The Wandering and Wondering of August Flanagan

Naughty Natalie And Her Romance Novel

2009-08-26T13:30:00.000-07:00

A few days ago Natalie wrote a great post over on the Lenguajero blog about how she practiced Spanish by reading a Spanish romance novel.

From the Lenguajero blog:

I used to read romance novels when I was 13, and I only read them when I was babysitting. I babysat for a family that had stacks of them lying all around their house. I would start one after the kids went to sleep, and then spend the next couple of hours furiously reading it ina desperate attempt to finish it before the parents got home. When I heard them at the door I would throw the book back where I found it, and turn on the tv.

So, when I first started learning/reading in Spanish the first book I chose was a Spanish Harlequin novel called Boda de Conveniencia. It was the first in a 3-book mini-series, Bodas de Sociedad. At the time that I bought this (second-hand in Spain) I was pretty sure that Boda meant “Body”. It doesn’t. (It means wedding.)

Read Full Article

Catchin' Up

2009-08-19T18:22:00.000-07:00

I haven't been writing much lately. Well, at least I haven't been writing here lately. I've been doing some guest posts for other blogs (and I'm working on a couple more), and writing a lot for the lenguajero blog.

So, in an effort to catch everyone one up with the trip, here are a few photos from the last month. (Actually all these photos taken during a one week time frame, for the last three weeks we've been holed up in our apt. eating, drinking, and sleeping Lenguajero.)

How August Learned Spanish

2009-08-06T19:58:00.000-07:00

I'm reposting this story from the Lenguajero blog.

My first experience with Spanish was in Ms. Rose’s high school class. I believe that I actually sat through two years of that class. Somehow I managed to get through it all by using a newly available tool called “an internet translator” something my 65 year old on-the-verge-of-retirement teacher had never heard of before. I graduated without knowing how to say a single thing in Spanish, and promptly forgot all about the language, after all I was a red, white and blue blooded American, why would I ever want to speak another language, let alone Spanish?

Flash forward six years. I am now a slightly less ignorant American, and want to spend some time traveling in Latin America. I decide that the year of Latin I took at university, and a few iPod learning lessons will get me up and speaking Spanish in no time.

Two months later I end up in Guatemala completely unable to say a word to anyone. I stare blankly at everyone who tries to talk to me. I am in awe of the British girl who takes pity on me and comes to the bank with me to ask them if they will exchange some of my US dollars. “Ustedes cambian dolares aqui?” seems like an amazing phrase, and surely anyone who can say such a thing must speak the language fluently.

I spent three months in Central America, took a couple of weeks of Spanish courses, and left still unable to actually speak the language, though I had some how convinced myself that because I knew about 250 words I spoke Spanish.

About six months later I got “serious” about improving my Spanish. At first this basically consisted of feeding a BBC Mundo news article into Google Translate once a day and pretending that I had read it.

Eventually I admitted to myself that I was completely unable to speak the language, and decided that I was for real going to learn Spanish once and for all. Along the way I discovered a few things about learning Spanish that I think apply to learning languages in general.

Unlike other subjects you might study you can’t actually learn to speak a language from a book. You can learn grammar and vocabulary (obviously important), but you still will not be able to speak.
Speaking and listening to the language is the best way to improve your ability to speak and understand the language.
Don’t try to read The Old Man and The Sea in Spanish. It is just as boring as in English, but harder to understand.
It’s easier to learn if you practice conversational Spanish everyday. I had to move to Latin America to make that happen (remember Lenguajero didn’t exist in those days).

Read the rest of the story...

The road to internet induced psycosis

2009-07-31T14:55:00.000-07:00

If you've been following the blog lately you know that Natalie and I just launched a website where you can go to practice English & Spanish called Lenguajero.com.

Until Monday of this week we had been working an average of 4-5 hours a day, and while we were working hard, we were not obsessing. That all changed on Monday when we launched Lenguajero, thus throwing ourselves head first into a slow decent into internet induced psycosis.

The first night was not too bad, it was really the second night when it finally took hold, rearing its ugly head and forcing us to obsess over every little detail to the point that, at three a.m. while we lay still in bed, both trying not to wake the other (who we each envied for what we thought was their ability to shut off their brain and manage at least a few hours reprieve) someone finally whispered "hey I was just thinking about Lenguajero", and we both realized that it was OK to begin the chattering animatedly, like to whacked out meth-heads who had convinced themselves they had just figured out a way to prove Einstein's theory of relativity obsolete. (Wow I can't beleive I just managed to fit that all into one sentence.)

Since then we have tried various methods to keep the beast at bay, but every attempt ends in failure and we find ourselves obsessing over the most miniscule of all details, things that would seem absurd to anyone not in the midsts of a crippling mental breakdown.

I do not know how much longer I will be able to write, how much longer I will be able to form coherent thoughts, or observe myself with a slightly detatched sense of bewilderment. I don't know how long it will be until the first piece of feces is thrown, or the first primordial call sounded. I do know that I don't have much time left, the person known as August is fading, and a new more beastly creature is emmerging to take his place. It won't be long now...they are coming for me...

Bootstrapping from Colombia: Connecting Our Users

2009-07-30T07:25:00.000-07:00

Over at the Lenguajero blog our week long series on how we built Lenguajero while living in Colombia continued yesterday with a look at how Lenguajero connects its members for conversations.

From the Lenguajero blog:

The goal of Lenguajero is to connect Spanish and English speakers so that they can have online conversations that will improve their ability to speak the language they are learning. With this goal in mind we knew that we needed to a simple, effective way to put our members in touch with one another.

We kicked around the idea that our members would connect using Skype, and we would simply design our site to help the members find language learners interested in the same topics they were. We would then help members arrange a time for a conversation, and give out Skype usernames when two people had agreed to have a conversation. Needless to say that idea seemed pretty chintzy...Read Full Article

Bootstrapping from Colombia: Design & HTML

2009-07-29T06:59:00.000-07:00

Over at the Lenguajero blog we are running a week-long series of articles on how we built Lenguajero while living in Medellin, Colombia. Yesterday we looked at how we got a good site design by outsourcing the work using 99designs and Elance.

From the Lenguajero Blog:

While building Lenguajero we came up against one challenge that we couldn’t solve ourselves…the actual site design. Here’s how we got it done with a $1000 budget.

Design – Cost $888

Neither of us are could described as designers in any sort of context. We tried contacting a couple of designers we knew back home. They were busy working full time jobs and/or taking care of their families. So how were we going to find a designer who could do just what we were looking for? Read full article...

Launching Lenguajero

2009-07-27T16:26:00.000-07:00

These last few months have been busy for Natalie and I. Aside from studying Spanish, making new friends, and exploring new countries we have also been hard at work building a new website called Lenguajero.

From the Lenguajero Blog:

Our main objective has been to develop a site that connects language learners online (currently only available to Spanish and English speakers) so that they can improve their ability to speak, listen, and think critically and creatively in a new language. We wanted to create a space where users would be able to have conversation exchanges (intercambios) right from their homes... Read full article

Dia Dos de Mezcal

2009-07-20T21:01:00.001-07:00

Last night was my second night at the mezcal festival. I spent the evening surrounded by the hordes of mezcal drinkers that had descended on the park to soak up all the free mezcal they could. And, of course, I joined them to soak up all the free mezcal I could. When all was said and done I had come to several conclusions.

Mezcal can at times be one of the most delicious drinks in the world (especially the aged añejo or reposado)
Mezcal often tastes like paint thinner
The burning sensation means it's working
If I keep consuming free mezcal at this rate I will probably end up with a pre-existing condition that will prevent me from getting health insurance
I can sing English songs in Spanish very, very well when I drink Mezcal (last night was Peaches by the Presidents of U.S.A)

I returned to my hotel room last night and wrote the following (though Natalie insisted that we have a rule in place stating that I would not publish anything I wrote in such an inebriated state until I read it the following morning.) So without further ado here are my drunken mezcal ramblings.

Mezcal, mezcal, mezcal. I love you. I really do. You taste so good every time you touch my lips, and that warm burny sensation in my stomach tells me that you really care.

So it is with a heavy heart that I must tell you that I don't think I can drink you tomorrow. I'm too drunk right now, and you are too delicious, and the fact that you compel me to eat bacon wrapped hot dogs and chorizo tostadas every night after I put you in my tummy means that you may be more like the lover who hits me and then tells me they love me than the lover who really cares.

No mas! Me entiendes? No voy a tomar ni un tris de ti manana.

Pero nos vemos el miercoles. Te amo.

The Mezcal Mezcla-up*

2009-07-19T08:27:00.000-07:00

Free booze is the stuff of legends. Unfortunately, open bars at weddings or company parties, or the occasional free glass of wine on a plane ride is about all the free booze we ever get. It is precisely because of this that last night was a life changer for me.

I had been seeing the signs all over town for the last couple of days, and was really getting pretty excited for La Feria de Mezcal, The Mezcal Fair.

Mezcal, for those of you who don't know, is tequila's older brother (both are produced from the Agave plant, but tequila is only made from the blue variety), and when people talk about "eating the worm" from a bottle of tequila they are actually referring to mezcal since the Mexican standard authority prohibits placing worms or larvae in tequila (thanks Wikipedia).

La Feria de Mezcal is a TEN DAY festival that has been set up in one of Oaxaca's many gorgeous plazas. Small wooden stands have been erected all around the park, and each one is staffed by workers for one of the hundred or so small artisenal mezcal distilleries in the Oaxaca area. And what, you ask, are they doing at each of these small stands?

GIVING OUT FREE MINI SHOTS OF MEZCAL!!!!!

There is no limit to the sampling and since each distillery has anywhere between 3 and 10 different types of mezcal available for sampling it does not take more than two or three stands to realize that, despite each shot being about a third of a normal shot, you have stumbled upon something truly special, the stuff of legends.

I made it through about 5 or 6 stands last night, before wandering (i.e. stumbling) off to devour a bacon wrapped hotdog with all the works (perhaps the best kept secret in the Mexican cuisine). I returned for one final push, before reminding myself that there was no rush. I have 9 more days of this to look forward to. Pray my liver holds out.

* in Spanish mezclar means to mix.

Oaxaca Wanderings

2009-07-17T07:26:00.000-07:00

I am not a patient person. While I do believe that over the years I have gotten better at delaying gratification as opposed to constantly needing the instant kind, I am not a patient person.

A case study of my choices of rental properties over the last six years of my life would reveal that I basically choose the first thing I look at, every time. As a result I have lived in some rather bizarre locations over the years. The epitomy of a suburban apartment in Renton, Washington, a high rise in Medellin, the list goes on.

Of course my impulsiveness has also always allowed me to move into an apartment or house within two or three days of beginning to look for one. So yesterday morning when I set up two appointments to view apartments in Oaxaca I figured I would be moving into one of the two by the end of the day.

But no, for once in my life I did not move into the first place I saw. Oh, I had my reasons, there was one that was advertised as 10-15 minutes from the center which then turned out to be an awkwardly uncomfortable 45 min drive out of the city just to see the place (plus return trip). The other place seemed like a promising house sharing experience, a flyer having been posted in perfect English in a coffee shop. I called the guy who posted the flyer, Karim, and set up an appointment. There was a bit of confusion when I arrived around 3 o'clock to discover that yes, there was a room to rent in the house, but no, no one named Karim lived there. Maybe I wanted to talk to Tariq? The slightly creepy 60 something year old who was going to rent us his room (I have no idea where he was going to sleep).

And so the search goes on.

Playas and Grenades

2009-07-12T12:19:00.000-07:00

I just had one of the most fantastic beach vacations of my life. I realized one of my life long dreams (to sleep in a cabaña directly on the beach) and spent six days lounging in a hammock reading books, eating fresh fruit, and drinking beer.

Beach vactions just don´t get any better than that. Indeed it seems that the Pacific coast state of Michoacan has everything a guy could want. As I drove back to Zihuatanejo this morning thinking about Mexico, the lack of tourism (the violence is keeping the numbers down this year) I thought "Man, I am glad all these people are too scared to come down here this year, it´s great having the place to myself." Then I arrive in Zihua and pop into an internet cafe to see what´s going on in the world and I see the headline in the N.Y. Times, Gunmen Attack Federal Forces In Mexico.

Yesterday as I lay on the beach all around me in Michoacan attacks were being carried out on federal forces. Grenades were thrown into police headquarters, police were ambushed on the roads I drove through today, and the "coolest place I have ever been", as the LP calls Morelia, turned into a war zone as a convoy of heavily armed "hitmen" opened fire on police headquarters. I was there last Saturday.

Yo doy papaya, I am naive. And I´m lucky. I wasn´t in the wrong place at the wrong time, luckily I stayed on the beach yesterday instead of getting on the highway, I´m lucky that this war isn´t affecting me. I sit on the beach drinking beer and 50 miles people are being blown the fuck up in a drug war. I´m lucky though. I get to leave. I wonder what that says about me.

Keeping it real - til I get the roller luggage

2009-07-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

Last summer while driving across the U.S. Natalie and I stopped at a Super 8 motel in some backwater town in South Dakota. It cost about $50 for the night, and included wifi and a continental breakfast. We were in awe of the place. It seemed like our own little slice of luxury, the big TV, the tiled shower, the comfortable bed. After having spent the previous 6 months in fleabag hotels all across Asia, the idea that such an opulent hotel existed was mind blowing.

On my travels I have stayed in more rundown dumps than I can remember. There was the two dollar a night place in Guatemala that I stayed in for an entire week despite the fact that the shower had exposed wires, and that for some inexplicable reason every night at around 10 or 11 the whole room would begin to stink of shit so badly that I would tie a bandana around my face to go to sleep.

Then there was the enormous, and eerily empty, hotel I stayed at in Nepal. As the only guests in the hotel Natalie and I enjoyed the best room they had to offer, a corner room on the third floor with two huge windows looking out at two of the Himalaya's 8000 meter plus peaks in two different directions. The downside, the hotel was falling over and our room had about a ten degree slant to the floor making walking difficult and lying in bed next to impossible.

Or there was the time in Cambodia when I woke up to find a rooster directly below my bed looking up at me through the slats in my bamboo floor. Or the other time when I turned up at a guesthouse only to be informed that they were full, but that there were some mattresses out in the barn that I could sleep on for one dollar a night. I grabbed a mosquito night and spent the night bunked in the barn with a seemingly suicidaly depressed Thai monk as my only company.

That's just how I roll. I'm cheap, I stay in shit holes to save money, and have had some pretty great experiences doing so. But these days, I just don't think I have it in me to do it any more. I have a bit of money now, I'm not out looking for adventure, I don't need a good story to tell, really what I need these days is wifi and a comfortable bed.

I reconfirmed this last night by negating these options and staying in one of my former haunts, the cheapest hotel listed in the Morelia section of the LP. Listed as "basic, but spacious and spotless" (a gross misrepresentation) we checked in to the room and tried to look on the bright side, it was cheap and had a great location. But I couldn't look on the bright side for long. Maybe it was the rather large bloodstain on the door, the foul odor coming from the mosquito infested bathroom, the dead ants stuck all over the wall from when someone had fumagated but not cleaned up afterwards, or maybe it was the thousands of live ants forming a thick black line from the floor to the ceiling near the door, whatever it was I felt crushed. A crippling depression washed over me, and as I sat in a cafe sipping an espresso I realized that the traveler formerly known as August was dead. He simply doesn't exist anymore. Gone are my days of backpacking, replaced with my days of flashpacking, when 25 dollars a night for a hotel doesn't seem crazy, it seems downright sensible, after all there is wifi, clean towels, and cable TV.

I started traveling two years ago with the idea that doing everything as cheaply as possible would help me connect better with the people in the countries I was traveling through. I would stay in the same places they would, eat at the same restaurants they would, and take the same buses they would. And while I still believe that some of this is true (especially about the food and the buses), it doesn't seem to have worked that way. I have made far more friends and learned volumes more on this trip simply by staying in places for longer and staying away from the travelers circuit as much as possible, in the end I guess that means I have grown as a person, accepted who I am, and what it is that I want in life. Wifi.

Dancing (and biking) in the streets

2009-06-28T16:09:00.000-07:00

The gorging continues uninterrupted. Gracias a Dios para esta comida tan rico!

Today was another day filled with huevos a la mexicana, squashed filled quesadillas, and pinto beans cooked with tofu and jalapeño pepper. YUM!!!

We also took advantage of free museum Sunday to hit up the Muesum of Modern Art, and the National History Museum. Normally we would have had to take the metro, a cab, or battle walking through the crazy traffic that is Mexico DF, but again as it was Sunday, on of the main roads was shut down to cars and opened to bicyclists, joggers, and lazy walkers like ourselves. Why we don't have this in Seattle every Sunday is beyond me.

As we left the National History Museum we managed to get roped into dancing in a street performance that was being run by a couple of clowns (literally). With about 150-200 Mexicans gathered around watching we got paired up with a Mexican guy and girl, and were forced to dance (and in general make total asses out of ourselves) for about 45 minutes. At least there are no photos of the clown violating me in front of the crowd. Those have all been destroyed...or so I hope...

Viva Mexico

2009-06-27T15:43:00.000-07:00

It was hard getting on that first flight yesterday, the one that was going to take us away from our home and friends in Medellin. Yet, somehow we managed to drag ourselves onto the plane, and after 20 hours and three flights we arrived in Mexico City completely exhausted.

After a less than stellar night's sleep (thanks to a bastard mosquito that kept dive bombing my head) we awoke with a singular purpose - to over-indulge in the culinary delights that are Mexico.

Here is day one in food (and a few other things).

Started the day with a breakfast of Oaxaqueño tamales - stuffed with chicken and covered in a dark chocolate mole sauce.

After that we worked up an appetite by walking to some of the obligatory sights like the famous Diego Rivera mural in the National Palace (Palacio Nacional) and around the Zocalo.

This led to the discovery of some great chicken and black bean quesadillas being grilled on the street and served with a spicy tomatillo sauce.

Some more aimless wandering led us to Coox Hanal a Yucatan style taqueria where we finished the afternoon gorging ourselves on panuchos de cochinita y pavo and huevos motuleños.

I'm pretty stuffed, and all this culinary indulgence has been a great way to take our minds off Medellin. Now if you'll excuse me I'm off for a couple of tacos al pastor. Jesus, I am going to get really fat here.

Mi Vida Aqui

2009-06-21T07:58:00.000-07:00

To quote Loyd Christmas "I hate goodbyes." You would think I would be used to them by now. I've done it enough times, but the truth is it never gets any easier. The goodbyes are already starting, so I guess in a way this is my own goodbye, 10 of my favorite pics of four months in Colombia. Hasta pronto parce.

Snapshot

2009-06-20T11:19:00.000-07:00

I often find myself in situations where I just sort of step back and think "Wow, I am so fucking lucky to be here right now." That's it, just a brief recognition of how special the moment is going to be for me, an acknowledgment of the fact that I won't be forgetting the memory, the people, the events, or the location that are contributing to it anytime soon.

Last night was a perfect example of one of these situations. Sitting around a large table with about 10 Colombian and American friends having our last Friday night in Medellin. Sitting outside drinking beers talking in two languages (amazingly everyone at the table spoke both Spanish and English), mixing the two together to form our own Espanglish with phrases like ojos en mi chimba, and other phrases which are just too inappropriate to translate here, I realized how much of an impact Colombia has had on me.

I may have been studying Spanish for months before I got here, but I didn't speak Spanish until I found a home in a Spanish speaking country, and that is just what I have found here, a home. A place where I am comfortable, where I understand the culture (well...sort of), and where I have built lasting friendships. A place where someone can say "let's get a drink tonight at Carlos E." and I say "Oh, sure, I know exactly where that is, great idea." A place where I have a regular restaurant, regular gym, pass the same people on the street and say hi everyday, knowing that I will see them again tomorrow, and knowing that we'll smile and maybe stop and chat for a few minutes before continuing on with our day. Hasta mañana, I'll say, knowing that it's true.

But it won't be true for much longer. I'll be saying goodbye next week. Sure, I'll be back, and I hope it will be soon, but you never know. Life is full of surprises. Afterall, when I arrived in Colombia I never thought I would ever be living in Medellin.

I'm glad I was able to stop and have that brief moment. One fleeting thought that somehow encompasses all the feelings I have for this place. 10 people sitting around a table sipping beers, laughing, chatting, and connecting. One brief snapshot I'll carry with me forever.

una frase que vale mil palabras

2009-06-15T18:47:00.000-07:00

Every once in a while I run across Spanish words and phrases that are just so wonderful that I only need to hear them once to remember them forever. The Spanish language is chocked full of words that are just so great you can't ever forget them. For example paraguas is umbrella. What makes it so great? It literally means "for water". Or what about retroalimentacion which means feedback, or bendecir/maldecir - to bless/to curse, but literally - "to say well or say bad". All these linguistic luxuries have made learning Spanish an activity to relish.

And then there are the phrases. Sure we may have some great slang phrases in English, but there are just as many in Spanish, which brings me to the point of this blog post. Last night I learned a phrase that can only be described as an artistic masterpiece. The phrase: tener una cagaita en penalti. There is no direct translation in English and explaining each word and the reason that they all fit together so beautifully to convey their meaning would be a lot of work, so I am just going to tell you the closest approximation we have to it in English - I've got a turtle head poking out.

5 Crazy Memories From 2 Years On The Road

2009-06-11T16:37:00.000-07:00

It's crazy that I have been traveling for about 15 out of the last 22 months now. Two years ago when I was getting ready for my Bonderman trip I had absolutely no idea what to expect. Now, 22 months later, I have had some absolutely incredible moments. Far more than I could ever write down here, but when I was at the gym earlier I started thinking about some of the more...interesting moments I have had during this trip. So in no particular order here are 5 memories that I have from my life on the road.

1. Eating chapati and curry with a 19 year old Burmese student on the side of the road one night in Mandalay. Aside from the fact that I was gorging myself on some of the best food I had ever eaten in my life (a luxury that many Burmese cannot afford, despite the fact that the total meal cost about 80 cents for both of us), I remember all of a sudden thinking that it was going to be a moment that I would remember for the rest of my life. So far that's true.

2. Climbing over 5416 meter Thorong La pass in Nepal, sick as a dog with Giardia, and wondering if I was going to make it down under my own power or not. I have never been as happy to see a western toilet (a rarity in that country) as I was that night. If I had had to squat anymore I was going to need a couple of friends to help hold me up, and friends like that are hard to come by...

3. Making my first friend in a foreign language and eating a ham sandwich nearly everyday for two months straight on a little island in the Caribbean.

4. Getting tossed in jail in a third world country and becoming an international fugitive. For any of you who don't know, I guess the cat's out of the bag (sorry grandma). For more on said experience read this.

5. Lying on an undisclosed beach at an undisclosed location in Mexico with beautiful woman next to me, thinking I had found paradise, and wondering if my life would ever be better than that moment. So far, no.

When you walk through the garden watch your back...

2009-06-06T17:44:00.000-07:00

When you travel you hear all sorts of horror stories, and usually the worst ones involve violent crimes liked armed robberies. It sucks that it happens, but it happens, and in my mind I always think, "well it could happen anywhere right?"

And so with that attitude I just sort of bumble along going on my merry way, walking where I please and doing what I please. I have probably ended up doing a few stupid things because of that attitude, though I have fortunately never been the victim of such a crime (touch wood). I've always thought that the tourists who act like a total security maniacs (like the ones who travel about with those giant metal mesh cages on their backpacks) are pretty lame and probably shouldn't be traveling in the first place.

Then there are times like last night that make me question if it is just be sheer dumb luck that I haven't been shanked in a dark alley somewhere.

I hop in a cab with a couple of Colombian friends, Natalie, and another American woman living down here. One of our Colombian friends explains to us that even though we aren't going far it is probably to dangerous to walk to where we are going. We drive around for like 20 minutes trying to find one address (the cab driver gets totally lost) and then another 5 minutes to get to where we were going. Net distance traveled: three blocks. THREE BLOCKS!

Had I been on my own there is no way I would have caught a cab to travel three blocks (especially since the neighborhood seemed pretty nice). It's random things like this that make me feel like I need to completely re-think the way I travel and get around from place to place. After all if a Colombian says it's too dangerous to walk, it's probably too dangerous to walk, right?

Or there is this other possibility. No matter what the culture, and no matter what the country, there will always be people equivalent to those overly frightened backpackers with the metal cages on their back, and I should just be thankful that I am not one of them.

If I Poop On My Keyboard Will You Read What I Write?

2009-05-29T16:20:00.000-07:00

I've never pooped on a keyboard before. To be honest I never really had a reason to. I mean, yeah, sure I've thought about pooping on a keyboard, you know, just as a joke, cause let's face it as Danny Devito once so eloquently put it "poop's funny".

So I admit I've thought about pooping on a keyboard, but I definitely had never thought about pooping on my own keyboard. Until last week. Now I can't stop thinking about pooping on my keyboard. Why you ask? Because of a blogger. A certain "new age" blogger who gives everyone wonderful advice like:

Make sure that when you break up with your boyfriend or girlfriend you call them every couple of days to let them know that you love them and that they are still important to you.

And ridiculous statements like (and this is only a slight exaggeration):

My next door neighbor's, son's, best friend's cat died the other day. It was one of the most sorrowing experiences of my life. To deal with such an utter travesty and to protect myself and remind myself how precious life is I spent three weeks in a state of silent morning.

And I just wouldn't be doing them justice if I didn't mention that the aformentioned blogger has based an entire career on instructing people on how to live their lives free of stress, anxiety, suffering, etc. As far as I can tell they have absolutely no professional credentials to back up all the bullshit advice they are spewing. Case in point, the first statement above, if my girlfriend dumped me, and then continued calling me to tell me how much she cared for me and that she still loved me, I would be so fucking confused I swear my brain would literally explode, like this.

So what does any of this have to do with pooping on a keyboard? This "professional blogger" has over 14,000 subscribers. If 14,000 people subscribe read this garbage surely 14,000 people will want to read what gets published by someone pooping on a keyboard, right? Let me know if you will read what happens when I poop on my keyboard. If 14,000 people will read it I will commence pooping on my keyboard on a daily basis.

Small Town Serenity

2009-05-26T06:27:00.000-07:00

Natalie and I have been living in cities now for the last 5 months straight. Wonderful, exciting cities with lots of people to meet, places to go, and things to do, but there has been one problem with these cities. They have all been cities. So while cities have equaled lots of wonderful things they have also equaled: smog, noise, smog, traffic jams, diesel fumes in my nose, having to catch buses or the metro to go places, smog, and more smog.

For a change of pace this weekend we headed off to Salento, a gorgeous little town of about 3000 people nestled in Colombia's coffee region. Aside from great coffee and great views, there was an (over)abundance of clean air, and hiking opportunities abounded. Small town life seemed to serve as a bit of a wake up call for us. While we may love Medellin and plan to spend a bit more time here, the next stop will definitely be a small town either in the mountains or on the beach. If anyone knows of a place that matches that description give me a shout.

Funny thing about learning a new language...

2009-05-19T16:40:00.000-07:00

...it keeps getting harder. I think I have just come to this realization in the last couple of days. Spanish is not getting any easier. In fact, beyond a doubt - and much to my surprise - it's getting harder.

Four months ago I felt like I was really starting to grasp the language. I was taking courses at a university in a Spanish speaking country, I had made my first friends in a foreign language, obviously it was just a matter of time and practice, right?

Wrong. Four months later my knowledge of the language has grown exponentially, and yet everyday I am reminded at how far I have to go to actually say that I speak this language.

Here's the problem. When you are learning a language you are really focused on the basics. I'm not just talking about the basics like Hola, yo soy Augusto and te odio. No, what I am talking about is that basic collection of say 3000 words or so, and those maybe 300 really common phrases that you will be using all the time. Those are the building blocks (along with the grammer that supports them of course) of basically every conversation. Once you have that down you can have conversations. And there in lies the flaw in my original thinking. I always imagined that when you reached that point you spoke the language. You don't.

What you do at that point is bastardize the language. That's what I have been doing for about the last month or so, bastardizing the language (I had to throw that in for a second time because it is so rare that I get to use the word bastardize, that's three). In a way it's almost worse than when you are learning the language. When you are learning the language you can always say things like "Oh I don't know the pluscuamperfecto de subjuntivo yet, that's why I said that wrong." Now, I don't have much of an excuse. As hard as it is to believe I do know the pluscuamperfecto de subjuntivo. So now I just go around wisely offering sage advise like "Debes demandar que ellos tragan los tiquetes." (You must sue that they bring the tickets.)

Is it hopeless? Definitely not. I've really learned Spanish. Now if I can only figure out how to speak it...

T'was weird...

2009-05-16T19:43:00.000-07:00

I know Diego and Angela really well. I spend at least a couple of hours with one or both of them everyday. They are our Spanish professors, and our best friends here in Medellin. I have had interesting conversations with them about all sorts of topics, and while they may speak Spanish, English, and French, they always speak Spanish with Natalie and I. So last night we proposed a grand experiment; what happens when you take four friends who always speak to each other in one language, and instead make them speak to each other in another language?

The answer? Complete and utter mystification and hysteria. As Natalie bluntly put it "I'm really weirded out right now." The implications of changing the language you speak in, and the relationship dynamic that comes with it, especially when one couple speaks their second language way better than the other couple (Diego and Angela's English is way better than our Spanish, and their accents are WAY sexier) was fascinating. Diego kept saying, "You know we are the same people right?" But it was hard to believe. There was only one thing to do in a situation like that. Drink until it seemed normal. Which we proceeded to do with great success.

My Brain Is FRIED!

2009-05-12T20:58:00.000-07:00

Sunday had to be one of the most exhausting days of my life. No I wasn't climbing a mountain or busting my ass at the gym for three hours. Instead I was at a small cabin in the mountains surrounding Medellin, eating BBQ, drinking wine, playing football, and speaking Spanish. Ten hours of nearly uninterrupted Spanish with my professor's family.

While it was easily one of the best days I have had since I arrived here (the kindness of Colombians is truly overwhelming), I am not sure if I have ever tried speaking only Spanish for such a long period of time. Arriving home that night I felt more tired than I have ever felt after any physical activity I have ever done, and as mentally fatigued as I felt after completing the MCAT. I lay in bed, not able to read, nor able to watch tv.

There is no doubt that my Spanish is improving, but everyday I encounter new situations that I don't know vocabulary for, or new situations that I need to focus all my energy on simply to have conversations. I never knew it was going to be this hard!

My Tipping Point

2009-05-09T17:41:00.001-07:00

I keep wondering if and when I am going to reach that special place in my quest para dominar Spanish. I notice improvements everyday and keep waiting for that moment when all of a sudden it all makes sense. When the floodgates will open and when all I will have to do is stand there and become completely submerged in the language.

I don't know if this is something that can or will happen, maybe learning a language isn't like that. Maybe there is no one special moment when it all makes sense, but in my mind there is. I always imagine one day that I am going to wake up and I will just be speaking the language without any difficulty.

I dreamed in Spanish earlier this afternoon (something weird where I was explaining that you don't go hunting when you are rock climbing to a random guy on the street). I love dreaming in Spanish. I don't do it often but when I do my speech is beautiful and rich, full of expression and always, always without a single error.

I'm wondering if I should down half a bottle of Tylenol P.M. and go to sleep listening to a Spanish podcast. It might just be the best Spanish conversation of my life!

Medellin Part II

2009-05-06T13:04:00.000-07:00

I can't believe I have actually been back here for a week now. It really is one of those things where it seems like just yesterday I was stepping off the plane into what resembled a quarantine zone (every official at the airport was wearing a mask and there was a nurse taking people's temperature).

Within four hours of landing in Medellin my Spanish professors (Diego and Angela) had helped me find a great new apartment in an awesome neighborhood. We are settled in now, and enjoying the routine of Spanish classes in the mornings, work in the afternoons.

Other than that I just don't have much to report. I guess this blog post was prett pointless and kind of sucked. Sorry...I'll try to come up with something better for the next one. Wait! I got it, what if a giant man-pig-bear or bear-man-pig attacked Medellin. Now that would make for a good story. I'll get on that one.

Horrors and Thrills

2009-04-29T07:16:00.001-07:00

I'm taking advantage of the free wifi in Quito's international airport, and what better way to pass the time than to recount a couple of stories to all of you, my adoring public.

I'm headed back to Medellin now, and am pretty excited to settle back into my routine of Spanish classes in the morning, work in the afternoon. These last two days in Quito have been...ummm...interesting.

First, the thrill. Yesterday I hired a Landrover to take me 4626 meters up Cotopaxi, the worlds tallest active volcano. From there we began our mountain bike decent down the winding jeep trail. One hell of a rush to say the least. First I was so cold I could barely keep my fingers warm enough to squeeze the brakes as the wind blew bits of snow and ice of the mountain stinging my face every second of the way. Eventually I reached a smoother dirt road, shedded a few layers, and finished the last 15 km of the ride in about 20 min (including two grueling uphills, that were more like mild climbs but at 3500 meters...).

Now, the horror. I am just not cut out for life in a dorm room anymore. I made it through the last two weeks ok, but Monday night was beyond a doubt the worst night I have ever spent in a dorm. At around 1 a.m. the guy in the bunk above me came into the room making a lot of noise, he managed to haul his fat ass on the creaking bed above, where for the next 5 hours he tossed and turned so frequently that the bed really never stopped shaking or creaking. OK that's not that bad but wait I'm going somewhere with this. About 15 min after he had climbed into bed I heard, how shall I put this, a rythmic thumping noise coming from the bed above me. The noise of course was also accompanied by a rythmic shaking of the bed that lasted about 2 or 3 minutes.

I think it best not to mention anymore, though I do have to include this little tidbit. At around 5 a.m. I leaned over my bed to look at my watch which was lying next to me on the floor. Unable to feel the watch I turned on my light and realized that dude had dropped his dirty underwear on the floor next to the bed, and they were covering my watch. GROSS!

Some Random Thoughts

2009-04-26T07:20:00.000-07:00

Fidel is being a bitch. Just when the U.S. and Cuba start to make some headway Fidel feels the need to try to fuck everything up. I guess he feels that he can´t have his socialist state without having an enemy. Hey Fidel! Either shut up or die already.

Being in a Latin American country during the elections is pretty cool. It is far better when you can speak the language and get to listen to all the cool slogans that people chant at the rallies. Yo, tu, el, todo de nosotros contigo!

This outbreak of the swine flu, gripe porcina, is freaking me out. Is this how it all begins???

It´s Gotta Go

2009-04-25T05:00:00.000-07:00

Is it possible to sever all ties with one particular part of your ancestry? If so I think I would like to go ahead and do that. Starting today I no longer claim any Irish ancestry at all. Sorry Grandma, I know you are probably reading this right now and wondering why nice August Flanagan would want to severe all his ties with his Irish ancestry. It actually has nothing to do with the Ireland, or many of the Irish people I have met on my travels. What it boils down to is that I want in NO way to be associated with the large proportion of Irish assholes traveling the world. Like I said, I´ve met some pretty great Irish guys during my travels, but unfortunately I meet the stereotype all too often, and I just don´t want my name to be associated with them anymore.

Do you know the type I am talking about? They are the ones who piss all over the toilet seats, leave beer bottles strewn about the common room while the last few drops dribble all over the floor. The ones who make so much fucking noise in the middle of the night that no one can sleep, and then at 6 a.m. because they are so coked out of their minds they decide to start trying to organize their luggage to leave the hostel. Have you ever had to watch a trio of drunken, coked out, Irish guys try to organize luggage? I imagine it is similar to watching a trio of monkeys try to write a novel. Eventually they get it done, but mainly they just create an even larger mess while throwing feces at each other.

So there you have it. I´m done with it. Dan, when I get home our last name goes back to Esposito. I am washing my hands of this mess.

F This

2009-04-21T07:59:00.000-07:00

Updated 6 hours later.

Ecuador has sucked my soul these last two days. Aside from the minor irritations I encountered in Quito, I was having a pretty decent time exploring and getting to know the city. Then I left. Then it started raining. Then I got stuck indoors in a hostel full of other travelers, which might not be such a terrible thing under normal circumstances, but I am just not used to the gringo trail right now. If I have to listen to anyone else go on and on about how dangerous South America is, overhear anymore debates about why the people in "these countries" are so terrible and don't value life like us westerners do I am going to fucking scream.

So, this is the situation I find myself in right now so if any of you out there reading this feel the slightest compulsion to help me out please, please, please pray to the weather gods to make it stop raining so I can do the one thing I wanted to do here, go mountain biking.

The updated part:

The rain didn't stop, until just now. So thanks for the prayers to the weather gods people, but they were to late (or I just wasn't patient enough). I followed my own advice and said "F this' I'm going for a ride." I cocooned myself in all my rain gear rented a bike and set off on what was the most beautiful if not coldest and wettest 30 km ride of my life. The conditions were less than ideal for downhill riding, the result of which being that I am relatively certain I now have a minor concussion. I just can't stop thinking about the number purple and the letter 7...

All in all a great ride, and I am glad that I just sucked it up and did it, but now I am left wondering what to do with the rest of my week. I had been planning on staying here for a while, chilling out, reading books, hiking and biking, but due to the weather and the fact that the only bookshop/cafe decided to close its doors last night for a two week annual vacation means that I have no idea what I should be doing with myself. Anyone?!?!? Suggestions for what to do in Ecuador for 6 days without busting my ass traveling around?

Quito Bonito

2009-04-18T12:28:00.000-07:00

Arriving in Quito yesterday I noticed two things right away. The cold downpour and the altitude induced headache. I made my way to a hostel, checked in and hunkered down. Too cold and wet to explore, and not knowing what to do with myself I spent the evening bundled in my jacket watching movies and feeling a feeling I had not felt for quite some time, loneliness.

Around 10:30 last night the hostel, which had only one other occupant when I arrived, began filling up with people and I quickly realized why I haven't stayed in a dorm room for more than two years now, the noise. I put my headphones on and tried semi-successfully to sleep, though I awoke frequently, the headache still there.

This morning didn't start out all that great either, I ordered breakfast from a cafe only to be served instant coffee and stale toast. UGH....

Then things turned around. Really turned around. Turns out Quito is one of the most beautiful cities I have ever seen, ok, it might not be the city on the island (a little code there), but it is damn beautiful, and the vistas are incredible. I wandered aimlessly, had a couple of short Spanish conversations with friendly passer-byers. Walking around aimlessly, wheezing slightly with every hill I climbed and every flight of stairs I mounted I felt truly relaxed for the first time since I landed.

Then it happened. Making my way back to my hostel after lunch I was walking along still enjoying every sight and sound when I felt something cold and sticky hit my hat and run down my back. I reached up to my neck and wiped some of the slime away. Green paint. Green fucking paint. Someone from a rooftop above had just poured green paint on me.

There were a few people standing around looking at me, and looking at the roof, and then looking back at me. First it came out in English "WHAT THE FUCK!!!" I screamed, quickly realizing that I needed to switch my rage to Spanish I rolled out the following, some of which I am not even sure translates to Spanish but I was to pissed off to care, and felt like I needed to get my point across. "Hijo de puta, vayase pa' la mierda. Voy a joder tu madre pinche guebon." I screamed while the crowd of slightly shocked locals looked on.

I turned and began walking away when one of the guys from the crowd came up to me with a handful of tissues and began trying to help me wipe the paint of my neck, back, camera, and backpack. After a few minutes I gave up, thanked him for his help, and began booking it back to my hostel. After a shower and a change of clothes I calmed down and let it go. I still love this city!

Saddle Up Partner

2009-04-14T15:15:00.000-07:00

I have that feeling again. That sort of tickley anticipation that creeps up inside you, starting in the stomach and expanding until it fills your chest before working its way down your arms and legs. It's the feeling that an adventure is about to begin. That not all that you knew is going to remain the same, and that you are just going to be along for the ride.

In this case the adventure is Ecuador. Solo. I haven't traveled solo in a while now, and in fact I wouldn't even characterize what I've been doing lately as traveling. I'm settled. I love Medellin, I have a nice apartment, my Spanish classes are fantastic, and I am meeting new friends. I feel cocooned by the normalcy that is my life here. I wake up have coffee and go to class. I have lunch almost everyday at the same delicious restaurant. I work a few hours in the afternoons. I spend my free time hanging out with friends or studying Spanish and watching movies. It is absolutely fantastic. Never better.

But it's time to break out of this routine (at least for 12 days). I need to climb a mountain, and then zip down it at break-neck speed on a full suspension bike. I need to hop on a chicken bus and not know where it's going to take me. I need to find that perfect little place that's all mine, that memory that's just for me. And when it's all over I'm glad I'll be coming back to Medellin. It really is starting to feel like home.

The world is not tan horrible!

2009-04-08T13:32:00.000-07:00

Mira. I have traveled quite a bit in my day. I've even circumnavigated the globe so to speak. I have traveled to poor countries and rich countries. I have spent time in big cities and little villages. I have seen poverty and wealth on equally unimaginable scales. So while I have witnessed the wickedness that man is capable of I have also witnessed and experienced the overwhelming kindness that he is capable of.

In fact, I have experienced it so often that there really is no where I am afraid to go, especially in Latin America. No, I don't speak Spanish perfectly, but I do speak it. I can ask my own questions, understand the answers, and generally get along quite well on my own. I don't stay in four star hotels, or eat in classy restaurants. So quit treating me like a potential victim. No one is going to hurt me. Have I been ripped off occasionally? Yes. Was it ever for more than like three or four dollars? No.

I pay what things cost, people answer my questions honestly, and in general I am treated with kindness by nearly everyone I encounter, whether it be waiting for the bus or buying a beer in the market.

So, thank you for the concern, thank you for the recommendations on places to go where I can find other tourists, and thanks for telling me what I ought to pay for things. Thank you for worrying about my safety, but chillax aready! I'm doing pretty well on my own.

Dedicated to all the thoughtful, but needlessly overprotective friends I have met on my travels.

I recommend you try this

2009-04-07T18:13:00.000-07:00

I was getting ready to cook one of my favorite dishes for dinner a little while ago when I ran into a few road-blocks. First, the dish, which is really just a derivative of another dish I cook (which in turn is derived from the other of the three things I know how to cook), is vegetarian fajitas. A simple dish of fried peppers, squash, onion, and tomato spooned into a hot tortilla with some refried beans and cheese. I don't know what to say other than; it's fucking goooooood!

So my first problem was that I didn't have a red bell pepper, one of the key ingredients. And then the real big problem came. I tried one of the unknown spicy peppers I was about to add to the mix. It wasn't a habanero, which I had previously thought was the hottest pepper on earth, and one I am very familiar with using (wear gloves and keep you hands away from your genitals is my advice for handling said pepper). No, this new mystery pepper was one I had never seen before, and after one small, tinsy, winsy nibble I realized what a mistake I had just made. I felt the scourching heat begin on the tip of my tounge and then explode right between my eyes. The pain was unbearable. I don't even know how to describe it, I guess the only thing I can say is that three hours later my lips are still swollen and the burning sensation has only just begun to subside.

So what was there to do? I was lacking ingredients, and the ones I had were clearly not all going to get tossed in there. So I improvised. I fried up some rice with garlic and onion and chile sauce, I fried the veggies and garlic like normal (but I only dropped in a few very small slivers of the pepper), and then a added the kicker, a mango. What ensued was an orgy of flavor that I can hardly begin to describe. The spicy pepper, the sweet mango, the creamy subtle flavor of the fresh avocado, and the perfectly fried golden brown garlic all mixing together in a psychedelic swirl of deliciousness.

I don't want to compare the meal to a meeting with God, but maybe it was like eating a meal that God had cooked. Hmmm...did I just compare myself to God? Well, I did just cook that meal, I think I am entitled to a bit of egotism right now.

It's come a long way since Guatemala

2009-04-04T18:58:00.000-07:00

First a joke: Me fui por Guatemala, pero llegue en Guatepeor. If you're studying Spanish I won't explain the joke, I'll let you figure it out (DISCLAIMER: I in no way hold these beliefs about Guatemala nor its citizens. I love Guatemala and would never say anything malicous about such a wonderful country, despite standing by my prior statement suggesting that you should violently shove old women in the bus stations there).

Last night was great, and it was great for many reasons, but for me one thing that stood out was that I was having conversations. No, I am not some recluse who has shut himself off from the world (which would make the fact that I had interpersonal conversations significant), but nonetheless it was significant.

Diego, our Spanish professor (and quickly becoming a close friend), and his wife Angela invited us to go to a party with them. We didn't know anyone who would be at said party, and there wasn't any real reason to go other than to meet a ton of new people in Spanish, and make new contacts in the city.

What was significant is that it was the first time I can remember when I was surrounded by tons of people speaking Spanish, tons of separate conversations, many which were lacking that oh so cherished companion, context, and yet I was still able to understand it. Maybe not all of it, but most of it. I understood jokes and funny stories, talked with doctoral students about their thesis, all the while marvelling at the fact that three months ago none of this would have been possible.

And then I thought back to that first day in Guatemala 20 months ago. When I opened my mouth to say something and nothing came out. Unaccostomed to such a peculiar phenomenon I tried again, only to make some bizzare gurgling noise and watch with detatchment as my body began to compliment those funny grunts and gurgles with bizzare hand gestures.

It feels good to have reached this point. It feels cozy. 20 months ago I was stuck talking with other backpackers on the travelers circuit. These days I feel like I could go just about anywhere, and talk with just about anyone. It's a good feeling. Though I'm sure anyday now I will find myself in one of those awkward situations in which I have a complete communication breakdown and my inflated self-confidence will burst. Until then I am going to enjoy pretending to speak Spanish

What do Jesus and Mother Teresa have to do with anything?

2009-04-03T16:02:00.000-07:00

Probably nothing but I guess there livin' here these days so you never know...

It's raining again. It's always raining here. I really feel like I traded Seattle for Seattle, Latino Edition. It's green, there are mountains around, lots of neighborhood parks and coffee shops, a bit of a hipster scene in the nicer barrios, and a sculpture park, though this particular sculpture park is full of obscenely obese naked - anatomically correct if not oddly shaped and proportioned - men and women. Go Botero!

There are differences too. For example; we have a sweet metro down here that runs the length of the city, is impeccably clean, and easy to ride. (Hows that whole light rail thing going Seattle?)

Uhhh...this post is going know where, so I guess I'm going to hop the metro and go kick it with Jesus and M.T. for a while. Chao.

(Yes, I'm starting to crack a bit.)

eso es un caballo de otro color

2009-03-31T15:53:00.000-07:00

I love that expression (that's a horse of a different color). I never use the phrase in English, ever, but I enjoy throwing it out there in Spanish, which incidentally does not translate whatsoever.

Nonetheless, use it I do, as often as possible. Unfortunately there aren't a whole lot of times in day-to-day conversation when that phrase would be applicable, but there was one this morning, and carpe diem I did (no, that last italicized bit is not Spanish, but I figured I might as well have a tri-lingual post here).

Of course when I busted it out my Spanish teacher just looked at me like I was hopelessly babbling like a moron (something he is surely used to by now). After explaining the phrase to him, he continued to stare at me dumbfoundedly for a few seconds, and then returned to the conversation we were having about high-class hookers. Pero eso es un caballo de otro color...

Stuck in the middle with myself

2009-03-29T07:51:00.001-07:00

I'm in a weird place right now, linguistically. I have been studying Spanish for the last year now, and obviously the last three months of traveling and formally studying in a University have really started to pay off. I wouldn't quite call myself a Spanish speaker, but I'm close. And that is where the problem comes in.

I am now able to talk with most people, about most subjects. I can clearly communicate opinions and ideas (even though words are often lacking from my vocabulary). And I can understand most people, that is to say, I can understand the opinions and ideas that they are trying to communicate, even when those ideas are filled with slang, and riddled with colloquialisms. But then it all falls apart.

I don't really understand most of what is being said to me. If I was to be completely honest I would say I probably understand less than 50% of the words in any given exchange (assuming it's not just ordering food or asking directions, etc.). Yet, I often find myself sitting around for hours at a time having conversations with people, seemingly understanding everything, all while never really understanding anything.

What is this weird middle ground I am trapped in? If any of you have any profound insight on what it is like to be at this stage in learning a language, and how the hell I can get past it I would love to hear from you!

My one accomplishment

2009-03-28T18:28:00.000-07:00

I think my favorite part about not working, and not really having anything to do is the fact that when I do do something it seems monumental, like I really accomplished something significant. Today's significant accomplishment was cooking lunch with Natalie and our friend Amparo. That's it. That's all I did today (well I ate the lunch as well, so I guess I did two things today).

This wasn't just any old lunch we are talking about either. This was the typical costena (put a tilde over that n cause I can't be bothered to do so) lunch. We, and by we I mean Amparo, prepared arroz con coco, platanos fritos, y filetes de pescado (coconut rice, fried plantains, and fish filetes). Well, I prepared the fish so I guess I shouldn't give her all the credit (even though preparing fish was only about 1/10 of the overall work that had to be done).

First we had to grate a coconut. Have you ever grated an entire coconut? No? I didn't think so. Let me assure you it is no easy task, which is why Amparo and Natalie did most of it while I drank a beer. Then, after that, the coconut milk had to be extracted by repeatedly mixing the shredded material with water and squeezing it through a strainer (Of course we didn't have a strainer so Amparo and Natalie had to go ask the security guard to call other apartments until he found someone who had one. Again, I sat this one out with a cold beer in my hand). When all that was finally done Amparo magically extracted the coconut oil and mixed that with the coconut milk and began simmering the rice in the delicious coconut soup.

Then it was on to the platanos. First they were sliced into chunks and fried lightly in hot oil. Then they are removed from the hot oil, mashed flat, soaked in a garlic and saltwater concoction for a few minutes and the fried again until they were crispy and delicious. I've said it before and I'll say it again, I have never had anything deep-fried that I did not enjoy.

I might as well give myself a pat on the back here and say that the fish, marinated in lime, and then fried in a delicious mixture of olive oil garlic and lime, was also other-worldly delicious.

Oh! I almost forgot the fresh pineapple juice we made to go along with it. Nothing to fancy, just the most delicious pineapple you have ever had blended with ice and served ice cold.

And that was it. That was the day. I'm not even sure what happened to the other 10 hours that I have spent awake so far. I think I just sat in a chair in a semi-comatose state marvelling over how much I had accomplished.

Fotos y pensamientos

2009-03-27T13:40:00.000-07:00

It should never take anyone a year to put a photo album up on their blog, but that is exactly how long it has taken me to get around to organizing and posting the photos from my Bonderman trip, which I finished almost a year ago (see the new photo albums section in the left hand column). It's a little scary to think that that has almost been a year already, because it sure doesn't feel like it. What's more, that means that I recieved the Bonderman almost two years ago, and that I have basically been traveling for 13 of the last 20 months.

Looking at all those photos the last couple of days made me really realize a couple of things. First and foremost it made me miss Nepal. I mean reallllllly miss Nepal. If only they spoke Spanish there....

It served as a nice reminder of how lucky I am to be spending these two years traveling and learning a second language, but it also reminded me of how much I have changed in these two years.

When I see the pictures from Guatemala I look so young, so full of energy. I remember riding the chicken buses all over the country and feeling so exilerated doing so, like there wasn't anything I couldn't do. But now? I don't know if I could handle it these days. I feel tired. The thought of enduring a six or eight hour ass-pounding, nausea inducing, leg cramping journey doesn't sound fun, or even like an adventure. It just sounds tiring. And painful.

Some might say "Well you've finally come to your senses, there is nothing wrong with not wanting to put yourself through that anymore.", but they're wrong. There is something wrong with that. I remember those days on the chicken buses as being some of the happiest days of my life. It was complete freedom. Complete and unchecked adventure. Charting new territories, and discovering new worlds. It's not there any more, that sense of adventure...I miss that feeling.

A vicious reminder

2009-03-23T19:44:00.000-07:00

Today started pretty much like any other day. I got up, turned on the coffee maker, and made a quick and delicious breakfast of fruit, yogurt, and granola. After packing a light lunch and swallowing the dredges at the bottom of my coffee mug (they really do pack an extra punch). I walked to the metro station and headed downtown.

I suppose that is where my day would diverge from a normal work day, though in truth I have never had a single "normal" work day in my life (Woohoo for working from home!). I arrived in downtown Medellin, met a couple of friends, and hopped a nearby bus headed for an ecological reserve about 45 minutes outside of town. As we began climbing the steep and winding road out of town that was when it really struck me. What it was that struck me I'm not exactly sure, but strike me it did.

Maybe I should go back to when I first arrived here, after leaving the island. Landing in Bogota was like re-entering the world. There was advertising, new cars, proper restaurants, things that I hadn't really seen much of for the last two months. More than that, it was the choices that grabbed me. I could choose what kind of meat I wanted on a sandwich (it wasn't just ham), I could choose where I was going to buy my groceries, or which bus service I wanted to take. And that choice, those near endless options, those are what sucked me in. I was eating, drinking, and breathing capitalism, and it felt good.

Did I notice the poverty in those first few weeks? Yeah I did. Did I feel any sort of connection to it? I don't know. I know it felt awful to see homeless people on the streets. I know I gave spare change here and there to the blind beggers lining the path up Montserrate, but that's about it. Somewhere between lying on the beach, worrying about my own money situation, and simply (and perhaps unconsciously) being able to remove myself from that poverty I think I stopped thinking about it. After all it is pretty hard to notice poverty when you are able to move to a nice neighborhood, go shopping in upscale supermarkets, and spend time with middle-class friends.

And that's what hit me this morning. The poverty. It felt like it was the first time I was feeling it, at least since Mexico. Say what you will about the island, but everyone has food, everyone has shoes. Today I saw again the viciousness of life in a country where people get left behind. There was a lot of images flooding my vision, but what I will remember most, what is burned into my mind, was the man using his teeth scrapping mango flesh off a rind pulled from a garbage bag, while sitting barefoot in the middle of the street, shivering violently while the rain soaked him to the bone.

Settled...for now.

2009-03-18T14:30:00.000-07:00

It had only been 18 days without a home base. So why does it feel like it had been so much longer than that? It feels as though I left behind my apartment on the island months ago, and as far as Seattle goes? Well, that seems like a life-time ago.

I am happy to report that, as of noon today, I am no longer homeless. Instead I am the proud renter of a two bedroom apartment in Medellin.

And what an apartment it is! Situated on the 14th floor I look out over a wide swath of Medellin which sprawls out endlessly before me. There is pool, wifi, and (at long last) the much needed second bathroom, thus ensuring zero wait time 100% of the time.

But has it all come at a cost? Sure there is the 1.7 million pesos a month, but what about the additional tax on my soul? Should I really be living in a neighborhood where the closest nightlife is the mall (though it does have soccer fields on the third floor)? Do I really want to walk past fast-food restaurants, tire shops, and car dealerships instead of coffee shops, bakeries, art galleries, and boutique clothes stores every morning?

Oh My God...I've moved to Agrestic! AAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

It's actually not that bad. It's more like I have moved to Agrestic, were it to be situated 10 minutes away (walking) from the urban environment I have so grown to love, and for now I can deal with that. It feels good to have a home again.

Now, if you will excuse me I think I'll get back to down on all the plebes situated 14 floors below me. BWHAHAHA.

Finally!!!!

2009-03-15T18:36:00.000-07:00

I would be lying if I said that last month has not been completely exhausting, and one of the more challenging months I have ever had during my travels. The last two weeks on the island seemed to drag on forever, and despite being sad to leave our friends we could not wait to get out of there. Then, after we arrived in Colombia we had "The Bus Ride" only to arrive in Cartagena and discover that it was not the city we had expected it to be. With all our luggage (we have more than we should) traveling is not easy and the failure to find a place to settle added immensely our stress level. Throw in not really speaking much Spanish for two weeks (just enough to ask directions, get food, etc.) and we were both miserable.

When nothing is going right, and you are feeling as stressed as we were, there is really only one option, go to the beach. Which is exactly what we did. Unfortunately, it took me a couple of days to unwind at the beach (As an aside: If you ever find yourself standing in crystal clear turquoise water with a beautiful girl in a bikini shouting at you to come join her for a swim, and you are to grumpy to go do it, there is something very wrong with you, and you may wish to seek professional help. Not that that happened to me or anything.....ummmm....).

Eventually I started to unwind, it started right about the time I kicked back in a hammock for the first time in nearly three months, sipping on Coca Cola and reading Harry Potter in Spanish.

Then, to finally cement my relaxation and turn things around I discovered paradise. Again. I've discovered quite a few paradises in my day, but I'm quite certain that this one takes the cake (after all the campground in which we slept next to the beach was named El Paraiso. As pictures are far more telling than words enjoy looking at paradise from afar. I assure you it was even better than it looks!

The suppression of dreams (by an overpowering stench of urine)

2009-03-09T07:18:00.000-07:00

Cartagena was the dream. It was always the dream. It was the dream before I had ever heard of the Bonderman Fellowship, before I traveled through Central America, before Asia. For me this trip was about one city, Cartagena.

Arriving in Cartagena after the worst-bus-ride-ever (see last post), I was tired, cranky, and hungry. It was time to decompress and enjoy the "Fairy Tale City of Magic" (as it had been dubbed by the LP).

What I found was a city over run by tourists, where I was constantly harassed by all manner of, what I would call, pushers. However, instead of pushing drugs it was taxis, hotels, water, restaurants, etc. And then there was the overpowering smell of urine. Was I back in Asia again?!? And, BALLS, was it ever hot out!!

Half broken hearted, half furious with the situation, I was about to have a melt-down when a solution presented itself. Medellin, the land of eternal spring. Within 24 hours the dream had changed completely (funny how that can happen when you are traveling), now my sights are set on Medellin and the university there, where, I have been told by numerous people, I will encounter friendly people, clear Spanish, a gorgeous outdoor playground filled with all sorts of possibilities, and only a few whities hopping around.

I fled Cartagena yesterday for the beach, where I find myself writing this post. Unfortunately this particular beach town (which technically speaking lacks a beach) is filled with far more whities than Colombians, and there are barefoot hippies everywhere! Someone tell these guys to put some fucking shoes on!! AHHHHHHH!!! I'm losing it.

Bogota to Cartagena. One bus ride I can't recommend to anyone.

2009-03-05T13:34:00.000-08:00

Sometimes buses suck. That's just a fact of life when you are traveling, and I feel like I have done a pretty great job being fairly Zen about it. Just except it and move on. Unfortunately, it's not always that easy. Case in point, the worst bus ride of my life, which I just completed yesterday afternoon, and after telling this story here I never want to think about again. And yes, it involves vomit and feces.

It all started by boarding what was hands down the nicest bus I had ever seen. I mean the seats reclined almost all the way to a bed, and the leg rests were actual LEG rests not just a platform to place your feet. It was like those seats you always see in the first class section of a transcontinental flight, but never get to sit in. Instead, you just keep walking back to your cramped little seat, without the kick-ass leg rests.

And then it began...

The treacherous, winding road turned the ride into a roller coaster, made worse by the pedal-to-the-metal driving style of our conductor. This caused my seat-mate to vomit. Twice. The second time resulting in vomit on the floor, her bag, and, worst of all my bag, all thanks to a leaky plastic bag that just didn't quite do the trick. Thus, for two hours we sat in the aforementioned spewed chunks, waiting for the bus to stop so we could clean everything up.

OK, everything was clean, we had some food and the bus started out again. We could still recover from this. But then the bus broke down. And then we waited on the side of the road for about an hour as the driver tried to fix it, finally we were able to start driving again, only to be forced to change buses an hour later, which would not have been so bad except there were not enough seats on the bus for everyone. By "everyone" I mean myself and a German guy who had come along with us on the ride. And that is how I found myself lying on the floor in the middle of the aisle at the back of the bus, next to the lavatory.

Now, lying on the floor of a bus when you have a twenty hour ride (1l down at this point) is pretty unpleasant, but it was made all the more unpleasant by the fact that the toilet on this particular bus was not flushing, that the bus was not making any rest stops (and thus everyone was using the lavatory), that the sun was starting to rise, that the rising sun meant warmer temperatures, and that warmer temperatures meant a stench that you could not possibly imagine began emanating from the lavatory. Which happened to be where my head was located.

Luckily after a couple of hours I was able to grab a seat and ride out the rest of what turned into a 22 hour ride sitting in front of a kid who decided that he needed to frequently kick the back of my seat as hard as he could in order to exercise his legs. But you know what? After lying on the floor with my head next to the lavatory for two hours it wasn't so bad.

And that was my worst bus ride ever. The End.

Booyha Bogota!

2009-03-01T06:46:00.000-08:00

Damn! Does it ever feel good to be here. I have been sipping drip coffee, using high-speed internet, and enjoying eating things such as fruits and vegetables again (I had almost forgotten that there are edible substances out there other than ham).

Last night as I lay in bed streaming the Daily Show I finally felt like I had reconnected with the outside world. A strange feeling after these last two months.

I know I am supposed to have some profound metaphor to describe my last two months, but I don't. This is about all I got: Have you ever wanted to eat a turkey sandwich, but when you went to your favorite sub shop all they had was ham? Imagine having that happen three times a day for 60 straight days, and having to wait in line for an hour each time. That was what my last two months were like.

I'm outta here!

2009-02-26T11:20:00.000-08:00

And not a moment too soon! Not that it's been terrible here, but really there is only so much a good ol' red, white, and blue American, such as myself, can take here.

Next stop Colombia, which after these last two months has become a land where all my dreams will come true: high-speed internet, drip coffee, clear and easy to understand Spanish, Coke (no, not the white stuff, the real stuff, the good stuff, because that just does not exist here.), delicious food, and a whole lot more.

Colombia, la tierra de oportunidad, aqui vengo!

been a while...

2009-02-09T11:11:00.001-08:00

I can't believe that I have not been able to put anything up here in the last month and a half. Most of you probably know why, and for those of you who don't you won't be getting any information out of me.

Since I can't write much (even though I have a ton to say) I will keep this very brief.

I'm having the time of my life. I've never been in a city I love as much as this one.

While most of you are probably imagining me in a tropical paradise right now the truth is that it has been fucking freezing here. Both Natalie and I wore our long underwear to bed the other night.

Spanish is a hell of a great language, but here it has been bastardized beyond recognition. I am anxiously awaiting a new country with a clearer dialect.

The food sucks. No way around it. This is the first time I have ever been anywhere where I didn't feel excited to eat the next delicious meal. Instead, I find myself dreading meal time.

Soccer is a fun sport. It is even more fun when played in an olympic swimming pool that has been drained of water.

Well, that's all for now. I look forward to writing at least one or two very long posts when I leave here in three weeks.

Ciao,
Augusto

Happy Hedonistic Holidays (My Spring Break Christmas)

2008-12-30T05:51:00.000-08:00

I'm sitting on a king size bed right now. The TV, a nice flat panel widescreen, is playing in the background, and I'm sipping a good cup of coffee. Today however is the last time I will be enjoying this luxury. We check out in a few hours, and head to the airport tomorrow for our next destination where, borrowing the term from some bad spy movies, I will be "going dark". No internet, no room service, no pool, no endless supply of booze, and no topless women.

That's right the hedonistic holiday is coming to an end. It's been a hell of a week! First I must thank Dave and Carol for treating Nat and I to such a great vacation, which is exactly what this was, a vacation. After a couple of weeks of sleeping on lumpy mattresses, purifying our drinking water every day, and having to forage for food it was nice to suddenly put all that behind us and enjoy a life filled with creature comforts.

It was also a little weird. I mean suddenly we were surrounded by whities. They were everywhere, on the beach, the street, in the restaurants and bars. Whities, whities everywhere. There was also the fact that a significant portion of the whities were topless (and given the small thong bottoms most of the women were wearing almost bottomless as well). Fueled by free booze and encouraged by the resort staff to partake in games like amateur pornstar contest, race to blow the balloon up with a bicycle pump (the catch being you aren't using your foot you are using your best humping technique), sex and excess were in the air. As were fake boobs. Not only were they in the air, they were in the pool, the restaurants, the bars, the beach, the rooms. How many people in this world have fake titties? And do they all come to Cancun for vacation?

A fun week to be sure, but a little unsettling at others. Every time I would catch part of a conversation in which a burned to a crisp whitie would say to another burned to a crisp whitie "Mexico is such a poor country, these poor waiters make only 4 or 5 dollars a day, and are really lucky to have these jobs." I wanted to scream. There were other ridiculous comments as well. Such as "This is my fourth time in Cancun, and this place is paradise. The problem is most guys come down here and get totally wrapped up in trying to *insert expletive used to describe sex here* a *insert explative used to describe a woman here*, but they miss out on just enjoying paradise. There are beautiful women everywhere, it's gorgeous, and you can drink as much as you want. All you need to do is relax, enjoy paradise, and before you know it you will be *insert explative used to describe sex here* a *insert expletive used to describe a woman here*.

Moments like these and many others left me on edge a lot. I wanted to scream at some of these people. I wanted to tell them how fake their lives were. How ignorant they were of the outside world, of the challenges that face a nation like Mexico. I wanted to strangle the stupid motherfucker next to me every time he said the words *insert expletive used to describe sex here* a *insert expletive used to describe a woman here*. Then I remembered "Hey! I'm on vacation, I need to relax.", and would swim over the poolside bar, order a drink, and enjoy the view. I had to agree the guy. The view was pretty great.

My Mexican Mishaps

2008-12-27T07:45:00.000-08:00

I'm in Cancun right now, I have been here for four days now, and have slipped into a strange world that I do not fully understand. I will be describing my hedonistic holidays in a separate post, but first here is a quick update on three adventures that befell Nat and I over the last few days.

Departing San Cristobal for Cancun we knew we were in for a long ride. "Great", I had said as we queued up waiting to buy our tickets, "I can't wait for another 14 hour bus ride." If only that had been the case. When we got to the front of the line and purchased our tickets we discovered that we had underestimated the return trip, and would be spending 18 hours on the bus instead.

Our bus was not leaving until the following afternoon so we began searching for a cheap hostel to spend the night. The last hostel we had stayed at in San Cristobal was full, and after wandering by several other places that were either full, or too expensive we settled on Ek Balam more out of desperation than anything else. While we both have probably spent nights in worse accommodation in our lives we probably haven't spent many nights in sketchier places. The problems were too numerous to name them all. The lock on the door was busted. The guy working spent about 15 minutes trying to find a key for it, and finally gave up and showed us that if you just jammed a key in the lock really hard and shook the door for a few seconds it should pop open. This seemed to work pretty well, so stepping over the piles of hair and cigarette butts we made our way to the bed.

The following morning, after breakfast, I decided to show Natalie the torture apparatus that our posh room had been equipped with. Running from the only electrical outlet in the room was a long electric cord with the end stripped back to reveal several inches of copper wire inside. "Watch this!" I said, picking up the cable and touching the ends together. A brief blue flash and a shower of sparks shot out from the cable, and then darkness enveloped us. I had just blown out the circuit for the majority of the hostel. We used our headlamps to back our bags and left promptly.

Once at the bus station we began to wait, and wait, and wait finally an hour after we were supposed to depart for Cancun our bus showed up, and 20 minutes later we were underway. The going was slow and it was quickly apparent that we were not going to get to Cancun in 18 hours. We passed the time watching movies, the first of which was American Gangster, which had not been dubbed meaning that we got to enjoy it in English. Next came The Godfather (El Padrino in Spanish), which was exciting for about 30 seconds until it became apparent that this was not THE Godfather. Instead it was some insanely low budget flick (I'm talking a D movie here) starring, and directed by, Damian Chapa, who will now haunt my dreams forever. Forced to endure Damian Chapa's acting we suffered on until it finally ended around midnight. At which point they started it over again.

Finally, 24 hours later we arrived in Cancun. We made our way to the resort, had dinner, and promptly went to sleep. The next day we spent hours trying to figure out what to do when the airline holding our tickets to our next destination decided to cancel our reservation. Then, after spending the morning at the airport desperately searching for a way out of that mess, we made our way to the beach to finally relax.

We spread out on a bed (yes there are beds on the beach!!) and began reading our books. I had finished about 2 pages when I heard the first scream. A high pitched, bone rattling, scream of someone experiencing sheer agony. I looked up in time to see three guys dragging a woman out of the water by her life jacket.
The men carried her over to a bed and I ran over to see what was going on. The first things I noticed were the cuts on her leg. Certainly not life threatening, but none to pleasant either. More concerning was the odd angle of her hip, and the bumps protruding from it. I quickly ascertained that there had been a Ski Do accident and asked the men if there were paramedics on-sight. They said yes and that they were going to get them now. Thinking I would only have to deal with the situation for a minute or two I began my scan of her body, and another woman rushed over to help. After a minute no paramedics had arrived and we were then told there was no one on staff. While Natalie set about making sure that an ambulance had been called we bundled the woman in towels and tried to keep her calm though she continued to scream about her broken pelvis. It was a tense situation made worse when her friends came rushing over and started screaming and crying next to her. I monitored her pulse and kept her talking. From time to time she would black out and I would need to lean close to her chest to make sure she was still breathing. The throng of spectators had grown thick, and plenty of people tried to give advice. “She's passing out, give her sugar”, one guy sagely advised me. “OMG get fuck out of here.” I wanted to scream at him. Finally after about 30 minutes (though others have put it at more like 45) the paramedics arrived. With their help we cut her life jacket away and carefully rolled her onto a backboard. She was taken to the hospital and that is the end of my involvement in the story...almost.

The next day I was standing at the bar ordering drinks when I overheard a man relating the incident to some other guests. It went something like this:

“I saw these guys drag this woman out of the water screaming. She was bleeding REALLY badly from these HUGE, DEEP gashes in her leg (again, they were nasty cuts but not the biggest issue by far). Luckily she was a doctor and was able to keep herself conscious to direct people how to stop the bleeding because she knew that if she blacked out and they did not stop the bleeding she was going to bleed to death. Her blood was soaking through these towels and she kept taking to the people, who didn't know what they were doing, and finally got them to stop the bleeding. Then after an hour an ambulance FINALLY showed up and took her to the hospital. She was lucky she was a doctor or she would have been dead.”

I smiled to myself, shook my head, grabbed my Tequila Sunrise, and headed back to the beach. I was finally beginning to relax a bit.

Amigos y Extranjeros

2008-12-21T15:56:00.000-08:00

It's crazy how often it happens. Everyone I know who has traveled has experienced it, and people write entire books about it. It doesn't matter where you go, whether you have the same skin color, the same religion, or even whether you speak the same language, it will happen to you. I am talking about the kindness of strangers (which, as I have mentioned before, happens to be the title of a pretty great book). Every time I experience it I am filled with more emotions than I can possibly describe. The obvious ones are gratitude and joy that there are so many kind people in the world, who for no reason other than kindness will invite you into their homes, share their food, and go out of their way to make you feel incredibly welcome. Then there are the other feelings it invokes. The ones that aren't as pleasant. There is a bit self-loathing, why don't I ever do the same thing for others? Never once have I invited a stranger who I have nothing in common with, but would like to do something nice for, into my house. And then there is that little voice in the back of my head saying "careful here, don't be too nice they might be trying to rip you off." Never once has that voice been correct, but it is always there, always causing me to be on guard, to make excuses to leave early, or otherwise excuse myself from the situation.

It started Friday night with a mildly intoxicated Mexican shouting out to me "Hello, where are you from." I was walking away from him at the time, headed in search of my favorite warm weather treat, ice cream, and did not stop to talk with him. After sating my craving for ice cream Natalie and I were walking back down the street in the opposite direction, and there in the same place was the same man sitting on a chair with two other guys drinking beer and listening to music. Clearly I was not going to be able to avoid them unless I acted like a total dick and just ignored them. This really isn't my style so I decided to go right up to them and say hello. Before I knew it we had been introduced to all of them, the man who had called out to me was named Julio Cesar, and he was with his father Julio, a now retired boxer who had apparently made a bit of a name for himself as a boxer and was nicknamed Chocomilk. Within a couple of minutes chairs had been brought out for us and we were sipping beers with Chocomilk and Julio Cesar. Jokes were told, and as a true test of my Spanish I actually was understanding them. We laughed and drank beer, asked each other questions and drank beer, and simply sat in the street and drank beer. When all was said and done Nat and I were both feeling a bit drunk and excused ourselves for the night, but promised to visit their restaurant the following day for lunch.

True to our word we showed up at their restaurant planning to be polite, buy a small lunch and then say goodbye. As a quick aside, Paradise, which is how I will refer to my place of residence for the past week (though that is not it's name), had only two drawbacks, the mosquitoes and the prices of food at the restaurants. Therefore we were a bit weary of going to a beach side restaurant where the owner had promised to cook us a feast, as this could quite possibly cost at least an entire day's budget. Julio was not there when we arrived, and so we sat on the beach sipping a soda and waiting for him. After finishing our sodas he had still not arrived and so we ordered a beer. When Julio showed up he was quite busy as he had just returned from the nearest town with everything he would need to operate hit taqueria that night. After about ten minutes he called us over to the kitchen and introduced us to his entire family. His four children and his wife politely greeted us, and then he showed us to a nearby table (I should mention that despite the fact that Julio has four children, the oldest of whom is 18, Julio is only 33). Soon the music was blasting, and a very fresh shrimp salad had been placed on the table in front of us along with two more beers.

There was only one problem. I'm allergic to shellfish. I had mentioned this to him the night before, but in our inebriated state it must have slipped his mind. Therefore I did my best to pick around the shrimp without anyone noticing, all the while encouraging Natalie to stuff her face with shrimp. "You are eating for two." I told her, and when her fork would lie resting on the plate I would shoot her a pleading look, and beg her to cram a few more bites into her mouth.

After the shellfish came a freshly cooked plate of beef that would be chopped into the filling for the tacos he would sell on the street that night. I'm not much of a beef fan, but this was truly fantastic, and of course was accompanied by more beers.

After a couple of hours Julio had to get his taqueria set up. We promised to come eat tacos that night, and as I got up I asked what we owed him for lunch. "Nada." was the reply. "Really?" I asked, "Are you sure?" He explained to me that we were guests in his house and that he was very happy to have met us and to become friends. He called me his hermano (brother), and hugged both of us as we left. He also invited us to Christmas dinner with his entire extended family.

We returned to his taco stand that night with our two German friends, with whom we had spent the week, and set about trying to eat as many tacos as we could in order to at least help him reach his goal of selling 20 kilos of tacos that night. We brought beers, and every time he had a few minutes he would come sit with us and drink a beer. When his friends would come by he would call me over and introduce me as his friend, and excitedly tell his friends about how we had met the night before.

When we were finally ready to live I paid for our tacos and was getting ready to leave a sizable tip. His 18 year old daughter, who was helping him run the taco stand came back and handed me 100 pesos which was far more change than I should have gotten back. She explained that she didn't have the proper change for me so I should just take the 100 instead. I tried to insist that they keep the 100 pesos since I was planning on giving them nearly the full 200 I had originally handed her anyway as a tip, but Julio wouldn't hear of it and insisted I keep my money.

We said goodbye promising to visit soon. I hope that I will. I hope that was not the last time I see Julio and his family. I hope that by the end of the night he had sold his 20 kilos of tacos. I hope that more people visit his restaurant, which like all restaurants there was perpetually empty. I hope that one day Julio will experience the same overwhelming emotions I did when a complete stranger decided to go out of his way to be kind, and to help me learn more about his language and his country. Most of all I hope that I will begin to act in the same way as Julio, that I will reach out to those in need, that I will be kind to strangers for no other reason than because it is how we should all try to treat one another.

The post that no one wants to read

2008-12-20T07:11:00.000-08:00

If I were you I would not be interested in reading this post. I mean there are no horror stories about bus rides, no self-deprecating tales about my own ignorance and stupidity, no insightful observations about the social ills afflicting Chiapas (one of the poorest places in Mexico), only a few poorly worded sentences about what paradise is like.

Paradise is a deserted beach on the Pacific Ocean with warm clear waters. I start my days in paradise by either going for a 7:30 a.m. Swim (made possible by the incredibly warm waters), or by ordering a fantastic cup of organic coffee (the only real luxury available here), and reading the BBC in Spanish using the now available (and pirated from the only place within 20 km to have wifi) internet connection I have at my disposal. Following that I will wile away the rest of the day on the beach, in the water, or reading a book in a hammock. (Everyone should experience what it is like to have nothing better to do than fall asleep in a comfortable hammock whenever the mood strikes.) Evenings are spent sipping beers and playing cards, though bedtime comes early here, and I am usually asleep by 10:30. I am sleeping like a baby here, usually for about 9 or 10 hours per night.

My plans for Mexico really did grind to a halt when I arrived here. Originally I thought two or three days would be the max. I am now on day seven. Sadly, this laid back lifestyle won't last much longer and tomorrow I will say goodbye to this incredible place. It will be back to Cancun, for what will be a much different beach experience,before heading off into a much more difficult traveling/studying situation.

This experience, which has been so reminiscent of the 10 days I spent on Don Det, Laos is something that everyone really must make a priority to experience at least once in their lives. The relative isolation, the peaceful atmosphere, and the gorgeous location do not exist for a vacation destination. They exist for those who travel, for those who back their bags and go looking for them, and even then you have to get pretty lucky to find them.

Cheers from Paradise.

The redlight district of San Cristobal

2008-12-17T10:44:00.000-08:00

I love tamales. Always have, always will. Thus, I came to Mexico in search of one thing, and one thing only: the best damn tamales I have ever eaten. That dream was realized a few nights ago in San Cristobal, and strangely enough it was with the help of the ol' LP.

A small text box in the San Cristobal section read something like this. "On Saturdays and Wednesdays follow Calle Leon past the corn fields, and look for a makeshift red light on the left hand side of the road, just before the bridge. There will be a woman selling tamales there. They are the best tamales in the world."

Skeptical, but intrigued, Natalie and I set off in search of this mythical tamale lady. We wandered out of town, past the corn fields, and suddenly there it was! The red light hanging above a door. We walked up to the house and I peered inside. "Hola" I called out, "¿uh...tienes tamales?" "Si" replied the woman, lifting the lid off of two large pots filled with tamales. Phew, I'm not just going to be some crazy gringo sticking his head into some woman's house asking for tamales.

We chose four to start with, two chicken and two pork. Sitting on the side of the road in an empty part of town we watched the full moon rise over the corn fields while we munched on what truly were the greatest tamales I have ever eaten. Thanks LP.

The NOISE!

2008-12-17T10:15:00.000-08:00

I've been a bit quiet on here lately. This owes mainly to the fact that I am in paradise. That's right paradise. For the time being I'm going to keep quiet about where this paradise is, and am only going to say the following:

It's in Mexico.

It has the cleanest beach I have ever seen, and the water is about the temperature of a bathtub.
And finally, and this is the kicker, it is completely deserted. Aside from a very small handful (probably ten or less) international travelers, there is no one on the beach, which spans for miles and miles, other than a couple of fishermen.

But let's back up a bit, there are interesting stories to be told. It all starts in San Cristobal, which just so happened to be hosting the Festival of Guadalupe, or Dia de Guadalupe as it is known in Mexico (though dia implies that it only lasts one day and that was certainly not the case). So there is some saint here in Mexico named Guadalupe, apparently the Virgin Mother (Mary) appeared to her in a vision one time told her to do something, and now she is a saint. I'm overstating my ignorance a bit, but not much.

Anyway...the story really has nothing to do with why there is this festival, but rather with the festival itself. Every year one city in southern Mexico is chosen to host the festival, and this year that city was San Cristobal. Then churches put together what I can only describe as teams of runners, who then travel from wherever their church is to San Cristobal running along the side of the highway carrying a torch. If running down the crazy-ass highways of Mexico doesn't sound terrible enough the trucks that carry the runners who are resting slowly drives behind the runner blasting a car alarm at around 100 decibels to announce its presence. Try to picture it. There you are risking your life running in 90 degree heat on these fucked up roads with vans and trucks whipping by six inches away from you, and behind you is a truck blasting BEEP BEEP BEEP, RYAA RYAA, ANH ANH ANH. Oh, and just to top it off, for some reason I can't even begin to comprehend, you have to wear a sheep hide vest over your clothes.

So I was feeling a lot of sympathy for these dedicated kids busting their asses because of their faith, and was really enjoying the festive atmosphere that enveloped the city. But that was only on the first night.

By the second night my sympathy was gone. Replaced with growing resentment, that began boiling over into outright anger. The thing was the party just never ended. Which meant the fireworks NEVER ENDED. Which meant the Mariachi bands NEVER STOPPED PLAYING. And above all else it meant that the runners NEVER STOPPED COMING, and thus the CAR ALARMS NEVER STOPPED BLAIRING. EVER.

By four a.m. on the second night I couldn't take it anymore. It was absolutely impossible to sleep. Even with ear plugs the constant music being played by a drunken mariachi band, the innumerable explosions of bottle rockets, and the incessant whine of car alarms was too much to bear. I began practicing my Spanish in my head. It was everything that I wanted to say to the all night revelers (and bear in mind this was not a one night party. I had arrived on what was either night 7 or 8 of an 8 or 9 night party). It went a little something like this (though I have translated it back into English for your benefit).

“This noise, this non-stop over-the-top fucking noise is what is causing all the problems in your society. This is why Chiapas is rife with poverty while other areas of the country prosper. This is why alcoholism is rampant, and why domestic violence has become such a huge problem. This is why children here are far behind the rest of the country in terms of education. The list of socio-economic issues goes on and on, and it is all because of this fucking noise! No one can sleep, how can the children learn anything in school? No one can sleep, how can the men go to work in the morning. No one can sleep, the men are all getting drunk. No one can sleep.

I was getting pretty poetic in my four a.m. Rant, which at the time seemed to make perfect sense, it was similar to Rudy Giuliani's No Broken Windows plan for cleaning up crime in N.Y. City in the 90s. As you probably well know by now if you have ever read Freakonomics this wasn't what cleaned up N.Y. City and it probably wouldn't alleviate any of the social issues plaguing Chiapas either, but man did it feel good to rant in my head, in Spanish, at four in the morning.

San Cristobal and the worst two hours of my life.

2008-12-11T17:09:00.000-08:00

As I write this I am sitting in a gorgeous cafe in the heart of San Cristobal, Chiapas. I lack the words to describe the beauty of this town at the moment. It is truly breathtaking.

I do not lack the words to describe the bus ride here, however. Simply put it was probably two of the worst hours of my life. It all started after writing my last post about how wonderful all the food here is. So I'm sure you know where this is going. After spending a night and morning in my hotel room (and mainly in the bathroom) in utter agony it was time to make a decision; a.) I could stay in Ocosingo for another night and hopefully recover, or b.) I could brave two hour bus ride to San Cristobal which I was sure would be a nicer town, and was a place I had really been looking forward to getting to and stopping for several days. I chose option b.

With my stomach churning, my bowels rumbling, and my body aching I popped a Cipro and an Imodium and hopped on a colectivo bound for San Cristobal. The problem was not with me, it was really with the road. First, I must explain that Mexico has a serious love affair with speed bumps (topes in Spanish). They are everywhere. I do not think it is an exageration to say that in the 98 km between Ocosingo and San Cristobal we went over at least a hundred of them. Everytime this would happen my stomach would do a backflip and I would clench my fists and pray that I wouldn't "blow chuncks" all over the woman in front of me.

The second problem was the snake-like nature of the road. It twisted and turned in every direction possible, and, provided there was not a tope to slow us down, we whipped around the corners at speeds that would make a Formula One racer nervous. Green in the face, and in more pain that seemed normal for food poisoning I gripped the edge of the seat tightly and prayed it would end without incidence. Fortunately it did, and upon arriving In San Cristobal I checked into a wonderful posada and slept myself back to health.

So that's the story, I'm healthy again (though Nat keeps disappearing into the bathroom while I write this), and ready for more of San Cristobal's colonial charm.

Reasons I love traveling

2008-12-09T15:55:00.000-08:00

It's strange that today is only day 4 of what could be a very long trip. Already I feel like I have been on the road for ages, and it seems like my last trip never really ended. And you know what? I'm totally OK with that.

I'm sure there will be many hard times ahead, and that I will not always feel as I do now, but until then all I can say is that I love being homeless in Latin America. Being back here is like stepping into a familiar pair of jeans, or lying in your own bed after being away from home for a while (Wait a minute! Is that a contradiction...). The point is I feel very at home without a home.

I am truly loving Mexico. Beyond a doubt the largest source of joy has been the food. How can anyone live without eating a delicious stack of warm tortillas with every meal. No matter what I eat tortillas are a part of the meal. I love stuffing a few pieces of chicken, pork, or beef along with some frijoles and picante into the delicious corn wrappers and scarffing them down. It never ceases to put a smile on my face. Also, if you can't tell from that last sentence my vegitarianism has ground to a halt. I have had meat with at least two meals everyday since I got here and can't imagine eating anything else. This morning's breakfast (which cost two dollars for both Nat and I) consisted of a quarter of a grilled chicken doused in lime and picante, frijoles, a large stack of tortillas, and an orange juice. YUM!!!!!!!!!!

OK all this talk of food is making me hungry, I'm headed to find some pork tacos. Hasta pronto.

The Fucking Bus Company (ADO)

2008-12-08T12:38:00.000-08:00

The title pretty much sums this post up. So there we were, in Cancun and ready to hit the road. We had just gorged ourselves on some delicious roadside tacos, and were in the bus station waiting to head to Palenque. The bus was set to leave at 7:30, and we made sure we were there around half an hour early.

Around 7:15 we still had not seen a bus pull in to Bay 1 which was where we had been told to wait. Natalie went to the door that everyone has to pass through in order to board and asked the woman collecting tickets if the bus had arrived. "Un momento" was the answer. At 7:25 with no bus still in sight I went up to the woman, showed her our tickets, and asked about the status of the bus. Again I was told it had not arrived. "En seguro" "Are you sure" I said. "Si" was the reply. Our conversation went on for a couple of more minutes with her again examing our tickets and telling me the bus had not arrived. At 7:34 Natalie jumped from her seat. "The bus is pulling away" she shouted, as she ran for the door. It was to late. The bus, which had been parked in a different bay, did not stop.

I began explaining the situation to another woman who had come over. Speaking in rapid Spainsh that was difficult to understand she basically told me that I should have got on the bus at 7:30 at turned her back on me. As she stood talking to someone else I again tried to question her, though she simply turned and told me to go to customer service.

I made my way to the customer service booth in a rage. Amazingly my Spanish didn't falter, in fact it seemed to improve, as I rapidly explained the entire situation to the man working at the booth. He looked up the next bus, which was only an hour later and told us that there were two seats left, but that we would have to pay again. In a lot of countries this would not be such a big deal, but the buses in Mexico are exprensive and this was a first class bus, which cost nearly $100 for both our tickets. Furious, I responded that we were getting on the next bus at 8:30, and that we were not paying for our tickets. The banter went back and forth for a minute or two until he got his supervisor, who also informed me that we had to pay. After several minutes of arguing he said they would pay %50. It was better than nothing, and we REALLY wanted to get the hell out of Cancun, so an hour later and fifty dollars lighter we boarded the bus for what was to be the most expensive ride I have ever taken.

Fifteen hours later I was lying on the bed of my private cabaña, happy to finally be away from Cancun and on the road.

After a day of lazing about we made our way to the fabulous ruins of Palenque this morning. Truly an amazing site (though not as great as Tikal), and to top it all off it's about 85 out right now.

I hear Seattle's expecting snow this weekend...

Well, if you will excuse me I have to make a call to the head of ADO in Cancun and try to get my money back. Wish me luck!

And so it begins...again.

2008-12-06T15:43:00.000-08:00

It's strange, the similarities between the start of this grand adventure and my last. Both times I packed my belongings away in storage. Both times I said goodbye to my friends and family. Both times I boarded a flight to Cancun, unsure of what lay ahead.

But that's where the similarities end, and the differences begin. Already I amazed at how different this trip is. The nervous feeling in my stomach is gone. I'm speaking Spanish well (OK not too well, but good enough for now). And perhaps the biggest difference is that I am not alone. Embarking on such a grand adventure with a partner (and a wonderful one at that) is truly a blessing. While I would not trade last year's expereince for anything in the world, I am glad to be sharing this adventure with Natalie.

I spent a good portion of my flight yesterday mulling over these thoughts as we cruised through the skies at 35,000 feet. Finally we arrived. After easily clearing immigration (something that felt like an incredible challenge last year), I stepped outside into the humid evening air with a feeling of deja vu. Wasn't I just here???

The bus ride into town was short, and it was when I stepped out of the bus station that I realized how much my last trip changed me. As we walked towards our hotel I remembered walking down the same street last year hopelessly lost, and unable to ask directions. My hotel was only four blocks from the bus station and I stumbled around for what seemed like ages before I finally arrived. This time I navigated my way towards the hotel with confidence doging traffic and potholes like a pro. As we walked through the back streets of Cancun I remembered that a year ago I thought I was in an incredibly impovershed area. Walking the same streets last night it was hard not to laugh at myself for being so naive. These were not poor barrios, whose residents struggled to make ends meet, these were middle class homes with nice vehicles parked out front. What a difference a year makes.

I'm happy, healthy, and ready for anything. Unfortunately, right now that anything is an all night bus ride to Palenque. ARGH!

The Green Technocrat

2008-09-20T14:05:00.000-07:00

So I'm sitting in Seattle right now. It's raining. I've been back for five months now, and am getting pretty anxious to start traveling again and writing more on this blog. I'll be heading out for another extended adventure starting in December, but until that time if you are craving some of August's (not so) excellent writing check out The Green Technocrat, a new blog I am developing about Alternative Energy Technology, Politics, Events, and any other "Green" related topics I decide to talk about. Enjoy!

Cyclone Nargis

2008-05-10T10:43:00.000-07:00

Obviously I have not been writing on my blog as this is the first post since returning to Seattle. The last month has been spent reacquainting myself with food, friends, western toilets, and, of course, a job. Everyday I find myself thinking back on my trip, whether it be a particular moment or an all encompassing lesson that I learned over the 8 months I was gone.

For the past week only one place/experience has been on my mind. Burma. For a week I have watched helplessly as the death toll has continued to rise. I remember when the BBC was reporting 2000-3000 dead, only to find that several hours later it was reporting 10,000 deaths. As of now the official death toll stands at just under 23,000 though from many of the reports I have read it is estimated to be as high as 100,000. How did this happen? Why has so much devastation been wrought on a country that has already had so much taken away from it?

As the week passed and reports came out about the slow response of the Burmese government, their refusal to allow foreign aid workers into the country, and their overall inept handling of one of the largest natural disasters in recent history I began feeling the same mixture of anger, disgust, and sorrow that I felt while I was there. I remember the conversations with those who were not afraid to express their fear of and hatred towards their government. I remember the state of the countries transportation (or lack thereof) which in the event of a disaster like this would make it almost impossible to get supplies those who need them. I remember something else as well. I remember arriving in Cambodia and thinking that I had just stepped into the modern world. Cambodia. Modern. That is the state that Myanmar is currently in. If you compare Cambodia to it Cambodia seems modern and developed. This is why the people of Myanmar need our help. The isolationist policies of their government have prevented the country from growing. Now with the devastation wrought by Cyclone Nargis the people of this country face far worse conditions than they were when I was there.

Desperate for news from inside the country I emailed the only Burmese person who’s email address I still had. Our communication has always been via email, and despite the fact that we never met face to face I felt as though we became friends through our frequent Gmail chats. Below is his reply to my email from earlier in the week.

Hello,

Thank you for your help and encouragement though we never meet before. I was really shocked on that day and I'd never forget it. It is the most terrible experience for my life. Because the flat I live is on the 7th floor , on the top of the building and the roofs were being destroyed. The Cyclone started on friday night (2.5.08) and more strong in Saturday morning and destroyed the building and killed the people and animals. Now I face with the problem of no water , no electricity and high living expenses in YGN. I couldn't support my parent who live in the small village near yangon. Their house's roofs were also being destroyed. But fortunately they are in good health.

My heart goes out to the people of Burma. In all the countries I visited I never met kinder more welcoming people. This tragedy should not be shouldered by them alone. I encourage anyone who can do so to donate money to the Red Cross Myanmar Cyclone Nargis fund.

Mama I'm Coming Home

2008-04-08T08:49:00.000-07:00

My flight leaves in 24 hours. I can not possibly begin to explain the mixture of emotions coursing through my veins at this moment...

What a journey this has been!

Traveling Cambodia and Going Home

2008-04-04T00:40:00.000-07:00

Cambodia is great. Actually Cambodia is better than great, it's amazing. I'm reaching the end of my trip, and I could not think of a better country to have spent my last three and a half weeks in.

After leaving paradise (Koh Tonsay) I headed back to Phenom Penh with some of my friends to take in the city a little more leisurely. One thing that helps do just that is having friends who speak Cambodian. Often times I can tell when people are talking about me (though obviously I haven't a clue what they are saying), though I don't think I was aware of just how often I/We Westerners are talked about. Walking around the central market with my friend Sam (Who has spent over a year here and speaks nearly fluent Cambodian) he would provide a running commentary on what people were saying about us. The best were the girls. They would whisper about how cute we were and occasionally Sam would stop, turn around, and say "Yes, we are. And we understand you." This would leave them shrieking with laughter and covering their faces in embarrassment.

Another great thing about traveling with someone who knows a country is that they know people. Sam has LOTS of Cambodian friends and simply being associated with him made me their friend as well. It was shocking how little I was harassed by tuk-tuk drivers and touts the second time I was in Phenom Penh. Once they knew I was with a friend of theirs they were only smiles and handshakes.

And then there was the woman. Oh, what a woman! I don't know her name but she was an absolute sweetheart. She was maybe 50 to 55 and owned the guest house I stayed at in Phenom Penh. She did not know Sam (i.e. she had no reason to be so friendly), but treated me as though I was her long lost son. I am actually beginning to wonder if she thought I was someone else. Aside from sowing some pants for me, getting me anything I needed, and inviting me for food she also gave me the biggest hug and kiss you could possibly imagine when I finally said goodbye. I have no idea why...

I'm in Siem Reap (Angkor Wat) now after saying a difficult goodbye to some of the best friends I have made on this trip. Siem Reap is pretty hard to take in. Being the number one tourist destination in the country it has really developed and prospered. Along the main street and on the way to Angkor Wat there are tons of resorts charging $200-300 a night, there are fancy restaurants that I cannot afford, clubs with cover fees, and more Mercedes than I thought existed in this country. Clearly Siem Reap is doing well for itself. Or is it? I think the answer may be no. Out of all this development I wonder how much is locally owned? How much of the tens of thousands of dollars that large Japanese and Korean tour groups are spending everyday here go back into the community? My guess is not a lot.

Being the cheap bastard I am I took up residence outside of town at a small guest house. When I arrived they were full, but happily put me up in the "barn" with a Thai monk for one dollar. Walking the dusty road into town last night I felt like I was in Cambodia, or Myanmar, or Laos, or any other very poor country that I have visited in the last few months. The tell-tale signs of were all around me. The garbage, the fetid water, the begging children. Yet, 400 meters down the road life was different. Neon signs shown brightly, police blocked traffic from entering streets, and whities, like myself, strolled freely from one fancy hangout to another. 400 meters away a woman begged for some milk for her starving child, thank God the cops block those roads off, otherwise her child's screams might just disturb someone's vacation.

Despite the feelings I have towards Siem Reap my visit to Angkor Wat and the surrounding temples was fantastic. Well, actually that might be a bit generous. Two things prevented me from really loving Angkor Wat. 1.) The heat. I am so ready for cold Seattle air. 2.) The massive groups of Japanese and Korean tour groups. While I am not a fan of their methods of travel I harbor no resentment towards them. What I do resent however is constantly having to move out of the way, or sit and wait while 30-40 people all crowd around something to have their pictures taken. And they take A LOT of pictures. Nonetheless, Angkor Wat was simply amazing. I was enchanted by the detailed stone carvings, and the sheer size of the stones used to construct the temples blew my mind! I was able to find many areas where I was alone, and could walk the temples in silence, marveling at the their grandiosity.

And so that's it. I just visited the largest religious site in the world, and am ready to head home. Three days from now I will be heading to Bangkok and in five days I will be back in Seattle. I have visited 13 countries on this leg of the trip and am anxious to arrive back in Seattle. While I have been dreading this arrival at times, I am now accepting of it. The next great journey is about to begin. Oh, and it helps that I will be leaving for a week's vacations in Mexico two days after getting back!

My Wandering and Wondering is going to continue even after arriving back in Seattle as I am sure I will have lots to say about this trip once I have put some time and distance between it and me, and have (hopefully) figured out what lessons I learned on the road. Also, I will be embarking on Part 2. of this epic journey in the fall when I plan to visit South America for several months and will of course be keeping the blog going at that time as well.

The Beach

2008-03-29T18:48:00.000-07:00

I don't have a huge list of "Things to do before I die." With that said, I do still have a few items that I would not mind ticking off, and this last week I finally got to tick off a big one. That is to say; I stayed on a gorgeous, sparsely inhabited, island in a basic bamboo shack right on the beach with a great group of friends.

Tearing myself away from Kampot was not easy. I spent a week there before I was finally able to break it's spell over me and escape. Of course, escaping is quite a lot easier when you are leaving with a diverse group of friends (some of whom spoke Spanish) with very different backgrounds, personalities, and interests. So it was, that I found myself crammed into a tuk tuk with five other people headed for Koh Tonsay near the Vietnam border.

After a few minor difficulties we arrived on Koh Tonsay, or as I refer to it, paradise. The total number of inhabitants could not have been more than 30-40 and there were only a few small bamboo shelters to sleep in. There were however HAMMOCKS. Lots, and lots of hammocks. And a beach. A nice beach.

I spent two full days swimming, lounging in my hammock/reading, hiking around the island, and enjoying the company of a great group of guys. What I enjoyed the most was definitely getting to know these guys better. For example, there is the Swiss guy who lives in Italy and seems a half a bubble off, until you learn that he is fluent in French, German, Swiss-German, Italian, Spanish, English, and Cambodian. Or there was the break dancing Swedish guy who looks like Orlando Bloom, and whose sense of humor mirrors my own so perfectly that we left each other rolling on the ground in laughter while everyone else wonders what the hell we are carrying on about. The rest of the group was as equally interesting and the island was gorgeous. What more could you ask for?

For me the answer was cheese cake. If the island had a drawback it was the food. I can't complain too much, because we were staying on a pretty basic island (i.e. no power), but Jesus! was that food ever terrible. The first night it was not so bad, but by day two none of us could even look at rice or eggs again. That was all there was. Rice, Ramen, eggs. That was it. I would have murdered for a piece of cheese cake in paradise...

Kick'n it in Kampot

2008-03-21T00:11:00.000-07:00

I'll skip a few things for now, and just say this. I am in Kampot, Cambodia and my life on the road has slowed to a crawl. To think that over the past two and a half weeks I had never stayed more than three nights and two days in any one place is crazy. I certainly did no relaxing in Myanmar (don't get me wrong I still loved the experience), and my first two destinations in Cambodia (Phnom Penh and Sihanoukville) were infested with fat whities, making it hard to relax. I fled Sihanoukville after one very uncomfortable night that included; getting into a bed filled with rat shit; cleaning out said bed only to have rats eat a hole in my bag; getting about 50 bed bug bites; having to listen to the music being pumped full blast until 5:00 a.m; at this point in time my drunk-ass teenage neighbors came stumbling into their room and I listened to the four of them seemingly have a conversation, but since every second word was "fuck" I'm not too sure they were able to actually communicate with each other.

The next day found August chilling-out in the small river town of Kampot. The town is surrounded by gorgeous mountains on two sides and the coast is only a fifteen minute ride away on my recently rented motorbike. This is just one of those places where you have no desire to leave. I am on day three here, and can easily imagine another week spent doing exactly what I have done the past three days...not much. There are a few travelers around, but not too many. Just the right number for having a few conversations over a couple of beers.

I did do a six hour motorcycle ride and spent about two of those hours taking my bike up a hiking path (which was clearly not a good idea). The single track was overgrown with vegetation and I found myself white-knuckled at a few points (such as hitting a large downed tree, or flying up a steep hill). I even rented a bicycle for a few hours to ensure a bit of exercise, but really that is all I have done, and since I have been here for three days that means I have had two whole days filled with:

Drinking coffee and reading books in a hammock.

Meditating in a beautiful garden.

Eating Amok (a super delicious fish curry, which is fast becoming my favorite food EVER!).

Chatting with all the Cambodina kids who seem to be everywhere.

Finding myself back in the hammock.

Drinking my favorite beer in the world. Cambodia is one of the only countries which imports.
Beerlao. That's right, Faye, Lisa, eat your hearts out. I am drinking BEERLAO!!!

Some how ending up back in that damn hammock, again.

Walking along a beautiful river (sometimes with a Beerlao in hand).

Going to the bookstore only to find that they have a copy of A Thousand Splendid Suns. I have been searching for two months for that book!

In other words I am relaxing to the fullest right now. Many things have been on my mind lately and I will probably post a more "reflective blog" in the next day or two, but for now I am going to leave it at that and meander on back to my gorgeous garden with that very inviting hammock, a good book, and a Beerlao.

Blowing in the Wind

2008-03-20T04:55:00.000-07:00

If you had dropped me off in Phnom Penh at the beginning of this trip I probably would have been like "Holy Shit! This is a crazy third world city." Now, I'm not saying that it would have been completely different (I would have been awkward and unsure of myself anywhere), but it would have been different than the way I eased myself in to this trip.

As it was, after two weeks in Myanmar, arriving in Phnom Penh seemed like walking into a civilization again. I wrote at great length about the differences between Myanmar and the rest of the places I have traveled to, so I will skip that this time. Basically, walking back into a city that is attached to the rest of the world was just as shocking as walking into Myanmar. Imagine my amazement when I rediscovered broadband internet. It was fascinating! It was just, just...on. You didn't have to dial a phone number. There were no beeping noises and static. And the speed, well, did you know these days that you could receive one email in less than half an hour? OK, I admit to using a primitive broadband connection in Mandalay, but it still can't count as "high speed". Anyway I digress.

Reentering a connected country was pretty crazy. The stark contrast between Myanmar and The-Rest-of-the-World is about as much convincing as anyone would need to see that Myanmar is neck deep in shit. That's all I'm going to say about that any more.

So for anyone who doesn't know this trip is coming to an end for me. I will be home in three weeks. A bit over eight months will have passed and I will step out of travel and back into, well, what? That's just it, I don't have a clue. I have made some plans for when I get back; things that I will do in the first few days; people I will call; places I will eat; the vague notion of some dream job. "Doing what?" you ask. Uh, well...uh...maybe this, like...um...job???

How do I go back to having a home? Seeing people that I have known for months or years, not hours or days? Do I even remember how to cook? Can I drive anything that possesses a steering wheel? Am I going to forget that I can't barter for things, and try to talk down a cashier at Trader Joe's over a couple of Clif Bars?

And what about the bigger issues? I didn't randomly get handed $20,000 dollars just to wander around aimlessly. Oh, wait a second that is what happened... Surely though it must have had a purpose. WHAT WAS IT?!?!? What will be the things that stay with me the most? There are so many. How are they going to shape my life? I know that a year ago I wrote to the Bonderman committee about how I wanted to study diet and lifestyle and their effects on health. For several years I was obsessed with science and medicine. I spent hours memorizing metabolic pathways and studying cancer at a molecular level. Eigth months later my dreams of starting medical school have disolved. Replaced with new dreams and ambitions. Is this a good thing? I don't have a clue. What does this mean about August? Am I someone who just throws away plans and years of work? Or am I someone who follows his heart? All these questions to answer.

Some questions will probably never be answered. The answers to others maybe obvious the day I get back. Basically, I don't know what to expect. The same giddy feelings I had before I left on this trip are the same ones I have now. Before starting this trip I described my feelings as progressing sinusoidally. The same pattern of emotions has followed me throughout this trip, and now, as I prepare to return home, I realize that at least in that regard nothing has changed. I am still riding that sine wave.

Confused. Horrified. Frustrated.

2008-03-17T01:47:00.000-07:00

I felt sick looking at the pictures. I could feel the bile rising in my throat, and the tears forming in my eyes. There were so many. Most of the photos were of average people, the ones you would pass on the street everyday, but some were different. There were the ones with obvious mental retardation, ones with physical abnormalities, and then there were the children. Thousands of photos of children. Some stared blankly into the camera, but most had a look of desperation in their eyes. Odds are they had just been separated from their mothers, and, as children made too much of a fuss, it was likely they were going to be executed very soon. Everyone died in the end. Out of the 20,000 prisoners only eight survived. The children though, well, they were always the first to die. Bullets were in high demand in those days so they usually weren't used on prisoners. Besides, children's skulls are fragile, and it is easy to bludgeon a child. It only takes one or two good whacks...

I stood in S-21 (also known as Tuol Sleng), situated the heart of Phnom Penh, my eyes filled with tears. Tuol Sleng had been an elementary school at one point in time, but with education no longer a priority for Pol Pot and his brutal regime it was quickly converted into a torture center and prison. The photos were gruesome. Blood drenched carcasses lay chained to the floor. Others showed naked women and children lying on wire beds while they had their genitals removed, or their fingers sliced off one at a time. The blood that was produced was the only constant that tied the torture techniques together. Passing the rotting piles of clothes which are still present in areas of the prison I came to the skulls. There were a lot of skulls. Not all 19,992, but a lot. They stared back, much as the people in the photos stared back, and I felt as though even the skulls were begging for help. Begging to see their children or their wives. Begging to live.

To say that these last few weeks have been intense would be a gross understatement. I arrived in Cambodia yesterday after spending two weeks in Myanmar. Those two weeks consisted of enduring the five worst bus rides of my life (I rode five buses in Myanmar), ungodly temperatures (it was 38-40C in many parts of the country), and the ever present reminders of how a brutal dictatorship repressed it's people. Like the atrocities committed by Pol Pot the actions of the ruling military junta have decimated a nation.

If I have taken anything away from Myanmar it was the stories the people told. The frustration with a government who controlled everything. A government unwilling to build roads (I would have appreciated that), unwilling to provide schools, unwilling to listen to the demands of the people.

The tension was in the air everywhere I went. "Where are you from?" some one would ask. "U.S.A." I would reply for the 50th time that day. "Ah, America. Very good country. Who you vote for? Clinton? Obama? McCain?" "I like Obama." "Oh yes, me too. He is good man. If only we had a chance to elect a man like Obama." That might sound like one conversation, but it wasn't. It was the same conversation I had with the monk, the construction engineer, the student, the tri-shaw driver, and the guesthouse owner. The yearning to be free. To vote. To matter.

Of course the government recognizes what it is the people want, and, to help spread the word of the people, they post these demands in the newspaper everday of the week under the heading The People's Desire.

- Oppose those relying on external elements acting as stooges, holding negative views

- Oppose those trying to jeopardize stability of the State and progress of the nation

- Oppose foreign nations interfering in internal affairs of the State

- Crush all internal and eternal destructive elements as the common enemy

Confused. I have been feeling that a lot lately. Confused as to why I am traveling to these places. Confused as to what I am supposed to do to help these people.

Frustrated. I have been feeling that a lot lately as well. Frustrated by what I am seeing. Frustrated by not knowing what it is that I am supposed to do.

I have certainly never been accused of being the most articulate person in the world. I wish that I had more to say on these matters. I really don't. How can I relay the feeling of looking out a bus window, watching children, who are probably not even teenagers yet, carry buckets of boiling tar, their exposed legs covered with burns, their feet sticky with the tar they have already poured. These are the road crews who are fixing the dilapidated roads I complained so much about. Often times there are women too. They are usually old women who spend their days hunched over a pile of gravel, sifting through the rocks, or heating the tar for the boys to carry. These are the things I will remember long after the trip is over. These are the things I will never be able to explain to anyone no matter how hard I may try.

And so, with all these feelings of sorrow, confusion, and frustration racing around my head, I stood in the middle of S-21 with tears in my eyes. Not just for the victims of a brutal regime, but for the victims of all brutal regimes. For the children with tar on their legs, for the amputees whose lives had been forever changed with one false step, for the women who were too old to walk upright, but were still forced to build a road, for everyone who wanted to be free but found themselves short changed.

More Myanmar

2008-03-05T05:25:00.000-08:00

I will probably be out of touch for a bit here, but I wanted to post a few more things before I leave for the country side.

Myanmar continues to be an experience unlike any other. It is so different from anywhere else that I have traveled. Each day seems to be an emotional rollercoaster. As I've mentioned a million times now the people are fantastic. They are the warmest people I have ever met. They are also the poorest. This contrast and the many things I have mentioned and am about to mention make this the best country of the trip. Hands down. Here are some more things about Myanmar.

If you are caught owning a copy of Rambo 4 you receive twelve years in jail. While I personally agree that anyone who enjoys watching Sylvester Stallone act probably should be in jail that still seems a bit harsh. For those of you who don't know apparently Rambo kicks Myanmar Junta ass in the latest installment.

There are almost no cell phones. You have to have a permit to own one and it is insanely expensive. Depending on who you talk to the price ranges from $500-$4000. If you are caught with one guess what? Jail.

The French dude was deported last night. At least he's not in jail.

The monks here (I heard there are about 700,000 in the country) are in pretty rough shape. Instead of collecting alms like they do in other countries they are literally begging in the streets. It is really fucking awful to see hundreds of monks begging for pennies.

I am revising the earlier statement about the average (I believe I said median age before. oops!) age of cars. New estimate 40-50 years old on average.

In Yangon (formerly known as Rangoon) there is a ban on motorcycles. The story goes that two years ago some guys on motor bikes pissed off one of the ruling generals when he was driving down the road. Next day, no motorbikes allowed. If you are riding one in the city guess what? Jail.

They drive on the right side of the road but 90% of the cars have steering wheels on the right hand side as well. Apparently one day in the 70's the government decided to stop driving on the left side like those damn Brits and start doing it the proper American way. Since all the cars are from the 50's and 60's they are still set up for the British system. The change supposedly happened in one night. One day you were driving on the left the next day on the right. Can you imagine the chaos of those first few mornings?!?! I wonder how many people freaked out cause they didn't get the memo about that one...

Finally I need to print a retraction. Yesterday I stated that there is no evidence of a middle class in this country. That is not true. I am incredibly frustrated by what I am seeing here, and I may have overstated things a bit. There is a middle class. It may be small and fledgling, but it does exist.

Well that's all for now. I should mention that all the things I am mentioning here are unconfirmed. They are just what the locals are telling me or what I am witnessing for myself. Given the Burmese tendency to exaggerate it is difficult to gauge what is true and what is not.

I'm headed to the hills. More in a few days.

Myanmar II

2008-03-04T05:07:00.000-08:00

This is my second posting today.

I mentioned a lot of things earlier, but I was in this crazed state trying to resolve the (still unresolved) money situation. Here are a few more quick and dirty things about Myanmar.

The food. It is freaking fantastic and I can generally eat three meals and have tea for around a dollar. Sometimes I splurge and spend one dollar on one meal. If I do that I leave holding my stomach, feeling fat and happy!

The conversations. As I mentioned before everyone is super friendly. While it is quite common for me to get invited to join locals for a meal I certainly have not been invited to everyday. That is until I arrived here. I have met so many great people and have had some really good conversations. I am reluctant to discuss what people have been sharing with me while I am still in the country so that will have to wait. I will say that everyone is pretty candid and honest about their feelings. The events of last year have come up in numerous conversations over the past three days. I am struggling to try to understand everything. What is my role here? I will certainly not be getting involved in the local politics (A French man was detained at my hotel this morning when I arrived. It is not clear exactly what happened, but there were several officers there and the hotel staff was certainly shaken up. He was taken away and no one is exactly certain what happened to him.) though I feel frustrated that there is nothing more I can do other than listen to people who want to talk.

The men all wear sarongs. It is pretty cool. I want one.

OK, that's all for now. This country is shaping up to be the granddaddy of all adventures. Now hopefully I can figure out how to make my money last. I did spend about an hour with a bottle of super glue and a needle gluing together all the little cracks on my bills. I will try to pull off using this money tomorrow. Cross your finger for me!

Myanmar

2008-03-03T23:42:00.000-08:00

I arrived in Myanmar on Sunday morning without a clue what to expect. I must have had some vague notion in my head though because Myanmar is certainly not what I expected. The first things to say are that. 1.) The people are incredibly friendly, and many of them speak very good English. 2.) I am way out of the boundaries of normal travel right now. For one thing, aside from a few hotels, there is no tourism industry in the country. Now, this is fine as I don't usually buy many souvenirs or book tours or buses through these agencies, but it is a little freaky not seeing any of these available. I guess that goes hand in hand with the fact that there are not too many whities here. My plane had about twenty other travelers on it, but since reaching Myanmar I think I have met four or five in three days. Weird. Before this trip this is what I thought traveling was going to be like everywhere! I quickly learned that that was not the case, but now I feel like I have stepped back in time.

Another surprising thing is the poverty. Now I know that you are going to say "August! What the hell did you expect?" Well....not this. It isn't that the impoverished are any poorer here than the those of other developing nations like Laos or Vietnam, it's just that there are a whole lot more. Basically everyone. There does not seem to be any sort of thriving middle class at all. You are either sitting in the dirt with flies crawling all over you or you are rich. I say that because I assume there must be an incredibly small but wealthy upper class. I have yet to meet any of them. I have also yet to see a car newer than maybe 1990 on the road, and I would say the median age for vehicles is somewhere around 30-35 years.

The roads are in utter disrepair. I took a 16 hour night bus last night from Yangon to Mandalay following the countries only highway. If that was a highway I have no idea what to expect from the rest of the country's roads. The "highway" was not quite two lanes wide and was the roughest road I have ever been on. In many places it was no longer paved and the going was incredibly rough and slow. I think there may have been tears in my eyes as I finally exited that death trap at around 9:00 a.m.

Then there was the issue of the police checkpoint at 3:00 a.m. We suddenly stopped and everyone was ordered to disembark form the bus. The driver told me to stay put while the others went through a security screening, but my curiosity got the best of me and I hopped off to take a look at what was going on. This was fine until I got a bit closer to the screening post when a very surly police officer with an AK-47 hung across his chest ordered me to get back on the bus and wait there. OK. Not about to fuck around with that guy. I turned around, jumped on that bus, and waited patiently for everyone to return.

So. Some good things. The beer (Myanmar Beer) is delicious. The street food is very Indianesque. The people are great (Other than a monk who tried to rip me off and then ended up swearing at me when I refused to give him twenty dollars. Now that's something that doesn't happen everyday. Have you ever had a monk say "Fuck you." to you?).

Now the problem. I am so happy to be here and I think I might be leaving in 3 or 4 days. A far cry short of the 3-4 weeks that I had planned. The problem is money. I brought $900.00 with me which is more than enough for a month (there are not ATM's or banks in the country), but I did not know that bills would not be accepted if they were not in perfect condition. Apparently this is something I should have known because all the other travelers (the four or five) I have met seemed to have known this. Now there does not seem to be anything particularly wrong with my money, but it is not brand new and that is a problem. Out of $900.00 I think I have about $250.00 that I can spend. I am scrambling to find other options right now, but I am really freaking out. I do not want to be leaving after only one week. ARGH! I am so pissed off about this situation. If anyone has any advice I could sure use it right now.

On The Road Again

2008-02-29T16:31:00.001-08:00

My sharply trimmed beard has started to look a bit more scruffy, my clothes a bit dirtier, and my stomach a bit bigger. It is time to hit the road again.

The first thing I did when I got up this morning was pack my bag. Ten minutes later I was staring at an empty room and a full bag, and for about the hundredth time this trip I was marveling over the fact that everything I have fits into a 35L pack.

My emotions are pretty mixed right now. I guess the positive ones are a good place to start. I am excited to be traveling again. I have spent the last nine days doing very little aside from eating, working out, eating, watching movies, and eating. Therefore, due to this lethargic lifestyle I have developed, I am ready to continue my journey.

I am feeling quite a few negative emotions as well. For one, I am traveling again. Spending the majority of the last two weeks living in a house, driving a car (well being driven in a car), and hanging out with a friend who was not just a travel buddy, but an actual friend from home was really wonderful. It reminded me of all the things that I had been missing about life in Seattle. Second, I am headed to Myanmar (Burma) in a few hours, and while I am excited to be going there, I am a bit nervous about what I will find when I arrive. I have met tons of people traveling through Southeast Asia, but out of everyone I have met I have only met one person who was tentatively thinking about traveling to Burma. So while it is easy to travel in Thailand, Laos, Vietnam, and Cambodia, I am not sure if Burma is going to prove to be the same. I find the prospect of traveling around Burma for a few weeks without meeting any other travelers to be quite frightening. I guess when it comes down to it I am clueless as to what I will find when I get there. I do know that once I leave Yangon finding email service is going to be difficult in most places, and that the government often blocks access to email services like Yahoo, Hotmail, and Gmail. As such, I doubt I will be doing any blogging from inside Burma. If that is the case, this will probably be the last post for about three weeks.

So that's it right now, a pretty mixed bag. Excitement and fear pulsing through my veins as I prepare for traveling through Burma.

Life in Cebu

2008-02-25T05:09:00.000-08:00

Not much to report these days. Felt like I ought to type something up though. Hmmm....What's happened lately that I could report? Well, I have been back in Cebu since last Friday, and due to weather (Ugh. Don't get me started.) might be spending the rest of my excursion to the Philippines stuck here.

I have been living a very different life here in Cebu. Those of you who read some of my earlier blogs will know the comfy lifestyle that I have been exposed to here. However, I have also been having a very interesting (and quite intense) cultural experience as well. While I am living with a wealthy family and have all the amenities I could ask for, I am also living with an Asian family. As such, the family is incredibly close. For me, it is a little too close. Every single action or plan seems to take into account the entire family, and it would be absolutely crazy to suggest doing anything on your own. Why would anyone ever want to do that when the same activity could be done with the entire family?

Now if it sounds like I am complaining I am not. JB and his family have treated me like one of the family, and their hospitality and generosity have been wonderful. I owe them much thanks.

Thanks Sergio, Susan, Bea, and JB!

I will however say that it has been very difficult for me to adjust to this sort of closeness. As someone who has been entirely independent for the last 7 months not being able to do anything on my own has been a bit difficult for me. Today, I was in such need of some alone time that I had to decline going on a hike with JB's dad, and quickly sneak out of the house to go to the bank, lest his mom offer to either drive me herself, or have one of the maids drive me. I hopped in a jeepney and was finally off on my own.

As a quick aside, I love jeepneys. I was able to take one once before when JB and I went to the mall, and I absolutely loved the concept. They are similar to Sawngthaews in Thailand, but even better. They are a crazy cross between the decked out, painted up, chicken buses of Guatemala and a pick up truck with benches in the back. Each Jeepney holds around twelve people and you can go anywhere in town for about 10 cents. The people are friendly and they run everywhere at all hours of the day. Much like the chicken buses you would NEVER wait for one, and you would be able to get anywhere without any effort. I love public transport!

So I was off to the bank, a quick fifteen minute ride and I was standing outside the bank looking at a huge closed sign. Damn... I forgot that it was a holiday today (though don't ask me what the holiday was). Luckily there was a Starbucks next door so I walked in, ordered a three dollar coffee, and then climbed back on a jeepney for the ride home. The people in the back with me thought that it was hysterical that I was drinking Starbucks and riding in a jeepney. Apparently you just don't do that sort of thing here! 40 minutes after leaving I was back at the house happy as could be and ready to spend some time with my new family again.

We climbed into the car and headed for a Su Tu Kil for lunch. Basically a Su Tu Kil is a fish market where you pick out your freshly caught-and by caught I mean dynamite harvested-fish and have them prepare it for you however you would like it. After selecting a dizzying array of multicolored fish we sat down for a fantastic feast before heading to the mall to do some shopping at the ultra-hip boutique clothing stores. In one store I decided to try on a pair of jeans that caught my eye, and, DAMN, my ass looked great in those jeans! HAHAHA, joking! Looking at the price tag I quickly realized that even after getting them tailored they were still only going to cost about 17 dollars so I treated myself to another pair of jeans. 10 days ago I had not worn jeans in six and a half months. Now I have two pairs to send home, and I am anxiously awaiting getting home just to wear them again.

I didn't miss any of my clothes on this trip, I was just wearing traveling attire, and, since no one really gives a damn what you look like when you are traveling, I never thought about the fact that, due to a lack of wardrobe, at times I ended up wearing some pretty goofy combinations of clothing on this trip! It's funny how the simple act of just putting on a pair of jeans, something I do everyday at home, can remind me of just how far removed I am from my everyday life!

Sorry the post was pretty lame, just not a whole lot to talk about right now. I head to Myanmar (Burma) on Saturday. From opulence to one of the worlds most isolated countries. It will be an interesting change of pace to say the least! Perhaps then I will have some more interesting things to say.

Estoy Borracho

2008-02-20T02:59:00.000-08:00

OK. I am drunk. I will freely admit to being quite intoxicated at the moment. BUT, that does mean that what I am about to write has no merit, and that you can just ignore my ranting and raving. Pay attention God dammit! Some of this is important.

Before we get to the important stuff let me just address a couple of other issues. First, yes I am hammered. This is the first time that I can remember where I have sat alone drinking on this entire trip. And second (this is to you mom and dad), before you go worrying about August's drinking, this is the first time that I can remember having more than three beers in one night in at least two months (I am currently working on number four, and just might add a fifth one into the mix later on.). To address why I am drinking alone I guess I should explain the last couple of days. I decided that the relative comfort of Cebu (and the incredible generousity of JB and his family) was actually not what I wanted at the moment. Perhaps I have been on the road for too long, but I really wanted to be traveling again. So I decided to pack a bag and head for the south of the island. I arrived in Moalboal yesterday only to discover that, while there are an infinite number of dive shops, the place is a shithole, and there are more old fat Europeans and young Filipino prostitutes than I could ever have imagined. Basically, the place sucks. I was in a pretty foul mood last night, but, as I had signed up to do a few dives today, I tried to hold my head high and just ride it out. Unfortunately, I could not go anywhere last night without being a.) The youngest westerner in the the place by at least ten years, and b.) the only person not trying to sleep with a teenage Filipino. This resulted in me spending the entire night in my room reading Barack Obama's book The Audacity of Hope. More on this in a minute.

Today I went diving for the first time in a couple of months. Unlike previous diving experiences this one proved quite different. It turns out that all these old nasty whities who are sleeping with young Filipino girls at night are also all very experienced divers. As a result of this there was not any real leadership on the dives. All these guys just hopped off the boat at the dive spot and did there own thing, surfacing at the end point on their own time. As I was the only person without a dive master's certification a dive master from the shop accompanied me on my dives. However, I must say that he was one hell of a terrible dive master. He never checked my gear, and once we were in the water he rarely checked to see how I was doing. He just sort of did his own thing forcing me to follow him. This meant that I had to dive to a depth of 25 meters on my first dive, and while this was fun I am only certified to dive to 18 meters. He was fully aware of this. Despite the fact that I was a bit worried about my safety, and the lack of protocols that were followed (For example, when I ran out of air on the first dive my dive master did not surface with me, leaving me to swim to the boat on my own while he continued his dive.) I enjoyed the dives quite a bit. At least as much as someone who only enjoys diving occasionally (Most divers I meet tend to be quite obsessed with the sport.) could enjoy the dives. I was fortunate enough to have two incredible experiences with sea turtles during the dives.I saw one on each dive, and swam with each of them for a couple of minutes. The turtles were beautiful, and I was overwhelmed with joy each time I gently place my hand on their shell, or casually kicked behind them for 50 meters. It is funny how three or four minutes of your day can translate into an experience that you will never forget no matter how long you live. Absolutely FANTASTIC!!

The dives over, I was back in the shithole of Moalboal. But this time I was prepared. I was going to drink. Quick pause in the story. Beer number four is...finished. OK, so like I said, I was going to drink. It just so happened that there was a beautiful sunset, so I sat on a dock with a couple of cold San Miguels next to me and read a bit more of Barack Obama's book. After a while I put the book down and put my iPod on. Listening to Pink Floyd's Wish You Were Here while enjoying the splendid reds, oranges, yellows, and purples of the setting sun is an experience that I will not soon forget.

Now for some serious stuff. Four and a half months ago I sat in Nicaragua telling a friend (Who I still owe a massive debt to for helping me out of one hell of a tight spot. Thanks a ton Lyle. You are one hell of a good friend.) that I supported Hillary Clinton because I just didn't think that Barack Obama had what it took to be president. He asked me if I had ever read The Audacity of Hope, and whether I knew much about Barack's positions on various issues. Sheepishly, I had to admit that, no I did not know a whole hell of a lot about Barack Obama. Over the past few months I have tried to learn more about Barack as well as the other candidates involved in the race. As recently as a month ago I can remember telling some Norwegian friends, anxious to here my views on the upcoming election, that I was pretty unimpressed with any of the candidates, and that the only person I thought could help our country out of the complete fuckhole that George Bush has dug for us was Al Gore. While I still belief that Al Gore would be one hell of a good president I have started to realize what a great man Barack Obama is.

About a month ago a close friend of mine forwarded an email to me about Barack Obama. I was very shocked when I received it. The email stated that Barack Obama was a radical Muslim (he is a Christian) who was trying to destroy America from the inside out. Utterly shocked that anyone could belief this I replied to my friend that I was shocked that he could possibly begin to believe such utter garbage. This was at a time when I still did not know a whole hell of a lot about Barack Obama. Nonetheless, I knew that what was being said was garbage, complete slander bordering on racism. This was one of the catalysts that led me to start learning more about Barack Obama. I occasionally would watch clips of debates online and read interviews with him, increasingly becoming more and more fascinated with this man. When I arrived in the Philippines there was a copy of The Audacity of Hope (courtesy of JB) and a copy of Notes From My Father (courtesy of Natalie) waiting for me. I immediately started reading The Audacity of Hope, and while I have not yet finished the book, here is what I think of Barack Obama thus far. If there was ever a chance to right the wrongs of the last seven years; to change the direction of a country that is faltering not only abroad, but also at home; to provide our children with a chance for a better future; to improve a flawed healthcare system; to improve an educational sytem, that despite its name, is leaving millions of children behind; to keep us from losing our footing as the worlds only superpower; and to keep us safe, then it is Barack Obama. I am thousands of miles away from home, and unfortunately, due to poor planning on my part, I will admit to not voting absentee in my state's primary. However, I will use my only form of public communication, this blog, to implore you all to examine the beliefs on Barack Obama. As far as I can tell there are only two possibilities. Barack Obama is either the worlds greatest liar and does not actually give two shits about our country and will say anything to get elected. OR, he is a great man. A man who has dedicated his life to public service. A man who has sacrificed much in order to improve the lives of countless Americans. A man we can trust. A man that all of us, both Republican and Democrat alike, can find reasons to believe in. A man who can lead us. A man who can help us. A man who is willing to sacrifice everything in order to better a country he believes in. It was not so long ago that men like Barack Obama gathered in Philadelphia and collectively changed the world forever. Their names were Adams, Franklin, Jefferson, and Madison. We owe it to Barack Obama, to our children, and to ourselves, to examine his political beliefs. So, in parting, I beg you all to spend some time learning about this man, and if you find the same thing that I find, then PLEASE do whatever you can to help his campaign. We need this man. The fate of our country might very well depend on whether or not he is elected.

A Night of Decadence

2008-02-16T23:23:00.000-08:00

I have arrived in the Philippines for a two week break from travel. One of my college roommates, JB, decided to return to the Philippines for three weeks to visit his family and I have come to join him. I had been counting down the days until I got here, anxiously awaiting seeing a familiar face. Arriving at his house it finally hit me that I was not on the road anymore. I have a bedroom. A REAL BEDROOM. There is a kitchen and a bathroom and a living room. I am in a house! Absolutely fantastic. What's more, JB's family live a very comfortable lifestyle (I still have not gotten used to having the live-in maids do everything for me.), and have graciously welcomed me into their house. Additionally, they have generously treated me to a bit of their lifestyle.

I have lived a comfortable life on the road. I am happy with my two dollar hotel rooms, my 50 cent street food meals, and my cold showers. I have nothing to complain about, and I certainly have not done anything that has made me feel that I deserve any sort of special treats. Nonetheless, that is exactly what I have received here.

JB's father procured memberships for us at a swanky gym/spa on the top two floors of the tallest (and nicest) building in Cebu. So after my workout yesterday morning (Those of you who know August know how much he loves the gym, and how much he has missed it over these last six and a half months.) and a tasty lunch I zipped down to the mall to buy a pair of nice jeans for dinner. Dinner was at the Marriott, so after purchasing jeans I needed a haircut and (gasp) to trim my beard. Wearing a nice t-shirt, some nice jeans, and with my beard and hair sharply trimmed I must say I looked quite dashing. Certainly not like the grubby backpacker who has been zipping around the world living out of a 35-L pack.

Arriving at the Marriott (still WAY under dressed) I was blown away by the opulent nature of the dining area. The meal was this crazy hybrid buffet where the appetizers (which were phenomenal) were laid out buffet style along with the salads and desserts. The entrees were all at little stations where a chef was standing by ready to whip up whatever you wanted from his station. Everything was incredibly fresh and the wine was, well...WOW!

Here is what I ate for dinner last night: 1 large fresh salad. 1 plate of cheeses, grapes, walnuts, and crackers. 1 plate of various appetizers. 2 plates of fresh seafood fettuccine. 1 plate seafood jumbolia(is that how you spell jumbolia?). 1 large plate of sushi. 2 grilled pieces of tuna. 1 grilled chicken breast. 1 plate of calamari. 6, yes SIX, pieces of cheesecake (2 blueberry, 2 mango, 2 strawberry). 3 glasses red wine.

It was crazy nice, which led to some confusion for me. I am not the most sophisticated of people, and, while I knew what to do with two of my forks, I had no idea what the hell the third one was for!?!?!? Anyone??

After being rolled out of the dining area it was time for a sauna and then a massage. Both were fantastic and my masseuse found more knots in my back than I knew could even exist. After six months of sleeping on hard, lumpy mattresses my back was finally being sorted out. The massage was 100% legitimate, but I could not have asked for a happier ending.

I can't think of anymore blog titles

2008-02-12T00:06:00.000-08:00

I haven't written in a while. I guess after the experience at the train station in Lao Cai there just wasn't much I could follow that up with. The rest of my time in Vietnam passed, but I suppose that is all I could say. Just that it passed. I saw a few things and celebrated Tet, but nothing was that exciting. This is probably due to the horrible bout I had with what I am diagnosing as dysentery. I am basing this diagnosis on two pieces of evidence. 1.) I took Tinidazole (as a last resort) and within two days was feeling much better. 2.) I shit like I had dysentery! There is a great book that I would recommend to anyone as an essential travel book. In the book Are You Experienced by William Sutcliffe our hero, Dave, is traveling in India when he comes down with terrible travelers diarrhea. Here is how he describes it. "Imagine pouring cow pat into a cricket bowling machine (essentially a pitching machine) and turning it to the highest speed setting. That was my new experience with shitting." Like Dave I had never experienced anything as truely horrific as what I went through my last four days in Hanoi. I was unable to eat for three days and left my hotel only one time over a two day period of time. I spent most of my time in the bathroom or huddled under a couple of blankets on my bed.

With yet another illness behind me I arrived in Bangkok absolutely famished. Luckily there are more than enough street stands to accommodate a starving traveler so for the past two days I have been doing very little other than stuffing food in my face. God bless Thailand and all it's glorious (and cheap) food.

Lying in bed with dysentery gives you a lot of time to think about what you are doing and why you are traveling. This trip....what to say about this trip. I have been wandering the globe for over six months now and well...shit...I am amazed at how much I have changed. Everyday something reminds me that I am not the same person I was six months ago. I left Seattle without a single friend from another continent and now I consider myself fortunate enough to have friends all over the world. But it is not external factors like meeting people or seeing new places that have really changed me. Rather I have changed myself. On some deep level this trip has stripped away everything that I thought about myself. It took months for this to happen but at some point in time (Actually I think it was during round one in Thailand) I hit rock bottom. I was so confused as to why I was here and what I was doing. Completely lost and utterly depressed it was not until I arrived in Don Det, Laos and became friends with a young Laotian boy named Bong that I began to understand why I was traveling. Not to see the world, but to find yourself in the world.

I look at the world with a different set of eyes these days. Everywhere I travel there are constant reminders of the human condition. Mass graves, refugee camps, and war memorials can be found everywhere I have traveled. Additionally, compassion, courage, and love are found in equal measure in every country that I have set foot in. How do I, as an individual, fit into this picture? That one persistent question is a reminder that I still have a lot more wandering and a lot more wondering to do before this trip is over. In some ways I realize now that, because I have so much to question and so much to learn about myself and the world I live in, this trip will never truly end. David Bonderman did far more than simply provide me with the means to travel for 8 months he placed me on a path that has changed my life. This trip, my wandering and wondering, will never end. I will carry on in spirit, if not in name, as a Bonderman fellow for as long as I shall live, and can only encourage those of you who have yet to step out into the world to do so. If you do, do so with love in your heart. The human condition is a vastly complex equation and the more love we carry, the more compassion we show our fellow man, the closer we come to finding a harmonious balance in which we may all have peace.

When Chaos Reigned Supreme

2008-02-01T21:46:00.000-08:00

I am about to attempt to describe one of my craziest travel experiences to date. It might be difficult to convey the utter chaos that was surrounding this event so, please, whatever I describe, and whatever you imagine, I want you to then amp up the chaos level by a factor of 10. It was that insane!

Tet (The Chinese Lunar New Year) is fast approaching. To say that Vietnam is chaotic and congested on a normal day would be a slight understatement, but to try to describe the madness that has gripped the country as it prepares for the New Year is just about impossible. People are EVERYWHERE! Most people spend Tet with their families, and thus moving about the country is quite a task as all the bus and train stations are crammed full of people trying to get home in time for the celebrations on February 6th.

Pat and I had decided to flee Sa Pa (and the incessent rain) before we ended up catching pneumonia and the only way to return to Hanoi was by train via Lao Cai. We wandered down to the booking office and tried to purchase seats on the night train back to Hanoi. By this point in time I have adjusted to the fact that most Vietnamese treat travelers like mushrooms (i.e. leave them in the dark and feed them shit), but was super frustrated when the people at the booking station first told us to come back three hours later, then told us they were not selling tickets, then told us they were actually closed for the day (despite the OPEN sign on the door). Thus, we left Sa Pa for Lao Cai without train tickets, hoping that we could simply purchase them at the station. It all went down hill after that.

When we arrived at the train station three hours before our train it looked like a large scale riot was taking place. The amount of people who had some how packed themselves into that station simply defies logic. There were a couple fo lines so Pat and I battled our way into one and waited to buy tickets. About thirty seconds later a group of ticket scalpers comes to inform us that the train is sold out, but they have two seats left (lucky us). We aren't buying it, and continue to wait in line to try to buy seats. People are pushing left and right to cut in line and the police are present in staggering numbers. They are screaming into bullhorns, and pounding the railings with their battons. When they see people cut they try to grab them and move them to the back of the line. It is sheer chaos and Pat and I have to scream at each other just to be heard. All the while the group of scalpers is jeering at us and generally harrassing the shit out of us. After one young woman somehow managed to worm her way in front of me I had had enough. The next person to try to cut was an old woman in her sixties or seventies. She roughly shoved me aside and stepped in front of me. Despite the fact that I am becoming a hardened bastard even I am above hitting an old lady. So, as gently as possible, I put my elbow against her chest and push her back behind me. Yes. I did elbow an old lady. Anyone remember that post about the Guatemalan bus stations? Well it is actually happening now. I'm beating up old women! In my defense I want to say that I was gentle. I did not throw an elbow, I pushed her with my elbow. The next man who tried to cut was not so lucky.

This is one of the few situations I have found myself in since I started this trip where I was actually feeling a bit worried about what was going on. The cops are trying to control the crowd, but there are not enough cops to keep an eye on everything, and about a minute after I had asserted my dominance by elbowing grandma a younger Vietnamese man climbs over the railing and hits me in the neck with the heel of his hand and violently shoves me out of the way. I am not about to let this slide, and using a technique that I developed in mosh pits for self preservation I drop my shoulder under his in order to raise his arm enough to expose his rib cage. With one swift motion I deliver a violent elbow which causes him to hit the railing giving me time to squeeze past him and regain my position in the line. He spins around swearing at me in Vietnamese with a look of sheer anger on his face. Fortunately for me he does not have enough room to throw a punch, but he tries to grab me and push his way back in front of me again. I'm in complete 'stay alive' mode now. I grab him by his jacket, and snarling things I don't dare to repeat here, I shove him against the railing and hold home there, pressing my face into his. Before I know it a cop is stepping in, grabbing the man and ordering him to the back of the queue.

I've made an impression on the people around me and no one tries to cut in line again. Unfortunately this does not help much because when I get to the ticket window the teller informs me that they are sold out of tickets on all three trains tonight and the morning train the following day is also sold out. Without any other options available to us we turn our attention to the touts and purchase two tickets for a slightly inflated price. In hindsight we are quite lucky. For one thing we are alive and back in Hanoi, and second, we only ended up paying about an extra five dollars for the tickets. Another experience I won't soon be forgetting. There seem to be a lot of those on this trip.

The Death of Gore-Tex

2008-01-31T21:35:00.000-08:00

In 1954 the French military commander in Vietnam, General Henri Navarre, sent 12 battalions of elite French soldiers to block the Viet Minh army from attacking the then capitol of Laos, Luang Prabang. The French occupied the area surrounding the town of Dien Bien Phu. With this strategic position and a serious of intricately ringed defenses the French were confident that they could stop any Viet Minh force that came through the valley. However, the French had relied heavily on the assurances from Artillery Commander Pirot that the Viet Minh would not be able to get artillery into the high mountains surrounding the area. For the French this was the beginning of the end. Under the command of General Vo Nguyen Giap (who would later command the Viet Minh forces against the U.S. Army during the American War) 33 battalions of infantry and six battalions of artillery, which were transported in against all odds by thousands of porters, took up positions around the French encampment. When the 105mm cannons of the Viet Minh finally opened up on the French position Artillery Commander Pirot drew his service weapon and promptly shot himself in the head. He knew that, with the backing of artillery, the French did not stand a chance against the Vietn Minh forces. Over the next 57 days the fighting was relentless. The French dropped supplies and an additional six battlions of paratroopers to reinforce the position, but as the weather worsened and the artillery continued to rian down from the hillsides the French began to run out of supplies and suffered heavy casualties. Eventually, despite the fact that these were some of the worlds most elite soldiers, the French were forced to surrender, thus marking the end of French rule in Indochina. During the battle over 3000 French soldiers were killed and an additional 10,000 were wounded. Viet Minh casualties were estimated at over 25,000.

The events of Dien Bien Phu were on my mind yesterday as I trekked thru the rain soaked mountains surrounding Sa Pa (about 180 km east of Dien Bien Phu). I still find it hard to believe that there has been so much death and destruction in this area. How could such a beautiful country, with such a diverse population, suffer so much in it's recent history. The signs of war have disappeared from the Sa Pa area, but as I walked down the impossibly muddy paths with rain constantly hammering down on me I was reminded of the fierce determintation of the Vietnamese and why they have continuously defeated some o the worlds best armies (the Chinese, French, and Americans). I passed several men and women wearing knee boots and planstic ponchos carrying back breaking loads of firewood out of the forest and down to their villages. Like the Viet Minh forces who transported the 105 mm cannons into the hills around Dien Bien Phu these men and women labored relentlessly in the cold, wet conditions. I stood watching them struggle under the loads of firewood, cacooned in my Gore-Tex and feeling utterly spoiled. That was two hours into my hike...

Four hours into the hike the rain, which, like the Viet Minh forces at Dien Bien Phu, had been hammering at my defensive layers of Gore-Tex, finally broke through my defenses. As I reached my hotel I was soaked from head to toe. My thermometer read about 6C but given the fact that I was wearing several layers of warm synthetic clothing and was still absolutely freezing I decided it could not be an warmer than 1 or 2 C and with the humidity it felt like about negative 10. I reached my hotel and started a fire for Pat (an Aussie travel buddy that I recently met) and myself. We stripped off our soaking clothes and laid them in front of the fire, praying they would dry soon. For the next three hours we lay in our beds shivering and wishing we had either a bottle of whisky or a joint to take our minds off the frigid conditions. Unfortunately, we had neither, and simply resigned ourselves to waiting for the clothes to dry. This never happened but after three hours we dressed in our damp clothing, and made our way to the closest restraunt for some food and a bit of warmth. After dining on a cheeseburger (my first in ages) we made our way to the local pub where we spent two hours shivering but still trying to drink beer, while playing pool with a couple of Vietnamese guys, who clearly have devoted their lives to pool because they were fucking good!

So that was the death of Gore-Tex. Even my expensive clothing could not protect me from the rain, which, like its Viet Minh brothers, attacked relentlessly all day and all night. To be fronzen and wet is a terrible combination. I am out of here. Next stop... somewhere else cold and wet. Shit. The entire north is socked in, and, despite the fact that this is the dry season, I have not had a dry day since Hoi An two weeks ago. Ummm...global warming sucks. I have loved Vietnam, but Jesus! I cannot wait to flee to a warmer climate on Feb. 9th. First stop Thailand. Then on the 14th I am off to the Phillipines, which will be a welcome respite from the frigid conditions of northern Vietnam. Nine days and counting...

$5.00 Boom-Boom

2008-01-24T06:47:00.000-08:00

Yup, the Vietnam war films accurately portray the way you get solicited for sex here. The only difference being that instead of prostitutes propositioning me I am being constantly harassed by cyclo drivers. It is not an exageration to say that anytime past 10:00 p.m. I probably am asked if I want a "five dollar boom-boom" twice a block for the entire duration of my walk. The other night I went for a walk along the Perfume river. I probably covered about 2 km so imagine the number of solicitations I got then! And, just to go on record, NO, I have not accepted any invitations.

Vietnam continues to exceed my expectations. I know that I keep ranting about the natural beauty of this country, but WOW, it is just that incredible. Equally important are the amazing experiences I keep having with citizens of Vietnam. Last night I sat down for my usual dinner of pho at a typical street stall. Seconds after sitting down a middle aged man at the table next to mine asked if I would like to join him for some duck. I was quite surprised at how clear his English was and happily accepted his invitation. He was 55 years old and worked as a safety engineer in Saigon. He was spending three months overseeing the construction of a new building here in Hue, and informed me that he was quite lonely most nights (thus he was incredibly enthusiastic to have a converstaion with me). He has a large family back in Saigon, but will not be seeing them for another two months. Our conversation quickly turned to his English abilities and he informed me that he had worked as an interpreter for the U.S. Army during the American War (as it is known to the Vietnamese). Because of his role in aiding the U.S. Army when the war was over he was imprisoned for three years. He was quite willing to talk about his experiences in jail (perhaps due to the entire bottle of Vodka that he consumed during our chat), which left me struggling to find something to say to him. The conditions he described were terrifying, and the routine torture he was subjected to left me shuddering. After discussing this for a while the conversation turned to our families before finally landing on current world events. His English was so good, and his knowledge of American politics, the Iraq War, and the Israeli/Palestine conflict so astounding that I completely lost track of where I was and who it was that I was talking to. Somewhere between chatting about Bush's new plan for peace in the Middle-East and Dennis Kucinich's odds of recieving the Democratic nomination I realized; Hey, I am sitting on the street in the middle of a downpour talking to a 55 year old Vietnamese man (who is REALLY HAMMERED by this point) about world affairs, and not only are we having a coherent conversation he probably knows more about these issues than I do! Crazy! As is becoming par for the course he insisted on buying my dinner, but after a great deal of protest he settled on paying for one of my beers before I headed home. Another unforgetable night in Vietnam.

My Vietnam Experience (as I have taken to calling it) continued today as I toured some of the VC tunnels in the DMZ and Khe Sanh, the site of some of the fiercest fighting of the war. From my perspective as an American it is quite fascinating to see the manner in which the Vietnamese portray Americans. In the museum at Khe Sanh there are numerous photographs of American soldiers. What is interesting is the captions on these photos. A generic example would be something like this. There is a photo of Americans ducking down as mortars hit their base or firing artillery from a fortified position. The captions read "The look of fear is quite obvious on the faces of the American occupiers as troops from the Liberation Army close in on their position." Captions beneath pictures of South Vietnamese soldiers refer to them as "puppet soldiers of the U.S. Army". The museum is also quick to point out that Americans sustained heavy casualites at Khe Sanh (about 500 Marines were killed before retreating from Khe Sanh), but does not mention anything about the North Vietnamese losing over 10,000 men during the assault.

After visiting Khe Sanh I visited the Voc Minh tunnels where hundreds of villagers and fighters lived for six years during the heavy bombing that took place in the area from 1966-1972. The conditions were utterly shocking. Looking on the map you can see what are listed as family rooms where four to five people lived at any one time during the bombings. Upon arriving on this level of the intricately dug three level system I was shocked to see what was considered a room. Essentially there was enough space for a twin sized bed and that was it. To think that over 300 children were raised in these conditions and that 66 babies were born in these rooms was truly chilling.

I had a lot ot think about on the return journey to Hue, and as I stared out the window thinking about everything I had just seen I suddenly became aware of the obscene number of graves that we were zipping past. This was a three hour journey and during this I time I saw no less than four massive graveyards (I estimate that each had somewhere between 1000 and 3000 graves) including some that were quite clearly of a military nature. I had just spent 8 hours learning about the battles and living conditions during the war, but it was here in these graveyards that the real stories were. Each grave marked the end of a life. The loss of a father. A mother. A husband. A wife. A son. A daughter. A friend. Thousands and thousands of lives lost. Millions and millions of lives forever shattered.

Why do we seem incapable of learning from our past? Why must more men and women lose their lives. The war machine keeps on rolling...

It was OK because I had grown tired of living.

2008-01-19T03:18:00.000-08:00

Life is a bit boring traveling around to all these different countries. I mean the bus ride to Qui Nhon was kinda exhilerating, but let's face it, when you are on the road everyday meeting new people, seeing new things, and eating new foods you really just lose your zest for life. Figuring I was SOOOO bored with life I might as well just finish myself off I rented a motorbike and took to the crowded highways of Vietnam for a death defying 150 km ride through Danang to My Son.

My Son, a UNESCO World Heritage Sight, is a set of ruins from the late Champa kingdom that are about 35 km from Hoi An. The problem with getting there was that there were no road signs and I didn't have a map. Luckily, I was armed with a small 150 cc motorbike and just started cruising the roads stopping to ask directions along the way. This method seems to have been quite flawed because at some point I ended up in Danang 35 km north of Hoi An, while My Son is 35 km southeast of Hoi An. When I arrived in Danang and realized the error it was too late. I had already been directed onto Highway 1A, the major north to south highway in Vietnam, and was now navigating a motorbike through the same tangled web of traffic that four days earlier had scared the living shit out of me. And that was when I was in a bus!!

I quickly learned that the best defense was a good offense, and that if I wanted to live I couldn't just cruise down the side of the road because then all sorts of buses, trucks, and other large vehicles try to pass you, and when they do they certainly are not concerned about giving you a wide birth. Realizing this I quickly shifted into fourth and opened up the throttle as far as it would go. The small bike responded with amazing speed and within a matter of seconds I found my self whipping past everyone on the road at 100 km per hour! It was quite a rush, though not one I necessarily enjoyed. When I reached the turn off for the road I originally needed to be on I slowed to a much more reasonable 60 km and enjoyed the slow meandering cruise through the beautiful bright green rice paddies.

After viewing the ruins, which were nice (though thanks to American bombs no where near their original glory) it was time to head back to Hoi An. Somehow I missed the turn and ended up back on 1A speeding through the frantic traffic and praying to the gods to get me off the road in one piece. After another long exhausting ride, which was more than twice the distance I actually needed to go, I arrived back in Hoi An. For a town that I really have disliked (mainly due to the overwhelming number of obese western tourists being shuttled around in rickshaws) I sure was happy to be back!

Better to die on your feet (or in this case sitting on your ass) than live on your knees.

Quick thoughts on Vietnam.

The people here are pretty great. I do get a bit tired of having to haggle for absolutely everything (including bottled drinking water), but nonetheless the people here are interesting, and quite friendly.

Vietnam is beautiful! Look out Guatemala and Nepal, Vietnam could easily unseat both of you as the most beautiful country I have ever been to. The colors of green that you see at any given time are absolutely breath taking. There must be like 20 shades of green alone in this country!

Goooooood Morniiiing Vietnam

2008-01-16T17:49:00.000-08:00

Phew! Made it! It took two full days of boats, buses, and vans, but at last I am in Vietnam.

I left Don Det on the morning of the Januaray 15th. I have never had so much difficulty leaving a place. My three days there stretched into nine and I knew that I needed to get on the road again despite the fact that I could have been quite content to stay there for the rest of my trip! Establishing a daily routine and having friends for more than three or four days was so nice that I did not want to give it up. Above all else saying goodbye to Bong was the most difficult thing I had to do. We sat on his porch feeding some sticky rice to the chickens and looking at a TIME magazine that I had given to him. Finally I said goodbye, and went to collect my things. Of course he followed me, and when I put my backpack on he grabbed my Camelback and threw it over his shoulders, dead set on accompanying me on the rest of my journey. I let him walk with me for about 100 meters and then we walked back to his house. His mom was not around so he just started coming with me again. I felt so sad that I was leaving and he definitely was not making things any easier. Finally Mama (as I came to call her) came out and took his hand and they waved as I walked away. The whole boat ride back to shore I could not shake the fact that this was yet another person whose friendship I charished greatly, and yet I may never see him again.

I tried to shake these depressing thoughts by turning my attention to the urgent matter of figuring out where I was going. As I saw it I had two options.

1. Go to Savannaket by bus and cross at Lao Bao into Vietnam. This would take two full days, but would be quite easy as Lao Bao is a large border crossing with lots of bus services. The drawback would be that if I wanted to go anywhere south of Hue once I hit Vietnam I would have to go down, and then turn around to head north again towards Hanoi.

2. Go to Attepeu and try to get a bus through a much smaller, recently opened border crossing. From there I could go to Qui Nhon and work my way north. The downside being I didn't have much info about the border crossing, or any real idea where to go once I hit Vietnam.

I elected to go with option two when I ran into a fellow traveler at the bus station, who happened to have a Vietnam guide book on him. I planned my route and then I was on the road again.

Day 1 consisted of a twelve hour bus ride to Attepeu, which meant that I was going to be arriving in a town that I knew nothing about (and that is a bit off the beaten track) well after dark, which typically means it will not be easy to communicate or navigate. I finally arrived and, due to the fact that there were no tuk tuks or taxis at the bus station, started walking the two km into town. When I finally got there it took me another 45 minutes just to locate a guest house. Any guest house. At last I found a descent place and dropped my bags off before heading to hunt down some food. Luckily, I didn't have to go far before a guy called out to me in English, "Hello, how are you?" I smiled and said "Fine, how are you?". "Do you want eat?" he asked. I was starving and immediately accepted his invitation to join him and his friends.

It turned out that they were a group of Vietnamese who had just arrived the week before in Laos to work as accountants for some company whose name and business I could not discern. The man who had called me over was the only one who spoke any English and so he translated for the rest of the group. We chatted for about five minutes and then shortly after my food arrived he told me that they needed to get going, and that they had paid for my meal. Before I could protest he shook my hand and they walked out the door. I sat back down and enjoyed my delicious meal before heading off to bed.

I started my journey to Vietnam early the following morning. The ride was uneventful, and the border crossing much easier than I had anticipated it to be. I arrived in Kon Tum at around 2:30, from there I could connect to Qui Nhon, my final destination of the day. The bus to Qui Nhon was not leaving for another hour and since I had exactly four dollars left on me I took the opportunity to go find an ATM. And that was when I got ripped off for the first time in Vietnam. I needed a motorcycle taxi to take me into town but did not firmly establish a price before we left. Now, I know that was stupid, but I was getting frustrated with the language barrier that I was facing and finally after trying to ask about the price for a couple of minutes I just gave up and crossed my fingers that he was not going to fleece me. Ten minutes (and my remaining four dollars) later I was back at the bus station with enough funds to continue my journey, despite the fact that I was charged the same price for that excursion as I was for my ensuing five hour bus ride.

While I waited for the bus a middle aged man came over, introduced himself, and invited me to join him for a cup of coffee. I was on guard at this point and politely refused his first couple of offers, but he was relentless and soon we were sitting in a nearby cafe sipping coffee and working on his English. About ten minutes later the bus driver showed up to inform me it was time to leave. I went to pay for my coffee, but the man insisted on paying and for the second time in two days a Vietnamese man was picking up my tab. This isn't exactly weird other than I had been warned by so many people about always being on guard in Vietnam, and always watching out to make sure that I was not being taken advantage of. With a warm fuzzy feeling in my chest I hopped on a bus for what would become one of the most memorable bus rides of my entire trip.

I like bus rides. I always have. Sometimes they are short and scary, other times they test your endurance. My first real bus ride occured when I was 18 and decided to do a 44 hour journey from Phoenix, AZ. to Great Falls, MT. with one of my best friends, two sets of golf clubs, and a duffle bag. It was quite a journey. Definitely not enjoyable, but certainly memorable. Because of that bus ride I was anxious to have so more grand adventures riding buses all over the world. From the Chicken Buses of Guatemal to roof riding in Nepal I have been through an awful lot of crazy bus rides over the last 6 months, but none as scary or spectacular as yesterday's adventure.

So, after all that I have been through, what was it about this ride that left me praising every diety known to man when I finally disembarked in Qui Nhon? The answer is quite simple. Population Density. There are over 82 million people living in Vietnam, and as a result daily life seems to just spill onto the streets. So while we were still passing on blind hills, and whipping around hairpin turns we were doing so while sharing the road with not only other vehicles, but also: motorcycles, bicycles, pedestrians, cows, dogs, chickens, and last but not least children. Dodging all this traffic was nerve wracking and on more than one occasion our tires were squealing as we swerved to avoid old women on bicycles, or dodged children playing soccer. The ride also happened to be one of the most beautiful rides I have ever been on. Vietnam is unreal beautiful. Thick, lush hillsides surrounded even lusher rice paddies. In some areas the coffee plantations filled the surrounding country side for as far as the eyecould see. And that sunset? Phenomenal! More colors than I have ever seen and somehow the sunset took up not just the western horizon but the entire sky. Despite this beauty I remained white knuckled during the entire ride, keeping myself prepared to jump out and administer first aid to whoever our first victim was going to be.

Fortunately, that moment never came and I arrived in Qui Nhon around 7:30 p.m. It was pouring as I hopped out of the bus, and as luck would have it the only taxis around were moto taxis. Great!! I negotiated a much higher price than I would have normally paid, but was ready to do anything to get on the road and out of the rain as soon as possible. I have rain gear buried somewhere at the bottom of my bag, but knew that I would not be able to get it out without getting everything in my pack soaked so I just sucked it up and hopped on the back of the bike. The 10 minute ride was hellacious. I was soaked and shivering when, at last, we arrived at a hotel. The problem was it was a nice hotel. A very nice hotel, and certainly not the guesthouse I had asked him to take me to. According to my driver that guesthouse no longer existed despite the fact that it had been recommended to me earlier in the day by a Dutch couple I had met at the bus station in Qui Nhon.

As an aside. This is a very popular scam not only in Vietnam, but in other areas as well. Taxi drivers will tell you a guesthouse is full or that it has closed down and then deliver you to a different (and usually more expensive) hotel, where they recieve a small percentage of the room charge for taking you there.

Despite the fact that I was frozen and exhausted I was not about to give in to this scam. I was burning on the inside and wanted to do nothing more than pick up this little four foot nothing Vietnamese guy and hurl him across the room. Instead I some how managed to smile and explained to the gentleman working at the hotel that I wanted to go to a specific guesthouse because I had freinds staying there, and therefore knew that it existed. After a hurried conversation between the clerk and my driver we were back on the bike and ten minutes later I was standing in the guesthouse bathroom stripping of my soaking wet clothes and jumping into the first hot shower I had had in at least three weeks!

So that was day one in Vietnam. Day two is just beginning and it is also shaping up to be just as intense and chaotic as day 1. Qui Nhon is not really on the tourist path through Vietnam, and everywhere I walk heads are turning and people are calling out. A lot of them are quite friendly just saying hi, but I have also been cat called relentlessly by Vietnamese teenagers. And on top of that, for only the second time in my life, I had a gun pointed at me this morning. Now, it actually wasn't a big deal, but it was unsettling nonetheless. I was walking down the street and three Vietnamese teenagers were walking towards me, each one carrying two AK-47 assualt rifles. They were cat calling me a bit, and I was actually in a bit of shock that they were just walking down the streets with these old rifles. At first I thought they were fake, but as we neared each other I could tell they were the real deal. As we passed each other one of them leveled the rifle at his hip and pointed it at me while saying something to his friends. We never stopped walking, and there was no confrontation. I also suspect that the guns were either non-functional or at the very least not loaded. Either way it still wasn't a pleasant experience.

The Aftermath

2008-01-13T20:12:00.000-08:00

Who is to say whether it was the soup from breakfast yesterday morning, or anyone of a number of assorted dishes that I had yesterday, but as of 3 a.m. I knew I would be staying in Laos for at least one more day. Oh the horror!

Breakfast

2008-01-12T20:25:00.000-08:00

My morning routine was interrupted again today when, on my way to my favorite little balcony breakfast bar, Bong and his family waved me into their house to have breakfast with them.

The island is in a bit of a party mood right now due to the fact that a very respected elderly man passed away a few days ago. There is a week long celebration occuring on the island in honor of his death and last night the villagers decided to sarifice a goat and then BBQ it. Now, I should mention that while this does sound almost set up, no travelers are invited to the celebrations. Therefore I only know what I hear from Bong's family. At any rate, there was a BBQ last night in honor of the recently deceased, and Bong's family had a bunch of the left over meat and sticky rice left from last night. So I sat down to feast on goat meat and sticky rice. And then there was the soup...

The soup seemed to be comprised of all the left over parts of the goat. There was chunks of flesh with fur, intestines, parts of organs, and other assorted treats. Now, I'm basically a vegitarian due simply to the fact that I don't enjoy the taste of meat very often. In some instances I will put aside my dislike of meat in order to enjoy a meal with company or to dine on a pork chop with a beautiful chef. However, one look at this soup and I know I don't want to even taste it. But what am I going to do? Finally after a two or three minutes I take a spoon full of the broth and suck it down.

This soup tastes worse than it looks, and I quickly stuff some chili coated rice into my mouth to mask the taste, and that's when it happens. Bong's father (a new character, introduced to me at breakfast this morning) starts going through the pot looking for choice pieces of the meat to hand to me. The choice pieces being flesh with fur, intestines, pieces of organs, and other assorted treats. I slowly take the first piece, and then the second piece, and then the third piece. All of the various body parts taste the same. Putrid and slimy. I start to stuff my self with sticky rice quickly saying "mi li, mi li" I am full, I am full.

After breakfast I hunted down one of the thick sludge like cups of coffee that I have come to love and tried desperately not to think about what was being digested in my stomach at that very moment.

My Friend Bong and The Island of Don Det

2008-01-11T20:13:00.001-08:00

I have a friend named Bong. Now, unlike other friends named bong that I have been acquainted with in the past, this bong is not made out of glass or plastic. Bong is 16 years old and lives on the island with his mother, brother, aunt, uncle, cousins and other assorted relatives whose relations I have not yet begun to understand. Bong has Down Syndrome. Very characteristic of children with Down's, he is incredibly warm and affectionate. I am greeted with hugs every time I see him (which is becoming more and more frequent). This morning my meditation was interrupted for the first time in days when, at 7:30 a.m., Bong showed up to play cards. Unfortunately, I had given my cards back to my neighbors so we had to make do with writing the mathematical equations for sin and cos.
After that it was time for breakfast. Bong has been making breakfast (and any other meal I will eat) for me for the past couple of days now. He makes breakfast with the only toys he has, which he shares with all the other kids in his family, some bottles filled with dirt and some coconut shell bowls. Meticulously he measures out the proper amount of dirt from each of the bottles and fills my bowl. Sometimes gently sprinkling on a little seasoning, other times dumping large portions, It's hard to believe that he is actually just mixing dirt and not making an actual meal.

My days here are starting to become a peaceful routine. While part of me is anxious to hit the road soon and see new places (my Vietnam visa started two days ago), another part of me is stuck in this idyllic routine. I start my day with 45 min to an hour of meditation followed by some pre-breakfast hammock time. Then, it is off to breakfast where I will consume two glasses of thick Laos coffee (their motto could be "Each sip is like a line.") to really JUMPSTART the day. I usually follow breakfast with a little bit of time on a friends porch, then head for a walk or a bike ride. By noon I am back in my hammock or playing guitar (Yay for hippie neighbors who you will be hearing more about shortly). At sunset I can be found sitting on the deck of the aptly named Sunset Bar with a LaoLao mojito in hand, watching as the fire red sun sets behind the Mekong. After dinner it is off to a friends porch for a night cap. Bedtime is somewhere between 7:00 p.m. and 9:00 p.m. A few meals, and the best donuts I have ever had (Top Pot is for suckers) are scattered intermittently throughout my day, but that is about it.

Now, about my neighbors. They are from Nashville, Tennessee though they are currently living in Colon, Germany. They are in their late fifties or early sixties and are huge hippies (yes they are both folk musicians). However, unlike your typical hippie, he is some weird cross between Jerry Garcia, Ned Flanders, and Clint Eastwood. He'll pass you a joint one minute, and will be engaging you in a deep discussion about religion and politics the next. He also regulates the our neighborhood. Since we are about 1 km from the small town on the island our bungalows are a bit isolated, and he has taken it upon himself to ensure that everything is runnig smoothly. Having become friends with the owner of the bungalows he goes to the dock every morning to bring in new people that he hand picks for the bungalows. A couple of nights ago when some drunk Finnish guys were making a lot of noise at 4:00 a.m. and told him to "fuck off" when he asked them to be quiet, he went to their bungalow at 7:00 when they were passed out in their hammocks and started shaking them until they got up, confronted him, then apologized and packed up and left. Who is this guy?!? She is just as wonderful, offereing me fruit in the morning, and passing joints across the balcony. Throw in that he has a guitar for me to play and, well, I guess the only thing to say is that I LOVE MY NEIGHBORS!

So that's about it. Life is easy right now. I understand how people can just be sucked in to this environment for a long time. I love it, but I also want to get on the road again. Though this morning, as with the last couple, I again decided to postpone leaving for at least one more day...

The Laos Bus Experience

2008-01-07T17:53:00.000-08:00

For those of you who have traveled solo I know you can appreciate what I am about to say. Sometimes you have a few week period where things just are not going your way. You are either not in the right place, or your not meeting the right people, and you are really starting to wonder what the hell you are traveling for. For me that period was the last three weeks. I never found anywhere that I really loved. Actually, I never even found a place that I found even moderately appealing. I was lucky to have some good friends over New Years (Here's to my Crazy Canadian friends! Enjoy Bali, and I'll be joining you guys on the vineyard in no time!), but aside from that I really was not to pleased with traveling at the time.

So what do you do when you are frustrated, lonely, depressed, and feeling none to warm towards the country you are in? Well, I decided to take a twenty four hour ride on a public bus to the very southern tip of Laos. Now had I known the journey would take twenty four hours odds are I would not have hopped on that bus. But, true to my nature i just showed up at the bus station when I was ready to leave and hopped on the next bus headed in that direction without asking any questions. I should have known I was in for a long ride when I was charged 100,000 kip ($10.00) for the journey to Pakse. Instead I sat there and decided that I had been ripped off. "Damn", I thought "first time that has happened in Laos." I wasn't to upset so I just settled in for the usual uncomfortable ride on a public bus. About seven hours later we pulled in to a bus station, which I discovered was the half way point between Vientienne and Pakse. OK...I guess I will get in to Pakse at like one or two and figure it out from there.

Two hours later we are making yet another prolonged stop at a bus station, and this time the entire bottom hold of the bus, which was filled with boxes of tile needs to be unloaded. I don't have anything better to do so I jump in and between three of us we unload all the boxes in about 15 minutes. We worked up quite a sweat and a few minutes later one of the workers comes up to me with a bottle of water and a pack of smokes to say thanks. I gratefully except the water,but decline the smokes. Fifteen minutes later we are underway once again. Somewhere in the neighborhood of midnight I finally succumb to my exhaustion (it had been three days without a proper nights sleep) and sprawl across two seats wrapped in a blanket that one of the Lao guys had given me. I wake up around 2:30 a.m. to find that we are parked in a gas station parking lot, the engine is shut off, and find that the driver, three Laotian guys, and myself are the only people on the bus. I hop off, take a leak, and wander around the deserted gas station for a few minutes wondering what's up. Deciding that I don't have a lot of options I just hop back on the bus and drift off to sleep. At around 5:00 a.m. the bus driver gets up and we are back on the road again. At 6:00 a.m. we finally hit Pakse, where I am told that the bus I was on will be continuing on to Si Phon Don, which was my intended final destination. I had been planning on spending a day resting in Pakse, but since the bus was going there anyway why not hop back on and just get the ride over with!

Five hours and a short boat ride later I am standing in one of the most beautiful locations on the planet. WOW!!! I really needed a place like this to snap me out of my traveling funk! I don't know how to describe this place, like Nepal words and pictures would not do it justice. I am on an archipelago of "4000" (I suspect 200-300) islands on the Mekong River. There are guest houses and restaurants here, but aside from these local run places this really is village life as usual in Laos. I can't even believe that I am here! That's how surreal this place is. I have rented a private bungalow for a dollar a night, am directly on the Mekong and have TWO hammocks hanging on my private porch. Is this heaven?!?! Yeah, I think so.

Yesterday I rented a bike and went for an unbelievably aggressive ride with a Norwegian guy I met that morning. We rented the standard cruising bikes, but took them down trails I normally reserve for my full suspension bike back home! I was pretty timid at first, but within 30 minutes I was rediscovering the joy of whipping down some tight single track, hopping over logs, and going really fucking fast! Boy did I miss that. Now that I got some good exercise in I think I will take today to read a book on my porch in one of my TWO private hammocks! Hmmm...which to choose from? Maybe I will split the day and do half in each!

I have been introduced to a local fisherman who is going to take me out in his boat tomorrow and show me some of the other, mainly deserted, islands. AAHHHH...this is the life! No tours, no aircon vans, gas generated electricity from 6:00 to 10:00 p.m. only, and Laolao mojitos for fifty cents a pop! Woohoo, I really am in Paradise.

I guess the lesson is when you are having shitty time traveling there are two things to do. Be mopey and just kind of move around waiting for a break to come your way, OR you can simply say, as one of my role models, Jeffery "The Dude" Lebowski, would "Fuck it." and go have yourself an adventure. For me that was 24 hours on a cramped public bus with some friendly people, loud Laotian pop music, and tasty dumplings. Follow that up with arriving in paradise and you cannot really ask for much else out of life.

No More Monking Around

2008-01-01T18:49:00.000-08:00

I'll get to why I'm no longer in the meditation retreat in a minute. For now let me quickly update the last couple of weeks travel story. It all starts in Chaing Mai with me walking down a highway on my way back into town from Wat Ram Poeng (about an 8km walk). I'm hot, tired, and the blister on my right foot is killing me! Unfortunately there are no tuk tuks or sawngthaows anywhere. Suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, a guy on a motorbike pulls off the shoulder in front of me and asks if I want a ride into town. Woohoo! I jump on and introduce myself. When he hears that I am from the States he tells me that he is on his way to meet a friend for coffee who just returned that morning from studying in English in Washington D.C. He invites me to join them, and I suddenly find myself sitting in a cafe with three Thai guys enjoying a delicious cappuccino. It turns out that my new Thai friend, Pad Thai (that was seriously his name), and one of his other friends work for an NGO educating gay and transgender men on HIV/AIDS and other sexual diseases, as well as overseeing the operation of a free clinic for these men. They invite me to join them that evening for a transgender cabaret show to be followed by an educational video on sexual health that their organization, Mplus, puts on once a month for the men in their community.

The cabaret show was interesting to say the least. Those guys/girls were HOT!!! It was pretty weird knowing that these slim vixens in lingerie were actually guys! The evening was quite fun and I promised to meet up with them in later in the week to visit some of the Wats in the area and for lunch before my meditation retreat. Following the video I may made my way to the local Muay Thai matches and watched as these highly skilled fighters assailed each other with kicks, knees, and elbows for the next four hours. The fights were quite the change from the cabaret show I had been watching only three hours earlier!

The following day was spent lying in a hammock engrossed in a wonderful novel (The Shadow of the Wind), and recovering from a Muay Thai induced hangover. At around six that night I made my way to a little market where I had some dinner and walked around a local park watching young Thai couples shared noodles, play badminton, and, of course, take advantage of the romantic atmosphere. It was at this point in time that I decided to go find a movie theater. Now I had not been to a real movie theater for the duration of my trip (though the one in Manang, Nepal was pretty cool!) I walked about six km before I found what I was looking for. Walking into the theater I was blown away by how incredible it was. Hands down it was the nicest theater I have ever been to. I purchased my reserved seat (Yes, I did say RESERVED seat!) and headed into the theater. Five hours and two (yup, TWO!) movies later I was walking down an empty road on my way back to town. Around midnight I walked into a small market, sat down, and feasted on curry and noodles before heading off to bed. It was a truly wonderful day!

The following day I visited Wat Doi Suthep with my Thai friends and then had a yummy lunch of vegetarian Thai food, something that I had been desperately searching for. Then the following day it was time for the meditation retreat to begin...

The retreat was not what I had expected it too be. It immediately became clear to me that I was not going to stay there when, on the first day, I learned that I would not be receiving any instruction or teaching of any kind. I was shown to my room (where I was instructed to spend the majority of my time in meditation) and changed into my white clothes before touring the rest of the monastery. One of the first things I noticed was the massive construction project that was underway. All throughout the monastery trucks were dropping of concrete, hammers were pounding, and saws were buzzing. I would be sitting in my room meditating when a table saw would suddenly start up, or at one point in time, and you can't make something like this up, a jackhammer started going off! Not the greatest environment to meditate in. Nonetheless, I stayed to see what it would be like. I meditated for two days, but the lack of instruction and the continual distractions of the construction caused me to leave the evening of my second night. I was disappointed to leave, disappointed that I had quit, and disappointed with my current travel situation.

From Chaing Mai I fled north for the border with Laos, where my travel situation continued deteriorate. I met some German guys on the bus and they seemed pretty cool. As I was feeling really lonely since I had basically not met anyone in over two weeks, I was thrilled to meet some fellow travelers who seemed to have common interests. We split a hotel room at the border and went to grab a bite to eat. That was when it all went downhill. These guys were on a real tight budget, but as I also try to spend as little as possible I did not think it would be a problem. However, as we were paying for our dinner one of them flew into a rage at the supposedly being overcharged five bhat. Now, our meal cost a dollar and 5 bhat is around 15 cents, so even if he was being overcharged, which he wasn't, you would think that he would just let it go and save himself the hassel of arguing with a woman who does not speak a word of English. But oh no, that did not happen. Instead he hasseled her for about five minutes and clearly upset her before finally letting it go. I was shocked. These guys seemed pretty nice, so I chaulked it up to just a weird situation and tried to forget about it. Upon arriving at out guest house after dinner my travel state continued to decline as I met THE MOST ANNOYING TRAVELER EVER!!!!! Her name was Mariana and she was traveling by herself through Thailand and Laos for three weeks. She was super nice, but would not stop talking and was one of the ditziest people I have ever met. Now this is the first time I have bad mouthed anyone in my blog and I feel kind of bad about, especially because she was a very nice person. Nonetheless I wanted to pull a Van Gogh and slice off my ears every time she started talking, which was basically ALWAYS. Now this might not seem like the worst situation in the world, but here is the best part. When you cross the border from Thailand to Laos you then hop on a slow boat to Luang Prabang. The slow boat takes TWO DAYS!! So I was stuck with them for TWO DAYS! Then, when we got to Luang Prabang I could not really just walk off so I ended up splitting another room with Mariana for two nights, and staying next to the two German guys. So there I was, losing my mind, surronded by travelers that I did not wnat to be with, and to top it off I was in Luang Prabang, which I was told is an amazing city. It is a UNESCO World Heritage site, and...a complete hell hole! If there is one piece of advice I can give other travelers this is it. DO NOT EVER, EVER, EVER GO TO LUANG PRABANG. Second worst place on my travels after Antigua, Guatemala. Everywhere you looked was a luxury hotel filled with old Europeans who were zipping in and out on their private air-con tour buses. Everything cost a small fortune and, on top of all that, there was nothing to do in the town at all. I visited several Wats, which were a far cry from any of the places I visited in Thailand. I have never been happier to leave a place in my entire life!

Phew! That was a lot of negativity. Luckily for me thinks started looking up. I met three really cool Canadian girls who were just as anxious to get away from there as I was, and we hopped a bus down to Vang Vieng for New Years. I had been told that Vang Vieng was not a nice town, and that it was just loaded with backpackers who were there to party (which didn't seem like a bad way to spend New Years). Instead I found a very laid back town, which, despite the number of travelers, still offered reasonable accomadations, was quiet, and had an assortment of activities all within a few kilometers. I rang in the New Years at a huge party with my new friends, and then spent the next two days enjoying the beautiful countryside, floating down a river, and exploring some cool caves.

Well that about wraps up the last two weeks. I am now in Vientianne and just dropped a small fortune on my visa for Vietnam. I either had to pay for expedited service today, or wait the entire weekend to get my visa. As I do not want to be stuck in yet another expensive touristy town for any longer than possible I decided to fork over the extra $20 dollars and be ready to leave in the morning. The only problem is that I have no idea where I am going...

I have been desperately searching for a place to stop traveling for a couple of weeks and to volunteer my time. I can no longer continue traveling without at least giving some of my time and money to the people of these countries. Therefore I ask anyone who is reading this to send me any information they may have on volunteer opportunities in Southeast Asia. My Internet searches have been fruitless. If anyone has any information that may be useful please help!

I must be out of my f*#@ing mind!

2007-12-22T02:02:00.000-08:00

I am currently in northern Thailand preparing to start my meditation retreat in two days time. That means I will be spending Christmas and New Year's in silent meditation. I am, to be quite honest, terrified of what the coming ten days of meditation could be like. I will be studying Vipsanna (otherwise known as Insight) meditation. The focus of this is to look inward, being mindful of your thoughts, emotions, and physical state. This is a very intense meditation, and when I went to sign up for the course yesterday a girl was crying and dropping out of the course (she had been there six days). What makes this so intense are the strict rules that I will be obliged to follow. A standard day will look like this:

Pray from 3:30 a.m. until 6:00 a.m.

Breakfast from 6:00 until 7:00 chewing each bite fifty times to be mindful of my food.

Pray from 7:00 until 12:00 followed by one more meal (the last of the day).

Meditate or walk in silence until 10:00 p.m. then go to bed.

No talking, reading, writing, or listening to music is allowed. We are asked also to try to refrain from making eye contact with other students.

So that is what is ahead of me. Perhaps I am crazy for doing this, perhaps not. I do know that this entire trip has been one long journey, not just around the world, but into myself as well. I visit new places every few days, always meeting new people and seeing new things. While it might sound like I am living in a constant state of change the only thing that I find to be changing is myself. New people and new places seem to be a constant, and it is my sense of self that is the variable. Ever changing. Yet, if this trip can truly be compared to a mathematical equation then this variable, this sense of self, is approaching a limit and in doing so an answer to the equation is beginning to emerge.

I happen to know that there are a few math majors out there reading this blog so please let me know if, as a biochem major who was only required to take two years of math, this metaphor makes any sense. I was always a bit of a dunce when it came to calculus. Man...I must have to much time on my hands to becoming up with this stuff! All jokes aside I hope that the metaphor made sense (at least to those of you with degrees in mathematics).

I will be checking back in in a couple of weeks. So until that time...

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good fortnight!

Does life get any better than eating spicy curry at 8:00 a.m.???

2007-12-15T20:42:00.000-08:00

I am in Thailand! Having spent my first week in Koh Tao I am just now finally seeing every ones usual first stop, Bangkok. To say that Thailand is nothing like I expected it to be would be a very gross understatement. I was certainly not expecting such an industrialized nation, and the fact that there is a 7-11 on every corner is still freaking me out! On the plus side food is super cheap now that I am off Koh Tao and I am walking around stuffing myself on noodles and curry every chance I get, which comes to approximately 8 chances a day so far. At this rate I will be back up to 195 in no time, though I don't think it will be an attractive 195!

Arriving in Thailand just over a week ago I flew immediately to Koh Samui on the very luxurious Bangkok Airways. From Koh Samui it is a mere 1.5 hour ferry ride to Koh Tao. Unfortunately, it was 10:00 p.m. by the time I arrived in Koh Samui, therefore necessitating waiting until morning to catch the ferry. After a ridiculously expensive cab ride (I was still figuring out how developed Thailand really is) and a desperate search for a hotel that was still open at 11:00, I finally found a little cabana and crashed for the night. The next day I left for Koh Tao excited to reach what the LP had called a "hidden jewel among Thailand's ever popular islands". Unfortunately for me this "hidden jewel" seemed to have been discovered by hoards of invading divers. The beaches, which I was told were either uncrowded or deserted, were crowded and loud. Hammocks? Forget about it. I searched, and searched, and searched and only found a hammock towards the end of my week. So did I hate Koh Tao? Surprisingly, the answer is a resounding NO! I swam in beautiful crystal clear turquoise water, rented a motor bike and cruised the island, and, of course, stuffed myself on delicious Thai food!! It was a pretty great week. Throw in some diving, beers, and books and you get the picture!

Now I have returned to the real world (if that's what you can really call this). As I was eating my curry this morning (mmmmmm...sorry I am going to have to come back and finish this in a bit, I need some more curry.) OK, I'm back, though I was just sending a few emails and, like before, am now feeling another curry craving coming on. Where was I? Oh yes, I'm in Bangkok now staying just a few blocks from the very famous Khoa San road. This is truly a crazy place. There is a Starbucks (yes I did indulge), McDonalds, Burger King, and last but not least a CRAAAAZZZYY number of tourists. This is unreal. Not backpackers. Tourists. The streets are lined with people selling knockoff clothing and DVD's. There is sex a plenty (which sadly draws a large number of tourists. It is pretty weird watching old creepy white guys walking down the street with their arms around young Thai girls) as lady boys strut their "stuff" and at night you can't walk ten feet without being invited to a ping pong show (If you don't know what those are I am going to let you do your own research on the topic).

The whole atmosphere is a bit much for me so I am headed north to view some of the ruins of northern Thailand before heading to Chang Mai to begin a meditation retreat. I have always wanted to practice meditation and am relishing the opportunity to finally seriously practice meditation. With that said I am also quite nervous as I will be spending a minimum of ten days in almost complete solitude, sleeping only a couple hours a night, eating very little, and spending all my time focusing my energy inward. I am scared to face August like this, though I have been waiting for this moment for a while now and it seems that the time has finally come. I will try to post another blog before I head into the monastery but if do not get around to it please send me lots of positive feelings over these next few weeks. I have a feeling I am going to need them.

paz y amor
August

Farewell to Shangri La

2007-12-06T04:46:00.000-08:00

Before I get started I want to quickly update people on August's physical state these days. After hiking the Annapurna Circuit I am feeling very healthy and fit. With that said, I have undergone quite the physical transformation in these last four months of travel. I am currently estimating my weight to be around 155 pounds (down from 195 in April) and as those of you who have been checking out photos know I was sporting quite the beard when I left Central America. I say WAS sporting quite the beard because a horrible tragedy befell my beard shortly after my arrival in Kathmandu. I had decided that it was time for a haircut (my hair was really really really nasty looking) and while I was at it a teensy weensy trim of the beard (I was tired of looking homeless). The haircut was great and I went into great detail trying to communicate to the barber (who spoke no English whatsoever) that all I wanted was for him to very gently tim my beautiful beard. Clearly he misunderstood this as he proceeded, with one swift chop of his scissors, to hack off all but about three weeks worth of growth. I was shocked beyond belief but it was too late. He finished, I paid, and then walked out with tears in my eyes, my dream of continually growing the best travel beard that has ever been grown dashed forever. The beard is making a comeback but it will be at least another month before it returns to its previous state of burliness. Please take a moment and help me mourn the loss of a close friend and damn good travel buddy. May God watch over my beard wherever it may be.

Since wrapping up the Annapurna Circuit my time in Nepal has flown by. I spent four days in Pokhara gorging myself on everything in sight and then took off for Lumbini, birth place of Buddha. The journey was long and when I finally arrived completely exhausted I found that Lumbini was, as one fellow traveler informed me it would be, Buddhist Disney Land. There were monks everywhere. It seemed like there were thousands filling every street, by which I mean both streets as Lumbini was not much more than two streets, four hotels, a handful of restaurants, a few shops, and about 30 temples. After finding accommodation in a shitbag hotel (and I say that with the utmost love and compassion) I ventured out for dinner. I walked into a very crowded local restaurant and was immediately invited by a young monk to join him for dinner. Now a lot of you must be thinking "wow! what an amazing opportunity to discuss Buddhism, Enlightenment, or Meditation with a friendly Nepali monk". But what did we discuss? His iPod (his brother sent it to him from New York), his Gameboy, Hollywood movies, and of course American pop music. Quite an entertaining meal to say the least.

From Lumbini I made my way to Chitwan National Park, which is a.) the largest National Park in Nepal, b.) a world heritage site, and c.) comprised mainly of jungle and grass land. Yeah, I didn't know Nepal had jungle either!! The area was truly breath taking and I started my first day there by taking part in the bathing of an elephant. When I say "bathing an elephant" what I really mean is being repeatedly thrown into a river by an elephant. I was sitting by the banks watching elephants come down for their morning baths (these are trained elephants that people take on tours through the park) when one of the trainers invited me to come join him on the elephant. Since I have not rode an elephant since I was like four years old I jumped at the opportunity. I kicked off my sandals and headed for the water. The trainer helped me climb up the back of the elephant which I quickly found is the most uncomfortable animal in the world to sit on. How these trainers do it everyday I will never know. The elephants backbone is about five centimeters in diameter. Just wide enough to (sorry I don't know any other way to say this so I am just going to go for it) spread open your butt cheeks and press and rub a very sensitive area in a rather insensitive manner. As soon as I was "comfortably" on we walked out to the middle of the river where, with one command from the trainer, the elephant started ferociously bucking from side to side and hurled me into the water. It was pretty hysterical and a lot of fun. The best part was climbing back onto the elephant. To do this I would grab both of its ears and put one foot on its trunk. Then (like I weighed nothing at all) it would simply lift me out of the water and onto its head. Definitely one of the funnest things I have done on this entire trip.

I passed the rest of my time in Chitwan hiking through the jungle searching for rhinos and tigers. This might seem like a lot of fun, but at the end of two days I was glad to be done with the hike. For one I had to have two guides with me, which in many ways was great because they were able to find a lot of animals and without them I would not have seen any rhinos, but was also a bit of a drag since I don't like hiking with guides. I was not fortunate enough to come across any tigers though I did see many tracks and a couple piles of tiger poo...

So Nepal is coming to an end. I feel quite sad to be leaving such a wonderful country. I was looking at a map the other day and was amazed to see the amount of the country that I had trekked across during my time on the Annapurna. Despite this, I feel like I saw very little of Nepal, and will definitely be heading back here very soon to further explore this wonderful country! As for now I am back in Kathmandu, which, hang on let me check...yup is still polluted, packing my bags and getting ready to head to Thailand. First stop Koh Tao where I am going to get back to the beach life; sipping drinks with tiny umbrellas, relaxing in the sand, and doing a bit of diving. Best of luck to all my friends back home in Seattle, who I hear are putting up with torrential downpours and even a bit of snow. I'll let you know how the beaches are!

7000 m. peaks don't look too high from 5416 m.

2007-11-26T02:30:00.000-08:00

Revised November 27th

Another epic adventure has come to a close. I returned to the land of mechanized transport, Internet, hot showers, and most importantly, good food!!! Trekking through the Himalayas may have been the most amazing experience of my entire life! Sadly, I lack the ability as a writer to convey the sheer impact this trip had on me. Words such as magnificent, awe-inspiring, phenomenal, and overwhelming do not come close to describing what it is like to wake up in the morning and stare at 8000 meter peaks from your bedroom window. Nor do words like spiritual, moving, or blissful express what it is like to walk through monasteries, hike past Mani walls, or stare at rows of prayer flags strung across sheer vertical cliffs.

The trek took me deep into the Himalaya , and while there were many travelers passing through the area, thus creating more wealth than in many other areas of Nepal, the poverty I witnessed along the route was truly shocking. Again, I find it difficult to write about how I felt as I watched a young child gnaw on a hunk of raw, fur covered, yak meat, or how I felt watching 100 pound people struggle to carry equally heavy loads of fire wood or straw to prepare for the coming winter. I was also equally overjoyed by the genuine friendliness of most of the Nepalis I met. The feelings of false friendliness that I felt so strongly in Kathmandu were replaced by feelings of true friendliness as I chatted with porters, guides, and guest house owners. These conversations left me feeling that the people of Nepal are truly the warmest people I have met on my travels.

I have taken the time to list some of the memories that stand out from these past eighteen days. There are many many others, some to gross to share (though after reading the giardia section you might wonder what could be worse, but trust me IT GOT WORSE!), and others that I think I will keep tucked away for just myself. I hope you enjoy them...

Day 0. I am on my way to Pokhara with my soon to be trekking partner, a Canadian named Natalie, who I met in Kathmandu. Pokhara is a pretty weird place to be going considering it is four hours from Besisahar, the starting point of the trek. This is a clear case of why you should have a guide book to help you navigate around a foreign country. As we are riding along we start to realize our error when we start seeing spray painted rocks indicating that we will be going through Dumre (two hours from Pokhara, and where we were hoping to catch a bu tos after we reached Pokhara). As we drive through the town I take a risk and ask the bus driver to let us off hoping we can catch a bus to Besisahar. He obliges, and soon we are sipping tea and waiting for a bus. After half an hour a man comes over, rushes us to a bus (which looks like it should have been retired 50 years ago), and asks if we would mind riding on top of the bus for the two hour trip. I say yes at the same instant that Natalie says no, and after a brief discussion we are riding on the top of a bus with some Nepali kids as it whips around hairpin turns on the way to Besisahar. What a way to start the adventure!

Day 2. I am climbing a steep, rocky, hill and sweating profusely. I stop for a quick rest and look behind me to see a guy climbing quickly with a mountain bike over his back. He was a Dutch guy named Jack and he was biking the Annapurna Circuit!! As his guide he had hired the Nepali mountain biking champion, an 18 year old kid, who made me very jealous of his skills on a bike! Imagine carrying a bike on your shoulders all the way to 5416 m.

Day 3. The Maoists. I come to a Maoist controlled checkpoint and have to give them a "voluntary donation." I have never had to pay a bribe before and despite the fact that the situation is non-threatening I feel a bit nervous. I pay the fee and continue on my way. That's it, nothing more. Oh, one of the Maoists was wearing a red white and blue U.S.A. jacket. Kinda funny, huh?

Day 4. We stop for a rest on our way to Chame and are invited to join the village celebrating Dashain. Dashain is the most important festival in Nepal, and celebrates the goddess Durga vanquishing evil spirits. During the final day, known as Tika, elder family members bless younger family members, brothers bless sisters, etc. by giving them Tika (painting their forehead). Everyone in the village celebrates with dancing, food, and of course booze, Riksa a homemade wine reminiscent of moonshine that I found to be very potent. We are blessed with the Tika, eat, drink, and watch the dancing on the rooftop for about 30 minutes before heading on our way. Truly incredible.

Day 5. I am wearing long underwear, wool socks, a beanie, and am shaking violently. I am huddled with my trekking partner (who is similarly attired and also shaking violently) under two -20 C down sleeping bags. Who knows what we have, but we are not in good shape. The aches and chills are probably the worst I have ever had, and it literally takes all my strength to drag a Clif Bar out of a stuff sack and dip it in peanut butter for a very meager dinner. Exhausted, I fall into a fitful 13 hour sleep that does little to replenish my strength.

Day 6. After a small breakfast we decide to continue trekking despite the previous nights horrors. Taking a very difficult route from Pisang to Manang we struggle to keep moving for eight painful, yet incredibly beautiful, hours arriving in Manang at nightfall utterly exhausted.

Day 7. Rest Day. I do almost nothing all day, but do manage to drag my ass to a makeshift movie theater (the only one on the whole trek) where I watch a camcorder recorded version of Super Bad while wrapped in all my cold weather gear and huddled in front of a fire. If this seems unremarkable, remember where I am. There are NO roads here, and this is a pretty small village, where most of the buildings would look right at place in the middle ages. Also, Super Bad (which was hysterical) isn't even out on DVD, yet here I am in the middle of the Himalayas watching it in a "movie theater".

That night I listened to an incredibly talented young Nepali play all my favorite Metallica songs on an acoustic guitar. Anyone who knows how much I covet Metallica knows what this must have meant to me.

Day 8. Acclimatization hike to 4600 m. The symptoms of giardia (which I did not know were symptoms of giardia at the time) have been ever present for the past few days and on this hike the parasite finally strikes hard. I am rushing off the trail to evacuate my bowels every 20 minutes. I complete the hike and feel fine by the time I return to Manang. The next day I will continue the trek, though I will feel miserable the whole day.

Day 10. I arrive at Thorong Pedi, which is to be the base camp from which we will mount our attack of the pass the following day. A group of six of us have been bonding over the last few days, and as it is recommended to do the pass in groups, we decide that we will stick together tomorrow and help each other over the pass. I am feeling well, and am getting very excited for the following day. That afternoon our anxiety begins to mount as we begin hearing stories of the guy who died a week and a half earlier on the pass, and as a Frenchman is evacuated by helicopter in the early evening after spending the whole day unable to move (due to giardia). All day acquaintances of ours have been turning back first it's the English couple, then the Israeli girls and so on and so on. It is quite disheartening to see the mass exodus from base camp. The final blow is delivered when our friend Tariq, who was attempting the pass that day, comes stumbling into base camp without his pack, and barely moving under his own power. When I see him 9 days later in Pokhara I will almost be unable to recognize him. The image of his pale, ashen face is burned into my brain. Having worked in a hospital for several years I am accustomed to seeing very sick or dying people, though I don't think I can ever recall seeing anyone who looked as bad as he did at that moment. Later we will find out he had giardia (much like I do) and made it to within 200 meters of the top before becoming violently ill and having to be supported down the mountain by several fellow hikers. With all this drama at the high camp floating in my head I turn in early feeling a mixture of anxiety, excitement, and nervousness.

Day 11. Pass day. This is a day I will remember forever. Not because of the physical challenge of crossing the pass (it actually was not that difficult), but because of everything else that happened that day. The six of us meet at 5:30 for a quick breakfast and by six we are on the trail. We are climbing 1000 m to the top of the pass and this is going to take about four or five hours before will begin a brutally steep 1600 m descent down the backside. Over the first 45 minutes we are going to climb 400 m and then after this is over the rest of the climb will just be a slow grueling walk to the top. After gaining about 250 m of elevation in half an hour we take a quick break to check on everyone and to watch the beginning of the sunrise on the Himalayas. As we start out again Natalie remains seated on a rock and is not moving. I am alarmed, though I can't imagine AMS setting in this quickly especially after just 250 m. We talk for a few minutes and I am concerned enough that I make the decision to take her down to base camp. I call up to the others, tell them our plan, and wish them luck on getting over the pass. This was not the way we had hoped to say goodbye, but under the circumstances there is little time for formalities.

As we start descending Natalie becomes incredibly dizzy and says she is blacking out. Soon I am supporting all of her weight (plus her pack) and half dragging half walking her down the steep slope, while yelling at her not to close her eyes and to keep putting one foot in front of the other. We descend about 100 m and she is feeling fine. We slowly walk to base camp, have some tea, and talk things over. After deciding that it was not the altitude, and after deciding that it was not to late to try to still make the pass we start out again, reclimbing the same steep section we had just did.

The views we have as we pass 5000 m are truly incredible and we take our time enjoying the views. The progress is slow, but we are both feeling fine and soon we are passing groups that had set out ahead of us (woohoo for being in good shape!). We reach the pass without incident, though I am starting to notice the symptoms of giardia again as we reach the summit. For those of you who do not know what the symptoms are let me now take the time to list some of them. They include the following: eggy burps, excessive flatulence, stomach pains, and of course diarrhea. I am not feeling good, but do not feel the need to mention this to Natalie since I know that it is not the altitude that is affecting me and I do not want her to worry. We pose for some pictures, have a Snickers and then start the long steep descent. Immediately I begin feeling much worse and within 20 minutes I have the worst diarrhea of my life. I am racing off the trail and finding cover where I can, though there are not always places to hide and I am forced to evacuate my bowels in plain sight. At one point in time it comes on so suddenly that I don't even have time to make it away from the trail and Natalie has to ask other trekkers to turn their backs and wait for me before coming down. After this incident I collapse on my pack gasping for air (remember I am still above 5000 m while all this is going on), and trying to collect myself. A man walks by and in a stern voice tells me that next time I need to move farther away from the trail. The burst of anger that I feel when he tells me this is so sudden and so strong that all I want to do is get to my feet and just start pounding this guy. Of course I am way to sick to do this, and simply remain lying on my pack and ignore his comment. I start moving again and for the next five hours will hike in a dehydrated haze, continually rushing from the trail to relieve myself before continuing down an incredibly steep trail. I recall very little of the descent though I do remember the feeling that I was not really in control of myself and that I was sort of just waiting to see what would happen. I have only felt this once before. Standing in line at a pharmacy after having surgery I had the feeling that I was no longer in control of my body and it wasreally sort of up to my body to decide what happened next. In that instan my body chose to shut down and I blacked out, collapsing in line. Thankfully this was not the case and I sort of just sat back and watched myself navigate down the icy path.

At this point I need to make several things clear. There were not a lot of people around, and I could not simply sit down and wait for medical help as it would most likely mean staying overnight in the open before anyone could return. The best case scenario would be someone reaching Makutinath, finding help (which is doubtful), and them returning that night by 10 or 11. These are obviously not good options and so I continued downward. Finally after an exhausting nine hours we reached Makutinath where, by word of mouth, our friends had heard we had actually made the summit and were on our way down to meet them. They had reserved a room in the guest house they were staying in. I was escorted to my room with its own western toilet. I have never been so happy to see a toilet as I was that night.

Day 12. After a rough night and a MASSIVE dose of antibiotics I awoke feeling much better and ready to keep trekking. There was a town three hours from Makutinath and so our group made our way there where we enjoyed good meals, a temple, and a celebratory beer.

Day 14. I watched for 30 minutes as at least 20 enormous vultures pick a mule clean to its bones. These birds were incredible! I watched in awe as they tore through flesh, scraped bone, and routinely buried their whole heads inside the carcass to feast on the inards.

I also passed several fields of marijuana growing along the trail, and yes, I did frolic through them singing happy songs.

Day 16. I hiked through the most amazing landscape of the entire trek. Imagine the Shire from Lord of the Rings. This was almost identical...minus the Hobbits.

Day 18. Descended 1700 m, including a stair case of almost 4000 stairs. Arrived in Pokhara after a seemingly very long and uncomfortable two hour bus ride, checked into a fancy hotel, which cost all of 6 dollars (and seriously, this place is posh!! It would probably cost at least 80 dollars back home), and took a long overdue, and much needed shower before blissfully drifting off to sleep.

Additional thoughts

2007-11-03T20:13:00.000-07:00

Since it was reported to me that I sound pretty negative (something some of you have accused me of in the recent past), and because I am kinda just hanging out today waiting for the ACAP to open tomorrow I have decided to add some follow up thoughts. I am not as negative as I sound. It is really great here, but like the American news media with which I was raised I recognize the appeal in reporting negative things!

1. While I still feel that people are overly polite maybe I have been looking at it in the wrong light. I feel incredibly uncomfortable being called sir and having people constantly apologizing for possibly insulting me. Everyone is so nice how could I possibly be insulted? Last night I spent a couple of hours hanging out with a Local guy who worked at my guest house. We shared several hand-rolled cigarettes and spent a great deal of time talking. I found him to be intelligent, caring, spiritual, and incredibly funny. Yet despite the fact that I was enjoying his company and found his views on life to be very interesting it was difficult to converse because of his continual apologies and the fact that he called me sir constantly. Perhaps, I need to spend more time here before I get used to the role of a "senior" as he called me. When I addressed this issue he explained to me that a.) I was older and b.) I had more money than him. While he had absolutely no interest in getting any money from me the fact that I had it meant I had a higher status. I tried explaining to him why I had so much trouble with this concept, but he simply insisted that it was a cultural belief and that was just the way it was. Hmmm...I don't know if there is much more to say about this, I definitely need time to mull it over and to digest this.

2. Kathmandu....remains polluted.

24 hour observations

2007-11-03T07:32:00.000-07:00

I have been in Kathmandu for 24 hours now. I am still really messed up on sleep and such, but I wanted to record my initial feelings about Kathmandu. More specifically, I want to record my thoughts about Thamel district as I have not been away from it yet. Please recognize that these are only initial observations that I am drawing broad generalizations from.

1. The people here are overpolite. I saw overpolite because I feel treated like royalty (i.e. I am loved to my face but I feel it is insincere.)

2. Kathmandu is very very very polluted. I don't think this observation will change.

3. The poverty level in this country is unlike anything I have seen so far. Nicaragua and Guatemala were very poor countries. Yet this is a new level of poverty. It is truly heartbreaking to see peope living like this. Sadly, I recognize that there is nothing I am currently doing, or have previously done that makes one damn bit of difference. The world produces enough food to feed everyone. Why are we not doing it, and how can I change that????????? Two questions that have been running through my head all day long.

And now...another continent!

2007-11-02T19:12:00.000-07:00

I made it to Kathmandu!!!!!!!! What an adventure getting here. In four nights I only slept once, did a whirlwind tour of London in two days, and flew somewhere in the neighborhood of 10,000 miles!

After leaving San Jose I spent Monday night in JFK international before flying to London. I arrived Tuesday night, checked into my hostel and then wandered the streets of Kensington aimlessly for about two hours. It was one hell of a shock going from Central American cities to a ritzy neighborhood in London! And, DAMN is London expensive. I only ate one meal out, walked everywhere, went to free museums and still spent the equivalent of 10 days budget in Central America in just over 48 hours. Despite the cost London was really great. I went to the V&A, the Natural History Museum, and a tour of the city on Tuesday. Then my friend Beth and I (thanks for the tour Beth!) hit a couple of pubs so I could have some proper English Ale, and a great dinner. i had forgotten just how much I missed really good food and wine until that meal! Then after a restless night of drunken sleep I hit the streets of London one more time visiting the British Museum and the Tate Modern. Then it was back to my hostel to collect my things and head to Heathrow. I left my hostel three and a half hours before my flight, in order to give myself a bit of a buffer on the Underground. Thank God I did that, there was some sort of delay and instead of arriving two and a half hours early like I though I would I made it 45 min before my flight. I rushed through check in and security and then to the gate just in time! Phew! It was a close one!

The flights were uneventful and I arrived jet-lagged and exhausted at 7:00 p.m. last night. I then had to deal with getting a visa, which took over an hour, getting my bag, and trying to figure out where to stay. Stepping out of the airport I was immediately assaulted by a vicious hord of taxi drivers who began pulling me in all directions. I fought them off and sat down, recognizing that I really needed a few minutes to collect myself. Again, the sleep deprivation was killing me, and I did not want to do anything stupid. after sitting for about ten minutes and being constantly harassed (I practiced swearing at them in Spanish while smiling), I negotiated a ride with guy for three dollars. He took me to his car where he and two friends jumped in, though I had no worries at this point in time. They drove me to my destination, and that was when things got interesting. We all got out of the car and I collected my bag from the trunk. Then when I turned to pay him he asked for about five times the agreed upon price. I said no and told him we had agreed on 200 rupees. I tried handing them to him but he kept pushing it back at me and asking for more money. After about 30 seconds of this I realized that he and his friends had completely surrounded me, and were pushing me up against the trunk of the car. Yikes! OK, stay calm I thought. Looking around I was scared to find that there was no one else on the street. I am too tired to deal with being mugged I thought and if these assholes take my pack then I am really screwed. I calmly tried one final time to hand him the money. When he did not take it I dropped it on the trunk of the car, dropped my shoulder into his chest, and gave him a shove to clear myself a path. I calmly walked away as they shouted curses (or so I assume) in Nepalese. What a shitty way to start a new country. Despite that and the lack of sleep (for some reason only two hours last night despite my exhaustion) I am happy to be here and am excited to get my permits and get on the trail! I do not feel like my first experience is going to be representative of the population as a whole (they were clearly drunk) and the people who I have met since then have been very warm.

With any luck I will be starting my trek next Wednesday. Don't expect any posts for a while, I don't think I will be finding any internet cafes along the way. Wish me luck (my fat ass is going to need it to get up Thorong La)!

More Photos!!

2007-10-27T08:08:00.000-07:00

Central America has come to an end...

Looking back on my travel experiences from the last three months I am amazed at how much I have changed. Those first few days when I was scared, confused, and lonely seem so long ago. I have had some great experiences here (and some bad ones as well), and the memories from my first travels will be with me forever.

I left Puerto Viejo Thursday morning, though not before heading down to the beach for one final dip. As I swam in the warm, clear, water of the Caribbean I could not get over the fact that in one weeks time I was going to be in Nepal, having spent three days in London as well. So, that means; The Caribbean, London, and Nepal all in one week. I still have not quite wrapped my mind around that. This is one hell of a journey...

More photos have been posted to my Picasa account.
http://picasaweb.google.com/August.Flanagan

Update

2007-10-23T09:13:00.000-07:00

I have not been writing much lately mainly because I have had nothing new to report. After an exhausting couple of weeks I ended up in Puerto Viejo, Costa Rica. It is a bit touristy, and I am continually frustrated when I say something in Spanish only to be given a reply in English. My Spanish is really falling apart right now...nonetheless, I have been relaxing and recharging my batteries. I have been here for almost a week now, and have spent most of my time either reading in a hammock or getting exercise and relaxing on a beach. It is beautiful here, and while the rest of Costa Rica is dealing with torrential downpours, I am enjoying sunny skies, white sand beaches, good books, good music, and drinks with little umbrellas in them. OK, maybe no drinks with umbrellas, but everything else.

I am getting a bit bored now, and am REALLY REALLY excited to be starting another leg of my journey in just a few days. I will head back to San Jose for the weekend, and Sunday night I begin my five day journey to Nepal. When I first purchased this ticket I though that I was being incredibly clever giving myself a two and a half days in London, but now it just seems like it will be a nightmare! Oooops!

I get to Nepal next Thursday, and with a little luck will be starting the Annapurna circuit by the following Wednesday. For those of you who do not know this is a 21 day trek through the Himalayas, which will probably be the most hardcore thing I have ever done. Four months ago I would not have worried about it, but as my fitness level has steadily declined, my anxiety has steadily increased! However, I am hoping that this last week of moderate exercise and rest will go along way towards getting me ready for it.

Since it is hot and sunny right now I think I will wrap this up, grab my book, and head for the beach. Cheers to all of you back in rainy ass Seattle, I will be thinking of you when I order that drink with the umbrella, and dive into a picture perfect blue sea. Enjoy work suckers!!!

The Kindness of Strangers

2007-10-16T07:37:00.000-07:00

WOW! So much has happened since I last sat down to write that I really don't even know where to begin. I had a pretty rough week, but am in a better place (both mentally and physically). This is probably going to turn into an incoherent rambling monologue, but here it goes...

I have definitely had the lowest points of my trip over the past week and a half. Facing adversity, I was able to resolve a tough situation, and handled myself surprisingly well. Nonetheless, the sheer emotional drain that it caused has made me feel wrecked. I am sooo tired right now. I have been on buses everyday since last Wednesday without a break, and I have one more to go today. I will then arrive on a Caribbean beach in Costa Rica! I am not going to move from that beach for a minimum of five days!! OK...back to what I was talking about before (told you this was going to be a rambling monologue! Chalk it up to a. a minor hangover, and b. no coffee). The point is, I have had a stressful time, but I worked through it and am in a better place now, and am feeling great about traveling again. Indeed, I can't even wait for that bus this afternoon, after all it is talking me to a Caribbean beach!!!!!!!

I think that the thing that keeps recharging my battery, and keeps me going is not the desire to see new places (though of course that is a huge part of traveling), but to meet new people. I now almost take it for granted that I am going to see something pretty spectacular on almost a daily basis, but meeting new people and sharing memories with them is something I will never take for granted. The underlying theme of this trip so far has become the kindness of strangers. In an attempt to prepare myself for all the things that were going to come my way (which of course you can't) I read a book entitled The Kindness of Strangers shortly before departing on my journey. I am amazed at how spot on the book has been. Many of the wonderful experiences I have had involves strangers, whether it be another traveler that I shared a meal with, a local who did something nice for me simply to be helpful.

As an aside, this happens with amazing frequency. For example, and this is just one of many, a Costa Rican guy that I asked for directions took me to a bus stop, waited with me and chatted, then paid for both our tickets when the bus came. He took me to where I needed to go, we said goodbye, and then he just walked off. I don't if he was going somewhere nearby or not. Truly, he is just one of the countless amazing people I have met.

Meeting so many great people has truly changed my life. I have always been a trusting person, and so when people talk to me about their overwhelming fear of being robbed, beaten, raped, etc. I try to simply share my experiences. Yes, bad things happen and not everyone is a good person, but if you open your heart and choose to believe in the decency of mankind it is amazing just how many acts of random kindness you will experience (hopefully on both the receiving ANNNNDD the giving end). As I write this I am sitting in the living room of an American couple living in San Jose. We met on the bus yesterday, and they invited me to stay at their place. They prepared an amazing meal, and we drank beer and chatted (In Spanish only, as a Tica friend of theirs was here and insisted that we speak only in Spanish, though, her English was perfect.) into the wee hours of the morning. Yet another in the constantly growing library of random acts of kindness. As before, I would really like to encourage everyone who reads this to stop for a minute and think about how they are treating the people in their lives. Are you acting with kindness in your heart?? I try everyday, and as a result I have had amazing experiences that no one else will ever have (i.e. they are MINE!!). Indeed the experiences I have had are changing my life. All because people act with kindness in their hearts...

Frustration

2007-10-05T06:24:00.000-07:00

Most days are good. Some are not. And yet I usually just take the good with the bad and keep on going. Today is different. Today, October 5th, 2007, is the first time when I have actually just wanted to quit traveling. This is not a good sign as it is currently only 7:28 a.m. and I have only been up for an hour and a half. Nonetheless, this is exactly the mood I am in as I start my day. I went to bed pretty grumpy last night, but with hopes that a good night's sleep would cheer me up.

Instead, I awoke, showered and then began packing laundry only to discover that I had lost a pair of underwear. "How?" you ask does losing a pair of underwear put me in such an awful mood that my first instinct was to go get on a plane? Well...that story really begins three days ago with the amazing rebirth of my iPod (which had not worked for about 6 weeks), and the subsequent loss of my iPod charger all in a 24 hour period. After leaving my iPod charger in Leon, I have since lost my flashlight (no idea where), and now a pair of underwear (again no idea where. I was wearing them when I got to Granada and now they are gone.). The fact that losing a pair of underwear could be so detrimental to my state of well being might also have something to do with the fact that these are not simply underwear. They are one of three pairs that I had (now I have two), each pair costing somewhere in the neighborhood of $30 dollars. Losing one of my most expensive and most prized possesions (they are sooooo comfy) has really caused my already dampened spirits to become more soaked than damp. What now???? I don't know...I will head to class, study Spanish, eat lunch, and all the while I will be missing my underwear. Despite the fact that I have a wonderful family, partner, and friends none of them ever gave me the same support that these underwear provided.

R.I.P. Black Pair

Photos

2007-10-01T13:33:00.000-07:00

So I am pretty awful at organizing photos and today is actually the first time in like 5 weeks that I have been able to upload anything. Below is the link to my Picasa account. Enjoy!

http://picasaweb.google.com/August.Flanagan

Eight Weeks Already?????

2007-10-01T08:43:00.000-07:00

Wow!! Hard to believe that it has been eight weeks now. The time is really flying by. At this rate my trip will be over before I know it!

And now for your enjoyment I am going to go on another rant. WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH THE UNITED STATES FOREIGN POLICY??? I have been abstaining from reading the news much (unless it is local), but as I sat at breakfast this morning reading an article in the local Leon paper about the Bush administrations plans for a war with Iran I just about lost my shit. SERIOUSLY??? We are going to go through this again. HAS EVERYONE LOST THEIR FUCKING MINDS??? Hmmm...Here's an idea everyone hates us, we fucked up Iraq to no end, why don't we just go start another war. That's the solution! Let's send more kids to kill and be killed. Nothing like destroying a few million lives so that we can say we are being "tough on terror." WAKE UP ASSHOLES you are creating the terror.

I hope my over enthusiastic use of obscene language conveys my fear, anger, and utter bewilderment that this could actually be happening again. A wise man once told me "There is enough pain and suffering in this world. I don't need to be responsible for any more." If only the powers that be would adopt this same philosophy. Perhaps they could do some good. Rather, they choose to create a climate of fear, racism, and violence. Needless to say this climate will do nothing but cause greater pain and suffering for everyone.

y las cosas malas tambien

2007-09-30T13:46:00.000-07:00

While I have been writing about a lot of great experiences lately not everything is so wonderful. Here are a few of the bad things that have been happening.

1. My Gortex raincoat was stolen.
2. I watched a woman and her kids get hit by a car and could not do anything about it. I think they were OK but it was scary!
3. Last night a group of five men insisted on walking across the street with me from my hotel to a restraunt. They said I would be robbed or killed if I did not walk with them.
4. A Nicaraguan guy who ate dinner with me last night told me that he did not have money (after we had finished eating) and that I had to pay for him. I knew he had money, but did not really know what to say so three of us (myself and two other Americans I went to the border with) ended up paying for his meal.
5. I was harrassed to no end at the border today. I felt lucky to make it out of there. I had to pay extra money to the immigration officer and was accosted by no less than twenty kids and ten adults for various reasons. It was the scariest experience so far.
6. I woke up yesterday morning to the sound of gunfire in Tegucigalpa. No idea what was going on.
7. I was on such an unfriendly bus this morning that I was not even offered a seat when one came available. Instead the people filled the empty seats with their belongings and themselves, preventing myself or the two other Americans from sitting. That has never happened to me before.

Well that's really the only bad stuff. The good far outweighs the bad, but I didn't want anyone to get the idea that it is all fun and games! Traveling can be stressful!!! I am in Leon, Nicaragua. There is not a lot going on here but it is a pretty town (minus all the trash) and the Cathedral is truly breathtaking.

And Another Crazy Experience

2007-09-28T17:43:00.000-07:00

I think I am starting to figure this traveling thing out a bit. I am alone, that is all there is to it. I make friends, share experiences, and then I start all over again. Always alone. This morning I said goodbye to Michael and Marketa and started off on my own once again. As a result of my laziness, and because I wanted to get my money's worth out of my $11 room (the most expensive of the trip), I did not get up at four to catch the only bus from Gracias to La Esperanza. I decided to try my hand at hitchhiking and started a new adventure.

The first driver picked me up about 1 km from Gracias and drove for about an hour before pulling over and just dropping me off in the middle of nowhere, and telling me that the town I wanted to go to was like 15 km down this dirt road. "Just follow the road, it will take about 2 hrs" he said. OK I thought this is getting interesting. I started walking and about 15 minutes later was relieved to hear a vehicle coming up behind me. I turned and tried to flag down the driver, who just sped up and shouted " tu puta madre" at me as he drove off. Well that didn't work out so well so I just kept walking, enjoying the clean mountain air (if I had known just how disgusting Tegucigalpa would be I would have savored it even more). Soon another truck came driving up and I again flagged down the driver. He stopped and I asked him to take me to San Juan. He didn't seem to happy at my request, but nodded his head and so I walked to the back, and threw my backpack in with his three teenage kids, who had made a little bed with some blankets and pillows, and were just chilling listening to music. I climbed in and off we went. We stopped shortly after when we came to a place where the road had washed out and where a work crew was furiously trying to repair the damage while about twenty cars waited on either side to get by. During this time I chatted with the driver who said that he was going to a town near Tegucigalpa and would give me a ride all the way there!! I was really excited and thanked him repeatedly. This was the first time (but certainly not the last time) that I experienced the overwhelming kindness this family offered everyone.

We started off again about thirty minutes later. With eight of us crammed into a small pickup, the quarters were certainly cramped, but we made the best of it! Soon we arrived in La Esperanza, where we stopped and they bought ice cream. Sure enough when the daughter came out of the shop she was carrying an extra cone for me. I was again surprised by this act of selfless kindness. The journey continued and I drifted off to sleep for about an hour as we drove along the deserted highway. I awoke suddenly when we pulled over to the side of the road and the dad hopped out to buy us all (again myself included) huge bags of fresh pineapple. I asked if I could pay for this but the mother simply smiled and shook her head. If I have not made it perfectly clear let me reiterate that this family certainly did not have a lot of money, their clothes were old and worn, and the truck we were in had certainly seen better days. About two hours later we pulled over for lunch and as we all sat eating fried chicken and potato salad (I only had the potato salad) a man and his two kids came up and started trying to sell a book to anyone who would buy it. The book was some thing like "Metals and Materials" not a book that anyone would be interested in. The conversation was rapid and I could not understand much of what was said, but it was clear to me that the man was trying to feed his kids. The mother looked slightly annoyed, but after a couple of minutes the dad simply smiled, put down his fork and handed an almost full plate of food to the man telling him it was for his children. The kids were clearly starving and ferociously started shoveling food into their mouthes. "God guides me" he told his wife with a smile and then she too passed over her plate to the children. I was so moved by this that I was practically in tears as I walked to the register to pay for my meal. As we stood there I told the man as he was paying that I wanted to buy everyone's drinks to thank him. He looked a bit surprised but said OK. Clearly I was not understood by either him or the woman at the cash register who handed me a bill for the entire meal!!! Now, granted it was a roadside cafe in the middle of nowhere, but a meal for 8 people plus drinks still cost $16 dollars. I was quite surprised when I saw the bill, but tried not to show it and simply handed over the L304 and again thanked the man for his kindness. They drove me to the bus station in the town near Tegucigalpa and we said goodbye. They wished me safe travels and I again thanked them for their overwhelming kindness.

Each day I am amazed at the kindness of strangers. Whether it is this family, or the old woman who took me into her house and offered the best meal she could for next to nothing. These selfless acts move me everyday. I strongly encourage everyone who reads this to stop and think about whether they are passing up opportunities to help others??

AAAHHHHH...I LOVE TRAVELING

2007-09-27T12:49:00.000-07:00

Well I am in the small town of Gracias, Honduras. I left the Bay Islands on Monday and made a 13 hour bus ride here. The first stop was La Ceiba where I was going to say goodbye to Michael and Marketa, two Germans I had met the week before and absolutely loved hanging out with!! We had a blast together in Utila and as we were standing at the bus terminal I was telling them my plans for heading to Gracias to climb the highest peak in Honduras (sticking with the climb the highest peak in every country theme). Marketa decided this was a great idea and soon the three of us were traveling to Gracias together, continuing our week of gut busting laughing the whole way. The ride was really long, and when we finally made it everyone was exhausted. On the last bus ride I started up a conversation with a Honduran named Rudy. He was incredibly friendly and despite the fact that I cannot understand a single person down here (Hondurans are notorious for slurring their speech, making it very difficult to understand them. AHH I miss Guatemalan Spanish) we somehow managed a descent conversation. Upon arriving in Gracias he escorted us to a cheap hotel and helped us settle into our room. Michael and Marketa immediately passed out, and so I went out with Rudy to have a couple of beers. It was so wonderful to meet a nice Honduran, the whole day the three of us kept commenting on how unfriendly everyone was and how we missed the hospitality of the Guatemalans. After a couple of beers and a nice conversation I returned to my hotel room for ten straight, uninterrupted hours of glorious sleep (Without Jeff's morning mix to wake me up. Jesse, Sybilla you guys are the only ones who will get this).

The next morning we started our quest for climbing Montaña Celaque. First we needed to find a tent and an extra sleeping bag. This was more difficult than we had imagined as once again the Lonely Planet gave horrible advice (this is really becoming quite a trend.) We eventually located both items and went shopping for supplies (which turned out to be cans of vegetables, tuna, granola, and pringles). After we had gathered everything together we struck out for Parque Nacional Celaque. It was only a 7 km hike and, as we intended to stay at the park entrance in a ¨bunkhouse¨(I would describe it as a shack) that night we were in no hurry. This was fortunate as it was about 37 C and 90% humidity. We were pretty tired when the afternoon rain finally came and drenched us. Now I have lived in Seattle for almost five years, so obviously I am no stranger to rain. Additionally, on this trip I have been in the middle of some of the worst flooding different areas of Guatemala have seen in twenty years. None of this prepared me for a downpour of this nature. Imagine someone continually pouring buckets of water on you for thirty minutes straight. We trudged up to the bunkhouse (i.e. shack) soaking wet and very thankful to be out of the rain. As I came around the corner I was shocked to see an attractive blond hair and blue eyed westerner staring back at me. She and I stared at each other for a minute, I think we were both in shock as niether of us ever expected to see anyone else out here. I mean this is A. Honduras and B. The middle of nowhere, Honduras. As is becoming another common theme on my trip she was, surprise surprise, from Germany.

After the four of us rigged up a clothes line and stripped down to our underwear (we all got to know each other very well) we sat around chatting and waiting for our clothes to dry. It quickly became apparent that this was not going to happen and so the wet clothes went back on and we set out for the house of the Park Ranger, whose mother, we were told would cook us food. Again I was surprised at the overwhelming generousity of this woman who invited us into her house and began preparing a sumptuos meal of rice, beans, eggs, tortillas, and coffee. I say house, but again remember this is Nowhere, Honduras we are talking about, so she cooked over an open fire in the middle of the 3m x 3m room and prepared a truly amazing meal that cost about $1.50. We all left stuffed and settled in for an early night.

The next morning Michael, Marketa, and I started for the summit at about 5:30. The going was slow as the trail was fairly overgrown in places and very, very steep. At around 7:00 I became convinced that we had missed a turn and were on the wrong trail, but with no map we could not verify this. At 7:30 Michael had had enough and decided to turn around and head for the town. And then there were two. Marketa and I pushed on and around 10:30 we came to the summit of whatever peak we had climbed. Looking across the valley I could see Montaña Celaque rising about another 200m above us. We stopped, ate lunch, and then in an hour and a half covered all the ground it had taken us five hours to climb that morning. We stopped back at the bunkhouse, had a swim, and decided what the hell, we might as well stay another night and enjoy some more great cooking. The second dinner was by far the best. My Spanish is rapidly improving and so we chatted with the woman, sipped coffee, ate bananas, and took a few photos, which the woman absolutely loved. IT WAS SO INCREDIBLE!!!!!!!!! I wish I could explain the experience better, but unfortunately none of you will ever know...

Well, that was the abridged version, sadly I don't have the time to write it all, and you are all probably pretty bored reading about it so let me quickly sum it up. All in all it was one of the best experiences of my life. Despite not making the proper summit I got exercise, met great people, and explorted Honduras a little more. Tomorrow I head for Nicaragua, where I will enroll in another Spanich school and start some new adventures with new people (my traveling partners are returning to Guatemala). My spirits are high (though a week ago I really hated traveling and was cursing David Bonderman) and I am excited to Meet People, Go Places, and Do Things (Again, Jesse and Sybilla you are the only ones who will get this, so enjoy! Unless any of you have taken the PADI open water course lately, in which case I hope you also enjoyed that last line!).