It Orbits the Globe, I Blog to the Tribes

Day 214-Taos

2009-03-30T19:00:00.000-07:00

I walk today through the same door I exited 214 days ago. It is a good day to be here, and a good day to be. Of those 214 days, 196 were out of the country. That is 28 weeks, or about seven months, fully 3 times longer than i have ever sat on foreign soil. During those 28 weeks I spent more than one day in 26 countries, and transited through 5 others. My total miles traveled was a satisfying 61600, 35200 of which was in the air.

To achieve this end I boarded 28 distinct flights, 43 trains, and 95 buses, including several local buses, the traveler's testpiece. Additionally I climbed into 42 private cars and more than 60 taxis. I sweated out 17 boat rides, and 11 times I chose to scooter about. I "expertly" managed 8 different subway systems, and simply hoofed it for more than 500 miles.

On the average, I traveled 290 miles a day, which by most standards is an awful lot, and so, was quite weary when I laid my head on over 130 different beds in various villages, towns, and cities, more than 20 of would be considered capitals or major world cities. To traverse these miles and visit these places required the outlay of $16292 door to door, which, when added to initial cost of flights and preparation brings my total cost to almost 20000 dollars.

What justifies the expense in my mind is the list of UNESCO World Heritage Sites I have compiled on this trip. These sites have been designated by the United Nations as possessing outstanding cultural or natural resources and are protected under international law. I recommend googling UNESCO World Heritage to see which of these sites you have visited. You have probably seen several among your travels.

Additionally I set foot, for short or great length, in 14 National Parks, visited 13 museums, some of which are absolutely world class. I maundered through 8 different zoos or botanical gardens, and visited scores of temples, castles and ruins. I enjoyed nature at its best among many hikes along the coast or through stark alpine meadows. I was dazzled by caves, waterfalls, canyons and lakes. I made quick work of the worlds only 3 dimensional maze, freaked out in war-worn underground tunnels and walked over a few remarkable bridges.

As I sign off today and say goodbye to you all for now, I wish that you take the time to examine the recent months of your life. I trust you will find that it was filled with similar beauty, mystery, drama, and drudgery. All opportunities to find deeper meaning in your own personal journey.

Day 211-Salt Lake City

2009-03-27T19:00:00.000-07:00

My final flight descended through the clouds, giving me a view of the fresh snow cover over the Wasatch Mountains. Weary from little sleep and the stress of multiple long connections, I surrendered to the sensations of safety and completion. Though I am not yet in Taos, I am home, and this trip is over. Already my mind in moving on to future thrills and desires, characteristically fickle and eager for what comes next. The time to recollect grows short, the images in my mind grow ghostly, my photos seem foriegn. So before this is all a dim rememberance, let my regale you with a few observations.

We must all agree, the world is a beautiful place, and I am thankful to the powers that be for the chance to observe it in so many of its varied guises. From angry seascapes to placid fields of desert dunes, from horrific caverns filled with strange faces to the mighty, noble granite peaks of the world highest places, I have enjoyed quiet moments of solitude, pondering the vastness of the planet, and the insignificance of myself. I have come to love the trees, so proud and patient, and possessing I believe, of an essential knowledge. I have gazed into remote corners, amazed at the completeness of the world contained within a single alpine flower. I have always loved the natural world, and have not yet tired of walking against the wind, climbing to rocky places, my heart loud in my ears.

The world of man, however, leaves me perplexed and anxious. It is peopled by countless throngs- young, brown, eager and loud. Hungry. By and large I found them to be simple and honest people, carrying on in the way of those that came before. Leisurely smoking, getting fat on tasty treats, pumping out progeny, these things come naturally. And I found them to be happy, laughing easily, letting time pass comfortably surrounded by loved ones. For this I am jealous, these things I could not find for myself among the lonely miles. My innate intelligence, my fiercely developed self-reliance, my proud and protected independance are like barren shadows against the radiant joy that falls, effortless from their simple faces. It is their world. A world of sheep, a happy mindless herd, barely aware of this lone wolf.

We together, the silly and the sad, have collectively brought the planet to its knees. Everywhere, the world's single worst invention, the plastic shopping bag, clogs the waterways and dangles from every fenceling, choking beast and birds that cannot avoid the far reaching carpet of plastic negligence we have laid. Our cattle trample ever green inch, piss in every clear stream, blast more gas into the air than all our cars combined, and we continue to put living breathing trees to the ax in order to enjoy more and more of that devils flesh. We walk the city streets, blind to our brother as we chat and text and speak alto voce into these infernal devices called cell phones. Meant to better connect us, the result is the opposite. Why speak to a stranger when your friend is a push button away.

I have walked among cathedral, temples, palaces and museums. I have seen much of the great art of the world, mostly inspired by devotion to the divine. I have come to believe that art is the one godlike expression of the human condition, even more than love, which any mammal will feel. And in finding that the largest, most elaborate and difficult works of art have stood completed for centuries now, if not millenium, I am left wondering what has been the noble and divine contribution of mankind over the recent stretch of history. Technology? the mother of those conveniences such as plastic and communication, cannot, in my mind, justify our continued presence, our domination.

Just as my peregrinations left me with more places undiscovered than revealed, I am left with more questions than answers. I have caught the eyes of 10000 strangers, and looked upon a million faces, but understand little more about the human condition. I have felt the emanation of my own personal aura, glowing brightly, affording me protection from the workings of entropy and decay playing out all around me, but I know but a smattering more about my own true nature. I am left with no choice but to continue my quest for the worlds beautiful places, still hoping to find a lasting knowledge of the universe that wheels within me.

Day 207-Santiago

2009-03-23T14:43:00.000-07:00

The primary intent of my little sojourn to Mendoza this week was to take a look at Aconcagua the highest mountain outside of Asia. It reaches an altitude of 22800 ft and is tucked rather remotely into the Andes mountains, along the border of Chile and Argentina. Naively I thought I might be able to arrange a day hike somewhere along the base of it, but as has been the case for so many of my would-be outdoor adventures, the investment of time and money was prohibitive. Already the summer season is closed and services are less frequent, options fewer. I might have spent an entire day touring by cramped minivan the surrounding high mountain sites, but I had just seen them on my way in, and would see them again upon my return to Chile. I was satisfied then, to sneak a quick photo of the summit from the bathroom window of the swaying, speeding bus.

I must hope that it is a result of the proximity of my return home rather than the distance I have travelled from it, but this week has been marked by an extreme susceptablity to frustration. Nearly ever day I am flying off the handle for reasons relatively minor, malfunctioning internet, crying kids on the bus, excessive noise from the air conditioner in an otherwise sweltering hotel room. It is not a pleasant sight, to see myself grumbling and scowling as I march down the street to some imagined place of relief. Indeed I do recover rather quickly, and within minutes can be sitting parkside, enjoying a beer (a key element) and the parade of daily life. It is this mercurial nature, I see, that leads me understand why I prefer to travel solo.

Next week I hope to make two posting, one in which I would like to rather self righteously expound upon my opinion of the world at large. It should be at once both amusing and annoying. In the second, I wish to present a smattering of statistics that I have amassed over the last seven months, a compilation of the monthly reports such as this one:

Countries: 2 Days spent: 28
Distance traveled: 5800mi $/day: 75
Unesco sites: 5 Other sites: 13
Most Southern point: Rio Gallegos, 51.5 deg south

As a post script, I must add that I am finding Santiago to be, in my opinion, another of the world´s great cities. Clean, modern, comfortable climate, and friendly folks. Now if only I could find an Indian restaurant to gain some relief from the endless stream of hamburgers, hotdogs and ice cream!

Day 204-Mendoza

2009-03-20T16:01:00.000-07:00

Having arrived safe and sound in Santiago, which it my gateway to North America, I made all the arrangements necessary to ensure a timely departure. This left me with nearly a week to make a couple of interesting sidetrips. My first destination lay one hundred kilometers to the west, along the Pacific coast, the cultural capital of Chile, Valparaiso. This World Heritage listed city was once one of the most important ports on the continent, but having suffered numerous earthquakes, and setback by the opening of the Panama Canal a hundred years ago, it now serves mainly as a naval port, and a quaint tourist destination.

It features a sprawling amalgamation of houses that crawl up the sides of the steep hills that shelter the bay. I was initially quite excited about hiking through these barrios to the many viewpoints amidst the hovels, but after recieving warnings from nearly everyone I met, and given their striking resemblance to favelas of Rio de Janiero, I opted for a short ride up one of the hundred year old escalators, made a quick review of the many outdoor murals on display, and contented myself to spent the afternoon below on the more traveled city streets. The evening passed without incident but for the late night knock on my door by my middle-aged but kind-of-cute hostess, making sure that all was well and did I "need" anything. Facing an early bus departure, I opted for not.

The next day found me dazzled by one of the great bus rides of this entire trip, crossing the High Andes along Route 7. As we left the dry hills surrounding Santiago, making our way up a green valley irrigated by the angry and muddy Rio Blanco, we encountered yet more higher and dryer hills, dressed in tall cactus and thorny palo verde. The river changed suddenly to a milky glacier-fed blue, the slopes became rocky and forbidding, extending thousands of feet into the clear autumn sky. The river diminished to a trickle and we faced the crux of the drive, a series of 30 consecutive hairpin turns, thickly populated by huge buses, freight trucks, and the occasional overheated passenger car. Achieving the pass, we were greeted by an exceptionally long wait at the enclosed fume-filled border station, the stress of which, together with the altitude, and lack of food (generally not allowed at border crossings), left me with a draining headache.

So it was, that when I arrived in Mendoza, I had little energy to fulfill my daily chores, and allowed a travel agent at the bus station to find a room for me. I suppose I will never learn, I was gifted with the most heinously loud room overlooking the traffic choked streets of what otherwise proved to be an enjoyable city. But not until I made tracks first thing this morning and found a more suitable, more tranquil room of my own choosing. And so all is arranged- a mountain tour in the morning, one more long bus ride into Santiago, a couple of days strolling that fine city, and a final taxi ride to the airport. Soon I will be home, and can finally find some peace and quiet!

Day 200-Chillán

2009-03-16T19:00:00.000-07:00

For the record I must state-I am not sick, I am not tired, I am not scared, I am not bored. But I am broke, so when I received word that I might have a fat project to chew on if I make it back by April 1st, there was really no debate to be had. Truth is I could have only lasted another couple of weeks, and either way, 4 weeks or 6 is no way to experience South America. Having tasted what is here, already I am forming plans for a 4 to 6 month visit in the hopefully not too distant future. I will need to rebuild the travel coffers and work on my comprehension of Spanish, which is a daily source of embarassment.

Touring north along the Panamerican Hiway is not exactly exciting, but it is interesting and easy. The climate changes from maritime down on the island of Chiloé, where the roads are lined with Scots Broom, Fushia and this cute little flowering laurel, and the general verdancy attest to a tendancy toward the misty. As we travel north, 7 or 8 hours a day on the bus (I will admit to feeling abit injured in the kidneys) the fields of recently harvested grain become larger, the windbreaks of pine and lombardy popular stand in straight rows, the air becomes dry and dusty, until finally we are amoung acacia scrub dunes and lengthy plantations of eucalyptus. I begin to get a sense of the great desert that lies to the north of me, tantalizing but unreachable.

The cities I slumber in are unremarkable, a plaza every few blocks, the gente out for evening paseo, ice cream and cake devoured endlessly by these pudgy folks...and myself. The sycamores that line the avenues are turning and losing there leaves in the evening breezes, and I feel a strange melancoly. While I should be delighting in the promise of a new spring, rather I am mourning the passing of a summer I never saw, a strange upheaval of my annual rythym. There will be little to comment on for the next couple of weeks, though I do have a couple of side trips planned to some notable locations. I have certainly been unmotivated to report at times, and I am sure you have grown weary of this rag. But I am determined to finish, post until the final day, and I hope you will stay with me a bit longer. There is more truth to tell.

Day 197-Castro

2009-03-13T19:00:00.000-07:00

If I were to describe the countryside, the green rolling hills dotted with happy Holsteins, the breaks of huge chestnut and beech trees, the wooden clapboard construction of gabled houses, stately mansard-roofed barns and ornate, multi-towered churches, if I were to tell of how I dined on Schweinefleisch mit Reis, Leibfraumilch and Küchen, you might be led to believe that I had flown off to Bavaria, or West Pennsylvania. But here, unlike the northern climes, the leaves are turning and beginning to drop under the growing autumn wind, and the shingled houses are painted every random color, be it pastel lavender or garish tangerine. Here, is the World Heritage listed "Island of Wooden Churches"-Chiloé. Prevalent are examples of what ingenious self reliant people can do with wood, stone and corrugated tin, from hydraulic grain mills to tricycles to lavish places of worship.

Though passing immigration nearly triggered a random panic attack, and I was called upon, for the first time, to explain my extensive medical kit to customs, coming into Chile was accompanied by a profound comfort and bliss. The prices dropped by half, and my passion and energy for travel more than doubled. As I stroll the alleys and plazas, people actually look me in the eyes and maybe smile a bit as they pass, and for this I find that I feel very much at home. Oddly, it is as if the clock has been reset, as if my journey has just begun. Perhaps because I am deeply aware of the end that is now in sight.

But for now I will enjoy the greener, much wetter, Pacific coast of the continent. And though I am much further north than a week ago, once again the end of the road lies just a few hundred miles to the south. From there one can only travel the inter-island Patagonian fiords by boat. I, however, will be content to call this my farthest southern point in Chile, and will enjoy a day or two in this tranquil fishing village, wandering the colorful streets peopled by squat folks with round faces, almost Inuit in appearance, before slowly heading north to gaze upon a few more mountains before I arrive at my point of final disembarcation.

Day 195-Bariloche

2009-03-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

If you have traveled across southern Wyoming on I-80, you have some idea of the landscape I traversed some days ago. But to complete the picture, place yourself in a bus without air conditioning and only two windows that open. It smells of apples, feet, and liverwurst and the soundtrack for todays journey will be provided by a rabid pack of young Israelis, ranting at the top of their guttural voices, commandeering every unoccupied square foot of space. Slowly we grind along this road that, for 80% percent of its 400 miles, is a loose rock gravel. We pull in late at night to an overcrowded hostel in the middle of nowhere, and in the morning get up and drive across Nevada.

The second day, though much longer, was over primarily paved roads, I had a double seat to myself, and the gang leader was down with a cold, so the day past quite well. The scenery grew increasingly interesting, until, as the sun set, we were twisting and turning up a cool mountain road, approaching our final destination of Bariloche. This tourist town sits lakeside surrounded by high peaks, much like Lake Tahoe, and hosts a wintertime ski resort, as well as limitless chocolate shops. It is pleasant enough, though still on the expensive side, and provides a day's rest with which to get some business done and gear up for my excursion west. Though I might have a day or two back in this country before I fly away, I am sad to admit that my time here has been far too short, I would like another 12 weeks to see more of the ever-changing landscape and get to know better my host.

The Argentinian people, as I have encountered them, are extremely courteous, patient and quite eager to chat, despite my limited supply of phrases. They are generous with the less fortunate, handing out coins to the street beggars or bread to those who ask for something to eat. During my walks, I have encountered large packs, as many as a dozen, of very large, very clean dogs, which under most circumstances would send me up a tree. Here, they are content to just snuffle up against me, walk with me a while, hoping for a crust or caress, then amble on there way. They are definitely the most well mannered canines I have ever come across and I think their demeanor speaks volumes of how their masters comport themselves. As I cross the Andes, and venture into the rainy west coast of the continent, I expect I will be greeted with equal warmth by the people of Chile.

Day 191-El Chalten

2009-03-07T19:00:00.000-08:00

In the ancient Chinese divination system, there is used a trigram, "ken", symbolized by the mountain, its attribute is "keeping still". Though I am not in China, I am having to practice, amoungst these spectacular and rugged granite peaks, the art of keeping still. I sat for hours the day before, in existential deliberation, as I silently watched the worlds largest advancing glacier,
El Perito Moreno, waiting for the rifle crack that signaled the birth of yet another iceberg, as this moving sheet of ice thunderously falls into Lago Arentino. I was not disappointed, at the end of the day, I witnessed a detached ice spire, the full 200 foot height by maybe 40 feet thick, slowly teeter, then crash into the lake, causing a swell to crawl across the wind swept surface for a kilometer.

Today was much the same, but for a different subject. Taking the long walk to a hidden lake under the dramatic and infamous Cerro Torre (poster child for Patagonian climbing), the hours passed as clouds danced around the peaks, seemingly generated by the peaks themselves. Slowly they lifted only to regather, shrouding the mystical ice capped summit. My watching and waiting paid off however, for a brief 3 seconds the enveloping cloud thinned and ascended, to reveal a bizarre misshapen mass of granite and ice. All my adult life I believed I would one day see this mountain, once thought I might even climb it. Now at 50, shoulders wrecked and knees fading fast, I am little more than a has-been wanna-be, but I am unspeakably grateful to have been able to make the 10 mile return trip to see it.

My time in Patagonia is far from over, however. I must wait yet another day until a bus rolls through here to take me northward, and when it does, I will be required to sit for 12 hours a day for 2 days to reach a populated destination. The land is bleak, the windy season begun, the tourist throngs are beginning to fade, autumn is coming. But in my solitude I am able to hear what this land is saying, what it requires of me to make a safe passage, and so I will continue to keep still, waiting for windows of clarity and enthusiasm to open through the long days of grey and drudgery.

Day 188-El Calafate

2009-03-04T21:01:00.000-08:00

I awoke today to find a steady rain beating on the metal roof of my centro "penthouse", feeling a bit troubled and altogether unmotivated. I had spent the night watching the story of Rocky Marciano, the only undefeated heavyweight boxer, whose plane when down back in '69. Before me lay a long day of air and ground travel, more than 2000 kilometers, and walking a kilometer in the rain will all my gear was not a pleasant way to start. Twenty minutes into the 3 hour flight, the chop began, stronger than I was used to, and all around me the folks are quiet with eyes closed, their internal dialogue no doubt much like my own, "not today, not this time". Times like this solo travel is especially challenging, with no one to chat and disperse the tension. An hour later all was well as the skies smoothed and the buzz of being on adventure was rekindled.

Here in South America I am meeting many travelers who are content to fly solo. Young dudes from Germany, Holland and Japan, solitary birds like myself, who have been out for seven, nine and even nineteen months. The award for most awesome world travelers, in my mind, now belongs to the Japanese. They go out for long, long trips, armed with just a little English, much less Spanish. We chat for a short while, sharing tales of border crossing anxieties, dramatic sights visited or missed, and our plans for the road ahead, be it short or long. At times I can almost believe that I am one of this elite group.

My road today has led me nearly to where there are no roads, to the end of the world. Only 12 hours by bus lies Ushuaia, the southern most city in the world. Sadly, I will not have time to visit that point on this trip, for there are many more dramatic things to see. I am in the area known as Patagonia, a stark and windswept land of dry grass, stunted bushes, huge glacier fed lakes and rocky peaks scratching the clear deep blue skies. It is nearly the end of summer, and at 52 degrees south, already the changing of the leaves has begun, the mornings cold, made colder by the incessant wind. For several days I will be in this region, suffering slightly, moving carefully. From this point, every step leads me north, closer to "home"

Day 185-San Ignacio Mini

2009-03-01T17:00:00.000-08:00

And the winner is--Pedro!--who correctly guessed Buenos Aires, which, as the capital of Argentina, sits at longitude 58.22 W, 34.35 S, and is served by Ezeiza International Airport, code EZE. I thought the code would be a dead give away but rather, it confused some who otherwise might have guessed closer. I thank those of you who participated, and will admit it was just a ruse to discover who might be reading this rag.

As it turned out, my time in Bs. As. was anything but breezy. The flight from Auckland, which takes one from evening to afternoon in 11 short hours, left me fairly jet lagged. On top of that, the immediate immersion into Spanish and the hustle of a capital city left my brain overheated, and unable to quiet itself enough to allow a restful sleep. Feeling unsafe in this zombie-like state, I made a 17 hour overnight beeline to the Misiones province up north, hoping to find some tranquility in a more bulcolic setting. Having acquired a refill to my sleep tonic (melatonin), I was poised to catch some serious Z´s, only to find my shared apartment invaded at 10pm by some of those blasted young people. A quick evacuation and a willingness to throw down some cash found me sleeping profoundly within the hour.

Feeling newly alive and arrived, I proceeded to the my intended destination, that being the cascades of the river Iguazu. I might recommend that you go to Youtube and search for some video, or read about it somewhere. You will find it occupies the top spot in many lists, and I can hardly attempt to describe the place. Imagine a massive river creeping out of the jungles of western Brazil, spreading over a vast floodplain several kilometers wide, then plummeting a few hundred feet over the basaltic edge, recollecting in turbulent pools, and proceeding eastward to the ocean. The sound is deafening, and all about are giggling tourist, mainly from Argentina and Brazil, having the time of their lives amidst the spray of the broken streams and the sea of negative ions floating up from the torment below. The park, naturally Unesco listed, is well constructed with pathways leading along the rivers edge both above and below the numerous cascades, and every overlook allows a new view of the ecstatic plant life nestled amoung the black rock crevasses, all inundated by the troubled green waters. Like so many of the World Heritage Sites, it has to be seen, and more to the point, heard and felt, to be believed, and I tell you, 24 hours later I am still feeling euphoric as I write this.

After such a grand sucess, I have become convinced that I can travel Argentina quite capably, though distances are large and bus rides will be quite long at times. And so, to add to my list of Unesco sites, I have come to the village of San Ignacio, where reside ruins of Jesuit missions, long ago abandoned, but once home to thousands of "saved" Guarani Indians. As I descended the bus into the brightly hot summer streets, I was a bit surprised to find them empty, and even more my surprise when reception at the hotel informed me that no market or restaurant would be open today. My growling stomach will be a gentle reminder to be more mindful of Sunday traveling in Latin America!

Day 181-???

2009-02-25T08:00:00.000-08:00

Have you ever stood below the departure board at the airport and imagined how it would be to just choose some exotic locale, slap down the plastic and be on your way? I certainly have, but must admit, although I am on the trip of a lifetime, I could not bring myself to be so spontaneous. I did however, spend an afternoon a few weeks back reflecting on some serious gaps in my travels. For example, the girl I met and lost from Croatia, I know I could find her if I went back to Split. Also, I have been haunted since leaving Turkey by having missed out on visiting Egypt when I was just that close. Then there is southern India, I missed all of that, and the sticky visa situation prevented me from easily entering China. And where the hell is Uruguay anyway? Or perhaps it is time to hit the road in the West US and start the climbing season. Point is-no one knows where I am right now!

Over the months I have enjoyed telling my simple little stories, none too dramatic, and I have appreciated those who followed along, few though they be. But it has certainly been a one-sided affair, hardly interactive. So now its your turn, switch on your travel brains and use the following clues to determine where in the world is gomelmogel!

1. the sum of latitude and longitude is somewhere between 80 and 100
2. or it could be that the longitude minus the latitude is somewhere between 80 and 100
3. life in this capital city is a breEZE!

You may need to break out the atlas, but you will find the answer quite easily I think. Either way, I will be posting soon from some of the world´s most dramatic locales. I hope I can keep your interest a little longer, I can´t bear the thought of this trip coming to an end!

Day 179-Hamilton

2009-02-23T19:00:00.000-08:00

2500 kilometers of bitumen now lie behind me and for the many days I have traveled this country, I have been blessed by changable but quite enjoyable weather. While off to the south they are being pelted by torrential rains, I sit today in eternal summer, the air cool and very clean, every green thing and barnyard animal sitting fat and happy. It is supremely idyllic. And so it seems my time in Oceania has been marked by extremes, the restrictive wet of the Top End, the deep summer heat of the Red Center, the flamboyant gaiety of Sydney, now hosting the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. In New Zealand I have witness an extreme of isolation due to my chosen mode of travel, but more importantly I will remember it for the sheer pleasantness of this place. Given enough money and time, the right partner and the right gear, I could enjoy a lifetime of sport down here.

Enjoy an afternoon of viewing "The Lord of the Rings" and you will get a sense of how incredible this landscape is, much of it was filmed here. Today I wandered the slopes of Mordor, vast bogs of tall wispy grasses, wild thyme and various wetland plants, hemmed in by thick forest of mountain beech and umbrella ferns, all watched over by demonic towers of broken basalt. As I traversed the delightfully haunting landscape, quiet under the unpredictable gray skies, I pondered my time in Oceania.

Countries: 2 Days spent: 28
Distance traveled: 7050mi $/day: 108
Unesco sites: 4 Other sites: 18
Most Southern point: Balclutha, 46.2deg south
Unremarkable I think except for the great distance and cost.

So tomorrow is the big day, time to make the long flight across the big pond. For the many hours I will spend in the air, I have plenty to fondly recall, the stately romance of old Europe, the deep history of Turkey, the sheer incredulity of India, the hidden charms of Southeast Asia, and the primordial bizarrity that is Australia. Please don't leave me yet, dear reader, come back and visit, that I might post some final thoughts. This trip is not over yet!

Day 176-Richmond

2009-02-20T19:00:00.000-08:00

I am perched on the edge of my seat as I negotiate the endless twist and turns of this mountain road. I pass through a bowery of tall and knarled beech trees, themselves and every neighboring bush and fern dripping with moss and moisture. It is raining quite hard and the splash-up from the passing lumber trucks blinds me for vital seconds at a time. I dread that the whole day might continue like this, but soon the forest opens into a tawny fieldscape of harvested rye grass, stately evergreen hedgerows, and the ubiquitous flocks of sheep, now quite dreary, drenched and apparently smelly. A fierce wind blast out of every open canyon mouth, dashing for the sea from the high, shrouded ice-blue glaciers. A few kilometers on, and a view of the tumultuous sea opens before me, the waves wind-lashed, the twisted pines crawling out of the dunes grow at odd angles, having been assaulted by the gales since sprouthood.

But just yesterday, I was enjoying the intense sunlight lakeside, listening to the gentle lap of the waves on a slate-gray pebbly shore, marveling at the clarity of the aquamarine waters, wishing I could submerge myself and forever drink in the refreshing coolness. I climbed a steep trail, hindered by rocks and roots, through the dappled tree ferns and oak, until, drenched with the sweat of effort and humidity, I arrived at a high glacial lake, sharp forbidding peaks all around. New Zealand is a land of many faces, many changes, and one need travel only a few hours or a few kilometers to witness a procession of splendor.

But I have been traveling already 6 days and a couple thousand kilometers, and so have seen much of this land. More striking however, is my march through my internal landscape. Since leaving the Outback of Australia almost two weeks ago, I have had virtually no conversations with anyone. The style of travel here, that is, everyone in their own vehicle, lends itself to isolation. At night, at the caravan parks, each couple proceeds with their chores, as if they are camping in a world without others, happily ignoring the battle for bathroom or kitchen space. I am not uncomfortable in this game, and play my part as the quiet, invisible, odd solo traveler. What has become very notable to me, as I drive and walk hour after hour in silence, is that, in the absence of another, it becomes impossible to tell a lie. And so it has been a very interesting time for me, facing the truth of what I have become, of what steps have lead me here. I feel I am ready and able to withstand the twist and turns and tumults of whatever road lies ahead.

Day 173-Fiordlands N.P.

2009-02-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

I felt damn lucky to get out of Sydney. My flight was inexplicably canceled, and they held me in line for two hours just to grace me with the fact that they would fly me out at 7 pm, which was not acceptable with a 1 am arrival in Christchurch. Annoyed, I dashed off to talk to other airlines and was eager to buy another ticket with Emirates, but when he asked to see proof of onward flight from New Zealand, my hopes diminished. I had booked an e-ticket east a couple of weeks earlier but I had no paper evidence of this. A mad dash upstairs to the airline office (surprisingly open on a Sunday morning) resulted in the necessary printout, and by the time I got back to the desk, there was just one seat left, which I gladly snatched. At 80% of the original price, with premier lunch service and entertainment system, I could say with conviction "Alls well that ends well".

Now I am happily in New Zealand, and happily on the road in a beater Toyota rental. With already 800 kilometers behind me I am perched on the Southwest side of the South Island, prepared to take a walk tomorrow in this Unesco listed National Park. Getting here brought me through some dramatic countryside, rolling hills and farms dotted with more sheep than one could count in a lifetime of sleepless nights. It is altogether very reminiscent of the parklands of central Colorado. On the other side of the hiway, ocean looms large, the angry rollers come crashing to shore, after a long and icy ride up from Antartica. Huge beds of kelp slosh about in the shallows, and walking about the beachside stones and boulders, I was so enchanted that I failed to notice a big bull sea lion waddling for the safety of the surf, with me in the way. Fortunately they move quite slowly and I had plenty of time to wake up, take a pic, and clear out. Still I cannot be sure I am out of danger, for I must constantly remind myself to stay alert and on the left side of the road as I continue my auto tour of through this magical landscape.

Day 170-Sydney

2009-02-14T19:00:00.000-08:00

I will not deny that the last few days have been a wee depressing. I awake each morning, not so well rested, since I am in dollar saving mode and spending the night in shared dorm rooms. It has been raining here on the southeast coast ever since I left the Blue Mountains, and though it is sporadic and light, the grey skies hampers my enthusiam. My new shoes hurt abit as I break them in and that takes the joy out of walking. On top of that, it is Valentines Day, and I am so very far from being in a participant in that event, I can't remember the last holiday that I spent in the company of someone I know. Its all beginning to wear on me a bit.

Despite the torments of my inner psyche, I must make note of what a lovely city Sydney is. Though it has been years since I have been to Seattle, I consider them to be sister cities, both surrounding the ocean bay, broken by hills into discreet and pleasant neighborhoods, both home to liberal thought and alternative lifestyles. I have enjoyed the day walking the harbour, delighting in the unique architecture of the Harbour Bridge and of course that building from an alien planet, the Sydney Opera House. Wending my way back through the excellent botanical gardens, awash in the pleasing odors of rain, wisteria, and rose, I stopped now and then to take in the sight of the futuristic skyscrapers lording over the hundred year old fig trees, gums of every sort, and wollemi pines If ever I was inclined to put down a root and attempt to become ex-pat, for a number of reasons, it would be here.

But I am not putting down a root, instead tomorrow I board a plane for yet another step eastward. On to the otherworldly landscape of New Zealand, where I will enjoy the freedom and solitude of travel by rental car, stopping when and where I wish, basking in sunshine, warm temperatures and sylvan quietude. After the last few days spent in the hostels, surrounded by hordes of 20something backpackers, I cannot get enough of that.

Day 167-Katoomba

2009-02-11T00:19:00.000-08:00

Sometimes things just fall in place. Way back in Darwin I had decided to skip the Outback extension from Alice Springs to Adelaide, in favor of a quick flight to Sydney. That turned out to be a great decision, as residents of that town are suffering from the worst fires in history, with thousands of homes destroyed and hundreds dead. In addition, Sydney has turned out to be yet another in a long line of world's greatest cities, but I will write more about it in a future post.

Leaving Sydney this morning required that I negotiate its rather complex and complete railway system, but once done, I was merrily rolling up the tracks to the Central Highlands of New South Wales. Here are found many of the Unesco listed National Parks, among them Blue Mountain, which gets its name from the blue haze that hangs over the hills, a by-product of the millions of eucalypt trees that carpet the hills. I arrived to find this rain forest completely shrouded in mist, and the prospect of hiking along the rim of the 200 meter high sandstone escarpment was, for lack of view, not too promising. Instead I wandered town, found a great deal on some new shoes, as well as some other necessary gear, then walked over to the Imax theatre to view "The Edge", a documentary about this park.

I learned that Australia is very unique on this planet, not only for its extreme climate, but also for its geologic age. The surrounding hills had already been shaped while the Grand Canyon was just a gleam in God's eye. The geology has been stable for 100 million years, and this leads to a very sterile soil, which along with eons of physical separation from the other continents, creates a diversity of plant and animal life unrivaled on all the planet. Knowing this, I was not able to sit still any longer, and headed to the end of town to access the park. Minutes after my arrival at the first overlook, the skies opened to reveal the majestic view of the distant hills, the escarpment, and the rollling valley below. Walking the 5 km along the rim was a sensory paradise, every green thing dripping fresh rain from its odd shaped leaves, the air rich with the scent of new oxygen, wet earth, and most notably, eucalyptus oil! Powerful medicine for the nasally challenged, and in my free-breathing euphoria I was grateful for every step that had lead me to this place.

Now about them shoes. Today is Feb 11th. My original plan had me flying into Salt Lake City on this date. Clearly that is not going to happen, and in celebration of my exceeding my own expectations, I decided to replace my well-worn Merrills. I reckon I have a few more tracks to make before this journey is over.

Day 164-The Outback

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

My Survivor Outback Adventure began in Alice Springs, where myself and 13 tribe members packed into a minivan led by our laid-back Aussie guide, Paul. From the start, we told that it would be quite hot, quite fly infested, and quite interesting. On no account were we disappointed. A longs days drive, through the searing and sandy acacia plains, culminated at the base of Ayers Rock. I first became aware of this very special stone, the heart of Australia, back in my younger climber daze. It is the second largest largest monolithic, unbroken stone in the world, and measures some 350 meters high by 3.6 kilometers long by 2.4 kilometers wide. That's one big stone, but then consider that only 1/3 of it rises above the desert plains. It has recently been returned to the Aboriginal people who still hold ceremony amoung the hidden crevices and pockets, and is now known as Uluru National Park.

As we left the comfort of the air-conditioned van, we were immediately accosted by hordes of black flys and temperatures in the shade of 106. The rock, of course, becomes much hotter, and there was no hope of climbing this behemoth in these conditions. Even the short walk along the base, exploring a few of the waterholes and overhanging crevices, was taxing. Having experienced such conditions in the south of Utah in summer, I was well prepared with full brim hat, complete with fly net, long pants and water-soaked long sleeves. I was surprised to find some of our tribe braving the blaze in shorts, tank top, and sun screen, but I was out to school anyone in the way of the wild.

The next day, after a rather sparse open air sleep in the desert( I awoke in substantial pain, convinced that an ant had crawled down my throat and bit me!) we drove off to a neighbooring park known as Kata Tjuta (Many Heads). We stopped to enjoy breakfast amidst swarms of flies, watched the changing colors of sunrise, and then proceeded to embark upon a 8 km walk through the thousand foot high hummocks of crimson conglomerate stone. My tribemates, again scantily clad, started off strong, but by half-way the fright showed in their flushed faces, their heavy breath powering their heavy legs. Along the way we were regaled with tales of bush tradition, the severe punishments doled out to law breakers, and the abandonment of those too weak to continue. I took this attitude to heart, and as others lagged and dragged, I just kept moving on at my own pace, feeling protected, comfortable and somewhat superior. Despite my tendency to separate myself, however, nights back at camp found all forgiven and we enjoyed beers and tales of bravado around the campfire. There would be no Tribal Council tonight, and because the Outback is big enough for all to enjoy, we all would continue the adventure.

Day 161-Alice Springs

2009-02-05T22:00:00.000-08:00

My little foray in to the bush country of the Top End might have cost me dearly. I did well enough with the unrelenting heat, the intermittent rains, the evening time mosquitos, but what nearly did me in was some yahoo in a parking lot dinging the door of the rent a car. I noticed it a couple of days before return and interestingly it was not visible in the rain, only in bright sunlight. I had purchased full insurance yes, but I was still liable for up to 300 bucks and to repair even the smallest scratch would easily cost that. I toyed with the idea of not mentioning it, to see if the counter guy was doing his job, but in the end, I am my mother's son, and I felt compelled to 'fess up. My honesty paid off. He searched hard to find it, and when he did said "no worrys mate", kind of annoyed that I had wasted his time.

Inspired then to keep pushing my luck, I boarded the world famous Ghan railway, which would take me from Darwin 1500 kilometers into the Red Center, the very heart and soul of this country, the Outback. Along the way, stopping in Katherine for a rather lengthy 4 hour break, we were encouraged to take a 12 dollar bus ride into town to see the sights. What they failed to mention is the only sight there is to see in this scrubby town, which lies at the junction of the four directions, is a surfeit of wandering, shoeless, semi-enebriated Aboriginals. From all corners they collect here to receive government stipend and services, do some shopping, hang out with friends, and for some at least, get liquored up. It was so strange to walk the small town and encounter group after group, gathered under a tree, under the bridge, outside the Woolworths, or in front of the bus station.

They don't appear, at first glance, to be a highly spirited people. The don't seem to talk alot, or smile, or move with great conviction, at least in these disheartening circumstances. They, as a group, are overweight, with huge bellies and breasts, and stick-thin arms and legs. There facial features are remarkably heavy, thick brows over deep set eyes, broad round noses shelter their protruding lips. Even the young have a look of aged weariness about them. For my lack of knowledge of this people and culture, I can not say whether this is the face of the natural first inhabitant of this land, or if like much of the the Native population of our own country, they have been misshapen and injured by a diet of sugar, bad fats, and alcohol. If things go as planned for me, I will be meeting a few of them in their element, in the Outback, and hope to deepen my understanding of this fascinating and troubled people.

Dreamtime

2009-02-01T22:00:00.000-08:00

Each day now Kengaroo travels, each day tired, needs rest. He meet Iguana, she tells him "go to Morning Camp, camping good there". So he go. At at Morning Camp, two Ravens, loud, scream at him, "Kenga, go away, this camp not good, you do not belong here". Kenga stays, thinks "this is ok, the world loves me, I belong here", but he wonders. Out walking he comes by family of Man, faces dark as night, proud wide nose. They don't look at him, they don't speak, Kenga thinks, "ok, they welcome me, I belong here", but he wonders.
Night falls and all creatures say goodnight. Make loud shriek and roar and cry. Kenga is little scared, but he knows he belongs. He finds sleep in the black hot night.
Dark midnight, everything still, everything is peace. But no! From out of the dark comes mad screaming demon, eyes like fire. It wakes Kenga, circles his camp, throws sand at him. Up ahead it stops, shining bright angry eyes at Kenga. His animal heart know this is bad. Less than one hundred heartbeats, he gathers his medicine, makes ready to flee. From the dark forest he hears eery singing "if you love me get down on your knees, if you no love me, then you better leave!"
Kenga breaks from the bush at a mad run. His animal mind remembers the maze of tracks he must take to get out. He recalls a camp not too far, maybe he can find others, be safe.
He finds other camp ok, but it is late. Noone there, everybody sleeping. Kenga hunkers down in the moonlight, hopes for morning to come. But no! crazy lights coming, seeking for him. He hides lower to the ground, remembers "the world loves me". Before long a knock comes, he turns to find Man But White, saying, "ok mate, camp here, out back, no worries, morning come, you go your way". Kenga thinks "ok i can do this", but still he wonders. The rain begins to fall, Kenga sits and wonders, "who rode this demon horse". Was it Man, or Man But White, or maybe some new devil beast risen from the billabong? He slips into quiet sleep.

I start awake from a fitful slumber, completely drenched in a foul sweat. My neck is kinked from cramming myself into the back seat of this rent a car. The rain is beating down hard, a tribal tattoo on the metal roof, the floodwater rising against the tires. Four o'clock, just a couple more hours and daylight comes, I can go back, collect my abandoned tent, and continue my journey.

Day 156-Kakadu

2009-01-31T19:00:00.000-08:00

Braving equatorial heat and monsoon rains, this National Park, Australia's largest, is host to a vast number of plant and animal species. This time of year, heavy rains are a daily occurence, and massive sheets of water pour off the rocky plateau forming the southern boundary. The ensuing waterfalls are spectacular and dangerous, the rivers downstream bisect the woodlands of white barked eucalyptus, where emerald green grass grows higher than a man head, and scattered about are the mounds of cathedral building termits, more than 3 meter high. The rivers overflow, flooding roadways (most are impassable this time of year) and vast plains and forest of pandamus and paperbark trees, they now become home to wading storks, cranes and herons, yellow bellied pythons and water rats. Signs warning of saltwater crocodiles, migrating up the seasonal waterways are common place. As the Wet passes, some low lying areas will retain there water level and become billabongs, and the wildlife will become more concentrated, some will seek shelter in the drying mud until next year. Along river banks and hilltop ridges monsoonal rainforest of ghost gum are scattered about, home to the cockatoo and every other type of raucous bird.

But this huge park, Unesco listed, is also home to a 50,000 year old, still-living human culture. Among the marshes, forest and billabongs, wander the Bininj people, one among the many clans of Aboriginal people that this country is famous for. Still they hunt for possum, snake, wallaroo and forage for pandamus fruits, palm hearts, and medicines. They appear aloof and unconcerned and in fact are rarely seen off of their settlements out in the bush. Along the rocky escarpment, in hidden overhangs and folds, they have left traces of their past. Stories of creation and hunting tales are inscribed in paints of yellow, black, and red ocher. They tell of a time long ago when the earth was perfect, the Dreamtime. I spend the day wandering among these rocks, admiring the ancient paintings and gazing out over the broad and timeless landscape. I stop to have a brief conversation with a shy black wallaby, I feel as if still, the world is a perfect place.

Day 160-Darwin

2009-01-29T09:00:00.000-08:00

At the top end of down under, heavy-set, lily white, dimpled women walk to work in the sweltering humidity. They seem none the worse for the clowing heat, eager to put in their days toil so as to earn a soon coming night at the pub. At ever government building or park stand small crowds of Aborigines, shoeless and unsmiling, they scarcely notice my passing.

I have been scurrying about, collecting supplies and a rent a car, preparing to go "into the bush".
It is the hot, wet season (in fact the south of the country is under record breaking heat, at around 45 degrees centigrade (I don't even want to know what that is on our scale)) and so I don't expect to get far, as every surface not under asphalt will be unpassable. Still I hope to find opporunities to walk about the billabongs and marsh parks, seeking birds and plants yet unknown, hoping to avoid snakes and skeeters. I will be camping, cramped in my tiny new tent, every moment out of the car will be a festival of sweltering and fly driven annoyance.

To enjoy this mini-adventure I will and already have laid down some serious cash. Coming from Vietnam, the shock of price escalation for everything from transport to lodging, has only been asssuaged by the ready availability of donuts, peaches and other familiar treats. If I sound uncertain as to whether this next phase of my travels will be fun or will go well, it is because I most certainly am!

Day 158-In the Air

2009-01-27T21:00:00.000-08:00

Time for a report on my travels through Indochina:

Countries visited: 2 Distance traveled: 2662 miles
Day out: 33 Dollars per day: 44
Unesco Sites visited: 5 Other cool sites: 10
Birds counted(non-captive): <100 Scooters counted: 2.737,569

But these numbers are empty, they say nothing of the color and clamor of the capital cities at this time of the New Year, fail to paint a picture of family togetherness so prevalent in these countries, or of the atrocities of the wars that have ravaged this land. Had I witnessed earlier the collection of photographs presented in the War Remembrance Museum here in Saigon, I might have not completed my trip, unable to look these people in the face. Before such images, my words are empty.

Tonight, after 3 months, I will leave Asia. Three months of strange foods, each day becoming more familiar. Three months of the blare and rumble of traffic, unrelenting, always shocking. A season walking among the smells of frangipani and frankincense, urine and durian fruit, now oddly comforting. Three months of pacing the streets teeming with faces, old women squatting on the sidewalk, chopping and boiling the midday meal, beggars with innumerable afflictions, slowly or rapidly diminishing, fathers in love with their sons, bold schoolgirls waving hello to this tall, stern stranger.

I have walked beneath the cold shoulders of the worlds highest mountains, crawled through hot musty tunnels no larger than my shoulders, ridden rickety trains under giant trees, paddled muddy waters through spiny palm groves. I have learned that the world loves me, it protects and emboldens me. The powers that be have opened the roads and portals, that I might pass freely to where my desire leads. The skies have opened before me, revealing vistas of emerald fields, shining mountain peaks, grey sentinels guarding a moonlit bay. The faces before me are open, the most radiant smiles given by those most destitute. All that has been required of me is to open my mind to the promise of the path ahead...and of course to open my wallet. But in these times of such enormous prosperity and possibility, how can one be reluctant to do so.

Day 149-Saigon

2009-01-24T19:00:00.000-08:00

Let me be the first to wish you a Happy Chinese New Year, occuring on Monday, the first new moon of the calendar year. All around me people are preparing for the years biggest festival, and I for one, securely esconced in my downtown hotel room, am ready! The last few days, and those to follow, have been, and promise to be, action packed.

Leaving the seaside a couple of days back, I jumped a rather empty minibus for the central highland city of Dalat. But for myself, there was just one other woman with her infant, and as we negotiated the steep and windy road, I had to marvel at the facility with which she held her seat, her baby and the bag she was puking in. Clearly she had traveled this road before, and for good resason. Dalat is a delightful resort town amidst pine-clad hills, with lakes, streams and waterfalls strewn all about, filled with honeymooners from the lowland cities, but most interesting, quite lacking in an English based tourism. This did not deter me from taking a half day mountain bike tour with a local guide, enjoying the quiet of the hills, the temples, and a speechless companion.

The quiet now forgotten as I pace the streets of Saigon, teeming with scooters and scammers and throngs of common folk gearing up for the big week ahead. With a fresh two beer buzz, I explore the extraordinary flower market, a block wide by four long. Chrysanthemum, daisy, sunflower and mum provide the predominant yellow tone of New Years, accented by the scarlet of rose, amaranth, and gladiola. Artful bonsai of pine, laurel, and fig are displayed for sale, as are superb carvings of sandalwood, teak and marble. Incense fills the air, children dance to an unvoiced music, lovers pose among the flowers for photos...as if this scene could be forgotten!

Tomorrow I seek a less urban scene as I tour out to the Mekong Delta to visit the simple riverside villages that provide this nation with fruits and honey and coconut. Later I will travel out to the Cu Chi tunnels to learn something about the American War of the '60's, a subject thus far avoided by me. There I hope to gain some perspective on American-Viet relations, and more to my interest, shoot some really big guns! It seems a completely appropriate way to help celebrate the New Year.

Day 146-Nha Trang

2009-01-21T19:00:00.000-08:00

Although the beach is not empty of people, at 6 kilometers, it is long enough to lend a feeling of peace and solitude. Scarce are the hawkers and trickster found on so many tourist beaches, and surprisingly, I have to chase someone down to find the cold beers that are proper to this moment. The air is warm, the sun hot, but not to excess. It is altogether a soothing way to spend an afternoon of girl watching.

As I reflect on my time in Vietnam, I find, in general, things have gone very smoothly. I have experienced none of the ripoffs and misquoted prices that I had been warned about. Perhaps I am possessing some degree of travel skill, perhaps I am lucky. I have met a few lately that are neither. Just a few days back, it was thrust upon me to usher a small herd of lost tourist to their hotels. They had been abandoned riverside in the middle of Hue at the end of their day tour, and for having been picked up that morning by van, they knew not the route back. The first four were easy, I knew this part of town. The next two didnt even know the name of their hotel and that was a much greater challenge, but together we deduced the location. Though it took two hours and cost me a few bucks, I considered it my birthday present to the world that day.

Since then I have continued on, to the extraordinary and charming town of Hoi An, where centuries old tradition meet the modern world in a fascinating spread of artisans shops, out to the remote hillside temples of My Son (the most disappointing of all Unesco Sites) and finally by long day train through the rolling hills and rice paddies to this sprawling but quiet beach town. Arriving late at night, I walked from the train station to the center, marvelling at what felt like a warm summer breeze, seemingly out of place under the sky filled with winter stars.

Day 142-Hue

2009-01-17T19:00:00.000-08:00

Here in the Imperial City of Hue, along the clean, green Perfume River, the centuries-old Citadel squats and crumbles in the gray drizzle of the early morning. Only the local market is alive with bright colors and strong odors. It is my birthday, my fiftieth, a day for reflection. Years back a friend of mine enjoyed her 50th amidst fanfare, friends and family. Knowing that my destiny had given me a different path, I began then to make plans for this round the world trip, vowing that I would be far away and alone when that day arrived for me. I am. And in a host of other instances of coordination and cooperation I have suceeded, but in days past I have also had some notable failures.

Trekking the hill country last week, I was fortunate to have as part of my group two very lovely ladies from Croatia, and one in particular really captured my interest. In our brief conversations we connected deeply and I was reminded that I once believed in love at first sight. On the train back to Hanoi our paths crossed, and we arranged to share a cab and breakfast before they left for the airport and home. As we made our way to exit the station, we learned that we needed our ticket, and I had left mine crumpled on the floor of the car. Amidst the hustle and crush of the moment, in a hurry to run back before the train left, I was unable to think, and lacking the practice to ask them to wait, I simply said goodbye. The Bhuddists say it takes 10,000 lifetimes for two people to meet, this encounter now lost forever, "like tears in the rain".

This failure of thinking has injured my heart, but another failure of emotion could have cost me dearly. The other night, fed up with a slow internet that keep crashing, I slapped down my payment and stormed out, cursing. Overzealous as I exited, I caused the door to swing wide, scratching the hood of a motorbike parked too close. As I continued mumbling down the street, the owner pursued me, and showed me the damage. I am practiced at accepting responsibility, so immediately offered to pay for the damage. But he was an honest man and did not wish to profit in this way, I think he only wanted to vent his anger and hear me admit my mistake. He generously waved me on, and I, gratefully, humbly, dashed for home.

I will continue to pass this day reflecting on the sucesses and failures of my past 50 years, and in particular the last 5 months. In doing, I hope to shape a vision of what I might achieve in my months and years remaining. And if I find that I have made too many errors on this grand trip, well then I shall just have to do it again!

Day 136-Cat Ba Town

2009-01-14T19:00:00.000-08:00

After the success of my packaged tour to Sa Pa, I decided to continue the trend and book a 3 day 2 night visit to the UNESCO listed Halong Bay, a scattering of 3000 limestone islands jutting out of the still waters of the South China Sea, off the coast of Northeastern Vietnam. The tourist travel system here is an amazingly complex network of agencies, guides, transport and accommodations, and it seem to work flawlessly, as I am passed from one person to another, enjoying the assigned activities and merely doing what I am told. For a mere $30 or so a day, I am shuttled, entertained, fed and housed, and because I am sure I could not do better as an independent traveler, I accept my role as tourist.

After a morning of bus riding across the country, we arrived at the bay, and boarded a modified chinese junk, complete with kitchen, dining room and simple cabins. We enjoyed an afternoon of cruising among the 200 meter high limestone pillars, stopping once or twice to visit one of the many caves so common in the karst landscape, later boarding kayaks, to glide into the setting sun over the placid waters. The night was spent bobbing about a tranquil bay with a score of other boats, their running light reflecting off the still waters until the full moon rose to wash the entire scene in a pale glow.

The delicate beauty continued to unfold before us the next day as we landed on Cat Ba Island, drove into the interior and huffed and puffed our way 300 meters up a nearby peak. Our activities finished for the day, we settled in Cat Ba town, once a sleepy fishing village, now a burgeoning destination for summertime Vietnamese vacationers. The adjoining bay is abuzz with all manner of floating transports, from steel hulled cargo ships to the most humble tub of woven mat dressed with pine pitch. An entire village of multicolored floating houses, shops and holding tanks is moored in the shallows, and I spend the twilight watching the activity settle with the fading light. Once again I am made aware that the majority of this worlds people are living a life dramatically simpler than my own. I retire to my room at the 3 star hotel, enjoy a warm bath and a spot of telly before settling into my cozy bed. Life is Sweet.

Day 136-Ta Van Village

2009-01-11T19:00:00.000-08:00

It is quite easy to escape the madness of Old Quarter Ha Noi. Simply step into one of countless shops selling travel tours, and within minutes they will have you on a bus, brimming with like minded souls, on your way to the mountainous rice basket of the north, Sa Pa Valley. The overnight train, wood paneled and warm, whisk you throught the night, arriving so early that you still have not seen the glory of the steep green slopes that surround you. You are coddled and caressed as they bring you to your hotel and start you on your guided activities.

I had the good fortune to be part of a group of 10 or 12, mainly women from all quarters, young and willing to share some trail time with this old goat. Our guide, Lan, all of 4' tall, scampered the steep, slick trails with ease, giggling merrily as she explained the ways of the mountain tribes we would encounter. Here are found members of the Black Hmong people, the Red Doa, the Dzai, the Flower Hmong, each with their characteristic and colorful style of dress. As we walked we were accompanied by hordes of local women and children, patiently awaiting their turn to offer us a selection of hand made wares. When a women of thirty going on seventy walks for four hours in hopes of selling a trinket for 4 dollars, one realizes the simplicity of the lifestyle these people still embrace.

After a long day of wending our way along roads, paths, rice fields, and rickety bridges, we arrived at the small village of Ta Van, where, after enjoying a five course meal of rice, chicken, pork, and limitless vegetables, we bunked down with the family in a common room. It is the last full moon before the New Year, and it is winter, so we could not be surprised to find the temperature a bone chilling 40some degrees. Thanks to a heap of the heaviest blankets I have ever used, the night passed in great comfort, and we were greeted to a breakfast of rice pancakes and fruit. Setting off again into the sunny morning, we passed men and boys of all ages, dragging oversized logs down the slick slopes, not pausing to notice us, as we continued our search of new vistas of a timeless land and people.

Day 132-Ha Noi

2009-01-07T19:00:00.000-08:00

I looked deep into the old guys rheumy eyes, asking myself if it was his day to die, because if it was, he was taking me with him. I had just enjoyed a visit to the Vietnam Museum of Ethnography, a splendid collection of artifacts from all over this country of scores of distinct ethnic tribes. On display were the tools of home and garden, musical instruments of every bizarre construction, funereal implements, and outside, a courtyard filled with the very houses these tribesmen might have lived in.

I had arrived by taxi from the bustling city center some 7 kilometers away, and had bargained hard for a reasonable price. The return trip, of course, is always an extortionist dream. So when the old man held up 4 fingers and pointed to his moto, I was left with the choice, bleed through the wallet, or if unlucky, in the street. Feeling confident, I joined him on the mad scramble back into center, each intersection an interwoven flow of hundreds of bikes, a few taxis, and scores of intrepid pedestrians. The bikes especially carry a stunning array of passengers. I have seen up to four people on a single bike, a driver carrying two potted plans in his arms, a woman hauling at least 100 baskets, another was guided by a dozen laden shopping bags dangling from the handlebars, and it seems everyone is on the cell phone. I have also witnessed a partying threesome take a tumble, an old man pick himself up and limp off the interstate, and one young guy quite motionless in the highway.

My fears then, I thought were well founded. But fate is on my side today and we arrived safe and sound at my destination. As I extracted my wallet to pay, however, I learned that his four fingers meant 4 dollars, not 40000 dong (2 dollars). Curses and drats, I could have taken the taxi after all for that price, but then I would have missed out on the thrills!

Day 129-Vang Vien

2009-01-04T19:00:00.000-08:00

Rounding yet another bend on this tortuous mountain road, the girl next to me assuredme she would not vomit, only that she feel quite bad. Just minutes earlier we were chatting away, she was excitedly filling me in on various nuances of the Laos culture, and for my part I was delighted to have finally made a personal connection with a local. We were southbound out of Luang Prabang, passing through settlements so rustic, barely a stitch of metal or concrete could be seen, the material of choice for the construction of their village-bamboo, thatch and woven slats, all easily found in the mountain jungle surrounding. As we topped out on the pass, we were greeted with the sight of Bu Khun, Equal Mountain, more a citadel or tower, which in more temperate climes would have been a dramatic crag of sheer rock, here even the vertical faces were carpeted in foliage. It was a preview of what was to follow down the road.

Arriving in Vang Vien, I immediately elected it as one of the most desirable places I had ever visited. The air temperature a perfect 72 degrees, a bit of breeze, a bright warming sun bathing a dramatic karst limestone scenery. A cool, clear and inviting river flowed through the valley of rice fields now in stubble, groups of crude houses sheltering young vegetable gardens. The town itself was a backpackers paradise, loads of internet shops, bars and restaurants that offered beds rather than seats, the easier to enjoy the endless reruns of American sitcoms. The outlying caves, cliffs, trails and rivers attract a young and active crowd, often scantily clad as they emerge from their tube bourne booze cruise down the Nam Song. It is all incredibly scenic, the Lao must find it obscene, a bit, and I am happy to have seen it.

Day 126-Luang Prabang

2009-01-01T19:00:00.000-08:00

In a village where the generators are hushed at 10pm, the lights go out, and all that might be expected in the way of a New Years celebration is the splash of bright stars against the dark jungle sky. So it was in Pakbeng, a remote village along the Mekong river, 160 kilometers upriver from where I sit today. For two days, I and a host of international travelers have motored down the muddy waters, now in the dry season, placid and tame. We gaze upon the green hills that slope gently away from the sandy banks, where ever more remote settlements, surrounded by their newly planted corn fields, are separated by patches of broken boulders.

It is a pleasant and interesting float trip, but a rather long 8 hours each day, and so, after a time of introspectively watching the world go by, one turns ones attention to ones fellows. And that has proved to be the more interesting feature of the last couple of day. I have had the privledge of swapping travel tales with a cadre of very well seasoned wanderers indeed, from the single Dutch lady who made her way solo from Kunming to Shanghai, China, back in the mid 90s, when she was the only white face on the train, to the Ubermensch Tyler, family man, business man, smoker!, who has summitted and skied the worlds sixth highest peak, to an unnamed Kiwi couple who have slept in graveyards in India, ride motorcycles like they stole them, and read Heradotus in their spare time. A truly fascinating crew.

But alone again here in Luang Prabang, I have my work cut out for me. The Lao people are new to tourism, and one gets the sense that they are uncertain about our being here, very unlike Bali or Thailand. And lets face it, I do not have the friendliest of mugs, so they look at me much as do dogs and small children, unsure whether to cry, bark, or run away. So, besides the formidable task of arranging food, lodging and transport in a country that scarcly speaks English, removing my shoes each time I enter a dwelling, placing my head below the level of passing monks-a short people they are-I must remember to be the first to put a smile on my face.

Day 123-Chiang Rai

2008-12-29T19:00:00.000-08:00

Staying out for a long while, one can lose sense of time, what day it is, or in this climate, even what month it is. I have been dramatically reminded, however, that it is News Years week, and all of Thailand is on the move. Hordes of Thai, particularly the young, are explosively evacuating the big cities, headed for their rural homes, only to migrate en masse back to Bangkok at the end of this week. The result has been a series of disappointments at the bus station, where I am told that all buses are full, and must wait 4 or 5 hours until a seats can be found. Not so bad, but the bus station is often 4 or 5 kilometers from the city center and is hardly a fun place to while away the morning.

Unpredictable availability notwithstanding, the buses have been reasonable comfortable, on time, and notably... cheap! I have traveled since Bangkok, 1000 kilometers, for less than fifteen dollars, and I have arrived (with minutes to spare, as nearly all accomodations were taken) in this positively jewel of a city. Walking the streets as the daylight faded, I happened upon Wat Phra Kaew, an impressive complex of temples where the infamous Emerald Bhudda once resided, saffron clad monks gathering for the evening round of sonorous chants. Down the lane the night market was getting underway, lined with long rows of colorful vegetables and vendors of aromatic street food. A few blocks beyond, the many massage parlors are found, some offering "porn massage", perhaps that explains why every foriegn male seems to be in the company of some local lady. I, however, am too busy for such shenanigans, as I frantically concoct schemes to continue north tomorrow, across the Mekong River, where Laos awaits.

It is nearly month's end, and here are the stats for this, the southern portion of my journey to Southeast Asia:

Distance traveled: 4390 miles Degrees of latitude: 25
Days spent: 28 Countries visited: 4
UNESCO sites: 4 Other cool places: 12
Dollars per day: 61 - still on budget!

Day 119-Ayuthaya

2008-12-25T18:00:00.000-08:00

In order to arrive at here, the World Heritage City of Siam, I have spent some part of each of the last three days on the train. This is the ancient capital of the emerging Thai nation, 700 years ago it was a vast complex of Khmer style temples, courtyards and palaces. The journey of 1700 kilometers began inauspiciously, with the breakdown of the arriving engine while still in Malaysia. We were ferried into Thailand by minibus, in time to intersect with the northbound train, though many opted to complete the journey by bus, a quicker but awake-all-night option. I prefer to stick with the plan, and enjoyed greatly the slow ride through the night.

Arising early, I was greeted by the tropical landscape of the Isthmus of Kra, a lowland of palm trees and rice paddies, sparsely populated but rich with bird life. Huge flocks of black faced ibis wheeled and collided above the fields in various stages of flooding, where many avocet, herons and egrets were searching for their breakfast. Though I stopped over in Bangkok, embarking again in the morning saw a continuation of the wetlands, vast marshes of cattail and rush, the palms now given way to scraggly deciduous bushes, looking forlorn and gray for their seasonal loss of leaves.

Forlorn is perhaps just my own projection, for last night, Christmas Eve, was for me the most difficult of this trip. As mentioned in the previous post, I have been succombing to a treacherous foe of this single traveler-jealosy. As I spy other travelers, I am quick to compare and compete, sizing them up in my mind, finding faults and at times seething in envy that I do not have some young devoted chick tagging along as so many of them do. I don't expect anyone to understand this, I barely do myself, and I am left to find solace in the words of the Tao de Ching, an appropriate study as I make my way north to China. It instructs that I am not merely a separate part of the world I am viewing, in conflict and contention, rather that every living being is just another face, another expression, of the great Unknown, the Tao. Contemplating this, I can release that persistent nagging self-awareness, and can instead pass the day gliding with the ibis over the green fields, complete in simplicity and abundance.

Day 116-Georgetown

2008-12-22T05:00:00.000-08:00

My trip might easily have been cut short this week, though today I am comfortably stationed in yet another World Heritage city. This colorful and vibrant port town, known as Pinang to the locals, affords me my last chance to enjoy the tri-cultural foods, sites, and personalities that make this place special. Tomorrow I will board an overnight train that will take me 1500 km to Thailand's capital city. But to elaborate on the trails and trials of this week.

Coming from the big city hustle of KL, I was ready for some time spent in nature. Situated between the two coast of peninsular Malaysia, lie the Cameron Highlands, a vast stretch of mountainous jungle, long ago cleared to create the fertile farmlands that provide the fruits, vegetables, and flowers for the people of this nation. It's commercial and tourist center is Tanah Rata, and it is there I made arrangements to take a tour of the local environs. We would take a drive to an aboriginal village of the Asli Orang, practice our blowpipe hunting, and then make the walk into the jungle to visit the renowned rafflesia, the worlds largest "flower".

My participation was in doubt as I boarded the van that morning, for it was packed to the gills with a honeymoon couple from Ireland, a foursome from "down under" and, my least favorite company, a gang of tourist from Holland, reeking of stale beer and cigarettes, all achatter in there unpleasant Germanic tongue. But having paid, I was determined to reap my reward. Our projected hike would be doubled in length, for the recent heavy rains had rendered the 4 wheel drive road impassable. Needless to say the track was ankle deep in mud, and steep in places, but I managed to keep up with the young and experienced Aussies. The poorly dressed and hungover Dutch team lagged behind and my misplaced sense of superiority grew by the minute.

As we neared the endpoint of the trek, in the vicinity of this elusive "flower" (actually a type of mushroom, though you would never know by looking at it), we were halted by our guide, warning us that we must cross the river on a treacherous log bridge, and to be very careful. In my enthusiasm I had been racing ahead, and as I began the traverse of the logs I noticed that traction was more than sufficient for an old hand like me, I certainly did not need to use the handrail, and virtually danced my way across. Until that last step. In a flash I was tumbling into the river a few feet below, knocking profoundly both shins, and managing to catch in both hands the broken spike of a branch that would have made quite an impression on my breastbone. I quickly regained the bridge and assured those watching that I was alright. In fact, I acquired only a golf ball bump on the shin, and a spider of equal size on my neck (quickly removed). Hopefully more lasting, is my realization of the Biblical warning that "pride goeth before the fall". The perils of travel are, for me, more often in my own mind.

Day 113-Kuala Lumpur

2008-12-19T19:00:00.000-08:00

I think I have discovered my new favorite city!, and I am bound to use an excess of superlatives when describing KL, as she is known to the locals. It is a very walkable city, with distinct neighborhoods like Chinatown, where one finds the typical onslaught of street activity (including a most unappealing red-light alley), or the Golden Triangle, were business, fashion and entertainment each hold court. There I encountered a stretch of food stall the extent of a small university, and endless array of any imaginable fruit, vegetable or animal parts cooked and seasoned to please.

Above the street loom characteristic landmarks, like the Menara Kuala Lumpur, the worlds 4th highest communications tower, with a viewing deck 800 ft above the clamour, and the stunningly gorgeous Petronas Towers, the world highest until 2004, but to me the most beautiful structure of the modern age. Outside of town lie some notable sights as well. I employed three different forms of public transport, monorail, lightrail, and public bus to arrive at Batu Caves, a splendid Hindu holy site, guarded over by a 130 ft golden Murgha statue (again, the worlds tallest). Endless streams of devoutees climbed the 272 steps to the cave entrance, only to be greeted by ravaging hordes of jungle monkeys. I sensed that each of us was held to varying degrees in an uneasy terror. Later I passed on the worlds largest covered aviary, instead opting to visit the soothing and colorful butterfly garden.

These escapades were acheived not without a price however. The 90 degree day was bright under the equatorial sun, so every misstep took its toll. It took a good half hour to locate the bus stop to the caves, and I ambled an hour out of my way before finding the cool of the butterflys. One might expect to do better by asking directions, but as an example of how that can go, I had earlier asked the owner of my hostel if he could direct me to the train station. Very proudly and with enthusiasm he assured me that he could, and proceeded to explain that I simply walk out his door, turn right to the main road, and then, well, he wasn't so sure, I would have to ask someone on the street. That was good for about 50 of the 2000 meters I would need, and I am sure he noted my disgust as I plunged, trusty guidebook in hand, into the steamy morning.

Day 110-Melaka

2008-12-16T22:00:00.000-08:00

If pressed to describe this day in a few words, I would enthusiastically answer "a sensory feast". Beginning with rage for having poorly chosen a greedy taxi driver to the bus stop, my senses were soon calmed by the plush and opulent seats on the bus, as large as any in business class and fully reclinable. Border clearance into Malaysia was as smooth as oriental silk, despite my customary gut butterflys. Once onto the mainland, we rocketed down the modern freeway, every surrounding unpaved surface bursting with vegetation, the landscape a splash of the many shades of green. As far as the eye could see were spread the feathery olive crowns of oil palms, the gloomy understory guarding carpets of seafoam ferns and grasses. Intermittent stands of bamboo and multi-storied jungle disrupted the plantations, and beyond lie hills of virgin rain forest.

A few hours later we arrive in Melaka, a port city on the strait separating the mainland from the island of Sumatra. As such, it was for centuries a center of trade between India and China, resulting in an extremely rich blend of pan Asian cultures. Walking the busy streets was an olfactory assault. Within a hundred feet I would pass by shops redolent of incense, machine oil, indian curries, insecticide or chinese herbs. The whole infused with a bass note of that unforgettable sour durian. I find shops brimming with multicolored saris, swimming with the scarlet and gold of Chinese temple supplies, or quietly displaying the muted tones of antique colonial age furniture and paintings. No wonder this city has recently been named a UNESCO world heritage site.

As evening fell, I joined a chatty Australian couple for a beer. Sitting at a quayside bar, enjoying the cooling ocean breeze, we listened in on conversations in Tamil, Cantonese, Hindi, Dutch, Mandarin, Malay to name the obvious (of course we could scarcely discern one from the other).
Playing on the bar radio was a suprising delightful assortment of Christmas carols in rich chorale arrangements and we laughed to imagine that neither they nor the many other patrons had ever seen, much less made, a frosty snowman! As our appetite grew, we selected from countless options a Korean restaurant, and enjoyed our meal of noodles, fermented vegetables, roasted beef, and omelettes. After, we were invited to a most unusual treat, that of soaking our weary feet in a pool of hundreds of tiny fish, which find their sustenence from nibbling and sucking every nook and cranny of our immersed appendages. A truly unique sensation to end an incredible day!

Day 106-Padangbai

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

Aside from the occasional solitary bushwalk, which-due to the possibility of snakes, dogs, military cordons, angry landowners, quicksand or other unseen pitfalls-would better be made in the company of a local, there has been precious little physical adventure on this trip. Nonetheless, it has been a journey of cultural discovery, and this is particularly true for my time in Bali.

I have spent the last few day traversing the countryside by taxi and minibus, touring the rather unassuming temples, gazing out across vast stretches of verdant rice paddy, or simple sitting bayside as the local seacraft go about their business. Through it all I have been privilidged to absorb a small amount of the culture of joy and gratitude that so fully pervades daily life on this island. A fine example of this are the many morning offerings made to this god or that, (remember Bali is of Hindu persuasion) so carefully and neatly constructed of folded palm leaf, fresh blossoms, bits of rice or cooked food, maybe part of a clove cigarette. They are placed with considerable style and grace in places of import, the gateway to the family compound, the hood of the car, and certainly on or about the family shrine.

It is all so neat and tidy and obviously pertinent, it leaves me to wonder if I should not begin such a practice. For all its splendor, Bali has left me feeling a bit fat and lazy, too much beer, ice cream and comfort. And so tomorrow I must pick up the pack anew and head to yet further places of cultural and physical surprise, and I am certain that I could use the help of the gods to make my path a smooth one.

Day 103-Ubud

2008-12-09T16:00:00.000-08:00

It is my hope that over the weeks you have not wasted energy in envy of my sojourn, it is never as great as one might imagine-except for now! In this touristed but still sleepy town below the flanks of volcanic Mt. Agung, Bali's tallest mountain, it is said that ones expected visit will extend from days to weeks, and I quickly saw why. Imagine Boulder, Colorado in a lush and flowery tropical setting. Walking the main street one encounters, among the many local temples and shrines, galleries presenting the most stunning and artfully constructed collections of woodcarvings, fabrics, and paintings. When that has becoming overwhelming, simply step into one of the many cafes or restaurants and enjoy organic juices, vegetarian stirfrys, or American style baked goods. I honestly believe that I have been dining for the last few days at what must be the hippest restaurant on the planet, (at 3 bucks a meal) and the presence of the many world travelers I have met there supports my claim.

Evidence of the superlative talents of these island people is not restricted to the visual or culinary arts, however. Last night I witnessed a music and dance show that must rank among the most complex and delightful human expressions ever concieved. I know that I am prone to hyperbole, but how else will I convey the depth of the jaw dropping awe that I felt when that first dancer came on stage to meet her 20 piece gamelan orchestra. Amidst the synchronous clamour of hundreds of brass bells and chimes, and many drums, she proceeded to tell some ancient tale using precise postures, intricate hand gestures and the most captivating facial expressions. The costumes were equally ornate, as was the temple setting with its many carved freizes, depicting Balinese versions of Hindu dieties. I can imagine no greater spectacle, except perhaps for Monkey chant concert that will be tonight's entertainment!

Day 100-Kuta Beach

2008-12-06T14:00:00.000-08:00

At 5 degrees below the equator, the Indonesian island of Bali enjoys a consistent weather pattern-Hot! and humid. But it is the strong overhead sun that saps ones ambition, leaving one seeking the cool of a pool or an AC room rather than strolling the blistering streets and beaches. And so it is that I have allowed my days to be filled with lounging, reading, napping and enjoying numerous beers in various shady glens, surrounded by gardens of plumeria, hibiscus, bouganvilla and a host of other unknown flowers.

In the months past, I have barrelled across Europe at breakneck speed, spending nights in cramped dormitories, bussed to the farthest outreaches of rural Turkey, and flirted on the edges of uncertainty while arranging my own transport and accomodations in unpredictable India. In a word, I was a Traveler. Here in Bali, I must redefine myself and become what I most despise, a Tourist, if only for a while. Amidst the masses of young Aussie girls, couples on honeymoon, or sunburned strolling families, I am an anomoly. A solo traveler is cool and confidently hip, a solo tourist is...well, a bit pathetic. The charm of fine dining or a day at the spa wears thin quickly for the soloist, but there is one course of relief.

The Balinese locals are without doubt the friendliest people I have ever met. Along with the incessant "hello, how are you?", I was greeted by name no less than a half dozen times today, and I have been here less than 2 days. They do not seem overly concerned with hustling me into their shops, rather are just looking to pass some time, their smiles flowing freely and easily across their perfect teeth. And while I do hope to travel the extent of this small island over the course of the next ten days, more importantly, I wish to absorb some of that sense of self contentment that I am witnessing among these people. Despite the plethora of exotic handicrafts to be purchased here, that would be the best possible souvenir.

Day 97-Singapore

2008-12-03T17:04:00.000-08:00

Coming from the crazy din of the outskirts of Delhi, dry, dusty, teeming with traffic, it feels as if I have been transported across the universe. Arriving at the Changi airport I sensed immediately that this place could not be more different. Customs and Immigration took all of 3 minutes, the shuttle bus was prompt and inexpensive, the streets spotlessly clean with well mannered traffic, placidly weaving its way through green gardens of lush tropical plants tucked into every corner not occupied by some ultra-modern high rise. Arriving at my hotel, I immediately hit the streets, wandering across block after block of foodstalls packed with people enjoying the smell of frying meat and garlic, myself too timid to sample the common fare. As I penetrated deeper into the center, I passed by enormous commercial towers, each filled with outlet shops selling electronic goods, toilet fixtures, and whatever else one might need. Seems that in Singapore all one might do here is shop and eat!

I have come to this island nation unexpectedly due to the political meltdown taking place in Bangkok, which was the intended hub for my travels in Southeast Asia. My last several days have been spent online researching flights to and visa requirements for various countries in the region, and after much scrambling I think I have come up with a plan for the next seven weeks, possibly better than the original. My crowning achievement of late was the acquistion of a visa to Vietnam, bypassing travel agents and going straight to the embassy. For all my efforts, after taxi fares and fees, I think I saved about 20 bucks!

Business completed, I treated myself today to a visit to the Jurong Bird Park, an outdoor collection of 8500 birds of more than 600 species. Amidst the tropical foliage, along streams and around ponds, I was delighted to visit up close and personal with birds from all over the world, from the goofy barn owl and ridiculous ostrich, to the splendid scarlet ibis and pink flamigo. I sat scolded among flocks of parrots and parakeets, lories and lorikeets. Spoonbills, pelicans, hornbills and toucans all stretched their necks to get a piece of me. Exhausted from the long walk, the heat and the humidity, I jumped the metro back into the city, finding a different kind of peace in that oh so available Tiger beer.

Day 94-Delhi

2008-11-30T18:00:00.000-08:00

Although there are many more places in northern India I would like to have seen, I am glad I spend my final few days back in Delhi. Tooling around the wide tree-lined avenues, visiting the famous sites, I discovered a much cleaner, more modern city than I had expected. And so it is with a much better sense of how to manage this city that I offer this recap of my November.

Miles traveled: 4050 By Air: 2460
Days in India: 25 Cost per day: $66
(a ridiculous amount but I spent $504 on flights alone)
UNESCO sites visited: 8 Other cool sites: 12
Loose craps created: 0 Loose craps stepped in: 2

In that vein, a further note on health and crime:
I am happy to have enjoyed perfect intestinal health while in India, having adhered to a strict policy of drinking only from sealed bottles and using Grapefruit Seed Extract religiously every morning. I did suffer a very brief head cold upon landing in Delhi, but compared to the deep bronchial coughs I heard emanating from many a traveler, I consider myself very lucky indeed.
I suffered no threat of harm or robbery, nor did I ever feel cheated or swindled, though I did have to gently and firmly stand my ground a few times to enforce an agreed price. I even managed to retrieve a lost item by offering a small bribe, or baksheesh as it is known here. I certainly had no fear of being victim of violence, though I did stand in constant apprehension of having my freedom of travel restricted due to breakdown, labor strikes, or heightened security.

As I leave this place I am deeply confused about the future of India, posed as it is to become a superpower by the year 2025. I cannot help but wonder how a people who I found to be very easily distracted, burdened by a seemingly obsolete religion, and buried in oceans of crap and plastic can move fully into the modern world. On the other hand, the degree to which the streaming throngs of traffic are able to selflessly cooperate suggest a very unified collective mind, and I have never seen more beautiful smiles than those radiating from a family of sisters, dirt smeared and homeless, finding some unfathomable joy on the side of the highway. This is truly a land of contradictions, nothing is probable here, everything is possible.

Thanks to Shirley Vancouver, Cary Sacramento, and Lauren and Micheal London for sharing some time with me, and making otherwise improbable events...possible.

Day 91-Varanasi

2008-11-27T19:00:00.000-08:00

Straddled by the Ganges River-the Great Mother- is the world's oldest living city, Varanasi. Along the river's muddied banks are found the many ghats or stairways leading to the waters edge. Here can be found all manner of creatures-priests and pranksters, boatmen and bathers, kids and cattle, touts and tourist, dogs and the dying, goats and gods- all come to pray, hustle, play cricket, buy, sell, fly kites, scamper, gawk, daudle, do laundry, shit or simply die. Its is truly a colorfully bizarre place, and not without its amusements and frustrations. Sense of humor is a critical ingredient for visiting this most holy place of India, a sense of awe and wonderment the result.

Arriving here required quite a dose of humor as well. The overnight train from Jhansi pulled in a couple hours late, itself no problem, but it deemed to stop one kilometer short of the station, leaving us to decide one hour later that it would be worth making the walk. Find delight in the sight of five backpacking tourist trudging under a midday sun though a very busy railyard searching for the platform amoung a sea of rails, the smell of diesel and urine our welcome. Suceeding this, we were met by the crush of eager drivers, not all of which were in good spirits. Thinking we had secured our car, we had to argue details of destination for some time, endure some very real betel-fueled rage, threaten to walk, get out with our gear three times before we could get our driver to budge. I think we were quite proud to have saved 50 cents, all the while insisting that "its the principle not the money".

In that regard one is constantly required to review and assess ones principles. The pressure to buy and give is absolutely relentless, and one developes a strategy to repel the onslaught or is comsumed alive. One blinds ones eyes to the misery and hardens ones heart, to the point where I have ignored the pleas of women young and old, holding their pathetic, sure to be dead within a week, easily replaced babies, only to enjoy an ice cream ten minutes later. How can I justify this cruelty, how can I explain this to myself. It is a paradox to be daily faced, each morning renewing the commitment to retain sense of humor and respect, to exercise compassion as best as I can understand it. Nothing I have seen before could have prepared me for what I would witness in this country, I will be left knowing more about the world but perhaps less about myself than when I arrived.

Day 87-Jhansi

2008-11-23T16:00:00.000-08:00

What is most notable about travel in India, is the uncertainty one faces as one enters the carnival that is the street. Will one find a scrupulous driver, will he take you where you think you told him to go, will he please god not hit some Brahma bull or beggar woman sitting stubbornly in the street, will his vehicle not rattle apart beneath you anxious ass?

Testing my own destiny, I traveled to Jhansi, a non-touristed transportation hub, necessary in order to connect to my next destination. This town is not listed in my guidebook, and is therefore off the map, anxiety level 1. Upon arriving, I am informed by the throng of hungry drivers that festival is taking place and there will be no rooms, I must move on, anxiety level 2.
Nonetheless I make my way to center and begin the search for a room, and after 3 fruitless attempts I am truly sweating bullets. My fourth proved available and I settled in for the afternoon, only to be roused from my nap by the most godawfully loud contraption I have ever heard, a megaphone multiplex blasting Bach fugues pecked out on some cheap Casio keyboard. Seems a wedding party had arrived, and I would spent the night haunted by a most celebratory cacaphony.

Not dissuaded, today I made the short journey through the scrubby plains, stands of sycamore and locust broken by random intrusions of granite blocks and boulder fields, to the serene and magical village of Orchha. There I was greated by a colorful panapoly of odd characters, dressed in robes of saffron, flowing suits of embroidered beige silk, or nearly naked and smeared with ashes. I eschewed the crowds however and headed for the abandoned temples scattered about the countryside. There I would find the peace and quiet I have for so long needed, amoung the soaring spires dripping with the hives of wild bees (African killers?), hidden coves concealing screeching parakeets, their long abandoned buttresses overgrown with shrubs and weeds (snakes about?). As I traversed their flanks, a small group of dogs deemed to follow (rabid?) and turning a corner, a very large badass male langor monkey cussed me out for my intrusion. It seems the anxiety of the street had not altogether left me, still I was feeling apprehensive, after all, those vultures with their 8-foot wingspans were wheeling overhead for some reason!

Day 84-Agra

2008-11-20T19:00:00.000-08:00

At times when I visit these spectacular World Heritage Sites, often built centuries ago, I wonder what achievements of modern man justify our existence into these latter days. I have never felt this so strongly as when I came to see the glorious monuments constructed here in Agra. The most famous building in the world is located here, the lustrous and enchanting Taj Mahal, we know it as the supreme monument to love. Constructed in the mid 17th century as a tomb for his beloved wife by Shah Jahan, it is a marvel of art and engineering. As the pinnacle of Mughal architecture, it employs vast quantities of carved and filigreed marble, inlay of semiprecious gems, and improbable curved surfaces arranged in such a way and place to create ever shifting visual illusions. Anyone who attempts to decribe this place in words falls far short.

Equally impressive is the Agra Fort, some centuries older and serving a most practical purpose as garrison and palace, this sprawling complex is constructed from gleaming white marble and deep maroon sandstone. The intricate carving to be seen on virtually every exposed surface leaves one to wonder if the skills needed to create such a work even exist today. Elements of Arab design are predominant, as this city was once the capital of an empire founded by invaders from the West (Iran). Again one is left without words to decribe such a masterpiece, and the multitude of photos one is compelled to shoot does little to convey the majestic scope of this place. This is why we must each come to visits these sites in person!

I came to Agra from Aurangabad by overnight train, my first in India. As I first boarded the train I was pleasantly surprised at the overall appearance of things, it seemed that this was going to be a comfortable trip indeed, and so it was. Within an hour of departure, I found myself reclined in my berth, listening to pop hits of the 70's on my mp3 player. As I dozed lightly, my mind was flooded with images of myself as an 8-year old boy, fishing for fantasies in my cardboard box boat while the day passed to dusk, hunting for mice in the meadows of mid-March. I wondered what track was laid in those days that would 40 years later lead me to this moment, half way around the world, barrelling through the smoky plains of this ancient land with a trainload of faces that are distinctly different than my own. I awoke to find a couple of cockroaches making explorations of their own amoung the unknown terrain of my trousers....Ah..Incredible India!

Day 81-Aurangabad

2008-11-17T22:00:00.000-08:00

One thousand kilometers south of the Himalayan foothills, nestled amoung the plateau that break above the dry grassy plains, are the UNESCO sites of Ajanta and Ellora. At each of these sites are found an assorment of carved rock temples, caves and monasteries. Each is spectacular in its own right, and has been well worth the time, effort, and expense to make the visit.

By tourist (ie, middle class Indians on holiday) bus, I traveled the 100 km north to visit the Ajanta complex. Over the course of 2 hours we made our way through the scrubby plains, now in the dry season, the fields of sorghum harvested and stacked in haphazard piles, the road lined with eucalyptus and acacia trees. We would pass through numerous small villages, where, despite the enormous populations of Indias cities, 80% of her people are to be found, huddled in their thatched reed one room houses, men plowing their small plots by aid of a single ox, women cooking in their single pot over a blazing pile of sticks, children playing without a single stitch of clothes on, together living on less than a single dollar per day.

This forgotten as we entered the complex of 30 or so caves, carved into an escarpment of basalt some 2km long, each completed over the ages spanning from 2nd century BCE to 800 AD. These are Buddhist structures and amidst the intricate carved geometry are found numerous detailed wall paintings, now faded, but still capable of relating the story of the Buddha, Asia's most significant historical figure. In various arched roof temple caves, we would encounter a small group of Thai monks, or Korean visitors, making chants to their long passed spiritual leader.

Visiting Ellora caves the next day, we were treated to yet even more dramatic artistic achievements. Here the caves were produced within the 500 year period of 600 AD to 1000 AD and represent efforts by three different religious sects, Hindu, Buddhist and Jain. The most spectular, Kailasa Palace, was carved in one piece by 7000 craftsman over the course of 150 years. About the size of an average American supermarket, it is the largest single stone sculpture in the world. The intricacy of its plan and detail boggles the mind, unimaginable how the initial vision could actually be manifested a century and a half later. Weaving amound the various carved animals, obelisk and brocaded towers, we would encounter saffron clad monks and sadhus, as well as lovely Indian women in their brightly colored saris, an unsupassable visual feast!

Day 77-Siliguri

2008-11-13T22:00:00.000-08:00

I have always maintained that travel is harder than working, definitely true for my time here in Northeastern India. And so, I have determined that it is my job to find pearls amoung the heaps of plastic, peace within the pedestrian mayhem. India will not change what it is, so I must change my mind about what I perceive it to be.

It is in this spirit that I arose early the other morn to catch the shared jeeps to Tiger Hill. Walking the dark at deserted alleys at 4 am was spicy indeed, if only in my imagination. Surviving that and the 10 km drive, I was surprised to find not just handful of tourist, but a thousand locals gleefully, noisily awaiting the sunrise. The views of Kachendzonga were stunning in the early light and with a little help from the binoculars, I was able to discern the top few hundred meters of Mt Everest, and a couple of other high peaks. Later that day I tried to catch the jeep out of Darjeeling, but some politcal folly left the roads blocked for the day, ( a not rare occurance in these parts) and so I spent the day wandering the quiet and aged botanical gardens, amidst trees of types unknown since I could not read the labels written in Hindi.

I was sucessful the next day in getting out, but in my haste I choose to ride in the back of the jeep, not a good idea for one of my size, and spent a couple hours jostled from one Nepali lap to another. To celebrate my time in Gorkaland (Northeast India), I later hired a car to drive me across the Nepali border, just for the stamp in the passport and a beer. It was on this trip that I began to understand that I can find joy in this place, to look beyond the apparent suffering and disarray and into the hearts and faces of a people who are not bound by the quality of their material surroundings, who truly seem to be living a life of spirit. I must do my best to disregard my moments of discomfort and uncertainty, to continue to find the beauty that is waiting to be discovered.

Day 74-Darjeeling

2008-11-10T17:00:00.000-08:00

Here in the Darjeeling, "the Queen of the Hills", I have found the peace and quiet (relatively speaking) that I so desperately needed. This lovely multi-ethnic town, folded into the hills of rhododendron, thuja, bamboo and wisteria, huddles below the massive Khangchendzonga (8598 m, worlds third highest). The locals (of numerous tribes unknown to me) have been enjoying a month-long music/dance/culture festival (just one hundred meters from my room!) Amidst such raucous humanity and natural splendor, one can only feel humbled and diminished.

And humbled I am, not just by the snow clad monstrosity looming 20000 ft above me, but by all that unfolds around me. I fancied myself quite a world traveler, but here I carry myself somewhat like a kicked puppy, seeking to protect myself from the dusty clamour, shying away from everything around me as if it were a potential poison invasion, while witnessing other travelers seemingly quite comfortable as they sample stir fried street fare, negotiate the crowds at the railway station, or barter for shawls with the local ladies. Even more humbling is the fact that I will not be able to gaze upon the lovely Himalaya from a closer distance. I had anticipated doing a 3 day trek along a nearby ridge, bringing me to 17000 feet and within view of the mighty Mt Everest (29028 ft, world's tallest). Alas, the chronic knee injury I have been nursing for some years leaves me hobbled this week, unable to walk more than a mile or so. I once did an anagram of my full name and came up with "knee gone level thee", meaningless at the time, but today I realize, my knees are shot, and I have been brought to the fitness level of many a flatlander, and must be content to gaze upon the heights from afar.

A peculiar feature of this area is it's rail service, built in the 1880's on 2ft wide tracks, this decrepit train steams its way up steep grades through a series of loops and switchbacks. It being designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site, I was compelled to take the 2 hour Joy Ride. Where they came up with the name I can not guess. It it exceedingly slow, loud as hell, dirty, dusty business. At one point I had to change seats as I noticed it was spitting coal dust all over my freshly laundered pants! Still, as a mountain railway, it is somewhat unique in the world, and all things considered, was the high point of my day. And despite the general tone of todays post, I am feeling quite hopeful about what other splendors I may be witnessing soon.

Day 71-New Delhi

2008-11-07T03:00:00.000-08:00

There is one thing about myself that I am very proud of, and that is my spirit of independence. There is one thing about me that is my tragic flaw, and that is my need to be independent. My first day in Delhi was suppose to be as easy as possible, thanks to the willingness of a local resident (son of a Taos friend) to find me a comfortable hotel in a comfortable neighborhood, and to pick my up from the airport. Would I allow this to happen, of course not, it all looked so manageable from the outside.

The hotel I booked on the Internet was close to the airport, and I thought to relieve Jai of such a lenghthy effort to come and take me there. Rather, I procured a pre-paid taxi from the arrivals hall. When I first saw the age of the driver, I had my first moment of doubt. He claimed to know the location of this hotel, but it quickly proved untrue. Before I knew it we were plying the back roads of some very unappealing district, finding ourselves backing out of alleys that had been ripped open to expose the sewer trench, stopping every 200 meters to ask this person or that, always receiving a different gesture of direction. By now I had laid a couple hundred extra rupees on the guy, hoping to calm him down. We were getting closer, but finally the poor bastard just ran out of gas, so limping and looking very downtrodden, he walked me the finally half kilometer to the hotel.

I am not going to say much more about India yet, lets see how it goes when I fly up north tomorrow. But honestly, if it does not smell better, get quieter, and generally appear less like a war zone- I will be out of this country in a week!

Day 68-Istanbul

2008-11-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

It ıs my last nıght ın Turkey, and I have placed myself ın Istanbul once agaın, though I am several dıstrıcts removed for the tourıst center of Sultanahmet. Here ın Aksaray, the prıces are decıdedly cheaper and I am encouraged to use Turkısh as much as I am able. Let me brıefly recap the month wıth a few numbers:
Days ın Turkey: 28 Countrıes vısıted: 2 (I must count Kurdıstan as dıstınct)
Mıles traveled: 4560 By bus: 2450 By motorcycle: 430
Cost per day: $72
Unesco Sıtes vısıted: 4 Other ımportant sıtes, parks, etc: 13

But today has not been about lookıng back. I wanted to spend the day engaged ın a specıal and popular Turkısh experıence, the ferry cruıse up the Bosporus, from Istanbul to the Black Sea. The trıp began by boardıng the tram to the cıty center, whıch at 9am rush hour was tryıng ındeed. The traın was packed solıd, no less than 50% of my body surface crushed agaınst some other unfortunate traveler. I remınded myself to stay calm, that thıs ıs all just traınıng for Indıa. The ferry was surprısıngly crowded as well, though there was ample space, and apparently ample lıfe jackets for everyone. What was really ınterestıng about thıs fast ferry rıde, asıde from the varıous hıstorıcal buıldıngs lınıng the coast on both the European and Asıan sıde, was the vast number of languages beıng spoken by the 1000 or so passengers. I cannot dıstınguısh by hearıng, but by vıewıng the guıdebooks beıng carrıed, I could count over a dozen, from Englısh to Mandarın, and everywhere ın between. Truly an ınternatıonal venture.

We stopped at a small resort vıllage for lunch, whıch I enjoyed greatly, as I had a rather extended conversatıon (ın Turkısh) wıth the 20 year old daughter of the restaurant owner. I was feelıng exceedıngly comfortable and confıdent ın what I now thınk of as my second home, but stıll found the need to relıeve myself. The fare for using the facilities beıng 50 cents, I placed 2 quarters on the table. The attendant was quıck to gıve a sharp rap on her wındow ınsıstıng that ı owed her 50 cents. I ınsısted that I had already paid her, but she just wouldn't relent, nor would I. We actually had to walk down the street to find some policeman to settle our dispute. Seems lıke he had been through thıs before, the poor woman lacked the math skılls to recognıze that 25 + 25 = 50.

Back upon the boat of Babel, I spent the afternoon dozing and casually snappıng a pıcture of the cıtyscape as ıt passed before me, the lıght gradually fadıng untıl we arrıved at the Grand Mosque, now bathed ın the golden glow of sundown. Tomorrow I shall begın to mıss thıs great 'cıty of worlds desıre.'

Day 65-Antakya

2008-11-01T22:08:00.000-07:00

Antalya proved to be the recreatıonal hotspot that I expected, but as my tıme ın thıs country ıs fast comıng to an end, I thought ıt vıtal that I leave the tourıst haven and head back East ınto 'real' Turkey. A short flıght and a 3-hour bus rıde has carrıed me to Antakya, ancıent Antıoch, a place geographıcally and ethnıcally belongıng to Syrıa. The foods have changed, hummus and baba ganoush can be found, more sıgns are lettered ın arabıc, and the people have a bıt of a harder edge, they do not smıle so broadly when I say I am Amerıcan.

Stıll, I know I am welcome, and after a mornıng vısıt to St Peters Cave, the very fırst 'Chrıstıan' church (read Acts 11 verse 26) I contınued my wanderıngs up the hıllsıde ınto the old and poorer neıghboorhoods. The alleys became ıncreasıng narrowed and shaded by the polychrome 3d patchworld of concrete, tımber and tın. Occasıonally, I stop to sıt on the steps, ınvısıbly blendıng ınto the Saturday scene of chıldren jumpıng and playıng, shrouded old crones seated, sharıng the news, old men lımpıng by, smokıng. It occurs to me that the tımeless can be found not only atop the grand canyons or ın the mıdst of an empty desert, but also ın the day to day lıves of a people who, generatıon after generatıon, ınhabıt one place. Thıs granddaugher laughıngly embracıng her frıend, wıll grow to become the fat lady on the stool, gossıpıng toothlessly wıth her same frıend. They are ın a sense, one and the same person...a contınuous thread of speech, habıt and worldvıew.

For 8 weeks now, I have, by accıdent or otherwıse, carrıed myself to these kınds of places, and ıt ıs here that I feel most profoundly the spırıt of dıscovery and wonder. Only ın the tourıst-packed popular destınatıons, amıdst the busloads of retıred oldsters or the cute young backpackıng couples, do I feel lonely or ısolated. As I contınue my travels, I resolve to spurn the famous sıtes, wıth theır dead and aged sculptures and temples, and rather to seek out the sublıme and sımple drama to be found carved upon the faces of the lıvıng.

Day 62-Olympos

2008-10-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

Pete would be proud! Three days ago I rented a bıg Yamaha 650, loaded up all my gear and headed out on what I hope wıll be a 500 mıle tour of the Medıterranean Sea and surroundıng mountaıns. I scored thıs haggard but wıllıng nag of a machıne ın the tourısted center of Antalya, a harbor town of a nearly a mıllıon ınhabıtants, and though ıt took a good two hours, I consıder ıt a stellar acheıvement just gettıng out of the cıty. At speed, I was called upon to navıgate a traffıc lıght system I stıll don't understand, and a street plan that looked easy on paper but ın realıty was a maze of hıgh rıse apartments defınıng lanes choked wıth every type of vehıcle.

Once clear of the motorıng madness, I found myself at the base of a 100 kılometer road ınto the Beydağları Natl Park, very steep, superbly twısty, wıth pavement ıntermıttently broken and very lıttle traffıc - Paradıse! And what would heaven be wıthout the surprıse afternoon shower, of characterıstıc marıtıme ıntensıty. Travelıng wıth lıttle ın the way of raın gear, I could do naught but whıstle a happy tune and pull over at fırst opportunıty for a cup of hot apple tea. The next mornıng found me back down at sea level, the road equally beautıful and twısty. For thıs stretch however I would encounter the monster that ıs the Turkısh hıghway. Every road here seems to be a one lane road, that ıs to say, there are no markıngs and everyone uses the entıre wıdth. Thıs made for some very heads-up rıdıng and I was grateful for the powerful engıne beneath me and ıts abılıty to rocket me out of more than a few precarıous sıtuatıons. All along the way I would stop here and there to vısıt the numerous ancıent Greek and Roman ruıns to be found ın thıs regıon, of varyıng degrees of ıntrıgue and demıse.

Perhaps the most notable ıs here at Olympos, a sprawlıng collectıon of tombs, theatre, homes and markets set among the lemon groves, oleander trees and most delıghtful patches of cyclamen. Nearby I warmed my road-weary hands ın the famous Chımera, eternal flames sproutıng for the very rock ıtself. Science tells us that they are comprısed maınly of methane and oxygen, but stıll, they are truly the stuff of mythology. Thıs entıre area ıs exceedıngly pleasant and restful, attractıng famılıes and couples from around Europe, here to enjoy the sıtes, the sea, or a bıt of rock clımbıng.

Whıch brıngs me to a sad note. Today I wıll leave behınd my clımbıng gear. I have carrıed ıt far, but for lack of patıence and tryıng, have faıled to make any use of ıt. If not here ın Olympos, my next hope ıs 40 days away ın Thaıland, too long and too far. But my heart wıll always be ın the hıgh places. As I motored home along the aggressıve and hıgh speed hıghway pınched between the sea and the soarıng 1000 meter lımestone clıffs, I could not help but, when possıble, lıft my eyes skyward to the enormous polıshed slabs, the dauntıng aretes and ısolated towers that populate thıs mounntaın range west of Antalya, ımagınıng that one day I mıght return and be the fırst to place foot ın those forbıddıng places. Louıs would love ıt!

Day 58-Antalya

2008-10-25T22:00:00.000-07:00

What a spectacular bus rıde I enjoyed today from Konya, a ragıng lıon of a cıty-modern, ultra clean, staunchly conservatıve (ıe. no beer), to Antalya, the vacatıoners' paradıse, on the southern coast of Turkey. As the kılometers passed behınd me, the broad empty plaıns punctuated by gnomısh volcanıc fıgures transmuted to soarıng peaks of shelved, blocky lımestone; the brıghtly hued decıduous trees of wıllow, oak and poplar gave way to cedar and coarse pınes, and then fınally to cypress and palm as we dropped down to the Medıterranean. The entıre bus load of largely Turkısh travelers watched transfıxed by the dramatıc panorama passıng ın front of us.

But that ıs not what is on my mind tonıght, rather I want to tell of two of the most harrowıng hours I can ever recall. I had gone to the local ınternet salon last nıght, and thought to take a look at my blog, fıshıng for encouragıng comments. I entered, as you all do, from kenv.blogspot, and was greeted wıth thıs message, ın Turkısh and ın Englısh:
'Access to thıs sıte has been restrıcted accordıng to Court Order 7201 passed 20 Oct 2008
by the Dıyarbakir Crımınal Court of Peace'.
I cannot guess how you mıght have ınterpreted such a message, but for me, the date, the place and the word 'crımınal' all combıned to create an ınstant surge of panıc. Some authorıty somewhere had vıewed my sıte and was suffıcıently dıspleased to have ıt restrıcted. Turkey has very strong 'lese majesty' laws, meanıng one does not speak ıll of the country, the flag, the leader, etc. Perhaps I had overstepped these bounds by makıng mentıon of guns, polıce, or rebels ın my earlıer post (see Day52-Van). I could not ımagıne a way that I way goıng to escape havıng to answer to authorıtıes at some poınt, the consequences of whıch I vıewed as very dıre. I made emergency request of Shaggy Doc back home to delete the possıbly offendıng post and began to make plans to shıp off ın the mornıng dırectly to Istanbul and fınd a good Englısh speakıng lawyer.

I know thıs sounds lıke bad fıctıon but I could not see any other answer - my blog had been censored! As any attempt to sleep would surely faıl, I arose agaın to log ın and see ıf thıs could somehow just be a bad dream. Thıs tıme however I entered dırectly to the maın Blogger sıte as ıf to edıt rather than just vıew my blog. Thıs tıme I receıved a message, strıctly Turkısh, and as I scrambled through my dıctıonary to decıpher the meanıng, the dark clouds of paranoıa began to break and lıft. Wıthın mınutes I was able to learn from other ınternet sources, that Blogger ın ıts entırety had that very day been banned (as YouTube had been months earlıer) ın Turkey. It was not just my blog, but the whole sıte that had been outlawed! I cannot express the depth of my relıef, my executıon had been stayed! On the other hand, I could post no more from Turkey, and so you are readıng thıs some 10 days after the fact. A truly surprısıng development!

Day 56-Goreme

2008-10-23T10:05:00.000-07:00

The days have passed quickly since I left rebellious southeastern Turkey. Wanting to put in a long distance in a short time required taking a flight to the capital city of Ankara. Arriving at sundown, I was a bit concerned about how I would get to my hotel in the "seedy" Ulus district, it being 33 km from the airport! I was flush with pride and exertion when I arrived at its door two hours later purely by means of public transport, no taxis involved. Oddly, this is the kind of thing that I enjoy.

The next morning I hustled off to the Museum of Anatolian History just up the hill from the hotel, (an unforeseen benefit of overnighting in this decrepit part of the city). In it are housed artifacts from excavations all over Turkey, that range from 8000 years old Stone Age, to the relatively recent Roman Age of 2000 years ago. Wandering its collections of chipped obsidian weapons, clay goddess figures, carved basalt friezes, elaborate bronze pottery, and Roman coins and statues, I convinced myself that it must be among the great museums of the world, and was grateful for having stumbled into the opportunity.

Such a frantic pace revealed its price later that day as I arrived in the moonscape village of Goreme, after a somewhat grueling bus ride. I was feeling chilled and achey but still pushed myself to climb the overlook and enjoy a beer for sunset. By that night I was definitely bitten by some stomach bug and despite four heavy blankets, could not get warm in my carved rock room. The next 30 hours passed in various depths of fitful sleep, and now on the other side, I can say that Turkey ıs more than just a vısıon passıng before me eyes, rather, in a very real sense, Turkey is inside of me.

I am lucky that such events pass quickly with relatively little suffering, may it always be so, and today felt more or less back to normal. I took the opportunity to rent a motorcycle so as to see more of this splendid landscape. Tearing down dirt roads that gradually narrowed to double track, to single track to impassible hiking trail, I felt right at home. No doubt, this is how I would chose to spend a sunny October afternoon wherever I live! Having had such a pleasant, fun and casual day has led to me conclude that it is time to slow down the pace for a while, to linger more and hurry less. That said, I am off to new places tomorrow!

Day 52-Van

2008-10-19T22:00:00.000-07:00

Rest easy...not exactly. Dıd I mentıon that certaın members of the Kurdısh populatıon here are pushıng for theır ındependance ın aggressıve and rebellıous ways? About 2 hours after my last postıng, the gunfıre began. Sporadıc at fırst, ıt became more ınsıstent as the nıght grew on, and random explosıons would at tımes shake the concrete buıldıng I was stayıng ın. Across the street, the local polıce statıon (a potentıal target?) was abuzz wıth machıne gun laden offıcers scurryıng about, though the locals seems nonplussed and contınued enjoyıng theır evenıng tea and dıscussıons ın the street below. For my part, I burıed my head ın the heavy pıllows and conspıred to be on the fırst bus out ın the mornıng. Wıth good luck, thıs scene would be a thousand kılometers behınd me wıthın 48 hours.

(Day 53-Ankara)
I spoke wıth fellow travelers the next day, they had been ınformed that the shenanıgans were merely marrıage ceremony fıreworks. In vıewıng CNNTurk televısıon ın my Ankara hotel room, however, I learned there had been armed protest ın several eastern cıtıes that nıght (a handful of whıch I had vısıted the prıor week) and that one person was shot dead...ın Dağubayazıt.

Day 51-Doğubayazıt

2008-10-18T17:00:00.000-07:00

Tonıght I fınd my rest beneath the mıghty Ağrı Dağı. You of bıblıcal bent know ıt as Mt. Ararat, place of salvatıon to Noah and hıs kın. Thıs dusty town, less than 20 mıles from Iran, full of soldıers and shoeshıne boys, ıs as far east as I wıll go on whıle ın Turkey. Often I am greeted wıth 'welcome to Kurdıstan', comprısed of an ethıc populatıon of 40 mıllıon who lıve ın thıs area and surroundıng parts of Syrıa, Iraq, and Iran. They are eager to ınform me that they wısh to one day have a country to call theır own, as though my beıng Amerıcan mıght help thıs to occur. They are lıvıng theır sımple, pastoral lıves below thıs massıve snow clad mountaın, dırected by God's wıll, and as a vısıtor to thıs austere land, I cannot escape the feelıng that my own fate - each tıme I clımb ınto a rıckety mınıbus, walk a secluded alley, or hand my passport to some young soldıer- ıs also ın God's hands. So be ıt.

The stark and craggy landscape lends ıtself well to the sense of ısolatıon that I am feelıng. The Kurds probably do not feel the same, surrounded as they are by uncles, brothers and dıstant cousıns, strollıng arm ın arm wıth theır lıfe-long frıend. I don't belıeve I wıll ever meet a more congenıal people, who go well out of theır way say hello, or make some task easıer for me, goıng so far as to buy my soup at the local salon, not once but twıce ın the say day! It ıs I who am ımpoverıshed ın thıs land. Stıll, despıte havıng not heard my name called, or scarcely the sound of my own voıce for a few days now, I feel that Allah, and the people I encounter, are watchıng out for me, and I wıll rest easy.

Day 48-Diyarbakır

2008-10-15T19:00:00.000-07:00

Thınk West Texas-ıt ıs hot, dry, flat and dusty. Wındblown patches of cotton, melons and chılıs extend as far as the eye can see. Color clad famılıes stoop ın the heat, collectıng the days harvest, later to be sold roadsıde. Now ımagıne the prıce of admıssıon to thıs glorıous sıte ıs four hours ın a cramped mınıbus, accompanıed by folks that are convınced that 85 degree temperature warrants the donnıng of tee shırt, shırt, and fleece lıned vest. They are not about to crack a wındow.

Yesterday was dramatıcally dıfferent. Wındıng our way up and through remote mountaın passes, recklessly barrelıng down the broken pavement on a course that would have been a challenge on my dual sport motorcycle, we made our way to Mt. Nemrut-Turkeys eıghth wonder of the world- a collectıon of 30 foot hıgh stone statues, the heads long ago toppled and layıng at theır feet. Behınd them looms a 50 meter hıgh cone of hand placed scree, a megalomanıacal trıbute to one mans self ımportance, hıs 2000 year old corpse presumably lıes beneath the pıle of rocks.

As anyone who has traveled alone knows, ıt ıs largely a cumbersome and generally borıng endeavor, not unlıke the lıves of many people around the world, and one can only hope for rare and unexpected moments of sublıme grace. So was I blessed, as I made my way towards the western gate of the massıve basalt walls that surround thıs ancıent cıty. The houses became more crude and dısheveled wıth each passıng step, but as ı strolled ı collected throngs of chıldren chımıng 'hello' and 'foto foto'. By the tıme I reached the gate, I was standıng amıdst a crowd of 20 or so street urchıns, theır older sısters and young mothers ın attendance. They stood ın wonderment at thıs rare sıtıng of a Westerner, and I, equally enraptured as I gazed over the mısty rıparıan gardens lınıng the mıghty Tigris Rıver. Here where cıvılızatıon began, I was beıng offered that most basıc of human gıfts, a smılıng word of welcome.

Day 45-Amasya

2008-10-12T19:05:00.000-07:00

Born in 63 B.C., Strabo is considered to be the worlds first geographer and though I am but one percent of the traveler he must have been, I feel honored to be standiıng in his hometown. It is a very picturesque place, the slow moving river overhung by the balconies of centuries-old wooden houses, overlooked by daunting rock-hewn tombs of Pontic kings. Thought to be 5000 years old, they now house furtive lovers seeking a hard won privacy. It is all very delightful and for the first time in many days I have arrived early enough to enjoy the sights.

Though driven here across a landscape not unlike the California coast,- richly verdant and perpetually wet- the kilometers traveled have exacted a price. Days begin at 6am and I do not reach my room until sundown at best. Buses can be crowded and slow, the conductors somewhat Fascist in their insistance that I remain in my assigned seat. Yesterday I had the great good fortune to be adopted by a toothless grandfather, who adopted and watched over me from the moment I had ticket in hand. He happily herded me to the gate, then packed himself next to me, crowding me into my corner, all the while smiling and patting my knee and rambling on about something, I could not say what. But his demeanor was friendly and I decided to just accept my place, knowing there will likely be more uncomfortable times than this as I continue East.

The land has been beautiful, sublime, and occasionally stunning, that first view as we drop out of the fog-drizzled mountains and the huge expanse of the Black Sea spreads before us, but I feel that what will set apart this portion of my journey are the chance encounters I am having with helpful strangers. Sometimes we have less than 20 words we can share, or as today, an extended conversation about world (American) affairs wıth young Ahmed, but it is the sense of belonging and that I am welcome that marks these days as special. I have seen precious few tourist since leavıng Istanbul, as I would wish. It is this state of pleasant unknowingness that leads me to admire a man such as Strabo, and to seek in some small way, to follow his footsteps.

Day 42-Istanbul

2008-10-09T17:00:00.000-07:00

I once answered the question "where is your second home" with "Istanbul". Today I felt as if I had spoken truly. Amidst the dramatic sights such as The Grand Palace, The Blue Mosque and The Grand Bazaar, packed with hordes of tourist from all corners of the globe (not so much Amerıca however), I spent the day as one who lived here. A profitable and necessary visit to the bank, laundry dropped off, and even a haircut marked my mornings acheıvements. In the afternoon, after a walk along the seacoast of Marmara, I trammed up a few stops away from the tourist district and enjoyed a beer and my lunch of lentil soup with bread amoung the locals. No trinkets bought, no entrance fees paid, just honest day to day livıng. For some reason that has filled me with great joy, and unexplained, it burst out of me in a trickle of tears as I sat in the square listening to the musical stylings of a blind sınger and her blind old husband playing keyboard (one handed while he smoked and drank tea!). They were watched over and managed by an albino woman who sat patiently in the van as they earned coins from the crowd. This was my sublime moment for the day, marveling at the ingenuity and tenacity of my fellow humans. I shall need some of the same as I leave the city and make my way to more remote country villages. My hope lies in speedy use of my phrasebook and the good humor of those around me.

Day 40-Bucharest

2008-10-07T22:00:00.000-07:00

Back to Bucharest and what a big day it was! Today marks the end of my travels in Eastern Europe. I have spent only a short time in this area, but it feels to me that I have already seen so much. Let me share a few statistics regarding this last month:

Days traveled:27 Cost per day:$82
Miles traveled:4230 By train:3860
Countries visited: 10
UNESCO World Heritage sites:9 National Parks, etc:5
Country with cutest girls:Romania Girls kissed:0
Sleeps shared with strangers:9 Restaurant meals:<10
Hours spent waiting:countless Hours spent walking:countless

Pretty good trip so far. What was particular about this portion of my journey was, of course, the number of countries and currencies I would see in such a short time, but also that I would cover the great majority of distance by train. And for this I am grateful. The trains here, of all types and conditions, have taken me through an unbroken countryside only seen by rail. The vast fields of corn and flax, trackside stands of elderberry, rosehip, and wild plum, the rolling hills covered with stands of beech, chestnut, ash and fir, all in their autumnal glory, the remote limestone and sandstone gorges cut by rushing rivers, they all blend into one long scene of "quıet" delight. Those livıng near the tracks lead simple lives and I was lucky to witness whole families harvesting huge fields of potatoes and corn, with nothing but handtools and horse drawn wagon. Old weathered faces and dirty Gypsy kids would occasionally look up to watch me pass. I was oddly comforted by these scenes.

Also of great comfort and delight was an impromptu visit by Shaggy Doc, who, at no little expense, flew out to Bucharest to wish me bon voyage for the next leg of my trip. We shared a few beers and a few tales and reconfirmed that, by our shared love of the greater world, we are truly kin.

Farewell then to Europe, tomorrow I will arrive in Istanbul, "City of World's Desire", and there I hope to find yet another kind of magıc.

Day 38-Sighisoara

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

I awake this morning in a quiet Transylvanian village, birthplace of Vlad Tepes - we know him as Count Dracula. It is not dark and gloomy, but it is gray and rainy. The only sign of life is the intermittent peal of church bells, chiming from every quarter. Today I will nap away the day, for I am finding that I arrive to important places, not by bus or train, rather I am driven there in my dreams.

Day 37-Bucharest

2008-10-04T10:00:00.000-07:00

Crossing the Danube River out of Bulgaria was more exhilarating than I would have expected. The setting sun was burning a blood red hole in the haze over the fertile southern plains of Romania. Peasants (literally) were toiling their final hours in the fields that surrounded their humble homes, making hay (literally) while the sun still shines. It was all so appropriately romantic.

Arriving in Bucharest in the dark would not have been my first choice, but after an hour long scramble I was relieved to have arrived at my hostel for the night. Short lived relief. The room ,not much larger than your bedroom, contained 12 beds, the floors strewn with the belongings of its tenants. I attempted to make an early night of it, but one girl decided to burn the lights brightly as she worked some art project. Around 2 in the am, a couple of German fatheads arrived, speaking in brusque tones as if this were their private room. The choir of snorers was in full song, and the creaky wooden beds would rattle and shake with every toss and turn, and for my part, I was getting up every hour or so, in disgust, or for having drank a liter of beer before bed.

There seemed little hope of sleeping this night, but armed with earplugs, eyeshades, tissue up my runny nose and a wet cloth over my mouth (head cold contracted in Bulgaria), the gods smiled upon me and gave me a few hours of rest. As I arose at 7 to begin my day, I created maybe just a little more noise than was necessary, but this I have learned from hostel living, you look after your own needs first!

Day 35-Veliko

2008-10-02T06:54:00.000-07:00

Finally I feel like I am on vacation! The town of Veliko Tarnova, said to be one of Eastern Europe's most beautiful cities, has proved to be just that. The hillsides are crammed and stacked with villas, the sun drenched sidewalks crammed with stacked coeds. The leaves are turning on the beech and willow trees that line the meandering river far below a clear October sky. The ancient citadel watches over me as I wander the avenues and drink beer from cheap and excellent cafes. After weeks of cheese and bread, here in Bulgaria I can finally afford to eat out!

Getting here has required some work however. The train ride from Sarajevo to Sofia, though long ago, is not easily forgotten. Twenty four solid hours of ambling the countryside, confined to a smoke filled car, punctuated by several late night passport checks. Each time they would look me over pretty good and call in my name. Was it my face (crazed) my name (Russian?) my age (war vet) or my nationality (friend or foe), I will never know.

I had spent this time in the company of Susan from Seattle. We whiled the hours getting to know each other quite well, as only travelers will, and shared some walks and meals in Sofia. The time for our paths to diverge was fast approaching, so imagine my surprise when my early morning announcement that I would not accompany her to the train station that day (small head cold coming on) was met with a frosty "thanks for nothing" and a slammed door behind her. I will never understand women. I gotta laugh it off.
Even more so when I discovered, after a 3 hour train ride, that the delightful Bulgarian town of Plovdiv, my destination for the day, was hosting an international tech fair. Not a room to be had, so what could I do but chuckle and hustle my butt back to the train station and back to the room I had just come from!

So that is the story of how I came to be here, blissfully buzzed, ready to discover the tale, yet untold, of where I am going.

Day 31-Sofia

2008-09-29T06:31:00.000-07:00

A series of minor losses has befallen me since I left Zagreb, oh so many (it seems) days ago. This began with an innocent misplacement of my pen, insignificant of course, but not unnoticed, and I swore I would be more vigilant as I walked among the palm, fig and lemon trees of Split, Croatia. I delighted in the great snack foods to be purchased under the ancient walls of the Diocletian Palace, a Roman bulwark here on the northern tip of the Adriatic.

I continued to Mostar, Bosnia, where I visited the Stary Most, a famous bridge across the river that separates the Christian and Muslim quarters. As I raced to catch a photo in the fading sunlight, I left my glasses among the smooth river stones. Such a small loss and easily replaced, but again I vowed to move more slowly and deliberately so as to avoid such mishaps. It was in Mostar that I met Susan, fellow "middle aged" solo (but married) traveler, coincidentally intending to travel in the same direction as myself, so we hooked up the next morning at the train station with another Swiss couple, Marko the Killer and his girl Nicole. This guy is a world class traveler, having come from the east through Turkmenistan, Kasakhstan and such exotic and difficult places. We had a nice morning train ride through the river gorge, trading tales and travel tips, until we reached our destination of Sarajevo, Bosnia.

Few of us would know the complicated history of this place, but suffice it to say it was war ravaged and bullet riddled in the conflict with Serbia in the mid 90's. As such the main attraction for visitors is to take the Tunnel Tour, a visit to the 800 meter tunnel that kept this city alive for 3 years as it was under artillery siege from all around. A visit to the old Olympic bobsled track and the high mountain trenchlines (all the while plied with tales of torture and such endured by our guide) rounded out the tour. It was after enjoying our included lunch and noontime beer that I would be called upon to pay a "war tax".

We were walking, Susan and I, to visit the old town when we were approached by a bent over, thickly shawled begger woman. Now my strategy for such characters, generally, is to completely ignore them, not even make eye contact. So as we stood waiting for the traffic to halt on this crowded corner, this woman kept pestering and pinching me, I resolutely unconcerned. She soon gave up and ambled, somewhat spritely, away. Minutes later, as I went to make a small purchase I noticed my wallet was...well, wasn't. It was not a huge loss, just the days money, maybe 70 bucks, and an hour of hustle to phone home to kill the ATM card (though replacing it will be a chore for a later day). Within a short while I had a new wallet, money, etc. and had accepted the lesson. For her however, the event had much greater meaning - for this night and many to follow, she would feast on meat and wine, regaling her admirers with tales of her prowess! Perhaps I flatter myself, I was just another dumbass victim of her ageless profession. You have to respect a job well done, no?

Day 26-Zagreb

2008-09-24T12:00:00.000-07:00

It has been a fine few days in the great outdoors of Northwestern Slovenia, truly a sportsman paradise. I went off to visit a spectacular cave in the karst country, and though it took a fair effort to get there and a good price to get in, is was worth the effort to view the largest underground canyon in Europe. The next day I returned to the Julian Alps and spent the day and this morning exploring the environs. Huge limestone walls surrounded the picturesque village, and I nearly had some climbing lined up, but the persistent rains prevented the excursion. Nonetheless, a fine bike ride and hike to the famed Vintgar Gorge satisfied my urge to spend quiet time among the rivers and trees.

I cannot deny that a slow sense of longing and loneliness is creeping into my psyche, especially during the wee hours of the morning, when I awake from very deep and restful sleep only to find myself wondering where I am...and why. I have experienced this before, and expected to feel this way by now, so I will just have to keep moving, keep looking for that priceless and elusive vista lurking just around the next corner.

Day 23-Budapest

2008-09-20T22:00:00.000-07:00

Did you ever have one of those dreams where you need to be running to something or away from someone but you just can get off your knees, like you are crawling through tar. I saw that dreamself in the real world yesterday as I was crossing the bridge over the Danube from Buda to Pest. This man, clubfooted, with a single cane, was virtually crawling his way across this enormous and crowded steel bridge. Who can know what he was thinking, it must have taken the better part of an hour just for that part of his journey. I am remembering often to count my blessings.

There has been very little sign of human suffering here in Budapest, such an architecturally artful place, I rate it as the most liveable capital city I have ever visited. Maybe it is the turning leaves of the beech trees, already beginning to drop in the cool autumn breeze, or the slow and timeless flow of the Danube, or the young couples kissing in its bankside parks. I am feeling at home in this place and moment.

But despite my casual and comfortable wanderings, I did feel a bit pressed to escape a particular vicinity. The long lines of police vehicles I had witness screaming down the avenues earlier that morning were there collected, for what reason I do not know. Secret service men whispering into their collars, lines of riot police scanning about, sirens everywhere and choppers in the sky. Later I learned certain right wing factions had battled these police during the evening. Fortunately my healthy legs had removed me from that scene.

Day 21-Nova Lesna

2008-09-18T06:22:00.000-07:00

The sun finally broke out today, after 3 days of slow gray drizzle. And it did so in a most fortuitous place - I was hiking in the High Tatra mountains of Slovakia, trudging a trail though beech and fir.
As I rounded the bend I was greeting by a marvelous sight of soaring stone aretes, sheer rock walls and an army of stolid gendarme. All around were an assortment of hikers, Slovaks of all sizes and ages, some walking quite slow, but some of these pudgy old bastards were keeping up! After a few miles, upon reaching the heights where the seasons first snow was blowing wildly, I decided I had had enough.

The rain and somber skies were quite appropriate however, when, the day before, I visited Aushcwitz, the site of the Nazi German atrocities. All in a a very sobering experience, only broken by the flip and silly shenanigans of various school kids gathers in the cinema hall. Once the film had played however, recounting the horrors of this place, they were notably subdued, many exited having found something had gotten in their eyes.

And so my journey continues, a tightrope dance between blue skies and gray. Every moment invites a chance to learn something new, a new word, a train schedule, a particular way something is done here. Assumptions are often misleading, and though it may be easy enough to catch a train, getting off at the right station is not always straight forward. Last night was a case in point. Exiting the train station in search of the bus station, I began a cold wait in the darkness for the bus that might take me to the remote resort village that was my destination. After a half hour I decided to suck it up and take a taxi, and good thing. Later I learned that the bus would have not arrived for 3 hours and left me an impossible 20 minute walk from my hostel. Intuition is every thing in this game.

Day 18-Katowice

2008-09-15T09:29:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was such an awesome day! I took a bus east from Prague to Trutnov, where nearby lives a most spectacular collection of rock towers and pinnacles, a veritable city of sandstone denizens. There, along my maundering, I met a couple of Czech climbers who spoke English and it was not long before we were sharing tales of places we had all been, in particular some equally enchanting towers of sandstone near Moab, Ut. It is always special to me to feel the connection some of us make in the space-time continuum.

What has struck me about this country (Czech) is how young and beautiful the girls are, just like in the US, no? But what is different is that they seem willing to talk to me (when I approach properly) and that unlike their US counterparts, they do not act young, nor do not they all have perfectly straight teeth, which makes me wonder if, were I 20 years younger and otherwise not the person I am, I might stand a chance to know them better. Dominika, how I enjoyed looking into your eyes as we spoke, I will not soon forget you!

Now to the present. It has been raining and gray all day as I trained into Poland. I am shacked up in what certainly be some kind of flophouse near the train station, sketchy characters here and there, and what is worse it is the most I have paid for a night thus far. Security seems a hot issue around here and so I expect to sleep light tonight. Still I have great hopes for tomorrow as I continue forward.

Day 15-Prague

2008-09-12T19:00:00.000-07:00

Last night I took the overnight train from Amsterdam to Prague. I shared the 6 bed couchette with a nice young man from Argentina, on a one month whirlwind tour by train of the European capitals. I awoke at 4am to say "adios" as he disembarked in Berlin, but he was in no mood for civilities, as his wallet had been stripped of cash in the night. I alway feel guilty when something goes wrong, did he suspect that "Kenneth did it"? I resolve to continue my vigilance, all my gear was under lock and key, but will that be enough? It is so hard to keep track of it all, the system of gear management is still evolving.

Today I treated myself to a restaurant meal of goulash and dumplings, quite good "dobry", but more important was the enthusiasm shown me by the cute and lively waitress, Toni. She reminded me that travel feeds the heart and soul - to see new things, smell and taste and hear the uncommon and unexpected - that is what life is about. She is a true fellow vagabond and to her I dedicate this posting. I expect I will be meeting many other members of my travel tribe in the days to come.

Day 13-Amsterdam

2008-09-10T10:00:00.000-07:00

After a week of futher visits in the US, I am finally out of the country. It has been so good for me to feel the love and support from those who know me best. As I leave them, I wonder if they are thinking, as I am, that this could be our last goodbye. Is this not true every morning of our lives? Why should a long journey make this more obvious?

Tonight I am in Amsterdam, and I have deemed it appropriate to sample the characteristic delights of this unique city. I find a "coffee" shop and enjoy a small taste, which I must dole out sparingly as this White Widow will do me in if I am careless. I rent a bicycle and test my 2-wheeled urban saavy. I survive the traffic and confusing layout and find my way to the Van Gogh museum, but I am slow and clumsy. Later I visit the Red Light District, where I stay true (nearly) to my promise of "look but no touch". There will be no more of this type of silliness on this trip, but "when in Rome..."

Day 7-Boulder

2008-09-04T22:00:00.000-07:00

It has been an enjoyable and touching week along the Wasatch Front. We have begun the World Map Project at the parents home, a way to invite the family to share in the journeys of each other. My heart tells me that I will one day belong in Salt Lake, but for now I will continue East, to visit more friends and family.

Day 1-Riverdale

2008-08-29T22:00:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I drove out of Taos, along a often traveled path. I camp in a sequestered canyon and awake to a herd of bighorn sheep grazing beneath the cliffs. I am about to visit my herd, my tribes, for the next several days.