60kph was in my near future.

Luckily I have experience with this type of thing, there was an incident some years back where I emptied my stomach into a pint glass to a chorus of shouts from my mom while sitting shotgun in one of my family's cars. Additionally I spent most of my childhood suffering from motion sickness (severe enough that I had never driven down Highway 1 until I was in my twenties). So when it comes to throwing up I can give you a 30 second window before it is going to actually happen. Which means that I had enough time to hide beneath my scarf, procure the plastic bag that contained the remnants of my coconut bread and vomit straight into it, all the while Michael took photos of the proceedings, after which a very adorable Khmer couple across the aisle took pity on me and passed motion sickness pills across. I thought it would be smooth sailing after all that, passed out for a while, only to be awoken by the panic of needing another plastic bag. At this point I had the previously filled bag precariously stuck inside a larger plastic bag, in my panic I somewhat missed the bag and managed to coat the back of the seat, Michael's calf, and a portion of the floor with regurgitated water before aiming the rest of the mess into the bag. Now we had to petition the couple across the aisle for another bag to bag the now leaking other bags in. Luckily it was only about ten minutes to the first rest stop where I was revived by a bowl of noodle soup and green tea. This meal is conveniently a fantastic cure to hangovers, restoring precious salts and fluids in one easy to digest bowl. Meaning that by the time we got back on the bus I was feeling rough, but generally okay to suffer through the next 5 hours of bus ride.

And no, I will not be sharing the photos, I draw the line there.

toul sleng

2008-09-16T19:36:00.000-07:00

I think that one of the toughest parts of travel is confronting the darker parts of a country. There is an impulse in travel to idealize, to skim off all the good parts, and not look at reality. The problem I find with that approach is that it ends up feeling empty, sanitized, and false. Though seeing poverty up close, people with diseases, people missing limbs, children begging for food, is not what we go on vacation for, it is also part of the places many of us choose to travel. How we interact and understand the people from the country in which we travel to says a lot about us as people and the places we come from.
Cambodia takes it beyond just dealing with our reactions to poverty, Cambodia asks us also to face a brutal history, a history many of us know little about.
I am not an expert in Khmer history, but through my previous travels in SE Asia I knew a bit about Pol Pot and the Khmer Rogue. But until my trip to the Tuol Sleng genocide musuem the atrocities that occurred in Cambodia during 1975 until 1979 felt like most history, distant, relegated to dusty gray photos, and having little to do with my present. Tuol Sleng is like a slap in the face, the history jumps out at you, dragging you through the interrogation rooms, sucking you into the eyes of the prisoners, and leaving you at the end reeling and wondering at it all.
Though the trip to the museum was not what I would call pleasant, it was the most worthwhile thing I have done since I have been here. It gives this country and these people context, something that makes me feel like I have actually experienced Cambodia rather than just, "doing" it.

one of the interrogation rooms, where prisoners were tortured

one of the larger interrogation rooms, numbers were painted on the wall marking spaces for individuals

the exterior of building "C" where the majority of the prisoners were kept in individual cells of brick or wood

brick cells constructed in the interior of building "C"

photos of some of the prisoners in building "B"

tot umbee kampuchea

2008-09-15T01:24:00.000-07:00

view from the tuk-tuk leaving russian market

central market

outside the national palace

the girls of phnom penh

mikee with tea post pedicure

peace out lonely planet

2008-09-15T00:25:00.000-07:00

I feel that the guide book might be evolving. At least I really hope it might be. Two recent indicators of this are Urban Lowdown and Sean Bonner's Metblogs. I learned about Metblogs through a feature in Good. These are both new discoveries, and I am not telling you that they are any good, though they might be, I'll have to explore them a bit more before I develop and opnion on either of them. What I like about them, or the idea of them is that maybe, possibly, those damn writers at the Lonely Planet will no longer dominate the world of backpacker style traveling. And man, do those writers make me crazy. More than them, it is the travelers that won't make a decision with out the LP's approval. I mean I get it, you want to have the inside track to a place, but often times a LP writer may only spend 10 minutes asking questions about a place, and never stayed there or eaten there. The implied advantage of these sites is that local people write them, they really know these places, and they don't have to write a whole book about a whole country in 5 days. So that is my spiel on guidebooking, that is until I get my shit together and write my graphical guide to central america. Oh, one last resource for you facebook addicted or avoiding travelers is Matador a social networking site for travelers. Do it up.

i heart PP

2008-09-14T23:19:00.000-07:00

Phnom Penh is like an ex-pat, do-gooder, NGO flavored, 'let's help these people,' explosion. Wow. Combine that with the remnants of French colonialism and you get kick ass pan au chocolate made by a street kid, who has been newly trained in the secrets of french gastronomy. After breakfast you can head out and buy yourself a wallet made out of brightly colored recycled mosquito netting. End the day having a drink at the FCC with the other ex-pats wearing their, "I voted for Obama in Cambodia" t-shirts which retail for a staggering $15. For that price, as I said to Mikee, those t-shirts better be made in the USA by well paid union workers.
Sarcasm set aside, I really do heart P squared. It has all the makings for a refreshing stint back in the city, wifi, cappuccinos, thai food, americans, western supermarkets, and rock bottom priced dvds. Michael and I headed back to P2 after two nights in Siem Reap. She had some official Peace Corps scavenger hunt planning to do, and I had to be there as moral support, or something like that. Mostly I ended up enjoying the gastronomic offerings of a ex-pat developed city and tried to not get in the way of official PCV business.
Inspired by all the delightful discoveries that Meesh shared with me, I thought I would pass along the tips. First off we stayed in Golden Gate Guest House on 278, along the same street are a number of delightful discoveries, the boom boom room where you can get your ipod loaded with the latest tunes, top banana (Mikee's favorite guest house), and a delicious Thai place (the name escapes me). Another feature of 278 is Maharaja, where all the PCV like to indulge in the gut bomb of Indian breakfast. Right around the corner is, semi-famous Garden Cafe in it's second incarnation, Garden Cafe 2. Besides GC2, is a very very cool recycled product boutique, Smateria. Their products are made from plastic bags, old mosquito nets, and tetra-pack. It was started by two Italianos, and now is a cute little place filled with friendly Khmer, happy to let you snoop around and decide if a wallet will fit your passport and five currencies.
If you are feeling like a traveler with especially full pockets, or just feeling the need to have a shwanky afternoon head over to the devastatingly cute and gastronomic blocks of 240. There you can stock up on killer baguettes and french cheese at VeGGy's, wander down the street for croissant and dragon fruit smoothies at the shop, where all the IT people feed, and buy chocolate for your Khmer sweet heart at Chocolate (the shop's chocolatiere off-shoot). The Shop is that kind of place that makes you feel cooler and more with it than normally your hairy legs and dirty sandaled feet would allow. My first time in there 3 french business men were 'doing ' breakfast in pale suits and crisp blue shirts, meaning I stuck out like a sore thumb, but they do a mean cappuccino, so who cares?
Another ex-pat hot spot is Java, which besides serving Illy coffee, also displays local art and organizes cool events, like Architecture and Urban Design month. Finally another cool food meets art place is Friends they have a little boutique and a restaurant near the National Musuem. I fell in love with their cookbook, From Spiders to Water Lilies. The restaurant is a sort of Jamie Oliver deal, teaching kids about the biz and arming them with a set of marketable skills.
Most of the things that the sell in the little shop are recycled items, in the same vein as Smateria. It has been very inspiring to witness so much positive grass roots community stuff that Phnom Penh has to offer. Almost every cafe you go into talks about how it uses local produce, fair trade coffee or helps disadvantaged youth. The cynic in me wonders how many of them are doing as well as their mission statements, carefully constructed in english, might imply, but the optimist in me hopes that it is an indication of the direction the world might be headed, that finally we might be learning from our mistakes.

arrival

2008-09-12T03:42:00.000-07:00

My arrival in Phnom Penh was the stuff of noir novels or movies in which everybody smokes. I always find late night arrivals strange and disorienting. I would probably be a bit more successful with the whole thing if I were a bit more tortured and poetic. Ah well, I am just not a late night artiste (say it in a over done bad french accent). Instead I drag myself to the immigration desk to procure a visa, chose the slowest immigration officer to stare at my passport, arrive at the luggage carousel as two employees are about to take it off to god-knows-where, wander through customs and find myself in the steamy Khmer night air.
There waited for me a taxi driver with a sign with my name on it. I had a moment before I left where I decided any attempts to be a hardcore traveler after 24 hours of travel was a bit beyond my interest and booked an airport transfer. So there was no time to stand and smoke a hand rolled cigarette while inhaling the heavy tropical air. I just gave the man my bag and settled myself in the back of the cab. Though it was past eleven some of the tuk-tuks still roamed the street, people were still cooking in brightly lit street-side food stalls, and the city had not yet succumbed to that eerie late night slumber distinct to cities.
I arrived at my hotel, climbed the stairs and fell on to the bed. By then the hour had past 12, finding me minus a monday, but able, via the hotel's wireless, to talk to my parents. What a blessing and a curse technology is. We can never fully disconnect, and yet we can find a way to connect with the people we love over distances that 30 years ago were prohibitively expensive to surmount.
Tuesday morning I grabbed a tuk-tuk to the bus station where I boarded a two story deluxe bus to Siem Reap. I fell victim immediately to an introduction to Khmer karaoke videos, which though featuring water wheels and crying Khmer girls sitting in the brown river waters, don't compare musically or visually to their Thai counterparts featuring flashy motos. I combated the musical assault with a combination of my ipod and a book.
That being said I did spend a bit of time staring out the window as Cambodia slipped by the windows. It is the rainy season here, so much of the very very flat land is either flooded by mud brown water or covered by the soft young green of rice paddies. The landscape gains height from the straight trunks of palms that stud the landscape. The sky was a tumultuous mix of grays, purples, and blues, fighting with the sun for dominance over the scene.
Midway through the ride we made a stop at a typical roadside place, as I got off the bus I found myself in a swarm of pineapple toting kids all trying to win my 2000 riel in exchange for their fruit. The women carried baskets of fried tarantulas and decapitated fried frogs. One of the little girls showed up with a live counterpart, a huge fuzzy spider clinging to the front of her well-worn dress. They all giggled and explained that the frogs were frogs, tried to stick the spider on me, and wanted to practice their English. Amongst that pack of kids, frogs, and spiders, I found myself strangely not suffering from culture shock, rather than reeling from difference, I almost felt more at home on this Cambodian roadside than I had arriving back in the states.
I've been missing the chaos, the rhythm, the mud, the life of being on the road. It was nice to be back in a bus with my only responsibility being keeping myself entertained. After staring at all the fruit, pineapple, tamarind, rambutan, durian, I got myself back on the bus and settled in to my green pleather seat, with its lace head cover, and fell asleep for a good hour.
Upon waking I started thinking about the upcoming reunion I was headed towards. My primary purpose in visiting Cambodia had been to go see one of my best friends, Michael, who has been here for the past 18 months with the Peace Corps. The last time I saw her was on Valencia street in San Francisco. Our paths crossed for a brief laughter filled five minutes before I hopped in a car on my way to SFO where I was to catch a flight to Singapore. Michael on the other hand had just arrived in San Francisco for here Peace Corps training. Fast forward to last tuesday, I pull up in a tuk-tuk outside Siem Reap's Blue Pumpkin to a leggy blonde sitting outside reading Al Gore's book on climate change. I had escaped the muddy bus station, hopped into a tuk-tuk and now was but 2 meters from Mikee. Needless to say there was a lot of laughter, hugging, and stories to be shared, which is what the last week has mostly been filled with.