Traveling in a Bucket.

This is overdue, but before it becomes OVER-overdue, let me comment and update a bit about my last couple of weeks of travel. (That's so sad to say- even looking at the sentence makes me melancholy).

Taganga was to Colombia as El Tunco was to El Salvador. Diving was to 26-year old Sam as Surfing was to 24-year old Sam. So then, all-night parties at Sensations is to _____ as totally off-her-face Sam is to 1,600 COP beers at Casa Felipe. Ya dig? If you do, you must have scored a lot higher on the SATs than I did.

I expected Taganga to be a hole. And it was. A hole-lotta-fun. (Har. Being at home has made me an idiot). There were too many tourists, there were no cheap places to eat, and I was there just, ... way... WAY too long. My friend Rob once commented, after I boldly claimed that I'd be leaving that night, "Yeah, yeah, Sam... I'll see you tomorrow morning". -sighs- To be fair, I didn't see him until the following NIGHT. I probably could have stayed longer if I hadn't gotten into a massive fight with the Bayview Hostel manager. I'm not sure what makes me such a pugnacious person after 21 months on the road. Maybe it's just my inherent spunk, or maybe it's that 270,000 COP went missing out of Ishrat's money belt WHILE it was locked in the hostel safe. I'm not sure what happened, but I was with her all day, so I know she wasn't making shit up. Perhaps leaving the keys to the hostel safe laying about all day seems to be a perfectly responsible way to ensure the security of the patron's belongings, but somehow, it didn't work. Anyway, a couple mornings afterwards, I served as a translator for Ish and the local police. A few hours later, I became the translator between Ish, the local police, and the hostel manager.

I won't go into too much detail about what happened next, but I WILL mention that the hostel manager threatened to have me deported for helping to translate her side of the story to the police. FOOSBALL TABLE BE DAMNED!! I'm never recommending that hostel again! HEED MY WARNINGS: BAYVIEW HOSTEL IN TAGANGA IS A PIT.

OK, anyway. What else? Oh, yes... DIVING! I'm not sure why I signed up for my PADI. Maybe it's because I desired to learn something new before the termination of my trip, maybe it's because my friend Melissa once commented that you could "travel every city in every country in every part of the world... but you'd still only have seen one THIRD of it!", and maybe it's just because I was tired of being left out of conversations. Whatever the case, I fell absolutely in love. Diving isn't extreme, per se. I wouldn't even call it a sport. It's... something else. Something awesome. Anyway, I finished my PADI open water with this guy- Stephane, my happy French instructor. Then, I went for my very first night dive with Deanna and Jayme--- very "S.A.S", as Jayme would say. I felt like I should have been walking in slow motion to the boat. We all looked very cool in our wetsuits and gear, zipping off into the night- "Dive! Dive! Dive!"

Shit, this is going to be a long post.

Anyway, I FINALLY managed to peel myself away after just, way... WAY too long. It's a shame that Taganga sucked up so much of my time- I would have liked to have saved more for Guajira, my next (last) Colombian adventure. I'm not sure what to say about it except that it is the first place in a long time that I felt was one of the LAST places that was truly unspoilt. Of course, with tourism exploding in Colombia the way that it has been, it won't stay that way for long. I met a funny Irishman named Sean on my way from Uribia to Cabo de la Vela, then met up with Michel, a Spaniard who greased the wheels into Punta Gallinas for us. While I adored Sean, I think I might just make a note about Michel here. There aren't many people that bring their zeal for life into everything that they do, and treat everyone they meet with the kind of enthusiasm and curiosity that befits a "true" (if it's not lame to use that word) world traveler. Michel was one of those people. To be fair, he'd only been on the road for 3 weeks or something, so he wasn't burnt out yet, but I admired the passion with which he did everything-- something that I lost around the time that I left the monkey farm in Ecuador. He also gave very nice foot rubs and seemed to have a nose for tienditas that sold chocolate on the near uninhabited northern tip of Punta Gallinas. The man was a god-send.

I'd like to also write some about Laura, Franz, and the funny Uribian family we met on our way back, but there's just no space.

Instead, I'll post a video of myself in a bucket.

That was near Los Filuos, about half an hour away from the Colombian-Venezuelan border.

VENEZUELA

To be honest, I was afraid of Venezuela. It was going to be the last country of my trip, and I could just imagine the gifts and keepsakes I'd amassed getting stolen from my hotel room, or by local police while checking my bag for "drogas", or getting into some argument while exchanging money on the black market and ending up in prison, or getting shot in the face for being American, or getting shot in the face for being loud and pushy, or getting shot in the face just because I'm so afraid of getting shot in the face. I don't know. Generally, when being told not to go somewhere by other people, I roll my eyes, drum my fingers, and mutter "yeah, I know" until they stop talking, then I resume thinking and being happy. Venezuela was the exception. I was told, repeatedly, but a multitude of hardy travelers, locals, Colombians, and even Venezuelans: "DON'T GO THERE". It made an impression.

I don't know if it's because of my fear and low expectations, or if it's because that's just how it is, but Venezuela was, far and away, one of the BEST countries I've ever been to. Yeah, yeah, I know, I was only there for a week. In one week, though, I managed to reawaken to the pleasures of traveling, really connect with the local people (there were no other travelers), and to be truly touched by the grace, generosity, and unlimited kindness offered by the Venezolanos. If they'd been any shorter, I would swear they were Burmese.

This may be the only sentence of its kind in existence, but I'm just going to say, "Venezuela blew Colombia out of the water". I'm going back. Period.

Let me just note one particular experience here. I came to Venezuela straight from Punta Gallinas. This is not an easy trip- it includes a 2 1/2 hour boat ride at 4am, followed by 4 hours in the back of a pickup over a road that looks like this. Then another bus to 4 Vías, then another to Maicao, then the border, then another 4 hour bus down to Maracaibo, where I spent the night in a profusely air-conditioned bus station waiting room, sitting upright with my bag on my lap. This is all in incredibly flooded territory. I might as well have swam to Maracaibo, that's how wet it was. Here's another picture just to prove that I'm not full of shit. I didn't PLAN to do it in one day, it just kind of happened that way. Upon arrival in Maracaibo, on the outskirts of the city, on some darkened street, I was told by a passerby that local transport had stopped. This was devastating. I didn't have many bolívares, didn't have any idea where I was, didn't have any muscles (or even cool rough-'hood sounding slang) with which to defend myself, and DID have all of my possessions and loads of US dollars on me. Not ideal. I started to freak. I hadn't slept a proper night in a long time, and had eaten a lot of low-quality chocolate sloshed back with a Venezuelan "Inca-Kola" equivalent. I lost my head and started muttering and wandering in circles.

The passerby which had delivered the dark information waited around to help me hail a taxi to a part of town close to the bus station where I might find a cheap (prostitude-filled) hotel for the night. He must have felt really bad for me, because, leaning into the cab, he whispered something to the driver, helped me in, and then stuffed a wad of notes into the driver's outstretched palm before walking briskly away. I was well taken care of for the (long) ride into the center of town, and would have been driven from hotel to hotel until I found a suitable room if I hadn't decided to stay in the terminal and catch the first bus out in the morning. I never even got the opportunity to properly thank him.

So, pair that with the natural beauty of Andícora, the laid-back (and yet still very lively) vibe of Coro, and the yummy strawberries and cream in Colonia Tovar, and you've got the week I spent in Venezuela. The last couple days were spent in a mad rush to make it to the airport in time, and the last few hours were spent sleeping in the airport when I made it much too early for my flight. Venezuela~ Oh, Venezuela. I loved you.

Anyway, it was flight after flight after (delayed) flight, and I found myself in Junaid's car, zipping across the 280 to my parents' San Ramonian abode.

I'd like to do a wrap-up blog here about my trip as a whole, but I just don't think it'll fit. Plus, I'm riding tomorrow. God, I'm so stoked to get back to the snow.

Colombia... Colombia! Oh... Colombia!

I left San Gil after 8 days or so of Tejo-playing, karaoke-singing, and general shenanigan-making with a fun little group of Poms, Irish, Welsh, and an Israeli or two. Most of my time there was taken up by waiting for the river to be raftable. Incessant rainfall ruins all plans! Happily, I was holed up in one of the best hostels I've stayed in all trip. Amazing how much a servicable oven can brighten my day... I hadn't BAKED anything in well over a year. Well... not baked... well, you know.

Cartagena was... nuts. I decided to skip on the celebrated Medellin in favor of being in Cartagena for the Independence Day festivals. Marvelous decision for my long-term plans. Terrible decision for my wallet and liver. This is Joel after less than an hour on the streets. Tut Tut. We partied HARD from Thursday through Saturday. Somehow Caz, Lee and I found ourselves dancing in the rain, covered head to toe in foam while a large group of Colombians clapped their hands in unison and chanted "Hey- Hey- Hey!" As much as I was determined to dislike Cartagena (just because EVERYONE raves about how great it is), it actually lived up to all the hype. Gorgeous colonial buildings, incredible historical significance, a sweet party scene, and 5,000 COP menu del dìas. I'm in heaven! It also helps to be with people you like, and this crew--- this one right here, was the first I'd had since my beloved Swedes that knew how to get down. Special tribute to Kathryn and Simon for partying from 7pm until their flight to Leticia at 6am- straight. You do travelling an honor by being out here, you two. You really do.

I pissed off to Tolú and Coveñas for a few days to detox and see a bit of the less travelled Caribbean coast, and was well rewarded with sunshine, pristine beaches, and a slushie man who was hell bent on learning 1-10 in English in exchange for bottomless slushies. However, as much as I loved the slushie and the man, in a mere couple days, I was back to Cartagena, back into the company of Rob and Richie, and back on the road to beautiful Taganga, an (extremely touristy, though) lovely little travel gem to the east of Santa Marta. Here we met up with Caz once more and went out for a few messy nights at the beachfront Sensations. Can't say we did much else. From there, it was on to Parque Tayrona (excellent) and then Palomino (excellent, though windy). Holy shit, I'm flying through this post. NOT much to say about any of those places except that they were beautiful and fun and I ate lots and lots of VERY cheap seafood. In Palomino, Jayme and I came across a fishing boat just in from the ocean. Spying a bottom filled with freshly caught shrimp, we asked if we could make a purchase. The shrimp wasn't for sale (some crap about having to bring it in to the owners of the boat), but the fishermen offered us a bag containing 4 rock lobsters. 15,000 COP. 7 USD. We bought. We ate. We passed out. The next day had me hobbling into town and returning with half a kilo of fresh prawns and 3 fish. That, along with some empanadas, cereal, fruit, yoghurt, pasta, tomatoes, garlic, onions, a 5 litre bag of water, lime, and some other odds and ends cost us 7 USD a piece. Also, in exchange for being a lazy git and laying in a hammock while I walked into town with a punctured foot ALONE to bring back food, Jayme took on all the responsibilities of cooking. Red Snapper wrapped in banana leaf... garlic shrimp pasta... oh good lord. It was also here that I learned how to scale a fish. Look at me scale!

Anyway, I'm back in Taganga now, getting my PADI certification and enjoying the sunshine before parting ways with my UK-born company. I think I'll do a separate post about diving, because it's the first thing I've come across in well over a year that I've completely fallen in love with... it really shouldn't be smashed in with anything else. Strange how I've saved it for the second-to-last country on this trip, when I could have done it in the second-to-first. Anyway, I'll get on with that in the next.

money money money money!!!!

So I've been thinking recently about different travellers' attitudes towards giving local children money/candy/toys. Everyone seems to have different opinions on this, although very few other travellers seem to feel as strongly as I do about the issue, and generally never raise it as a topic of discussion when they see it happen before their eyes.

Yesterday, I was walking with a group of three Irish and one English as we negotiated a scenic little hike from Barichara to Guane when we happened upon some local children. After some friendly kid-type chatter, we continued on. A few steps beyond, however, one of the girls turned around and ran back to the kids to give them a packet of chocolate cookies to share. The walk continued in silence for a step or two before another girl began a discussion that went something like this--

Girl A- Don't you think it's a bad idea to give things to children?
Girl B- Why?
Girl A- Because it entirely shifts the traveler/local relationship. You teach them that foreigners are good for THINGS, not for experiences or friendship.
B- I don't think that they relate the two.
A- I think they do. India used to be like Colombia once.
B- You can't compare India and Colombia.
A- Why not?
B- Because the two are completely different.
A- What's so different? We're talking about underdeveloped country and underdeveloped country. India was once undertraveled, and the children there were once just happy getting attention from strange looking people.
B- Well I don't give a fuck. Sometimes it's just nice to be nice.

Just a hint. Girl A was me.

We walked in silence for a bit longer (and indeed, most of the rest of the walk) until we got into town. From there, we hopped into a taxi which started another "discussion" (more like loaded argument) about what it was like to travel on a small budget and what it was like not to.

I had a very hard time getting along with this girl.

Anyway, I've been gone for a bit now, and some of my general travel mantras have become as good as cement. However, the very purpose of travel is to see things from a different perspective and to try to understand people, if not entirely agree with the things that they do... so read on and if you've got a good argument, lemme know.

While I was in Burma, I met an American schoolteacher who had brought an entire suitcase filled with crayons and coloring books and pencils to give to the children of the country. I was dumbfounded. In a country where the people ask nothing but respect and courtesy (and some of the time, not even that!) from their foreign guests, she was introducing materialism. For kids who would've been happy shaking our hands or playing with our hair, the idea that people that look different would and SHOULD (after a traveler or two more follows suit) give material gifts has suddenly become standard. She only had one packet of crayons with her at one particular stop, and after giving it to one child and instructing her to share (the kid bolted down the street in no time), we were pestered non stop for close to 15 minutes by the ones that HADN'T gotten anything, when prior to that, all they had wanted was to practice their English.

Dude.

When you go to an underdeveloped country, you are rich. You are rich in money, you are rich in experiences, and more than anything, you are rich in opportunity. There's no denying that. Any person with half a soul would and should feel at least a twinge of desire to "spread the wealth" so to speak. The easiest way that this is done is taking money out of your pocket and dropping it into the hands of the less privileged... which is what most travelers (including a host of those whom I love and respect... whom are equally if not more well travelled than I am... and whom, arguably, have more compassion than I do) decide to do.

My feeling is as follows. Yes, you are rich. You are extremely rich, and the majority of the people I've met travelling are rich in the most precious commodity that any of us have--- freedom of time. That being said- instead of dropping money, why not drop a week or two at the local school teaching English? People are so willing to leave behind presents of money or THINGS, but almost always stoutly unwilling to give up any of their own personal freedom. Moreover, if they do choose to give money, they never give it to the school, hospital, or soup kitchen, who could use it most wisely to help the most people... they always give it directly to the beggars.

I'm not going to say this is selfish, because it's not... but handing money to the indigent of a country instead of even taking a moment to consider how far it could stretch in the hands of the people who are actively devoting their lives to eliminating the PROBLEM is downright stupid. It's buying forgiveness, and buying the pleasure of seeing them made happy. Maybe giving those few pesos to a school won't earn you the grin of a cute little kid... but it'll buy pens and notebooks for 5 kids instead. Maybe it's not glamorous to be digging around in horseshit on some organic farm (when you could be out doing something far less feces-related instead), but every bulb you plant and every cow you milk is saving the farmer hours of backbreaking labor by himself so he could be a better father to his kids, while simultaneously pushing the country further away from genetically modified crops (lessening their dependence on the US based companies that make them).

I know there are a million arguments to the contrary. For people who don't have TIME, as well... the ones who still have jobs or who are on a short holiday... I can't possibly reproach them for helping out in the way that seems most direct. But for long-termers, the ones that go for 5, 7, 20 months without even considering volunteer work, and who pay off their guilt by giving money and sweets instead (and usually posing for a photo shortly after)--- I really can't understand. I don't understand at all.

Anyway, I'm expecting to get it for this post, as it's a loaded issue, and I hope someone that can come up with good enough arguments to move me, because that short-sighted cunt from yesterday certainly couldn't.

According to the date, this post is overdue.. but in actuality, it hasn't even been a month since my last post. Silly time-stamps--- date-posting is for kids.

I don't want to go too far into detail about Canoa and all the hijinx there, but I WILL tell you this--

1- Anybody who thinks that just because they're born in a town, they're automatically allowed to treat people however they want is delusional and small. Not today, you won't... and not while I'm here. Maybe you have more friends here, but I have no criminal history and can get to the border by sunrise. You really wanna push things?

2- Surfing is really something I think I can fall in love with. While pretty much NONE of it resembles what I do on the mountain (for example, I can't remember the last time the mountain pantsed me), there's really nothing better than going out and getting proper bludgeoned by the elements.

3- Apparently inviting people to come party with you is the exact same thing as saying "I'll put out". Did I miss something? After having a long, sit-down conversation with an eager-beaver about how I was NOT going to have sex with him, although he was welcome to sleep at my place, I thought I had finally reached an understanding,... until an unnamed Dutch aquaintance barged in, drank all my water, and then remarked "Don't worry... whatever she says- she's real easy. -hic!- REAL easy". Thanks a lot, bro.

So, Oscar, Josie, and myself left Canoa about a week ago. We braved the busride to Quito (7hrs), then another to the border (5hrs), and Oscar went on to Bogota (24hrs) while myself and an Ozzie made our way to Popayán (8hrs). To our surprise, EVERYTHING was full. Walking around at 2 in the morning after 20 hours of transit (which started with a hangover) is no fun. A cheeky policeman whom we asked for shelter offered me a place in his bed, and I damn near accepted. Do what you want... just don't wake me up.

In an effort to escape the hoards- Rob and I made our way to Buenaventura, a disgusting little port town on the Pacific Coast- then on to Juanchaco and Ladrilleros, an island out at sea reached only by a panic-filled, thoroughly vomit-inducing boat ride manned by this guy. Hahah. That's a real sea captain if I've ever seen one! Arriving battered, soaked, and suddenly aware that I didn't bring enough money for more than a couple days--- we checked into the first hostel that offered hammocks, only to realize that it was a horrible, horrible mistake. The room itself wasn't too bad. Rob's bed was okay, although mine resembled something out of the movie "Roots". It was the kitchen, and the owner himself. Since neither of us has much money, it was important that we could cook all the food we had brought with us from Buenaventura. Showing us the impressive kitchen, the owner claimed that we could cook whatever it was that we brought, and more. So much more.

We later came to find that the grease-filled pots may have come in all shapes and sizes... but there wasn't a single pan to be found. Plates, but no forks or spoons. THREE stoves, but no gas! We ended up trying to cook everything in the most assaulted rice cooker I've ever laid eyes on. I will not be held responsible for what came out of that thing! The owner also set up tours to go see the whales off the coast. Unfortunately, he neglected to tell anyone that the price was actually 25,000 instead of 20,000... and as well as neglecting to tell me that he would lock me into the hostel while he took everyone else out to see them! I ended up jumping onto a shivering huddle of neighborhood children that had interlocked their arms red-rover style. A diet of rice and beans really doesn't prepare you for 115 pounds of flesh heaved out of an upstairs balcony.

Happily, we managed to catch some waves (the entire purpose of the trip) early the following morning, and Rob rode some in before getting horrendously sunburnt. Arian people should always remember to load up on the 'screen. The burn looked freaking horrible, and he flinched every time I poked at it. If a hardened country boy from rural Tasmania says it hurts... it probably hurts a lot. Anyway, he ventured out to go find some aloe vera that afternoon, but somehow came back with a bottle of liquid laxative instead. I'm not sure what happened.

Paseo de Los Monos.

I find it irritating that if I manage to get my hands on a computer that has functional Skype, then it won´t read my camera. If it has Skype and the camera works, then there´s something wrong with Flickr. Christ. Anyway, I´ve spent the better part of the last hour clicking on ¨acciones¨ in Flickr in the attempt to update my photos. It didn´t work. NOT MY FAULT!

Anyway, fuck that. I´ll just tell you what I´ve been doing for the last week.

In an attempt to re-live my days at Yassi, I went in search of some volunteer work in the Ecuadorian jungle, and came upon a little town called Puyo with a monkey rescue center in need of help. Kind of. I think they mostly take on volunteers to make sure that there are other moving objects around for the monkeys to bite and poo on. I´m not sure what to say about this except that this is one of the best things I´ve ever done traveling. I´m not sure if it knocks Yassi out of the water... but it really makes me reevaluate my time there. No cages, hardly--- more contact, more kisses, and unfortunately, more poop. I´ve been crapped on so many times in the past week that when I awoke this morning in my hostel in Baños, I was alarmed that I wasn´t immediately welcomed into my waking state by the stench of shit.

I spent about a week constructing a giant cage, preparing food, and fending off a crazed capuchin that made ripping out my ACL his number one priority in life. He managed to get a pretty good chunk out of my right leg before I punched him with a piece of corn right on the eye. Beating things up with corn is not a good idea. First they will bite you. Then they will eat the corn. It´s very lose-lose.

Ecuador has been pretty good so far. It´s not the kind of place that makes me go ¨oh my god, I wish I was dead because my brain can´t handle all this awesomeness¨.... but it´s a good medium between Peru and Colombia. There are also decent movies playing on the buses here. The Spanish version of Jaden Smith´s ¨Karate Kid¨? An excellent way to pass the 2 hour ride from Baños to Puyo. All three times that I did it. I also got to do some kick-ass Level 3 rafting yesterday for about 10 bucks. Not bad.

One thing that DOES suck is the complete lack of competency of the bus companies here. Christ, even Peru was better. So... I was planning to leave Baños on Sunday night... never mind how hung over I was from Saturday... to make sure I could get to Montañita with time to spare before my birthday. I bought a ticket for 30 minutes past ten at night. I arrive at thirty past ten and proceed to wait for something like an hour and a half for a bus that apparently took off on time. FOR THE FIRST TIME IN SOUTH AMERICAN HISTORY. The bus company refused to transfer my ticket to the next day, so I bought yet another ticket, deciding to swallow my irritation, because... after all, I should have been early. The following day, Nadine and I head down to the station half an hour early so as not to miss the bus (again). Upon our arrival at a bit before ten, we get accosted by a man who starts shouting at us to ¨Sube! Sube! Sube!¨our bus so it could take off half an hour early. I wasn´t even fully in before the driver started plowing down the road at a vomit-inducing speed. Nevertheless, Nadine and I tucked ourselves into our seats, snuggled up with some pashminas and jackets, and fell asleep.

Roughly an hour later, we´re told to ¨Baja! Baja!¨... since our bus is apparently dumping us on another bus headed the same direction, as OUR bus company couldn´t be buggered to actually TAKE us where they were supposed to. Happily, this bus is marvelously empty, and Nadine takes three seats while I take two, and for almost 3 hours, she dozes peacefully, burritoed in her sleeping bag while I shiver and mutter as much profanity as can escape my frost-covered lips. When I finally manage to get to sleep (emptying my purse and using it as a potato-sack-like device to cover my legs), we´re awoken AGAIN and told to get the fuck down, as THIS bus is apparently experiencing technical difficulties. Our final bus is the closest thing I can compare to an outhouse on wheels. I´m too tired by this point to protest, and I manage to fall asleep in the lap of the teenage girl seated next to me.

An hour after that, we´re then told to get down so we can submit ourselves to the police check. Getting frisked by jackasses with batons was the least-crappy part of this trip.

Then we arrived in Guayaquil.

Fuck, this post is taking me entirely too long. Let me just sum up my birthday so that this doesn´t end up being a freakin´novella. My birthday was excellent. I partied. Very... very hard. Unfortunately, this alleged partying didn´t involve Quito Fest, and didn´t involve other English-speakers. While Argentinians are impossible to understand by day... by night, nobody gives a fuck and it all comes down to how many shots you can take. A silly civil uprising delayed my plans to spend my big day on a bus (with visions of whales swimming in my head), and I didn´t get to Quito until Saturday morning... just in time to find out that Quito Fest was cancelled. I wont´go into too much detail... but I decided to just get obliterated and it ended up being a pretty decent alternative. I suppose that´s all.

Fuck I need to update this blog more frequently because now it doesn´t make any sense at all. Oh, but I should boast that the ¨Cambodia¨and ¨Myanmar¨tabs up top have been updated.... erm... half a year late. Oops!

Oh, by the way--- I know there´s like, no photos on this post, but I haven´t uploaded them yet. I´ll get around to it!

I'm on my last day here in Peru, and although I feel like I should be updating updating updating about what's been going on... it's all been going off without a hitch. Not too story-worthy, I'm afraid.

Since I left Huaraz (and I do miss it and think of it often--- Benji, Davíd, Leo!!! Donde están??) I've been far snugglier and much more tan than I've been since leaving Indonesia. I spent something like 8 days in Huanchaco... a place I had planned to scorn for its cemented spot on the gringo trail... but somehow-- I'm not sure HOW... I ended up loving it. DAMMIT HUANCHACO! I was only supposed to spend 2 days in you--- and somehow I ended up blowing all my time eating yummy food and joking with my Peruvian students. I took some more Spanish classes there with a guy named Manuel (REALLY good course- people need to tell me if they're headed to Peru- I'll hook you up) who was also doing English classes for Peruvians who wanted to work for Carnival or Royal Caribbean. Guess how much they get paid to work 12 hours a day (normal- 14 hours a day when they have inspection), 7 days a week, not a day off, for 8 months?

500 bucks a month. Pre-tax.

There´s something heartbreaking about that. If you really like your students, which is pretty much guaranteed if you met this bunch... it'd kill you to drill them on interview questions whose answers are pre-created with the intent of making these kids seem like they are willing to endure just about anything for the piddling amount they'd receive. Cruise lines don't take people who complain.

YEAH, I KNOW I KNOW. It's a lot of money in Peru. I get it. But look at this. The average cruise to South America from LA averages 1,019 bucks. That's the starting point, like... if you're sleeping in the lowest deck, just the basics. One person. The average galley sla-... ahem... I mean STEWARD (the word ¨slave¨keeps just falling out of my mouth when I use that phrase) gets roughly $1.34 bucks an hour for busting his ass. That´s pre-tax.

The worst thing is that the kids are scrambling all over themselves to get these jobs. Oh, and they have to PAY to even take the interview exam ($20 USD--- more than a week´s wages for most of them). This is simply because there IS no other work. I'm going to get heat for getting all riled about this, but I'm riled. RILED I SAY!

Anyway, getting them ready is what I did for about a week. The interviews came and 4 of ours passed. Only 1 got through to the final round--- the others didn´t have the money to pay for the interview.

That's fucking mierda.

OK, fine--- comment away. I know... I know... economic differences, hiring out of country... etc etc etc. I still think it´s bullshit.

Anyway, after that, I went a-racin' up to Máncora, which is where I am now. Almost threw my bag onto a bus bound for Lima (whoops!)... but I managed to make it here alright. Loving it here... particularly loving the dollar plato of ceviche at the mercado... but I'm itching to get north. Ecuador calls!

I'll post photos soon. Particularly of Cambodia til now. Waiting til I settle somewhere long enough to fight with Flickr.

Dogs, dogs dogs...

So, I´ve been in Peru for something like 8 days now, and I´ve only just gotten my sleep schedule oriented... much to the applause of all the other people sharing my dorm with me. Awake before noon? Impossible!

I´m in a place called Huaraz, an excellent little mountain town in the northern center of the country, famous for the numerous treks that go into the Cordillera Blanca and back. It totally reminds me of Cuzco... with it´s winding streets and colonial feel. The only thing I´m missing is a group comprised of 3 Dutch girls, 2 Swiss guys, and a Swede. Oh, how I miss you all! Happily, I´ve managed to fashion another group to ease my woes. 2 French girls, an Austrian, and an Israeli. I suppose they´ll do! (just kidding you guys! You know I love you) Here´s a photo of us at Laguna Churrup- taken from our trek yesterday. Something about scaling a rock face over a raging waterfall sans ropes on a windy and rainy day brings people together. It was about 3 hours up, 2 hours down... slippy and scary at parts... but with algunos perritos to guide us. Man- I love street dogs in Latin America.

To be fair, I haven´t managed to get too much done since I´ve been here. My first day in the city, I received very sorrowful news regarding my dog´s health, which was then followed by even worse news which I suppose you can infer. I guess it´s better that it happened here, in a city where I may not know anyone very well... but at least I´m not back in Mildura! Something about the traveling spirit extracts the very best out of the people who partake in it, and the two French girls and wonderful Peruvians I´ve met have been absolutely golden in helping me keep myself occupied. There is also a hostel bunny that has been filling my days with furriness and fat. At times he wiggles away for fear I´m going to pop him... but generally, he has been something of a painkiller. I´m not sure what else to say except that hearing about the passing of someone who´s considered to be the absolute heart my family had me incapacitated for a few days. Fucking mierda. Te extraño Tani. Te extraño.

In the effort to fill my time and give less space to grief, I´ve also begun language school here, in one of the TWO language schools in the city. Both of them are nosebleed expensive, and the one I picked seems to be completely unprepared to handle actual students. I went for my first lesson the day before yesterday, and paid close to 25 dollars (a fortune in Peru) to be taught that yo is I and tú is you. Ya puedo hablar español, puta! I´m going back for round number 2 today. It´s like sleeping with someone for the first time, and you realize that it´s bad... but you go back again just because you want to be absolutely sure. It´s painful and embarrassing for you both... but you can´t seem to help yourself. -sighs-

After that, I´m on to Trujillo, a town on the northern coast, on my way to Ecuador. I´m a little concerned about what appears to be a staph infection on my leg (thanks a lot, Matt!)... but it wouldn´t be my first brush with odd bacteriums. The thing is- I don´t mind picking up strange and exotic diseases while I´m in strange and exotic countries. My problem is that I got it in Australia.. which is neither strange nor exotic. It´s so clean there! How can this be??

Hmm... other than that- I´m in love with South America in a way that I could never seem to fall in love with any other region. Central America was good, the Indian subcontinent and South East Asia great... but there is just something... I don´t know... sexy ....here. I´m so god damn happy on this continent- it´s going to be tough to go home. I suppose the only thing I´m missing is a certain hazel-eyed Adonis... but that will come. The window will open! Sometime.

Last week in Oz!

I think you should be excited right now. This post is coming with pictures!

See?? Lookie how many pictures!

The odd thing is that I don't think I have a single picture of Mildura, the spot that occupied most of my time on this continent. Oh, no- wait. I have this one.

This is Simba- the year-and-something old dog that had yet to be potty-trained. I think he was the only member of the household that didn't irritate the fucking shit out of me. His head is deceptively large. Had I gotten a full-body pic, you would have noticed that his body is horrifically out of proportion with his massively large noggin. He's still pretty cute though. So cute, in fact- that even though between the hours of 6pm and midnight, the majority of my time was spent either slipping on dog excrement, or spent cleaning it up after slipping on it--- I still didn't mind him. I even let him sleep on the couch with me every now again~ that is, until he started getting fresh. Crawling into my shirt was cute. Biting my boob after I had fallen asleep was not.

Anyway, I left Mildura on the 18th, and boarded a bus to Adelaide to visit Matt for a few days. Ohhh. Words can't describe the pleasure of sleeping on a real bed, in a real house, with real hot showers after sharing a flat with 6 other people who all do farm work and are much pushier about getting washed up after work than you are. Matt had a pretty ambitious sight-seeing agenda for me--- but the only sights I was interested in seeing were on the inside of his pantry.

After blurry-eyed goodbye at 5 in the morning, I loaded onto a plane to head north and take in the cheery faces of my Indian travel-mates. Just look at these cheery faces! As always- I had a blast partying, reminiscing, and general what-not with these two. Thanks to Pops' generosity- I've also managed to reload my wardrobe before heading on to SudAmerica. A very lucrative stop, to be sure.

So I'm here in Byron Bay- pouting about the rainy weather while munching on Home Brand biscuits. I'm wrapping up my bid-niss here as quickly as possible before going back on to Sydney to watch the Heartbreak Kid and eat my very last Tim Tams with Frase-book. I'm juiced about getting a move-on to Peru, but the very finality of my time on this side of the world is starting to sink in. I'M ON THE LAST LEG OF MY TRIP! Craziness.

Mildura, Red Cliffs, and Beyond!

The good thing about not having internet anywhere closeby is that I don't spend any time on my facebook.

The shitty thing about not having any internet anywhere closeby is that I can't do fucking ANYTHING- at all- without a computer. No banking, no flight purchases, and definitely no Skype. Also, upon actually making my way to a computer, I usually find that the flight prices have changed, the person I'm looking for is no longer online, or (in this case) the blog post I had carefully crafted longhand is NOT in my bag and I've got to re-write it as good as I can from memory.

This is likely to suck. That is my disclaimer.

So, since my last post, I've relocated to what is generally accepted to be the asshole of Australia. Mildura's an interesting little spot people still use the word "nigger" freely and unabashed. It mkes me nervous. Happily, I've been working every single day I've been here and have been raking in that sweet sweet Australian currency. While farm work is tough and has been taking it's toll on my face and arms (stupid branches!), I'm getting super buff and my butt looks amazing!

I don't want to get too into the work itself, as I reckon I'm likely bore even myself. The light at the end of the tunnel is a few days in Adelaide, followed by a few more days in Bris, one in Sydney, and then on to Peru! As I burn through my last 18 days of work, I gotta keep my eye on the ball.

OK, this was a shitty post- I promise a better one once I'm done working in this hellhole.

Working Woes

I'm broke and have no work and am starving in Echuca. Good God, what have I done in moving here?

Things I've learned from working in an unnamed Lebanese Restaurant on King Street in Newtown.

The bread is not fresh. No. Not even then. It's not.

When employees that aren't from the developed world use the term "friend"... it usually means that they're about to totally screw you over.

The baklava isn't fresh either.

Yelling is the only means of communication. They will yell at you to "FILL THE WATER. FILL IT UP!!!" and "ANSWER THE PHONE!! ANSWER IT!!!"... but don't be confused by the notion of 2-way yelling. That doesn't fly.

I hate pan flute music. A lot.

Don't ever ask to get paid. Getting paid is not always part of the job description.

If you don't order the banquet- don't worry. That's what they'll order for you anyway.

-----------------

I'm not going to go into too much detail about the rest of the things that happened to the food there-- just... don't. Just.

... don't.

ANYWAY, on another note- I'm happily removed from that fucking hellhole of a job, and have relocated to the sunny (albeit chilly) country-side town of Echuca, Victoria. That's right- boguns, billy-goats, and (strangely) a lot of bars. Happily, that makes a girl of my waitressing experience a precious commodity. I've never had such an easy time finding work (albeit it's only been for a day or so at each place- sighs-). I've been spending my mornings sleeping in, and my nights warming myself with meat pies. It's been comforting.

Still broke, but that's not new news... wonder if maybe I should have gone to Brazil instead of trying to work. Might have made more sense. Headed to Adelaide in mid-August, then Queensland, then PERU afterwards though... suppose it's good to stay somewhere where hygiene is up to the international standard. I'm spending oodles more than I'd be in any developing country... but then again, a shitty hostel here is the equivalent of like, a 4-star hotel in Ethiopia. Suppose it's a decent trade-off.

Indonesia

As always with my posts... I haven't got much time, and I'm going to do my best to squeeze an entire country (the largest archipelago on earth this time) into one post. I accept no blame for this. Things have been positively chaotic since I set foot on this continent~ in the attempt to juggle looking for a second job with busting my ass at a restaurant run by a scary lebanese man, I've left very little time for showering/eating/changing my underwear... blogging has taken a backseat.

Anyway, I arrived in Denpasar Airport sometime on the (... holy shit, that was a really fat dog that just walked by the window. I'm getting the most outrageous culture shock here.) 24th of May, and met up with JJ for some good ol' beer slingin' down at a multi-level club entitled "Legian 61". Oh, how I wish I'd never heard of that place. $5 for unlimited beer from 5-10pm? That's just asking for trouble. I've only technically been thrown out once, though. (The other times, I was courteously asked to leave... under threat of being thrown out.) Shenanigans, shenanigans, San Diegan doctors, more shenanigans. It's amazing how much more paranoid you get about that weird rash/unexplainable bruise/dry throat when there are doctors there to look at it for you. Of course.. their wide and unparalleled knowledge of diseases-- usually involving lots of bugs and microscopic... things... --- doesn't do much to set your mind at ease.

A little more time in Kuta (mostly due to the discovery of a $2 gym and the discovery of a group of crazy Canadians), and then we were off to Uluwatu to surf, play with monkeys, and observe the almighty tourist attraction of a fire-dance. We didn't surf, the monkeys were aggressive, and the fire-dance was really strange and somehow filled me with the overwhelming desire to hire a different orthodontist... but I DID meet a cute South African that not only reminded me that there are still people that are a lot crazier than I am that still manage to function in society without any kind of court orders or visible restraints. He also reminded me that driving on the other side of the road is better done by people with no will to live. (Sidenote: My time here was also spent with destroying a rental bike... but I'll get to the another time)

As sad as I was to leave the warm arms of a gorgeous semi-pro surfer (as well as the warm pizzas of the eatery down the road) --- we were on our way to Gili Trewangan before you can say "Bob's your Uncle" and were OUT of Gili T before you can say "I'm NOT from Japan!" and on to the warm shores of Gili Air. Ohhh, I could have stayed here a lifetime. Really. Look at this shit! Could YOU bring yourself to leave?
On our first day on Gili Air, we met Lisa- a cool Brit who was fully immersed in a romantic fling with a Lombok local. Thankfully, this meant that Eful- our voluntary guide for the day, was all too happy to show us one of the best snorkeling spots I've ever seen in my life. He also clued us in to the secret of bringing cookies to the fish. They love it! It was Corn Nut's first experience, and certainly my best. 3 turtles, and positive hordes of fish swimming all about us. It was bliss....

June 7th, we were back on Gili T... just in time to PAR-TAY for Corn Nut's BIRTH-DAY. Look at the pictures. The DJ in black was one of the best I've ever partied with. I would have mowed his lawn in worship to the awesome set he delivered. Very... very good party.


A couple more days on the Gilis, and then to Ubud...

OH. I don't have a picture... but I wanted to do a small tribute to Cal- an awesome Aussie we met there. We met Cal at dinner one night-- he was sitting at the table next to us, silently chain-smoking and observing our photo session with Courtney's new floppy hat. After a few words in exchange, he offered us a free room in his villa on the other side of the monkey forest. His VILLA. At first, I was like "I wonder which organ he's trying to harvest and sell"... but after a few more hours of out-hanging... we found that he was completely legit. Like, not a scummy serial killer or anything. We then lived off his charity for the next few days--- first Corn Nut rolled her ankle and he CARRIED her through the monkey forest and down the kilometer of road on the other side to his place. He then ran about town looking for a cab for us after she was stricken down with a massive case of food poisoning. THEN, he commissioned a personal driver to take us all to Kuta-- claiming that he had to go anyway (obvious bullshit)... I think... all because he knew we were poor and wanted to help out. This guy was awesome. I salute you Cal. I salute you.

That's all. I'm going to get into my epic dash from one part of KL airport to the other... but I'll wait until a time when it's NOT 3 in the morning. Goodbye.

Trekking, Temples, and Thanakha

-sighs- I'm so happy to see my blog again. So! Happy! For some reason, the Myanmar government zeroed in on blogging and YouTube as dangers to the welfare of the state, but left CNN and the pages of every Burmese Liberation group alone. Iron-fisted military dictatorships should really do their homework about the internet.

Anyway, I'm writing from Kuta in Bali, Indonesia, after 28 spectacular days of trekking, extreme temple-ing, and falling on top of nuns (and other buffoonery) in Burma. After Sri Lanka, I didn't think it was possible to love a country any more. I thought there was no such thing as better. I was proved wrong. There is a quote by somebody whose name I've forgotten about Burma being unlike any place you've ever seen before (I've also forgotten the exact wording of the quote itself- oops!). I hasten to agree and disagree at the same time. Burma's unlike anywhere I've ever been before,... and yet it's exactly like EVERYwhere I've been before. All jumbled together. The longyis of India, with the food of Laos, the chaos of Cairo, and the piousness of Latin America. It's like the spiffy mix of everything I like about everywhere, plucked out and jumbled together and available for $13 USD a day.

A whole month is difficult to squash into one post- so I'm going to forget about trying to update on individual cities and focus on the whole.

Food - While the food in Burma is nothing to be envied- it was plentiful, cheap, and usually offered freely without any mind for payment (particularly in the smaller communities). Unfortunately, it usually consists of cold noodles mixed by hand out of a tupperware. I, happily, (and a bit surprisingly) managed to avoid getting a case of the runs- though I sometimes wonder if the bacterium are merely strangled by what I'm sure are intestinal parasites from India. I've got a stomach pooch that appears to be wiggling of its own accord at times. Remind me to get checked when I arrive in Oz.

People - The loveliest in the world. Really, the LOVELIEST PEOPLE IN THE WORLD. With the exception of a handful of sketchy moneychangers in Yangon (as well as most of the populace of Bago), everyone we met was honest and friendly. I was actually chased down the street with change for my bottle of water. The amount was roughly equivalent to 5 US cents. The panting adolescent that handed it over was wide-eyed with panic about possibly allowing me to be short-changed. Super awesome. I also managed to crush a nun while I was there- but I won't bother to go into the story. It's too embarrassing.

Sights - While the actual "sights" in Burma are a little weak compared to the rest of the region, I was never short of experiences that left me positively dumbstruck. Mr. Food, a restaurant in Hsipaw, Upper Shan State, does beer take-a-way. You know how? IN A FUCKING BAG. BEER in a fucking BAG. That's right. As in, they fill up a pitcher, empty it into a grocery bag, tie up the ends, and send a man away on a moto with it for delivery. Now that's service!

It's already been 2 weeks, roughly, in Indo, so my memory's slipping a bit. All I can really say about Burma is that it's the best freaking country ever. Just as good as Sri Lanka. Maybe even better, and there's an English guy next to me at the internet cafe that won't shut up so I can't think any more to elaborate. I'll add pictures.

Cambodia to Burma and Why Military Juntas Suck

It's been a while since I used WordPad on a 56K connection... bear with me.

I sit here in a steamy Burmese internet cafe, rubbing my scars (bike riding never does get easier... how many days does it take to get the hang of making lefts??) and contemplating how I'm going to survive the next 3 days on 21 dollars. I'm falling more and more in love with this country as the days go by... but my absolute revulsion for the military junta is subsequently magnified. Swaggering wankers. Some asshole doodled all over my passport this morning at a checkpoint on the road to Inle Lake. ON MY FAVORITE PAGE. I'll post a photo later. You'll be enraged, I guarantee you. Since the attempt at posting photos (much less uploading them) seems near comical given the rudimentary internet I'm seated in front of, I'll expand.

I had one perfect page in my passport. Four, neatly stamped visas-- two from Sri Lanka (my favorite country) and two from Israel (almost my favorite country)... in black, neatly in their boxes, with crisp and sharp edges. Ahhh--- (considering that border guards do this ALL day EVERY day, you'd be surprised at the number who can't even use a stamp correctly.) It was lovely. Around 2 in the morning, after 11 hours of listening to Burmese pop at full volume on a bus from Yangon to Inle Lake, we stopped at a checkpoint, and I was called in to sign some forms... as usual. The guard, after asking me my name about a million times, wrote it down wrong in the booklet. When I attempted to point this out, he waved my index finger away irritably and began looking at my visa stamps. Minute after minute passed as he stared and glared at the colorful items... until he finally cleared his throat, whipped out his pen, and used my favorite page to test out the ink of his ballpoint before thrusting it back at me and, once again, writing my name down wrong in his booklet.

WANKER.

You all think I'm overreacting. Maybe I am... but even so, punching him in the belly would have made me feel better. After travelling for a while, you get to take quite a bit of pride in your passport... and when some iron fisted dictator-worshipping nob uses your favorite page to make sure the ink in his 25 cent pen is working, it makes you angry.

Anyway!

I think I should update on Cambodia considering that there's been nothing from me in several weeks... and the country is not one to be glossed over. After passing from Don Det in 4,000 Islands over the border, I made my way down to Kratie, a little town on the Mekong known as one of the last places on earth you can still see Irrawaddy dolphins. The dolphins remained unseen, even as we crept, stealth mode, with only 2 screaming motors down a stretch of river only plagued by 14 other boats full of tourists with cameras. INCONCEIVABLE! A little further out, we managed to glimpse a couple, and my camera went wild photographing the ripples left behind in the water.

One stop in Phnom Penh and I was on to Kampot afterwards to laze on the river and look cool riding a motorbike for a few days. I haven't quite gotten the hang of U-turns, but after a few minutes of rolling back and forth in place on the side of the road, I'm off! Louis, my teacher for the day, and I made our way to Kep, a one-time beach resort before the Khmer Rouge rolled in, killed everybody, and burned everything to the ground. There's not much-- but we managed to score a bag of 7 deliciously steamed crabs for 5 USD. At 3 crabs in, we were stuffed,... and it became much like hazing in a fraternity at one point-- each of us goading each other on to eat just ONE more crab. I think I was worse off after that than any frat party I went to in college. Crustaceans are not meant to be taken like tequila shots.

I won't discuss Sihanoukville or Koh Rong much except to say that they were spectacular-- made even better by the presence of Matt, a hot Australian surfer who managed to score a couple days off work flying planes to come and get jiggy on the beach with me. (Was that the correct way to use "jiggy"? I never know) Between us, we managed to pack in a lot of miles of beach, a lot of yummy seafood, and a lot of free beer. After a night of pubbing, clubbing, and casino-player elbow-rubbing, Matt had to get back to Kratie in the morning for work, and I was left on my own to nurse a hangover and put up with a hoard of 18 year old English gap-yearers. Ugh. Then on to Koh Rong- it was awesome. The water was spectacular, and I had enough time to finally tweeze my eyebrows... for the first time in months.

Up to Battambang (wonderful place!) and then on to Siem Reap for some temple climbing. Angkor Wat was spectacular. Really... really spectacular. 13 hours on a bicycle riding around and posing with this statue and that may have killed my skin and affinity for bike riding... but not my spirit! On this trip, I've seen 5 "Wonders of the World" ... and I really think Angkor Wat is my favorite. The Taj Mahal was a snore, Tikal was overrated, and the pyramids were devoid of any shade whatsoever from the merciless Egyptian sun (although they themselves were incredible). We arrived at the Wat for sunrise and spent much of the next few hours exploring the Wat itself as well as Bayon, the center-piece of Angkor Thom. What makes A.W. better than a lot of other temples and statues is the elaborate chiseling on the walls. No part of the compound (the largest of it's kind in the world) is without gorgeous inscriptions and pictures of naked ladies. It's also so big that almost 50% of the time, Alex (my English companion) and I found ourselves completely alone to wander the ruins in solitude. I'll post photos later.

OK, well--- this post is already too long and I don't think I have enough kyat to pay for the time I've already used. On arrival to Mandalay, I'll post more about Burma...

Laos

It's been a long time since I updated anything that had anything to do with my trip, so here's some catching up... bullet-point style.

* I've decided never to again eat goat meat. Or pig meat (unless I forget- which conveniently seems to happen with bacon). Having worked on an organic farm with these sweet meats, rising at 6:30 to sweep their poop nuggets, and having lovingly gripped their moist tits over a pitcher--- I can never again look at them the same way. Look at this face. LOOK AT IT! No more goat meat. Also- having seen the pigs jump all over themselves trying to get at the heaps of goat shit we would feed them AFTER sweeping out the poop nuggets--- NO MORE PIG MEAT EITHER. Gross. Such gross animals.

* Phoudindaeng Village > Vang Vieng. I know. I know. You're supposed to go to Vang Vieng to go tubing. That's the entire point of going there. Everyone told me it's great- it's a trip maker... blah blah blah. Honestly, I just couldn't be bothered to go into an entirely gringo town to party with a bunch of 18-year old gap year kids. I'd rather sweep goat shit. (Sorry, if you're reading this Farrell)

* Not much else has happened in the last few weeks. Nong Khiaw and Muang Ngoi were fabulous, and I'm glad I went. My hideous leg lesions are BACK. AGAIN... even after 3 rounds of different kinds of very aggressive antibiotics. They think they're so smart.... with their... LESIONNESS. Fuck them. Back to the doctor's in about half an hour.

* In Pakse now. My God it's fucking hot. My God it's fucking hot. Fucking hell it's fucking hot as fuck. ERRNNNGG!!!!! I hadn't planned on staying here... like I said. I've only got 3 days now to see 4000 Islands and get to the Cambodian border... but after the grueling 8 hour ride from Luang Prabang to Vang Vieng, the 4 hours then to Vientiane, and 10 more hours on a bus down to Pakse... I just... couldn't... do it.

Strange that I'm still so tired though- I actually slept quite well on the bus. These sleeper buses are equipped with full-sized beds on both sides of an aisle for proper horizontal-type sleeping... much like modern-day, air-con slave ships. The beds aren't made for 2 big people (nobody over 5'5, I think)... but for myself and the tiny Lao woman and her baby... we made a good sleeping puddle- provided we all slept in the same direction. First, I spooned the lady while she spooned her baby. Later in the night, she spooned her baby while her baby spooned me. There was lots of spooning. There was also lots of spit in my hair in the morning. All in all, it was a very domestic ride.

* On the bus ride from Vang Vieng to Vientiane yesterday, I observed a couple of village kids that really reminded me of my sweet little Ethiopians. As we drove through their town (if you can even call it that. Does a cluster of 3 houses and a noodle shop count?)... I observed about 7 children playing what appeared to be baseball on the side of the highway. Not only did they lack a field- they lacked proper bases, bats, and balls. They were using a stick as a bat--- and do you know what they were using as a ball because they didn't have one? ANOTHER STICK. So they were throwing the stick and hitting it with another stick... then running to an imaginary base, which was really anywhere because there were no markings anyway. I made a diagram to illustrate my point. Fucking awesome.

On the whole, Laos is marvelous. It took some getting used to-- there ARE a lot of tourists here, and anybody that says otherwise was here years ago, before the boom... but it's still great, and I'm having a grand old time. Only three days left to go though, before I'll be on my way to Cambodia for 2 weeks. I'll report back from Angkor.

I'M NOT JAPANESE

So, every time I go home- people always ask: What is it you missed most about the states? Hot water? Chili Cheese Fries? Free STD testing? ... and I'd have to say- yes.. yes.. yes, I missed all those things... (particularly the cheese fries).... but more than anything, I missed not having people shout "JAPAN!" at me as I cross the street.

It's been 11 months now on the go... and although I love being out here, doing this... I'm really losing my patience. With the locals, it's okay- a lot of them, particularly in places like Sri Lanka and Nicaragua, have never seen an Asian American backpacker before. They can't wrap their minds around it. "You look like this... but when you open your mouth, it sounds like THIS... wha-wha-WHAT?" That's fine. It's annoying, but understandable. The part I CAN'T stand, is when morons from first world countries ask me dumb shit like "can you speak Japanese?"

NO. CAN YOU?!?

Fucking idiot.

WHY would I be able to speak Japanese? Is it because China, where I've never lived, and have nothing to do with, is next to Japan... a country that I've never been, have never lived, and have nothing to do with either? What part of "I'm from the United States" do you not understand?

I know a lot of people from the US had parents that taught them their native language, and that's fine. I just can't see why people are so damn interested in it in the first place. Even if I COULD speak Chinese/Japanese/Korean... what would it matter to you? You can't speak it either! Moreover, they're always so disappointed when I say no, and then accuse me of losing my roots. WHAT FUCKING ROOTS? I was born in Berkeley, I grew up in San Ramon, went to college in Sacramento, and now live in San Francisco. You want roots? Then YOU go to Japan and fucking get them!

I was at the gym a couple days ago (no, really, I WAS at the gym. I know it sounds like bullshit, but no- really, I was) and this French dude walks up to me and starts giving me pointers on weight lifting. Fine. Cool. He then (after a good 5 minutes of conversation with me) asks me if I'm from Japan. DO I FUCKING SOUND LIKE I'M FROM JAPAN!?!? When I say "no" and tell him that I'm from San Francisco, ... he then PULLS AT THE ENDS OF HIS EYES to illustrate to me what I look like.

Oh dear God.

Smashing a French man's face open with a 4kg dumbbell is the easiest way to land yourself in a Thai prison... I reckon. Merely telling him to fuck his mother, however, is the easiest way to get him to fuck off and leave you to your weight lifting. I chose option two. Hurray for me and my self restraint.

There's nothing wrong with being from Japan and I've met loads of super awesome Japanese people all over the world. Good on them for travelling, and bless them on their journey. I, however, have nothing more in common with them than I do the Russian guy or the girl from Germany. We're all backpacking.... and that's pretty much it. I don't see why people think I would flock to the first asian I laid eyes on. Moreoever, shouting "Other Koreans are staying here!" is NOT going to induce me to patronize your hotel. Yes... let me run into the arms of people I've never seen before, and hold them to me while they utter something in a language that is completely indecipherable. I FEEL SO AT HOME.

FUCK YOU.

Imagine that everyone thought you loved hot dogs. You don't. You don't mind them of course, they're aiiiiite, but you don't LOVE them.

Now imagine that every day for the rest of your life, everyone asked you why you loved hot dogs so much, and brought you hot dogs as a tribute. They're being nice and mean no harm- if anything, they're just trying to get in your good graces... but no matter how many times you tell them "actually, I don't like hot dogs THAT much", they wave it away as ridiculousness. "HAH! HE SAYS HE DOESN'T LOVE HOT DOGS! Have you ever HEARD such lunacy??" After a while, you're sick of eating the hot dogs to be nice. After a little MORE time, you try to stress that you don't like hot dogs at ALL. You're SICK of hot dogs. You can't STAND hot dogs. You USED to like them okay... but after years and years of hot dogs, you can't eat another one.

But everyone believes you like hot dogs. People you've never met before make the hot dog eating motion at you as you walk down the street. They shout "BRING THIS MAN A HOT DOG" even though they don't know you and you're not in the mood to eat at all, never mind eating a hot dog. Wouldn't you want to punch the next person that offered you a hot dog in the face? Wouldn't you want to take that hot dog, and jam it in his ear until the weiner was lodged so far into his fucking head, he couldn't even hear himself scream?

And other people say... "(_enter name here_) ... they're just CURIOUS about why you love hot dogs so much... they don't MEAN anything by it- have a sense of humor!" THEY, by the way, cruise down the street unmolested... tasting this, tasting that. Noodles today? Perhaps a muffin? Maybe, maybe not! ... while all day long, you are abused and accosted by hot dog sellers and fans. Now you HATE hot dogs. You try to stress how much you like hamburgers, or pumpkin pie... but the only thing people care about is you and your relationship with hot dogs. "WHY don't you like hot dogs anymore?" they cry. "WHAT is wrong with you, that you won't eat hot dogs??"

And you try to say you NEVER liked hot dogs. That you don't eat hot dogs at home and don't even know the difference between wheat and white buns. ... but they don't believe you. They WON'T believe you... and you're left trying to find someone... ANYONE who you can spend time with that won't bring up the hot dogs.

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... that's what I feel like.

Other than that, my trip is going great.

Sawadee KAAAAA~!

Keeping it short as I only brought 30 baht to the internet cafe, and I think I've already run over my time! Got the 'India Photos' section handled though (2 months late)... if you fancy a visit.

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Funny how I only know two things in Thai (hello and thank you), but I seem to mix them up on a constant basis. Shopkeepers are quite puzzled when you insist that they greet you long after you've already purchased something and are in fact, in the process of leaving the store.

So let me finish up on Sri Lanka. Emil left sometime on the 16th after a successful run of 2 months of travel, and I found myself not having anyone to threaten or torture with the pulling of chest and/or kneepit hair. I forgot that ordinary people don't like that. With only a week left in Sri Lanka at that point, Danielle and I made for the hills- spending 2 blissful nights in Ella before continuing on to Dalhousie to climb Adam's Peak for sunrise. Here's a cute little girl that boogied our way from the top of the hill down to where the road snaked left and we lost sight of her. A natural, if I ever saw one!



Adam's Peak (right) is maybe the hardest physical thing I've done since volcano boarding in Nicaragua. 5,200 steps straight up, and quite the queue once you get there. Adam's Peak, or Sri Pada, is a remarkable sight for two reasons. For Buddhists, the sacred footprint left at the top of the mount is said to be Lord Buddha's last step on earth before ascending into Heaven... for Christians, it was Adam's first step out as he was exiled. Whatever the case, there's certainly a very long line of pushy pilgrims. 3am hikes make for some grumpy devotees!

A day here, a day in Kandy- one 6-hour bus ride and a questionable "egg" sandwich later.. I was on my way to Bangkok. Not sure what I expected... but this wasn't it. Skyscrapers, air-con buses, and loads... I mean... LOADS of tourists. Heavens, me! After teaming up with an impulsive South African, I was on my way to Chiang Mai for party and pleasure. I won't post too much except to add this photo of Ben with a purse. We met Bobby, a Coloradan that had been living in Thailand for 4 years or so- and he introduced us to Fone.... a Thai native that insisted on driving. Ben was ousted to the back of his scooter, and a designer purse was hoisted onto his shoulder as Fone took the reigns and sped us off into the distance. Chiang Mai was fun- and was without a doubt, the best partying I've had since Goa... but I left to pursue a cooler climate, and people with long necks in the hill country bordering Myanmar. More on that later.

End o'India- and Sri Lanka

It's so strange when people ask me what my favorite countries are. It seems that my final 3 (Sri Lanka, El Salvador, and Ethiopia),... don't involve lots of crazy activities or tons of chaos. The only things tying them together are good food, good sunsets, and wonderful people... plus they're all cheap cheap cheap!

I took leave of my last Swede (Emil! You're my last!) and headed to Trichy for my flight to Colombo, set to take off on the 24th. I spent one moderately restful night in some shabby motel while watching the Nancy Drew movie and tweezing my toes. The next morning, I rose early for my 9am flight and took a taxi to the airport, tipping the driver heavily and shouting "G'BYE INDIA!" before beelining for the air-conditioned building in a manner reminiscent of a marathon runner hitting the tape. (If you've ever been to India- I'm sure you can relate). Upon arrival, I proudly presented my passport to the security agent and told him I'd be on the Mihin Lanka flight to Colombo. He responded that there were no scheduled flights with Mihin Lanka that day, and kindly asked me to step aside for the next passenger.

In the complaint office, 25 minutes later, I found out that my flight, which I had only booked a week or so in advance, had been canceled, and people had been notified by phone. When I asked why no one sent an e-mail, I was met with blank stares. Seriously, you have time to call EVERYONE by phone,... but no time to send an e-mail blast? Anyway, I was told to come back tomorrow (as if being told that there would be "no flight today" was the same as "no chocolate milk today")... and I damn near swallowed it and walked outside to find a taxi when I met Danielle, a Minnesotan who was supposed to be on the same flight. This is us standing in front of the Ambassador which brought us to the Meridian Hotel, where we stayed our last night in India with room service and HBO. People from Minneapolis get their shit handled (and handle it for me in the process). Hooray!

Anyway, we arrived in Sri Lanka the next day and made our way to Hikkaduwa, a surf town on the South-Western shore with the best waves and best nightlife in all Sri Lanka. I spent about 2 days there... but with the bug bites I got in India all infected and oozing (I'm sure you want to hear all about it), I found that in lieu of ostrasizing myself from the obscenely beautiful surf community, it was altogether better to piss off into the hill country for a little R&R. On the way, I met Catherine, a nurse from England who wasn't disgusted by my horrible ankles, and together, we made our way to Ella.

I won't post too much about Ella except to say it was lovely and that I met some friendly Canadians that greatly enhanced my experiences there.

A few days in Ella, a day or so in Haputale, and then on to Kandy to meet Emil for some elephant riding, botanical garden strolling, and 8th wonder of the world viewing.... although from entirely different perspectives. Having paid outside my budget for the RIDE out to Sigiraya... I was shocked to find that the ENTRANCE to the site was 3x outside my budget entirely. Strange that 30 dollars at home can seem like so little, but on the road, it's a fortune! At first, I was pretty bummed, especially as no one else seemed to have the financial limitations that I have. Luckily, I ran into some locals on a moped, who told me about the photo at the top of the post. Best hike of Sri Lanka, and it was free! I was the only one up there, enjoying the view, the sunshine, and a bag of cheese bits all to myself. Lovely!

From Sigiraya, we headed straight to Hikkaduwa for the nightlife, surf, and snorkeling. The timing was perfect, as some day old turtles were just being released within a couple days of our arrival. Here's a flappy little bugger I got to play with a bit before seeing him off into the ocean to begin a life of seaweed eating, jet stream riding, and female turtle romancing. So cute!

Anyway, several things happened from then until today... but I'll keep it down to just two... #1) Emil stepped on a sea urchin within a minute of his first Sri Lankan swimming experience. Here is Sam from Montreal picking out the spikes with a swiss army knife and a safety pin from someone's birthday card. Emil's been quite the trooper, but it made for a funny trail of gauze while he swam today as we #2) snorkeled with some giant sea turtles. Below is a photo of me feeding one seaweed. It's so crazy- I suppose they come close to shore in order to grab the abundance of seaweed covering the rocks... but the act of swimming in the water with them, stroking their backs and even grabbing onto their shells and letting them drag you (albeit not very far-- I reckon I need to lose a couple pounds) was bizzarre and humbling. I'm so small and clumsy! This was definitely the height of my Hikkaduwan experiences!

Anyway, tomorrow I continue north for Adam's peak and the hill country (again) until the night of the 21st, when it's on to Thailand!