JAZZY'S TRAVELS

The Last Entry From Abroad...This Trip (one year + 28)

2006-10-25T10:49:00.000-07:00

Before I head off into the rain kissed streets of Paris I figured it would be a good time to write the "fear of re-entry" post. I've been avoiding it for some time now, not necessarily to avoid the feelings it will evoke, but to avoid multiple entries on the same topic since lately that is the subject most often on my mind.

When I was on Semester @ Sea, the day before we returned to the States we had a lecture addressing the difficulties of "re-entry". Having not traveled outside of the country for extended periods of time, this concept can seem absurd and self-pitying. But if a person has ever left a place and come back later, it is possible to relate. In some ways it can be compared to when you return home from Freshman year of college. You see the familiar streets from new angles and old friends in new light. Sometimes this is exciting because things have changed or remained the same, but sometimes it's frightening for the same reasons. You have been gone a year and grown in so many ways and when you come back sometimes you find you have outgrown what once fit so comfortably.

Returning to the U.S. after a long trip is similar, yet there are whole new and more complicated dimensions. When I returned last time there were new tv shows and clothing trends. Grocery stores seemed over indulgent and over priced. I had missed 9/11 one of the most important events in the history of the world, let alone the country, and returned to a nation more partriotic and frightened than ever before. I could no longer understand our addiction to consumption and the average person's lack of concern for poverty. The conversatons and gossip I had so easily contributed to before now seemed frivilous and shallow. And that trip I was only gone 3 months.
In some ways I am excited to see the change and recognize that which has remained the same, but mostly I am afraid. Afraid to feel as if I don't fit in. Afraid to realize I now hate the things I used to love. Afraid to be annoyed by pop culture and American accents. Afraid to live a life where I'm not seeing something new everyday. Afraid to feel trapped or stagnant when I know I won't be leaving anytime soon. Afraid of the 9-5 (or should I say the 24/7?). But mostly I'm afraid of forgetting because if I forget I may become the things I hate.

I do not want to forget that $5 is a lot of money. I have seen how far it can go and how much it can buy. I want to remember that it can feed a family of 5 for 3 days or get me my own bungalow on a secluded tropical island. I don't want to forget the smiles on the faces of children playing in streets lined with plastic bags and sewage. I don't want to forget the way a girraff runs or the taste of nysima. I don't want to forget the crowded minibus rides or the sound of the Paris metro. I don't want to forget how to have whole conversations with a person who doesn't speak a lick of English or the late night debates with travellers in smokey common rooms. I don't want to forget my awe at the strength and balance of African women as they carry three baskets and their child down a narrow dirt path. I don't want to forget the taste of Pho at a plastic chair cafe, piled high with fresh bean sprouts, cilantro and chilli. I don't want to forget what it's like to look at Michealangelo's "David" from below or the taste of coconut shakes in Phenom Phen. I don't want to forget my frustration with Chinese hospitality, my amusement with Aussie humor or my disgust with some South African's apathy. I don't want to forget the fear and exhilaration that comes with whizzing down the road on the back of a motorbike in Vietnam. I don't want to forget all those little things that make a place different than home. I don't want to forget the change that needs to be made.

The scariest thing about returning is knowing that in some ways I may return to who I was. I know I will never be the person I was before I left, but it's so easy to fall back into the comfortable flow that is The United States. Already in the little time I've been back in the "western" world I've found myself thinking about shoes and clothing, nice dinners and expensive vacations. $5 is already starting to feel useless.

I have learned so much from the people I've met and things I've seen. A conversation can be mindblowing, a moment life changing. I'm smiling right now because I'm sitting in my hostel listening to some backpackers around the age of 19 discuss the bias of world maps. You can tell that for many it is the first time they have ever thought that maybe Europe and North America aren't at the "top" or "center" of the world. I can't help but smile because I can hear some of them learning, learning something that for me was life changing, opening a door to a whole new way of thinking about life, history and culture. I can only hope those who's eyes have begun to glaze over and hands to fidget will one day understand what the others are beginning to grasp.

When traveling, everyday life takes on a while new meaning. Politics is an unavoidable topic of conversation, your eyes develop the skill of noticing every little detail and your nose every little smell. You know that anything can happen at anytime and you will it to happen with your whole being every moment of the day. And sometimes, only as you're about to step on a return flight home do you realize that this has been your life.

Listening to them does remind me of what I'm continuously trying to remind myself. You never totally forget. You may forget the smells or tastes and particular moments of realization but you'll never forget the realization itself. Once you know it you never forget entirely. I guess what I'm afraid of is forgetting how important some of those realizations were to me at the time.

On multiple occassions I've written about how "lucky" I am and how I need to put that luck to use. There is so much hardship in the world and so much we can do but aren't. I don't want to forget how much I want to volunteer or my interest in U.N. projects. I cannot find myself a year from now regretting not being as active as I plan to be. I remember from the last trip how quickly the routine returned. Next thing you know, you're self-indulged again and the motivations to make change have slipped away. In some ways I feel that if I tell you, you will hold me to my promises, your presence reminding me not to be hypocritical.

The other day at the Pompidou Center I saw a photograph of an American grocery store. Inspite of the fact that it is from the early 90's (or perhaps the midwest) it scared the crap out of me. Consumerism is the modern day consumption, eating away at us until there is nothing left but the physical and sometimes not even that. Don't worry, this isn't a recent epiphany, I won't start dressing like a ragamuffin (as my mom would say) or boycotting deoderant. We have all known this for a long time, but I have a new found energy to avoid it's sticky grasp. This energy doesn't stem from a poorly thought out hate for capitalism or the fact that a year in wrinkly rags has resulted in my loss of style. No, my desire to consume less is because of those kids smiling in the face of poverty. It's because of the women in their beautiful sarongs matched in such a way that at first made me chuckle, but now I kinda understand. It's because of the quirky Vietnamese motorbike drivers who took me to museums, waited for me outside and then took me home for under $2. It's because of the market vendors who didn't try to screw me. It's because of the skilled crafts men selling their products on the side of the road. It's because of all of those who could only hear the "Lake of Stars Festival". It's because of the ones I didn't tip and the guesthouse workers who slept by the door and woke up to open it when I came back from a late night drinking. I know these people have asked nothing of me and I owe them nothing. It's not with pity that I think of them, pity is a selfish and insulting emotion. I think of them because it is because of them that I know the price of a pair of jeans can feed someone for a month. Does that mean I won't buy the jeans? No, but I will remember and appreciate them more, and maybe pass up a pair every now and then to give the money to charity. Life can still be good minus one pair of jeans. They take too long to hang dry anyway.

Good God I sound like I'm preaching! But believe me, this entry is more for me than it is for you. It's a release. A constant reminder.

So, next time you hear from me I'll be back in The States. The land of the free home of the brave. The capital of capitalism, consumerism and egotism. Self-proclaimed world peace keeper. Producer of the best cereals and burgers. The melting pot, tossed salad, multicultural hodgepodge of the world. The place where I can run down the road and not be followed by looks of confusion. Where I can achieve just about anything I desire. The place many of the people I've learned from along the way long to go. The home of hip hop. The entertainment capital of the world. The land of opportunity and a year ago the only place I thought I could spend the rest of my life.

As we both know at this point there's really no way to end this blog, so I won't. Travel never ends. Instead of finding a witty and touching way to end this entry I was going to finish with two lists, one with the good things about going home and the other about the things I loved about this trip, but at this point (as usual) I'm running a little late and I'm sure I'll think of a ton more on the plane, so I'll post them later. This isn't the end, just a new destination where I'm staying a bit longer. A ride on the metro during rush hour is a lot like a chappa ride. And to think you thought you were going to get rid of my rants that easily. Muhahhahahahahahahahah. Now I've gotta catch a plane...

Dorm Life Is A Biatch (one year + 21)

2006-10-19T23:06:00.000-07:00

You know those moments when you say something to be polite yet the other person seems to either take it the wrong way or decides to be a complete asshole in a somewhat witty fashion and then you spend the next 1/2 hour wondering if what you thought was a polite action was actually rude and thus had the opposite effect of what you originally intended??

I had one of those moments tonight.

When staying in dorm rooms there are agreed polite and impolite ways of being. For example, getting up early and zipping and unzipping your pack a bazzillion times while playing with plastic bags is impolite. Taking a quick shower because you know a girl trying to catch a train is waiting outside in her towel is polite. Choosing to read with all the lights on when everyone else has gone to bed is impolite, while letting someone keep the light on to read when you're going to bed is polite.

In some situations it's a fine line between being considerate (saying goodbye to your "pass"1 at the door) and inconsiderate (making out with him on your top bunk until 6am). Yet inspite of how confusing some rules may be, there is one which is quite clear and well understood. The Late Night Entry Rule. It is understood by all that if someone is asleep in the room and it is late a night, one should tip toe and cease all conversation upon entering. In addition to this, and most importantly, it is completely and totally taboo to turn on the light without prior permission from those sleeping, given that most human beings are instantaneously awoken when bright light hits their eyelids. As a result, the polite will stumble about the room in pitch blackness fumbling with zippers, clothing and toothbrushes probably waking the sleeping occupants in the process but never commiting the forbidden act of turning on the light.

Given this, many considerate dormmates will tell others when they are going to bed and (if he or she doesn't mind) let them know that they can turn on the light to assist in their night time preparations.

This is exactly what I did this evening. On my way out the door I said I was heading to bed, but if the guys wanted to turn on the light when they came in later that night it wouldn't bother me.

His reply: "Oh, we will". He then chuckled and walked away.

I stood there puzzled for a split second and then as I walked to the room the thoughts began to flow. Who was the asshole? Was my comment seen as bossy and controlling? Was he meaning to be humerous? Am I a bitch? Is he drunk? Am I thinking too much????

After pondering the situation through brushing my teeth, washing my face and changing my clothes I realized that I would never know. But as I climbed into bed I knew one thing, I would make sure to groan and turn over in an exaggerated fashion when they came in later and turned on the light.

1) "Pass" (pronounced pash) as in passion. Refers to an "innocent" one night stand, random makeout session or snog. And yes, the English have gotten to me.

Last Days in Italy (one year + 19)

2006-10-17T15:51:00.000-07:00

There really isn't anything motivating me to write at this particular moment. If there is anything I can think of to rant about it would be the fact that I will be on a flight home in a week but to be honest I don't want to think about that just yet. The week before I started this trip people kept asking me how I felt and if I was excited etc. and most of the time I had no answer because I was numb. I couldn't even begin to comprehend what I was about to embark on just as now I cannot and do not want to comprehend my return home.

So instead I'll concentrate on Italy.

Italy has proved to be a delight but not a delight in the sense of a light puffy cream filled eclair, but more in the sense of a very large bowl of saucy carbonara. So maybe delight isn't the best word. It is a rich and vibrant country that often leaves you feeling overwhelmed and overstuffed. It's in your face yet at the same time relaxed and unobtrusive. Like a compari spritzer it's a mix of the sweet, bubbly and bitter.

Right now (as usual when I write) I'm on a train, but this time to Nice or Nizza as the Italians call it, although it does seem more appropriate to call it by it's French name since it's a French city. I'm sad to be leaving Italy and a language I can kind of understand if people speak slowly. I have enjoyed tripping along the cobblestone streets and munching on 5 euro pizzas. Strolling the sprawling gardens and examining the fading frescos. Being entranced by the villages perched on treecovered hill tops and drooling over heaping mounds of gelati, yet I am excited to get to a new place.

I spent the last week in Treviso, a city ouside of Venice, with Vallé, a close family friend of the Oakes who lived with them her senior year in high school as part of a foreign exchange program. I had an amazing time chatting with her and her friends over spritzers and quick yet fabulously tasty Italian meals. She was an amazing hostess yet I will say that I think there was an element of relief present as we said our goodbyes outside the train station early this morning. She ran herself ragged entertaining me and wouldn't let me pay for anything let alone do a dish. She was the hostess of hostesses and in many ways an Oakes in her hospitality yet after 5 days I'm sure I was somewhat of a burden. I definitely didn't feel as if I was carrying my own weight. I'm sure she will release a sigh of relief when she opens her front door and I'm not sitting on her couch eating cheese and watching a Quentin Tarantino film.

I was very happy not to stay in Venice since it is totally overpriced and overtouristed. The first day I roamed the narrow vias crossing canals and piazzas knowing that each step was getting me more lost. But I embraced the mazelike city especially since getting lost meant finding less touristy areas. Oddly enough I quicky found myself bored with the wandering and made my way back to the couch.

My second visit we went to the Guggenheim museum and saw and exhibit by one of Vallé's work collegues. It was a compilation of her son's artwork who unfortunately passed away last year at the age of six. As the youngest artist ever submitted to the Guggenheim I looked a bit closer than I would have had we been sitting in his livingroom, and with what little I've seen of childrens' doodles I did recognize some talent. Spaceships, spiders, snakes and brightly colored hectagons. It was a beautiful exhibit to see and although it had a cheerful feel and was full of children playing and painting, I couldn't help but find it depressing. Sometimes a "celebration of life" doesn't feel like much of a celebration.

Other than those two visits I found little more of interest in Venice. It is a beautiful city and I can understand it's allure, but no matter how magical a place may be, if you add that many tourists there's not enough pixie dust to go around. At this point in my journey, knowing I still have the burning desire to be trekking my way across the unforgiving African countryside, being herded along behind chatty oblivious tour groups isn't exactly my cup of tè.

I'm excited to escape the crowds but sad to leave the culture. Hopefully France will prove to be a little less attractive to tour groups and I'll be able to find myself a nice little bit of uncrowed beach.

Roamin' Rome (one year + 1)

2006-09-29T10:12:00.000-07:00

Currently I stand at the end of a very long line for the Sistine Chapel. The woman in front of me is smoking, and since her smoke cannot escape the crowd of bodies it hits me in thick layers instead. Every thirty seconds or so the massive line surges forward accompanied by an increase in excited voices inspite of the fact that we still have close to two hours before we even arrive at the entrance.

This is the downfall of Rome. It has hords of tourists. Often when I'm walking around and see local Italians I can't help but think ''sorry I'm here...'' It is an absolutely beautiful city full of narrow cobblestone vias, breath taking monuments and quaint corner cafes with linen covered tables. I could definitely see myself living here, taking long lunches, sipping wine and zipping around on my motorbike. The one thing that keeps me from unpacking my bad permenantly and taking up residence in a tiny apartment with lofted ceilings and endless supplies of pasta, is the tourists. I don't know if I could ever really think of it as ''my city'' if I was continously blinded by camera flashes and getting tangled in maps lost to the wind. Although I will say the infinite amount of gelati shops does make it tempting.

In front of me an American and Chinese man have gotten into a small argument.
''Where are you going??'' he says as the Chinese man tries to push in front.
''You can't go any further''. He shakes his head exsasperated and turns back to his friend while the Chinese chat amoungst themselves and disappear into the line in front of him.

Just about every language I could think of off the top of my head in a 10 second period is being spoken within 10 feet of me, which makes me glad to have arrived here after Africa as opposed to another major western city. At first I thought it may have been a bad choice, after 3 extra hours on the train and 2 hours trudging along with my backpack and newly aquired roller suitcase stuffed with Jared's and my Africa purchases, which I might add is not so great on cobblestones. Somewhere in those 2 hours I realized that I was going to have to get used to this European backpacking concept of ''booking ahead''.

In those first few hours, the culture shock of returning to the western world hit me with the force of an ancient marble statue. The tight stylish clothing, expensive electronics and immitation Gucci. The streets were so clean, there were no food stands or kids kicking homemade soccer balls. And although you could tell I was a tourist, I didn't attract any more attention than the next. I had to fight off the fear by forcing myself not to think about it.

After checking into the hostel the first day I did little more than laundry, internet and oogle at all the sweet and savory treats inside every glass case. But the second day, refreshed after 12 hours of sleep, I hit the cobblestones with the determination to see as many sites as possible. I walked continuously from 9am-6pm and saw just about every major site other than the Vatican. At the end of the day my legs ached with both the joy and sorrow of being physically active again.

The third day I felt even better. The first few days had been doubly hard dealing with both the culture shock of a new country and missing Jared. Although I had made a great effort to distract myself with Rome's history, I still missed him terribly and ended up silently crying myself to sleep. I highly doubt he did the same thing seeing it was quite a pathetic ''girly'' thing to do and also because at the same moment he was on a crowded bus to Nairobi and it would have looked a bit ridiculous, but I know he feels the same way. When you've spent 24 hours a day, 7 days a week with one person for 3 months, being lonely takes on a whole new meaning.

Anyways, the next day I felt further from tears and more at peace with being alone and thus chose to spend the day doing what one best does solo, no not polevaulting, but roaming museums. I was determined to hit at least two because I wanted to get the most out of my ''Rome Pass''. At the (in my opinion) high price of 18 euros you got into as many museums as you could find in the windy vias of Rome...well at least that's what I thought when purchasing. In fact it only got you into two museums free and the rest at a discounted price. I also didn't know that the Colosseum and Palentine were considered museums, although it makes sense. So when I set out that morning I should have received nothing for free, but my ignorance turned out to be bliss when the first ticket woman yelled to me through her glass,
''How many museums you go??'' I shrugged and somewhat awkwardly replied,
''How ever many I can get to before this thing expires...?'' But upon finishing realized she meant to say ''have you been to'' instead of ''you go''. ''Oh, none'' I quickly stammered, and she pointed me towards the entrance.

Upon arrival at my second museum I realized that the system had cheated me, but that I had also cheated the system. This glass enclosed woman explained to me the true function of my pass and that I would have to pay €5 to enter her museum. I paid the €5 with a smile not wanted to seem cheap and hoping that it would be worth it.

It was a decent museum, not as good as the one I got into for free, but it turned out to be worth it in a different way than I expected. There was a very large black and white photo exhibit by a photographers whose name, unfortunately, has slipped my mind. Most of his photos were either portraits or pictures of people caught at genuine human moments. Much of his early work was of 1950's Italy. Shots of woman carrying baskets of bread and children playing games in the street. A sparcely filled fruit stand or a child lugging a large wine bottle back to the shop for a refund. Staring at these images I realized that this was the Italy I had hoped to find. The Italy that was more like Africa. I missed those big and little things that are different about developing nations. They have mopeds here, but they don't have enough. They would need at least 10x the amount currently on the roads for me to think of their streets as ''hectic''. They have delicious food, but the smells and tastes would need to be in my face on every corner and fill every crevace of the bus for me to notice. I miss that rough edge that makes a country ''undeveloped''.

The exhibit forced me to see what I was looking for and why I was disappointed by what I had found. In the end it helped me remember that places are different and that they change, but most of all that I should enjoy them for what they are and not what I want them to be.

So today, with another early start which wasn't early enough, I find myself crowded with thousands of other tourists surging forward in anticipation of what the Vatican's walls may hold and I'm embracing it. Not everywhere will have hardly any tourists and elephants bathing in the rivers, just as not everywhere will have the pizza and history of Rome. I figure that inspite of the sweaty crowds, the nasty case of bed bug bites and the travellers diahrea I managed to pick up in this ''developed'' country, Rome can only be Rome, and luckily Rome is fabulous... a quirky, rustic, tourist riddled kind of fabulous.

And with that I will say ciao. One needs to concentrate in these sort of lines, those Chinese tour groups can get sneaky...

REWIND: A Chilly Hike (Day 283)

2006-09-18T09:13:00.000-07:00

Chilled by stale sweat and covered with a thin layer of dust we precariously yet quickly made our way down the steps of the mountain. It was my second day in South Africa and Jared and I had just spent the last 2 hours climbing to the top of Capetown's famed Table Mountain.

We were chatting as we made our way down, Jared in front with me following somewhat closely behind. As we curved around one of the many steep hairpin turns we were greeted by an older man about midsixties and his wife perched on a rock.

"You must not be Canadian" he said. We began to answer but he continued, "because you're practically yelling".

Somewhat thrown off guard Jared and I stopped for a moment. His wife smiled.

"We just spent some time in Canada, and they were pretty quiet" he said. At this point Jared and I took a couple of steps in an attempt to continue down the steep path. He went on, "and you know what I think?...I think they're quiet because they don't want to be mistaken for Americans".

His wife nodded.

With this comment Jared and I paused. We had actually been talking about this exact subject the night before and had agreed that in most cases it's actually Canadians who are giving US a bad name, at least in the areas we had travelled. In Southeast Asia there were numerous instances when we had encountered what we thought to be an obnoxious group of Americans, yet on further investigation found they were actually Canadian, and if we can't tell who can? We had also agreed that there really aren't that many Americans traveling and if they do they tend to watch their asses closely and go to great lenghts to serve as positive "embassadors" since they know the world is against them.

"Well actually..." Jared and I said at the same time. I smiled as he continued to explain our thoughts to the man and his nodding wife. "Interesting" was all they replied.

The man then started to talk to Jared while his wife began chatting at me. She said she thought Americans were pretty quiet after their recent trip to California. She then went on to say that California was a dirty place with entirely too much poverty. Her husband chimmed in to say he thought Bangkok was better than L.A.

"We all have our problems" Jared replied.

"Well at least they don't pretend to be civilized" the man spat.

At this point Jared and I glanced at each other. It had been an odd couple of minutes. They had greeted us by offending us and had continued to do so throughout the entire conversation yet had done it in an oddly polite fashion which had thrown Jared and I off enough to allow them our attention for so long. But this comment, followed by his wife saying California was the most horrible place in the world, snapped us out of our daze and we realized we could no longer tolerate their inconsiderate blabber.

We turned to go, but then I turned back.

"Yes, we all have our problems, that's why I choose to reflect and go home and help make change rather than sit around telling others what's wrong with their countries" I said with a smile.

And with that he was off.

"That's the biggest load of bullshit I've ever heard!" he screamed, spit flying in all directions. We turned and continued our stumble hurridly down the mountain while the man stood upon his rock screaming at the top of his lungs. His voice boomed over the side of the mountain and with each echo his topic changed. Americans were fuel guzzling inconsiderate Bush-loving human beings. None of them had a good bone in their bodies. The English were soccer playing children. Women were losing their femininity. The list went on and on. At one point Jared said he even yelled something about me needing to grow out my hair.

The man was insane, yet his comments still stung. He was saying the things I know a majority of people think. He was exactly the type of traveller I hate. The dirty hippie that has done nothing but sit and smoke weed while bitching about the world and what's wrong with it. In my opinion the epitome of a useless human being. Someone who travels the world, learns so much, has so much priviledge yet uses none of it for any good. I don't know how many times I've found myself in rooms full of travellers drinking, smoking and whining about Bush and the U.S. government, fingers jabbing at the air, eyes rolling, tempers flaring. Early in my travels I used to agree, hanging my head to a certain extent. Yet as time has gone on I've found myself fed up with other travellers and their opinions. It's not that I don't agree with a lot of what they say, it's what they don't say that bothers me. When it comes to world politics all the focus is on the U.S. and how it's "messing things up". People seem to believe their countries have little or no power in world politics. In their minds George W. Bush thinks he rules the world and their comments show why in some ways he does. They don't acknowledge their own roles in the process. They don't acknowledge that it's the people they vote for at home that either support or fight the issues their voters deem worthy. They don't acknowledge that they elected the leaders that allow Bush to "rule the world"(1). They don't acknowledge that it's their voice that makes the change. Instead they waste their breath screaming at Jared and I, telling us how we screwed up by not doing anything when we may in fact be the only one's who actually make our voices heard.

As much as it hurts to be accused of being supporters of an "evil imperialistic empire" their angry voices and jabbing fingers have shown me how much power I have simply because I have the right to vote in U.S. elections. Whether it's right or fair, at this point in history my vote effects the entire world. Given that, it is not possible for me, a world traveller and U.S. citizen with an understanding of politics and environmental issues to go home and be the person they accuse me of being. What I now understand is that the rage in their voices may actually be a result of the belief that their votes are meaningless when in actuality they are not. They are frustrated by their self-imposed uselessness and the knowledge that I will continue down the mountain and make the change they want to make, while they will continue to rant on rocks, their words bouncing off the cliffs and creavaces of the mountain's dusty terrain.

(1) "They" being the majority of people in their country. I know I didn't vote for Bush but I accept the fact that a majority of people in my country did.

Finally Off My Ass In Africa (Day 320)

2006-08-15T07:16:00.000-07:00

During my college years, in order to keep up on journaling as well as to escape boredom and quiet the mind I used to write during lectures. No professor ever seemed to notice, too occupied scribbling on their overhead projectors and pacing like caged lions ready to pounce on any inattentive student. As I hurriedly transferred my thoughts to paper, my pen struggling to keep up with my mind, I would make a point of glancing up at the teacher and board periodically so if I was noticed I was seen as a student devoted to her education and meticulously taking notes. As a result of this practice I learned two things. One, the information in your diary will not help on a political science final; and two, if you haven't written in your journal for an extremely long time recapping is useless, so you might as well start from the present and address the past when you have more time or a longer lecture.

Now, five years later this knowledge comes into play once again. Seeing I have completely failed as a blogger and abandoned my duty to write consistently, my blog is close to two months behind (as I'm sure you have noticed). So now here I sit fighting the urge to turn this blog into a bullet list of locations and events, yet not wanting to disappoint those of you who truly want to know more than what is currently rattling around in my (sometimes referred to as "hard") head.

To give you a taste of the moment, I'm sitting at a large weathered wooden table in a bar where the floor is dusted lightly with sand. To my right are two small Mozambican boys, probably children of a cook or bartender, both closer to being toddlers than teenagers. The younger one holds his tiny baby sister in a classic African sling made from a sarong and tied over the left shoulder cradling the baby to his chest. As he plays and hops about the bar her head bounces left to right and yet she continues to sleep. Window panes behind me blurred with a layer of film resulting from years of humid sandy sea breezes look out to Mozambique's Tofo beach and then beyond to the white capped Indian Ocean.

Today is our fourth day in Tofo and for the past few days we've done little more than walk along wet foamy sand and devour delicious seafood curries, cracking the crab shells with our teeth and hungrily licking sauce from our fingertips. Earlier this morning Jared and a few friends set out on a sea safari to swim with the whales, manta rays and whalesharks while I on the other hand have devoted myself to you.

For those of you who no longer email me, too bitter about my failure to blog or email you myself probably have no clue as to where I've been or what I've done between departing my Grandmother's house in Brisbane and arriving here in Mozambique. So, I will break my recap rule. I can only hope it's entertaining...

Following a month and a half of working nine hour days chatting with Chiloh, my newfound friend and co-worker serving lemon-lime and bitters and mounds of pasta to untipping Aussies, I set off to explore the east coast of Australia starting in the Whitsundays and working my way back to Brisbane. In regards to the north-east coast of OZ:

I hear Cairnes is amazing.
I didn't go to Cairnes.

Upon arrival in the Whitsundays I quickly found myself surrounded by a swarm of 18 year old English backpackers who didn't seem to understand the concept of "pacing oneself" when drinking. Luckily I found some amazingly cool Americans and a mature Brit who helped me laugh our way through three miserable days on a rip-off sailing trip, and the rest of the time I spent horseback riding and eating home cooked meals around a fire on a farm in the Queensland outback.

In Brisbane once again I met up with Mom who had just arrived from America, said my last goodbyes to Grandma, Sammy (my cousin and tour guide) and Aunty Margo, and we set of for the south. Mom and I spent the next week driving from Adelaide to Melbourne munching on unique market finds and wine tasting while trying to decipher maps, discussing familial and social issues and admiring the beautiful yet freezing scenery.

On July 6th I flew to Capetown South Africa where, after three months, I met up with Jared once again.

Here I will stop the summary because as usual this is droning on in such a fashion that I'm beginning to bore myself. But no worries that's not all I have to say abut Australia. I've actually written a number of things about OZ, South Africa, Zimbabwe, I just haven't posted them yet. It seems that every time I write something I'm unable to finish it and then two weeks later my unfinished, unposted work seems, well, outdated. So in addition to being a poor recap blog this is also an attempt to give some perspective to the articles I will post after this. So instead of babbling on in a fashion lacking any entertaining value I will insert a timeline here:

00/04/06 Last Blog
06/05/06 Living with Grandma/working at La Dolce Vita
--
14/06/06 Fly to Whitsundays and slowly make my way back to Brizzy (sailing trip and farmstay)
--
26/06/06 Arrive in Brisbane
27/06/06 Mom Arrives in OZ
29/06/06 Mom and I fly to Adelaide
30/06/06 Mom and I drive from Adelaide to Melbourne
06/07/06 Fly to Capetown (South Africa)
07/07/06 Travel around Capetown and Stellenbosch with Jared
17/07/06 Jared and I Fly to Johannesburg and meet up with our friend Chris
-- Stuck in Joburg bored out of our minds
20/07/06 Bus from Joburg to Bulawayo (Zimbabwe)
21/07/06 Minibus from Bulawayo to Victoria Falls (Zimbabwe)
-- Hanging out in Victoria Falls (Zimbabwe) and Livingston (Zambia) enjoying the falls,
having tea on Livingston island, riding in speed boats and bungy jumping
25/07/06 Chris' Birthday!
27/07/06 Train back to Bulawayo, say goodbye to Chris, then minibus to Masvingo
(Zimbabwe)
-- Visit Great Zimbabwe Ruins and relax on lake near Masvingo
01/08/06 Bus to Mutare (Zimbabwe, border town)
-- Relax in Mutare at Anne's Place
04/08/06 Enter Mozambique (Chimoio)
05/08/06 Bus from Chimoio to Vilanculous (Mozambique)
--
08/08/06 Jared's Birthday!! Take boat trip to Bazaruto Archipalegio and camp on islands
10/08/08 Minibus to Tofo
--
15/08/08 Still in Tofo...ready to go

Hopefully that gave you a true sense of my activities over the past 2 months without the pathetic attempt at quality writing, and as a result I can return to the thoughts rattling around in my head at the moment.

...

Tomorrow our plan is to either head to Maputo (Mozambique capital city) and then fly north or fly north directly from here. Our hope is to make our way into Malawi by the 20th or so and find a place to volunteer by the 1st of September, but to be honest I don't know if things will workout quite that way for me. While in Australia I pondered a lot of issues and one thing I decided was that I need to give something back rather than continue to wander along as a priviledged traveller clueless to the need and heartache I wade through everyday. I still want to volunteer but unfortunately volunteering and Europe hold equal rank and the bank account is running dangerously low. So, although in most ways I'm a carefree traveller, the worries are beginning to build and with it thoughts of changing plans. I fear the end is dangerously near. With every dollar spent the announcement rings in my ears:

"Please fasten your seatbelts and return you seatbacks and tray tables to the upright position..."

And whether it accompanies the roar of crashing waves, the call of chapa drivers or the laughter or street kids, it's always there, and it's gradually increasing in volume. But until then I'll pack and unpack my bag, barter at the markets, plan on volunteering in Malawi and travelling in Europe; I will continue to stand in awe as women stroll leisurely down the street, baskets on their heads piled high with oranges and peanuts their babies strapped to their backs, and I will love every minute of it. So if time is slowly making it's segue from a distant thought to an ever present countdown it means I shouldn't be wasting my time sitting here writing ridiculously long summary blogs. So, lacking a better conclusion, this concludes this blog. I'll be posting previously written stories about my travels in OZ and Africa as well as new blogs so stay tuned... oh yes, and sorry about the two month hiatus.

Cheezy Hollywood Here I Come (Day 232)

2006-05-19T14:21:00.000-07:00

With a tug on my jeans and a last fluff of the hair I pulled open the door and walked in. The air was thick with tension and the stench of cut throat competition. I stood at the door a moment and took a quick glance around the room. White Male Mid-twenties Athletic, White Male Mid-twenties Athletic, Exotic African Female Thin, White Female Beautiful Great Body, White Female Early Twenties/Late Teens/Youthful, Stage Mom, White Female Vibrant Early Twenties, African-American Female Mid-Twenties. I smiled. No one smiled back. Eyes averted, heads turned down, one White Male Mid-twenties coughed. I looked straight ahead up a flight of stairs and listened. Nothing. I stepped to the right of the door and leaned against the wall a slight smile on my face.

Man this room is tense.

That's when I noticed the small table with 2 stacks of papers and a scattering of pens. I walked over and filled out the first:

Name. Jasmine Summerset. Age. 25. Agency. Spotz Management.

I grabbed the other paper and returned to my wall.

Spotz Management was Sammy's agent. I'd met Jillian before, but she hadn't confirmed herself as my agent in any sense so I was surprised when her secretary had called me yesterday to tell me about the audition. The casting call was for Old Navy Jeans and they were requesting "African American Women - 16yo - 24yo - Beautiful, Vibrant, Full of Energy, Confident, Good Body". I figured why not? It doesn't hurt to try and it's not like I would have a whole lot of competition. I mean they were looking in Brisbane, not to mention completely the wrong continent.

So that morning I'd risen fairly early, spent an hour or so on the internet, put together a simple "bright top & jeans" outfit, froed out my hair and set off for Brisbane's west end.

Leaning against my wall I glanced over at the Exotic African Female Thin and smiled. She glared at me like a Nubian princess being asked to do her own laundry. I chuckled to myself and slid down the wall into sitting position so I could fill out the rest of the paperwork.

I scanned the page.
Name.
Address.
Phone Number.
Agent.
Shoe size.
Height.
Chest.
Waist.
Hips.
I rolled my eyes. Good God. Let's see... Shoe size. 8. Chest. 33". Height. 5'5 1/2", always make yourself taller. Waist. 28". Hips...hips...31". Always make yourself thinner. I set the pages aside, pulled out my book and started to read.

Over the next few minutes a couple more people trickled in with the same looks of anticipation, met with the same looks of disreguard, and my single smile. Cut thoat, shmut throat, I thought. This isn't my line of work, and the best men/women will win no matter how much you glare in the waiting room.

A couple of minutes later a thin blond smoker type woman trotted down the stairs, flashed a fake smile and asked the first three who arrived to head upstairs. People glanced at each other, nodded heads and spoke a few words before the agreed first three headed up the stairs. I heard the typical audition questions and movement and then, out of nowhere a clatter which made me picture a herd of kangaroos landing on the roof. They were jumping, and everytime they jumped someone let out a distinct "woohoo!". I smiled. Of course. Old Navy commercials were always cheesy with kids running from bears or singing Christmas carols. Of course jumping in an excited cheerleader like fashion would be a logical inclusion. This continued to happen every few minutes and now and then someone would come down the stairs and leave, followed by the casting agent asking the next person to "come up".

When it was finally my turn I grabbed my bag and quickly walked up the stairs expecting to see other auditioners who had gone up before. Yet to my surprise the jumping hadn't taken place as a group but individually, people were just really loud jumpers. No herd, only me. So, just as those before me, I introduced myself, got my picture taken front and side, and did my jump.

"Wow, that jump was...perfect" she said with a smile. "We'll let you know in the next couple weeks".

I smiled to myself as I trotted down the stairs. I may not have the perfect 5'8" 115lb body for an Old Navy Jeans commercial; and as a result I may not have an ice cube's chance in hell of getting the job. But, I had given her the perfect jump.

My Island Getaway (Day 225)

2006-05-12T22:30:00.000-07:00

In order to kill a bit of time last Sunday I took a stroll to Brizzy's "west end" to browse the numerous shops and specialty markets. I was mainly in search of a small used bookstore called Bent Books which a co-worker said had a wide selection of travel guides. Having become somewhat bored with roaming around Brisbane's Southbank, I had made the decision to pick up an Australian Lonely Planet in order to plan some "weekend getaways". And I figured if the cost was my boredom and $39.99 AUD, it was well worth it.

Bent Books did indeed have a wide selection of travel books, unfortunately none of them were used. The quirky somewhat pushy shop attendant explained how most of the time you can't find used travel books, and if you do they're most likely too old and in a highlighted dogearred condition. Given this unfortunate information, I bought two new Lonely Planets and decided that from now on I would keep my guide books in good condition and sell them to used bookstores...as long as I could find them after the trip.

That night I flipped through the East Coast Australia Lonely Planet looking for things to do. My boss at the cafe had given me Tuesday and Wednesday off so I figured it was a good time to get back on the trail. On page 321 I found details on a small island about an hour outside of Brisbane by the name of Stradbroke. It sounded quaint with nice beaches, hiking, snorkling, sandboarding and 4x4 tours; plus it had a youth hostel so I figured I'd be able to meet some fellow backpackers. I decided to leave the next day (Monday) after work in order to get the most out of my weekend.

Monday morning I got up three hours before work so I would have time to run and pack. Although I thought I had given myself ample time, I found myself running to the cafe as a result of Grandma asking me to make a trip to the corner store and buy a 1/2 gallon of "full cream milk" so she could "make a custard for a woman from church...". Luckily I wasn't late and worked my shift with an antsy pacing approach anticipating my return to the backpacker trail.

After work my pack and I squeezed onto the train with the evening commutors headed to Cleveland station. I felt awkward not knowing where I was going in a city where everyone is going somewhere. From the station I hopped on a bus to the dock where I took a half hour ferry ride to the island.

It was dark by the time I arrived so I wasn't able to see much scenery on the bus ride across the island. The bus driver had smiled cheerily as I climbed up the steps inspite of the fact that it was dinner time and there were only 4 of us on the bus. A plump woman in a blue flower print blouse chattered away in his ear as he drove. Her bags of groceries spilling out onto the black rubber lined isle. I enjoyed the ride along the dark windy road wondering what the morning sun would reveal. To my surprise I noticed a Chinese character light up when the blinker engaged and realized that the bus was an old Chinese vehicle brought over for exclusive use on the island. I was definitely back on the backpacker trail.

The bus dropped me off directly in front of the hostel and then roared off with a groan from the gears and a wave from the driver. A friendly guy (whose name I can't remember) checked me in and introduced me to the staff and the one other backpacker staying at the time. After setting my pack in my room and throwing together something to eat, I plopped down on the couch with the rest of them and just about choked on my cracker when I realized they were watching Temptation one of Grandma's favorite game shows. Luckily it ended fairly quickly.

The next morning I woke up at 7:00am and this time after hopping down from the bunk and hurrying to the toilet, I didn't climb back into bed. Instead I got dressed, packed myself a breakfast of a plum, rye crackers, cheese and marmalade, and set off for the beach.

It was a beautiful crisp clear morning and while I sat alone on the long stretch of sand munching my picnic breakfast, I grew more and more pleased with the fact that it was the low season and not mid summer when the island's population of 2000 increases to 30,000. For the next few hours I roamed around the town and beaches discovering their charm and appeal.

After about three hours I ran into the other guest from the hostel and we sat down to have a coffee...well he had a coffee, I splurged and had an iced chocolate which is composed of ice cream, chocolate syrup, milk and whipped cream with a dusting of powdered chocolate. After the first hour of conversation I got the hang of my beverage companion's accent (Swedish with a word specific lisp) and found that we had a great deal to talk about. We were soon joined by the cafe owner and one of the staff. 5 hours later, two glasses of pinot noir and a heafty serving of social and political conversation later, my hostelmate and I said goodbye and briskly walked back to the hostel.

The next day I spent most of my time chatting with locals and sunbathing until I caught the bus (and the same driver) back to the ferry. On the return ride I got to see the island's bush setting, but unfortunately this time I shared the bus with three other backpackers. From what I could tell one was Aussie, one was Northern European and one was American. As we rode along I couldn't help but listen to them talk, not because their conversation was compelling, but because the American was so damn loud. He continuously talked about himself and spent most of the time explaining how great his beard is and how much the girls love it. Every word that came out of his mouth made me cringe. He sounded so self-focused and ignorant, and I wondered if I would have thought the same thing 8 months ago. The fact is, I probably would have, but it got me thinking.

Since my return to the "western"1 world, I've noticed that kids (kids being people between the ages of 17 - 26) seem more self-centered, oblivious and well...immature. I can't help but sense within the first 10 minutes of a conversation whether someone has any form of global consciousness and more often than not they don't. And I hope I don't sound self-centered when I say, most kids are painfully oblivious to the world around them.

The boy in the bus also made me wonder if we (Americans) are really as bad as people think we are (ie. loud, obnoxious, rude etc.). While chatting with the cafe owner, he explained his belief that the best way to change someone's opinion and make change in the world is to serve as an example. Don't preach, just live. Show those around you how great you are and they will want to change. Which causes me to reflect on my own life and wonder if I am truly being who I want to be. As great as it is to backpack around the world and gain a global perspective, how am I making a difference? We will all ask ourselves this question at one or multiple points in our lives and I can guarentee most of us are not satisfied with the answer, yet we make little change.

The night before my flight out of Bangkok, I ventured out to my favorite place, Siam Paragon. This time I wasn't there for food, but rather to see a film in one of the complex spectacularly plush theaters. The film was The Constant Gardener, one I had wanted to see since before I left home. By the end of the movie there was a phrase repeating in my head; it wasn't from the film, it had just come to me during the two hours I sat entranced and heart wrenched in front of the screen:

I have done nothing

I have changed nothing

I will not die saying the same thing.

Throughout my travels I've understood more and more the priviledge I've received simply being born across an invisible line. By mearly taking my first breath within the borders of a country the world has come to accept as "America"2 I have more opportunity and will lead a more "successful"3 life than most of the world can imagine. Yes, my family made difficult journies at a young age and on slave ships in order for me to be an "American" but ultimately, for me, it was luck. And how, when you have that much luck, can you let it go to waste?

For those of you who know me it is obvious I am passionate about change, and I can only hope that how I live my life has shown this to a certain extent, but that is not enough. So I guess this is my declaration, announcement, promise... I have done nothing. I have changed nothing, and I will not die saying the same thing. Whether it be by volunteering here in Brisbane or in Africa, spending time with a street kid or making films which raise public awareness, I cannot allow myself to continue to be the self-centered world inhabitant I have been. I'm seeing and learning too much to simply continue to observe both in my travels and my life.

Perhaps this is why the boy on the bus annoyed me so much. I don't see how travelers, who in some ways serve as embassadors, can continue to think the world revolves around them.

After I got off the bus and made my way back to Brisbane on the ferry and then the train, I continued to ponder (as I always will) my duty as a "westerner", an American, a human being and a traveler. And the whole time I couldn't fight the feeling that one of my duties might have been to turn around and tell that kid to shut up for once in his life.

1) "Western" is a Eurocentric term that established Asia as the "East", South America as "South", Iraq as the "Middle East" etc. As a result, Europe became the "West" and later came to refer to "First World" or Advanced countries. (Wikipedia has a great write up on it http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_world)

2) The entire continent is America, which includes Canada and Mexico, yet we have claimed, and it has been accepted that we call our country "America".

3) Need I explain? Success is culturally defined and thus different for everyone, therefore my "successful" life may be a failure to some.

A Day In My Aussie Life (Day 214)

2006-04-30T14:36:00.000-07:00

Yesterday at 7am I awoke to the sound of cereal being poured into a porcelain bowl, followed by Uncle Eric tromping past my door through the dining room and back. I quickly climbed down from the bunk skipping the last few rungs and hopping to the floor, desperate to get to the toilet. A couple minutes later I climbed back into bed and looked at the clock on my cellphone. 7:15am. Too early I thought to myself and went back to sleep.

The next time I woke up it was 9:25 and when I finally forced myself to get out of bed it was almost 11:00. There really was no reason to get up. There was nothing I wanted to search on the internet, no gym class to attend, and Grandma was already comfortably planted in front of O'Reilly, his over-emphasized "come on"'s blasting from the livingroom.

I climbed out anyways, my body was starting to get that slept-too-much ache. I quickly got dressed for the gym, cleaned the kitchen and on the way out was informed by Grandma that I needed to strip all the beds, wash the sheets and remake them sometime today. I told her I'd do it when I got back and bolted out the door.

I spent the next 2+ hours at the gym, running, kickboxing and doing whatever else I could think of to amuse myself. It was an easy day. As a treat, I grabbed a "Boost" smoothie before leaving the shopping center. They are --of course-- not as good as "Blenders" but after being on the road for 7 months, any smoothie with more than ice and lemon juice is accepted with great enthusiasm.

On the walk back to the house I slowly shuffled along; kicking rocks and picking leaves. Half way there I stopped at a playground and made my way through the dry woodchips to a swing. I swang for about 20 minutes. I think the people who scurried by thought I was "special".

Once I got back to the house I sat in front of the computer until my eyes were beet red and watering, chatting on IM and searching random trivial topics on Google, while slowly consuming 1/2 a kilo of green grapes. Around 7pm I showered and headed with Uncle Eric to Jasmine's house for dinner. On the way we stopped at a BWS store to buy some wine and I had one of those moments when you realize the cashier thinks you're dating a family member. We spent the rest of the night debating life, love and politics while sipping Penefolds Bin 28. Yes, this is my Aussie life.

Being here in OZ has been great. Coming here after S.E. Asia was a good plan, giving me much needed recouperation time. But as most of you know I've decided not to stay.

While in Southeast Asia, bug bitten, sticky and covered with sand I decided I would come to OZ, find a film/tv job and work for the next 6-9 months. When I first arrived I started making connections, got my resume ready and was excited to start working, but those feelings quickly disolved.

My third week here, Sammy and I made the long drive down to Sydney. After spending the next week drinking too much, spending too much and couch hopping between Julia's, Antonia's brother's and Sammy's Uncle's, I realized it was time to make some decisions. If I was going to stay in OZ and work, I needed to hurry up and get a job. But where exactly I wanted to work had me stumped. Sydney was a beautiful city that had tons to do, and with Julia there I would quickly have a fun group of friends; but it was expensive and if I stayed, no matter how long I worked, I wasn't going to save a dime. Brisbane on the other hand afforded me cheap housing where I was close to the train and I'd have time to get to know Grandma. The only problems being it has less film work than Sydney, is dullville in comparison and has no friends for me to hangout with.

As I started tackling those decisions other issues began to raise their ugly heads. If I stayed here until December I wouldn't have Jared as a travel partner for Africa, my budget may not be any better than when I got here, and the more I thought about it the more I began to see that come month three, I was going to be bored out of my mind.

I'm not done traveling, not even close. I'm too excited to stuff the backpack into the back of the closet. I want to see Africa and Europe, not paychecks. And I'm not at all keen on struggling to find a job. After having a month to recoup, I've realized that I just needed a little recovery time. What I had wanted was to get to a gym and off the beaches of Thailand. I had gotten bored in Southeast Asia, and as a result, tired.

So, I've gone back to Plan A which means in July I will be meeting Jared in Africa; and as Brian Bort pointed out it's a bit odd seeing one normally goes to Plan B, not back to Plan A. But in this case it works out, and seems to be an example of clouded judgement. Plan A was always better than Plan B, my mind was just too fogged by humidity and smog to realize it.

So in the meantime I've gotten myself (well actually Uncle Eric got it for me, I'm learning to use connections) a job. It's a lame waitressing position at a tiny cafe down the street. I'm getting $12/hour but hardly any tips because Aussies don't tip, and to be honest I can understand why. The service here is crap. Empty glasses, uncleared plates. I mean people are actually used to getting up and asking for the bill. So at this point I have 2 choices: Stay the great American server that I am OR lower myself to the "I only work as hard as I get paid" Aussie server approach. I highly doubt I'll choose the second...but then again, it is only $12/hour.

Now that I'm back from Sydney and somewhat settled, I'll need to put a little more effort into the friends realm. It's interesting that it's easier to make friends in a "3rd world" country than in a country where you're surrounded by people who speak the same language. People are in their comfort zones and don't feel the need to make new friends everyday. Oddly enough I have spent more time on my own here than I did traveling by myself in China. I welcomed it at first since I was sick of chit chat by the time I left the southeastasian backpacker trail, but now that I'm bored it's back to being social, back to working and back to planning. Planning where I'm off to next, which hopefully includes some weekend trips in OZ and of course the upcoming months in Africa. It's funny how quickly you can want to get away when you realize you're stuck somewhere for a while. I'll try to make the best of it by saving a little money, meeting some Aussies and using the gym to the fullest, but of course, the countdown is still on...

Chapter 2 Begins (Day 185)

2006-04-02T04:34:00.000-07:00

Right now I'm starring at a 10 x 12 foot area of wallpaper which depicts a path leading to a still blue lake through an autumn forest and wondering why nature scene wallpaper ever went out of style. Mounted on the wall is a stick with a stuffed bird who's auburn speckled feathers have miraculously stayed attached inspite of the fact that it's probably 30 years old. I dare not get up and take a closer look, fearful I may see it no longer has it's beek.

For those of you who have been here before you know exactly where I am. But for those who have never been so priviledged, I will explain...I'm at Grandma's. And, as with all grandparents' homes, it is a tribute to different times. Golden yellow fabric flowers, intricately embroidered tapestries, fragile glass figurines, Grandpop's hats hung all in a row(1). As I roam around the house every item begs to have it's story told.

Yet, for a child under 10, time at the grandparents can seem like a voluntary trip to a history museum. Besides the benefit of a sweet from the kitchen sweet jar, the entire event can be boring and filled with the constant effort to evade all adults. You can't run or play, you can't touch anything, and if for some reason you ask about a particular item on display, the explaination is often much longer than desired.

But, as you get older things change. You wonder where the glass swans came from, or when the china was actually used for tea. You wonder who won the 5 foot trophy and which hat was Grandpop's favorite. You wonder how long "The Blue Boy" embroidery took, not to mention why anyone would want to embroider at all. You find you can't help but smile at the colorful stuffed birds or pause at the wooden canes leaning against the wall. What 15 years ago seemed like a dying relic is now more alive than you ever thought.

Getting to know Grandma has been cool, and I look forward to the months to come. I'm not sure she'll ever get used to my eating habits. "That's all you're going to eat?" she asks inquisitively; suggesting I have some more rice, a piece of "brown bread" or another whole meal to supplement the first. It's uncanny to go from being nameless in dingy guesthouses and tasteless cafes to Grandma's house.

My return to the "real world" has been all-around odd. For me culture shock is less about what I see and more about the continuous feeling of being out of place and the random moments when I notice things are missing. Sometimes I'll stop suddenly and wonder where my passport is and then remember I don't need it anymore and it's safe on my dresser wide out in the open in my room at Grandma's.

Most of the time I find myself looking for people of color. Although I was often the only dark traveller on the trail and I grew up in a city who's population was mostly of white European American decent (ooh, watch Jasmine be P.C.!) I've suddenly lost my ability to feel okay being the only one.

This feeling almost stopped me from coming to OZ. On my final layover in Bali, the airport was full of Australians arriving and returning from their vacations. While waiting for my plane to board I was suddenly afraid. The groups of Australians frightened me. I was entering their world. A "western world" where people are working, partying, working out, shopping, judging... I would no longer be in a truely foreign nation. Here I would have no excuses, I knew most of the rules.

While waiting I also realized that I had come to dislike Australians...well not Auzzies in particular, but rather "westerners" in general(2). While in Thailand so many were loud, obnoxious and only there to drink. My only desire (as well as most backpackers' I knew) was to escape other backpackers. And here I was going to their home. After peeking down the ramp for a few minutes and fighting the urget to simply turn around and find myself another shabby bungalow in Bali; I made my way onto the plane and to Australia. It's not as hard as I thought, but it's still odd.

Today I did a load of laundry. Opened the lid, threw in the clothes and carefully measured out 1/2 a scoop of fragrant detergent. Do you know how weird that feels? Or how eerie it is to be comfortable all day? Not too hot, not too cold, not itchy or sweaty. To walk outside and just feel good? To always have cold water to drink and see your clothes hanging in a closet? Or to find yourself attracted to cricket players? It just all feels so bizarre. Using things like a carrot peeler make me smile.

Since I arrived -- other than working out -- I've been touring around Brisbane and the Goldcoast with my cousin Sammy as my guide, and he's doing a fabulous job. The rest of the time I'm on the computer catching up with friends & family and researching. Free internet is truely a luxury. Unfortunately all this free internet has it's drawbacks. It's shown me that grad school is going to be extremely difficult to get into, Australian work visas are hard to attain, production companies don't like the internet, and it reminds me how much I miss Jared and my family everytime I have to hang-up skype. It's a time warp that sucks you in fresh and enthusiastic and spits you out in a swirl of numbers with red eyes, sore wrists and feeling abandoned.

So I guess things aren't exactly that exciting, but they're definitely not boring, and don't worry, I'll do my best to steer clear of the mundane. I'm still traveling people! Don't fret just yet. I'm just staying at this guesthouse a little longer.

I will say one thing. If you ever hear me start saying "G'day", calling bell pepper capsicum, cilantro corriander, mixing up public and private, and losing sight of the true definition of liberal, have someone kidnap me and put me on a plane to Africa with a note stating "Keep her moving" pinned to my chest.

Brisbane

(1) As an American it's Grandpa, but with Grandma it's Grandpop.

(2) Yes, I understand this includes me.

Antsy in Bangkok (Day 176)

2006-03-25T00:35:00.000-08:00

So, once again I find myself alone and writing, and I may not be mid-transport on a bus, train or ferry as usual, but I am in Bangkok. So it would seem my creativity is sparked by boredom and a sense of trapped seclusion... at least it gets me writing.

Last I wrote Jared and I were in Georgetown eating a tiffin lunch in "Hotel Colonial Glory" (my stomach just growled at the thought of it...or is it because of the smell of sizzling pad thai woks wafting up from the street below?). After Georgetown we shot down south to Melaka (also spelled Malacca) on the best VIP bus I've ever encountered (10 pts for Malaysia). Melaka turned out to be a charming Spanish style town that offered almost nothing to do except complain about the sticky body-coating heat. I loved it for 2 reasons:

1. The guesthouses were fantastic
2. There was a gym down the street

I know I don't need to explain my second reason, but I will say something about the first. In a backpackers life a good guesthouse is like finding $100 bucks on a street corner. It's not likely to happen, but when it does you linger around and hope there'll be more. (Unless of course you're in a bad neighborhood, in which case it might belong to a drug dealer, so you quickly take off at a brisk stroll hoping no one noticed).

After a couple of sweltering days in Melaka, we took a short bus ride back north to Kuala Lumpur two days before John (Jared's dad) was to meet us. It was my birthday and we had spent hours on the internet scrolling through hotel listings and pictures in search of the perfect splurge hotel. We wanted a room that was stylish yet comfortable, a gym, a nice swimming pool and a mini bar; all for under 300 ringet ($75 usd). It turned out to be quite doable, and we finally booked two nights at the Impiana KLCC Hotel and Spa. Upon arrival we were delighted with our decision. The hotel was beautiful and the pool was fantastic, yet there was one thing they had failed to mention on their website...it wasn't completely finished. We found this out when shortly after checking in we set out to explore. While roaming we stopped a bellhop and asked him where the gym was. "We not have gym. Not finished yet. Maybe 1 year" he replied. We returned to the room and I proceeded to overreact by crying in the bathroom for the next 20 mins. I know it seems obsurd - and it is - but all I wanted was a nice room I could lounge in all day watching movies and calling roomservice because the only time I planned to leave was to go to the gym a few floors away (1). Jared (being as wonderful as he is) sat down with the manager over a cigarette and explained to him that it was my birthday and that the slow grand opening approach was not what we were looking for. He was kind enough to give us until 3pm to find a new place.

We found a new hotel quickly and althought the rooms were missing the hardwood floors and the contemporary sheek style, it was nice, it had a gym, and as an added bonus, a wine bar; which we later used for 2 bottles of red and a cheese plate. Our friends Lindsay and Allison arrived around the same time as John, so the five of us spent a day or so together, during which we went to visit the Petronus Towers. I was especially excited to see the view from the top of one of the tallest buildings in the world and had largely instigated the visit. Unfortunately, we were disappointed to find that visitors are only allowed to "the bridge" on the 48th floor. The view was great, but to look up and see 40 more stories is like craving a banana split and getting everything but the ice cream.

Later that day, Jared, John and I said our goodbyes to the girls since they were on their way to Singapore, rented a car and hit the roads of Malaysia. We were anxious for a busless adventure and well prepared with a cooler full of cheese and fruit (I swear John brought us close to 10lbs). We chose to rent a car in Malaysia because it has the best roads in southeast Asia, and we wanted to see where they would take us. But, just because a country has good roads, doesn't mean they're comprehensive. We came to find that in Malaysia there is never a simple Point A to Point B route, or even a Point ABC route. Normally it's a Point A to Point G route. Sometimes we would get to an intersection and there would be two signs for KL pointing in different directions. Lets just say we spent a lot of time turning around and jabbing at maps.

The first night we went to see the fireflies in Kuala Selangor, which I realized I had never seen after I kept thinking they were little lights hung in the trees by Disney employees. The next day we amused ourselves at a waterpark near Kuala Lumpur which we unfortunately had to cross through again in order to head north. The 3rd and 4th day, after making it up the windy narrow 2 lane road to the Cameron Highlands, we spent enjoying the cool crisp air, rain, tea, and scones with strawberry jam and cream. This time I enjoyed them without wondering whether I would have been allowed to during British occupation.

The Oakes Men and Me

After the Cameron Highlands, we made the very difficult journey to the national park named Taman Negara. On the way I learned that the Oakes drive very fast when they are frustrated. We didn't have much time left in Malaysia so we only spent a day and a night, which was enough to enjoy the canopy walk, take a boat ride, and wish we had more time.

We spent our 2nd to last night in another Highland retreat called Bukit Something Or Other (sorry too much to remember) which was the whole reason we had rented the car in the first place. Although we didn't see the town in the daylight, we found that it had fantastic "tea with milk" and was quite charming. The next day we made it back to KL just in time to get Jared's India visa, find a nice place to stay and settle in for the night. We had a delightfully early flight back to Thailand the next morning.

The next couple days we spent in my old romping grounds, Chiang Mai, a city I realize I have come to love. Their Sunday night market is practically a pleasure with it's candlelight feel and 'Sunday stroll' pace. It's what you would hope most southeast Asian markets would be. A plethora of unique handmade crafts and none of the immitation Gucci crap. I gave in and bought myself a bag I don't think I'll regret purchasing even though I had to lug it around the following 3 weeks.

On Wednesday the 7th we (which now includes Allison who met us in Chiang Mai, and brought me my camera yippie!) set out to cross the border into Laos without fully comprehending the border crossing we were about to endure. When crossing from northern Thailand into Laos there is only one crossing, and the only way to get to the nearest city (Luang Prabang) is by boat. Although you have no choice in mode of transportation, they were kind enough to give us the option of speed. Fast or slow. The slow boat takes 2 days, the fast boat takes 6 hours. We opted for the fast boat having heard horror stories and wanting to save time. Although I don't think any of us regret our choice and the extra cost, we soon came to find there were drawbacks to the speed boat as well. First, 8 of us were squished into a boat about 12 feet long. The seats could barely hold a small 5 year old, let alone 2 full grown adults. Second, we had to wear helmets. Yes, helmets... for 6 hours... Of course that didn't happen. With the Oakes as motivators our helmets were off within minutes and we were enjoying the warm breeze (or shall I say deafening wind?) on our faces as we shot down the Mekong. I cannot lie and say I was comfortable at any point, but I definitely wasn't as uncomfortable as I would have thought. Yet something tells me (perhaps the faint memory of extreme heat, numb buttocks and cramping legs) that I won't be doing it again.

But don't get me wrong, it was a blast.

Luang Prang turned out to be the best city in Laos; with a beautiful nightmarket, guesthouses along the river, and cobblestone roads; although mostly covered with dust. We spent the next couple of days just lazing about enjoying the sights, bottles of cheap wine and the best waterfall in all of southeast Asia (I've been to most of them, trust me on this).

Our next stop was Vang Vieng, a backpacker loved city in a backpacker loved country. It was all about chilling by the river drinking Beer Lao. Our second day there we spent tubing. Sounds odd, but it is the activity to do in Laos. In the morning you rent a tube, get a ride up the river and spend the rest of the day floating the 3km back. All along the way there are bars, swings and lounge areas to stop and enjoy. How long could 3km really take you wonder? We only made it 2. By that point it was too dark to float the last kilometer back (2) . The event was definitely a backpackers heaven (haven?). Bucket after bucket, beer lao after beer lao and of course stimulating drunken political discussions; a backpacker couldn't ask for anything more.

The following day was a bit chilly and we welcomed it with open arms, donning our fleece and sipping cups of tea over a game of chess. It's amazing how a slight chill or rain can light up a travelers face when they've been hot and sweaty for months. When Jared came in to tell me that morning he had a smile so big it could have been Christmas.

The next day we took a kayak trip to Vientiene where we spent our final three days as a group. It's a city I honestly don't have much to say about other than: "I like HBO and AC".

Sunday the 19th was a sad day although I don't want to think of it as such. Jared and his dad set off for their motorcycle adventure in Vietnam and Allison and I headed south. Looking back I feel bad for Allison and John. They didn't get to spend a lot of time alone with Jared or I. We were so wrapped up in each other there really wasn't much room to squeeze in. Over the past 2 1/2 months we fell in love all over again, the only difference is this time we're more mature, smarter and want it wholeheartedly. It's just too bad we can't have it. "Timing is everthing" has become my motto for relationships. My only hope is that time will bring us back together.

So, while John and Jared began experiencing Vietnam, Allison and I went to the southern most point in Laos: The 4000 Islands. It's a steamy electricity free scattering of islands, two of which are lined with rustic Thai-style bungalows run by angry Laos...well at least ours was. They don't like it when you eat or buy anything from another guesthouse. Luckily we didn't feel their wrath until our final hour there. I considered staying another day after Allison left, to enjoy village life, but it was too damn hot and I was getting antsy. With the end of my southeast Asian adventures only 4 days away, I no longer have the urge to "chill".

In order to apease the restlessness I've returned to one of the craziest cities in the world, and it turned out to be a not-so-bad decision. Yesterday I finally got the chance to see the Royal Palace, and in my opinion it's the best site in Thailand. As I was walking there I was stopped by a seemingly nice guy who informed me that the palace was closed until 3pm due to a Buddhist holiday. He suggested that I spend the hours before 3 seeing the Lucky Buddha Temple, a silk factory blah blah blah". After chit chatting I declined and continued on to the palace which was of course open. While standing in line I overheard a man talking to his wife as they walked away from the ticket window. "They've been opened all day" he said seeming a bit baffled.

So, here I am with less than 48 hours until I fly to Australia, and I've happily decided to fill them with working out, Chatuchuck Market, Siam Paragon and more shopping on Kho San Rd. And I figure, why not? I've learned so much and experienced so many things over the past six month(3), I need to have something tangible to show for it; and what better than a few more chopstick sets and a fake designer t-shirt?

(1) If you've ever been on the road as long as I have, a comfy room with AC, a TV and hot water
is like heaven.

(2) "Team Oakes" chose to live dangerously of course and floated back anyway.

(3) Don't worry, I will do a reflective blog once I get to OZ and I'm not dying of heat exhaustion, bug bites, fatigue etc. etc. etc. :p

I Hear You Malaysia... And You Sound Good (Day 143)

2006-02-18T19:41:00.000-08:00

We arrived in Georgetown, Penang around 10pm, and after a tearful hotel search -hot water is unheard of, rooms are grungy, A.C. is way too expensive, and I told you, I'm tired- we found a hotel and settled in for the night. The next morning we awoke refreshed (we splurged for the A.C.), invigorated and ready for whatever Malaysia had to offer. After tea and a little bit of internet, we set off to explore the city.

Georgetown is "easily navigatable on foot" as all the guide books say. It's a fairly small city on the northeastern coast of Penang island which has a population of 800,000-1 million. It's truely a multicultural city with it's Chinatown, Little India, multilingual signs, a plethera of eateries offering everything from burgers to kabobs and a diverse ethnic population, minus white Europeans (tourists don't count). Oddly, Malaysia seems to have embraced much of it's colonial history, so many of the city's sights are old colonial style buildings or museums which placards talking about Sirs, Captains and people with names that sound like brands of tea. Given this, the guide book claimed that one of the "must do's" in Georgetown was to "take tiffin" at the famed Eastern and Oriental Hotel. Jared and I (as usual) were up for a splurge, so inspite of the fact that we had no idea what "tiffin" was (the Anglo-Indian side of me felt oddly ashamed) we set our strides in the direction of the E&O.

As we walked along the hotel's polished mahogony floors looking at afternoon tea and dinner menus, and peeking into opened suites, I couldn't help but admire the grandeur of the place. How lovely it would have been to "take tea" at 4, stroll along the grounds, parasol in hand, and dance the night away under the oversized crystal chandelier of the grande ballroom. Then, as to be expected, the realist and cultural studies side of me chimed in to remind all present that tea sandwiches are too small, girdles are too tight, and looking the way I do, the only time I'd carry a parasol would be to cover someone else's head.

Regardless, we enjoyed the history of the building, and were able to track down the mysterious "tiffin" in the cafe near the lobby. As the 3 metal canisters, stacked atop one another, were carried to the table, I couldn't help but smile as I remembered my mother's childhood stories about the hot lunches servants brought to her at school. The tiffin lunch consisted of 3 meat dishes and 1 vegetarian dish (all of which I couldn't pronounce, I think it was written in Malay), puppodums, steamed rice and a light chocolate mousse for dessert. Although mostly Indian influenced, (to sound extremely cliche) the meal was a complicated mix of cultures and flavors. The beef and squid dishes tasted Chinese, the chicken curry had hints of Indian while the vegetable -sauteed cabbage with spices such as cumin, annis and cinnamon- was undeniably so. The chocolate mousse was whoever claims mousse as their own (France?). We of couse had a pot of tea with dessert and savoured every moment. The total price: 40 rm each (US $10). Cheap, but not for backpackers on a budget like ours. Luckily, we felt it was worth every penny (or should I say ringgit?).

After lunch we strolled the streets of Georgetown, stopping at an old fort, an art museum, Little India, a Chinese temple and a modern mall. That night, after washing the grime of the day away, we had dinner at an English pub (a caesar and a lamb burger) and then went back to the mall for the 11:30pm showing of Fun with Dick and Jane (which was hilarious if I may say so myself).

It was the best day I've had in a while. New places, great food, cultural diversity and to top it all off I got to watch a film. After being grungy and sweaty on the boring (yet beautiful) beaches of Thailand for over 2 months, it's nice to be in a somewhat modern city, although it may wreak havoc on my budget. It's also nice to see the beemers, mansions and street cafes, and know that behind the wheels, closed doors and sipping the expensive cups of coffee are Malays, Thais, Indians, Chinese and Indonesians. It's nice to see the successful as well as the poverty stricken. It's nice to see that there are people here that aren't worried about where they will sleep or where their next meal will come from. Traveling is about seeing the bad as well as the good, and while I'm there, I might as well grab a latte.

view of Georgetown from Penang Hill

The Relativity of Paradise (Day 141)

2006-02-16T23:29:00.000-08:00

Throughout my entire journey in Thailand I've wanted to find a secluded island beach, pitch a tent, hang a hammock and spend the next few days sunning, reading and grilling fish over an open fire.

I've pictured it the same my entire life; it was my favorite thing to draw as a child. A simple hump for the island drawn with a "Canary" yellow crayon. Two palm trees, criss cross bark patterns in "Gingerbread" brown, and of course a nice red - sometimes blue if red was broken- hammock, like a smile stretched between. Often a round sun with beams jutting straight out, a few black "V" shaped seagulls, and a repetitive line of turquoise "U's" serving as waves would top it all off. As I grew older I stopped drawing, minus the occassional doodle, but never failed to imagine. The white sand would be as fine as baking flour, palm trees at perfect hammock intervals would line the shore, and the water would be warm as a summer bath and clear as those brouchures for Bora Bora.

As we walked out onto the fine sands of Ao Son beach on Tarutao Island, I thought I had found my paradise. The beach stretched out 3 kilometers ahead of us, a bit bigger than my ideal paradise island, but better, I thought to myself, seeing we didn't want to be too close to the other two couples who had arrived with us. We had gathered our supplies in a frantic rush that morning on the way to the ferry: two bottles of thai whiskey, a bunch of mangos and bananas, a few limes, tomatoes and herbs, some pork and spicy canned fish, half a loaf of Thai Wonder Bread and a bottle of mayo, just like home. We had of course not failed to buy a small styrofoam cooler for 80 baht off a lady at the ferry terminal and filled it with ice and mixers which Jared now carried without so much as a sigh in addition to the fruit, veggies and 2 gallons of water packed somewhat snuggly into the top of his pack.

We began our long trek down the beach in hopes of finding a nice little cove with some shade under which to set up camp. As we walked further down the 3km stretch of sand, we noticed the few scattered pieces of trash increase to small piles and finally into mounds. Plastic water bottles, soda cans, mangled fishing traps, 7-11 plastic bags, empty rice sacs, hundreds of single flip flops and enough foam to make a thousand of the "disposable" coolers that Jared now carried. Our excited strides soon turned into weary shuffles as we realized that we were probably going to have to clear a spot of trash in order to camp. Giving into this, and the realization that there was no shade to be had, we finally shrugged off our packs midway between the water and the treeline near a lagoon at the end of the beach. While we set up camp it began to rain and we welcomed it with open arms and upturned faces as it washed away some of the fine white sand that had begun to feel more like a thin layer of sandpaper rather than the powdery baking agent I'd hoped for.

As we sat in the tent, sheltered from the rain, snacking and chatting, I couldn't help but realize that this was not my paradise. I understand that the situation could have been better, the trash, crabs and rain gone, the tent replaced with a bungalow, but even with that I knew this wasn't it.

I wanted a plush couch with a big fluffy down comforter in a room with large windows looking out on a rainy street; the slosh of tires faintly heard over the hum of the heater. I wanted a cup of hot chocolate in my hand and a good movie only just beginning on the television, and the option of a hot shower or a kitchen full of food only a few feet away.

I was wishing for my mom's house in Santa Barbara, for Dave's house in Tahoe, for the Oakes house in Washington, maybe even the house I will someday build. I was wishing for Home.

Now a few days later, sitting here in the hard blue plastic seats of the ferry taking us back to the mainland, I know myself a little bit better and have realized a few things. Paradise is relative. It depends on where you are and where you've been. If you've been working or on vacation, if you're in love or single, old or young, hot or cold. It's relative to how you feel about where you are at the moment, and right now I'm tired.

I'm tired of the bug bites. After camping on Tarutao for two nights I have close to 100 (or maybe more, I refuse to count) bites on my body. I'm tired of taking cold showers in dingy cement bathrooms that smell like sewage where I don't feel clean until I'm dressed and back outside. I'm tired of squating over toilet seats or holes, afraid of what I might catch or what might bite me as I relieve myself. I'm tired of being scared to sit and watch the sunset because it's the worst time for mosquitos. I'm tired of eating crappy Thai and Western food at backpackers cafes. I'm tired of itching. I'm tired of Thai chilli sauce. I'm tired of sand in my flip flops. I'm tired of missing cheese and peanutbutter and healthy wheat products. I'm tired of warm milk. I'm tired of water that tastes like plastic. I'm tired of not being able to workout. I'm tired of beaches. I'm tired of not wanting to lay down because I'm afraid of what might be in my bed. I'm tired of the clothes in my backpack. I'm tired of hotel envy. I'm tired of feeling rich and useless. I'm tired of looking at over-tanned bodies with blinding white hair and skin like leather. I'm tired of it being too easy, of feeling like part of a herd. I'm tired of feeling like I'm ruining Jared's trip as I whine about being tired (1). I'm tired of feeling cliche.

But I'm also excited. Excited to see new cities, meet new people, cross new borders, work in Australia, see family, try new foods, ride motorbikes along hilly jungle roads, the wind cool and refreshing. I'm excited to see other continents, bounce along in jeeps on a safari, trek through the jungle in search of Ugandas gorillas, to hear an orchestra in Sydney's Opera House, to sip espresso at a cafe in Paris, to party until dawn in Spain and twirl with the Dervish in Turkey. To island hop in Greece, to see the view from atop KL's Petronus Towers, to tube in Luang Pruabang, to wine taste in Chile, to sip hot chocolate in a Swiss chalet, to eat a mustard slathered hot dog in the stands of Fenway stadium. To watch The ball drop in Time Square, to trek along the snowy trails of Nepal, to stand in the daunting shadow of Giza's pyramids, to say a prayer on Mount Golgotha and avoid karyoke in Tokyo. To raft down the Colorado River, bungy jump over Victoria Falls, to ride in a truck full of chickens along the dusty roads of Central America, to chat over a basket of fish and chips in a London pub, to sit on a grimey sidewalk in India...

It's hard to be tired when you're so excited about traveling. I'm like a 2 year old too exhausted to realize it's time for a nap.

Today Jared and I head into Malaysia and I couldn't be more excited, although my slow steps and heat-induced sighs might make you think otherwise. I've been in Thailand for 2 months, double the time I spent in any other country, and it's my least favorite (2). I'm excited to get off the beaten track, to find something more like the PCT and less like the 405. I'm interested in hearing what Malaysia has to say because to be honest, I haven't got a clue what to expect. We're both hoping that it will be cheaper, as Thailand has taken a nice chunk of our budgets, and maybe, just maybe, when we arrive in Georgetown late tonight we'll be able to afford a room with hot water, and if I'm really lucky, A.C.

(1) Yes Jared and I are back together. What can I say, we love each other's company, and if we don't travel together now, we might not see each other for another year or so. Live for the moment...

(2) I think it's tied with China. China was hard, Thailand was too easy and had too many tourists. They both have their positives and negatives.

Something To Love In Bangkok (Day 122)

2006-01-28T21:00:00.000-08:00

For the first time, in 3 visits, I actually wish I didn't have to leave Bangkok.

After a muggy morning trying to figure out train tickets and a crappy treadmill workout, Jared and I found ourselves sitting at a busy Khao San cafe trying to figure out how to spend our last day in Bangkok and our last day together.

We decided we would roam one of Bangkok's many malls, and after flipping through Timeout Bangkok for a few minutes I found what I was looking for and began to read outloud:

Siam Paragon will, by the end of 2005, have over 2500 luxury stores and boutiques. The front is a grand entrance of over 200 meters of cascading waterfalls. In addition to shopping, the complex contains a gymnasium, family bowling alley, IMAX Theater, a 15 screen "noble class" movie complex, an 1,800 seat opera theater, a Garden Walk, an Enchanting Lagoon, as well as Siam Ocean World. The food court features a variety of cuisines and is world class. There is also a gourmet market.

I looked up at Jared and in an instant, it was decided. Siam Paragon, here we come...

After an exhaust wrapped tuk tuk ride, we arrived at the largest mall area I have ever seen. With Siam Center, Old Siam, Bangkok Central Mall and Siam Paragon, this jam packed shopping district must have taken up more then 250 acres. We focused, and quickly made our way to Siam Paragon.

As we walked through the glass doors into the crisp savory air of the Siam Paragon Food Court, we did not realize that with one step we had climbed out of a smoggy noisey hell, and stepped into a sweet tantalizing food lovers heaven.

Annie's Pretzels, Swensens, Dairy Queen, 3 bakeries, 4 sweet shops, 5 delis, 3 coffee shops, 2 Japanese restaurants, a pita place, Mc Donalds, a spice shop, a tea shop, countless bistros and cafes, Thai specialty counters, East Meets West fusion restaurants, 2 buffets with Indian, Italian, Japanese, Thai, Mexican and Chinese; Italian cafes, French bistros, burger joints, a Subway, not to mention a gourmet grocery store the size of a small Walmart in the back. The place was absolutely amazing.

And, it wasn't just because of the scale, the place had class. It was nothing like the food courts at home. It was crisp and clean, with different styles for every seating area; with cool blues as the main color scheme and cascading waterfalls to serve as both dividers and visual pleasantries. And the food, the food was of gourmet quality. I wouldn't have been disappointed if any of the items I saw ended up on my plate at a "five star" restaurant.

Jared and I wanted everything...which was to be expected. If there is one thing you could say about the 2 of us is that we love good food. We've always been excited to enter a new city and spend an evening at one of it's best restaurants sipping wine while savouring 3-5 course meals, coffee, appertifs and all.

After roaming around for half an hour or so, we decided on sushi. We were seated by a walkie-talkie wielding hostess and quickly tackled the 20 page menu. We decided on three items before settling in to enjoy the view.

The restaurant was probably the size of a Walgreens drugstore but you'd never know it because each table was a well secluded booth that allowed privacy while also being bright and airy. The area was modest yet artfully decorated, with palm trees and a blue color scheme similar to that of the outside food court. The space was large and full of a chatting Saturday lunch crowd, yet it wasn't loud. The sushi was excellent and prepared at lightning speed. We were in awe.

This is something America has not achieved. If we produce things on a large scale they almost always tend to be crap, and if a restaurant is more then 30 tables and as fast as McDonalds, the food guaranteed tasteless. If the average American mall could accomplish this level of quality in it's food courts, everyone would frequent them for Saturday night dates, not just puberty stricken teenagers. Until today I didn't think it was possible for a mall food court to serve the same quality meal as the "five star" Zagat acclaimed restaurant up the street, but it can, and it is good.

After lunch Jared and I stocked up on goodies for our upcoming journey in the gourmet grocer. As I walked I tried to soak in the sights, smells and feel of the market. It's funny how a brand of soap can make you feel at home, or how a type of cheese can make you jump for joy.

So today, as I leave Bangkok for the 3rd time, I wish I was still there. Still there sitting in the Siam Paragon Food Court, which at this time would be dark and quiet with a few humming janitors buffing the 100,000 sq ft floor. There, in the quiet darkeness, I would sit and wait, in anxious anticipation, for it to open the next morning.

http://www.siamparagon.co.th/intro.htm

A Well Past Due Blog Entry (Day 120)

2006-01-26T18:50:00.000-08:00

When I originally decided I needed to write a blog we had just agreed to go to Ko Chang. When I started writing this blog we were in Ko Chang. Now 10 days later as we leave Ko Chang I've finally finished.

Sometimes there's just too much to say.

For instance, the last time I wrote was January 6th, 20 days ago! Since then...

Joslyn and I went to two different cities, did a bit or rock climbing, got a bazillion bug bites, did a lot of partying, took a train ride, went back to Bangkok, then she left, Jared arrived, we spent 3 days in BKK, went to Chatuchuck for the 3rd time, watched some kickass Muai Thai, my camera was broken and repaired, we went to Ko Chang, Jared tried to kill me twice, we did 6 days of diving, we almost adopted a puppy, I got a skin rash, my bug bites finally disappeared, we ate a fabulous Italian dinner, we made some friends, saw some fish and now were on a bus back to the captial of Thailand and my own personal hell.

Whew, I guess that sums it up. I can probably stop writing...but I won't.

Like I said, there's too much to say.

We arrived in Ko Chang last Monday and found a nice backpacker beach called "lonely beach", although it's about 500 backpackers too many to be "lonely". Ko Chang is the second largest island in Thailand (after Phuket) that in my opinion is still remarkably relaxed and somewhat undiscovered inspite of it's rapid development. It's not undiscovered in the Leonardo DeCaprio "Beach" sense, but more in the sense that every beach has yet to hold an all-inclusive western catoring resort packed full of plump dads in speedos, moms in asian print dresses picked specifically for the next neighborhood cocktail party, and kids in matching jumpers poking at mangy thai mutts with well licked popcicle sticks.

As you can tell, although pleasantly surprised by the amount of traveling families, they're not my ideal travel companions.

When Jared first arrived, we decided Ko Chang would be a good place to get our diving licences, and it turned out to be a perfect choice. We spent four days doing our Padi Open Water course, and then two additional days getting our Advanced licence. The total cost was about 20,000 baht or $500 usd which is way more then my budget would allow but about 1/2 the price of getting certified at home, so I guess one could say it is well worth the 2 weeks I'll be cutting off the end of my trip as a result. I will not fail to make it known that by the 5th day/6th dive, it was starting to feel like a bit of a chore. Not to mention, the prospect of "studying" seemed a bit absurd.

After our 4th day of diving we decided to take a day off to both enjoy the island and watch the Seattle Seahawks in the NFL playoffs (Jared's activity of choice, not mine). Unfortunately Jared (and I will say Jared because I thought about this specific detail as I was hurriedly getting dressed that morning in hopes of catching the 630am kickoff but thought better of questioning Jared's mathmatical skills regarding such an important event) failed to realize that a Sunday game at home is not a Sunday game in Thailand. Needless to say, we had an early start that day and would have another the next in order to finally watch the game. We spent our now 2 days off riding the steep jungle roads on a rented motorbike, as well as enjoying the beaches and restaurants the small island had to offer. Other than the two times Jared tried to kill me, it was a nice two days.

Okay, okay, I know I can't hint and not tell, but in an effort to save Jared from further guilty embarrassment I will say only this:

I arrived on Ko Chang without road rash, but today, as we leave, I have some.

It has been nice having him around, even if I have to watch some football (Go Seahawks!).

It's kind of odd when you find yourself far from home with someone from home. First Sheila, Tala and Jos, and now Jared. It makes things a little weird. For one, the frugal budget watching Jasmine tries to make a sly getaway, and it takes a great deal of effort to keep her from disappearing for good. When I'm at home with them, money isn't an issue. If I get dinner they'll get it next time. If I pay for a taxi, they'll buy my next drink. But here, here it's all different. Every penny counts, and it's weird to find myself asking for their 20 baht for the last taxi. Luckily here it just makes me a traveler, whereas at home I'd be a cheapskate.

Inspite of the increase in spending, it's nice to have them around. It was hard saying goodbye to Jos. We'd done a lot of bonding over the 3 weeks she was here, and even though I may not have shed a tear as I waved goodbye from that smog engulfed greasy corner in Bangkok, I was sad nonetheless.

Luckily Jared arrived 36 hours later.

We had originally planned to travel together until March when I leave for Australia, but there's been a slight change of plans...

Tomorrow we go our separate ways.

As some of you may know, and most of you do not, Jared and I have a long complicated past. We met around 6 years ago and after a year and a half our friendship transformed into a relationship which we have spent the last 4 years trying to perfect. We have yet to succeed, and at this point have abandoned the endevor, and decided to become "friends" once again. As a result, following the path of brutal honesty I unfailingly (although sometimes detrimentally) follow, we've addmitted that traveling together for the next 2 months may not be the best idea. In order to travel freely and be open to change, one must be free of all bonds holding them to their previous self blah blah blah (insert philosophical crap here). These are our lives, and we want to make the best of them. I would like to make an amendment to the phrase "best friends make the best couples" though...

Best friends make the best couples if it happens at the best possible time.

So, today's our last day together at least until Africa, unless of couse I stay in Australia longer, but that's another issue for another blog. Tonight we're meeting up with our good friend Allison and her friend Lindsay who I think are planning to accompany me to Laos. Jared's planning to head south until his dad arrives at the end of February...which now that I think about it is probably the next time I'll see him because I can't not say hello to John, and... I mean come on... is it really possible for Jared and I to travel in the same country on the far side of the world and not overlap?

So, until the next blog (which hopefully won't be 20 days from now) I must go and prepare myself for the noisy, sour, hazy, neon streets of Bangkok.

Deep breaths Jasmine, there own't be fresh air for a few days yet...

Myanmar For 10 Minutes (Day 100)

2006-01-06T09:56:00.000-08:00

Today I did a visa run. This is the process many a traveler will experience when they find Thailand takes longer than 30 days.

It's a fairly simple process.
First you go to the Thai immigration office, then you get on a boat which takes you to 3 more offices, 2 of which you never need step foot in. The 3rd office is on Myanmar soil (the other 2 were on water/islands) where it takes all of 2 minutes for them to take your passport, stamp it and hand it back with a smile*.

Given the speedy service, I had 10 minutes to occupy and did such by roaming around the market with a little boy who felt I needed an escort until the moment at which he was required to ask for food or money. I responded with the usual "I don't have any...but I have gum", which he laughed off before returning to his group of friends. I was glad he found it humorous.

So, now I can say I've been to Burma...but I won't.

In my opinion Burma/Myanmar has got a crap of a deal. It's tourist industry is in no way booming, yet it's immigration offices are probably some of the busiest in South East Asia. Then again they do get $5 usd/stamp, so it definitely has it's financial benefits.

And so once again I find myself writing from a boat returning to mainland Thailand.

Since I wrote last, Jos and I have been to 2 different cities. Khao Sok and Khao Lak. Khao Sok was an absolutely beautiful national park with hardly any tourists where we stayed in tree houses, went on an elephant trek, and had the best Thai meal so far in a beautiful little stilt cafe surrounded by jungle and karsts during a light rain. It reignited my excitement for travel to say the least.

Unfortunately we only had time to stay one night because we planned to meet up with friends in Khao Lak. Friends we found had left Kho Lak only hours before we arrived.

Khao Lak was a single strip of buildings along a divers mecca coast which housed mostly diving companies and guesthouses which charged way too much for a double room. To make the most of it we bit the bullet, threw our budgets out the window, and booked a snorkling trip to the Similian Islands. It was worth every penny.

My lame broken camera was unable to do anything but take this one picture (and yes this is how the camera took it)

Although it may not have captured the beach paradise as we saw it, I believe it managed to capture a paradise none-the-less.

So, today after my short yet productive trip to Myanmar (Joslyn's still sleeping in the hotel) we'll head down to Phuket where we'll hopefully finally catch up with some friends and find another paradise for Joslyn's final 5 days in Thailand. Once again, wish us luck...

*They will not smile if you hand them an old $5 bill. So make sure to get a crisp one*

ChaOse & JaOsmine On The Beaches Of Thailand (Day 96)

2006-01-02T14:11:00.000-08:00

Right now Joslyn and I are on a ferry plodding it's way back towards the mainland. Our plan at the moment is to catch a bus from Surai Thani to Khao Lak...if God and bus schedules permit. About an hour ago we said our final goodbyes to Sheila and Natala as they set off for a day at the spa, and a flight back home; and to be honest, in some ways I wish I was going with them.

But, before I tell you why, let me tell you about the past 10 days...

Over a two day period, starting December 23rd, the Chase family arrived in Bangkok. Over the next two days we spent 6 hours in Chatuchuck Market and the other 42 sitting in taxis on the smoggy dingy streets of BKK...well at least it felt like that. We stayed at The Davis, a nice yet simplified boutique hotel which luckily had a gym for me and in-room internet for Sheila and Natala. These things were vital for 2 reasons:

1) So my fat ass could run
2) So Sheila and Natala could figure out the hotel situation (insert fatalistic "dun dun duune" music here)

This was the start of the ChaOse...(and no, I'm not spelling chaos incorrectly). Allow me to digress for a moment to explain...

ChaOse is a term I coined over the past year which basically describes our family relations. It's a combination of the word "chaos" and our family name on my mother's side "Chase". Thus we arrive at ChaOse.

To sum up the hotel related ChaOse that continued over the next 10 days:
Natala wanted to fly by the seat of her pants but stay in hotels which would dry clean them.
Sheila wanted to plan ahead so we could stay in places with dry cleaning but be in her swimsuit all day and not worry about pants.
Joslyn couldn't afford the places with dry cleaning, yet wanted to buy more pants.
I couldn't afford the resorts, was afraid they wouldn't let me in with my backpacker pants, and just wanted to make sure no one went naked.

I believe we all learned the following things about hotels in Thailand:

Thailand is a popular place during Christmas and New Years
If a hotel is booked online, it doesn't mean it's actually full
Hot showers are a novelty, even at expensive resorts
It's hard to get "western" quality service when you're not in the "west"

Inspite of these things, it all worked out for the best. We left BKK (Bangkok) on the 26th, spent 4 days in Kho Phangan on a nice beach on the eastern side of the island (Ao Thong Nai Pan Yai. For a map of the island click here...I'm all about the "click here"'s this entry), and then went on to Ko Samui for 2 nights including New Year's Eve, where we stayed at the Coral Bay Resort (it's nice, but crap...no time to explain).

Sawadee Pi Mai by the way (it means "Happy New Year" in Thai).

The past 10 days together have been amazing inspite of the ChaOse. New Year's Eve was a blast, the hotels have been beautiful, and the conversation has been stimulating. It's been wonderful to have family around and I truely believe we all bonded and learned things about each other that we never could have learned at home. So, even though I still have Joslyn for another 10 days I was really sad to see Tala and Sheila go. Which brings me back to why I kinda wish I was going with them.

On our 4th day in Kho Phangan I had a morning I believe relieved Pat Pong of it's champion title "Lowest Low". My camera ceased to work and I broke out like a 16 year old with overactive oil glands (no, it wasn't that bad, but it felt like it). I know you may laugh off the breakout but it's honestly the worst I had ever looked and to experience this for the first time at the age of 24 was a bit unsettling. As I stood looking in the mirror that morning I found myself understanding why so many kids with facial issues don't look people in the eyes and have low self confidence. All I wanted to do was put on a hat and crawl into a hole, a hole which would hopefully fit both me and my hat comfortably. Luckily the air conditioning at the resort in Samui helped considerably, but I'm still considering starting a support group at the local high school...

As for my camera... it's basically useless. When it's on, the screen is staticy, changes colors and blurs.

An obvious improvement from it's previous ability.

So here I am a filmographer without a camera in the middle of a trip of a lifetime. Hopefully I'll be able to get it fixed in Bangkok for less than the price of the camera. If not I'm faced with the new dilemma of mailing it back to the company to be repaired under warrenty, and then sent to find it's way back to me somewhere on my travels.

Add to this my lack of excitement for Thailand because of the amount of "western" tourists which trod all over it's surface.

Plus the anguish caused by always having to eat at restaurants when all I want is a fridge I can open at will without a financial transaction.

Mix in the frustration of having an American Express Traveler's Check Card that for some unknown reason has decided not to work.

Top it all off with the mild depression which results from not being able to workout on a daily basis...

And you have met a backpacker who doesn't want to be backpacking.

It's not that I want to go home, it's just that I don't want to be here, and where exactly "here" is, I'm not sure. Thailand, the tourist track, my head...who knows. I guess I'm just a little homesick, and I need to get back into travel mode. I haven't had to "travel think" since before Chiang Mai (almost 21 days!), and I've been feeling really unproductive as a result. I figure I'm gonna take the next 10 days with Jos to get us both excited about travel. Wish me luck...

Black and Blue in Chiang Mai (Day 80)

2005-12-18T03:16:00.000-08:00

A childish cheeky rhyme that brings back memories from high school actually seems fitting for the moment:

It was fun, but now it's done.

In some ways it's fitting for this entire trip, but at the moment I'm refering to the Trio. Yes, it's sad but true, the Trio has split.

After "The Worst Night Yet" we had one of the best nights yet. We had a true night on the town in Bangkok. Starting off with wine, then spicy street noodles, then more wine, then mojitos, dancing and of course lots of reminiscing.

At 3:30 am we found ourselves searching for a last banana pancake for Antonia.

Now, let me give you a quick lesson about western food when you're not in the "west":

Whatever you're expecting...it's not going to be that.

For example, here, "pancakes" are actually more like crepes. In all honesty they're light roti with sweet stuff instead of curry. So, if you're expecting to get a nice fluffy Aunt Jemimas pancake, you better think again. But, then again, if one morning you're really craving a nice light crepeish creation, you're probably gonna get an IHOP pancake. The key to food is to expect nothing.* They are a tastey late night snack though (although I've never purchased my own, bites are sufficent to reach this conclusion). The vendors have these flat grills where they spread out a pizza like dough. As it begins to bubble, they put whatever your heart desires in the center. Jam, bananas, coconut, strawberries, condensed milk, chocolate. Then they fold it in a square, only after adding another pad of butter, and drizzle a bit more sweet goodness on top.

During our search we ran into an English woman about mid 30's selling street food. At first I didn't know what to think of her. I mean selling street food at 3am on the corner of Kho San road seems just about one of the crappiest jobs I could imagine. Unfortunately, during our conversation I didn't get any insite as to why she'd moved from England and chosen this new profession, but I could see she wasn't crazy; which in some ways left me more baffled then when I first looked up to see her handing me my springrolls.

Eventually we found Antonia's pancakes and made our way to bed. One of our best nights yet, too bad it was our last...

Well not exactly our last... Sydney, prepare yourself.

The next morning I work up at 7am to go to the gym which I found was closed upon arrival (just my luck) and then caught a flight to Chiang Mai that afternoon. Whenever I tell other backpackers I flew a look of surprise instantly strikes their face. "But the bus/train is so cheap?!". Yes, but so was my flight. $65 round trip is worth every penning when you're trying to avoid another 15hour bus journey. "Oh yes, I would like some peanuts, thank you."

So here I am on my 6th day in Chiang Mai with a bunch of blisters and brusies. Thai boxing is kickin' my ass! It's a lot of fun though, and that's why I came to Chiang Mai, so the aches and pains are welcomed. After 2 1/2 months of almost never working out, I can hardly stand myself. My body has been crying out in frustration begging me to return to my daily 5 mile runs. Unfortunately it's not so easy in the motorcycle ridden streets of Saigon, the damp back allies of China, or the impoverished villages of Cambodia. So now that I'm in Thailand, I'm taking complete advantage of all the physical activities the country has to offer. Muay Thai (thai boxing), climbing, rafting, trekking, kayaking, yoga, snorkling, scuba diving, you name it, I'll be doing it.

So, for starters I chose Muay Thai. I've been training at a gym called Lanna Muay Thai located on the outskirts of th city. The training is intense and so are the atheletes. They train from 6:30-9:30am and then from 4-7pm everyday except Sunday when they hike. The first day we ran 10km (a little over 6 miles) in the morning and then trianed on the bags and with trainers for the rest of the morning and afternoon practice. The next morning we ran "the mountain". 7km straight up. It was the longest and hardest uphill run I've ever done. That night I got really sick - chills, sweats, stomach cramps, nausea - i'm not sure if I caught something of if my body shut down, either way I've decided I'll only do one practice a day until I'm a bit more fit. Sad, but true, I'm outta shape, but I plan on changing that quickly.

Yesterday Julia and Rich (a guy we originally met in China. He's alone now because his travel partner got Dengue Fever!) arrived in Chiang Mai and this morning I switched to their hotel (the pool was the selling point). Currently, the plan is to do Muay Thai, some climbing, a bit of yoga, and take a cooking class by the time I fly back to Bangkok on the 23rd. And then?...

ChaOs(...)! Just wait and see...

The Worst Night Yet (Day 74)

2005-12-11T02:40:00.000-08:00

Tonight was the worst night of my trip so far. The absolute lowest low, and to be honest I really can't explain why.

Antonia arrived in Bangkok around 8:30pm and the three of us quickly got dressed and set out for a night on the town. Both Julia and Antonia had mentioned an interest in going to the red light district, also known as Pat Pong. This is where things started down hill. I don't like red light districts. I don't like strip clubs, I don't like porn; not even to laugh at. So, my hope was that we would simply walk around for a bit and then head out for a real night on the town.

Pat Pong is lined with clubs and prostitutes. As you walk, touts step off the curb and present you with laminated cards listing the different "acts" as well as drinks available in their club. The street is a parade of western men, with a sprinkling of curious western women, all being lured into clubs with drink bargains and "opportunities".

After about 30 minutes, Antonia and Julia decided they wanted to stop for a drink. Luckily the club they chose was a "normal" club in the sense that it wasn't a sex club, but it might as well have been given the number of working girls, pretty boys and western men sipping colorful cocktails and Chang beer while eyeing each other under the cover of a throbbing techno beat. I was not enthusiastic to hangout, to say the least. In fact I'd been pretty close to silent from the moment we'd gotten in the cab*.

Sitting outside the club, the girls began people watching and seemed to find it amusing, yet I found it disgusting and difficult to bear. Anyone who knows me knows I don't like these environments, and being forced to observe them in action is not my ideal Saturday night. Thai prostitutes waiting for western men with haughty smirks to pick them up. I find it all quite depressing.

I'm not sure what exactly led to the breakdown, but it happened nevertheless.

After sitting there for about 15 minutes I arrived at a moment where I found myself with tears streaming down my face. Whether it was a result of the disgust and sadness I was feeling or simply because my hopes of having a great night out had been shattered, I'll probably never know. Tears don't always need clear logical reasons to flow.

So, now I sit here writing in the dimly lit hallway of our guesthouse with a spliting headache, puffy eyes and the heavy hearted feeling that things will never change.

Welcome to Bangkok.

*honestly people, do you really expect me, Jasmine Summerset, to pretend to be happy in a situation like this? If my moodiness has any value, it is in this sort of situation. And don't try to tell me I need to be pleasant, because in this situation, that's bull.

Cambodia: War and Baguettes Continue (Day 71)

2005-12-08T03:18:00.000-08:00

(I'd love to hear your thoughts on what I've written because there are some serious issues presented in this blog. Please email me if you've got a lot to say. Discussions are what change the world, not silent acceptance.)

Today is my 3rd day in Siem Reap, my 8th day in Cambodia and the 71st day of my travels. Can I say "time flies!"??!

So far I have thoroughly enjoyed Cambodia. I do miss Vietnam a bit, the place was fantastic. My last two days were spent in Saigon, which surprisingly, I noticed had changed. The area I spent the most time during my first visit was completely different. It had literally been "cleaned up". There were no more street kids, no more vendors, only expensive hotels, and the market where I'd haggled for dvds for hours now looks like a mall back home. I guess in some ways it's good because it shows the economy is booming, but at the same time you can't help but think it's lost a bit of it's character.

Jantonia (Antonia, but we call her "Jantonia" now because Julia and I have "j" names and we felt it would be better if she fit in) and I arrived in Cambodia on the 1st of the month after a 15 hour commute from Saigon. At one point we were on a boat on the Mekong river and it started to pour. It seems waterproofing was not a concern during the boats construction, so I spent the following hour being dripped on, or maybe I should call it leaked on. It was, to say the least, the most frustrating journey yet.

When we arrived in Phnom Phen, we found a cute guesthouse in the backpacker potsmoking district. It was almost too chill, but it had the most amazing coconut shakes and it was a good place to relax after the hussle and bussle of Vietnam.

On our 3rd day (we were really productive the first two days) we went to the most famous of the "Killing Fields" located about 15km outside of the city, and then to the Tuol Sleng Genocide Museum (S21) which was originally a high school but then during Pol Pots regime became a prison. By the end of the day Jantonia was mentally drained and visibly upset at times, yet I was fine. We have basically been dealing with issues of war for the past month and a half, starting in Vietnam with the Vietnam War (aka: The American War) and now continuing into Cambodia with Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge. How is it possible that I have heard and seen evidence of so many horrific events, yet haven't shed a tear? I know it's not because I'm insensitive. I have had many "awakenings" in my life which have left me practically in mourning for those involved. Yet in Vietnam and Cambodia, nothing.

Looking back, I realized that while in Vietnam, inspite of (or dispite, not sure which just yet) the anti-American sentiment present during most discussions of the war, I continued to feel for the American soldiers forced to fight. I may just have been being defensive because everyone I spoke to blamed the Americans, but I don't believe that is the majority of my reasoning. Our soldiers committed some absolutely atroshish acts, but in some instances I cannot entirely blame them. War does things to a man that I cannot, and hopefully, will not ever understand. And, not only was the Vietnam/American war a war, but it was an extremely brutal disorienting war. Our soldiers were fighting in conditions they were not trained to handle, and fighting an enemy who was basically invisible. It was unconventional in every sense of the word. The Vietcong hid among the people, and to me that was a blatant disregard for the well being of their civilian population. In some ways I believe this had some affect on the crazed mentality, shared by many U.S. soldiers, that entire villages and their inhabitants must be eliminated. Please, do not misunderstand me. I do not in any way intend to say that I think the war crimes we commited were justified. The use of agent orange, the rapes and massacres were disgusting and our acknowledgment of them is vital in our efforts to avoid a reoccurance. But, I can't help but think that in a war where you don't know who your enemy is, how do you know who to fight?

There was a quote at the War Remenants Museum (previously the Anti-American War Museum) and it was the only thing that truely left an impact on me:

The US expeditionary forces have gone as far as two consider the Vietnamese people as a low-class creature and that the fact of killing them didn't constitute a crime - just like the spraying of DDT poisonous substance to destroy the insects. They can't enjoy any right whatsoever, even the right of the ownership and right to live. All they can have: their body and life also belong to the ownership of the Americans, who can do all they wanted... The Americans didn't think that their counter-parts were persons who can think and enjoy any rights as other people did have.

Richard Hammer (1970)

If these rights were allowed, would that be war?

At the "Killing Fields" there is a tower of skulls (almost 9000) as part of a huge monument. There are hundreds of mass graves, including 43 that have yet to be uncovered. While walking through the fields our guide pointed out a jaw bone protruding from the dirt.

How do you register moments like this?

Some of us shed tears I guess, but I don't think I'm capable of responding emotionally because I'm too busy thinking about all the issues places like the "Killing Fields", the War Remenants Museum, and S21 raise.

While walking around the "Killing Fields" I couldn't help but think it was a somewhat disrespectful way to raise the world's awareness. Why the hell is that jaw bone still there?!! Out of respect for the person it once belonged to, dig it up out of the pathway that hundreds of tourists tred upon each day!! After such horrific deaths, these people deserve a peaceful resting place. Their skulls should not be on display, their bones should not be left for me to step on, and none of them should continue to lay in a mass grave. I understand that maybe the Cambodian government has chosen to raise awareness through shock, that they may not have the money to exhume the rest of the victims, and that I might have a different perspective when it comes to death. But, I just find it all a bit too voyaristic.

* * *

How do you continue a blog after a discussion like that? Astrics are gonna have to do the trick.

Well, inspite of (this time I'm sure it's inspite) all the heartache and war this country has seen, the people of Cambodia continue to smile. The country is making an effort to change it's image. When I arrived, I was amazed at how modern Phnom Phen was. I really didn't know what to expect before coming here. I thought there would be nothing but tin shacks and motorbikes. I mean the country doesn't have 1 ATM! But when I arrived, I was astonished. They have gas stations with mini marts! I haven't seen one of those since home!

Anyways, we left Phen on the 5th and arrived in Siem Reap 8 hours later to be greeted by a bazillion tuk tuk drivers. It was the most taxing experience I've had yet. They completely surround you and are literally yelling in your ear, pushing and pulling you. They're so close you can smell their breath. It's worse than anywhere I've been before, even India.

So, for the past two days we've been touring around Angkor Wat and it's simply amazing. The carvings and the size of the ruins are incredible.

I will give one bit of advice to future visitors:

Don't get caught in the dark of Angkor Wat with a bike with no light and a chain that keeps falling off. If you do, make sure to be lucky enough to have the captain of the Siem Reap police department stop, put your bike in his car, and give you a ride to a tuk tuk while lighting the rocky ass dirt road for your other 2 lightless friends.

Things always work out for the best...

I have found that I have a bit of a love/hate relationship with the kids around the temples. They're so cute and friendly, yet they can turn on you so quickly. The bottom line is always the almighty dollar. I've noticed that some of them take a great interest in my skin color. They put their arms next to mine and say: "look, same same". I can't help but smile because I realize that in some ways I might be a bit of hope. They see westerners as the rich successful people of the world, even though most of us have done nothing but been born on the other side of an invisible line. So, even though I don't want them to see me as different, the fact that they look at me, see a "rich" westerner and realize that I look like them, may make them feel a little bit better about themselves in a world that says lighter is better.

Whew! God so many things to say :P

Yeah, so things have been going well. We've been biking along the breezy Cambodian countryside seeing temples and hanging out with all the crazy westerners at night. We even had a picnic of fruit, bread and CHEESE at one of the temples yesterday. Things could not be better.

Here's a quick Jasmine point:

The other night there were these 2 Canadians I found extremely annoying and loud, and I could hardly tell they weren't American myself. It got me thinking that maybe, just maybe, every once in a while, we United Statesians (I prefer this over "American", and I can explain why more indepth at some point) may be getting a bad rap as a result of Canadians.

End point.

I did meet a cool Canadian that said something I appreciated after 2 1/2 months of traveling with Brits. A couple of days before Jantonia had described me as "abrupt", in terms of my manners, and I think everyone would agree that I am polite damnit! Anyways, I was a bit sore about it. But Eric (the cool Canadian) said that he thinks that even though we often get a bad rap, Americans are actually really polite. I would definitely agree. We just have a tendency to be loud... or should I call it "abrupt"?

Enough with the rants. Jantonia left today with a the cool Canadian and an Auzzie to head to Thailand. Julia and I are leaving tomorrow. We were going to fly from Phen, but it's a bit too expensive and they want proof of a flight out of Thailand, which I don't have. So we decided to hire a taxi that would take us to the border and catch a bus to Bangkok. And to make a good day even better, we just found 2 random guys to share the taxi with us, so now it's even cheaper.

And now it gets a bit sad. We're planning to meet up with Jantonia in Bangkok, but then our little trio will end. Jantonia's going to Australia, while Julia and I stay in Thailand but go our separate ways. Plus we're leaving this beautiful country so soon. 10 days is not enough. I will definitely have to come back. So sad, but I guess it's a new chapter in the book. The book I'm sure will never have a title because my life just cannot be labeled :P

Until Thailand... Orkun (Khmer for thanks) for reading.

Nha Trang To Mui Ne and EVERYTHING In Between (Day 60)

2005-11-27T04:09:00.000-08:00

Well, the last place I told you I was going was Nha Trang. So let's just start there.

Nha Trang. Rainy Party Town Nha Trang.

After a pleasant 12 hour bus ride from Hoi An (sarcasm intended. For about 5 hours of the journey the girl next to me was throwing up. What is it about people throwing up around me???), we arrived in a groggy, hungover, damp, early morning Nha Trang. After finding a not so pleasant room which we quickly made our own, we agreed that we would leave the next morning. Nha Trang is known for 2 things. It's "Booze Cruises" and it's parties. We figured with the rain there wouldn't be a cruise, and we planned to check out the party scene that night.

I tried being productive and took a wet ride to a Big Buddha. Needless to say, it was big.

In hopes of making our short time in Nha Trang worthwhile, the three of us got "all dolled up" and headed out for a night on the town. By 9pm we were delightfully tipsy and had agreed to stay another day. Rain or shine we were determined to do a Booze Cruise, and a 6am bus after a Nha Trang Night wasn't very inviting.

We (and the rest of the backpackers in Nha Trang) spent most of the night at The Sailing Club. A really nice bar/restaurant/club (golf club style) which sits right on the beach. The food and drinks were great (although expensive), you could hangout all day, and you felt like you were at an exclusive resort.

Quick Aside #1: The divide between Westerners and Vietnamese can be somewhat overwhelming at times. There was a clearly visible invisible line you crossed on the beach between where the Vietnamese locals were hanging out and where the Westerners were laying out. Sometimes we only "travel", it takes much more effort to Travel.

We had a great night out, met a bunch of people and had some delicious late night street food. They take baguettes and fill them with meat, cheese and veggies, it's gooooood stuff. (the noodle stalls look the same). Oh yeah, they do have cheese, it's not hard cheese, I'm still searching for that, but it's cheese none the less.

The next day we had a 7:45am wakeup call (hey, it's better then 6am) for a "Booze Cruise" that wasn't so boozy, but the weather turned out to be great. Two days in Nha Trang, no regrets.

Now, originally we had planned to go from Nha Trang to Mui Ne. But, the day before we left, we decided to head to Dalat instead. You see, Vietnam has a well tred backpacker trail, and we were starting to see the same people, eat at the same cafes, and do the same things all the time, and as a result every town was beginning to look/feel the same. We had heard that in Dalat there were these guys called "Easy Riders" who would take you into the countryside for anywhere from a day to month and serve as your guide. Most said it was the "best experience they had in Vietnam". I was a bit skeptical about the "best experience", but I figured what the hell, and we set off for Dalat.

It was the best experience I've had in Vietnam.

The day we got to Dalat, we immediately (within 10mins of arriving) met Phuc and Lulu, two experienced Easy Riders. We worked out a price (a lot for Vietnam, I don't want to talk about it at the moment, but it was worth it) and agreed to set out the next morning at 8am.

I don't even know how to begin to tell you about all the stuff we saw and learned. Phuc and Lulu were great. They knew so much about the history of the country, and took us into places we couldn't have explored on our own. Given all of the places we saw, I feel bullet points are the only way to portray how action packed our 4 days were. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you...I drove myself! Antonia and Julia rode on the back of Phuc and Lulu's bikes and I had my own little beauty.

DAY 1 (distance driven: 160km)

Reagan Temple: It was this really eccentric temple with funny colorful statues everywhere, Dalat seemed to be into that kind of stuff.
Flower Plantation: Vietnam is big on flowers, and Dalat is considered the flower city.
Coffee Plantation: There were coffee fields lining the roads on the 1st day. The coffee flowers smell like Jasmine...not me, the flower. I've been pretty stinky lately. Bugspray is my perfume of choice.
Silk Factory: Who the hell said: "hey, I've got an idea. Lets take these larva, wait until they spin cocoons, then steal there cocoons and make string out of it. I'm sure it will make beautiful cloth!"????

Elephant Falls: Some people just aren't good at taking pictures. "Less of our legs Lulu! More of the falls!"
Chopstick Factory: It's sticks of wood, do you really want a picture?
The Ma and Jin People: We stopped at numerous villages throught the trip, I always felt a bit awkward, but the people were always welcoming (sorry no pics, I've got good video footage though)
Lak Village: We spent the night in this village that was in some ways a bit over touristed, and had dinner with the "chief". Whether he really was the chief, who knows, but we had a blast drinking Vietnamese wine (aka: firewater) and exchanging songs.

DAY 2 (160km)

Brick Factory: It's actually quite a tedious process. They build the kiln around the bricks everytime.
Mushroom Plantation: If you can't understand this picture I'll explain it later. This blog is long enough as it is.

Pottery Factory: I have nothing to say...I think I was hungry at the time.
Old Bombedout Church: I must have thought it was boring I didn't take a still shot.
Market: a market's a market's a market...well at least in Vietnam.
2 Waterfalls
Got Lost in the Jungle: the Vietnamese, like the Chinese, aren't so good with directions.

DAY 3 (260km... good god!)

Rubber Tree Plantation
Ho Chi Min Trail
Women Carrying Wood in Baskets
Tea Factory
A Funky Situation: I'll explain later in this blog
(sorry no pics, my camera was dead)

DAY 4 (140km)

Rice Fields
Dragon Fruit
A Cool Lake: I look a bit windblown
Mui Ne

We did a lot to say the least. Had we driven without guides we wouldn't have learned nearly as much, so for that I am thankful. But, we also wouldn't have had to deal with...

THE FUNKY SITUATION

So, at the end of the 3rd day, Lulu, the guide Antonia was riding with started to get a little more "friendly" with her. Not anything to worry about, but noticible. They were also always in front, followed by myself, with Phuc/Julia bringing up the rear. As a result of both the increased attention, and Julia wanting to be in front, Julia and Antonia switched bikes. Julia with Lulu, Antonia with Phuc. It all went downhill from there.

I didn't notice it until we checked into our hotel, but the girls had noticed fairly quickly. There was a vibe. The guides weren't happy about something, and they had started bickering with each other. Well, once we got into our room, Antonia tells us that Lulu totally blew up at her, telling her that she had greatly offended him and that in 7 years "no one has ever switched bikes on me!" She said he was almost in tears. So... note to self: If you go on an Easy Rider tour, do not switch bikes.

But wait, that's not all...

Lulu had also told Antonia that he really liked her and that he'd "taken lots of girls on tours but never felt this way about anyone" blah blah blah ("blah" because it's crap and it really pisses me off, but I'll get to my opinion soon enough). So, from then on Phuc was saying things to Julia about extending our trip to Ho Chi Min and trying to cut Lulu out, and Lulu was telling Antonia he'd take her all the way to the Mekong Delta for free because he just wanted to be with her longer. By the time we reached Mui Ne, there was so much tension between Lulu and Phuc, and the guides and the girls, that they were hardly talking. Lulu just snatched his payment from Antonia, and she eventually told him she was no longer going to recommend him. The guides that were once men, had turned into babies.

Boy was I glad I had my own bike.

I found this entire situation absolutely infuriating, even more so than the other girls, and I will tell you why.

(this is written as if I am speaking directly to Phuc and Lulu)

We are three girls who risked a lot by trusting two men we didn't "know from Adam" to take us into the countryside of Vietnam. We paid you to be our guides, but in the end you could only be sleezy chauvanist babies.

Lulu, you may not have physically touched Antonia, and may have been polite in your confessions of love, but you made all of us uncomfortable. I didn't pay you to do that. Phuc, I didn't pay you to get moody and start arguing. Both of you were completely unprofessional and childish. So what if we don't want to extend our trip?! So what if Antonia doesn't feel the same about you?!! I paid you to be a guide. So guide us god damnit, and if I need any of your other bullshit antics I'll tell you myself.

I'm mostly enraged because we trusted you and you betrayed our trust. Why do so many men continuously betray our trust?! Why can't you understand the relationship that's been established? Why must you always push the limit and try to cross the line into "more than friends". You are the men that make the entire group look bad, and each time one of you takes advantage of a situation in which a woman has trusted you either as a friend, a teacher or a guide, you make it harder for us to trust any of you at all.

Now, to all of those reading, please don't think that this situation ruined our trip or that we were assaulted in anyway. You know me, I just like to rant. We were really quite safe. Lulu never made a physical move, and Phuc was never mean, just moody/silent, and all this only took place over the last 10hrs of the trip (including sleep time). I had a close eye on the situation the entire time. I wish for once that some retarded guy would try this kind of crap on me because I would put them in their place immediately, unfortunately I think they can smell my kind from a mile away *smirk*

Quick Aside #2: To all the men reading this, I'm not talking about you because you are all my closest friends and family and I love you (if you do not fit into one of those categories I may be talking about you so you might want to do some self reflection). I just wanted to express how I feel about the crappy guys so you can all kick their butts and make the world a better place *wink*

Anyways, once we arrived in Mui Ne, things got much better. We found an adorable (I know I don't use that word, but I'm trying to expand my vocabulary :P) guesthouse and have been hanging out on the beach ever since.

Julia and Antonia already left for Saigon (Ho Chi Min) but I decided to relax here a bit longer since I already saw all the HCM sites on Semester at Sea. Tomorrow I'll catch a bus and meet up with them, and Wednesday we'll head to Cambodia. Until then, I'll be eating my fill of Vietnamese, basking in the sun and continuing my perpetual search for cheese.

Chao

A Walk On The Beach (Day 59)

2005-11-27T04:03:00.000-08:00

If a person from another culture continuously litters his/her surroundings and gives little thought to the environment and its' future, is that careless?

If a person from another culture cops a squat in the sand within visable range of numerous people, goes poop and then simply scoots forward without pulling up her pants and proceeds to dig something out of the sand, is that primative?

If animals in a different culture are dying of disease and starvation around and in people's homes and no one notices, is that heartless?

If a culture promotes the ideology that lighter skin is better and sells skin damaging whitening creams, is that racist?

OR... is it just different?

The Clothing Capital Of The World aka: Hoi An (Day 50)

2005-11-18T17:38:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to feel the need to start every entry with the following:

"Sorry I didn't write sooner, because now I've got a lot to say, so hold onto your hats..."

It's kind of a lame way to start any entry, so I won't say that. That's why I said I "feel" I need to say it.

Right now we (Julia, Antonia and I) are in Hoi An. I'm not exactly sure how to explain Hoi An, but the words "quaint" and "charming" definitely come to mind. I'm starting to sound like a Lonely Planet using those words so much, not to mention a writer that really needs a thesaurus. Anyways, it looks a lot like Yangshou, China. There's just less to do, and here their speciality is tailor-made clothes. I know, sounds like trouble. But I've actually been pretty good. I got 2 tanktops and a skirt, and I think all the tailors in Hoi An have code named me "The Picky American B***h" aka: The PAB. Hey, I figure that if you're making it for me, it better well fit me perfectly! So what if I come back 6 times to get my tanktop to fit just right?! :P

It was hard to only get the 3 things I got (okay, okay, I got a hat & some sandals, but that's it!) I mean they make the most amazing winter coats for $30! I was tempted, I will admit, but I realized that after all the stuff I bought in Hanoi (by the way it cost me $57 for 11 kilos by ship) spending another $100+ would bust my budget more than if I wait and pay $400 when I have a job back at home. So, I just got the 2 tanktops and a skirt to add to my continuously growing travel wardrobe.

Wait..."tanktops you say?! Travelers should know better than to run around in tanktops!"

If you are thinking these thoughts at this moment, I will say that I completely agree. Yet the longer I travel, the more I see people in tanktops and the hotter it gets. Not to mention there are so many travelers, the Vietnamese don't seem to care. So I find myself with the dilemma of choosing between being a sweaty conscious culture respecting traveler or being a relatively cool tourist.

Tourists... here, there are a lot of them. We (I must include myself in this category whether I want to or not) are everywhere. The cafe I'm sitting in right now is full of westerners, and there's absolutely nothing you can do about it. We tried to get away the other night and went to a little Beer Hoi (little places on the side of the road with tiny plastic chairs & beer). Unfortunately, we still got riped off. What we should have paid 40,000vnd for we paid 100,000.

quick aside: 1) 15,900vnd = $1usd
2) We did have a great meal at a little beer hoi last night and we didn't get riped off at all.
10,000vnd for a footlong sandwich...they love their baguettes.

Which brings me to my next point (because I always have one): Ripoffs
They're everywhere, just like tourists. Coincidence...I think not. I don't mean ripoffs in the sense of scams, but rather people just trying to over charge you for EVERYTHING. In Ninh Binh I paid 8,000/kilo for fruit, and I didn't even haggle. Here, in Hoi An, they start at 15,000, and you can't get anything under 10. Although it is only about 50 cents/kilo more, it's really important to me that I haggle them down. The reason being that I don't want them to continue seeing us as merely $$$. I want them to know I know they're charging me way too much. The crappy part is that there are tons of us (tourists) who will pay what they ask for, and that screws over everyone else. Yes, it's only 50 cents, but it's my 50 cents, and I'm not just going to give it to you because you think I have tons of money and should.

2nd quick aside: If your reply to my arguement is "but you do have way more money than them in the long
run". I will discuss this topic with you further over a cup of coffee...if you are so inclined.

Inspite of the ripoffs, I still think the people here are amazing...I could not say that much for China. The people here haggle with a smile, and that makes it much more pleasant. Anything with a smile is more enjoyable. The food is amazing (did I say that already?). I can finally understand Anthony Bourdain's love of Vietnamese food. It's so healthy and fresh. I mean the herbs in the markets are amazing. I think I've had 10 green papaya salads since I got here :)

BUT, I continue to feel the size of a house.

Now, for all of you who know me really well, you know that I've always had issues with weight, and you also know that I've gotten a lot better over the past few years. But being here in 'Nam, it can be a bit difficult. I don't get to workout regularly, and EVERYBODY is freakin' tiny. It's in the genes and it's crazy. I bring this up because yesterday I had an experience I found quite hurtful, even though I should have been able to brush it off easily as cultural ignorance.

Antonia and I had gone to the market to buy a bunch of fruit and crackers for our bus ride today. We stopped at a shop to ask a question and the lady looked at my bag and asked why I had so much food. 1st of all, it wasn't that much and 2nd it was for all 3 of us. Then she proceeds to tell me "that's why you're fat, you eat too much." For someone who comes from a culture where this is extremely impolite, it was a shocker. And for a person who's struggled with weight issues and at the moment is only 124lbs, it was a blow. I know, I should have been able to brush it off, but it took me a while and made me really angry. I'm sorry if it's okay in your culture to tell someone they're fat, but in my opinion it's rude and always will be. I also found her cultural ignorance (her inability to see that most westerners are simply built differently) astounding given the fact that she lives in an extremely touristy town and works in a travel agency!!

Okay, enough venting...oh wait no, one more thing. The other day this English guy said "Canadians, Americans, same thing." My thoughts: Okay then, Germans, English, same thing. So ha!

3rd quick aside: 1)Not really but kind of. It's funny because the more I travel, the more easily I can tell the difference between people from the U.S. and Canada. Or the English from different parts of England. My hope is that eventually I'll be able to tell what part of England a person is from through their accent, they can do it. 2) How cool is it that I found this flag! The internet "is my favorite"!

So, you're probably wondering what the heck I've been up to the past week. Well, after Hanoi, Julia and I went to Ninh Binh where we decided to rent motor bikes and ride around the country for the day. I burned the crap out of my leg, and the worst thing about it is that I KNOW to be careful, but hey, we all know to be careful. Luckily it's healing and it hasn't hurt at all.

After riding around for 4 hours, we went on a riverboat ride with a mooch of a rower (quite a nice lady though. We bought her that soda) and saw the "impotent forest".

The next day we went to this national park (Cuc Phong) which was beautiful and saw some monkeys (what is it about monkeys over here?), but basically we spent most of the day riding around with our motorbike guides. My butt was killing me. That night we caught a bus to Hue. 10 hours of trying to sleep in an isle seat that doesn't lean back with a Vietnamese man that seemed serious about something. Yeah... I'm not looking forward to the 12 hour ride we've got tonight to Nha Trang.

Anyway, we only stayed in Hue one night. Nothing too exciting except for a really bossy tour guide and we ran into Colin at our hotel which was funny because we'd been emailing back and forth trying to meet up. The life of a traveler can be a bit odd. Here you are, traveling around the world, but you keep bumping into the same people again and again.

Hue's also where we met up with Antonia. We originally met her in Hanoi, and agreed that we would all travel down the coast together. Now I like to thing of us as a dangerous trio... you can see what I mean. (Sheila where are you??!!! :P)

So after Hue we found ourselves in Hoi An, pretty much spent the past few days relaxing & buying clothes, and tonight we leave for Nha Trang. Crazy party town Nha Trang...

The Simple Life (Day 42)

2005-11-09T12:00:00.000-08:00

I definitely think I'm going to like Vietnam. Unfortunately my ability to write with eloquence and wit has flown out the window into the hectic streets of Hanoi, so bare with me...

Today, Julia and I got back from our Halong Bay trip, and it was absolutely incredible! We had the choice of either a 2day/1night or 3day/2night trip and we decided to go with the more expensive (a wopping $64!) 2 night trip, and I wouldn't change it for anything...well maybe a million dollars, but that's besides the point.

The first day we were with a great group of people (minus one, but I'll tell you about her later). We got on the boat, had a great lunch, visited Amazing Cave (aka: Penis Cave...don't ask), and went swimming. The water temperature was just the way I like it and the bay was beautiful. That night we slept out on the deck under the stars, it couldn't have been better...well maybe with you guys, but you know what I mean.

Halong Bay

Fishing boat in Halong Bay

Amazing Cave...you can't see what makes it "amazing" and a floating village

The next day was the best day of all. We went kayaking in the morning (Jared, I now know how you feel when I'm in a canoe with you). Unfortunately I couldn't take my camera, but I can guarantee that it was beautiful. Our guide was kinda funny. At one point he led us into this dead end and just kinda lingered there humming/singing. It was hilarious, but the American in me was thinking: "What the hell are you doing?! I didn't come here to sing to the shrubbery! Are we gonna kayak or what?!" But now, looking back, floating there was kinda nice, although at the time I was antsy.

Anyway, after kayaking, 3 of us, Julia, me and we'll call her "Gemini" (she's the minus one) split off from the rest of the group because they were only doing 2day/1night tours. We got onto a smaller boat which took us to this little beach and had the most amazing BBQ lunch. It was paradise.

me...he he & lunch (minus the baguettes, my faaaaavorite)

That night we stayed on Cat Ba island (cute, quaint, boring but good) and today, after some more scrumdidliumptous meals, we came home...I mean back to Hanoi.
Now, when I said I wouldn't change a thing, that was a bit of a lie (or shall I say "Optimistic Jasmine" taking over). There are 2 things I would change:

"Gemini"
Our last meal

"Gemini". Well, lets just say she wasn't the happiest camper, or we could say she was an incessant complainer who I felt the urge to strangle once every 5 minutes! Somehow (actually not "somehow", she was pressured into booking the trip before she'd even read the brochure), she thought we were going trekking and when she found out we weren't, there were enough sighs, frowns and complaints to fill a week at Fat Camp. You would think she'd never travelled a day in her life, especially since she allowed the woman at the hotel to fluster her enough to book a trip before reading up on it!

The #1 Rule of Travel:

NEVER LET ANYONE PRESSURE YOU INTO ANYTHING

Chances are you'll find a better, cheaper deal, so take your time. Plus, pressure is the conmans/conwomans most valuable weapon.

Anyway, to make a long story short, she was annoying as hell (I mean the woman couldn't even have seafood by her!) and I would have eliminated her from my paradise.

Two...Lunch. Today, before we headed back to Hanoi, we had lunch at a restaurant in the bay. During lunch, a German woman (30ish) who claimed to not be feeling so well, kept asking for vegetable soup instead of seafood, and she was being a bit of a baby about it. I tried to ignore her. She didn't seem to appreciate this because in order to get all of our attention, in the middle of the meal she suddenly jumps up, turns away from the table and proceeds to throw up in her napkin. The waiter then got her a bag that she used as well. After all of this, she simply wipes her mouth, turns back to the table and begins talking with her friend.

Okay, prepare yourselves, because I've got a lot to say about this little event.

I have decided that this woman was an idiot and I wouldn't want anything to do with her EVER, here's why...

First of all, I have thrown up many many times, and I know when I feel shitty, and when I feel that shitty I make sure I'm near a toilet. Therefore, she is an idiot for not taking the proper precautions.

Second. Okay, so let's say she didn't know she was feeling that shitty. She did know she was about to throw up, and if she was able to throw up in a napkin, she could have thrown up in a napkin as she walked out of the room. Therefore, she is an idiot for not trying to make an effort to exit the premises.

Third. Okay, so she couldn't walk and throw up at the same time, fine, fine. She could have at least left the room to clean herself up. I mean "Lady! I just watched you throw up while I was munching on corn and calamari! Please don't make me watch you wipe your mouth off and then proceed to chit chat with your rank breath to your friend!". Therefore, she is an idiot for not giving us the time to get over it without having her there to remind us...Good God! She didn't even go wash her mouth out! aaahhhhh!!!!!

Finally, she is an idiot because she didn't even have the courtesy to say sorry.

Next time, I'll throw up on her myself.

So, minus those 2 things, it was an amazing trip.

Tomorrow, Julia and I head to Ninh Binh and then on down the coast. This of course will only take place after I mail the huge box of stuff I've bought, so keep your fingers crossed that it won't cost an arm and a leg, because then I'll be in the hospital and there'll be no more traveling for Jasmine.

So far, Vietnam has been great. It's really easy to get around, the people speak English, the food is fresh and absolutely delicious, the people actually smile & nobody stares...well at least it seems like that :P I've over heard a few people saying how it feels like everyone is staring at them, and that it's hard to communicate, and I think to myself that it's a bit ridiculous, but then I realize that things probably seem a whole lot easier because I just got here from the Big PRC (People's Republic of China).

(sorry, quick aside: Right now I'm in the kitchen at the hostel and this French guy is walking around talking to himself. he he...but scary)

When I was in China I kept thinking that it wasn't so bad, but after leaving I realize that it was a really hard country to start out in. Yet, even though it made the beginning of my trip more difficult, I'm glad I did it, because now things can only get easier...

Bring it on 'Nam!

'Namy 'Nam 'Nam (Day 35)

2005-11-02T13:58:00.000-08:00

So I made it to Vietnam! After 2 buses, 1 minivan, 1 taxi, a rickshaw and a short walk, I finally made it. Although I got royally ripedoff within my 1st hour, and hit by a motorcycle by the 4th, I can still say so far so good.

I found a fantastic hostel in Hanoi. It's the best one I've been in since Beijing. Clean, comfortable, tons of hot H2O, free breakfast & internet, book trading (none of this 2 for 1 crap), a bar, trip booking, not to mention a great English speaking staff! If you ever come to Hanoi, you gotta stay here... and I've only been here for a day.

Last night, I went to dinner with these two Danish girls in my dorm. They're really nice...nice is a crappy word... they were very friendly. Definitely partiers. They said they spent 5 weeks in Nha Trang, which supposedly doesn't have much more than a good beach and a whole lota bars.

It's definitely good to be in a hostel again. Meeting people is sooo easy. The people here even seem friendlier then I've experienced at other hostels in China. But, that could just be because they've been drinking Tiger beer (the one and only beer of choice in S.E. Asia).

So it seems like things are starting off on a good foot, which actually got to workout for the third day in a row today!!! I found a gym at this hotel near by. The Sofitel Metropole Hanoi. I've decided I'm going to pretend I'm staying there for the next week I'm here in Hanoi. Which is a good thing, because baguettes and cheese are plentiful here. French colonization resulted in at least a couple of good things :P