backandzella

2007-05-31T17:07:00.000-05:00

Shakira, Shakira!
Bogota, Colombia
(writing from Sao Paulo Airport, Brazil)

I want to write about how, in our two weeks in Colombia, we got abducted by a cartel, trained with paramilitaries, and met the real-life version of Katherine Zeta-Jones from Traffic. (Un)fortunately, Colombia was actually one of the safest, easiest, and friendliest countries we've visited on the trip. From the first free beer at the hostel in Bogota to the friendliest cab driver ever who dropped us off at the airport on our way out, the only violent shock was to our expectations.

We spent our first few days in Bogota, exploring La Candelaria (charming historical district), trekking up Cerro Montserrat with hordes of pilgrims, and visiting the museums. Museo del Oro is the famous gold museum, but we were more taken with the roly poly subjects and modern art on display at Museo Botero.

We rented a car and headed out on a roadtrip through northern Colombia. From Bogota, we drove up through the gorgeous green rolling hills to the perfectly preserved colonial Villa de Leyva. After bumping along the city's cobblestone streets, we headed north to San Gil, adventure capital of the country, where we got our adrenaline rushes rappelling down a 600 ft. waterfall. The next day, we braved crazy truck traffic en route to the carribbean coast--we landed safely in Santa Marta and the lovely fishing village of Taganga. Which is a little less lovely now that it's been written up in all the guidebooks and potentially has just as many gringos as locals. Still, our car allowed us to find a secluded nook on a beach in nearby Tayrona national park, where we spent a fabulous lazy afternoon eating fresh fish, drinking, and reading pulp while staring out at the ocean ("see Miami?" "almost..."). After lazing on the beach, we headed west for the gorgeous walled city of Cartagena, with beautiful colonial buildings, fun public art, and fresh exotic fruit juices. Then, we headed back down the western side of the country to Medellin, where we discovered lots of hip youth culture and very bad Thai food. Finally, we made our way back to Bogota, marvelling at how easy we found navigating the streets.

Here are a few pictorial highlights:

Zach at the top of Cerro Montserrat, with Bogota in the background

Road trip!

In the garden of the fossil museum in Villa de Leyva--who says religion and science don't mix?

This is what they call a "Natural High"

Zach's not afraid of heights. Not at all.

Cartagena reminded Zach a lot of a polished Havana

Protest by students and teachers in Bogota the day we left--that's the Colombian flag blocking the road

2007-05-18T14:36:00.001-05:00

Galapagos
Puerto Ayora, Ecuador
(writing from Quito, Ecuador)

Two weeks ago, we were walking through Quito, Ecuador looking for a last-minute tour of the Galapagos. It's technically "low season" right now, so we thought we might be able to get a good deal that would match our typical $15/day budget. We saw a sign that said "2-for-1" last-minute outside one agency, and walked in feeling hopeful. When we heard the deal the travel agent had, we were both ecstatic and devastated--the 2-for-1 deal was on one of the most upscale luxury tourboats in the entire Galapagos. Even at half-off, we were looking at more (way more...) than double what we had hoped to spend for 8 days. But the travel agent (who came highly recommended by our guidebook) said that it was a once-in-a-lifetime deal, because the
ship is typically fully booked up to a year in advance... It has the best guides, fabulous services onboard, and goes to the best places. We walked out, telling the agent we would discuss over lunch. We didn't have a lot of time to decide, because the tour left the very next morning, and we'd have to get the money out in cash to pay for the plane and boat tickets.

We debated for about 10 minutes--and then we had a revelation. We remembered the incredible gift that Zach's grandmother, Muffy, gave us for our wedding, and realized this was *exactly* the kind of opportunity she had intended it for. Thank you, Muffy!

The trip was worth every penny. It was one of the most amazing and memorable parts of our year so far--and no doubt, one of the most spectacular trips we'll ever take. The wildlife is unbelievable--both on land and underwater (we did a little snorkeling and diving as well). The animals have been protected for so long that they aren't scared at all of people--we swam with sea lions and penguins (who knew that there are penguins here at the equator?!), got up close and personal with 150-year-old giant tortoises, and watched the mesmerizing and hilarious mating dance of waved albatrosses from ten feet away.

We ate like kings, were pampered endlessly, and learned an enormous amount from the fabulous guides and crew. As we marveled at the finches, we thought a lot about our friends Becca and David, who celebrate Darwin's birthday--we can't imagine anyone who would love this living laboratory of evolution more.

Here is an infinitely small selection from the mountain of photos we took over the course of the week:

The infamous "Lonesome George" -- over 150 years old and still chasing the ladies.

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles have nothing on us...

Baby sea lion, chillin' on the beach

Cactus skeleton against the Galapagos sky--no story, just pretty.

Marine Iguana--one of our friends on the boat suggested all the iguanas ought to be wearing Harley Davidson leather jackets.

2007-05-18T13:34:00.000-05:00

Lake Titikaka -- Tourism for Tourism's Sake
Lake Titikaka, Peru
(writing from Quito, Ecuador)

From Machu Picchu, we had a few days left in Peru. We opted to head South, see lake Titikaka -- the highest navigable lake in the world at 12500 feet above sea level -- and perhaps to meander over to Ariquipa and do some hiking up some volcanos or down canyons.

Two key learnings. (Preston's been feeding me some consultant powerpoints, so now I think about learnings, local champions, and levers)

Our time on Lake Titikaka made us reflect on eco- and cultural tourism. Any "organized" tourist experience is in some way manufactured and inauthentic. Our experience in Machu Picchu had definitely been manufactured--we were tromping through Andean forests and Inca ruins with a group of English-speaking foreigners, having our bags toted by indigenous porters, and we were one of 20 other groups just like us on the trail every day. But our guide was passionate about his history and culture and heatedly discussed the plight of the modern indigenous populations in Peru (he started as a porter himself on the trail when he was 14). He taught us Quechua, and he was curious about us, where we were from, and what our lives were like. He engaged with us.

When we heard about the "pristine" and "quaintly traditional" island of Amantini on Lake Titikaka, we were hoping for a similar experience--a cultural exchange, paradisiacal natural beauty, a celebration of traditional lifestyle. This is how the tour was sold to us. We stayed with a local family, but it was more in the spirit of a bed and breakfast, instead of an exchange. They were happy to make us meals (we couldn't convince them to actually eat with us) and show us our room, and that was about it. They were less about celebrating the traditional lifestyle and more about figuring out how to use the tourist dollars to get a TV and send their kids to study and live in Lima. This was fair enough--it's presumptuous and patronizing to push for maintaining a traditional lifestyle that the people living it don't want anymore. But then I wish it had been sold as a bed and breakfast on a beautiful island instead of a cultural exchange.

But even that kind of tourism is in jeopardy on Amantini--in an effort to get as much tourist income as possible, there are women dressed in traditional garb selling Snickers at the temple ruins on the top of the hill, and children along the trails reciting rhymes in languages they don't speak or selling braided bracelets, desperate for one or two soles. When asked about school, the kids avert their eyes and say they will go "tomorrow." It's tragic, because on the one hand, the people of this island absolutely deserve to milk every penny they can out of the tourists. But the way they're doing it is undermining the very reason tourists come. The images, even from a few years ago, of the "pristine" and "traditional" island are clearly crumbling. And there's no immediate reason for it to stop.

We payed a total of $60 for our 2 days in Amantini. If the people of the island aren't getting enough benefit out of that investment, I wish they would simply make it more expensive to get there. And they don't need to pander to tourists with a "traditional" lifestyle experience if that's not what they're actually interested in living. Amantini has the potential for being the Nantucket of Lake Titikaka, but right now it's headed in the direction of Myrtle Beach.

---

The second learning is that you shouldn't plan a leisurely trip through South Peru without double checking your flight itinerary. For example, you can't climb a volcano near Arequipa on May 4 when you leave the country on May 3. Such was our bemused panic as we leafed through our travel documents on the boat back from Amantini. Thank goodness for last minute flights...

----

Two photos. First our host family from Amantini:

Second, we stopped by the floating islands of the Uros people, who emigrated onto rafts of reeds to escape the various conquerers who tromped through the region. A stork strolled by and slurped down a fish while our guide taught us about the local history.

2007-05-17T19:32:00.000-05:00

Machu Picchu!
(writing from Quito, Ecuador)

Finally an update. We actually have a lot to tell -- Machu Picchu, Lake Titikaka, and the Galapagos. In the spirit of catching up, we'll let the pictures speak for themselves.

Here is Bella and I near the Sun Gate on our last day on the Inca Trail, maybe 5:45 AM, with the ruins at Machu Picchu in the background.

Many wild orchid on the trail, but this took us by surprise.

The Andes near dusk, accompanying us along the trail.

Finally, daisies along the trail, with a small ruin in the background (lodging for messengers running back and forth from Machu Picchu to other Inca cities).

2007-04-23T12:28:00.000-05:00

Ceviche che (Gujarati joke... 'che' means 'there is' in Gujarati...)
Writing from Cusco, Peru

We flew from Santiago to Lima primarily as a stopover en route to the Inca Trail and Machu Pichu. Unlike Chile, which has a relatively small native population (about a million Mapuche in the South), Peru embraces and flaunts its Incan and Quechua heritage. Nearly half the population considers itself indigenous. In the main square -- Plaza de Armas -- Lima recently tore down the statue of Pizarro and replaced it with a fountain. Pizarro, you´ll remember, defeated the Inca leader Atahualpa with only 180 men.

Two photos from the Colonial part of the city. Lima´s known for wooden balconies, but we liked this one along the main pedestrian thoroughfare...

And this one underscores why they call it Plaza de Armas...
Our second day in Lima we taxied out to Miraflores, a hip neighborhood on the ocean. After a silky ceviche lunch, we found what Bella has called ´the greatest mall ever´ -- Larcomar, built into the cliffs overlooking the ocean. Bella had a backrub, a Starbucks coffee, and salted roasted peanuts. These are a few of her favorite things...

Nearby we lounged in the Parque de Amor. Mosaic tiles spell out love drenched Spanish quotations. Bella liked this one, and asked me to pose by it.

2007-04-23T12:24:00.000-05:00

Santiago, Spain... er... Chile
writing from Cusco, Peru

Glad to be off the Navimag, Bella and I hopscotched north to Santiago (by bus), then Lima, and now Cusco (both by plane).

A few photos and thoughts from Santiago. We took the bus from Puerto Montt to Santiago with Natasha, new friend from Navimag, and a surgery resident from UCSF. Her family is from Goa and Pune -- so we chatted about international health, the diversity of Patels, and wine. The three of us toured the city a bit the next day -- very mellow. Stopped at a hostel´s cafe during the day to grab a cup of coffee, and learned it was run by a group of Hare Krishna converts. I guess you can leave the subcontinent, but the subcontinent never leaves you...

Santiago felt 2 hours north of Madrid. Very modern, very cosmopolitian, with bicycle lanes, well maintained parks, and a compelling art scene in the Bellavista neighborhood. Two photos we picked...

Walking through downtown, we felt a bit underdressed -- like strolling the Champs Elysees in ripped jeans and a concert T-shirt. Even the street signs reinforce the business chic dress code. Check out the woman´s stylish hat and flashy skirt!

We took the funicular up Cerro San Cristobal to get a panoramic view of the city. The smog lightened a bit for us and we could actually see the Andes cradling the metropolis below us.

2007-04-18T11:20:00.000-05:00

A THREE HOUR TOUR
writing from Puerto Montt, Chile

We boarded a ferry at Puerto Natales called the NaviMag, and looked forward to 3 days of lounging on the deck, watching snow covered peaks ease by.

Too bad it was overcast. And cold. Ah, but three days would leave us on land again, and we could mosey up to Santiago and stroll through Valparaiso. Except that we had to cross the Gulf of Penas first. The morning we neared the Gulf, the captain opted to wait out a brewing storm, guided us into the safety and calm of a shallow bay, and dropped anchor. 65 mph sustained winds, 100 mph gusts, and 40 foot waves in the gulf kept us in the bay for 2 days. Bella and I played a lot of gin rummy.

Finally, off to the gulf! "Ahora, toma su pastillas!" came a friendly reminder over the loudspeaker. I´ve never been sea sick, so I thought to ride it out. Mistake for me. So after a few unpleasant minutes in the head, I downed a few zofran and a milligram of ativan. Bella and I spent the day unconscious in our bunks, soothed by the rocking (sometimes violent) of the sea.

Met some fun people, practiced our Spanish, only two days delayed, but we´re more than happy to be back on terra firma...

Bella liked this sign. Would be nice to have this option in the office/hospital...

2007-04-18T10:14:00.000-05:00

FLATAGONIA
writing from Puerto Montt, Chile

Wetook a ferry from Puerto Natales to Puerto Montt, both in Chile. We´re hanging out now waiting for a bus to Santiago, and have some time to update the blog.

Story from Patagonia. We had a fabulous road trip as the pictures Bella posted can attest. The penultimate day we relaxed in a small town Lago Posadas, Argentina. After gorging ourselves on Argentinian meat and Chilean fish, the hotel managers soothed us with vegetarian fare. Home grown tomatoes, home canned fruit preserves, and spinach lasagna reminded us of life beyond carne carne carne. We left the next day at 4 AM to make sure we´d get back to Calafate on time for our bus the day after to Chile. I slid into the driver's seat ready to tackle the rocky roads, and Bella snuggled into the back ready to catch up on sleep.

All smooth for the first 2 hours. Sure the car fishtailed a few times on loose gravel, and once we made close aquaintance with desert shrubbery... but with a flat road on a flat plain with no cars for a hundred miles in either direction, we felt fine fine.

Until the road got really bumpy. Galump galump galumpy. I got out and consoled our right front tire, which had suffered a 3 inch deep laceration perpendicular to the rim. Channeling my hidden Nascar, I fished the spare (a full spare, not a donut, thank god...) pumped up the car, replaced the tire, and balanced the tension of the nuts with the greatest of ease. I was really proud of myself, I gotta say.

Bella took over at the wheel (she suggested that now without a spare we should avoid future encounters with shrubbery) and I cozied into the back, dreaming of Calafate.

An hour later, galump. Galump galump galump. The picture below is of our *left* front tire. No consolation to give -- this patient had expired.

Elisabeth Kubler-Ross describes five stages of grief -- shock, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. We felt them all in a moment, but quickly moved to what Kubler-Ross must have forgotton. Laughing. Mostly laughing. Because when the nearest town is eighty miles away and you haven´t seen another car for four hours, laughing feels like the right choice.

We consulted our map, and decided we were too far away from anything to hope for a timely rescue. The road to the nearest town turned off 15-20 miles ahead of us. We spent a few moments with the front right rim, remembering how nice it´d been to be round, and then we started the car and galumped our way south.

The rest of the day exceeded our expectations, to our delight. We reached the intersection and headed toward town, and after maybe 2 hours a truck finally appeared in the rear view mirror. We hitched a ride to town (Gobarnador Gregores, Argentina), found an ATM and a mechanic, bought two new tires and rims, and actually made it back to Calafate in time for a late dinner.

Check out the fabulous map Bella made of our trip.

2007-04-12T16:39:00.000-05:00

More Patagonia Pics!
El Calafate, Argentina
(writing from Puerto Natales, Chile)

Here are some more pictures of our Patagonian Parambulations. The exciting roadtrip adventure story is coming soon, Zach promises...

Perito Moreno Glacier, or the Inspirations poster for "Determination"

Did we mention that James Bond joined us briefly? Yes, his resemblance to Stephen is striking.

Badasses on the Glacier near Cerro Torres

What did you do last weekend?

Mirador at Mt. Fitz Roy--also a plug for Casual Adventure!

The epitome of the Patagonian roadtrip:

Artsy shot of an abandoned observatory by the side of Ruta 40, Argentina

Cuevos de los Manos, posing with 9000-year-old handprints:

Marble grottoes near Rio Tranquilo, Chile--or Patagonian Smurf Habitat?

Best Road Sign Award: Watch out for exploding volcanoes? (Seen on the side of the road just over the border into Chile)

Guanacos and Craggy Peaks--South American Safari

Crazy Clouds over the Chilean-Argentine border

2007-04-12T15:32:00.000-05:00

Hiking Photos!
El Calafate, Argentina
(writing from Puerto Natales, Chile)

We´ve made it in one piece to Puerto Natales, and are headed out on a boat tonight. We had some excellent road trip adventures, which Zach should fill in shortly. But first, since we´re failing miserably in uploading photos, I thought I´d share some hiking pics courtesy of our amazing hiking companions, Margaret y Stephen:

Setting out for 5 days of backpacking around Mt. Fitz Roy:

It´s Fall here!

Zach tests our ice climbing harnesses...

Vanna, show us a glacier please!

2007-04-08T12:56:00.000-05:00

Pascua Feliz!
Coyhaique, Chile

We´re not really sure if Jesus loves us, but Chile is certainly treating us well. After Margaret and Stephen left us for the Northern Hemisphere, we decided the best way to overcome our post-partum sadness was to rent a car and drive the wild roads of Argentine and Chilean Patagonia. We spent Good Friday bumping along Ruta 40, a ripio road that is Argentina´s dirt & gravel answer to US Route 66. After 10 hours of rattling our way through absolute and sublime desolation of desert scrub, rocky mesas, and signature Patagonian winds, we ended up eating cheese and peanuts for dinner (washed down with some grapefruit-flavored Tang), and sleeping by the side of the road--gloriously fulfilling our trip ambition of doing things that will be much more difficult when we´re older and infirm. Saturday, our brave little VW Golf brought us slowly but surely over the border into Chile, where we were astonished to see long expanses of pavement, tall green trees, and the glowy golden lights of cabins dotting the mountain roads. We woke up this lovely Pascua morning in hearty little Coyhaique, the scrappy capital of central Chilean Patagonia. The skies are cloudy-but-bright, and there are snow-capped Andes on the horizon. Soon we´ll get back on the road, headed down the mythical Carretera Austral--Chile´s wild southern road (paved for at least a little ways)that runs until the glaciers and ocean cut it off.

We´re hoping to be back in Argentina on Wednesday night, and then we´ll go down to Puerto Natales (the southern tip of Chile) to catch a boat that navigates the fjords and glaciers of southwestern Chile for 3 days to bring us back north to Puerto Montt--a 15-hour bus ride south of Santiago.

It´s amazing to see so many fall colors in April. We really are in the Southern Hemisphere. Orion looks upside down in the night sky. The moon is waxing and waning from the opposite directions. I haven´t noticed that the toilet flushes the other way, though. And we have yet to figure out which of the kite-shaped constellations is the Southern Cross...

p.s. Interesting language experiment with "Pascua Feliz" -- if you put "Happy Easter" into Babelfish, and translate from English to Spanish, you get "Pascua Feliz." But if you put in "Pascua Feliz" and translate from Spanish to English, you get "Happy Passover." Language and religion are funny things. Happy Eastover!

2007-04-04T13:40:00.000-05:00

Blog, Resurrected
El Chalten, Argentina (Patagonia)
Just in time for Easter, our long lost travelogue is making a miraculous return from the dead. The past six months in India were a whirlwind of work and sensory overload--we´ll have to fill in that (large, gaping) hole later. Meanwhile, I am happy to report that we are alive and kicking in wild and windy Patagonia. Our amazing friends Margaret and Stephen decided to fly down to the far south of Argentina to join us for an other-worldly backpacking adventure around the Fitz Roy Glacier. We spent five days tramping through gorgeous fall foliage, negotiating switchbacks along steep scree of bouldery moraines, and scaling sheer cliffs of ice on the glacier (complete with ice axes and crampons!). We got lost on the last day of our hike, and ended up on a dirt road ten miles out of town--fortunately for us, there was a lovely little rustic B&B just down the way that served up a lovely Malbec and outrageous views of the mountains. They also helped us get a cab back to the little frontier town of El Chalten, where we´re happily sipping mate in a cozy hostel. Margaret and Stephen head back to the northern hemisphere tomorrow, while Zach and I will try to figure out the best way to get to Chile. Here we are after being lost and found on the last day of our trek...

2006-09-25T06:30:00.000-05:00

Capital of Capitalism: Hanoi
(Writing from Ahmedabad, India)

We have arrived safely in our new home after three days of travel -- Luang Prabang to Coup-land, Bangkok to Delhi, and early this morning Delhi to Ahmedabad. I am as always behind on the blog, but I'll post a few updates today. Bella tells me her voice will return to the blog in the next few days with some reflections on the trip.

More than any other place we visited, Hanoi left us feeling swindled. For the bus ride from Ninh Binh (Ninh Binh Ninh Binh!), our guest house had told us to pay 30,000 (about $2) Vietnamese dong per ticket, but the driver charged us 35,000. Worse, we watched another passenger pay with a 50,000 dong note and receive 20,000 in change. Bella and I hadn't slept well, and the two previous full days of sightseeing had drained our energy -- so we chose not to complain about the $ 0.31 per person overcharge. But this was the first of a thousand small insults from which our exhausted tourist immune system failed to protect us.

We had assumed the bus would drop us in front of a guest house in the old city, as we'd come to expect from each previous bus journey. Instead, the bus stopped 7 km south of the city center, and we had to fend off the pressing flesh of dozens of moto drivers as we retrieved our bags from the trunk. One persistent entrepreneur followed us for three blocks, vigorously negotiating with himself a ride to town from 50,000 dong to 20,000 dong until he finally accepted our repeated refusals. We looped back into the bus station to regain our bearings, and finally took a taxi to the guest house we'd chosen (after 10 minutes of haggling to the rate suggested in our guide book). At the guest house, our pretty and fast talking host booked us 3 nights at the hotel, 2 day trips, and flights to Vientiane before our thoughts caught up with us. We had enough wits to shave a dollar from the room rate, and 20% from the day trips -- but that night we found plane tickets for $25 cheaper. And we'd already paid for them. When we visited the Vietnam History Museum that afternoon, we felt as if our pockets had been picked by each hand of this gorgeous wooden statue of Shiva.

So against my own promises, I wasted a paragraph of my life with complaints. But in my own defense, these complaints do illustrate the profound difference in atmosphere between Vietnam and Laos -- more on that later.

And in defense of Hanoi, the city does offer one of the best museums we saw in South East Asia. The "Museum of Ethnology" lucidly teaches about the 54 ethnic minorities of Vietnam, and they've built lifesize reconstructions of different tribal houses in their courtyard. We liked this exhibit of a bicycle carrying fishtraps, accompanied by a photo of a man in a conical hat actually riding this thing.

We also visited Ho Chi Minh himself in his mausoleum, preserved like Lenin in waxy perfection.

2006-09-25T05:36:00.000-05:00

Vietnamese Vets Save Monkeys -- Cuc Phong National Park, near Ninh Binh, Vietnam
(writing from Luang Prabang, Laos)
Correction -- yesterday's post confused Tom Coc park with Cuc Phong park. Tom Coc equals caves on a river, Cuc Phong is monkeys.

Our second day in Ninh Binh Ninh Binh (since that bus ride, I will always say the town's name twice...) we rented a car and driver and visited the Cuc Phong National Park, an hour out of town. They have a monkey sanctuary where Vietnamese vets (ha!) rehabilitate monkeys recovered from poachers. The Chinese pay good money for monkey brains, a delicacy in Yunnan Province across the northern border. This photo shows a five colored langur, a thinking being happily not being served.

A few other pics -- we hiked through a loop in the jungle and saw an old tree...

a cave... and a lizard.

2006-09-24T09:27:00.000-05:00

Ninh Binh Ninh Binh
(posting from Luang Prabang, Laos)

We traveled by 11 hour bus ride from Hue and the DMZ to Ninh Binh, a quiet town one hour south of Hanoi. The steward on our VIP bus spoke not a word of English, but referred to us always as Ninh Binh Ninh Binh. After a bathroom break, when it was time to get back on the bus, he called out to us "Ninh Binh Ninh Binh!". When he passed out water and snacks, he shouted, "Ninh Binh Ninh Binh" before handing us our share. And at 5AM, when we pulled into Ninh Binh, he flicked Bella's ear until she woke up, looked at us in the eyes, and gleefully informed us we had arrived in "Ninh Binh Ninh Binh Ninh Binh!"

The town itself offers dust and expensive yogurt (30 cents a cup? We paid 20 in Hue!). Just outside town, however, huge limestone karsts tower behind luscious green rice patties. We rented bicycles and rode out to Tom Coc national park. There, we practiced our Vietnamese with our guides as they rowed us through three caves carved in the rocks.

Here's Bella in the boat with our guides. Bella spoke with them in French -- many of the older generation parlay fransay, a legacy of French colonialism.

A local species of marmot took up residence on my chin. No wait, that's my beard.

Wild wild stuff, these caves.

En route to Cuc Phong, I made a new friend. His name is Moo. He is a water buffalo.

Perfect sunset -- best of our trip. Sun behind the karsts was amazing.

(Note: the original post has been corrected -- had read "Cuc Phong" when I meant "Tom Coc". Also, we arrived in Ninh Binh at 5AM, not 11PM.)

2006-09-24T07:04:00.000-05:00

L'Shana Tova from Laos!
(writing in Luang Prabang, Laos)

Bella and I woke up late yesterday after staying up till the wee hours reading. Shooting the Moon for me -- a detailed history of CIA involvement in the war in Laos; A Thousand Acres for Bella -- a modern Midwestern retelling of King Lear. We stumbled into the daylight and wandered down along the Mekong river looking for a place for lunch. The doorways of all the shops and restaurants advertised their wares in Lao and English, except one...

"Wow -- Lao looks a lot like Hebrew on that sign", I thought as we walked by one wooden structure. "And the people inside are wearing tallit..."

We ventured up to the door and asked, "Are you celebrating Rosh Hashana?"

"Are you Jewish?" replied a young man with a thin wiry beard, wearing a black hat, white shirt, and suit.

"I am!" I exclaimed.

The Chassidic (ultra-orthodox) movement of Judaism sets up outreach sites, "Chabad Houses", throughout the world to serve local and traveling Jews. Rabbi Shalom Ber Marzel, with his year old son and his pregnant wife, traveled to Luang Prabang six months ago and set up a synagogue here. Two young rabbinical students joined him last week to help with the expected Rosh Hashana crowd.

In we went, and mingled with a dozen Israelis. Out came challah, honey, and a meat-potato-bean casserole that was absolutely fabulous (fabulous!). Dessert wins for most memorable -- a dairy free mousse cake that was creamier than the sweetened condensed milk we put in our coffee every morning. After dinner the rabbi told two stories in Hebrew -- one of the Israelis kindly translated for us. This is what he told us (OK -- slightly embellished...)

In the first story, a formerly unreligious man wakes up one morning worrying for his soul. His whole life, he'd worked hard, provided for his wife and children, and volunteered at an orphanage in town. But he hadn't been to shul since he was a child. In crisis, he goes to the empty shul at sunrise, awkwardly places a yarmulke on his balding head, and sits alone in a pew. He opens the prayer book to page one, and begins to read. All day, he reads the sidur, word for word, prayer by prayer, until finally, as the sun sets, he finishes. The next day, he does the same thing. And the next day. For a week, he goes to shul every day, reads the entire sidur, then returns home at dusk. His wife, concerned that has not brought home any salary all week, asks her uncle, a wise and holy rabbi, for advice. He promises to talk with the man. The next day, the rabbi goes to see the man in shul.

"Why are you doing?" asks the rabbi.

The man startles at the interruption, but he recognizes the venerable rabbi, and explains. "I want so badly to say the right prayers, but I don't know what they are! If I read *all*of them, I'm sure to include the right ones."
"Ah ha!" squawks the rabbi. "You cannot spend every day in shul -- you must work, you must spend time with your family. But I can help you! I will show you which prayers to say on which days. Here, let me see the sidur..."

With that, the rabbi produces a note pad and a pen. On each piece of paper, he scribbles "for Saturday mornings" or "only on Yom Kippor" or "every evening" and places the papers into the sidur at the appropriate places. When he finishes, he delicately hands the book back to the man. "This should straighten things out for you. Good luck!" He then turns and walks out the door.

The man looks through the sidur and sees how easy the rabbi's instructions are. He is so overjoyed that he runs outside into the blustery morning and jumps and dances for joy. In his celebration, the sidur slips from his hand and all the pieces of paper fly down the street with the wind. Heartbroken, he falls to his knees and weeps.

Between sobs, he sees the rabbi's footprints in the dirt. He stands up, dusts himself off, and decides to follow the footprints and beg the rabbi to teach him again. Through the town and into the forest he races after the trail in the dirt. After an hour, he finally sees the rabbi in the distance. He yells out for him, but the wind blows in his face, and the rabbi doesn't hear. He watches the rabbi approach a river. The rabbi reaches into his pocket, takes out a handkerchief, and lays it on the ground. He stands on the handkerchief, prays for a moment, then floats across the river to the other side. Once there, he picks up the handkerchief, wrings it dry, and replaces it in his pocket.

The man is determined to reach the rabbi, and acts without thinking. He runs to the riverbank, reaches into his pocket, finds his handkerchief, lays it on the ground, and steps onto it. He strains his eyes to follow the rabbi's path on the opposite shore, and hardly notices as he floats across the river. Once on the other side, he grabs the handkerchief and wrings it out as he runs up the bank after the rabbi.

Finally, he finds the rabbi resting beneath a tree.

"Rabbi, I've lost all the papers you gave me. Can you explain to me again how to pray?"

The rabbi studies the man, and then slowly asks, "Did you follow me here?"

"Yes," replies the man.

"Even over the river?"

"Yes."

"On a handkerchief? Floating on the water?"

"Yes! Yes! Please help me!"

"Well, I think whatever you have been doing will be just fine."

-------

I love the power of story telling and oral history to relay information and morality. I also like the moral of this story-- spirituality, holiness, and prayer are individual. Granted, my telling is third hand: Chabad rabbi in Hebrew to Israeli guy's summary in English plus my embellishments. If any of you find me someday on the bottom of the Hudson River standing on a napkin, you'll know I've missed the point.

The second story I'll tell briefly. The voice of God bellows one morning to a Jewish town that the Messiah is coming in one week. The town's people are so happy, they order a crate of wine and celebrate all day. The next day, the townsfolk wake up again ecstatic, because the Messiah will arrive in only *six* days. So they order two crates of wine, and dance and whoop until the sun sets. When they wake up, they realize that the Messiah will grace their town in a mere five days. Three crates of wine fuels a town wide romp, and everyone collapses exhausted at sun set. The next day four crates, then five, then six. Finally, the sun rises on the seventh day, and every citizen is asleep in the street. Confetti, burst balloons, and popcorn litter every alley. The Messiah arrives. The town rabbi wakes first, sees the Messiah, and runs to him. In his hand, he has the last bottle from the last crate, which contains but a drop of wine. He takes the last clean glass from the last upright street stall, pours the wine, and offers it to the Messiah.

"That's it?" asks the Messiah.

"Well," responds the rabbi. "If you had come yesterday..."

--------

The Israeli guy told us the rabbi had actually told *two* versions of this story. In the second, less inebriated version, a congregation spends a week devising the most elaborate holy virtuous prayer possible, and then perform it for the Messiah when he arrives. After an entire day, the prayer is finished -- to which the Messiah says, "That's it?"

The Israeli guy told us he didn't really get the point of either version. To me, it sounds like the second story is the original version, and speaks to the inadequacy of welcoming the Messiah. And the first story is a Jackie Mason version of the second. Or the first version is supposed to mean that no celebration is sufficient to welcome the Messiah. Neither version speaks to me, but I think the first version is funny...

------

After lunch, I joined the congregation for their afternoon service. The Israelis kindly turned the pages for me and pointed out where we were. I even got to do an aliyah! (singing the prayer before the rabbi reads the torah portion). Today, we returned to the Chabad House for the blowing of the Shofar. Bella stoically sat through the 3 hour service without complaint. I sat and stood on cue, and they let me dress the torah after the reading. During both services, I tried to follow the text the best I could, but I didn't recognize most of the prayers, and they go through it so fast I couldn't keep up. Mostly I felt a combination of frustration (because I don't know the service), admiration (because all these other people did, and they do it every week), guilt (for rarely going to shul), confusion (they repeated some of the same prayers half a dozen times, and some of the wording is different in the prayers I *thought* I knew), and boredom (three hours is a long long time to listen to muttering in a foreign language).

This unexpected reconnection with Judaism (and of all places in Laos!) marks the ending of this phase of our journey. Tomorrow we tour the jungle by dirt bike, and the river by kayak -- then Tuesday we head back to Bangkok en route to Delhi and Ahmedabad, where there is a 400 year old synagogue...

Will post more on our adventures in Vietnam soon.

Image credit to: http://iakovlevi.tripod.com/Hamelin.htm

2006-09-21T09:22:00.000-05:00

DMZ
(writing from Vientiane, Laos; posted from Luang Prabang, Laos)

Bella and I booked a DMZ tour from our hotel in Hue so we could see some of the memorials dedicated to the "American War" in Vietnam. The tour itself taught us more about Vietnamese aggressive capitalism than of the horrors of war. The owner of our hotel showed us numerous testimonials from prior guests lamenting that the DMZ bus tour was boring, and how they wished they had taken a motorbike tour instead. I.e. better to spend $25 for motorbikes and drivers than $10 on a bus. But as we learned, "boring" speaks more to the sites themselves than to the transportation. The photos here show a few of the interesting stops, but most of the DMZ sites of historical interest now provide nothing more than a plaque -- the Macnamara line, Khe San, Camp Carrol. A bus travels fast enough, at least, to see all these places in a day -- which we did not. We did learn the benefits of motorbike travel, however: overpriced lunch ("no menu, sorry"), sore butt, and sunburnt thighs.

Complaints complaints complaints! No more!

On the plus side, driving on motorbike does give you a taste for the landscape. The Vietnamese have transformed every arable inch of land into a rice patty. The roadside en route to the DMZ is a notable exception -- napalm and agent orange rendered most of the soil too poisonous for farming, and vegetation is only now starting to take root in the sandy earth.

The photos below looked fine on my mac, but appear very dark on this PC. Let me know if you can make out details.

First, we stopped at the Ben Hai River, which served as the true border between North and South Vietnam -- it runs right along the 17th parallel. The memorial features a Vietnamese woman with her arms on her child's shoulders flanked by coconut palm fronds. An unfinished bas relief decorating the base on the memorial pits Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army soldiers against American GIs. We shot the second photo from the north side -- during the war, the Vietnamese painted the bridge half red half yellow as a reminder of the division of the country.

So many Vietnamese remains were unidentifiable that military cemeteries celebrate more unknown soldiers than known.

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

Bella and I thought this bas relief at the Vinh Moc tunnels just north of the DMZ crystallizes the Vietnamese memory of the American war. Vietnamese citizens and solders persevere, digging tunnels into the earth and resisting the best they can, while American planes bomb relentlessly from above. This perserverance most impressed us -- civilians dug the the Vinh Moc tunnels and lived underground for six years, and every bomb we dropped hardened their support for the communists. After reading up on the history, it seems to me the middle road we took (don't invade the north, don't leave the south) made it impossible to ever "win". If the domino theory was right, we should have marched into Hanoi -- except that might have provoked a nuclear confrontation with the Soviets or Chinese. If we weren't prepared to invade, we should have left earlier -- except our retreat might have emboldened the Soviets to expand their sphere of influence and aggressively support leftist revolutions elsewhere. Instead we laid siege to the South -- we burnt down the villages we were supposed to protect which only fed support for the Viet Cong. While we piddled around with search and destroy missions, the NVA and Viet Cong built the Ho Chi Minh Trail into a supply superhighway and citizens dug in and waited for us to wear out and leave. I'm left with a more visceral understanding of the Powel doctrine -- go in with overwhelming force or don't go in at all.

2006-09-20T08:26:00.000-05:00

Coup Coup Ca Choo
(writing from Vientiane, Laos)

Though we heard some tourists muttering about CNN during our visit to the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum in Hanoi today, we didn't learn of the coup in Thailand until we boarded the plane for Laos this afternoon. As we found our seat, we picked up a copy of Vietnam News, a govenernment authored English language daily. An understated article on the bottom of their front page mentioned "Coup in Thailand", underneath the headline of continued British foreign aid. Our good friend Kelly lives in Bangkok, and she gives the most interesting report. The photo here is not mine (duh) -- kudos instead to Google and the Shanghai Daily News.

Meatime, for those who are worried about us, we are fabulous! We've been traveling South to North through Vietnam and will post photos and stories on our adventures in the coming days. We do need to return to Bangkok to connect to Delhi, so our travel plans will return us to coup-land. Although the junta government closed the overland border just over the Mekong to our South, the
Bangkok Post says the airport will remain open -- though I doubt "Bob James" has the ear of General Boonyaratkalin. The US Embassy in Thailand gives vague wait-and-see advice, and we'll continue to monitor their website. We'll also stop by the US Embassy here tomorrow to find out more.

2006-09-13T09:32:00.000-05:00

Photos from Hue
written in Hue, Vietnam

As I mentioned, we took bikes through the outskirts of Hue today. At the first temple, we struck up a conversation with another tourist, Kem, also on bicycle, and he joined us for a day of idly riding from temple to temple. As we turned up one road towards a local monestary, we stopped to look at a striking white statue. Why, I wondered, is Buddha eating a bat... As it turns out (thank you Google!) the word "bat" and "happiness" are the same in Chinese, so the bat is a symbol of happiness.

Many of the temples and cemeteries feature "pique assiette", in which the artist recycles shards of pottery to make mosaic. Here's a dragon we liked.

Mixing old and new, the dragons guarding this house perch their claws on soccer balls.

Hue has a large incense market, and some of the wares dried in the sun as we biked by.

Here we are! Kem moved to Miami from Peru when he was 11, and then to Utah in his teens to be closer to fellow Mormons. We talked with him the whole day about our lives and travels.

2006-09-13T09:03:00.000-05:00

Photos from Ho Chi Minh City
(written from Hue, Vietnam)

Motorbikes! Whoah. Crossing the street requires steely resolve. We watched one woman cross a wide avenue with traffic more dense than this photo. Slowly slowly she advanced, never stopping, never changing pace, as bikers whizzed by in front and behind. Bella and I silently admired her as she stepped onto the opposite curb and continued on her way. Please do not take the mask as a sign to send us a Fed Ex with Tamiflu -- more than half of women bikers wear masks to keep out exhaust and sun. Keeps the lungs clean and the face fair.

Perhaps "vegetarian" means no dog?

We visited the Cu Chi tunnels where Viet Cong soldiers hid out and staged attacks on US positions. I was very excited to check out the underground passages. Also, my beard is getting way too long.

2006-09-13T08:52:00.000-05:00

On a lighter note... Phnom Penh photos
writing in Hue, Vietnam

We had a lovely bike ride through the Vietnamese countryside today. Pictures to follow once I look through them. Meantime, here are some photos from Phnom Penh. We spent one afternoon touring the palace. Trying to flesh out the history of the country, we asked our guide what life was like under Japanese occupation in the early 1940s. She didn't know, she said. But her mother had told her that many girls would make themselves look ugly in order to avoid advances by Japanese soldiers.

As we walked out of the palace, a huge golden Buddha on the back of truck drove by.

We again met up with Sharad, Minaxi, and Deval, and joined them for dinner along the main boulevard by the river.

2006-09-12T10:20:00.000-05:00

History Lessons
Written in transit, and in Hoi An, Vietnam -- prior to the previous post about censorship. Posted from Hue, Vietnam.

As I write, Bella and I have just boarded a Pacific Airlines flight from Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) to Danang, both in Vietnam. We’ve squeezed into the seats – there is less room here between the seats than any other airline I’ve been on. It is good to be short!

Bella and I visited two intense historical sites and museums within a few days: a Khmer Rouge detention center (Tol Sleng) in Phnom Penh and the associated killing field at Choeng Ek, and the “War Remnants” (formerly War Crimes) museum in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon). This all in the unintentional backdrop of the 5th anniversary of the 9/11 attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon.

The Killing Fields

Aside from the photos and memorials, the Tol Sleng detention center (now a museum) and the Choeng Ek killing fields are jarringly pleasant. Pol Pot’s Khmer Rouge chose a local high school for their detention center, and palm trees dot the grassy courtyard. Choeng Ek sits a few miles away on the shore of the Bassac River. Oxen roam freely through the bucolic site, butterflies twitter among the trees, and fuzzy ducklings glide along the shore.

The Khmer Rouge used the Tol Sleng detention center to extract confessions from suspected enemies. Graphic photos show mutilated bodies shackled to bed frames, and photos of thousands of victims stare out from rows of displays. Those who confessed and survived torture were transported to the killing fields, where Khmer Rouge soldiers shot them, beat them to death, or slit their throats. The killing fields at Choeng Ek contained more than a hundred mass graves. Bones and bits of clothing still litter the site.

The 20th century offers too many examples of this kind of mass murder: the Holocaust, Armenia, Rwanda, Bosnia. But what is inexplicable about the killing fields is that there is no clear “other”. As the regime wore on, the Khmer Rouge killed indiscriminately. Jailers became prisoners, and torturers were tortured and killed. One of the museum’s current exhibits tells of a dozen men and women who believed in Pol Pot’s Maoist revolution, left their families to join the Khmer Rouge, and now stare out from the wall of victim’s photographs. Each served and was then betrayed. All told, some 3 million Cambodians died from 1975 to 1978 (when Vietnam invaded Cambodia), 2 million killed directly by the hand of the Khmer Rouge. One of the exhibits suggests a “base population” in the north west that was afforded some protection as original agrarians, but the Khmer Rouge never articulates any rationale for their crimes. There is massive paranoia, but no description of who or what is the enemy.

Guilt

Bella and I visited these sites with Sharad, Minaxi, and Deval, and we reflected as we drove back to town. Bella spoke with confusion and anguish about the physicality of the murders. In order to conserve ammunition, the Khmer Rouge bludgeoned many of their victims to death. Many used palm fronds to slit prisoners’ throats. Bella could believe that a soldier could flip a switch, or pull a trigger to kill, but the up-close hands-on brutality of the murders at Choeng Ek pushed the limits of what she believed possible.

I, on the other hand, did not feel shocked. Nazi Germany and concentration camps appeared throughout my childhood. I have visited the Holocaust museums in Israel, DC, Manhattan, and Miami; attended speeches by Elie Wiesel and Yitchak Rabin; watched Schindler’s List with my siblings, parents, and grandparents. Antisemitism drove my family from Europe a century ago, and Nazis murdered those who remained, like David Hirsh Becker my great great grand uncle killed near the Becker farm in Oshmana, Poland. As a Jew, I am a student of genocide. So while the killing fields represent the very worst of human behavior, it is an evil I have grown up with, the Khmer Rouge a familiar demon with a different face.

To my surprise, however, I felt guilt. I thought maybe I felt guilt as a member of a species capable of these crimes. But although there is an impulse to imagine the circumstances that would lead me to join in these crimes, killing is so opposed to my moral framework, especially as a physician, that I automatically label the perpetrators “other” and believe myself incapable of participating. No, I felt guilt because I have not visited Auschwitz. I claim in one breath to be a student of genocide, and I admit in the next that I am a bad one. I will go, I must go – this part of me is unresolved.

War Remnants, Vietnam

We left Phnom Penh for Ho Chi Minh City, formerly Saigon, and on our first full day we visited the War Remnants Museum, formerly the War Crimes Museum. I have been reading a book called Patriots, by Christian G Appy, which chronicles the war as a series of oral histories from participants on all sides: soldiers, politicians, protesters, reporters, and ordinary citizens. The museum and my book tell similar stories, and the museum was much less politicized than I would have thought. Whereas Cuba’s National History Museum in Havana features a wall sized cartoon of George Bush (the first) as Julius Caesar, Vietnam’s War Remnants Museum begins with a extended tribute to photographers who died during the war, including several Americans. The museum focuses more on the long term effects (birth defects etc) of Agent Orange than I had expected, and the visitor’s guest book contains a surprising amount of anti American sentiment from Europeans and Australians – but the exhibits refrain from accusation or distortion. My Lai and other massacres of Vietnamese civilians feature prominently, as expected. In criticism, the museum fails to put the war in the larger context of the Cold War, and the agent orange exhibitions are heavy on photos of disfigured children and light on statistics.

Ho Chi Minh City buzzes outside the museum. After 10 years of a command economy, the Vietnamese government instituted broad economic reforms in the mid 80s, unleashing the current sea of motorbikes that zip around the city in capitalist fervor.

As we walked out, one pair of images in the museum stayed with me. Nick Ut won a Pulitzer prize for his photograph of children running from a village sprayed with napalm. The young girl, Kim Phuc, featured prominently in the photo survived her burns, and the museum displays a current photo of her beneath Ut’s. She turns her head over her left shoulder, showing the extensive scar across her back. In her arms, facing the camera, she holds her infant son. Vietnam is alive and thriving.

2006-09-12T09:57:00.000-05:00

Censored!
Writing from Hue, Vietnam
We've been unable to view the blog since we arrived in Saigon. Initially we assumed blogspot was upgrading or repairing their servers. But we've since learned Vietnam blocks everything from blogspot.com. We can post because the editing site is elsewhere -- at blogger.com.

So Vietnam subscribes to the Chinese model of free markets without free minds. Mixed feelings about this -- glad to see the bustling freneticism of Ho Chi Minh City (more to come on this) but I'm supressing outrage at the curtailment of free speech.

2006-09-11T06:41:00.000-05:00

Anybody out there?

Bella and I are in Hoi An, Vietnam. For the past two days, we have been unable to view the blog, though we can log into the editing software without difficulty. If you can read this, can you please email a hello?

2006-09-08T07:44:00.000-05:00

Good Evening, Vietnam!
(Saigon, Vietnam)

Howdy Howdy from Ho Chi Minh City! Zach and I arrived safely in Saigon this afternoon, after a straightforward seven-hour bus ride from Phnom Penh. The first half of the ride (to the Cambodia border) was bumpy but uneventful (we did get to take a giant ferry across the Mekong--very impressive). After clearing immigration on the Vietnam side, we got onto the "Happy Tour" bus for Ho Chi Minh City (HCMC). When they say happy, they're not kidding. A beautiful, charming woman greeted us by microphone once we were on the bus, explaining the logistics of our arrival in the city, teaching us basic phrases in Vietnamese, and then singing (!) a Vietnamese song about HCMC a capella for us (she was quite good, too). Transportation from Phnom Penh to Saigon, language lessons, and entertainment--all for $5 per person. Southeast Asia is amazing.

We're staying at a great guesthouse that has a/c, cable tv, free breakfast, and even hot water. I know, I know--we're going totally soft (so much for roughing it!). But for $12/night, it's hard to resist...

2006-09-08T07:14:00.000-05:00

Encore Angkor
(still in Ho Chi Minh City)

Okay, so I took more than 400 photos at Angkor. The first day I listened with half an ear to the guide, and focused instead on light, composition, and battery life (I went throught two and a half batteries the first day). The second day we didn't even hire a guide, and just traipsed from site to site waiting for the sun to offer a promising shot.

Looking through the digital contact sheet each night, searching for my own award-winning wall-displaying masterpiece, I felt... disappointed. A few decent shots, but mostly washed out stone and ordinary trees. These three represent notable exceptions.

On the first day, our guide took us to a smallish temple north of Bayon called Palay Lai. A few trees grow from the temple entrance, so I circled the temple with my camera snapping some photos. My hand started itching, usually heralding another mosquito bite, so I put the camera down to survey the damage. There was no mosquito -- instead a yellow butterfly had perched on my forearm, gently flapping its wings to keep balance. I held it up to try to snap a picture, but it flew away before I could get to the camera. Then, even as I cursed my luck, it came back! It alighted on my hand and I took this photo before it flew off again a moment later.

Bella took this photo in Preah Kahn, a poorly preserved temple overrun with awesome trees. She's looking over my shoulder as I write and is making fun of me because I said that the butterfly "alighted" on my hand. She insists that I call this an awesome tree. Actually, it is pretty awesome.

We caught these monks by Tah Prohm, another temple consumed by the jungle. Monks are awesome.

2006-09-08T06:47:00.000-05:00

Angkor Encore
(writing from Ho Chi Minh City, Vietnam)

We've arrived safely in here in Vietnam via an easy six hour bus ride from Phnom Penh. We're headed to see the Cu Chi tunnels used by the Viet Cong tomorrow morning, and hopefully the War Remnants museum (previously the "War Crimes" museum) in the afternoon.

A few more photos from Angkor:

The Khmer king Javayarman VII (temple building fiend) built Bayon temple about half a century after Angkor Wat. It features 49 towers each with four enormous faces -- either Buddha or Brahma (Hindu God of creation) depending on who you ask. The Khmer architects mixed Buddhist and Hindu symbols throughout the temples, cleverly working to appease both large religious groups of the times.

Bantey Srei predates the big temples at Angkor. The intracacy of the well preserved high relief carvings amazed us.

2006-09-07T06:59:00.000-05:00

Angkor Wat
(writing in Phnom Penh, Cambodia)

We're headed to Ho Chi Minh City tomorrow at 7AM, and I'm off to dinner in a few minutes... but I wanted to post just a few pics of Angkor Wat before I left this functional internet connection. First we left one morning at 4:45 AM to catch the sun rise.

We climbed up Phnom Bakheng, another temple on top of a hill, to catch the sunset.We *loved* touring with Sharad, Minaxi, and Deval. They ask lots (lots!) of questions, and after a full day at Angkor Wat itself, we have become experts on Khmer architecture.

2006-09-07T06:06:00.000-05:00

Long time no write...
(writing from Phnom Penh, Cambodia)

We have been bad bloggers! The slow slow internet connections in Siem Reap, Cambodia made it mind numbing to sit in front of a computer for longer than a few minutes. Briefly, we travelled overland from Bangkok to Siem Reap, Cambodia. We spent a week there exploring Angkor Wat and the surrounding temple complexes. Sharad, Minaxi, and Deval, Bella's uncle, aunt, and cousin, flew into town halfway through our stay, and we joined them for two days of sight seeing. We've since bussed south east to Phnom Penh at the confluence of the Tonle Sap and Mekong rivers. It's nearing dusk now in this internet cafe near the river and my hands quiver as I reflect on our tour today of a Khmer Rouge torture center and the killing fields.

Tonle Sap

We had a few days to kill in Siem Reap before Sharad, Minaxi, and Deval arrived, so we hired a tour of the Tonle Sap river, the flooded forrest, and two stilted villages.

The waters of the Tonle Sap river switch directions twice a year. When the waters flow into the lake during the rainy season, it grows from 2,700sq km to as much as 16,000 sq km, and gains nearly 30 feet of depth. We visited the village of Kompang Pluk -- the houses here sit on stilts fifty feet off the ground so the villagers can stay year round. As we came into town, groups of naked children leapt into the water and swam up and down the flooded main street. Everyone waved and smiled at us -- a pleasant contrast to the constant begging in Siem Reap and around the temples.

Our guide hired a canoe for us, and two Cambodian girls, 14 and 16, rowed us in and out of the trees.

On the way back, one of the young men in the boat spied a rat swimming a few feet from the boat. He leapt into the water and swam after it. He slowly approached the rodent, raised his hand high, then grabbed at the rat and dove underwater after it. His first two attempts failed, and the rat resurfaced ten or fifteen feet further down stream. But on the third attempt, he popped out of the water sputtering and splashing, holding the rat victoriously in his hand by its tail. Once he'd returned to the boat, he and another boy on the boat used an oar to hold down its head. This allowed him to pick it up from the back of the neck, and he then strangled it until it went limp. The other boy produced a strip of metal, like a nail file, and the two of them used it to pry out the rat's teeth. The rat survived this bloody and gruesome operation, and lay breathing and bleeding on the boat deck until we returned to the dock.

2006-08-27T00:15:00.000-05:00

Ferris Bangkok

Mellow day yesterday. Bella joined Kelly for yoga in the morning while I ran near our guest house and moved our stuff to an a/c room. In the afternoon, we explored the Emporium mall before heading to Lumphini Park and the night market. The largest moveable ferris wheel in the world is visiting Bangkok from Paris, and we took a ride to see the city from above. The streets have no masterplan, and the skyscrapers jut haphazardly like bunches of dandelions in an unkempt lawn. I'm tiring of Bangkok, and looking forward to moving on to Cambodia.

2006-08-24T23:31:00.000-05:00

Kelly! Hooray!

As Bella wrote, we met up with our old friend Kelly, a Children's Theater compatriot from Yale. Before we got there, we stopped by the Bangkok flower market to buy her some flowers (the white orchids in the photo). The market overflowed with roses, orchids, and lotus flowers as well as the usual street foods (including fried grasshoppers and beetles). What we'd planned as a 30 minute excursion morphed into a 2 hour trek -- we walked through the market a few times, then along the river, to and through Chinatown, to the subway, then to Kelly's place in Sukhumvit. The subway, by the way, has got to be the cleanest most modern underground of any city I've visited.

Marvelous to see Kelly -- I was worried I might not recognize her after nearly 10 years. But she looks the same, and Bella and I lingered in her apartment until after midnight chatting about where we've been and what we've done, the whereabouts and goings-on of friends and acquaintances, and Thai and US politics. We're meeting her tonight again for dinner and drinks. Fun!

2006-08-24T23:13:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Bangkok 24 August

We spent yesterday touring the Grand Palace and some of the wats (Buddhist Temples) around town. The first picture shows three stupas (like a Buddhist steeple) -- the front in Sri Lankan style (all gold), the middle in Cambodian style (like Angor Wat), and behind in Thai style. Detail photos follow -- human and monkey soldier feet holding up one of the stupas ; bird/man creatures lining the temple of the Emerald Buddha ; pairs of Buddhist protector gods guarding entrances to sections of the palace ground; me by the reclining Buddha at Wat Pho -- 46 meters long and 15 meters high.

2006-08-24T22:50:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Bangkok 23 August

We found a guest house in Thewet, north of the main tourist area of town and Khosan Road. We took the river taxi out our first night back to see more of the city. Bella glows in this picture at sunset at the Thewet pier. A new suspension bridge (Phra Pin Klao bridge) spans the river (Mae Nam Chau Phraya) in the background.

Hundreds of 2 foot long catfish swarmed the water by the pier. Vendors sold bags of fried crackers for onlookers to throw in. A young Thai girl in a white shirt and black skirt bought a bag, and as she sprinked the crackers below, the fish flopped around like aquatic pigeons, each battling for its share of chow.

2006-08-24T22:38:00.000-05:00

Goodbye Koh Tao
(writing from Bangkok...)

We ditched Malaysia and decided to head north back to Bangkok. We'll explore the city before heading east to Cambodia to meet up with Sharad Kaka, Minaxi Kaki, and Deval (Bella's uncle, aunt, and cousin) at Siem Reap. For our last meal, we went to Choppers, an Australian pub. Our dive instructor, Renate, a German expat who'd made several good food recommendations, had told us they served divine mashed potatoes. Her eyes widened when she said it, so we guessed it was true.

It was not. Bella's smile belies the raging pathos of oversweetened mashed potatoes.

2006-08-23T04:42:00.000-05:00

Bangkok Birthday Bonanza
(Bangkok, Thailand)

Today is Zach's 32nd birthday, and we are celebrating in style in Bangkok. We finally managed to leave our scuba paradise on Koh Tao yesterday, with our advanced diver certifications in hand (not to mention fantastic memories of sharks, night diving, and unsettlingly good spaghetti bolognaise at an Australian pub called "Choppers")... We abandoned our Malaysian rainforest plans to return to Bangkok (Thailand is a hard country to leave--Thea warned me, but it's even more difficult than we imagined). On the 30th or 31st, we are off to meet my aunt, uncle, and cousin Deval in Angkor Wat (Cambodia), where they are conveniently vacationing from England (Mona, we miss you!).

In the meantime, we are excited to hang out with our old friend Kelly from children's theater, who's been living in Bangkok for a while and is feeding us wine and cheesecake tonight. We've spent the day wandering the neighborhood around our awesome guesthouse, checking out the national library (free internet, newspapers, and A/C--very nice for lounging, and we found many people taking naps in the comfy Barcelona chairs), the largest teak building in the world (72 rooms, held together entirely by wood pegs, former palace of King Rama V, complete with a real live crocodile in the moat), the old parliament building, and the river. We've also been sampling lots of the local street food, which is copious, cheap, and delicious. Tonight, we're going to splurge (courtesy of Gregg Grinspan) on a fabulous sushi dinner, and then go kick it with Kelly.

Life is good.

(aside from Zach -- one of the reasons I love Bella is that she uses the Oxfordian comma. Good grammar makes a good marriage.)

2006-08-20T07:25:00.000-05:00

Monkey Monkey Monkey

The first morning at Rocky Resort, we heard high pitched whooping from the hill behind our bungalow. I thought first of cranes, but the cries came from a pair of singers, and they fed off each other in a spiraling howling chorus. Bella remarked they reminded her of the gibbons at the National Zoo in DC. Clever. We climbed the hill to investigate. The owners of the resort above us (Jamakhiri) had found four baby monkeys (gibbons as it turns out!) when they started building, and created a sprawling enclosure for them.

Open Water Team
Our open water diver's group celebrated finishing the course at Tong's a local Thai restaurant. Our instructor James (on my left) got sick the day we were supposed to start the advanced open water course, so we've started the course with another instructor. This morning blessed us with our best dive yet at Chumphon Pinnacle, with much improved visibility compared with our earlier dives. We sunk down to 30 meters to do some exercises (i.e. prove we wouldn't get nitrogen narcosis.) Zoom -- four grey reef sharks circled by, patrolling the base of the coral formation. The largest I'll bet weighed more than me and must have been 8 feet long!

2006-08-20T06:54:00.000-05:00

The Reveal

Bella stands on our balcony looking out over Rocky Bay from our hotel room at the Rocky Resort. Bare bones accomodations -- a bed, light, toilet, and fan. But for $12, you can't beat the view.

2006-08-17T01:19:00.000-05:00

Trekking Anthem

Zach has been much more diligent about recording our travels than I have--but I figure I can make myself useful on the blog front by filling in some gaps.

For example, on our trek, we wrote a trekking anthem that we eventually taught to Dorjay (our guide). To acoustically recreate our experience in the Himalaya, try singing the following to the tune of "This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land":

[Chorus]
This land is your land, this land is my land
From Barai Nala to Lamayuru*
From the Phugtol Gompa to the Singge La La La
This Ladakh was made for you and me

As I was trekking that dusty trailway,
I saw before me, a red Zanskar day
I saw behind me, snowcapped Himalaya
This Ladakh was made for you and me

[repeat chorus]

Then I was climbing that dusty hillside
Following Dorjay, 'cause he's our sensei guide
Is that an ibex? No, it's a rock my friend**
This Ladakh was made for you and me

[repeat chorus]

Next I was crossing that glacial river
Just like a warm bath, no need to shiver
From Hanuma La, the climb is worth the view
This Ladakh was made for you and me

[repeat chorus]

I sat and opened our box lunches
Boiled potato and chocolate Munches(tm)
Hard boiled egg and a mango Frooti(tm)
This Ladakh was made for you and me

[repeat chorus]

*Dorjay claims that the reason we had so much trouble getting into Leh was because the song only takes us to Lamayuru
**Because I insisted on toting binoculars everywhere we go, we often played a game of "find the rare wild animal on the distant mountainside" - which involved spending lots of time staring at tiny patches of the mountain that were slightly darker than the rest of the mountain and seeing if they moved. One person would say, is that an ibex (rare mountain animal related to a goat, but with large, crazy horns)? Then the other would check with the binoculars and always reply, no, it's a rock. We actually did finally see a few real ibex, late in the trek--of course, it was Dorjay that found them and pointed them out to us.

2006-08-17T01:15:00.000-05:00

Same Same But Different

This was the name of a shop in Leh (India), and was also written on the tee shirt of a Thai man on the boat from Chumphon to Koh Tao. I wonder whether it's also a subtle (yet pithily profound) comment on our travels. Everywhere we go--same same but different. Is that what we'll be like when we get back?

2006-08-17T01:14:00.000-05:00

Thank you, Mrs. Marcoccia!

We'll never know why (we asked many times), but Ladakh was insanely popular with French travelers. I wonder if Le Monde's travel section came out with some big story on the wonders of Ladakh, or if some French celebrities came through (we did learn that Richard Gere spent some time at Phugtol Gompa). At any rate, it seemed that at least half the tourists we met along the way were from la belle France. And, sharpening a very old saw in my bag of tricks, I got to bust out my high school French education. I actually managed to have a pretty lengthy conversation with an older Parisian woman who was very impressed with my language skills. She specifically said that I must've had an excellent teacher-so here's a shout out to Madame Marcoccia--if I were back in Ardsley, I'd buy her a diet coke.

2006-08-17T01:13:00.000-05:00

Amul Cheese

India is a fascinating place. Over a billion people, more than 40 official languages, trillions of saris -- and one kind of cheese. Amul Cheese. Amul isn't a flavor--it's the name of the dairy. They also make milk and butter. The closest taste match I can think of for Amul cheese is Laughing Cow--the cheese that comes in those tiny silver-foil wrapped cubes in the US. Sheila and I used to get it at our piano recitals when we were kids. It was a big treat.

Unfortunately, after spending a lot of time with Becca and David in Cambridge, we got exposed to dangerously delicious things with names like Humboldt Fog and Mt. Tam. Now having only one kind of cheese seems like a severe deprivation.

Don't get me wrong. I like Amul cheese, and I ate it plenty on the trek. It conveniently comes in slices, blocks, and in a tin. We had it in sandwiches, mac-and-cheese, omelets, and empanadas (yes, my friends, our sensei Dorjay was able to cross all kinds of cultural and culinary-preparation obstacles to feed us delicious meals on the trek). But cheese variety is definitely something we look forward to having upon our return...

2006-08-17T01:09:00.000-05:00

The Sensei, The Sheik, The Roadrunner, Dr. Livingstone, and Ponyman

After a while, on a 400km trek, you begin to develop a cartoon archetype.

Sonam actually started out as his archetype--Dorjay wouldn't say his name, and only referred to him as "Ponyman" for the first week. "Ponyman says we stay here" or "Ponyman is from Darcha." I forget how we finally discovered his name (not sure if we got it from Dorjay eventually or whether we finally just asked Sonam himself).

Dorjay became the Sensei on Day 3, when he selected the first of many fantastic headgear options. He folded up his kerchief and tied it around his forehead like a headband--looking eerily like Ralph Macchio turned older Karate master. He also began to demonstrate his sensei-like superpowers pretty early in the trip, e.g., his ability to walk at what appears to be a totally relaxed pace and still manage to get a half mile ahead of us on the trail and his ability to cross ice-cold streams in bare feet up to his knees as if he were wading through bathwater.

We didn't realize Jigmet's superpowers until we went to Phugtol Gompa. We left for the Gompa early in the morning, with Dorjay, while Jigmet was still cleaning up the camp. As we were slowly making our way along the narrow, roller-coaster trail cut precariously into a gorge above the river, we looked behind us and saw a dark dot in the distance. A dot that was getting closer and larger at a rate that defied all logic. It was Jigmet--not just walking quickly, but full-throttle sprinting along the trail towards us. Zooming up and down the shear cliffside trail like--well, like the Roadrunner. It really looked like the rest of the world was suddenly paused and Jigmet was in fast-forward. I think India would do a lot better in the Olympics if the country mined the Ladakhi talent. It's unbelievable.

Zach, with his Tilley hat and giant med kit could really only be Dr. Livingstone--he really looked like someone out of a different era on the trek. Zach, Dr. Livingstone, the period trekker.

I became the sheik after I realized (the hard way) that a bandanna covering only my hair was not going to be sufficient sun protection in the middle of July at 12,000 feet. I borrowed Zach's Einstein baseball cap and wore it over the bandanna hanging sheik-style over the sides of my head. I maybe looked more like a mullet rocker than a sheik, but I'm sticking to the latter. Fewer syllables.

I keep imagining a cartoon novel featuring all of us--the sheik, the sensei, Dr. Livingstone, the Roadrunner, and Ponyman--if only I were a better artist...

2006-08-17T01:08:00.000-05:00

My Nemesis: The Sun

As I learned with Coetzee and Jeanne in the rainforest just outside Rio, I don't mind being wet, so long as I'm not cold. And I don't even mind being a little bit cold. But I can't stand being too hot. After several weeks at altitude in July, I know why: the sun is trying to kill me. Steep climbs and endless switchbacks are no problem--unless the sun is blazing down, in which case I'm pretty much pulp in less than two hours. I'm much happier tramping along in the cool rain for 6 hours than being in the midday sun for 20 minutes. Not sure how to account for it genetically, since I'm pretty sure my ancestors spent plenty of time in the sun and heat--but my mom is definitely more of a penguin and I think she passed that on to me.

The clouds, wind, and rain are my allies. The sun is my nemesis.

2006-08-15T00:25:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Bangkok 11 August 2006

Just a few hours in Bangkok before we boarded a bus for Koh Tao. This is the democracy monument in the middle of town at dusk.

Mother's day is celebrated on the Queen's birthday -- we stumbled on public demonstration of support for the holiday.

2006-08-15T00:15:00.000-05:00

Pictures from India -- 9 August 2006

We stopped at Meera's house again in Delhi before heading to Bangkok. Our visit corresponded with Raksha Bandan, an Indian holiday in which sisters give their brothers bracelets, and the brothers give their sisters money. I think the sisters get the better half of the deal.

Meera had a bunch of her neices and nephews over for the celbration.

2006-08-15T00:11:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Ladakh 4

Sheila and Michelle pose in a melting ice bridge between Snertse and Hanuma La.

The Phugtal Gompa (monestary). The tree on top of the cliff is fed by a natural spring which miraculously does not freeze in the winter.

Sheila and Michelle high five from atop the Singge La at nearly 5000 meters.

Dorjay and I sport our fancy hats.

2006-08-15T00:06:00.000-05:00

Two of the young monks we dined with in Lingshet

One of many locally constructed bridges...

My one successful artistic flower-and-mountain picture.

Pony!

Bizarrely heavy rains flooded out the main (and only) vehicular bridge into Leh, so we had to cross the Indus river over this makeshift "footbridge"

2006-08-15T00:02:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Ladakh 2

Here is me at the Phugtal Gompa.

Sonam, the "pony man". His 5 ponies carried all our stuff.

Sheila sipping tea at the Lingshet Gompa, where we sat and had lunch with a dozen 10 year old monks.

2006-08-14T23:49:00.000-05:00

Pictures from Ladakh 1
Here is our trekking group at the Parfi La, 4000 meters more or less. The first pass of the second half of the trip, and the best group photo in my collection.

Jigmet was our assistant guide. The lasting image we'll take is of him running full out along a narrow trail in a gorge to the Phugtal Gompa.

Dorjay our guide cum cook, but more importantly our hiking companion and friend.

Bella with all her hair. It's gone now...

Here's a much better picture of Michelle, Sheila's friend from Brown (who also happens to have the same birthday as Bella!)

2006-08-14T15:00:00.000-05:00

14 August 2006 4PM Koh Tao, Thailand

We passed! Four days of videos, lectures, shallow water, and open water dives and we are certified PADI open water divers. James our instructor is half English, half Swedish. Must be early to mid 20s. When we asked how long he'd been on the island, he said, "Coming up on one year... no, wait... two years. It's hard to keep track of time when every day is a Saturday." He reminds me a bit of Ewan McGregor (sp?). Francine from Germany, recently trained, is our assistant instructor. Can't be older than 22 or 23. Taking a year off to travel, came here to learn scuba, and now is staying on for a few months teaching it. Our core group is Willie, Gillie (Gillian), Julie, and Bella and I. Willie and Gillie are traveling together from Ireland. Not dating - met at a wedding and both headed in this direction. Willie has a poorly healed scar across his left cheek. He was hit in the face with a bottle during a bar fight, and tells me he "left hospital" before it could be fixed properly. Thai doctors in Bangkok would fix it for a few hundred Baht (10s of dollars) but he's used to it and may leave it alone. Gillie doesn't speak much, so her story is a bit less clear. Julie is English, also on gap year, and will head next to Australia. Friendly, outgoing, winning smile.

We may spend a few more days here before moving south to Malaysia. Bella is excited to explore more of the island. I'd be up for more diving, but otherwise would be happy to move on.

2006-08-10T22:13:00.000-05:00

10 August 2006 11:13 PM Bangkok Time

So my idea of a daily blog has fallen a bit flat. No internet access though much of our trek in the Indian Himalaya, a broken palm pilot, and no doubt laziness. I took some notes up through about 5 days of trekking, which I'll append below. I'll fill in as we go!

Currently Bella and I are on our flight from Delhi to Bangkok. The flight is full of Indians, few Thais, handful of white backpackers. Bella is asleep on my lap as I type, my right elbow propped on her shoulder, arching around her head to the keyboard. Out the window is the familiar patchwork of fields you might see anywhere, but the plots are smaller and irregular. In the distance out the left window, to the North, a half dozen snow capped peaks mark the Himalaya.

I am hot, the stale air from the overhead vent blows minimal relief. I smell of mildew. We hand washed all our clothes in Delhi, but they had only an hour to dry outside before the monsoon rumbled to life. A Bollywood ganster spoof plays on the screen. "I want to be a big Don like you, Tony!" "Shut up, Tiny."

I am quietly excited for Bangkok. There will be more parity between Bella and I. In Leh and Delhi, Bella's appearance and her basic knowledge of Hindi made India a bit sheltered for me. More so when with Sheila, who is fluent in Hindi and has internalized the gestures and mannerisms of the locals.

When we arrive in Bangkok, we will track down the local office of our scuba agency and make arrangements to head down to Koh Tao.

2006-07-22T23:00:00.000-05:00

(written 23 July 2006)

I am tremendously behind, so I will have to sum up and some details will be lost. Second day of hike (July 18) we continue along the road until it stops about halfway to Zangskar Sumdo. This road will eventually connect Padum to Darsha, providing winter access to the southern Zanskar Valley and Darsha.

Along the last stretch of road, half a dozen Nepali men move a 3 foot diameter rock with a crowbar. A Siekh man on top of a bull dozer makes deliberate eye contact, then gives me a little bow with his hands palms together.

The last hour of the hike is tremendously hot with direct sun. Bella only in a bandana, and neither of us sunscreen. B gets heat exhaustion and passes out in the tent after we arrive. We consider adding a rest day here, but opt to go as high as Ramjak, and then consider continuing to Chumik Nakpo if Bella is feeling up to it.

Sitting in the tent talking with Dorjay, the ground shakes for 1-2 seconds. I instinctively ignore it, used to passing trucks causing the floor to rumble in the city. Except no road here, no trucks. Dorjay and I exchange wideeyed glances and Dorjay says earthquake. We scurry out of the tent to survey the landscape. No visible avalanche, but I'm left with a visceral understanding that the Himalaya is still rising.

Later in the afternoon, Dorjay calls me asking me for medicine. He brings me a 40ish year old man, and I end up doing a fairly complete history with brief exam. Intermittent RUQ pain worse after eating lasting 4-5 hours. Similar episode 3 years ago, told he had "stones" and needed an operation. Benign exam. I diagnose biliary colic and give him some advil and some oxycodone for his pain. Tell him he needs to go to a doctor. Write a note explaining my H&P and A&P and give it to him with a pictoral explanation of how to take the meds, and send him on his way. His friend then tells me he has worms in his stool. I apologize that I have nothing to give him -- he'll need albendezole or mebendezole which I did not take with.

Third day of hike (July 19) we cross the barai nala and officially enter Ladakh. Up the valley on the south side of the Shingo La to a campsite just south of Chumik Nakpo. Views of Ramjak mt. Bella feeling better and we hike well.

Fourth day of hike (July 20) is cool and rainy. Bella wears wool sweater and refuses to wear any kind of shell layer. Steep hiking past glaciers and at one point 2 dead ponies seen off the trail (not ours!). The Shingo (Shinken) La is windy misty and gorgeous.

I'm breathing hard, feeling the altitude, and Bella has to stop after every 30 or so steps in the steep areas to catch her breath. She complains breifly of chest pain, but this resolves. At the top, Dorjay Jigmet Sonnam and I are exuberant and circle the prayer flags -- Dorjay and Jigmet whoop victorious.

The valley we are in is maybe the most striking I've seen. Below us is Gumburanjan a huge rock face reminiscent of (the big rock in Yosemite made famous by Ansel Adams), while above we can see some of the himalayan peaks.

Fifth day of hike (July 21) we descend the vally to Kargyak. We follow Gumbarajan then pass it. The valley just gets better and better now with Gumbaranjan behind us and Zanskar red mountains ahead. Bella feeling much better and making good pace ahead of me (no pack for her yesterday and today). River crossing thigh deep -- the ponies look like they may fall in! Pass several other groups heading the opposite direction -- B chastises me for always asking where they are from, encourages me to just say Julay (Ladakhi for hello) and not be such an aggressively friendly American.

We arrive at Kargyak and I'm amazed by the Tibettan trappings -- Chortens and mani walls dotting along the valley below us. Walking through town makes me think of something out of Nintendo's Legend of Zelda -- little medieval village with Zanskaris tending the fields (always women) and children being changed and clothed by their mothers.

We camp by the river a bit north of town. After setting camp, I wander to the group of houses nearby. A woman motions to me to help her push barley seeds that had roasted in the sun into a burlap bag. I help her, and a man comes over and helps as well. He asks a bunch of questions, but I don't understand. She has a child on her back, maybe a year old, with sun and wind burnt cheeks. I take their picture with the bags of barley, and I draw them a map showing that I am from New York and they are in Ladakh. Another woman comes over and takes the camera from my hand to examine it. I gently take it back, snap her picture, and show it to her. She is unsure what to make of it.

I say goodbye and continue up into the town. A young man gets my attention "Bonjour" "Hello" I stop and he explains to me in competent English that he is on Summer Break and very bored in his town. He invites me to have tea. I follow him. He ushers me through a door into his house. It is very dark inside, and for a moment, I think perhaps he will kill me. But I press on, and he does not, instead motioning to me to climb stairs into a single room. We talk a bit, exchange addresses, and I take his picture with me in front of his house. He serves me yak's milk curds with tsampa, which is actually quite good.

2006-07-16T23:00:00.000-05:00

(written 17 July 2006)

Much to sum up. Must be brief. Flight to Delhi notable for old ? Russian jet -- broad (3x3x3 seats) and tall ceiling, roomy baggage compartment. Friendly people, older woman next to us returning from visiting family in Canada helped another woman a few seats up with her often crying infant (10mo?). Air conditioning / vent on the *back* of the seat in front to blow in our face. No movie no screen. Arrived at Delhi airport at 3AM, easily found our bags (thank God they all made it) and waited until about 4:30 AM before venturing off. Prepaid taxi voucher, then out. Through a few doors, maybe we'd walked into a large room with no a/c . I looked up and thought the room was too large, that the ceiling looked too much like a... no wait it was - a road, a highway, and a purple black sky peeking out from behind the awning over the exit. After a few steps, I saw the road at our level, taxis lined up and packed with people. Behind the taxis a cow walked along the road, flapping its tail.

With all our bags, and unclear where to get our prepaid taxi, (and my western face) we were accosted by many, and eventually Bella asked a man where to get our prepaid taxi. He pointed the way, and his friends came and carried our bags to the cab. Only had 7 rupees for them, which was too little for their liking.

Arrived at Meera's house by 5ish July 14 near AIIMS the All India Institute of Medical Sciences -- NIH for India. Meera's husband is a biophysicist working on drugs to interrupt lactoferrin in breast cancer. Sheila heard us milling about trying to figure out how to ring the bell and ushered us in. No sleep, we spent the day talking, catching up, meeting with someone from the trek agency (Sharap) wandering into Delhi (Connaught Circle) and then I took a nap while Bella met with someone from Sesame India.

Next day (July 15) I took a run in the AM. Along one of the major roads by McDonalds banks fashion shops and a canal smelling of manure from the dozen cows by its shore. 8PM bus to Manali. Bus trip long and windy, many passengers vomiting, little sleep for us but stomach OK.

In Manali, now AM of July 16, we get out of the bus, stop at a local Tibetan restaurant for some noodles.

Then to the bank to get $ for Sharap. I feel nervous carrying around so much cash - but a cop nearby was suspicious at the amount of time I was at the ATM. He hovered over us while I counted out 25000 rupees (about $550) in 500 note denominations providing some comforting security.

Then Bella and I went off to find a sleeping bag. With Sharap's help, we found the local wholesaler, who ushered us back to his house. Bella picked out a bag, and then we sat and talked with the owner/head of household for a while. He came from Tibet in the 50s when he was 11 years old to flee the Chinese. Settled in Manali, then a small village, but now an increasingly large town for the trekking industry since tourism began 30 yrs ago. He has a porch overlooking mountains and pine trees -- idyllic.

Jeep ride to Darcha bumpy for 6 hours. 2 Indian army checkpoints. Rotung pass. There's one spot where they have paragliding set up -- 500 rupees and then strap you to a parachute, jump off with you in tandem, then float gently to a landing spot maybe 1/4 mile away.

In Darcha, we meet Dorjay our guide cum cook, and Jigmet his assistent. Pony man we meet tomorrow.

Dorjay looks mid 30s, has 10-11 years experience, and has done this trek many times -- when pressed, he admits maybe it has become a bit boring.

Jigmet must be 18-20, 2 years experience, first time Darcha-Lamayuru for him. Set up our tent (we ask them to give back the tent they have already set up for us). We bring the maps to Dorjay and walk through the whole trek -- looks like we walk a bit every day with some days hard, some mellow. Dinner is meat dumplings made in town (momo) and rice and tea (soljat).

Met Greg in nearby tent -- guy from Chicago making similar trek. He asks 3 or 4 times if we are going to take rest days but doesn't look like it after talking with Dorjay.

17 July slept well in the sleeping bags for the fist time, except had to get up at 3AM to pee (Bella and I both) probably because of the acetazolamide, and the occasional rumbling of a car or truck over the bridge near the campsite. In the AM, woke 6-6:30ish. Bella full of energy, me a bit sleepy. Soljat cornflakes peanut butter jelly bread breakfast. We meet Sonam, our pony man. He's been doing this for 30 years.

And then Dorjay Bella and I are off. We hike up the main road a bit, then turn off and climb to a path with a great view of the river Barai Nala. We then join up with the road they are building from Darsha to Padum and follow that (as we will for the rest of today and half tomorrow). Meet up with a large (20ish people) Dutch group. They are very interested in the Editions Olizine maps I obtained. One of the Western leaders Remco Wullems had done the Kang La and Miyar valley and glacier hike some years earlier with Nepali porters, and he said it was amazing. Also suggested the nigutse la variant in the last days of the trek -- 5100 meters and moonscape surroundings, but lots (30) of river crossings. (We'll happily avoid this route - rains would make those river crossings dangerous at best).

We do our first river crossing this day -- shoes off and wade across. Bit scary when the current is high, but the water no higher than mid calf.

Through some towns Chumik and Nakpo, our first Mani wall, noticing trash on the trail. Get to Palamo, and see our first tea tent -- made from parachutes left over from food drop. Soljat, then around the back side of the campground to avoid the mass of Dutch. Lunch in a box: potato, hard boiled egg, jelly sandwich, chocolate bar, and (sorry) I'd crushed the bananas. Set up tent then three hour solid nap.

Greg is here. He is a law professor from Chicago. We talk about using acetazolamide for AMS. He actually pops into our tent during dinner and starts blabbling away to us, without introducing himself (or even greeting) Dorjay or Jigmet. Then sleep again.

2006-07-13T15:30:00.000-05:00

13 July 2006, 4:30 PM Moscow Airport (SVO)

Layover. Uneventful flight from JFK to SVO. We had a row of three middle seats just to the two of us, so got some sleep. Moscow airport, SVO. Two floors of cafes, duty free shops, and waiting. Interesting ceiling - makes me think of a photography paper I wrote as an undergrad about a guy Rodchenko who liked to photograph bridges, steel towers, wire cables.

Shaved my head and my beard by the way.

2006-07-12T17:02:00.000-05:00

JFK Airport - 7 July 2006

You know you've begun an international trip when you start writing the date backwards. It's especially funny today--7/12 or 12/7--the dates for my birthday and my mom's. Yes, I'm leaving the country on my mother's birthday. I gave her a fancy can opener for her new kitchen. She's losing a daughter, but gaining easy access to many canned goods.

I can't believe we're really here. Despite all the planning and preparation, I don't think it really hit me that we were leaving until Monday. Lots of friends and family have been asking whether I'm excited, or whether we're nervous-but nothing really struck the chord until Zach said, "So what are you going to wear on the plane?" Not sure why that of all things did it, but suddenly my eyes went wide and the butterflies erupted in my stomach. We were really, actually going and I had to decide what I was going to wear. On the plane. The day after tomorrow. Well, today.

Anyway, since then, I've been kindof a mess-I can't remember the last time I've been so nervous or excited about anything. I've been staying up until 3 or 4am trying to finish all of our last-minute to-dos, and then opening my eyes at 6am, wide awake with butterflies in my stomach.

2006-07-12T17:00:00.000-05:00

12 July 2006, 6PM EST JFK Airport

Bella and I have arrived at the John F Kennedy International airport - chowed down on some sushi, and watching squalls drench the grounds crew on the tarmac. It's been "can't wait!" and "I'm so excited!" for so long, now that we're actually here, it's a bit unreal. There's a comfort about being in the States where everything is in English and the expressions on people's faces are familiar - but it's impossible to appreciate that familiarity until you've been away. Which I haven't at this point.

Aeroflot flight 316 boarding at gate 3. Gotta go.

2006-07-11T23:00:00.000-05:00

July 12, 2006 Ardsley, NY

After planning and planning for a looong time, some things are meticulously in order and ready to go - e.g., the huge travel pharmacy bearing the absurdly understated title of "med kit" is probably Zach's favorite thing about the trip so far. We've spent many hours and dollars researching and buying everything from packs to underwear to duct tape. In a not-atypical fashion, we left a few things to the end-we ordered an international plug set, my sleeping bag, and a gps to be delivered this past week. Armed with tracking numbers and earnest guarantees that our final items would arrive in time, we headed up to Connecticut to spend the day before we left with Zach's parents.

You know this isn't going to have a happy ending already, don't you?

I have to start with the sleeping bag, because it's the thing I was probably most excited about-I spent weeks researching online, looking for the lightest, most highly recommended bag. The Western Mountaineering Ultralight got rave reviews everywhere, but the cost was huge-so I spent more weeks debating whether we should spend the money. After making the decision, Zach and I both spent time finding a place to buy the bags-Bob's Wilderness House in Boston promised us the bags were due in "next week" for about a month, until we finally gave up and decided to order online. More time researching online retailers, trying to find a good price and good customer service record. After some promising exchanges with Tim Harris at Hermit's Hut, Zach placed the order with them. Zach's bag arrived promptly, and Tim promised mine was on the way direct from Western Mountaineering-and he was including a free travel pillow and nalgene bottle. It was the end of June when we had this exchange with Hermit's Hut, and while we were nervous about how close we were cutting it with an essential item, Tim assured us we'd have the bag on time and we received the UPS tracking number so we could follow it's progress across the country. I was sweating a little when I realized the bag was due to arrive the day before we left, but when I saw that the UPS truck had left at 7am to deliver the package to my parents' house, I figured I was safe. When we were up in Connecticut and I checked that the package had indeed been delivered, I felt assured. When I got home late Tuesday night and saw the small size of the box, I got nervous. I rationalized that the sleeping bag packs down really small. But Zach's had come in a box about 10 times as big. I opened the box and stared at my free nalgene bottle and travel pillow. No bag in sight. It was midnight in NY, and 9pm in California, where Hermit's Hut is. I left a frantic message on their answering machine, but knew I wouldn't be able to talk to anyone until noon Eastern the next day-that would be 3 hours before we were supposed to leave for the airport. Suddenly it dawned on me that the bag was supposed to be coming directly from Western Mountaineering, the manufacturer. I googled their address and phone number. Also in California. No answering machine. Dammit.

This is probably a good time to add that the GPS never arrived, and the plug set included 2 coverters for Sweden, 2 for Denmark, 2 for the South Pacific, and one for South Africa. Amazingly, though we are traveling around the world, exactly zero of these plugs is useful for us. Disbelief gave way to frustration, anger, and panic.

Then I had a revelation-this is the trip. This kind of disaster and disappointment is going to happen often. This was like a little sign from the travel gods saying, "get used to it." And also, a reminder that while it's important to be prepared, really the trip is not about having all the right stuff. Then it was funny, and I remembered all the crazy scrapes we got into on various journeys and jobs, and remembered that we were good at improvising and being flexible. We'd figure it out.

On Wednesday morning, I got through to the Western Mountaineering warehouse (Sarah, you're not the only person who has to be at work at 6am!) and the woman said that while she had the order for my bag (and while the bag was ready and sitting in her warehouse), she had never been given a shipping address to send it to. So the miracle delivery of my bag on the day I departed was not going to happen. While I waited for Hermit's Hut to open, I called around to see if any stores carried my bag. Unfortunately, mine was special ordered short, and the stores that had bags only had longs. No dice. When we finally got through to Hermit's Hut (three hours before we were leaving for the airport), they agreed to get the bag from Western Mountaineering and express ship it to India. I still won't have it for the Himalaya trek (which is probably where I need it most), but at least I'll have it for the rest of the journey. I'm going to rent a bag for the Himalaya-which is a little sad but really fine. As my mom insists, all the college kids in India do that when they go trekking.

As for the plugs and GPS, we picked up cheaper, simpler versions of our initial picks before we left. And we're off.

2006-06-24T16:44:00.000-05:00

Test entry. Hello world! We're soon off to meet you!

Zach