New Direction

Hello Wonderful People,

I've been home for a little while, and since then, I've learned how to manage my own website. I'll be archiving some of my favorite posts from here, and blogging about whole new ones from my trip to India. Please head here and give me some love comments.

www.stretchlaughlove.com/blog/

Sending so much love to all of you for reading and following and supporting.

Its been a long time.

Shouldn't have left you.
Without a dope beat to step to. Step 2:

Right now I am on the Gili Islands, struggling to finish homework before it is due. In the past few weeks I went to Penang, Malaysia and Medan, Indonesia. I fasted for Ramadhan with a local family and celebrated Hari Raya on Pulau Weh. I also got my Open Water Diver certificate here. I met some people, said goodbye to some others. And... I'm coming home in four or five days! I can't stop thinking about flushable toilets...

Sending love and smiles, as always - even though this leg of my trip is definitely less zen than the other parts. :)

Chiang Mai

Soooooo.... I have been in Chiang Mai, Thailand for a while. Most come here to take advantage of the gorgeous trekking, the opium, the hill tribes, and the peaceful Pai, but I did none of this. I spent five incredibly relaxing days doing yoga every morning for 3.5 hours. This also happened sometimes in the afternoon (4-6), and experimenting with some meditations at night for about 2 hours each. This along with my Udallas course load kept me very busy. Mix in 2 nights of going out on the town with my friends from Vang Vieng, and one amazing cooking class, and there you have it. :)

I have seen some of the most beautiful temples and met some of the most spiritually enlightening people. They have really inspired me to want my next trip to be to India. Maybe to learn from a circle of yogis?

Today I'm headed to Bangkok and on to Penang, Malaysia. Like an idiot, I tried to book a plane ticket online and chose the wrong destination as my arrival airport. So... instead of going to the islands, I'm headed to Penang (another island). For about three minutes I stressed about the non-refundable, non-changable nature of the flight, but then I just accepted it. I'm going to Penang!!! Woot! The ticket was only forty dollars, so I could just buy another one, but I'm learning how to let life take control a little bit.

I've been traveling around with some Israelis for the last few days. Last night we had an interesting conversation about what they feel when they see German backpackers like them. One said that this didn't affect him, although he has been apologized to before. The other said that seeing a German was like seeing a distant enemy, neither of you had much interest in communicating. What a difficult bridge to cross even two generations away. Just thought I'd share.

I miss you all. I'll be home in the next 18 days!

Thailand

After 15 hours in the Lao bus filled with people and chickens and vomit and sticky rice, seeing Thai skies seemed magical. I couldn't stop smiling when I thought of Melissa and Rebecca and Christina! We had such an awesome time in Thailand Christmas '07, and I would be lonely without them.

I took a minibus with some Scottish girls and a Chinese American guy with pin stripe dolphin shorts on. Haha. On the way I met two other girls, Nadia and Mirev. Nadia is a tall flowing dutch woman and Mirev a powerful Israeli with the loudest, most contagious laugh I've ever heard. The three of us found a room in Chiang Mai.

Nadia and I decided to do some yoga classes and meditation retreats, which have been AWESOME. I'll write more about them later. I still can't shake this traveler's sickness, so I have to peace to the toilette every half hour, yuck.

Luang Prabang

Memories of liquid poop and fever skate around the most beautiful collection of low lying waterfalls. Romantic as an enema.

Tubing in Vang Vieng

I'm in Chiang Mai, Thailand. I left out much of my Laos experience on this blog since I spent the most time traveling with others. To catch up a little:

Mateo Anna and I decided to head up to Vang Vieng to check out what all the rage was about with the tubing scene. For those of you who have never been to this part of the world, you know you are getting close to Vang Vieng by the number of tubing t-shirts you see flitting about. You can often see what travelers have done or where they have been by their clothes. This is often the best marketing tool for the region. For example: In Cambodia people buy clothes with monks holding umbrellas. In Vietnam almost everyone buys the red shirt with the yellow star in the middle or a Tintin au Vietnam tee. In Laos, everyone buys tubing t-shirts. Getting closer and closer to Vang Vieng you can start to separate those headed north and those headed south by this one difference. This t-shirt is such a purchase for most travelers, that some will buy the shirt before tubing so that they can wear it while tubing. Others, and I got to witness this personally, promptly drug their drunk carcasses out of the water with the sole motivation of stumbling to the nearest t-shirt shack to find their appropriate color and size. I didn’t buy one, but I did go tubing. I don't have any proof, per se, but you will just have to believe me.

For those of you who have any sort of conventional rural tubing in your head, meaning your butt in a hole, beer in your hand, and sunscreen on your face, lazing down the river, let me just stop you now. Tubing in Vang Vieng is more like Nickelodeon’s Guts propelled by alcohol and drugs and without the appropriate harnesses. In the town, you pay about 115,000 kip with your deposit for the day. A tuk-tuk packs you and 5 other sweaty foreigners under your tubes and you are shuffled to bar #1. The drinking starts before you even get in the water.

Upon arrival, I found myself watching 15 stationary people all focused below them. I wondered what was so interesting, so I checked my shoes and tube at the door. As I climbed the stairs, my periphery was sideswiped by a tiny Japanese woman flying through the air. I traced the wire she clung to to the top of a 50 or 60 foot tree where other people were lined up, ready to take the plunge. The heads in the crowd followed her decent into the water and subsequent efforts to beat the current into the shore. Holy gosh. What the hell?

A snapshot of things to come: Booze, river, current, trapeze, zip-line, drugs, naked, mud-wrestling, mud-volleyball, anything you needed to relive your hectic college years all in one day.

For those of you who have ever had the good fortune of seeing me struggle to get down a steep stairway, you will be delighted to know that I, Jessica Rhodes, jumped off the first jump zip-line trapeze. I convinced myself that it wasn’t scary, until about ½ way down, when I started screaming. I didn’t let go here, of course. I was too afraid of the drop, so I swung back up towards the bird’s nest. On the way back down my hands started to slip, but I decided to wait until the pinnacle to let go. Why? I don’t know. My goal was not to go as high as possible; I just saw so many other people waiting. This led to a fall into the water that sent me through multiple stages of my life. The first few seconds felt like freedom, but my anxiety continued to build on the way down. About 20 feet from the water I started to scream, sucking in laughs from the crowd and a whole heap of river water into my body. I must be crazy. When I finally stopped shaking, I was ready to go to the next bar, 15 meters away. This was not a lazy, calm experience. There were about 7 or 8 bars and only one sandwich shop. No wonder I saw so many people the next day walking around bandaged or limping. The last bar has a giant slide that you can go down if you buy alcohol, like you need anymore… After this, you tube down the river for about 45 of the most relaxing, peaceful minutes of the trip, at least, this is what I heard happens.

I had the pleasure of a stray tuber named Sasha latched on to my tube. His tall thin physique left his organs too close to the exterior of his body and when he wasn’t delightfully chatting, he was shaking like a leaf. I drunkenly handed him my soaking wet scarf to keep him warm, and did my best to keep us out of the main current. The other members in our group made it to shore before the city, leaving Sasha and I floating south at dusk. We drifted down the river for about 15 more minutes before we saw the lights of the city and the sillhoutes of children playing in the river. Three of them jumped on our tube, pulling us to the left, and away from the accidental trek to Cambodia. Wide-eyed, we watched as a figure sprinted on top of the water towards us. Defying gravity apparently impairs your reasoning capacity. We were in shallow water!! I jumped off the tube delighted, letting one of the kids run away with it. Sasha’s long body came in handy here, as he gadgeted his arms, swiping the tube away from the kid and saving my deposit. Thank you, my friend.

I forgot to mention the best part, I met someone named Trent that has been tubing for 252 days. This is both a mental and physical feat that I would certainly fail. It took me an entire day to get over the first day! Sasha and I are working out the rights to a TV show based around and staring him. More to come.

Vientaine and my Couchette

I just arrived to Vientaine and my first flushable toilet in a LONG time, and... it had toilet paper!! This is something I'll never again take advantage of. I was unaware of how many people in this world have no access to sanitation. I had seen the numbers and facts before, but I suppose you have to live it before it becomes a reality. Another few shocks were the electricity past 10pm and the hot shower at my guesthouse. I feel like I'm in a new powder fresh world. Interestingly enough, I can smell my armpits right now, for the first time in a long time. Maybe I washed too well?

My last days on Don Det were relaxing as ever and Salad's family continued to persuade me to come live with them. I continued to kindly reject these advances. I got on a small long boat with 12 other people to head to Pakse yesterday around 11:00am. We switched to a mini bus, and I got to Pakse around 2pm. I had 6 hours to kill here before I got in my sleeper bus to Vientaine. I don't know why I decided to skip the center of Laos. I guess the same reason I decided to skip the center of Vietnam... just a gut feeling. I met a professonal Brazillian volleyball player named Isabellia and a group of 6 french guys in Pakse. We were having a fine time, and I considered cancelling my bus and taking a motorbike around with the french guys, but I decided against it at the last minute. I decided that the temptation of breaking my celibacy vow had too high a potential of being broken with these nice french people, none of whom I felt particularly fond of.
YIKES, I sound stuck in my own head.

The truth is, I'm really in desperate need of some physical affection, a hug, a handshake even will do. The sleeping bus on the way to Vientaine was essentially a twin sized bed shared with someone I didn't know. Perhaps I would have been perturbed by this, but I felt lucky to even be sleeping close to someones feet! To give some background, around February of this year I experienced a relatively traumatic relationship ending and I promised myself 8 months of only thinking about me, of listening to what I needed. I am now at the end of month 6 and as lonely and proud and strong as I ever was.

They say that you can't love someone until you sufficiently love yourself, and I think this is true. I had just never experienced truly loving myself before. I've always dumped my time and thought and dedication into one (usually more than one) place. Here, I am forced to reflect on what it means to love yourself, what it means to be in the present moment.

I met a boy in Mongolia who made me feel free and safe and alive. It was the first time I felt a care and an appreciation so free of craving, free of the NEED that drives most passion. This was the most amazing experience. We met simply for one day, however, and then he was gone. His lack of physical presence hasn't erased him from my mind, however. Since then, I think about him everyday, which shows my weakness. I long for that feeling of safety and security. The thing is, he doesn't bring that. It comes from within me. I am just having trouble holding on to it!!! Somewhere inside, I still view partnership and love as a kind of salvation: "If you are loved, nothing else it really that serious." Now, the task at hand is to remove the first clause: Nothing is really that serious!! Only when I believe this, can I be a good partner for someone else.

I desire a partnership in which we can help each other grow as strong individuals. I think I finally understand what this means, but boy am I weak and lost. I think its ok if I still would like to see that boy again...

I am also experiencing my first trials in regards to my strength of reserve and calm. Today, I ate breakfast with my two roomates, Anne and Mateo. Anne is 39 yr old, newly made physio-therapist from London, and Mateo is a French Italian who reminds me of an old housemate of mine, Giovanni (minus all the complexes that go along with growing up in Texas). Anne made a comment at lunch about how she can't stand being in the minority in London anymore. She said that she hardly ever meets a white woman originally from the U.K. nowadays and she just wishes they would stop letting people in, so that they would stop taking the jobs. She has a job, by the way. Instead of listening with presence and diffusing the situation, I (relatively calmly) responded by citing how her inconvenience was but a tiny aspect of the pain and hardship that many of these refugees experienced in leaving their home countries. I felt my tension rising. I had to leave the situation to diffuse a potentially passionate response. I have such a strong tendancy to identify with my political positions that I must let go of. Breatheeeeeee....

I'm back in school now, so I've spent this whole time waiting for my exam guard to download on this computer. Now, I'm off to take a test in Global Managment Strategy. I love and think of you all often. Hugs and love all around. :)

Don Det & 4,000 Islands, Laos

It has taken me a few lazy days to realize, but I finally looked around and saw where I am. Surrounded by the sounds of waterfalls and running water, I am on a small island never too far away from the flowing Mekong. People here seem to live for today and only today. They sleep in hammocks by the road, and tiny-sized cats, dogs, chickens, ducks, cows, & buffalo wander about freely. Yesterday, a pig marched right up to me and demanded to know what I was doing on his path. I don't speak pig, so I just pressed my hands together in front of my chest and said "Sa ba lai."

The majority of transportation here happens by foot or on an old bicycle. There are some autobikes, but these can be particularly difficult to maintain upright considering the quality of the roads. [Think - small scale, Mongolia.] Food can be bought, caught, or picked off of the trees surrounding the roads and eaten leisurely. Women and children work in kitchens and fields, bathing in the Mekong when they get hot, and snacking on sticky rice during the day. Everybody spits, even babies. Women in the fields chew beets with tobacco leaves inside for a soft buzz, but remained stained of lips and mouth for the rest of their lives with the dark purple red of the beet. Peace and tranquility reign supreme and even the occasional dog fight stops around 11 pm.

Electricity happens only through generators, which are turned on from around 6:30 - 9:00pm in most guest houses. This stays on till about 11 at the most hip bars. Around 11, the island sleeps. I think there is a curfew in Laos, but I haven't seen any enforcers. Come to think of it, I haven't seen any police or security of any sort, or firehouses, hospitals, clinics, banks... Houses dot the road on stilts. These houses occasionally have signs indicating the vocation of its inhabitants, "Bungalow," "Happy Pizza," "Bicycle rent," "laundry," "cafe," "bicycle repair." Some houses have many signs.

Last night I finally ate with Salad and his family. This is the family who owns the bungalow where I am staying. Salad likes to wait in the hammock outside my room until I wake up, come back, finish showering... I've started to become relatively firm with him, but perhaps this is without reason. Maybe he just needs a friend. He studies in Vientaine but is at home because his sister in in the hospital with a grave brain illness. The hospital is far away, so his mother is with her while the family runs the business. Last night, like every night, they invited me to dine with them. This was one of the best meals I've ever had. Ever. Laos style ceviche, fish soup, grilled fish (both caught from the Mekong), fresh chillies, limes, and mint with sticky rice in a bamboo case. Divine...

I have been renting a bike everyday, reminicent of my days in Cambodia, and riding along the two connected islands. Today I went to a beach and made poop sand castles like I used to do when I was a kid. This is when you let the sand and water drip out from between your hands. This always looks a little like poop. There is no actual poop involved. Hopefully...

I got an awesome email today from a friend who told me she was reading my blog. I'd love to hear from any of you who read. What do you think? Any advice? Questions? Errors? I write this to keep in touch with all of you, so don't be shy. I'm sending my love and joy to you right... now.

Stung Treng

Now, I am in Stung Treng, on the Cambodian side of the Laos-Cambodia border, waiting for morning to come so that I can cross. I am sitting at an internet cafe where electricity keeps going in and out. :) The manager of the Riverside Guest House here is 29 and looking for a wife like me, however, so I'm staying put for a while.

Just wanted to say I was on my way to Laos.

Uplifting ANGKOR!

I apologize for the few difficult posts. I take it from the lack of comments that all of you got the same headache I did after soaking in genocidal pain. True to the Lonely Planet's description, I can now share some of the gorgeous aspects of Khmer history, the temples of Angkor Watt.

Gary decided he needed some man space, so when we got to Siem Riep, he got his own room. Marta and I continued our routine - purchase fresh fruits and vegetables at night and in the morning for food, explore during the day. We rented bikes at our guest house (Naga Guest House), for $1.50 and headed to the temples at around 7:30am after watching the sunrise from our room. We purchased three day guest passes for 40$ to take it slow. On the way to the temples, we had both run into others doing the inverse route who had burned out on temples. Many of them tried to see all of the temples in one or two days. We decided not to burn out, and planned a schedule of 12 hour days, seeing around 4-5 temples a day.

Day 1:
Biked over 100km.
Saw three temples.
Fell asleep on a hammock outside the landmine museum.
Found a delicious local food place outside the temple where we paid a quarter of the price for food 5x better than the stuff we found in town.
Watched the sunset on top of a temple.
Breathed in the majesty of the stones rising with the jungle.

Day 2:
Biked over 80km.
Watched the sunrise from Ta Prom, the one temple ordained by some french comission to remain in its original overgrown state, after the temples were 'rediscovered' by westerners. Think: Indiana Jones.
This was an amazingly beautiful melange of man and nature, both conquering each other, both being conquered, and both in a constant state of flux.
Then we did the big circuit for temples, seeing Angkor Tom, Bayon, Preah Neat, something something... Each one of them were incredibly different and equally amazing.
I will have to sit down with a map to describe them all to you, but for right now, I'll just say that I felt the power of the place, the wonder of the world, when I was there.
It was really nice biking to each one because it gave us a little more time to anticipate getting to the next temple. It also increased our endorphin level, keeping our joy up. :)

We ended at Angkor Watt for a sunrise and a promenade through the most powerful temple of all. I'm so happy we saved this gem for last. It was breathtaking. We also went at around 5:45, which meant it was closing and people were leaving. We snuck by anyway and got to experience the majesty almost completely alone!! It was like the world was giving us this gift for not polluting her with the CO2 of motorized transportation. :)

That night, I was so cranky/hungry that I finally let the begging children and families get to me. The rest of the trip, I had been very pleasant and calm, friendly and helpful, but most of all patient. Walking through the streets of Siem Riep after these two days, however, I was like an animal. I almost snapped at a little child for constantly frowning at me and saying "Lady, you buy from me. You give me a dollar. Maybe when you come back. If you don't give me money, I'll have no money for school." I kept trying to be positive, even giving some of my fruit, but when the child started pushing me to go into his family's restaurant, not allowing me to go where I wanted to go, I couldn't handle it. I snapped at a tuk-tuk driver. Finally, I ate. Then, I felt crazy bad about becoming such a mean person. I realized that these begging families were actually hungry all of the time - not just crhangry like me. I gave all the beggers on the way home food until I ran out. Then I gave a little money. This was the first time I did this and it is for sure, not the best way to do things, but I needed to ease my discomfort with myself.

Day 3:
We woke up and took a tuk-tuk to the Roulus group of temples, 15 km east of the city, to watch the sunrise over Bangkor, one of the oldest temples of all. We walked up at around 5:40 to see monks lining the pathways, donning their orange robes. Later, one of these monks would ask to take pictures of us. We let him. He returned the favor. I'll post his face later. We spent an hour meditating on the top of the temple as the sun rose and warmed the earth and our hearts. We took a tuk-tuk because Marta had to be back by 7:30 to catch her bus to Thailand. Today was our last day together. :( I was happy to have woken up to share this.

On the way back, Marta removed the yellow and green scarf from her hair. She had been wearing this everyday for the last week we had known each other. In her thick Spanish accent she told me that she wanted me to have it (even though she wished it were cleaner). I think this present touched me more than anything I've ever gotten. She removed something from her daily wardrobe to show me how important our meeting was. I felt uncomfortable at such a nice moment, so I pushed it away quickly, saying I had gas or something, but it was very nice. Hopefully I will run into her again in Laos!

I spent the rest of the day catching up on lost meals and sleep, planning my trip to Laos, and getting my stuff organized. I felt sad to leave the temples. I felt like a part of something huge when I was there.

Sending my love and joy to all of you. I miss you.

Killing Fields

Gary and Marta and I rented bikes from the center of town to make our way to the Killing Fields, the place where those retained in S21 were slaughtered. The bike ride to the fields was difficult with my crappy rented bike with no front brake and slow moving gears. When I arrived, I thought the fields possessed the same silence as Auschwitz. This is hard to explain. The trees grow beautifully, the grass grows, the beez buss, yet it is a place lacking in something. What looks like weak basil plants push up from the ground on top of each of the mass graves. Graves of headless individuals, graves of women, graves of children, graves of men fill the area. A bright white stupa playing blues music, stands in the center of the fields, and is filled with over 6000 skulls catagorized by gender and age, displaying the brutality of blunt force trauma. The bottom of the stupa starts with the youngest victims.

After seeing the photographs from the victims, my headache almost prevents me from walking through this place. I light a stick of incense at the stuppa for a dollar, hoping to give the souls of the dead some of my respect.

I am sitting at the edge of the fields. A river runs behind me and trees grow in front of me. Some trees are even documented as those with purpose. These were the trees from which loudspeakers hung, playing music to prevent the neighbors from hearing the moans and screams of their dying people. The biggest of these was called the tree of magic. Its roots dug deep into the earth, giving nature a type of permanence that humans see themselves as lacking. Huge butterflies flap everywhere, often in pairs. They seem to be protecting the grounds, bringing me back into the moment when I lose myself in thought. They are infusing life in their surroundings and thus guarding the memory of the death that hangs in the history.

As I reflect, I realize that I was wrong about the silence. It isn't emptiness that rests here. It is trial after trial, soul after soul. It is so much, in fact, that it all compounds on top of itself. Like a diamond being made due to extreme pressure, or a fossil being made through time, this place has emotional sediment that has compiled to form the rocks, the foundation of life in this area.

Phenom Penh & S21

My lonely planet says that Cambodia is filled with, "Historical contradictions mixed with hopeful optimism." This sounds like a country of magic. The land seems to feel more clear here, clear of trees, I mean, and the ones that remain dot out symmetrical paths around the houses.

I met Gary and Marta on the tour and we formed a de facto group in Cambodia. Gary is a PE teacher in London, and upon first glance, you know it. He is originally from South Africa and played his part in the South African army, which continues to affect his need for control, as far as I can tell. He has a tiger tatooed on his leg. Marta feels uneasy around him. Marta is from Spain. She is a pear shaped, new-agey woman, who dabbles in homeopathy. She studied EU humanitarian law in Brussels before working as a lawyer for a few years. Recently, she decided to go into the public sector and will start her job as a civil servant next month. She is taking the path directly to politician, and she is not shy to share this. Our group made an amazing mixture of personalities. Imagine a red cabbage, apple, and green lemon juicer...

For dinner, we went to the fruit market and bought all kinds of crazy fruits and vegetables. Marta is really conscious of what she puts into her body and how it makes her feel, so she only eats fruit for dinner. Some of her insights were really inspiring. I hope I can share them with you later.

The next morning we woke up at 7, because Marta let us sleep in, thank goodness. Then, we went to S21. S21 was a detention camp that served as a prison for those contrary to the Pol Pot regime in Cambodia. Over 14,000 people were killed here, and only 12 of those admited, ever left. It was truly a horrible place. The museum itself is filled with photographs and has been supplemented with the fantasticly detailed reports collected by the Khmer Rouge at the time. I'm no expert, but I will list here a summary of what I have learned through this museum and reading S21. Please correct me if I have gotten something wrong.

Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge were a minority faction of the Cambodian political system when turmoil sent 1973 King to China. China told the king to throw his support behind the Khmer Rouge (communism brethern and all), which he did. This gave them the leverage to evacuate all the major cities. Almost overnight, in 1975, the cities were evacuted under the guise that the Americans were coming to bomb Cambodia. People struck with fear had no choice but to leave. Once people were away from the cities, Pol Pot (the new prime minister, according to the radios) abolished the current monetary system, making money worthless, and put all of the cambodian people back into the fields. Overnight, he attempted to turn all of cambodia into a classless, agrarian society. He gave people that were already poor farmers full party rights, but the Khmer Rouge's top brothers (a collection of well educated and travelled men) despised higher classes and viewed higher education as an infectious disease, so they treated it as such. Many from the cities were viewed as political threats and simply disappeared. Pol Pot and the Khmer Rouge saw their own people as the biggest source of threat, and were determined to extinguish this threat. Better a few people than the system, they thought. Their brutal hands and their poor farming practices and skewed medical treatment ended up killing around 1/4 of the Khmer population, however, before they were stopped by the Vietnamese in 1979.

I can't help but see these cities and these beautiful people walking by me with the lingering pain that this regime has caused.

Mekong Delta 3 Day Tour

I opted for a three day tour through the Mekong delta to make my way up to Cambodia. The first day was filled with coconut candies, honey bees, opera singers, and small boat rides through the winding waterways of the mighty Mekong.

For those headed to Vietnam, a word on the tours: Vietnamese group tours are definitely a bang for your buck, but if you have more time, do it yourself. There is nothing great about being herded around like sheep from destination to destination filled with things that would never be found in the actual lives of the Vietnamese people (e.g. 3$ for a water). If I could do it again, I would do it without all the tours. I might even buy a bike and just go down with my feet and the wheels. If you don't have enough time, tours are your bet, however.

On the way to our first night's destination, Cam Tho, we passed beautiful delta valley and houses that seemed enormously wealthy for Vietnam. On the road, I saw what looked to be a father with his 13 year old boy. They were transporting inventory, maybe some livestock or metal. Both were smoking, and the son was telling a story, making himself laugh.

The second day was spent floating down rivers, looking at traditional markets. The boats each had a wooden post stuck to the the hull speared with the goods that each boat sold. Crabs, watermelons, dragon fruit, and onions were just some of the things I saw. The rest of the day happened a little like the day before, filled with postponed ferries and random stopovers (including a crocodile farm...).

The third day we went to Cambodia. When they say slow boat, what they mean is small boat. 20 of us crammed onto a very skinny light voyage boat for 19 people to travel the three hours to the Cambodian post. Ignoring the cramped quarters, miliary chairs, and the heat, we could palpably feel the difference in Cambodian people and tribes from the Vietnamese. The faces on the sides of the river began to hold bright teeth and pure smiles, posing next to their huge white cows for our pictures.

We changed boats at the border, which was pretty pathetic as far as I'm concerned. The police boat ''patrolling' the water looked like it hadn't been turned on on ages. For those of you true voyagers, you could probably just swim across if you weren't afraid of the murky brown water.

Our boat into Cambodia was even more uncomfortable, but I expected this, so I let the whines from the now sardined group lull me to sleep. I played hearts with some boys in the back of the boat.

We finally finished our boat ride 4 hours later. Then we took an hour long bus to the center of Phenom Penh. Wow. I made it to Cambodia.

War Museum: Saigon

Tears flowed freely while walking through the photo documentation of the atrocities of the war. From pictures of destroyed buildings and hospitals and schools, to mutilated and decapitated bodies being dragged from the back of US jeeps, to the first, second, and now third generation victims from the affects of Agent Orange was almost unbearable.

After seeing photos identifying Agent Orange maladies, I can flip easily through my head the actual people I have seen throughout my time here, suffering from the same. Before I came to Vietnam, I read a book on the escape of Vietnam refugees, the boat people, struggling to find refugee status from inside the detainment camps around south east Asia. Since I have been here, I have been reading Denise Chong's "The Girl in the Picture." This book gives the personal account of one of the victims of friendly bombing, Phuc, whose picture was taken and circulated through worldwide media, permanently changing her life. The book uses this lens, through which to describe some of the atrocities of war and the subsequent communist lifestyle, imposed after southern Vietnam fell.

Reading the book gave a new dimension of comprehension to this museum, and to the location of military movements through Vietnam, including the Khmer Rouge battles post-American involvement.
The horror and fear these people were put through is agonizing to even think about. No wonder it has been an issue primarily skirted throughout US schooling.

Walking around, I feel lucky to be and lucky to breathe, lucky to have my skin in typically normal places, and lucky I have never been holding, or at the tip of a bayonette. I once again, feel lucky and greatful to have the opportunity to write and blessed to know all of you.

Today, an old man saw me walking, gave me his chair, and made me a cafe suda (a very strong, sugary coffee). He stayed and watched me read for a while. It was very sweet.

It reminded me of getting of the airport in Saigon. I got off the plane, and an old woman grabbed my hand. We held hands walking through the airport to our baggage, and I helped her load everything onto the cart. Walking out, she tried to usher me onto her motorbike, but I already had a ride. She was like a smooth aperitif guiding me sweetly and lovingly into the city.

Halong Bay: Disney World for fat fishermen

Although I had planned to leave for Halong Bay right after I returned from Sapa, I could not. There was a supposed typhoon that kept all visitors away for a day. I used this day to hand wash my laundry and allow the typical travelers sickness to catch up with me. Ha ha hanoi! The next day, I left at 7:30 am on a bus to Halong Bay. It took about three and a half hours before we were dropped off at the port. After waiting around in the sun, we boarded the beautiful boat Ju Chiang 16. Lunch was served on the boat, and we started drifting through magical island land & waterscapes. After lunch we stopped off at some of the biggest caves I've ever seen (recently the biggest cave in the world was discovered somewhere in Vietnam - maybe its in one of these islands??). The entrance to the cave was a long pathway of small stairs and shops, with what seemed to be a version of "Its a Small World After All" playing in Vietnamese. Wow. Not only were these caves full of awesome stalagtites, the Vietnamese governement wanted to really make sure that visitors got a good view of all of them. What a better way to do this than with neon lights?! Hundreds and hundreds of neon lights were strung around the cave, giving pictures a disneyesque feel to them. I half expected the blue and purple llama to be rocking back and forth on the top of the highest peaks. At the end of the first cave, a fake fountain sprayed, reflecting the neon like a disco ball, keeping up the visitors' jolly mood upon exiting. The second cave had no lights, but was equally impressive. I felt like I was experiencing an hour in the life of someone with colorblindness. By the time I made it out, I realized that I was one of the only ones on our tour to see the second cave, so everyone was already back on the boat. Uh-oh. With the help of a local, I jumped from boat to boat, splitting my pants and eventually making it back on to my boat before it pulled away. Here we relaxed on a cruise.

Let me start this next paragraph with a preface, I don't hate americans. Not all americans act the way I am about to describe, but some do. For this, the story must be told.
I was on the boat with 15 americans, two australians, Syril (israeli), an Indian, and two Scotts. I wish I could say that I had a good time, full of cross-cultural stories and experiences and communication. What ended up happening, as I've come to realize does with any group of americans, was it turned out to be all about them and their culture. First off... americans speak REALLY loudly. I mean... REALLY loudly. So loudly in fact, that when other americans rode by on other boats, both boats heard eachothers' stories and started chanting, "USA, USA, USA..." Now, although Vietnam has been through two other wars since the one we so royally ditched them on, pro-American sentiment is not the highest it could be, and I had been wary of saying I was american to everybody. I looked around from my deck chair to see the underdeveloped cranial structures of these american men pounding on their chests and grunting their respective cities, followed by a "Wohooo, born in the USA." Deep Breath. Secondly, not only do americans talk loudly, they talk about everything personal in their lives, to anyone. This is a trait I possess. I am not afraid to say words like bloated and poop and fart and vomit, etc. With this lack of boundary, occasionally comes the lack of self control. I was sitting at a dinner table with 5 other people. We were talking about the mafia, of course, when Chicago came up. Natural. The boy next to me (with said facial structure of astralopithecis) was from Chicago. Tapan, originally from India, but lived, learned, and worked in America for the past 10 + years, asked, "Justin, are you from outside of the city?" Justin, grunting, looked at Tapan and started to shout, "You brown piece of shit. Get out of my country. I'll fucking knife your throat." Now... maybe I don't understand the intracacies of their relationship, but this felt like a slight overreaction. Needless to say, when the conversation wasn't full of racial slurs or patriotic displays it remained on weight and fashion and how weird the people from the new culture were, other favorite american topics.

Imagine a recent season of MTV Real World taking place in the most gorgeous place in the world. It just doesn't make sense. Its like eating foie gras with a tootsie pop. Bleghh.

It wasn't all bad, however. I got to do some kayaking around the islands with Syril. We watched some of the americans tip their kayak on purpose and almost drown. Some french guys saved them, which blew their mind, because all americans think that french are jerks. I also got to wake up at 6:30am to go swimming around the boat and even up to an island, whose rocks were so jagged they cut my feet, and I felt fresh.

Since then, I made it back to Hanoi and flew to Ho Chi Minh. Talk about a change. <3

Sapa

When I finished my last post, I decided to be proactive and call the company. Turns out, they forgot about me, but the train hadn't left yet. A sweaty man tore up to the lobby on a motorbike a few minutes later. He motioned me to jump on, so I tucked my skirt between my legs and closed my eyes. I realized about 3 minutes into the journey that I was clinging fiercely to him. Looking around at all the other passengers, however, I realized that I was supposed to just hold on to the back of the motorbike. I wondered if my fingers would be protected from all the rear ending, side-swiping, and close calls that flowed around me. "Is this your first time, motobike?" It all felt like an exciting PBS special.

I hopped onto the train and found myself in a six bed compartment with four 28ish Vietnamese that spent the night conducting a mini-gambling ring for our car, and a 70-something old Vietnamese woman. I was on the bottom bunk, so I really got to see all the action! I pulled out my phrase book, but it didn't serve much purpose. Everyone laughed too hard when they saw me to say anything. :)

We arrived at around 5:00am, got off the train in Lao Cai and were driven to Sapa. What a drive. The clouds napped lazily right on top of the divets in the mountains, and rice paddies were built on every incline. This would be an amazing place for a budding waterway engineer.

Once we reached Sapa, about eight H'mong Hill Tribe people chased us down the road, swatting at any other women that tried to join their group. Were they looking for someone? I had no idea, but their clothes were amazing. I couldn't stop looking at them. They waved. The van pulled up to a relatively swanky hotel where we were served a very decent breakfast. The other guests on the tour (four french students and an Israeli doctor) were just as impressed as I was. Wow! Here I was expecting not to get picked up at all, but for 67$, I would dine, ride, sleep, and covort with the posh village folk - for two days and three nights! At 9:30 we started our trek, or should I say, I started my trek. My guide left the rest of the people behind, and we went on our way. I was the only one who opted to do a homestay that night, so I would have to trek longer than the others.

We blew through Sapa and trekked to the villages of Linh Ho and Lao Chai, both occupied by the H'mong people. The H'mong are the majority here in this hidden paradise, but they are also the poorest (and seem to be the most picked on) of the ethnic groups. There are six tribes of H'mong here, four of which are differentiated by color. They first came down to the Sapa area from southern China some centuries ago. There are two other groups, the Tsai (I think), originating from Thailand as well as another group, Dzao, that came from southern China. Needless to say, there are many different languages across this valley. My guide was Vietnamese and living in Sapa. He said that Vietnamese people made up about 15% of the population here, and were considered outsiders because of their non-traditional clothing, higher socio-economic levels, and language. Throughout my trek, I was followed by H'mong women and children alike. They could all speak English much better than they could speak Vietnamese, according to my guide.

At first it was a novelty, being followed around, but then it became exhausting, as the women pressured and coerced you into buying something from them. It never amounted to costing much, but it felt so invasive. The trek was relatively difficult at points however. I saw a 15 year old boy fall from 30 meters down a very steep incline, when he mistepped in the mud. For this, the women were very helpful. They knew exactly where to stand, and once my crappy tennis shoes started to lose their grip in the mud, hands would grab me from all sides and prevent me from falling. They were sure to point this out to me when time came to buy their goods.

After lunch at Lao Chai, we treked to Ta Van for the homestay. I cracked and bought a complete outfit. My tour guide thought it was so strange that I wanted to dress like the "dirty H'mong." I found it strange that he said this. Tea, his name, took me down to the river so I could swim, after a long day of sweating. He left me there alone for an hour or so, and I was free to swim and breathe and soak in the beauty, which was almost overwhelming at points.

In Vietnam, I find my head racing all the time. I feel very distant from the present, and I was wondering why. I realized that Mongolia was 95% sky. Whenever things felt difficult to handle, the sky swallowed it all up. Sapa was rivers and rice paddies and women and wicker baskets and mountains and waterfalls and trees and buffalo and chickens and ducks and children with no pants on and clouds and then sky. There was actually so much beauty that it was difficult to relax in it all. The river helped.

I stayed in homestay, eating the most delicious food, with four English people and two French. After dinner, the woman of the house brought out "Happy Water," a vodkaesque concoction that was made from the rice that she harvested. Reminded me vaguely of the mare's vodka from Mongolia, although it burned going down a little more. Afterwords, I snuggled up in my silk sleeping bag, under my mosquito net, and dreamed.

The next day we trekked to a waterfall and the villages of Giang Ta Chai, and Su Pan. We had lunch and got back on the bus to Sapa to return, sore, sunburned, exhausted, and happy.

Arriving in Hanoi at 5:00am, I was supposed to leave for Halong Bay at 8:00am, but it was raining there, so they changed my departure till tomorrow. This was better, as I spent most of today with a touch of malaise.

I will try to upload photos soon. This place was truely gorgeous. I might have made a mistake by going to one of the most beautiful places in Vietnam first, but I don't think so. I'm still enchanted by the noodles and the motorbikes and the pace of living. I can't wait to see more. <3

VIETNAM

After our plane stopped to pick up a few extra passengers in southern China, I made it to Hanoi around 11:00pm last night. Who knew that you could hitch a plane? My taxi driver took me through very worn streets laced with colors and topless males in hammocks and on stools. Originally afraid of mosquitos, I realized that the real buggy terror was to be found in the motorbikes that crawl the streets. Bodega hotel was a nice surprise; it was very clean and the staff were enormously friendly (besides the check in clerk that 'borrowed' money from my account and then lost it gambling - all of which is settled and humorous now.) I walked around bustling Old Hanoi today, surprised by the little shops on almost every street corner.

Now, I am waiting for my ride to take me to the train station. I am overnighting to Sapa, where I am supposed to stay for two days. Then, I will head on to Halong Bay for a few days. Worried about time, I bought a flight to Ho Chi Minh for 72$. This should cut out around two days of travel time. I'm starting to wonder if my 'ride' is going to show up or not...

I guess you'll know, if I post again soon.

So far, my impressions of Vietnam are jumbled and quick and bright and amazing and tasty. Pho my goodness is the food good! Zing.

I love and am thinking of you all. <3

Mongolia, I'm Nomading On Out

Only 12 more hours until I am on my way to the airport and only 20,000 T to spare (~15$).

A lot of you have been sending me messages asking what happened?! What have I done on my trip to make me so soft? Others have been asking what I've learned on my trip. This is a difficult thing to answer, as I'm sure I'm unaware of some of the most important lessons, but I will delve into a little of it here.

For those of you who know me well, you'd know that this trip was made out of requirement, a kind of, "I have to get out of here before I go insane," trip. They don't provide that option on the visa entry card. Before I left, my friend Christina was cute enough to lend me "A New Earth." A New Earth is a type of self-help, spiritual awakening book, a book that I in a more collected time could have used my 200,000$+ brain to refute at every turn without actually reading.

She said that I really needed it, and I did need something, so I gave it a chance. To give some perspective into the goal of this book, it is meant to teach anyone, from any religion any race, any age, how to silence the mean and needy voice inside our heads. You know the one. The one that says, "Say something spiteful as she walks away," or "you can/can't do better than him." This can manifest itself in many ways: worry, self-deprecation, anxiety, self-praising, doubt, fear, boredom, etc. The book doesn't preach any particular spirituality, or really delve into spirituality much. It focuses, rather, on the problems we bring to ourselves because of these voices, because of the ego. --For those having difficulty following, picture our ego like the alien dirt-bags from Independence Day. They come in and freaking blow shit up. We are all just like the president, clueless and trying to figure a way through this. A New Earth is like a personalized mini Will Smith. I guess that would make Tolle's other book like Will Smith's stripper fiance. I digress..

I opened the book and to my horror Christina had marked distinct passages with my name, as if I couldn't read my way between the lines of self loathing in the first place, but after that little voice in my head stopped whining, I started gaining the tools to be present, to be strong, and to take the fears and worries and anxieties for what they were... useless. WOW. What an amazing breath of calm.

To jump ahead a little, I've had an amazingly freeing time in Mongolia. Since I read the book, I have found more of the me I believed in as a child, the me that didn't have the words to argue my point so discarded it for others. I have lost maybe 15 pounds - I'm eating a twix right now. I feel good a lot, and I have met some really amazing people.

There is also an inverse to these positive things. I knew what I was going to do in my life before I came on this trip. I was going to get my law degree, learn Spanish, and spend my career helping small non profits take down the big corporations. Although I have no doubt that my eventual career will be equally as service related, I don't know what I am going to do anymore. Frankly, I don't know much of anything, including who I am. I have trouble even planning for tomorrow when I'm just so energized by today. Some will say this is a good thing, others bad. Either way, its working for me right now to a point.

I'm not ready to give up love and romance and dreams and ambition. I'm not ready to throw myself into the moment and stare at a flower all day [This is not at all what the book says. I'm just making the next logical progression]. This would remind me too much of the non-philanthropic aspects of Buddhism that I don't appreciate for myself. I am ready to breathe in love slowly and deeply, to wait for my heart to give me more direction instead of choosing all the paths ahead of time. I am ready to eat dinner.

I wrote this so that I could use the information involved as a jump-off for other posts, so I hope you don't find it too boring. I feel lucky to know all of you. I feel alive and free and not afraid to go it alone, but empowered and strong because you are there.


Dirty secret of the day: I came to an internet cafe yesterday and watched True Blood. Yikes!

Ulaanbaatar: Why do you do me so?

I have two more days before I leave for Vietnam, and I am waiting my time out slowly, stretching myself out like a cat in the sun.

I have been to the museums and restaurants. I have eaten every combination of animal milk and potatoes and meat possible. Some people in the hostel have even started calling me 'the resident,' and have asked me for travel advice, which I happily give them. I know where the city buses go, how much it should cost to get from A to B and where the best place to whet your appetite is (dietary restrictions included).

To give some visuals to my life here... I put a painting up in my 3 x 6 ft. little dorm cubby. It is a plain drawing of a nuclear family living in a ger. The closest I suppose I'll get to that, so it does the trick of providing me with loving guidance. My shelf is cluttered with books, as always, and I sleep next to my electronics and a pile of newly cleaned clothes. All to say... Lonely Planet, if you are reading this, give me a job.

Today I am going back to the monestary to read a book I just picked up, about the horrors of repatriation of Vietnamese refugees. I thought I should do some light reading before I got to Vietnam. Hopefully after I slump into a cosmic sadness about the world's difficulties, I'll make it to the Korean style sauna to give myself a thick clean slice of home.

I am actually really enjoying this lazy, quiet few days, letting my soul lead my head, while my heart rests quietly. Trying to listen attentively in between my cravings and yearnings to the part of me that exists beyond the other two. Making sure to put on enough sunscreen. I kind of have the impression that I am living a Sliding Doors, Gweneth Paltrow, scenario. Do you ever feel like that?

Right now, I am sitting at a computer, unable to see the words I am typing. Simply a vertical line traces where the letters I type should be. I believe the technical term for this is computer suckage. The lack of savior relating to my typing reminds of the way I feel about tomorrow, about what my plans will and should be.

Love <3

Stuck in Tsterleg

Some say that everything happens for a reason. I don't usually believe this. Most of the time it feels like chance or a logical progression of events. Sometimes, however, destiny lets you know she is there, shining her bright eyes right through what we thought would be. Needless to say, I never ended up in Blue Lake. Instead, I took a new interest in graphic design and Barcelona.

My bus ticket to Blue Lake was supposed to arrive by 6:00pm the day before my departure, but when I went to the main office at 11:00pm, it wasn't there. I had planned to stay up all night to work (in order to finish all my exams) but this freedom from my schedule gave me a breath of fresh air that made a younger me sparkle around the streets of Ulaanbaatar (probably not the best idea to walk around with a dopey smile on my face in the middle of the night). I walked by a child, maybe 12 years old, whose face was badly beaten. He pressed ice in a clear plastic fruit bag against his swollen face. I wanted to protect him, hug him, feed him. Knowing this wasn't a fight I could win and seeing him surrounded by people, I returned to the hostel.

The next day, I spent a remarkable day filled with sunburns and hailstorms around UB with my friend Filip. Perhaps lucky by nature, he seemed to pour that luck out on to me as well. His mother is from Texas, and I couldn't help but feel a strange connection to the younger her, so far away from home, love pouring over a world far from the one we grew up in. The day was a whirlwind in all respects, and Filip left for Russia, taking his luck with him. :) Once my body had gone through that much good, I was forced to go through a bit of an emotional hangover.

Saddened by my inability to understand the future implications of my actions, I have some sheep anklebones. These are normally used to play Mongolian traditional games, but they sell them as fortune tellers. "Fortune is with you," they told me. It didn't feel like it then, but now, I understand why.

I ended up on a 6 day trip through the Gobi desert with five beautiful french women Genvieve, Irene, Gaelle, Clotilde, and Marie-Eudes. I don't even know where to start in talking about the trip, besides that when you put that many women together there are bound to be epiphanies, arguments, laughter, and confusion. We spent most of the days driving around the immense road-less landscape. We travelled over 400 km on a rocky path forged by Russian jeep tires alone. We hiked the sand dunes, saw the flaming cliffs, a forest in the desert, a canyon of ice, and the Orkhan waterfall. We ate potatoes and meat and carrots and potatoes and meat and carrots... I'll write about all of them soon.

On the sixth day (of eight), I found a ride to Tsterleg, where I could do a shorter White Lake horseback trek with ger to ger. This way, I could do everything I had hoped to do before leaving Mongolia. I showed up in Tsterleg, found the ger-to-ger driver and he put me up in a hotel, despite my desire to stay in my tent. He asked me for his money upfront, but I didn't have it. I needed to go to an ATM, but everything was closed. No problem. We would do it tomorrow. I had a strange feeling in my stomach, however, as I only had 20,000 T left. This was enough to get a bus ticket back to UB, one dumpling, and thats about it. I didn't eat dinner because of this feeling. I woke up the next morning and tried every atm in the city, with no avail. The jeep driver forced me to ride around in a taxi, which I then had to pay (bye-bye dumpling). I also had to pay the driver a cancellation charge AND I missed the only bus to Ulaanbaatar (=tent sleeping). I didn't know what to do. I tried giving the jeep driver anything and everything I brought with me besides money, but he didn't much like dirty women's underwear. Finally, the ger to ger office called and said they would transfer a partial refund of my trip to the jeep driver's bank account. He would then pay me the money and I would be able to stay in Tsterleg for one night. I was originally excited about staying in Tsterleg, after I found out I would be able to eat, but every where I've gone has been decietful. Everyone has tried to milk me for as much money as possible, and when you really don't have any, its hard. Comparatively, the level of poverty and difficulty they see is high enough that no sympathy or support is available anywhere. I thought that the kindness of strangers was unparalleled! This town doesn't feel right in my gut.

If I've learned anything from this trip, its to be fine with what's happening right now, cause I can't hold on to it forever. So, right now, I'm going to go take a walk, get some food, and hurry the day along so that my 11 hour bus trip back to UB can start. Blechhhhh.

Love.

Either way, I've holed up in a room with some juice, and I'm waiting for tomorrow, so I can go back to UB. I'm a little disappointed, because I don't really want to spend the next four days in UB, but... it will be better to be eating and sleeping well.

Blue Lake Trekking & the Gobi

In 12 short hours, I will have completed all my final exams and papers, and I will be on my way to western central Mongolia. I am going on a solo trip with ger-to-ger, trekking in and around Blue Lake. This is an expedition of about 27 km per day. Most groups have many people in them, but I wanted to do this, and there weren't any other groups, so I just signed up. I never thought I'd say this, but I hope there is an ox cart where I can attach my tent and luggage so I don't have to carry it around.

I will be around this area for 8 days. On the 28th, I will take the 10 hour bus ride back to UB to shower and hopefully wash my clothes (although I have not found a dryer anywhere.) :-0 Then, I will get in a public bus and travel down to the southern Gobi. From here, I will find my own way. No tours or groups seemed to fit the time period I had, and everything I've found seems rather oddly priced, so I am just going to go there and see what happens. My plan is to see Yoln Am, the blazing cliffs, dinosaur land, and a sand dune or two if there is time. On the second of August I will take the 13 hour bus ride back to UB, where I will hopefully have a dinner plans with my favorite Booth, and then I will head to Beijing and on to Vietnam on the 3rd of July.

I'll be alone, so I'll write my experiences down in my journal. Hopefully, I'll be able to post them once I get settled in Vietnam.

May you all be joyful and free.

Darhan City: Ger to Ger = Five Days and Six Nights and 12 Pounds of Cheese

I'm back! Now I have two days in UB before I'm off to the Gobi. I'm supposed to be doing a 12 day trip to the desert, but I had so much fun in the greenery, that I might want to do some more west before I commit to the Gobi for the rest of my trip. I'm so lucky to have these decisions to make. :)

Either way, I took a public bus to Darkahn (sp?) city, where I was met by my guide. We went around to various places in the city before we saw a Mongolian operatic concert put on by these two babies (6 and 8 years old). It was so beautiful I cried. I've never heard opera in real life, and it was really powerful. Then, I became acquainted with my two fellow travelers: Alison Smith and John Lords Booth III. They went to Yale together. I met John in his outdoorsy pants, quick-dry shirt, mosquito repellent bandana, and indiana jones hat. Alison was in a quick-dry yellow outfit. Both of them were carrying their horse riding helmets. They were both delightful and well-prepared, something that came in handy on the trip, AND as it turns out, John went to Hotchkiss. Ha. We found out on the last night and stayed up reminiscing. Alison is an environmental consultant of some sort, so she was awesome to have on the trip as a provider for geological and industry information.

We stayed with two beautiful families, both with sheep and goats and cows and horses and the cutest children ever. We probably ate the equivalent of two full thanksgiving sized meals per day. This mostly consisted of the local foods, cheese and curds from the milk of every kind of animal, rice or noodles, dried jerky meat, and the occasional onion. Imagine... a turkey made of cheese curds, muliply that times two (per day), multiply that times 4 (the number of days we ate like this). Needless to say, I'm stopped up for quite a while. My favorite food, coincidentally, was fresh cream with sugar on a lump of soft cheese curd. AH! Cheese on Cheese!!

We went to some meditation caves, where monks hid out to escape torture and death when the soviet regime cracked down on religion. Besides being full of snakes and spiders, it was cool and peacefull. We also swam in the Orkhan river, a needed shower-type break. We helped with the family's vegetable garden and milked cows, made some cheese, and stirred some fermented mare's milk. We camped outside everyday and broke our tents down and moved during the day. The families were really supportive of our nomad lifestyle, and they often helped build and break down our tents as a type of ritual. It was so amazing to spend time with these families.

I posted some pictures on Facebook. Sending love and joy from where I am to wherever you are.

<3

Nadaam and Terelj and Selenge, oh my!

WOW. So much has happened. Here's the breakdown:

Nadaam festival was insane! We made it into the stadium for the open performance which consisted of the President, two orchestras, costumes galore, contortionists, a porsche filled with a famous singer, horse acrobatics, military role-playing, ribbon dancing, children gymnasts, traditional clothes from every ethinc group in Mongolia. There were so many people packed into the stadium that it was impossible to move or get out during the opening performance. I was feeling a little nauseous after eating sheep yogurt from the country, earlier that day, so I was snapping photos and trying not to puke on all the nice camel hair outfits.

Then came the large men in red sports bras and blue undies. Wrestling was their game. Me and some fellow waygukins broke out of the stadium seating and rushed the wrestlers (tiptoeing). I put up some photos on el facebook. When the 3 year old wrestlers came out I felt a little strange. It was time to move on. After wrestling we went to archery. Wow. More later.

The second day of Nadaam I was invited by my Polish friend, Daria, to adventure out into the country via public transportation, so I ditched the horse races of Nadaam, and hopped on the city bus to Terelj national park. Two hours later (including a rock shaped like a turtle and one shaped like an old man reading a book) and 2,300 togrog poorer (1.5 $), we arrived somewhere. If you are ever in Mongolia and thinking about doing a tour here, don't. Do it yourself and save the cash. For about 10$ US (including transportation and all the food I could eat) I got there and back, but some people I know paid over $50!! The skies and the cows and the yaks were plentiful (yes, yaks), and I think I might have found a tie for the most beautiful place I've ever been.

The sky god is such a powerful diety here, and you can really feel why when 3/4ths of your vision is sky. [There are more photos on fbook.] I got back to my bed later that night and there was a beautiful blue scarf. A secret admirer! I put it on and wore it into the lobby. I was suprised, as you can guess, to see faces of shock as people started running toward me, pulling the scarf off of my neck. I guess it was a prayer cloth to the sky god. FYI, you aren't supposed to wear them.
Thanks to my new san fran friend Jane who gave it to me though; it is supposed to guarantee a safe journey.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Selenge (senlegeye something). It is the northern central part of Mongolia. I am going to camp in my tent outside of some gers, milk some camels, and ride horses along the most beautiful scenery in the land. I'll be out of contact for the next 6 days (no electricity), so I wanted to put this post up before I left.

I love and miss you all. <3

Black Markets and Safety Whistles

I'm getting ready for my first journey into the Mongolian wilderness. I had everything except a tent. I tried to purchase one from the local outback store (located right next to a bd's mongolian grill, by the by, the only american franchise to be successful in UB), but they were over 200 dollars. Renting one was equally expensive. Of course, my next plan is to build one.

I bought some thermal tarp (two pieces), some bungee cords, and some tent stakes. I would be protected from most of the rain this way, and I would only be spending about 30$. Holler. I informed my tour organizer of my clever plan when she told me that my invention wouldn't keep out dogs, livestock, bugs, or other crawly bitey things. Point taken. I found out on the street that there was a black market. My hostel (Konghor) has a huge map of the city, and the market is denoted by black permanent marker traced around the square.

So today, I did the two most exciting things I've done in Mongolia so far! First, I got on the bus (number 23). This is a feat in itself, as the bus does not actually stop at the premarked stop place. The bus stop also doesn't contain any maps or listings of what buses will be by. I used my guidebook's language section to get some information. When my bus stopped three lanes away from the curb, I braved the oncoming traffic with the rest of the mongolians. We rode for about 15 minutes before everyone on the bus decended. We were a little out of the city at this point, and I got off at a big tan brick building that looked like a military school. It seemed sad and unoccupied, but I couldn't stop for long because I had to follow the locals through windy alleyways. After a few minutes the people walking in the opposite direction from us were carrying goods: shoes, socks, gadgets, food, accessories, dog food, all in bulk, and all in huge cheap plastic bags. We were getting close. I heard there were many theifs in the market (my hostel bunk mate got his pocket slashed in the market the previous day - something that happens quite frequently). We soon reached a hole in a big cement wall. On the other side there were lots of people gathered around white blankets with objects on them: screws and flashlights and shoes of every shape and variety. The interesting thing was that all of the products were second and even third hand. I saw a pair of shoes for sale that looked like they had been worn for thousands of miles, by an obese person. I wonder how much the woman wanted for them. I was already impressed by the variety when I came across a big gateway. A woman was collecting money from people as they passed, so I decided to sneak by without paying. I didn't want to cheat anyone, but I had no idea what I was paying for. I soon found out.

I turned the corner and saw carts and tables and blankets and racks and people shopping as far as my eyes let me. Curious about where it went, and worried that a slow pace might attract attention, I kept walking. I walked for maybe 30 minutes before I realized that I was never going to get out. I was trapped in David Bowie's worst nightmare, a labryinth of consumer products. I had one goal - find a tent. Think, a needle in a field of scrap metal. After much walking and body language (probably around 1.5 hours) I was directed to sleeping bags, when I found my way to the ONE tent in the area. I was so excited to pick it up for only 23$, but I tried to bargain anyway. When he wouldn't accept my price, I walked away, expecting him to follow. No luck. By the time I turned around again... I was lost.

Don't worry. I find it again, and I buy a tent. Happy ending. On my way out of the market, (I have to ask about 20 people how to even get out) I bought some fruit. This also came in a plastic bag. A bag which conveniently broke off of my wrist while I was walking in front of a parade of microbuses. I proceeded to yelp as I slipped on a banana. I now understand the commercials. It is not the peel that provides the slip, it is the banana inside the peel that provides the lubrication between foot and ground. Needless to say, I was quite the center of attention.

Nothing was stolen from me on my trip, which I hear is quite lucky, but I did cover my bag in plastic and keep my money in a money pouch under my clothes. I also wore an emergency whistle around my wrist (just in case).

Tomorrow is the Nadaam festival. Opening ceremony starts at 9:30, and I can't bring myself to finish my homework!! I just want to breathe in the dusty air, put on one of those sports-bra/undie wrestling costumes and take unsuspecting foreigners out of commission as they walk down the street. Street Name: Fire.

7/8/2009

Today I ate sheep's tail.
If anyone knows whether or not this is actual sheep, let me know.
I had Mongolian Shabu. HOLLER. What a delicious meal.

I'm going to skype my mimi!
I'm thinking about some ecotourism tours from www.gertoger.org
They are all so exciting! I don't know which ones to choose. Let me know if you have any advice, my wonderful, lovely, amazing friends.

<3

MonGOLDia

It has been a long time. I shouldn't have left you. Without a dope beat to step to. Step 2. . .

So, there is no blogging allowed in China. To give a brief summary, I went to Shanghai for two days and to Beijing for two days. Both were big and city-like. Shanghai was teeming with westerners. I figured this must have been a recent change, but after seeing the Shanghai history museum, I learned that foreigners have been a huge part of Shanghai since the British invaded under the guise of the Opium War. It seemed a lot like - bully steals tomogachi pet from child. Takes care of pet. Returns pet once he realizes what it means for his social image to be cleaning up an electronic animals' crap.

The buildings were so fantastic, that I would believe it if China Air just strapped me into a virtual reality mask instead of actually letting me out of the airport. The food in China was killer. By that I mean, greasy enough to kill a small animal, but delicious enough to keep me largely coming back for more.

In Beijing I stayed at the Happy Dragon Hostel again. I had such a good time. I had a small room with two girls from Holland who agreed to walk around aimlessly with me for a few hours looking for food.

The last two days have been on the Trans-mongolian railroad. This was the most comfortable, amazing journey. Beautifully crafted mountains surrounded the train at first. These were followed by never ending grasslands and beautiful low level lakes. The terrain eventually rolled so gently that it would be called flat. The 10 foot tall phone lines are the only things that dare to mimic the dirt's path. Perhaps they remain standing as the Earth's gift to the lonely dark birds that trace the contors of the land, only landing in the thing shadows made by the posts.

En route: I saw a young boy, waist deep, trying to catch fish with his hands. The older boys sat on shore next to their sandy motorcycles and shared a cigarette.

I loved the train. My bunk mates were all amazing international women, travelling alone. They ranged in ages from 24 - 68. I felt so lucky to be a part of them. Travelling really puts you in touch with the wonderful parts of people.

I've heard that being lost activates the same pathways in your brain as falling in love - like meeting people at their best, when they are first feeling the excitement of falling in love. The best part is, the love is for something in which control is unattainable. Their love is without jealousy. It is a prideful, excited, willingness to learn.

This morning, I woke up at 4:29. The beginning rays of the sun stretched pink across the flatlands as I brushed my teeth, and I felt like I was the only one in the world lucky enough to witness it. I longed to share it with everyone.

Drink Easy

Last weekend: Gwangju

Luckily, there's always someone left over that I can convince to go to the norebong.

Pat Green, if you could see me now.

Three days left. 

I had to give Dewey away to his foster-mom yesterday, so now I hold on to memories of Jocelyn, Kristina, my mom, Mimi, Christina, and Sylvia. I relax and let myself drift to dreams, their love suspending me. 

Sylvia, whose compassion and comfort makes her the kind of caregiver I could only hope to be. [Even though most people don't get to see this side. :)] 

Christina, whose constant search for internal love and beauty can inspire even the strongest critic.

Jocelyn, whose raw power and sensuality gives her direction, passion, and self confidence thick enough to build up any friend or destroy any foe.

Kristina, whose dependability and support creates a community wherever it goes. Being with her is being simultaneously safe and happy and charged and free of judgement. 

My mom, whose energy and aura draw in people all around her. Its amazing that her empathy and support matches the strength of this energy. I hope both of us can learn to turn that strength inward. 

Mimi, the most beautiful woman in the world. If I could possess even an ounce of her selflessness, of her raw beauty, I would be full. 

Starting Line Anticipation

I'm getting everything ready to go, placing and replacing my toothbrush in the toothbrush spot on my backpack, efficiently using space to give me the impression I have some control over the coming months. I don't need this though, because I want to swing between the boughs of self-control and spontaneity. Perhaps the only way I can accomplish this is to stop viewing them as separate.