The ESC Key

The Last Hurrah... [Bangkok, Thailand]

2010-12-15T22:53:00.000-08:00

To quickly summarize since our last post:

We hung out on Koh Phi Phi and took it easy, hoping to soak up enough rays to last us through the harsh Canadian winter we're about to face *dun dun DUN*. We were able to go diving one last time, which was terrific because one of the sites was a shipwreck that had sunk about ten years prior. No sunken treasure or grinning skulls, but there was a toilet. Good to see that if you're diving and you gotta go, you have options (there is an ancient scuba diver saying: "there are those that pee in their wetsuit, and there are those that lie about it"). There was tons of fish life and, along with cuttlefish, ghost fish (related to the seahorse) and squid, we saw Three leopard sharks. Or else the same leopard shark three times. Either way, it was very cool.

And now we're in Bangkok, shopping our brains out and preparing for our journey home. Cheesy as it may sound, it has to be said: what a long strange trip it's been. To everyone we've met on the road: thank you for making this a better year than we could have possibly imagined. And to everyone we left behind: we can't wait to see you again. While the shock of it is still setting in, and it will probably take a few days for us to actually wrap our heads around everything that's happened in 2010, we are starting to have a few realizations about all that we've seen and experienced. The obvious is that we are so much luckier in so many ways that we could ever have imagined, and there is so much (and so many people) that we take for granted. Additionally, life is what you choose to make it, and there are so many more adventures waiting to be had...

Love to all,
S and $.

The Next-To-Last Hurrah...

2010-12-09T07:13:00.000-08:00

After doing absolutely nothing on Koh Lanta for a week or so, we headed off to Singapore where we... well, continued to do absolutely nothing.

In our defense, we did get out that first night and most of the second day to do our usual new-city-wanderings. The city went right over the top with a dazzling X-mas light display that lit up the streets like... well, you know. It was pretty, although we didn't know that hot pink was a traditional X-mas colour (nor that X-mas trees came in Tiffany's-box-blue), but there is something weird about hearing Mariah Carey's holiday cd being pumped inside Starbucks while wandering the streets in flip flops.

Singapore, we concluded, would be Ned Flanders' utopia. Okay, perhaps it's missing a church and a left-handed store on every block, but other than that it's modern, efficient, and so clean you could probably give birth in the middle of the street without fear of infection. It also boasts to be one of the safest cities in the world. This is probably due to its incredibly harsh judicial system, which still implores the death penalty for ANY drug offense and hands out fines, jail time and medieval-style lashings (yes, Lashings) for anything from chewing gum to eating on the subway. Although we did see a few high school girls imbibing a couple of Smarties while on the metro--those hooligans!!

Unfortunately, all this sanitation and law-abiding makes Singapore feel somewhat... well, soulless. Wandering around, each of the ethnic neighbourhoods seems remarkably like the others, except for the physical skin colour of the inhabitants. Perhaps this is partially due to the fact that a large part of the population are young urban professionals who move to Singapore for a couple of years to make money before returning to their own country to start a family. As a result, there are plenty of hip shopping malls and somewhat pretentious clubs, but little true character. The affluence, both of the individuals and the city itself, is visible everywhere--from the $14 cocktails to the immaculate gardens. It's almost a strange sight, after nearly a year of traipsing around Nepal, India, Cambodia, etc.

In any case, we actually spent the majority of our time in Singapore sitting in a modern, air conditioned apartment watching cheesy wedding shows and eating ice-cream. So I suppose we can't complain Too much...

Since then, we've come to Koh Phi Phi. Normally, we'd be running around doing the usual ridiculous things that tourists do on Thai islands, but unfortunately our bodies appear to have given up on us and we're both down with head colds. However, we can't complain Too much--we've had an excellent run in southeast Asia.

See you all very soon!!

Enjoying Quiet Evenings Drinking Camomile Tea Over Scrabble...

2010-11-29T03:25:00.000-08:00

...er, or something like that.

From Cambodia, we hit up Koh Tao, which was in the midst of doing its best "Lost City of Atlantis" impression when we arrived. Fortunately, after a few days the rains and flooding subsided (not before washing many a flip flop out to sea) and we were able to sneak in at least a few days of sunshine. Our main raison d'etre in Koh Tao (other than keeping the local bar economy in good working order) was to complete our Advanced Level diver's course. What actually ended up happening was that Sara completed our Advanced Level diver's course for the two of us, and I showed up and smiled when appropriate. Thanks, Sara :) The diving conditions weren't the greatest (of course, we now consider ourselves to be right spoiled dive brats after the Philippines and especially Flores), but despite that we still had one of the greatest diving experiences to date during our night dive:

It was absolutely unreal. Chaos at first as we descended into the depths. You couldn't see Anything; you may as well have been launching yourself down a black hole, nay for the small circles of light illuminated by yours and your fellow divers' torches. As a result, you experienced your world as a mosaic of beacons of fish and coral amidst the blackness. It was completely disorienting and bizarre and really should have scared the wetsuits off us, but for some reason we felt so calm, so relaxed. But the absolute best part took place when we all switched our torches off and, completely engulfed in blackness, we played in the bioluminessence. Billions upon billions of green sparkles twinkled and swirled around us, as though the galaxy itself was dancing for us. We flipped and spun and flapped our arms like idiots, giddy at what is truly one of the most simultaneously exciting and humbling sights we have ever seen. Our instructor wiggled so hard that soon we were able to see him completely silhouetted in green sparkles. It was by far one of--if not the most--incredible experiences we'd had in the last ten months. Eat your heart out, Discovery Channel.

From Koh Tao, we went to Koh Phangan for the Full Moon party. And there was enough hedonism going on to make the ancient Greeks themselves blush. The parties on the beach lasted until dawn, and boasted massive mounds of foam bubbles, giant slides, tightrope walkers, fire twirlers, fire skipping rope (which I learned the hard way not to play with... fortunately, Sara was there yet again to save the day with ointment and bandages--really, I don't think a year with me actually counts as a year "off" from nursing), various dancing stages blasting different songs (or rather, the same eight songs at different times), and of course more bars selling plastic pails of vodka-redbull than you could shake a body-paint-covered-paintbrush at. From what we can recall of it, it was an excellent week, especially since we were able to meet up with friends from Cambodia.

Since then, we have dragged our battered bodies to Koh Lanta, which is far more chilled out and an excellent place to recover. We have spent the last few days moving only from the poolside to the restaurant to the masseuse's table, popping vitamins like candy. As our visas expire shortly, we're off to Singapore in a few days ("what do you mean, we need to wear SHOES?!?!?!") and then it's back to the beach before we return to snowy Toronto (yes, we've seen the recent photos!!). And as much as we are enjoying our final days of sea and sun, we are really missing you all and can't wait for big hugs at the airport.

Lots of love,
S and $.

''May we have some peanut butter with this jelly...fish?" And other antics in Cambodia

2010-11-07T22:40:00.000-08:00

So:

After Siem Reap, we hopped on a boat and spent six hours passing floating villages while we sunbathed on the roof and dodged the branches of watertrees that whipped at us and showered us with ants. This was in order to arrive in Battambang, which is not an Italian pizzaria as the name may suggest, but rather a small town nestled amdist rice fields where headscarved peasants laboured beneath sun and dust and lush forests concealing thousands of unexploded landmines. As per usual, there were more temples than you could shake a stick (of incense) at.

We visited the Killing Caves, which is where Khmer Rouge soldiers would throw the dead (or dying) bodies of bludgeoned victims. Shafts of sunlight illuminated a platform where an old man knelt by a large golden Buddha selling sticks of incense to be lit in solomn tribute. A glass case nearby housed the shattered skulls and bones of victims. A natural stone staircase led down into the belly of the damp cave, illuminated only by the flickering candles we held, and it would have been an incredibly chilling experience had a young boy not skipped head, his mother yelling at him to for-goodness'-sakes-be-CAREFUL while her cellphone chirped a tinkly tune. Thus, Cambodia: past and present.

Next, we explored one of the many temples, the grounds of which actually included a labrynth of small caves, each concealing a golden Buddha in its shadows. Our guides included two local boys as well as a chainsmoking monk-turned-photographer-turned-model, Mr. Ned (no, seriously), who commandered our cameras and insisted our journey be documented every fifteen feet.

From Battambang, we endured an incredibly long bus journey (made especially arduous by the Cambodian wedding kareoke vidoes played at top volume on repeat) to Sihanoukville. Sihanoukville is a beach town, and we took full advantage by befriending a group of fellow backpackers, soaking up the sun, enjoying the nightlife, and doing absolutely nothing of any cultural value whatsoever. Jet skis, inflatable bouncy floaty things to flip off of, endless movie afternoons, Halloween celebrations (for which Sara was the white ninja and I was Facebook), boat cruises, artery-clogging Western cuisine; it was grand.

One (mis)adventure to note was when one of our friends, while attempting to drown another friend, was suddenly smoten by karma and stung by a white jellyfish the size of a beachball. Awful as it was at the time, there's something undeniably funny about a twenty-something-year-old Irish man lying on the beach screaming at the top of his lungs: "For f***'s sake, somebody wee on me!!!" In fact, the only thing that could've (and did) top it was the English girl who loyally squatted and proved her friendship in front of a beach full of slack-jawed onlookers. Of course, as it turns out, peeing on a jellyfish sting--contrary to what that episode of 'Friends' may have led us to believe--actually doesn't help in the slightest. But it does make for a great Facebook status. Fortunately, our friend was alright in the end (if not slightly smelly), though the lashes on his legs remained ugly and bleeding for days and will certainly leave some fierce battle scars.

Eventually, we managed to drag ourselves away from our new friends and our life of hedonism and hit up Phnom Penh, Cambodia's capital. There, the mood of our trip took a drastic turn as we visited the Killing Fields, the spot where approximately 20 000 Cambodians were executed during the Khmer Rouge war. If you ignore the 17-level glass stupah housing skulls and bones, the area looked almost like a golf course, covered in grassy dips. These dips, however, were mass graves--the largest of which held 450 bodies that had been forcefully decomposed with DDT. In one, all the bodies had been decapitated; another was filled with naked women and children. There was the tree where babies and small children had been literally smashed to death against--a few teeth remained at its base. As we walked, we could see bits of clothing poking up through the dirt. Apparently, every time it rained, maintenance had to go through and collect bones and other bits that were washed to the surface. In fact, half of the area remained a swamp; graves that hadn't yet been exhumed. However, possibly the worst element of the place was the strange smell that lingered over the area, and the hundreds of flies buzzing about incongruously.

We also went to S-21, a highschool turned interrogation camp where victims were tortured for information under orders of the Pol Pot regime. Classrooms had been divided into tiny cells with wood or bricks. Any open area on the upper floors was concealed behind barbed wire to prevent victims from committing suicide by jumping. Shackles remained, as did the mugshots of the over five thousand victims (including children) who passed through--like the Nazis, the Khmer Rouge kept detailed records of those kept in the camps. There were also grainy photos of the dead, as they had been found.

Something that struck us about both the Killing Fields and S-21 was how fresh it all still felt. While obviously the majority of the carnage had been cleared away, the fact that there were still bones on the ground and stains on the wall voiced the fact that this was not Long Long Ago, legends of evil men in evil times, but rather atrocities that had been committed just over the shoulder of time. And the survivors of this holocaust were not frail grandmothers with unwravelling minds, but rather Average Joes who continue to drive the tuk-tuks that tourists take to visit these places. You could write off why the spots haven't been totally cleaned up and fully transformed from 'Site' to 'Museum' (as now they linger somewhere between the two) as due to slow Cambodian progress--but perhaps it's almost intentional, a way of reminding everyone of just how recent this was, of how it occurred not in another time but in OUR time.

Today we fly to Bangkok, leaving behind jellyfish-ridden beaches, historical grounds, vogue-ing monks, great friends, and some of the coolest temples we have ever seen. So long, Cambodia--it's been awesome! :)

Angkor What? [Cambodia]

2010-10-26T03:55:00.000-07:00

But first: before we left Chiang Mai, we did a day trip around the area. As well as hiking, riding elephants, visiting an orchid farm, and partaking in something that was less whitewater rafting and more brownwater rafting, we visited the Long Neck tribe. Originally from Burma, the women coil gold around their necks in order to crush their collarbones and shoulders to give the illusion of a longer neck. The first coil is applied at five years old, and is changed to a longer one every five years until the age of twenty five. The coils are seen as a status symbol; they make the women desirable. It was pretty odd to see, these girls tottering around like petite giraffes. Unfortunately, the visit itself was a bit awkward--we did not go into the village, but instead wandered around a collection of stalls where they were selling their wares. You could tell that they were pretty bored of tourists showing up and snapping photos, and somewhat disgruntled at the fact that we were more interested in their necks than the scarves they were selling (now, the question is, were the scarves longer than regular scarves as well? We'll never know...)

After a succession of epic bus journeys, we made it from Thailand to Siem Reap in Cambodia. You could tell immediately that Cambodia is not nearly as wealthy as its neighbour--the roads are often dirt, and kids try desperately to sell cheap bracelets, or beg for food outside the 7-11. It's difficult to watch. Similarly difficult is the number of musicians lacking limbs playing for change--victims of Cambodia's landmines, hundreds of which remain unexploded in the countryside, making a walk off the beaten path an extremely dangerous undertaking. We also noticed how many young Cambodians there are: the average age for the country is just twenty two! This, of course, is largely due to the horrific war involving the Khmer Rouge in the 70s.

We had come to Siem Reap for the same reason that everyone does--to temple-hop--and we began with the granddaddy of them all: Angkor Wat. The size was what struck us initially. It would be a massive structural complex had it been created now--being built nearly a thousand years ago just made that all the more impressive. With three large towers and detailed bas-reliefs, it was originally created as a Hindu place of worship, but over the years shifted to encompass Buddhism as well (Buddhism being the official religion of Cambodia). It had been quite well-maintained, and reminded us a lot of Borobudur on Java.

Next, we visited the temples in Angkor Thom which, although they aren't nearly as famous nor as large as the temples in Angkor Wat, absolutely trumped their more famous counterpart in our eyes. One temple was covered in towers on which four large-and-in-carved faces of Buddha watched serenely over the four directions. Another temple had been completely taken over by moss and trees, with roots as fat as anacondas slithering between the cracks and draping over doorways like curtains. These temples hadn't been as protected over the years--piles of stones lay as rubble as walls collapsed beneath the elements, and the ceilings looked as though they could give way at any moment. In any other country, these places would have been surely condemned, left as the luxury of hard-hatted and well-insured anthropologists. But hey, welcome to Cambodia. In fact, there were moments where these temples appeared almost "too" ancient-ruins-ish, as though they were right off the set in Indiana Jones. Incidentally, the movie Tomb Raider was filmed at one of the sites we visited.

When we first arrived in Siem Reap, we were worried that we'd been templed out over the last eight months, spoiled, and that we wouldn't appreciate these places for what they are. And, admittedly, Angkor Wat did feel somewhat like that. But these smaller temples were truly awe-inspiring and magnificent; reaching above and beyond any expectation we may have held for them.

Of course, we celebrated this beauty by taking tons of ridiculous posed photos with a Dutch guy we met. Hey, can you think of a better way to show your appreciation for some of the finest religious architecture in the world than re-enacting ninja fights? We thought not.

Lions and Tigers and Bea--No, Seriously, TIGERS. [Chiang Mai, Thailand]

2010-10-16T06:00:00.000-07:00

We've been in Thailand now nearly a week and, as it turns out, there's more to this country than golden buddhas and bling'ed out ladyboys.

First, we took part in something called Flight of the Gibbon. Weirdly, it involved neither flying nor gibbons. Instead, it comprised of numerous zip lines running between platforms just below canopy-level of the rainforest. They'd hook you on and watch you scream as you went zip(line)ing past the leaves with a wedgie of thunderous porportions, hoping you didn't take a branch to the face. Great times, we swear.

Next, we did something that, one day, we will gather our grandchildren around our rocking-chair (which surely will be "hover" by then) and regale them with, probably for the hundreth time: We crawled into a pen with live tigers!! No, it was not some sort of grandiose suicide stunt. We were at the Tiger Kingdom, which was created both as a sanctuary for the animals and to allow tourists to engage in such shanigans. There were four different pens we (nervously) entered. The first consisted of newborns, who were approxamitely the same size as spoiled housecats; the second were 6 mo.s and about the size of very large dogs; the third were a year and about the size of circus ponies; and the fourth were full grown at two years, and about the size of... er... couches. [Yikes]. Most of the tigers were dozing as it was the heat of the day, which made it easier to crawl up to them and lie on them (yes, ON them) for photos. However, unlike the Tiger Temple in Bangkok where tigers are chained and sedated, these fantastical felines wereneither. We saw many playing around and jumping on each other and doing whatever it is tigers do when they're not posing for BBC documentaries. The entire time, we couldn't help thinking to ourselves: how the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is this LEGAL?? And, more importantly, does our health insurance cover this?? Told you this was a story for the grandkids. Of course, by then they'll all have robo-tigers as pets and it won't be nearly as exciting, but hey.

Today, we decided that we'd had enough adrenalin for a little while and decided to go for something a little more mom-approved: Thai cooking class. What can we say other than *lip smacking noise*? It began with a trip to the market where we learned about local veggies and herbs. Then, in the small kitchen in the garden we cooked--nay, we birthed! we breathed life into!--the following: pad-thai, chicken/tofu and coconut soup (which was really unusual but delicious), fried spring rolls, fresh spring rolls, prawn salad, papaya salad, red curry, Thai peanut curry, and banana/pumpkin in coconut milk for dessert. And, we're proud to report that nobody was poisoned and/or set on fire :) Actually, the meals were absolutely scrumptious, and we were stuffed to the sinuses by the end.

Wherever We Go, There We Are... or something like that.

2010-10-12T06:27:00.000-07:00

Firstly, apologies regarding the slack in the blog department... (I'm typing, Sara, I'm typing!! Please, put down the rolled up newspaper!! *thwack* ...just kidding)

Since our last post, we crossed over from Indonesian Borneo to the Malaysian side. What a difference. Suddenly, everything became... shiny. On the one hand, we felt we'd lost a bit of the "roughin'-it" backpacker points. On the other hand, there was a Pizza Hut. Tough call. We didn't spend much time in M. Borneo. Just long enough to go for a hike in Bako National Park and watch the one-clawed crabs wrestle each other like football hooligans in a pub, and swap ghost stories with the locals in the hostel (can you guess which one of us slept soundly that night and which one was too scared to get up and go to the bathroom?).

From there, we flew to KL for a couple days. And we're not embarrassed to admit that the highlight was our trip to the mall where we ran around blowing soap bubbles and giving ourselves make-overs with the testers from the make-up counter. Looking primped and pimpin', we flew to Laos. Funny: while filling out our arrival cards, we discovered--to some unease and awkwardness--that one of the questions they asked was "race." Most people cheated and wrote what country they were from, but we all knew what they were really asking (esp. because "nationality" was already on there). Props to the Irish dude who was the only one who had the guts to write "white."

After landing in the capital of Vietiane, we took a bus straight to Vang Vieng. Sara, being the brave and athletic one, decided to play Spider-Man and do a bit of rock climbing (while I, the wimpy one, stayed in bed feeling "iffy"). But even she, with her Amazonian-woman strength and gibbon-like nimbleness, reported it to be "terrific, but freakin' HARD dude!!" We also went tubing which is where, essentially, you float down the river in a giant inner tube. There are bars on either bank which throw lines and tow you in for a drink or twelve. Ridiculous? Perhaps. Ridiculously AWESOME? Indeed. Unfortunately, riding the river is not without cost. I had injured my toenail about a month ago when I was suddenly sprung upon by a highly aggressive rock on Komodo Island (okay, okay, so I kicked it, whatever) and whilst mid-tube my toe and nail decided to part ways. Sara promises it'll grow back, but then sniggers in a way that makes me somewhat suspicious of her claims... hey Sar, if it doesn't, can I have one of yours?

Next was Luang Prabang (aren't Laosian names fun?), which as a town consists of monks in marigold-coloured togas scurrying quietly between French colonial architecture while women hawk fruit smoothies, paper lanturns and cloth watches at the night market. Actually, we went a little overboard at said night market (in retrospect, I suppose I really didn't Need five lanturns... hey, Sara bought Pillow Cases!!!) and then realised it was going to cost $80 to mail $25 worth of stuff home. *ahem* Needless to say, there were a few unanticipated gifts left for our guesthouse owner.

From there, we took a slow boat down the Mekong River for two days to the Thai border. The slow boat is sort of like one really long veranda, and all the seats have been taken from a Honda minivan. Strange. The scenery was gorgeous; hills of lush jungle, small villages with thatch-roofed homes on stilts, naked children bathing on the banks, women standing fully clothed chest-deep fishing with large Chinese-style nets. After crossing the boarder, we headed straight for Chiang Mai, which is where we are now. And, while the rest of you were sitting down to your turkey and stuffing, we celebrated Thanksgiving with a plate of pad-thai eat... just like the pilgrims did, right?

Old Men in Trees: Orang-Utans in Indonesian Borneo

2010-09-25T23:41:00.000-07:00

Indonesian Bus Translation Guide, as follows:

"13 hours" read: 23 hours

"Luxury seats" read: until the bus breaks down at four a.m. and you're stuffed into the local bus with a motorcycle in your lap

*Not mentioned: the fact that Indonesian pop music will be blasting at full volume for the entire duration of your journey. Are you familiar with Indonesian Celine Dion? No? We are.

Anyway...

One way or another, we made it to Tanjung Puting National Park where orang-utans roam (or swing) wild (note: orang-utans are only found on Borneo and Sumatra). We hired a houseboat for three days and were soon drifting downriver deep into the heart of the jungle. There were a few feral orang-utans along the banks, though most of them wriggled back into the bushes when they saw our boat approaching to watch with wary eyes from behind the leaves. The majority of the primates we actually caught a good look at were at the Dr. Louis Leaky Sanctuary, where injured or sick orang-utans were fed and cared for until they could be re-released. These furry little poo-slingers were used to humans and would come right up and touch you (sometimes inappropriately), though could still be aggressive when provoked. (*Note: we didn't actually see any poo-slinging taking place, but there was a mischievous twinkle in their eyes) As they were fed on a regular schedule, it was easy to catch sight of them stuffing their faces with bananas while the braver squirrels Mission: Impossible'd in to teef the occasional snack.

Something that struck us about the 'utans was how human-like they truly were. There are some people who insist on the very close links between people and primates (other than the obvious) but it wasn't until we came up close and personal with them that we actually saw how strong the connection was. The way they moved, their mannerisms and their facial expressions were uncannily people-like. You suddenly get why orang-utan is a literal translation of "old man of the forest." For instance: one stole an umbrella from someone and opened it up immediately and held it above his head. Then, he strolled off with it, twirling it merrily (and tried to bite when the guide attempted to retrieve it, which is something I'd certainly think of doing if somebody tried to steal MY umbrella in the rainforest). Another one stole a guide's bag when it actually was raining and held it above his head to stay dry, occasionally looking up and sighing in the "Is this weather ever going to lift?" way. We're not sure if that bag ever was reclaimed--surely the orang-utan has racked up quite the bill on eBay purchases by now. But more than even those gestures, it was the eyes of the primates that did it. When they looked at you, you'd swear there was some level of comprehension, some acknowledgment of fellowship...

And it is precisely that personification that makes them a little... spooky. You find yourself assuming that they possess these people qualities without really thinking about it, which leaves you with an underlying feeling of trust towards them. And it is easy to see where that trust comes from. The way they sit lazily scratching themselves and stuffing their faces with bananas, they seem more like a barely-housebroken uncle than a wild animal. But they can in fact be very dangerous, and can suddenly lunge and snap--why, what mighty big teeth you have, grandma!

Both of us were touched by an orang-utan ("Touched by an Orang-Utan": rejected series spin-off from "Touched by an Angel"). It gave Sara's leg a good squeeze, and couldn't figure out what my hip bone was--it kept reaching into my hoodie pocket to see if I was hiding something in there (even the orang-utans think I'm too skinny!). We were both amazed by the sheer strength of the animals. Yet another reason to be wary of them. Essentially, we concluded that they are like people with no inhibitions. Think of all the times you've wanted to bite or scratch someone (or, yes, maybe even fling a little poo from time to time), and suddenly it makes sense why you shouldn't get too close.

Other highlights of our jungle adventure: seeing monkeys that are commonly known as "tourist monkeys" due to their pink faces and long noses. In fact, when you catch one on profile it really does look like a little person with a bad haircut. Also, when chatting with our guide over dinner, we asked him what he thought was the strangest western food. His response? "Sandwiches." He then proceeded to ask if subways were real, or just legend...

Welcome to the jungle.

Smoking Skulls, Animal Sacrifices, and Stella Ella Ola: Life in the Long House (Indonesian Borneo)

2010-09-18T04:30:00.000-07:00

No, seriously.

When we arrived in Borneo nearly a week ago, we saw one other westerner deplane with us--and haven't seen another since. Needless to say, with the number of photos we've posed for with smiling babies in hand, I'm thinking we're well set for seasonal hire as Christmas Santas at the mall...

The first thing we noticed about Borneo was that it was far more developed that we'd expected. I'm not sure what I was thinking we'd find--tribesmen in loin cloths eyeing our scalps with spears in hand whilst orang-utans scatter like pigeons in Chinatown (come on, what do YOU think of when you think of Borneo?)--but it certainly wasn't the modern, oil-wealthy city that we landed in. And so we immediately went looking for adventure...

We began by taking a bus on a winding dirt road through jungle thick as an Italian's chesthair to a smaller town. At this point, I'd like to say that Borneans (Borneoions? Bornites? Those who are Born?) are quite possibly some of the nicest people on earth--regardless of the fact that most of them have English skills rivaling our Indonesian skills (we asked at a small roadside restaurant if anyone spoke English, and they were nearly in tears from laughing so hard). When we first arrived, a gaggle of hijab-clad women, giggling and whispering behind shy palms, spent the entire mini-bus ride with us trying to help us figure out where we were going. Amidst broken English, broken Indonesian, possibly some Spanish (I swear I heard an "Aye carumba!" in there), and a LOT of hand gesturing, they managed to pass on a lot of great advice on the area as we drove towards our hotel. Once we checked in, there was yet another gaggle (this time of men--a maggle, perhaps?)who spent over an hour sitting with us, listening intently to our vision of our travel, and helping us plan the best possible route. One very generous man even drove us to the dock to check boat times for the following day--and as if that weren't enough, the next morning he was waiting for us just as we left our hotel to escort us personally to the boat, but not before he'd treated us to breakfast first. We were truly amazed; especially since we didn't experience such hospitality in the rest of the country. Perhaps because Borneo does get so few tourists (and significantly fewer after previous internal struggles have left travellers wary of the area), the locals aren't accustomed or jaded to us, and are eager to show off their home.

Anyway, we then boarded a long boat and set sail fifteen hours up river to where people lead more traditional lives. A long boat is, quite literally, a very long boat. Only about fifteen feet wide but at least fifty feet long, it's made of wood with small bunks up top and festival seating down below, and buckles dramatically in the middle in a way that is both unnerving and exhilerating.

On the way, we passed houses lining the shore made of crude planks of wood perched above the water on stilts. Small docks jutted forward (beneath which, we later learned, were little fish farms) upon which people washed clothing or themselves, and sold vegetables, and chatted with each other. An outhouse stood at the end of each dock, awkward yet sort of funny in its incovertness.

Needless to say, our caucasian celebrity-like status followed us onto said long boat, where nearly a hundred Indonesian faces would turn to watch us walk to the bathroom (during which moments it indeed felt like a VERY long boat). Yes, incidentally, white girls do need to pee too. However, we soon made friends with a woman who was married to a westerner (westerner not present) whose stop was before ours but who arranged for her brother (who was getting off at the same place we were) to make sure we arrived safely at a hotel, as it would be around 3 am. Sara also got to chatting with another Indonesian who spoke English, and as it turned out he was staying at the same place we were. The next day, he took it upon himself to arrange for us a vehicle to show us the area and take us to a long house, which is what we really wanted to see. Honestly, these people must be longtime descendents of Carebears of something...

The next morning, after being taken by an orchid reserve ironically devoid of orchids (don't ask) and the ol' neighbourhood waterfall, we were driven to a small hamlet about an hour outside of Melak in search of a long house (long boat? Long house? Is it just me, or does Borneo seem to be compensating for something? *ahem*). A long house is the traditional manner of communal living which is still quite popular in rural areas. As with the long boat, the long house is exactly what you'd expect it to be. About seventy five feet long and thirty wide, it is made of rough wood planks and houses over ten families. The families each have their own room, and there is also a large communal space running the length of the house. The entire structure is balanced (somewhat precariously, in our opinion) on stilts about twelve feet high, beneath which scurry and squawk an array of cats, dogs, chickens, pigs, and the occasional small child.

We rolled up and were introduced to Linus, former resident of the long house (he nows lives in a regular house, which itself is actually quite long, next door), headmaster of the local school, and--most importantly--English speaker. Without exaggeration, the conversation went as follows:

"Hi! We're from Canada. Uhhhh, we were wondering if we could see your long house?"

"Sure. Would you like to spend the night?"

"Is that possible?"

"No problem. There's currently a ceremony going on at the long house, so it's better that you sleep at my place. I'm Linus. What are your names?"

And that was that. He dismissed all offers of monetary compensation, showed us where to leave our stuff, and invited us to join the meal el fresco of rice and (for the omnivores) fish.

The scene inside the long house was like something out of National Geographic. Two men sat chanting into a kareoke microphone on behalf of the ceremony (more on that later) while others lazed about, nearly all with cigarettes in their mouthes, blue smoke curling and unfurling in shafts of late afternoon sunlight. Babies waddled and chewed on things. Some women wove baskets out of reeds while others texted on their cell phones. Old men sat in impossible crossed legged positions and grinned gummily at one another. Children played undescernable games and ran about, jumping over the babies. There was a game of chess being played in one corner, and a large instrument not unlike the precursor to pot-lid-drums was being played in another.

Of course, as soon as we came in we drew everyone's interest. But no one was able to talk to us, save a young girl who didn't actually live in the long house but was currently visiting relatives, and she soon after we arrived. The children came up to us one by one, curiously, and it wasn't long before we had a semi-circle of nearly a dozen of them sitting before us, waiting for us to do... something. Anything. Other than just sit there and, you know, be white.

We made two important discoveries in that long house. One, candy is enough to win over just about anybody. And two, the best method to world peace is definitely DEFINITELY through Stella Ella Ola.

Now, back to the ceremony that was taking place:

A very important member of the long house had recently died, and the twenty one days following his death (during which time our visit fell) were dedicated to honouring his life. This resulted both in the chanting and the drumming, as well as a large... thing... hanging from the ceiling. We're not sure what it was exactly; it looked like some sort of arts and crafts project, with glittery paper made into simple oragami shapes and god's eyes woven out of sticks and colourful yarn, tiers of painted wooden boxes apparently housing the skeletal remains of the deceased, and a collection of rose patterned china plates suspended from the ceiling. Whatever it was, it was very impressive.

That evening, the ceremony came into full swing. As members of the long houses (and their guests, for the place was bustling with relatives who had come in for the occasion) sat alongside the walls, first the men and then the women danced down the center of the longhouse to thundering drumbeats, adorning fancy headdresses. When it was the women's turn, we were completely caught off-guard when we were suddenly pulled to our feet and pushed into the commotion. An even bigger shock came just a few minutes later when we were asked, through a series of giggles and hand gestures, to lead the ordeal. And so, it was as we led the funeral dance through a Borneon long house whilst wearing a very fancy headdress indeed, we found ourselves thinking: this has got to be pinnacle of the absolute strangest moments of this trip.

In fact, we were wrong. That pinnacle came the very next day. We awoke to the same drumming and chanting that had echoed long throughout the night, and went to the long house expecting to find a similar scene to that of yesterday's.

Instead, what we found were about six human skulls (and three coconuts with faces drawn on them in magic marker) sitting on a red blanket, chain-smoking.

Let me reiterate: no, seriously.

Family members bustled around these skulls (one of which still had a partial set of dentures in place), rubbing ash them and "feeding" them bits of egg. Small bundles of food offerings were arranged on platters. A woman wailed hauntingly, though it was impossible to tell if her laments were genuine or just theatrics of tradition. A man waved a fern as well as an extremely unfortunate chicken by its feet. And, what seemed as most importantly, people continuously lit cigarettes and propped them into the skulls' mouthes--so much so that we couldn't help but think, if these people weren't dead already, they certainly would be after all that chain-smoking.

Perhaps the oddest element of the scene was how nonchalent everyone was about it. People came and went, watching for a few moments and then being distracted by something, kids ran underfoot, there was more texting. It seemed just like a normal family get-together, except with all the ancients seated eternally grinning at the table.

And THEN (isn't there always an "and THEN" at times like this?), suddenly all the skulls were wrapped in their blankets like hard candies and donned on the backs of the living like little rucksacks. And then, life got a whole lot worse for the (probably now nauseous) chicken, as well as a small pig we hadn't noticed wrapped in a bit of tarpaulin. That's right--it just ain't a party without animal sacrifices. Needless to say, Sara was the official sacrifice photographer, as vegetarian me turned the colour of tofu, and was probably just as wobbly.

All the while, a faint redition of Stella Ella Ola was carried over on the wind...

To wrap up: Linus's hospitality was unwavering as he not only drove us back into town but bought us to lunch en route. Our long house adventure was followed by yet another long boat ride, and then a long bus ride--which took place in a normal-sized bus but lasted twenty three hours, the majority of which were spent subjected to extremely lound Indonesian pop music.

Needless to say, we both agree that this was by far one of the highlights of the last seven months (erm, bloodshed excluded). And perhaps the coolest thing about it was that it was so genuine. This hadn't been organised by some tour operator, nor was it some troop putting on a cultural show for us. This was real people going about their daily lives, and we were fortunate enough to somehow manage to weasel our way in on the action. It was exactly the Borneo we'd come searching for--in fact, it was just the thing that had led us out into the Great Wide Yonder in the first place...

Dragons and Mantas and Sharks, Oh My!

2010-09-13T04:31:00.000-07:00

We fiiiinally managed to peel our crispy bodies off the beach and onto a boat, setting sail for the island of Flores. Despite sleeping quarters that were organised more or less in the fashion of a giant slumber party (no pillow fights or toenail painting, much to our dismay), we had an excellent time aboard.

We went the long way 'round, stopping on occasion to snorkle (new animal spotted: cuttlefish!) or to hike about the islands (which made Sara squeal with delight and me wish I hadn't left my bed). Of course, the best part was our stopover on Jurassic Park--er, I mean, Komodo Island. Our dragon hunt began as we tip-toed through the brush beneath a light rain, whispering only when necessary and keeping our eyes peeled for the enormous reptiles. Needless to say, we were more than a bit disappointed when, after an hour, we were nearly back at our boat and the elusive komodos were yet to be seen.

However, it was just then that we emerged at the small cafeteria on the island, and low and behold there was not one but FIVE dragons!! They were just chilling out under the porch, on the lawn, beneath the stairs, drawn in by the smell of cooking and by optomistic hopes of an abandoned plate or dropped sandwich. Clearly komodos are less lizard and more raccoon. Regardless, they were truly awesome creatures. The ones we saw were about three meters long (though they can grow much larger) and wandered around lazily with a sort of ambling gait. These ones didn't seem overly aggressive (particularily the fellow snoozing under the stairs with his bum hanging out, legs akimbo) but we were informed that they weren't to be reckoned with--not if we were overly attached to our limbs and digits. "Dingo ate my baby," indeed.

We arrived on Flores and, as soon as flip-flop kissed pavement, we raced to the nearest diveshop and flung wads of rupiah at them. We'd been told repeatedly that Flores was "the" place to dive--arugably one of the best in the world--and holy mackeral (or holy manta ray), were they right.

Our first dive was to Manta Point. Twenty-five minutes into the dive, we were feeling bored and somewhat dejected. There were occasional patches of coral here and there, but for the most part the bottom was sand and uninteresting. But then, out of the blue--in every literal sense--there came one of the most radiant creatures we had ever laid eyes upon. Firstly, manta rays are HUGE. This one had a wingspan of a good three meters, at least. And they move with such elegance and grace. This one was gliding through the water with a power and serenity unmatched by even the most majestic soaring eagle, when suddenly a second manta appeared. The two of them circled each other akin to the swirls of a yin yang, then swam away together, one slightly and precisely above its companion. I'd say it took our breath away, but that's not really a term you want to throw around lightly when it comes to diving, so I'll just leave it at: it was an utterly inspiring and flabbergasting experience.

Our second dive was to a site called Pengah. Unlike Manta Point, Pengah isn't known for any one specific highlight, but rather as an overall utterly sublime exhibition of oceanic nature. There was a coral wall that we swam along which was just stunning. It breemed with colour and life in a way that we had never before encountered while diving, and most likely never will again. It was impossible to take it all in--you could spend an hour staring at the square foot in front of you and still not be able to register every detail, every creature. Even though our experience is limited, we are in complete agreement with everyone who claims this to be one of the greatest dive areas in the world, simply because we are not capable of imagining anything better. The current was mean, though, and we clung to rocks and coral until our fingerprints were scraped off just to avoid being whisked off into the blue abyss.

During our second day of diving, the first site we visited was Castle Rock--and I am not exaggerating when I say that it was right out of Discovery Channel's "Shark Week." All we had to do was grab onto a secure piece of rock or coral and watch as white-tipped reef sharks and grey reef sharks gathered like pigeons in Chinatown. The most we saw at any given time was five, but that's a somewhat misleading number. A diving mask really cuts down on your periferal and leaves you with almost tunnel vision, and because of the large amount of equipment attached to you it's difficult to turn your head and get a real sense of your surroundings. So perhaps it's more accurate to say that there were at least five sharks in our direct line of vision. We also saw tons of other aquatic life, including giant trevellies, an octopus (at least, part of an octopus--it refused to emerge from its hole, but there was a distinct eye and tentacle seen), an eagle ray, a baby shark lying under a piece of table coral, and a school of medium-sized silvery fish that hovered in the water in interlocking geometric patterns until one of them singled the rearrange.

Our second dive that day was at Crystal Rock which, like Pengah, doesn't have one singular highlight but is an overall beautiful place. It was there that we saw another shark, a spotted stingray, moray eels, and had a very strange encounter with two giant napoleon fish. We were scuba'ing along, doing our thing, when suddenly a pair of 3 m long green fish appeared before us. They swam towards us, slowing down to take us in, then passed on by. Then, less than a minute later, they did it again. It wasn't long before we found ourselves being circled by these fish, daring to come closer each time, until it finally turned into a western-style showdown with one of them swimming directly at us at what I can only assume was medium-to-top speed. I took one look at the massive napoleon, another look at Sara, and thought, Nuts to this!! and bailed from what appeared to have become an aquatic version of Red Rover. But Sara was less the chicken than I, and stared that sucker down until, at the last moment, it veered away. Sara: 1, Napoleon: 0, $ue: disqualified.

But it wasn't just under the sea that the aquatic life was strutting its stuff. A marlin leaped into the air as we boated towards the dive site once, and a whole pack of dolphins swam alongside our vessel. And, while still on the big boat heading to Flores, we saw some type of whale come up for air a couple of times.

This has been one of those times during our backpacking experience that we truly realise just how lucky we are to be seeing and doing all of this. The world is such an awesome place--something that's easy to forget when one is communiting to work on the TTC for forty minutes per day or waiting out winter storms in front of the television--and we feel so overwhelmed and humbled by it, as well as so blessed to be able to revel in its beauty.

SHAAAAARRRKKKKK!!!!! ...Erm, in a good way...

2010-09-04T04:04:00.000-07:00

Greetings from... where are we again? Oh, right: Gili Trawangan. The same place we've been for the last two weeks. I swear, this place is like fly paper for backpackers. We're busily buzzing by and the THWACK!!! Just like that, we find ourselves to be hopelessly and completely stuck. (And yes, thwack is the official fly paper noise, I checked into it)

However, it has been a productive vacation-from-vacation. We are proud to report that we are now both officially certified as Open Water Divers (cue applause and confetti). It took three days; in between practicing drills both in the pool and in the ocean (taking our masks off, running scenarios of what to do if you suddenly run out of air, etc) and going on dives, we studied a LOT (you should see this textbook, it's practically as long as the Bible! Well, okay, maybe just the New Testament... but still, it's a big deal, we're on HOLIDAY). There was even ALGEBRA involved! Sara, surprising no one, aced the test with flying colours. She actually was one of the few people to have ever received a perfect score. As for me, well, after having the mathematical equations explained to me for over an hour, we decided it was probably best for everyone's brain if I just copied her answers. Funnily, my parents had always told me that the sky was the limit--clearly they were being optimistic, as it instead appears to be the ocean.

The dives, of course, were the best part. Not only did we see more turtles than you can shake a pepperoni pizza at dude, but we also saw bumphead parrot fish (three foot long elephant-skulled fish that look downright prehistoric) and a reef shark!! And it looked just like the sharks on tv!!! (I know that sounds ridiculous, but we both thought it) It was a good three meters long and came approximately twenty feet from us. It didn't seem too fussed one way or another that we were there, and swam in this slow, gliding, too-cool-for-school fashion, it's yellow cateye glinting even nineteen meters down.

One of our dives, however, did turn out to be a bit trying. When we first headed down, everything seemed hunky-dory. There was a bit of a current, and so we just relaxed and let ourselves be whisked along the ocean floor as though we were in some sort of Disneyland ride. But then, without warning, the visability dropped to only a few meters due to microscopic plankton and other ambient particles in the water. This made the dive challenging for everyone, but I ran into some added difficulties when suddenly I was unable to equalise my ears. I tried to ascend slightly to see if it would resolve the situation, but before I knew it I was up so far I couldn't see ANYTHING--not the bottom, not the surface, and, most frighteningly, not the other divers. OMGWTFBBQ does not even Begin to cover it. Fortunately, just as I was starting to get really dizzy and panicky, the divemaster (assistant to the instructor) shot out of the white ether like a saint in a snorkle mask and grabbed my hand. Of course, I was never in any actual danger--if worse had come to worst, I would have just swam to the surface, though the diving instructor probably wouldn't have been too pleased at that--but it was definitely unnerving to say the least. However, we both agreed that the challenge of the dive was, ultimately, benefical because it prepared us for conditions that aren't optimal. Plus, it makes us seem kind of hardcore when we tell our friends.

Other than diving, we've been spending most of our time at the beach getting our tan on or making friends with the good folks down at the dive centre. The beach here is beautiful--water layered in bright turquoise and deep sapphire like some sort of cocktail, misty purple mountains rising in the distance, and just enough coral on the shore to laugh at tourists as they hop and stumble.

The only real drawback of this island is the locals' bizarre obsession with dreadlocks. Without exaggeration: we cannot walk more than about thirty meters without being haggled by calls of "Hey Rasta girl! I love you!" and the like. It's gotten to the point where we've had to take back alleys just to avoid the hassle. Goodness, I feel just like Angelina Jolie!! *Sara rolls her eyes* Kidding, kidding!

But, of course, all good things must come to an end--to make way for new good things, we hope. And so, we are leaving Gili T. in two days to continue east island hopping...

From Cat-Weasel Poo Coffee to Why We Hate Monkeys...

2010-08-24T07:02:00.000-07:00

First of all, I would like to offer a formal apology to our fans (and by "our fans" I mean my father) for having not updated in so long. We are still alive, I promise.

So, where was I (erm, literally)...

With our health and gumption restored after indulging in western-style malls and Starbucks (shh), we left Jakarta-the-city-that-colour-forgot for Jogjakarta, it's fitter, brighter younger sister. Jogjakarta is the city that feels like a town, with plenty of lush palms peeking over roofs and fences and brilliantly coloured flags lining the streets, flapping camply in the wind.

Using Jogja as our base, we ventured to Borabadur and Pramadan--Jogja's friendly neighbourhood ancient temples. Borabadur, which is "comparable to Angkor Wat" (according to the Bible--read: Lonely Planet), is the largest Buddhist temple and is estimated to have been built in the eighth century. It consists of four levels built into a pyramid shape around a square base; each level has stone reliefs in the walls depicting both traditional and fabled scenes of Indonesian Buddhism, as well as statues of Buddha sitting crossed legged with a serene expression--well, on the statues that still had heads, at least. Pramadan is a Hindu temple made up of many tall, intricately built stone towers dedicated to the various deities. Both temples had that good ol' temple-ish air of peace and tranquility about them--although, to be completely honest, after this many months on the road, we're somewhat templed out. I know, I know, poor little backpackers, right? "There are starving children in Africa who don't have Any temples... now finish your potatoes!" ...or something like that.

Next, after a very long drive that was rather stingy on the toilet stops if I do say so myself, we hit up Mt. Bromo. Alright, "hit up" may be a somewhat optimistic interpretation of events. "Trudged up in angry silence" is perhaps somewhat more accurate. Hey, it was three-thirty in the morning (we have never, ever had to contemplate 3:30 am as the beginning of a New day before--and frankly, we did not care for it) and it was cold--layers a'plenty! However, the view of the sunrise from the top made it all worthwhile... as did the Oreos Sara had packed to pacify me (aww, she always knows just what I need). To be fair, the sun did rise more adjacent to the volcano as opposed to over top of it, and pretty much all of France was there to witness the event, but it was pretty nifty nonetheless. What was more spectacular, however, was afterward when we actually had the opportunity to climb the smoking crater. Well, the climb itself wasn't all that wonderful--all the sweating and muttered swear words made me feel that I was back in Nepal--but being able to stare into the rocky bowl as an unending plume of white smoke mushroomed endlessly into the sky definitely was. Nature had yet again caught us off guard and blunty reminded us how much cooler it was than we were.

Goodbye Java, hello Bali--Kuta Beach, primo destination for sun-worshippers from all walks of life. It was by far the most touristy place we've been to this entire trip and we found ourselves suddenly overwhelmed by 24 hr McDonald's and Aussie surfers with tattoos that are funny the first time you see them but then seem less funny over time. It's what I imagine Cancun to be like--stunning beaches writhing with bronzed bodies slowly sizzling in the south asian sun, more cheap neo-hippy backpacker souvenirs than you could shake a sarong at, colourful eateries serving fusion food ranging widely in price and insect content. Strangest thing spotted being hawked on the beach: a bow and arrow, and a blow-dart pipe thing. Apparently tribal weaponry is the new t-shirt??

But, the most exciting bit about Kuta Beach? We suddenly found ourselves Aim-less no longer. You guessed it (or maybe you didn't)--Aimee and her boyfriend Andy flew out to meet us! The squealing, needless to say, was epic.

The four of us decided to dive right in to Kuta culture and go surfing--or should I say, go swimming with surfboards. Despite swallowing half the ocean and inhaling the other half (I felt like some sort of carnie doing crude tricks with a cigarette--it goes in my nose, comes out my mouth, goes in my ear, comes out my ass...) and essentially engaging in bumper cars with the other newbie surfers, we had an absolute blast. Though the fact that we emerged with scraped knees makes us think that we was doing something wrong. Whatever, dude, the breaks were way gnarly. It was tubular to the max.

Once we felt we'd gotten all we could out of surfing (or, once we developed significant limps) we opted for something a little more chilled and headed inland to Ubud. Ubud, for all you yoga-in-the-expensive-pants/spirituality-lite people out there, is the "Love" spot featured in the book Eat, Pray, Love. I'd been imagining a sort of cultural oasis, off the beaten track enough to feel authentic but still popular enough to have western toilets (a gal can dream, can't she?). In this regard, I hate to admit, Ubud proved to be a bit of a disappointment. The streets were lined with expensive boutiques. Along with small stores selling expensive local handicrafts, there was a Dolce and Gabanna!! There is no emoticon available to express my appallment. Eat, Pray, Shop, indeed.

However, it wouldn't be fair to write Ubud off completely. The hotel we stayed at was wickedcool. Built to look how the ancient rich lived, there was intricate stonework and small alters covered in moss and blossoms. Little woven baskets of flowers, fruit and incense were scattered like Easter eggs, daily offerings--which we kept accidentally stepping in. Whoops. We did go on a temple-fest as well. I couldn't tell you the name of any of the places we saw, but they were generally surrounded by forest with faces of dragons carved into stone, popping out of the ground (surprise!! God is watching!! ...or some sort of similar mentality??), and praying people in sarongs, and colourful statues with animated expressions. All of the temples were Hindu, but bore little to no resemblance their Indian counterparts.

We also took in a traditional Kecak dance, which was all sorts of awesome. Men wearing only sarongs and flowers in their hair sat in a semi-circle chanting and waving their arms while dancers in elaborate gold costumes and eccentric masks enacted Hindu fables around a fire. We couldn't tell you for the life of us what was going on (well, maybe Sara could, seeing as she actually read the pamphlet... pfft, cheater) but it was extremely entertaining to watch.

But then... there was the Monkey Forest.

I would like you all to take note: I am only going to discuss the Monkey Forest once. After this, you are not to make any reference to the Monkey Forest, nor to the events that occurred within the Monkey Forest, as they are too awful and traumatic to reiterate. Is that clear? Alright, good.

We entered the Monkey Forest with high hopes. And at first, our expectations appeared to be actualized. Hundreds--nay, thousands--of small grey monkeys were frolicking about playfully, making faces and picking their noses and behaving in other cute monkey-esque ways. But then, things took a dramatic turn. It started when Aimee was posing for a photo--all of a sudden, a monkey ran up and BIT HER ON THE ASS!! It is important to note: she did not invade said monkey's personal space to then have it deliver a defensive snap. She was minding her own beeswax when the culprit ran up to her and lunched her rump!! Fortunately, she was wearing pants, or else a) that would have been weird and b) it would have pierced the skin, and that would have resulted in rabies and tears. As it was, she bruised up almost immediately. It wasn't long after that that we witnessed another monkey scramble up a woman and perch on her head, refusing to vacate. A second monkey soon joined it. Then, Sara was chased by yet another monkey (its motives, though unclear, were undoubtedly sinister) and then... ugh, I don't even want to have to write this. We saw a monkey holding a kitten that couldn't have been more than a week old. And it was treating this poor thing as if it were a rag doll. It was standing on it and pulling it and flinging it into the air, watching gleefully as it smacked onto the concrete. The poor kitten was obviously in dire pain and angst, but there was nothing we could do, given the monkeys' vicious demeanor. In the end, we just had to leave, and ignore the haunting meowing that followed us onto the street. It was really a horrible experience, and I believe we are quite justified in our new found hatred of monkeys.

Now, let us never speak of it again.

One strange highlight of Ubud was the cat-weasel poo coffee. No, that wasn't a bizarre series of typos. There actually is a type of very fancy Indonesian coffee which is brewed from beans that have been eaten by the civet (an animal which is, as I said, a cross between a weasel and a cat) and then excreted whole. Said coffee "cherries" are then collected, washed (VERY thoroughly, I hope) and brewed into rare and exquisite (read: expensive) coffee. So we decided to try a cup. Sara, our coffee connoisseur, found it to be rich and flavourful--she gave it rave reviews. I, on the other hand, prefer Tim Horton's, but that's just me.

Once we'd checked the cat-weasel poo coffee from our bucket list, we left Ubud and returned beach side, this time to the Gili Trawangan Island. Gili T. is like what Kuta must've been like twenty or thirty years ago. Since arriving, we've mostly scube'd. Sara and I have decided to become Open Water certified, and Aimee and Andy joined us on a Fun Dive (meaning Sara and I are spending a few hours in the pool practicing skills as well as partaking in four ocean dives, and A-squared joined us on the first dive just for the halibut--I can make that awful joke because I'm talking about the sea...). Our dive yesterday was terrific. The coral wasn't as incredible as in the Philippines--flatter, more uniform--but there were many fish and LOTS of green and hawkbill turtles! The turtles were quite chilled out. They didn't seem to mind a bunch of bubbling tourists in ridiculous outfits bumping clumsily around them, and when they swam above us they looked truly majestic.

And that, my friends, is what's been going on with us. And now I'm going to go lie down, because my fingers are cramping and my eyes are crossed. Much love to you from us, salty and windswept... xxoo.

Philippines Pharewell

2010-08-05T04:59:00.000-07:00

Since the last blog entry: we hung around the El Nido area, exploring various lagoons (Big Lagoon and Small Lagoon, as they're so originally named). And, wow, were they beautiful. Tiny caves hidden amidst aggressively jagged limestone cliffs, sparkling emerald waters, even rainbows--though I'm sure those can't always be accounted for. We also went diving, which was super cool. The reef was far more alive than it had been in Hoi An, and it looked like an underwater city complete with coral skyscrapers and brightly coloured fish zipping around like douchebags in Ferarris.

We spent the next couple days cruising lazily to Puerto Princesa, spending our free time working on our free-diving skills (Sara) or learning how to backflip off the boat (me). And fortunately we had plenty of movies for when it rained--as well as BBC ocean documentaries, which seemed a little like overkill given the circumstances but were entertaining nonetheless.

Puerto Princessa was lacking a beach--though apparently attempted to compensate for this with numerous live acts belting 90s power ballads??--but it was still a fine place to chill out and ring in Sara's big 2-4, very laid back and un-touristy. We did take a day trip to Sabang to visit the famed underground cave, which was quite cool. It was very, erm, cavelike--I know that sounds ridiculous, but it was so cliche that it did not disappoint. Vast caverns, squeaking bats whizzing overhead aiming guanno pellets at slack-jawed tourists, staligmites and... um, the ones that hang down... shaped like Jesus. Cave needs satisfied, indeed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't all bats and rainbows. Three weeks of living in filth on a boat finally took its toll, and we emerged from the experience somewhat sickly and feeling sorry for ourselves. Cheers to cheap antibiotics purchased at the local chemist. And finally, we bid our pirate friends adieu and traded seas for skies--I'm writing this from Jakarta, Indonesia. So far, it appears to be a cinderblock of a city, but it's only been one day--perhaps it'll prove itself. Funnily enough, the island of Java does offer some excellent tea.

Avast, Ye Hearties, Yo Ho! (somewhere in the Philippines)

2010-07-26T00:23:00.001-07:00

Aye, we be aboard the mighty vessel Pebbles Sills, sailin’ the seven seas (er, well, one of them) in search of treasure, adventure, and the elusive sea cow.

Some point between drinking cocktails on the beach and watching drag queen fire twirlers lip-sync to Mariah Carey in Boracay, we met with a trio of twenty-somethings from England decided to do the exact opposite of whatever their high school guidance counsellors advised them—which, apparently, means moving to the Philippines and building a houseboat. In brief, their plan is to cruise around the South Sea, snorkling on coral reefs and having bonfires on beaches while working on their tans, picking up passengers en route to pay for their escapades. (Kicking yourself for having not thought that one up? Yeah, us too) Needless to say, we jumped aboard, along with a couple from Scotland, and set sail for... wherever.

Alas, the sea, she does disorienting things to a matey’s brain and thus I cannot tell ye how long we’ve been on the water (legend has it that it be six rises of the sun, yarr), but I can tell you that it’s been an absolute blast. Mostly we’ve been lying on the deck, sizzling in the sun like Canadian bacon, as flying fish skip over the water like pebbles and dolphins leap playfully in the distance (jealous yet?). We’ve done quite a bit of snorkelling (sans snorkel, so mask-and-fin’ing) and the reefs here are really cool. Noteworthy sightings include a seasnake, which apparently is one of the most poisonous snakes in the world but its mouth is too small to actually bite you unless it were to nip your earlobe; an eel, which gave me a menacing look and sent me floundering scared; and tons of little pink jellyfish, whose stings aren’t poisonous and rather feel like being snapped by an elastic band. By far the most awesome swim we did was when we explored a shipwreck just off of Coron. The ship had gone down during WWll and has since been embraced and revamped by the sea like a homely makeover contestant on Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. Fluffy soft corals that appear as though they’re right out of Jim Henson’s workshop; schools of strange brightly coloured fish madly zipping every which way. It felt like Vegas—well, sort of.

Other highlights included the secluded lagoon we found on the southern tip of Coron Island. We had pulled onto the beach for a relaxing late afternoon swim, and it was there that we discovered the hidden pool of brackish emerald water, surrounded by small caves and inlets in the jagged rock. Barracuda Lake was also very cool. To reach it, you have to climb a rickety wooden staircase over terrain that looks like a medieval torture device—vicious limestone spikes. The lake itself is a deep turquoise blue and incredibly clear, with very few inhabitants (rumour has it that there actually is a barracuda, but only one). There were also cleaner shrimp nipping the dead skin off our toes as we swam... ah, the pirate version of a spa.

In the evenings, we normally find ourselves a secluded beach and dock, and then have dinner around the bonfire. We've also picked up the highly valuable skill of firebreathing from our boatmates (surely that is the equivalent of a uni degree on your CV?). Note: kerosene tastes like the devil's butt.

We've been quite lucky when it comes to weather, however there have been a few days of crashing waves and rain that seems to be coming from the sea itself, which makes for a fun time sliding around the deck with salt in your eyes. No seasickness yet, although we swear we've been airborn a few times in our beds on particularly gusty evenings.

But don't think it's all fun and games. The toilet, unfortunately, is not fully functional... you cannot call yourself a true pirate unless you know the meaning of the word "aquapoo." Shiver me timbers indeed. And we never did find that sea cow.

Currently we are docked in El Nido, trying to wash a week's worth of salt off our skin (you also cannot call yourself a true pirate, or piraette, until you've shaved your legs on deck in the rain) and learn to walk on land again. Off to Puerto Princessa in a few days.

Lotsa love to you land lubbers!

Good Morning, Vietnam/Only in the Philippines Can You Almost Get Run Over by the Ice Cream Man... While Snorkling.

2010-07-16T04:48:00.000-07:00

Let's see, where did I leave off...

After Hoi An, we nightbussed it to Nha Trang. I came down with a cold and thus spent the next three days sulking in a lounge chair on the beach while Sara rekindled her youth by frolicking in the water park. 10 Gold Stars go to the book vendors, who wander the beach selling their latest bootlegged versions of cult classics. 15 Gold Stars to the sunglasses vendor who, when the book vendors were no where to be found, went and found me books anyway.

And 100 Gold Stars to Sara for her drunken nursing skills while attending to my infected foot (due to the blister I got from the flippers when diving... yes, I'm that much of a gimp) that I accidentally spilled beer in.

Our final stop in 'Nam was Saigon. As a city, it's really nothing special. However, we did use it as a base for a couple pretty radical day trips. The first was to a Cam Dai temple. Cam Dai is a religion that was formed in the 1920s and is sort of a hodgepodge of Christianity, Buddhism and Taoism. I can't quite figure out the details, but the temple was very brightly coloured with an awesome sky/stars mural on the ceiling (sort of like my bedroom in grade eight) and there were lots of old men in fancy hats. Then, we headed to the Cu Chi tunnels, which is where a lot of the fighting during the Vietnamese/American war went down. We saw a few of the booby-traps the Vietnamese created, and a bomb crater left by a B52, and we each got to hide in a hole (which was more exciting than it sounds, I promise). We were humming The Doors and other 70s rock music the entire time we ran through the jungle. And finally we crawled through these TINY tunnels that the Viet Cong had used to get around during bomb drops. The tunnels were incredibly tiny (although they'd actually been widened so fat western tourists could go through them) and stuffy and dark. We started crouching and then had to resort to crawling, and then I realised that there wasn't an actual bomb being dropped and thought to myself, "Nuts to this!" and bailed out the emergency exit. But Sara was brave; she gritted her teeth and crawled to the very end.

We also went to the war museum (yes, I went to a MUSEUM--though in all fairness, the only way Sara got me there was by promising that there would be photos of deformities and other grusomely awesome stuff). It was actually very interesting. Mostly there were just photos with simple captions, as well as quotes from the UN about how it was an illegal war and how the Americans were guilty of committing war crimes. There were also photos of Agent Orange victims (1st and 2nd generation), and of protests that took place in cities all over the world (including Ottawa... were any of our hippie parents in attendance??). It was disturbing and very direct, but not over the top. What's amazing is that the entire time we've been in Vietnam we haven't felt any anti-American sentiment. Apparently it's water under the bridge--even though there are still many Agent Orange 2nd generation victims in wheelchairs with deformed legs around Saigon. Talk about a laid back bunch of people! A bazillion Gold Stars for everyone, indeed.

We also took a day trip to the Mekong Delta, which turned out to be very similar to Allapey in India, except not quite so cool. We rode in a canoe that wove through waterways in between huge palms curving over head, and we got to wear conical straw hats while doing so. Groovy. And we were served fancy honey tea, although the experience was somewhat tainted by an onslaught of bees who were apparently here to reclaim that which had been stolen from them. Oh, and we also saw Toy Story Three, which is really not very cultural but is the greatest thing to happen to cinema since Clueless, and thus deserves a mention here.

And then, after a ridiculous night of travel (you're really not a backpacker until you've boarded a plane with a box of pizza, eating a slice... or does that make you a Ninja Turtle?) and a couple of hours camping out with our sleeping bags and eye-masks in the airport, we made it to Boracay in the Philippines. And it is GORGEOUS. Even in our groggy, grumpy, sleep-deprived state our jaws simultaneously dropped the second we saw the beach. Sand whiter than Hollywood teeth, a sea in colours of azure I didn't know existed outside Photoshop... The locals are so, so, so friendly. We can't go more than LITERALLY eight feet without hearing, "Heyyyy, nice hair!!" and everyone is eager to chat and make friends. It's a stark contrast to Vietnam, when the only time people would talk to you was when they were trying to rip you off. Plus, everybody here speaks perfect English!!! Hallelujah. It's extremely westernized here, which unfortunately means western prices, but we did get to eat pizza tonight while watching some awful slapstick American game show and listening to cheesy nineties pop and by golly I wouldn't have changed it for the world (a little taste of home goes such a long way to the grungy backpacker).

Today, we went island hopping, which is where you jump on a boat and they take you to various islands, and you spend about an hour on each one sunbathing or splashing around or exploring caves or eating or whatever. We got to go snorkling and it was absolutely INCREDIBLE. The reef was far more alive than in Hoi An, and there were soooooooo many fish!! Hundreds, nay thousands, of little brightly coloured things zipping around us like tiny racecars. I even saw a jelly fish. It was small (so not too dangerous) but I didn't hang around to inspect it--instead I high-tailed (high-flippered?) it outta there asap. Oh, and we both almost got run over by the ice-cream man... while snorkling. He was in a little rowboat. And very easygoing.

And that's all the news that's fit to print...

Scuba Diving and Tailor Made Jackets... Hoi An, You So Fly!

2010-07-08T04:21:00.000-07:00

Hoi An is a town brimming with culture, the best of which is exhibited in its old-world colonial-style architecture. In fact, its most impressive claim to fame are its collection of historical buildings which have been awarded the prestegious honour as being classified as UNESCO World Heritage Sites.

However, the whole thing sounded suspiciously educational, and Sara and I were far too busy having fun to bother with any of that nonsense.

Our first day in Hoi An we spent shopping. Strangely enough, Hoi An is renounced as being "the" place for cheap tailor-made garments in Southeast Asia. Think of it as a Milan-meets-Buffalo sort of thing. In any case, after five months of being subject to the same ratty tshirts and dying jeans, we went on what could only be described as a bonanza. Sara walked away with no less than three jackets, two fancy dresses and a pair of oh-yeah-that's-right red leather boots, all custom made. I ended up with two jackets, which for me was quite bonanza-esque. Shira, we've found your mecca.

High on life and jackets, we spent our second day scuba diving off Cham beach. Of course, it was wickedcool. The water was warm and clear and we saw a wide variety of fish, including flute fish, what may or may not be a clown fish (I had thought that clown fish were Nemos and this appeared to be some stripey melted-looking affair which would have more aptly been called a Chernobyl fish, but who am I to argue with guide Scuba Max?), star fish, baracuda fish ... ugh... red fish, blue fish... one fish... two fish... Okay, so perhaps I need to pay closer attention to David Attenborough. Anyway, we went for a total of three dives that day, down to a depth of 12 meters. And yes, we both emerged with The Little Mermaid song stuck in our heads for the rest of the day.

Our third day, we decided that we needed to do something a bit more embracing of the Vietnamese culture. So, what did we do, chow down on some pho? Sport fancy conical straw hats? Learn to squat with ease whilst waiting for the bus? Nah... we rented fully automatic motorcycles. Sara, of course, took to it as though she'd been wheeley-ing in the womb. It wasn't ten minutes before she was cruisin' around town with the grace and style of a Parisian winding through cobblestone streets with a basket full of fresh baguettes. I, on the other hand, rode the thing with the grace and style of a moose. Not only was I sworn at in at least six different languages (two of which I'm sure where made up on the spot just so they could further express their distain), the woman who was meant to instruct us said I was unteachable, and demanded I relinquish the keys before I killed myself. (What do you mean, you're not surprised?) Fortunately, Sara was such a natural that she was able to ride around with me sitting on the back, and so we were still able to cruise around just the two of us while earning major backpacker points.

Bad to the bone indeed.

So I Just Rode Around Ha Long Bay on a Giant Banana... If Ya Know What I Mean.

2010-07-04T06:16:00.000-07:00

No, really, MASSIVE banana. It was awesome.

So, as the title of this post suggests, Sara and I just spent the last few days hanging out in Ha Long Bay, on a three-day trip organised by a Hanoi backpacker hostel. And it was wicked. Firstly, we got to stay on what I will boldly call a pirate ship. Alright, so it may have been lacking the typical black sails and Jolly Roger flag, but we all knew that if a pirate wanted a few days to relax and perhaps even out his eyepatch tanline, he'd pick our boat. Yarr indeed.

We went kayaking, which was cool except that I must admit my kayaking skills haven't improved much since Africa (at least I didn't have anyone yelling, "Are you TRYING to suck?!" this time). In honour of it being Canada Day, my fellow Canadian kayaker and I named our vessel Peter Mansbridge, and Sara and I sang a rousing rendition of Land of the Silver Birch, Home of the Beaver.

Ha Long Bay is, as goes without saying, stunning. Craggy fauna-topped limestone cliffs jutt sporatically out of the water like a frozen tableau of Whack-A-Moles. There's even a town of fishing folk on the water who's residents haven't touched land in hundreds of years. I think we drifted past the suburbs. They had pet dogs, which was a little confusing ("Oy, Bobby, did you walk Rover?" "Ah, I tied him up outside about an hour... oh sh*t!!"), and satellite tv, which was more confusing.

We ended up at a cave, complete with squeaking bats and still-warm guano (um... don't ask how I know that). My caving skills appear to be on par with my kayaking skills and, as in Nepal and Sa Pa, I had two people on $ue-duty, holding my hand so I wouldn't fall and retrieving my lost flip flop. *sigh*

The next day, we boated (yes, that's right, I boat) to Castaway Beach, the hostel's private beach on Cat Ba Island. Then, we got to go wakeboarding! Much to everyone's amazement, I actually stood up and whizzed around the lake for a while, even going as far as to wave to onlookers like a complete douche. I faceplanted shortly after, but still. Of course, Sara's experience was also a success. And there was something about that moment as I glided across the jade-coloured water beneath the late afternoon sun surrounded by what is quite possibly some of the most breath-taking scenery on earth that made me think: "Man, we are SO much cooler than most of our friends." Oh, sorry.

Which brings us to the giant banana--an obnoxious bright yellow inflatable raft that eight of us piled onto and were then pulled behind the boat. Oh, golly, the antics that ensued!! Special props to the Quebecois guy who fell off the back and, as he was dragged face down in the water, held on to the raft with one hand and his escaping shorts with the other for a good three minutes.

At night, we went swimming under the stars and enjoyed the phosphorous, which can be scientifically defined as little greenish glowy bits under the water when you stir it up really fast (move over, Attenborough). And of course, we spent the evenings drinking hot milk and discussing fiscal responsibility over friendly games of backgammon. (...what?)

In short, great people, great time--and we are both sporting decent-sized bruises and scrapes (mostly from banana boat wipe-outs) that when asked about we can casually say, "What, this ol' thing? Yep, got her in 'Nam." Score.

Hangin' with Hillfolk in Sa Pa, Vietnam

2010-06-30T01:26:00.000-07:00

Sara and I finally managed to escape the moist inferno of the city (it's so hot and humid, I feel as though I'm wandering around in a giant mouth) and seek refuge in the little mountainous town of Sa Pa where it was a brisk thirty degrees (you think I'm kidding... I'm not).

The scenery surrounding Sa Pa is beautiful. If you want to split hairs (or split dreadlocks) it's not really a mountainous town per say--instead of craggy snow capped peaks, you see sharp hills of coniferous trees and rice patty steps that dive into lush valleys of rocky rivers. It's so high that the fog passes you on the street as though it's off to the shops--"Like London," one local proudly boasted--and clouds sneak around the hills as though they're in a constant game of hide and seek with each other.

The town of Sa Pa is incredibly touristy ("Ugh, white people," we roll our eyes) and by far the weirdest thing about it is the hill girl hawkers that travel in packs like feral dogs stalking their latest prey. The hill people are various tribes (most of whom migrated at one point or another from China) who still lead traditional lives. Tribes whose names I can remember include the Black H'Mong people and the Red Dao people. Their outfits are very similar to those of Tibetans, modest black clothing highlighted with bright embroidery, with varying types of headdresses. Each day, the hill girls make the 2-4 hr trek from their villages into Sa Pa and set about selling their wares: "silver" bracelets, embroidered bags, etc.

And boy, these girls could enter the street hawking Olympics. Let alone selling snow to eskimoes--they could sell grills to George Foreman.

The moment we stepped off the bus, two of them attached themselves to us like burrs, small babies tied to their backs with shmatas. "Where you froooom?" "What your naaaame?" "How many people your familyyyyy?" "You boyfrieeeend?" Actually, the funny thing was that they spoke better English than most Vietnamese we'd met up to this point. Slowly, we began gathering more and more until there was an entire entourage escorting us from one hotel to another as we tried to find a place to stay that night. The strange thing was, it wasn't until the very end that they made their pitch: "You buy from meeee! You my frieeeeend!" And when you politely decline, you get "You by from me tomorrooooow! You promise you buy no one just meeee!" No matter what you respond to that, prepare for the next day to consist of "But you promiiiiiiiise! You say you buy from meeee and now you no by from meeee! Not faiiiiiir!" They could out-guilt a Jewish mother. The good thing is that they do have a sense of humour, and you can get into a tongue-sticking-out war with them and it's all in good fun. By the end of it, we had a bunch of them following us not because they thought we'd buy anything but because they were bored and wanted to hang out with someone. Also because we gave them free cookies.

Actually, these hill people are the best thing about Sa Pa. We did a two day "trek" (trek! Bah! I LAUGH at your notion of trek, Sa Pa Tourist Office! If you do not silently weep to yourself at least once per hour, then it is NOT a trek!) down through the rice patties to do a homestay with a H'Mong family. Of course, we had our usual entourage following us (they needed some company to walk home with, anyway) but they actually came in handy as one of them was constantly on "$ue duty", holding my hand and making sure I didn't nosedive into somebody's crops (just like Buddha and the porters did when we were in Nepal... *sigh*).

The house we stayed in was really interesting. It looked, to me at least, like a barn--made of untreated dark wood, dark and drafty, with a loft bit up top where we slept and a main bit downstairs where we ate. It was incredibly sparse inside: just a few thin mattresses for us to sleep on, some tiny plastic living room furniture (which, I've noticed, appears to be the Vietnamese equivalent of IKEA) and an elaborate Vietnamese-style dresser set with shell inlay. There were copious bugs sharing our living quarters and the walls were dotted with small nests and the bathroom was outside, but at least the toilet was a western. Still, like all hill people, they had satellite tv. They may have to cook over an open fire, but at least they can watch the World Cup. There were also many barn animals about, including pigs that sounded like the dinosaurs in Jurassic Park (somewhat unnerving when you have to pee outside at three am) and a rooster with absolutely no sense of time--it went off every twenty minutes from three am to five am, and then it went off every ten minutes. Yay.

Besides the diabolic rooster and the fact that Sara somehow managed to drop her toothbrush in the pig pen (don't ask), we had an awesome time. But, Sa Pa homestays and cultural experiences aside, here's the REAL interesting thing that happened: we saw dog meat for sale in the market!! We had heard that Vietnamese cuisine often includes dog and cat, and while passing the meat stalls we saw a (furless) head as well as a completely skinned head next to some paws and what I'm assuming were dog filets. For those of you who are interested in the gruesome details, I couldn't tell what breed of Fido it was, other than it looked about medium sized with a pointy face.

Sara and I have since discussed opening the first McDonald's in Vietnam specialising in McHotdogs and McKitty burgers ... or, even better, McHelloKitty burgers. If that isn't true cultural fusion, I don't know what is.

Stocking up on karma points in Viet-Tri

2010-06-21T07:17:00.000-07:00

Currently, Sara and I are volunteering at the SOS Children's Village in Viet-Tri, Vietnam. When we first signed up for this gig, I wasn't sure what to expect. To be honest, I was picturing Dickens'-style orphanages complete with gruel and some sort of punishment device with an ominous nickname like The Weasel or something. In actual fact, this place appears to be... well, Malibu Barbie's Dream Orphanage, for lack of a more politically correct term. As far as orphanages go, this place is pimpin'. The children live in groups of ten (plus one "mother") in modest but modern, clean houses on an immaculate property that boasts neatly trimmed trees of both the fruit and bonsai variety. It looks more like a Californian retirement complex than a charity.

As for the kids themselves, I was likewise imagining plucky ragamuffins with wild eyes but good hearts, who got in scraps and were impossible to control but would eventually melt my heart with their (inexplicable) Cockney accents. What we got were the most well-behaved (if not slightly robotic) children on the planet. Seriously. Since it's summer vacay, these children are left to their own devices for most of the day, running unsupervised between houses (the mothers are often shopping or cooking or washing or laundering or whatever). Now, if this was Canada and you had over one hundred kids running around a complex without any sort of control... you'd have kids falling out of trees, setting couches on fire, launching small animals into the air, etc. It'd be utter pandemonium. But these kids all just play quietly and politely, and never ever ever make a mess. It's a little bit eerie, if I have to be frank about it. But it certainly makes our lives easier.

During the morning, we hang out with them at their houses or help them garden--oh yes, that immaculate lawn they have? They're out their trimming the grass every day themselves WITH PRUNING SCISSORS. I kid you not. And I have yet to see even one of them utter a word of complain, let alone attempt to scale the wrought-iron fence surrounding the complex (which is what I would be doing... I almost did, in fact, when someone made the suggestion that perhaps I "help"). They were fairly shy at first but Sara and I taught them Stella Ella Ola, and now it appears to be taking the orphanage--hell, possibly the entire country--by storm. Take THAT, Vietnam! You won't let me on Facebook? I'll teach all your children an obnoxious slapping game!! Mwahaha... Anyway, during the afternoon we are supposed to teach them English. I say supposed to because this is summer school for them, and we are filling in for their regular teachers. As we've been given no syllabus or any other sort of preporatory material, it's a bit difficult since we have No idea what level they're at. So there's a lot of "Head and Shoulders" being sang. But in any case, it's lots of fun and the kids are very cute, even if most of them don't know any sentance other than "What your name how old how many people your family what country you from?"

To be completely honest, I can't say that I feel that we're making a massive difference here. We're having fun, and the kids are having fun, and we're giving the regular teachers a break for a few weeks, but it would be naive of me to think we're making that huge of an impact on the situation. But really, how could we, only being there two weeks? There is only so much a short-term volunteer can accomplish. We paid to volunteer here, and I definitely think our money is going to a great place. SOS Children's Village is brilliant, and these kids seem just as happy and well-adjusted as any kid I've met growing up in a normal household in Toronto. And perhaps the SOS's thinking is that they're more likely to get money from people if they offer something in return--in this case, an experience, good karma, etc. Which is absolutely fine by me. Though we definitely contributed a lot more to the situation at Mother Teresa's. I suppose any volunteer position that you don't need to pay for actually really does need the physical help, whereas anything you pay to do is more concerned with the money than your time. But like I said, I'm still glad we're here.

Though, the temperature is in the low forties, and with the humidity I can't shake the feeling that I'm actually chewing the air. The heat was so intense that for our weekend off we escaped to the hills--a tiny tourist hamlet with pretty views and lots of cafes to wile away the afternoon at, and an average temperature of at least five degrees cooler than below. We went for a hike through a bamboo forest and ate strange Vietnamese desert stuff that appeared to be different types of sweet goop in a puddle. Good times.

Ahoy from Hanoi!

2010-06-13T00:06:00.000-07:00

So we said goodbye to India and, after a fifteen-hour layover in Bangkok (during which time we went and saw a movie and then busted out our sleeping bags and eyemasks and zzz'd in the airport true backpacker style), we've finally arrived in Hanoi, Vietnam.

The first thing that struck us about Hanoi was how clean it was. What, no sauce of human waste flowing through the gutters? No garbage lining the streets like bad shag carpeting? No stray dogs? You mean, we can't play another riveting round of Guess That Feces? And, most importantly, what's that smell? (what smell?) EXACTLY!!! It's glorious. No beggars, no general sense of despair, just a beautifully clean, rather westernized livable city. Oh, and we have AIR CONDITIONING in our room. The gods must be smiling upon us.

We're staying in the old quarter of town, with its Asia-meets-Paris architecture, its fruit sellers in conical straw hats carrying their wares in two bulging baskets hanging off either end of a long stick across their back, its large trees lining the streets, and its zillions upon zillions of motorcycles (Dad, I've found your mecca). Everything here is sold in districts. So far, we've wandered through the following districts: jewelery, art, sewing supplies, tools, bamboo ladders, hair barrettes, clothing. We also strolled through a market and encountered some rather unusual food for sale, including live water snakes and live toads. Um, Sara, that's all you.

It's been two days and so far we've wandered lazily through a temple (not entirely sure who the temple was worshiping exactly, but it overlooked the lake and there were plenty of immaculately groomed bonsai trees and it had an overall pleasant atmosphere), a night market (which went on FOREVER--I believe we wandered halfway to Cambodia just to find a decent price on rings), the Temple of Literature (which was not the giant library Sara expected/I feared, but rather some well-preserved older buildings boasting shrines and traditional live music, and more bonsai trees), and the Ho Chi Minh's mausoleum (where the entire population of Vietnam was ahead of us in line, but at least we got to see a dead body under eerie red lights... cooool). Oh, and we had some bubble tea, which was momentous enough to deserve a mention on this blog. Taxis here are in the form of motorcycles (and yes, Mom, helmets are included!) and the main dish is pho, which consists of noodles in soup. In fact, it seems that the only drawback to Vietnam is that you can't access Facebook, due to China's censorship seeping over the boarders. Hmm, spotless streets and a 90-something employment rate, no Facebook. Ehhh, I suppose it's a fair trade. Maybe.

Oh, and last night we had our first encounter with the monsoon. Hooooeeey. We were sitting around on a patio (and by patio I mean the toddler table sets the food stands set up, next to the night market) when suddenly it started raining. So we put up a patio umbrella. Then it started pouring. So we used our umbrellas underneath the patio umbrella. Then it did something quite unlike anything I've seen before for which I don't think there is a name in which air molecules seemed to instantaneously morph into rain droplets like skinned water balloons (perhaps the Vietnamese have eighty zillion words for rain the way the Inuit have for snow?) and we ran, Sara's clams in tow, into an ajacent... I'm not even sure if it was a restaurant, or somebody's kitchen, or what, but they were very nice to let Sara finish her clams there. In any case, we must've been on a low-lying street or something because within half an hour there was, NO EXAGGERATION, a foot of water in the streets. The motorcycles drove past with their wheels half-submerged. THERE WERE WAVES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET. Honest, actual waves. It was up to our knees and our pants were quite wet. The locals weren't fazed by this and suddenly rain ponchos like those on the Maid of the Mist at Niagara falls seemed to materialise out of nowhere--in fact, one very nice man ran out and returned with two for us in under a minute. Unfortunately, my el cheapo flip flops hadn't been designed as scuba shoes and after wading for about five minutes they copped out on me, which meant I had to walk home barefoot. But it was fine, because Hanoi is NOT Calcutta.

Tomorrow we're off to begin volunteering at the SOS Children's Village...

TIBET PHOTOS!!!

2010-06-11T04:30:00.000-07:00

!!! TIBET PHOTOS !!!

http://s821.photobucket.com/albums/zz137/theesckey/Sara%20and%20Sue%20Tibet/

xox. S and S.

ps. thanks dad, for posting these :)

Sister Act in Calcutta, and Some Final Reflections on India

2010-06-08T00:07:00.000-07:00

Welcome to Calcutta. There are homeless six-year-olds under foot, live chickens hang upside down by the dozens to the backs of rickshaws, and there is human feces on the road every two blocks or so. But hey, at least the McDonald's serves veggie burgers!

Arriving in the city, we were terrified as to what we'd encounter, given the city's reputation. But after six weeks in India, we've become desensitised to that which shocks most tourists. Sure, the streets are lined with garbage and a "sauce" running through the gutters composed mostly of human waste, and as you walk down the sidewalk you literally step through the "living rooms" of street families as they sit there plaiting each other's hair, and there are malnourished and mutilated beggars, and rickshaw drivers sleeping on the street every 20 feet or so, and ferrel dogs with mange and open sores roam free, and raw meat hangs from hooks in the open 40 degree air emitting a stench that's a viable contender for the Worst Smell in India, and NO URINE is spray painted on walls the same way Toronto spray paints POST NO BILLS (and followed with equal compliance)... but there are also beautifully lush trees that line the streets and make the whole place greener than even Toronto, and fine colonial architecture (if filthy and delapidated), and ultra-modern buildings being erected with bamboo scaffolding. Add in a European-style cafe known for its iced coffees and muffin milkshakes and a Chapters-style bookstore, and really, I don't know what the other tourists are whining about.

The main reason why we came to Calcutta (besides the veggie burgers) is to volunteer with Mother Teresa's Mission of Mercy. As with Calcutta itself, I had no idea what to expect going in--and, as with Calcutta, the horror has been overshadowed by the simple beauties of the experience. In the mornings (after chai and bananas served by the sisters at the central Mission of Mercy location), Sara and I head to Prem Dan, which is a long term care facility for those with severe mental or physical handicaps. There are about 100 men and 100 women there. We (the volunteers) spend most of the morning scrubbing laundry, handing out lunch, helping residents move from the sitting area to their cots (this can get a little creative, as they don't have the same kind of resources that a similar place in North America would have, and can involve dragging people in plastic lawn chairs through the complex or hoisting up little old ladies and carrying them, their bare bums waving in the breeze), and feeding those who are incapable of doing so themselves. Accommodations are modest (100 cots all in one room and plastic lawn chairs for sitting), but everything is very clean and everyone's needs are met in whatever ways they can be. The sisters all act as nurses, whether or not they've received any formal training, and their compassion seems to make up for their lack of proper resources.

On certain afternoons, we've been heading to Kalighat, which is a hospice and the place where Mother Teresa herself spent most of her time. It's only about half the size of Prem Dan and a lot quieter, as many of the patients are quite old and feeble. Routines there are similar to those at Prem Dan, except we also hand out medication (as you can see, Sara's nursing skills are being put to good use, and this is certainly the pinnacle moment in regards to my waitressing career).

Some of the cases we've seen are heart-wrenching. Many of the old women at Kalighat have been abandoned by their families because they became "too much work" in their old age, and were left for dead. They're throwing their babcias out on the street! What's worse is that some of these families will then come to Kalighat posing as vistors who want a tour in order to spy on the grandmothers, and when they see she is close to death they'll feign "discovering" her and bring her home, so that she dies under their care and thus they are entitled to whatever is in her estate. There is another case, this one at Prem Dan, of a woman whose jealous husband threw extremely powerful bathroom cleaner on her and the acid completely melted her face. She has no eyes--her eye sockets have been completely sealed over with melted skin--no nose, no lips, no ears, no hair. I'm not sure how old she is exactly, but I can't imagine she's any older than we are. To add to it, no one knows if she actually was unfaithful to her husband, or if she was simply caught having a conversation with another man. But none of this is that unusual--as the sisters say with a shrug, "It's India."

Which makes us remember that, even though we've had an incredible experience in this country and loved our time here (and are already planning our next India vacation), there are so many things about this place that we hate, that are the epitamy of what's wrong with humanity as a whole. In regards to those at Prem Dan and Kalighat, seeing how people are able to treat others--often those in their own family--with such cruelty, such inhumanity, such maliciousness. And then there's the caste system, the extreme poverty, the beggars (and child beggars) mutilated by their pimps to bring in more revenue, the young girls who are kidnapped and forced into the sex trade, bride burnings (where a new bride is murdered--often by being set on fire--by her husband or his family before she becomes pregnant so he is able to marry again and collect another dowery without going through the disgrace of a divorce), honour killings (where people kill a member of their family--often a woman--because she has disgraced them in some way and the only way to save face is to get rid of her... an example of such a disgrace could be the simple act of being a widow, as widows are seen as bad luck), the extreme sexism, the racism, the highly unbalanced distribution of wealth... India as a whole is so overwhelming, so difficult to comprehend, that I get the sense that I'm leaving this place knowing less about it than when I arrived. Possibly that's because India is the world in a microcosm, with all the extremes of the best and the worst happening in the same place at the same time. The glory and the horror.

Of course, I'm sitting in Prem Dan, looking at the woman without a face, my mind overwhelmed with all these heavy thoughts... and then I realise I need to stop sitting here and just feed her some freakin' rice already, because it's lunchtime and she's probably hungry. And then I need to go wash some poo stains out of some bedsheets...

Depressing implications aside, volunteering at Prem Dan and Kalighat has actually been a lot of fun. Most of the women are pretty chilled out (you get your sobbers and your screamers, but they're few and far between) and happy to interact with you, even if you don't understand a word the other says. The other volunteers, mostly very Christian Americans, are extremely friendly. And even though my arms are aching from scrubbing clothes (I'm getting laundry arm!) and Sara actually has a raw blister from ringing out rags, we're having a blast and don't want to leave.

They said that when you leave the Taj Mahal, if you look back one last time, it means you're destined to return. Sara looked back the first time she was in India a few years ago, and I looked back this time without thinking of the implications. I'm not sure if I'll actually hit up the Taj again, but I'll definitely be back in India--and I know Sara will as well. Six weeks simply isn't long enough for a place as diverse and complex and just plain wacky as India. There are so many places we didn't get to... this was just a taste, a teaser, of what this place has to offer. I'm almost embarassed to tell people I've been to India, because I still feel so ignorant about it, that there's so much I didn't experience, so much I still don't understand.

And when I do return, Mother Teresa's will be topping my list of places to go, this time for much longer than just a week.

Danyavad, India.

Sleepin' with the Locals

2010-06-02T22:58:00.000-07:00

So, Sara and I have officially earned our India travel stripes: we took our very first sleeper train! After hearing horror stories of muggings and rapings and slaughterings, I was somewhat apprehensive at first and was wondering just how deadly I could be with a rolled up yoga mat. But it actually wasn't nearly as sketchy as I expected. In fact, the train was full of nuns and Hindu families--or rather, one very large Hindu family. All 31 of them went on vacation together. Yiiiikes. Could you imagine the chorus of "Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?" Anyway. The bunks were all open-air and sort of comfortable, ish. And the bathroom wasn't nearly as atrocious as it could have been--though I was a bit horrified when I realised what I'd just left on the railway tracks of India.

The last two days, we've spent in Goa. Now, everyone rants and raves about how you "Gotta go'ta Goa!!" because apparently it's hippy party mecca. And I'm sure it is during high season. Unfortunately, since it is Indian summer and thus hot enough to fry an egg on the asphalt (though you wouldn't want to because there's probably a cow pie on there) the entire place is a ghost town. Tumble weeds are rolling past the internet cafe as we speak. But we still managed to enjoy ourselves. We went to the Anjuna market ("come look my shop! COME LOOK MY SHOP!!!") and stocked up on useless hippy wares and then wandered around the Portuguese-inspired streets of Panaji. Okay, so it wasn't a wild party. But really, could anything ever compete with Varkala, anyway?

Today we're off to The Black Hole of India [Calcutta]. I certainly hope that's not the slogan they use on their license plates...

Okay, so we're dorks, but...

2010-05-30T09:01:00.000-07:00

We've gone from being zen-like yoginis on the path to enlightenment, to hedonistic sunchasers rubbing elbows with greased up underwear models (any opportunity to reference that story), to now apparently enjoying the geriatric style of travel...

This weekend, Sara and myself were escorted by our new friend Kiki (another wandering soul who got stuck in the time warp that is Varkala like a sock in a washing machine until he too finally freed himself, dazed and disoriented) to Munnar in "The Hills," which is where the tea stations are. We thus spent a weekend that could only be justifiably described as quaint touring the tea fields. I know it sounds dorky, but it was actually really cool: hills that roll and pop and are dotted with what look like large broccoli heads weaving in lines that are not quite orderly, broken with boulders and eucalyptus trees. The mist hung heavily and it was like walking through a ghost... a friendly ghost, though. Perhaps Casper? Also, Did You Know: green tea, black tea and white tea all come from the same plant. The difference is in the processing method. (Now, don't say I didn't learn anything on my vacation!!)

Tomorrow, we're parting ways with Kiki and heading off to Goa...

Beaches, Backwaters and Beyond...

2010-05-28T04:08:00.000-07:00

So after nine days of leading the hedonistic lifestyle in Varkala, we fiiiiiiinally managed to drag ourselves off the beach, share one last drink with our fellow underwear-commercial-extra friends (or two last drinks, or twelve last drinks) and move on. Actually, we managed to wrangle ourselves an entourage: enter Helen and Rachel, the 24-yr-old twins from London who are likewise enjoying a stint as professional hippies.

The four of us headed to Allappey and rented a houseboat for the day/night, and went cruising through the backwaters. The backwaters are a series of waterways (not quite rivers, not quite lakes) where houseboats and homemade canoes float along lazily and women launder and men wash on the edges beneath the lush palm tree forests. It's beautiful and very chilled out. Kerala (the state we're in), we've decided, is sort of like the British Columbia of India. Everyone's much more laid back and the landscape is breath-taking. And the local men don't all look as though they have an eating disorder, unlike in Delhi (honestly, we saw many that looked as though they could tread water in a garden hose, whereas Keralan men actually cast a shadow). Anyway, we spent the day drifting along, getting tans while sitting in couches, drinking chai and chatting and generally being girlie.

Since then, we've come to Fort Kochi, which is a hip little Indian coastal town filled with western-style arty cafes that serve cold coffee drinks and have boho-style art on the wall.

We've met a lot of awesome people recently--really, once you bond over the padding in a greased-up model's jockies, you're bff's for life--and while it's always difficult to say goodbye to new friends, it's refreshing to know that the world is full of funny, easy-going people who realise that the most important moments in life are the ones you share with friends (new or old). It's also refreshing to know that we've now got couches all over the world that we can crash... right guys?!?!

...And That's How We Ended Up in a Men's Underwear Commercial in India.

2010-05-18T02:00:00.000-07:00

After (nearly tearily) leaving the 'shram, we headed down to Kanyakumari, which is the very southernmost tip of India and the place where many middle class Indian families make their summer vacation. It was gloriously cheesy in a seashell-chandelier-type way, and had that laid back atmosphere that comes with the smell of the sea. We visited a temple and took the ferry to the Vivekenanda Memorial (a famous guru sat on a famous rock, and now there's a pretty memorial there--and it's cool, because we learned about said famous guru at the ashram) and drank chai from street vendors and bought more traditional indian outfits and wandered aimlessly...

And then we went to Varkala, which is a town in Kerala. As soon as we arrived, we fell in love. The stunning beach, the cafes lining the cliff, the forests (forests!!!) of palm trees, the freshly made smoothies (I had a banana/maple syrup one that made me feel inexplicably patriotic), the cafes playing chilled out electronica, the warm ocean waves, and the fact that it was nothing but western backpackers adorning their short shorts and bikinis without shame. Hey, sometimes you need a vacation from vacation and just want to chillax on the beach.

And other times you want just want to be in a men's briefs commercial.

They had been shooting the commercial all day, with fancy lights and expensive cameras and a director SCREAMING in some Indian dialect. Chisel-chested models slick with make-up and baby oil pranced about the sand playing volleyball wearing Valero brand tightie whities and, ah, an excessive amount of padding. We watched as we worked on our tans, trying to deceifer the plot and giggling. That night, we wound up at the same bar as said models (who, to preserve their beauty for the next day's shoot, had forsaken the traditional beer-served-in-teacups for chocolate milk) and it wasn't long before we'd made friends. They were really quite nice, though one actually used the phrase--in all seriously--"In Delhi, I'm kind of a big deal."

When we hit the beach the next day, they were still filming, and so we decided to go over and say hello. Suddenly, the somewhat manic director's assistant ran up to us. "Hey, can you girls be extras? It'll take twenty minutes. All we need you to do is stand over here...."

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how we got Discovered in India.

"Excuse, you look familiar. Do I know you?" "Oh, haha. This is so embarrassing. You must be recognising me from the Valero commerical. I was Wildly Cheering White Girl Number Three. I can give you an autograph, but all photos must be approved by my publicist." ("No... that's not it... I think you were my waitress at Boston Pizza...")

No, I'm not making this up. We (and two other recruited girls from England) spent the next five hours standing next to the volleyball-playing models, clapping and cheering with as much gusto as we had every time the director hollered "ACTION!!!!!"--well, that, and enjoying the chai and samosas that the production crew provided for us, and watching the models drum out beats on their padding. It was one of the most bizarre experiences of my life, but we had an AWESOME time. Mom, I think I may just try my luck in Bollywood.

After all, I'm kind of a big deal in Varkala.

We ashrammin', ashrammin', I want to ashrammin' with you...

2010-05-14T07:54:00.000-07:00

Well, it's two weeks later and Sara and I are officially 'shram-heads after completing the "Yoga Vacation" at Sivananda Ashram outside Madurai! And no, Dad, I didn't learn how to levitate, so unfortunately the cobwebs atop the chandelier will have to remain, at least for now...

A brief rundown of life in an ashram:

5.30 am: wake up (I'd say the philsophy is "Sleep when you're dead" here, but if they believe in reincarnation is that really applicable?)

6 am: satsang, which is meditation and chanting. I was new to this whole meditation business, but our good Zen friend Wai Chee cleared it up for me when he embarked upon me the age-old wisdom that's been handed down through the masters: "Shut the f*** up and stare at the wall!!" Excellent advice, Wai Chee. Actually, the approach to meditation was that a) meditation helps you control your thoughts so that you are able to not focus on negative thoughts, as negative thoughts lead to negative actions and/or crabby moods and b) meditation helps you reduce the number of thoughts in your head so you don't get overwhelmed and stressed out. Sounds suspiciously logical for a buncha crazy hippy voodoo, doesn't it? Hmm. However, don't confuse logical with easy. It's quite difficult to think of nothing. Great, my whole life people have been telling me I don't think enough, and now I'm overthinking!! WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!

The chanting bit is designed to help you become more devotional to your deity/god of choice, although I'll admit it was quite difficult to sing along as it was all in Sanskrit, and for all I knew I was reading off the menu at an Indian takeaway restaurant. However, singalongs are always fun in that summercamp way, and we got to shake tambourines too!!

7.30: tea time :)

8 am: asana class (yoga class) I'll be honest, we SUCKED when we first arrived. I'm not sure if my legs got longer or my arms got shorter or what, but it was embarrassing. Needless to say, by the end we were saluting the sun like nobody's business, and even working on our headstands and elbow stands (scoprion pose, for all you yogis out there). And there was of course the ever-challenging side crow pose, renamed squawking crow for all our, er, vocalised wipe-outs.

10 am: brunch. The food was ayurvedic, meaning bland, mushy, vegetarian, and non-spicy, yet somehow it was awesome. And our stomachs have finally recovered after three months of abuse. We ate Indian-style, meaning with our right hand while sitting on the floor in silence. I've decided that they don't use any spoons because all the gurus have bent them with their minds...

11.30 am: karma yoga, which is a fancy way of tricking you into doing chores. They say selfless service is a path to enlightenment, but really, I think they just needed the floors mopped. In any case, Mom, you should be flabbergasted--I actually SWEPT. Needless to say, I didn't much care for it... (Karma yoga joke: "Why couldn't Swami Sivananda clean his room with a vaccuum cleaner? Because he didn't have any attachments!!")

1.30 pm: more tea :)

2.30 pm: lecture. This was where we learned about the different types of yoga/paths to enlightenment (karma yoga, which is selfless service; raja yoga, which is via meditation [what we were doing at the ashram]; jnana yoga, which is through intellectual philosophical thought and rationale; and bhakti yoga, which is through complete devotion to God). Some of it, though not intentionally religiously denominational, was centered around certain Hindu beliefs, such as karma and reincarnation. But other parts were just logical, regardless of who you pray to. For example, "Become one with the universe" means that you acknowledge that everyone and everything is really all the same. Whether you want to see that "all the same"-ness as the essence of the divine or as just a bunch of whirling carbon particles or some sort of unspoken universal pulse that makes everything "go" or chi or whatever, it fathers the idea that if we're all one stuff, then we really should be loving each other as we do ourselves. Furthermore, "Let go of your ego" means get rid of the idea of you as you define yourself (e.g. $ue), because as long as there is $ue there will forever be duality: $ue and [God, or whatever it is you choose to believe the rest of the universe to be comprised of]. Therefore, in order to truly become one with the universe, you need to let go of your ego. Om shanti shanti indeed. Of course, there were things discussed (such as, yes, levitation) that were a bit, ah, out there for me. Okay, so don't drink the Kool-Aid. But if you're willing to somewhat cherry-pick and overlook that which you just can't accept with an open heart, there really is a lot to get out of it.

4 pm: more asanas. Squawwwwwkkkk!!!

6 pm: dinner

8 pm: more satsang

The ashram, by the way, was started by Swami Vishnu Devananda, who was a deciple of Swami Sivananda. He (Vishnu) was responsible largely for bringing the ideas of yoga to the west, and was most famous for flying his brightly coloured planes over conflict zones (Belfast, the Middle East, the Berlin Wall) and dropping leaflets and flowers. Groovy, dude.

There are numerous Sivananda locations throughout the world (including one in Quebec... road trip, anyone?). There are larger ones in other parts of India, but the one we went to was much smaller--as it was off season, there was anywhere from five to fifteen of us at any given time--which we found much better as it gave you lots of one on one time with the teachers and made for a very intimate feel.

So, have we found inner peace? seen the face of God? perhaps made a fork wiggle, just a wee bit? Well, maybe Sara has, but I'm still working on sitting crossed legged for all that time. However, we both feel that there is certainly something to be gained from this experience and this approach to life, and have both vowed to keep up the yoga (asanas), pranayama (breathing exercises--a vital part to yogic life) and meditation. Hey, it beats trying to find happiness by playing Lotto 649 every week. The first person who levitates wins 1000 rupees!

It's Taj-tastic!!

2010-04-27T05:46:00.000-07:00

We arrived in smelly Delhi (that's not me being unnecessarily cruel--it IS smelly, esp. as there are, ah, EXTREMELY public urinals at the end of our alleyway) and immediately sped off the next day to aromatic Agra (the pee stench was exchanged for that of sulfer. And ya wonder why there's so much incense in this country). The first thing we did was hit up the Baby Taj (official name not remembered by blogger). The BT is also a mausoleum very similar to its larger and more notorious counterpart, except that it was built a generation earlier and is significantly smaller. It's also created out of white marble and decorated with spectacular inlay of semi-precious stones in delicate designs of flowers and lace. Unlike many ancient and iconic buildings (castles, monestaries, etc) which take the More is More approach and cover absolutely every inch of their walls with decoration, the design at the Baby Taj is more delicate and balanced, thus making it (in our opinion, at least) far more beautiful and timeless. In actual fact, the detailing inside the Baby Taj is more ornate than that in the Regular Sized Taj. And it's far, far, far less crowded.

After that, we went to a garden which had a beautiful view of Regular Sized Taj (as long as you angled yourself so you could see above the barbed wire) and sat under a tree and ate bananas, because it was forty freakin' degrees outside (though after surviving the snow at Annapurna Base Camp, I really shouldn't be whining). Next, we hit up Agra Fort, which was very impressive for what it was, but... well, forts are boy things. We like castles and cathedrals.

Finally, we made it to the Taj Mahal itself. You know how sometimes you hear so much about something, and when you get there it's smaller than you imagined, or less beautiful, and you're a bit disappointed? This was absolutely NOT the case in this situation. The Taj was stunning. The white marble, the delicate and feminine inlay detail, it was so serene and beautiful that you forgot about the two rotting corpses just forty feet below. Perfect as an ode to the life of the wife of a king. And even though it felt as though half of India was milling about, it was still somehow surrounded in an air of traquility, enough so that we were able to find a shadowed nook along its outside walls and enjoy the late afternoon.

The only thing that took away from our Agra adventure was that TONS of people kept trying to take a photo of us. It was one thing if they asked politely, but unfortunately some people didn't take no for an answer. We actually got into an argument with said paparazzi posers on more than one occasion! The good news is that most Indians have a small frame, so I think I could take 'em down with one good swing if I had to (just kidding... we all know I'm more of a groin kicker). Next time it happens, I'll yell to them: "Jerks!! Wasn't Princess Di enough?!"

Off to the ashram at the end of the week... and I'm not leaving until I can bend a spoon with my mind, dammit! Perhaps we'll start practicing with plastic McDonald's spoons and work our way up to soup spoons. "Yes, I'm at a Level Five Ladel..."

Om shanti shanti indeed.

7 Days in Tibet...

2010-04-24T03:40:00.000-07:00

What better way to spend your 24th birthday than on hairpin turns so high that sometimes you can't see the other side of the gorge due to a passing cloud, and that plunge so many hundreds (thousands?) of meters down you can't see the bottom, while rock cliffs dangle precariously above your head, as twilight sets in? Happy birthday to $ue...

Summarising our week's adventures on "The World's Roof" (their marketing slogan, not ours) is overwhelming at best, so we figure we'd break it into sections:

The Landscape:
The drive was incredible, and ridiculous, and all those other things we've come to expect when you combine motorised vehicles with mountains. After heading up so long we were sure we'd eventually just drift off into the ether (that first paragraph wasn't an exaggeration, it was actually terrifying how high we were), we eventually surpassed the treeline and crossed over first mountain pass. The landscape went from forest to rock and dirt, with smaller mountains that almost looked velvety to touch jutting out of the earth here and there and the blueish snow-capped Himalayas in the distance. It was very surreal, and you actually had the sensation that you'd crossed over the mountain into some sort of other dimension fairy-tale style. Or perhaps that was just lack of oxygen talking (even with the altitude pills, we were all feeling the effects of being over five thousand feet up in some places). The lakes were a milky greenish blue, beautiful and still.

The People on the Plains:
Chinese Amish. Honestly, that's exactly what it felt like. They lived in extremely small houses (one or two room) made of stone and morter, and they rode handcrafted carts pulled by horses, and they ploughed their fields with wooden ploughs and yaks. The women wore long skirts with colourful aprons and braided pigtails that were sometimes wrapped around their heads like crowns, and the men wore what could only be described as cowboy hats. I kept half-expecting the theme from The Good, The Bad and The Ugly to start playing in the background (quick: name that instrument! Bet you can't...). We even saw shepherds herding their (exceptionally woolly) sheep with lassoos. It was really wild. Wild. West. Ahem. What? Moving on...

The Cities:
The culture change happened the second we crossed the boarder (which in and of itself took several hours, but anyway). BAM! China. The buildings no longer looked as though they were going to suddenly collapse if somebody sneezed, which was a good thing. Actually, the two main cities we were in (Shigatse and Lhasa) were surprisingly modern. Wide boulevard-style streets (still with manic driving, but hey, baby steps), brightly coloured billboards, exquisitely painted store fronts, pool tables everywhere (just in case you're suddenly overcome by an insuppressible urge to play pool, it seems), excellent garbage pick up services, it would've felt very suburb-ish if it hadn't been for the horse and carriage riding alongside the Toyota. And the heavily armed policemen on the rooftops. Little House on the Prairie meets 1984... set in Burlington... or something like that?? As you can probably tell, it's a bit impossible to describe.

The Pilgrims of Lhasa:
Are you struggling with that last mental picture? Because here's another layer: now, there are numerous monestaries in Lhasa, as well as Potala Palace (a political/religious icon) and one of the holiest Buddhist temples in the entire religion located in the downtown square. As a result, the city is a place where many devote Buddhists from the plains make their pilgrimage. Therefore, there are thousands of individuals dressed in extremely traditional garmets (as I described before, with the occasional yak fur vest thrown in) in these massive hords walking around in circles. It is a Buddhist custom to walk clockwise around any holy building, stupa, etc, and (for the more aerobically inclined) even around the entire city of Lhasa itself. On top of it, many of these individuals are chanting, or swinging prayer wheels (which are small spinning barrels at the end of a stick that have the mantra "om mani padme hum" written on a piece of paper inside. By spinning the barrel, it is another way of reciting the mantra without having to say it out loud), or counting prayer beads, or even doing an elaborate prayer routine that sort of looks like yogic sun salutations and involves a lot of reaching up and then lying down face-first on the ground--the more passionate ones even do a running slide into it. The reason why there were SO many in Lhasa is because this is the best time for them to make their pilgrimage as harvest season has ended and there isn't much work to be done on the farm. Anyway, it was quite the scene. The funniest bit was that as much as we were gaping slack jawed and buggy eyed at them, they were doing the same to us--or rather, to $ue's dreadlocks. There aren't many western tourists in Tibet (you need to belong to an organised tour just to enter the country) and certainly none that look like ... well, $ue. On more than one occasion, she was mobbed by women in bonnets running up and grabbing her dreads!

The Monestaries and Temples:
During the trip, we visited a LOT of monestaries and temples. These were, quite literally, large and in charge (in charge unofficially, at least). They easily rivalled if not surpassed the cathedrals in Europe when it came to size and splendor, with detailing on the walls as intricate and exquisite as the Palace of Versailles... except, of course, with a very different style of artwork. We saw thousands of golden Buddhas and thousands of yuan in offerings lying at the feet of said golden Buddhas, as well as tombs of previous Lamas that were lavishly decked out in gold, turquoise and precious jewels. Is it sacreligious to say that the MTV homes of America's rapstars have NOTHING on the places that these monks live? There was always incense burning, as well as yak butter candles (we agreed that, if we spend our entire lives without ever having to smell another yak butter candle, we won't be too torn up about it). The monks, however, didn't live entirely solomn lives. We noticed one washing the floors by having attached clothes to his feet and "skating" around the room, and when they were all chanting one afternoon a few were catching some zzz's while others giggled quietly amongst themselves. Hey hey we're the monks, people say we're monkin' around ... oh yes, and they all appeared to have excelled cellphone reception. We also visited Potala Palace, which was very large and impressive. We tried to find out what Potala meant, but unfortunately our guide didn't speak much English. "What's Potala?" "It's Sanskrit." "Yes, but what does it mean?" "It means Po-ta-la." Um... maybe you had to be there.

The Mighty and Noble Yak:
Hot yak butter tea: it's exactly what it sounds like, and tastes exactly how you'd think it would. In fact, yak and yak bi-products appeared to be in everything, whether you ate it, wore it or used it as a household item. Fortunately, a lot of the Chinese snackfoods had also made their way to Tibet. Needless to say, the slice of chocolate cake we managed to scrounge up at the end of our trip was the absolute best thing we have ever eaten, ever, in life. We shall speak of it always...

And So...
We had no idea what to expect with Tibet, so we tried to expect the unexpected, but somehow we still certainly didn't expect this. It was beautiful, and bizarre, and... well, yaktastic. Er, or something like that.

Chitwan

2010-04-23T14:47:00.000-07:00

I have now finished with editing down the multiple photos and have posted a few more this time from our adventure in Chitwan. I hope you enjoy. Bill
http://s821.photobucket.com/albums/zz137/theesckey/Chitwan/

Bill's Pics of Kathmandu now posted

2010-04-23T14:16:00.001-07:00

View some of the pictures I took of the city and the people and activities there in.
http://s821.photobucket.com/albums/zz137/theesckey/Kathmandu/

How We Travelled to the Future (and other escapades in Nepal)

2010-04-16T06:01:00.000-07:00

Well, we're now wrapping up our last week in Nepal...

We went to quite a few Hindu/Buddhist/combo (two-for-one deal) temples, they were all very impressive in a 12th-century-strangely-erotic-carvings kind of way.We also saw the Kumari, who is the living goddess (a young girl is chosen as the reincarnation of one of the Hindu goddesses, and lives in the palace until she bleeds [as in, paper cut] for the first time, and then a new one is chosen).

Janice, I am proud to announce, is now Officially a trekker. You see, she had arranged for us to do a bit of hiking. Unfortunately, our tour guide CLEARLY did not read my list of ten ways that hiking differentiates from trekking. This resulted in 9 hours ("It'll only take five, I promise," they told us... LIES!!!) of Up, with just enough down and flat thrown in so we wouldn't actually leave the atmosphere, as per usual. Janice, you're now part of the club. Congratulations!!

As per usual, we wandered through small Nepali villages--houses that managed to completely lack a single right angle (nobody sneeze too hard), small boys shyly offering us pink flowers, actual holy cows with red powder markings symbolising the spiritual on their forehead, fields of aloo (potatoes), young girls in beautiful sarees washing their dishes in a pathside stream, goat herders with parasols tending to their flock on steep hillside, and impossibly old woman with bullrings through their noses who were only as tall as my elbow (no exaggeration) grinning toothless grins and carrying baskets of bricks and sticks that I couldn't even dream of lifting. I've come to the conclusion that Nepal excells in old people. I swear, you go from age 45 to age 130 in this country. It's all kinds of awesome.

There was also a harrowing drive up a hill so steep with turns so hairpin that we actually had to make three-point turns just to go around the corner, our wheels within inches of ether. Welcome to Nepal.

Oh yes, and we learned the secret of how to make that delicious spicey Nepali tea! My lips are sealed, but Bedford family, you shall soon be formally invited to the Coles' to share a cuppa. Let's see if it compares!

We also celebrated Nepali New Year--Happy 2067, everyone! Leeeet's doooo the tiiiime waaaarp agaiiiiiin! Nature must've known it was a special day, as it put on quite the show for us. As we sat on the patio drinking our Nepali tea, we watched as lightening (both sheet and fork) exploded like fireworks in the sky, illuminating the mountains and foothills. Very cool :)

Tomorrow, we go our separate ways. Alan and Janice are heading to India whilst we youngins are off to Tibet. A and J, it's been a blast having you with us. We're so glad you came and shared this experience (good and bad) with us and earned your trekker stripes alongside us.

And on it goes...

Trek Photos

2010-04-15T19:34:00.000-07:00

follow this link to Photos of Trek 2010 from Bill's camera

http://s821.photobucket.com/albums/zz137/theesckey/Bills%20Trek%202010/

Enjoy

Chi-Chi-Chi-Chitwan... and beyond!

2010-04-09T21:07:00.000-07:00

After our trek, we decided to celebrate life by surrounding ourselves by numerous ferocious animals. Er, or something like that. Actually, we headed to Chitwan National Park, which is an animal sanctuary and an excellent place to relax your aching trekker muscles because, through the grace of God, the place is FLAT. *heavenly choir sings*

We spent three days blissing out in the sun... at least, $ue was blissing out. The others weren't overly keen on the temperature being in the low thirties, but nobody had to wear two pairs of socks, so that was wonderful (esp. because nobody had any clean socks left, let alone two pairs). Highlights included: A canoe ride where we saw various birds and monkeys in the trees as well as marshmuggers in the water (a type of crocodile clearly named by Roald Dahl). Also, a jeep safari ride through the jungle during which time we saw not one but two one-horned rhinos (is that the same as seeing one two-horned rhino?) which our guide ran through the grass and provoked so we could all get photo-ops in typical psycho-guide style. We also went on an elephant-back safari (it's amazing how much closer we were able to get to deer and monkeys and things when on an elephant compared to in a jeep or even when we were walking... just goes to show you that elephants are far less frightening to other animals than humans. Makes sense, since when was the last time an elephant had a deer head mounted over it's fireplace?). At one point, we encountered two rhinos wallowing in some mud. Our elephant wrangler (or whatever he's called) drove our elephant right up to them... and chased them out of their mud and onto the bank!! There was one scary moment when the rhino turned around and snorted, and we all thought, "Oh lord, does elephant trump rhino? I can't remember!" but the elephant kept charging ahead and the rhino scampered (or whatever the rhino equivalent of scampering is) into the woods. But, at least for $ue, the absolute highlight of Chitwan was bathing with the elephant. We hopped on said elephant at the hotel and rode it all the way down to the beach (which was NOT comfortable--elewedgies aren't fun) and into the river. Then, the 'phant rolled over and we fell off! It was great--we'd crawl up the elephant's face via trunk and onto it's back ($ue with her typical lack of grace) and the packaderm would fill it's trunk with water and spray us. And then we'd all fall off and the elephant would roll about in the river, kicking and frolicking. We even got to stand on the elephant's side and "surf" as it lay down and splashed in the water. Of course, the elephant wrangler was showing off and doing flips off the elephant's head. Good times had by all :) The gods really were watching over us--just as Buddha had been our guide in Annapurna, Vishnu was our guide in Chitwan. Seriously, I couldn't make this up if I tried. One of the major drawbacks of Chitwan was that they were in the middle of doing a controlled burn on the park and surrounding area, and so the air was so thick you practically had to chew to breathe. Still, that didn't stop us from enjoying lassies (traditional yogurt drinks) at sunset. The ultimate lassie would fetch itself...

We were originally supposed to fly back to Kathmandu (via Buddha air, of course) but it was too smoky from the controlled burn, so our flight was cancelled (which is a bit ridiculous as the burn is an ongoing and very regular thing and it's sort of like planes in Toronto being grounded because it's snowing, but anyway). So we hopped in the tiniest cab ever and drove the four+ hours back to the city. The roads made the air in Chitwan seem like Switzerland (I actually don't know if Switzerland is known for it's clean air, but it does seem like something the Swiss would be on top of ... if they can master time, surely they can control the elements, no?). Between the smoke, the diesel from the trucks, and the dust from the road coming in through the window, we arrived five hours later absolutely FILTHY. Seriously, we looked like orphans. $ue was sporting a very stylish Clockwork Orange-style eye ring. Hott.

In Kathmandu, we met up with Janice (Sara's mom) who will be accompanying us for the next week and a half. Welcome to Nepal, Janice!!

We spent the next two days being shown around Kathmandu by tourguide Bina, who was quite knowledgeable on all aspects of Nepali culture and even shared with me an ancient ayurvedic secret to combat my constantly being cold: whiskey. I like Bina. We went to a couple of Hindu temples, which were busy and bustling. Women in brightly coloured saris, dreadlocked Sadus (holy men) in loin cloths covered in ash who will pose for photos in return for a few rupees (one even had a compact mirror on him to make sure his aura was on straight), beggers with deformed limbs, people blessing each other by putting colourful powder on their foreheads, incense burning, monkeys picking through the garbage, offerings of flowers and fruit--all around intricately carved pagodas and statues. One of the temples we went to actually had funeral pyres burning: four or five concrete slabs alongside a muddy river where bodies were wrapped in gold-coloured cloth, surrounded by hay and set aflame, the grieving families standing nearby (that was a little strange to see).

In addition to the Hindu temples, we also went to a few Buddhist temples. The Buddhist temples were far calmer than their Hindu counterparts. One of them was called The Temple of 1000 Buddhas (or of 9000 Buddhas, the translations didn't always seem to match up) and it was shaped like a giant Twinkie and covered with intricately moulded terra cotta Buddhas (I think there were more like 9000 than 1000, but we didn't stop to count). Another was a massive stupa with Buddha eyes painted on top and hundreds of Tibetan prayer flags flapping about--apparently one of the most important Buddhist temples in the entire religion. There were also two HUGE prayer wheels (like twelve-foot Campbell's soup cans) manned by two midget monks, which was bizarre but exciting.

The strange thing about the temples (well, other than everything, but ya know) was that there were vendors EVERYWHERE, all around the statues and small buildings, hawking their wares of religious statues, bangles, portable prayer wheels, singing bowls, etc. Religion and market seem to be incredibly intertwined.

We also went to Khokana (sp?), which is a very traditional area just outside of Kathmandu. The buildings are approx. 200 yrs old and sort of look like one long townhouse in that medival-Europe style, and the roads were paved with something similar to cobblestone. The women were spinning yarn and weaving with mustard reeds, and the old men in their traditional Nepali hats and earrings (you receive a special earring when you turn 77 yrs 7 mo.s 7 days 7 hrs old) were gathered outside the temple to philosophise, and people were washing their hair in basins outside, and goats and ducks were running about. The vast majority of people here, by the way, are Hindu, although Buddhism is generally considered to be sort of like a sect of Hinduism and thus many of the temples are all-encompassing.

Anyway, that's what we've been up to. Bill is leaving our little group today (bye Dad!! It was awesome having you here!!!) and tomorrow we're meeting up with Buddha again and hitting the trails for a few days. However, this is going to be a hike, not a trek, as we won't be staying in teahouses. Tsk tsk, just as my squatting muscles were firming up...

Trekking Nepal (or, Think Of Your Own Witty Sub-Header, I'm Tired)... Part Four

2010-04-03T05:04:00.000-07:00

Eventually, we returned to Chhomrong and were reunited with Alan. And then, we started going Up in a whole new direction (for those of you who only thought Up was one way, I laugh!!! ...then I cry). This time, our eventual destination was Poon Hill (make your own jokes--this is a family blog). The next couple days we passed through some brilliant forests, walking down dark gorges where the trees seem to swallow you whole and coming across sparkling waterfalls that flowed like bits of Christmas tinsel down the rock walls. At one point, we got to walk through forests that were made entirely of rhodydendron trees (or, as Bill pronounced it, rhoDEEdendrons... holy rhoDEEdendrons, Batman!). Those were beautiful--huge pink blossoms as far as the eye could see. Even $ue, still in twenty seven layers, still whining that she was cold, could appreciate the beauty. It was really spectacular.

We finally reached Ghorepani, the village next to which Poon Hill is located. It was at this point that our guide decided to inform us that our trek up to Poon Hill would take place at 4.30 am, because if you get there too late after the sun rises the daily haze sets in and the view really isn't all it's cracked up to be. &%$#%^!!! (There really aren't enough symbols on the keyboard to justify my reaction) But, low and behold, the next day, we were up at the crack of middle-of-the-night, ready to roll. Now, Ghorepani is actually a major village because it's where all the different routes you can trek intersect, and so there are a lot of trekkers there at any one time. As a result, we were three (Alan decided to sit this one out as well) of at least a hundred noctural pilgrams marching up the thousands upon thousands of stone stairs through the rhodydendron forest. All you could see was an endless line of bluelish glowing blubs (headlamps) bobbing along in the blackness. It was pretty weird--I felt it deserved a Gregorian chant or something. But eventually, we reached our destination--Poon Hill, at sunrise. And I'll admit, it was worth the walk. The view was absolutely breathtaking. You're surrounded by mountains, more than 180 degrees (so you can see them start to curve around you), with the pink rhodee's sprawling beneath. As the sun hits the snow, it turns it a melted golden colour, and you can see the snow blowing off the peaks like smoke.

After Poon Hill, the next few days were dedicated to wrapping up our trek. Finally, we actually got to walk at a leisurely pace, and it got warm enough that I was able to strip down to just one sweatshirt ... and a toque... and gloves (everyone else, of course, was in a t-shirt and sweating). More forests, more terraced fields, more villages, more stray oxen and goats on the path. And then... we were done! We had made it!! Thank the lord, FLAT GROUND!!!!!

Now, I've been using the word "trekking", and I'm sure some of you are wondering what the difference is between hiking and trekking. To ease your confusion, I have created this helpful list:
1. Hiking is along a dirt path through the forest. Trekking, while there are sometimes paths, also always includes a horrendous number of crude steeply made stone stairs.
2. Hiking includes Gatorade and some granola bars. Trekking includes sporatic stomach aches.
3. Hiking is done for 1 to 3 hours, and the day is concluded with a relaxing shower in the comfort of your own home. Trekking is done for six to eight hours, and is concluded with you getting in your sleeping bag with seventeen layers on at eight pm because there's no electricity.
4. Hiking is done once, or even a couple of times (maybe), per summer on the weekend. Trekking is done for way more consecutve days than your body or sanity can handle.
5. When you finish hiking, you have a toned body and a golden tan. When you finish trekking, you look like your passport photo fell down a cliff.
6. Trekking involves a helluva lot more swearing, by f*%k.
7. Hiking is only done on sunny days. Trekking can be done during rain, hail, snow, or all of the above.
8. After hiking, you feel proud of yourself. After trekking, you wonder why you're so masochistic.
9. Hiking is done in a very expensive pair of workout pants and runners. Trekking is done in seventeen shirts and the same filthy pair of jeans for two wks.
10. Hiking is an accomplishment you feel good about for a weekend. Trekking is an accomplishment you feel good about for life.

Some final thoughts: I'm not going to lie--it wasn't easy. In fact, it was extremely far from easy. And I'm pretty sure that there were moments when all of us were wondering quite what it was we thought we were doing. After all, when compared to the Germans decked out in their thousands of dollars worth of top-of-the-line North Face gear and the French so fit they were skipping up the mountains and the Australians so hardcore they felt neither heat nor cold (only thirst for another Everest beer), we certainly seemed like a ragtag bunch. Extremely out of shape (well, except for Sara). Too old. Bad lungs/bad knees. Phobia of the cold and physical exercise. (And actually even Sara ended up bogged down with a cough and a stuffy nose) In fact, if we'd actually THOUGHT about what we were going to do, we never would have gotten into this in the first place. And you know what? I'm glad we didn't think about it. It just proves that you're capable of a lot more than you believe you are, and that being out of your element can turn out to be a good thing. We came, we saw, we trekked, we conquored. Score one for Team Average Joe.

Trekking Nepal (or, How "Up" Became A Four-Letter Word): Part Three

2010-04-03T04:37:00.000-07:00

Machhapuchhre Base Camp (yes, four h's) is the village right before Annapurna Base Camp, and thus our second last stop during our Hardcore Up section (later, we'd be going a more Moderate Up--which still involved thousands upon thousands of stone steps... don't ask me how that works). We arrived there just in time for lunch, and as we were sitting around eating (more on the food later), it started to rain. The rain turned to snow, and eventually it was a full-blown storm--blizzard, lightening, thunder. Yikes does not even begin to cover it. We decided we were done for the day, which was a good decision as the storm continued long into the night (or... at least past eight pm). When we woke up the next morning, it was clear blue sky but there was a good eight inches of snow covering everything ($ue thinks to herself: wait a second, didn't I just spend how many thousands of dollars to ESCAPE winter? Hmm....) But, after two more hours of Up (two hours which Sara spent skipping spritely and $ue spent trudging while hissing), we finally reached our destination: Annapurna Base Camp. And boy, was it cool. You're standing at this little teahouse, and you are SURROUNDED by mountains. It's like you're in a bowl, and they're everywhere. And they're not far away, either! You're very much in the belly of the Himalayas. Even $ue, in her twenty seven layers, had to admit it was awesome. "Wow," she said, watching the sun gleam off the brilliant snow as the mountains rose majestically around her on all sides. "It's like I'm in the Coors Light Beer Can!"

(Sara and Bill were not impressed)

Note: twenty seven layers is not entirely the exaggeration it sounds like. By the time we reached the top, I was in: two pairs of socks, long johns, jeans, slush pants, long john top, tshirt, two sweatshirts, puffy vest, jacket, hat, gloves, scarf, and a pair of ziplock baggies inside my shoes because "waterproof" apparently is just a catchphrase. And I was STILL whining that I was cold pretty much all of the time. Said layers were slowly peeled off over the next eight days as I emerged like one those little stackable Russian dolls...

The two days after ABC were glorious, because they actually consisted of that El Dorado we'd all heard of but never experienced: the mystical and elusive Down. Of course, after the snowstorm it was not so easy, because the snow quickly turned to slush (we all wiped out on numerous occasions, and eventually one of the porters was designated "$ue duty") and the slush to mud, and by the time we were back in Chhomrong we were filthy beyond all recognition. But the important part was that we'd made it to ABC!!! And that in and of itself was certainly worth the mud, sweat ($ue's sweat being from fear of being cold, note) and tears. Er.... right?

Quick mention about the food: There are plenty of wonderful things about Nepal. The gorgeous mountains rising in the background constantly reminding you that the world is far bigger than yourself. The lush forests and landscapes that seem to change with every crest and valley. The impossibly small old ladies capable of bench pressing a refrigerator and who have more piercings than any punk I know and yet still look delicate and beautiful..The food, I must admit, is not one of them. Even after the worst of Black Noodle Thursday had passed, we all experienced ongoing digestive problems. And the strange thing is, you can order the same item at every teahouse and receive something different every single time. Mostly, we ate veggie noodle soup (even after the incident), pizza (or, as the more honest menus referred to it as, "pizza"), and momos (which are sort of like pirogies, but nowhere near as good as Babcia makes). Even the tea varied dramatically. Lemon tea was everything from black tea with lemon juice to--I kid you not--hot Tang. Strangely, the only constant was the custard, which we ate often because, as Alan so eloquetly put it, "The best thing about desert is that it gets rid of the taste of dinner."

To be continued... in part four.

Trekking Nepal (or, How I Discovered I'm A Masochist, Apparently) .... Part Two.

2010-04-03T04:16:00.000-07:00

Quick description of the teahouses that we stayed in: A teahouse is set up in the same format as a motel, with all the rooms in a row and each door leading to the outside. Unlike a motel, these teahouses have external walls of concrete and internal walls of anything from woven straw to linoleum, and are so full of cracks that not only can you see stars through the wall, if the guy has the light on in the room next to you you could probably read a book. Needless to say, there was NO heat (not that it would have mattered if there was, as the cracks under the door and around the windows would have rendered it useless) and often no electricity. As a result, you end up going to bed at 8pm bc a) you're so cold all you can do to stay warm is put on seventeen layers and crawl into your sleeping bag and b) it's too dark to do anything else. Not that that was a big deal, as we were often up by six to begin trekking. But the bathrooms... warning: those faint of heart, do not read this section. The toilets were in external shacks, and these shacks look like... well, like something I'd come up with if I had to build a shack (though with significantly less glitter glue). In said shack, there's a basin set into the ground, over which you squat and do your business. Note: if you can't hear the pee hitting the basin, it's prob. because you're peeing on your pant leg. Once you've finished, you scoop a bucket of water from the large barrel of water next to the basin (in some of the more high-tech teahouses, they actually had a facet over top of this barrel, but not always) and pour it down after your business to flush. Oh, and all toilet paper goes in a waste basket next to the basin. Need I describe the smell? No? Okay then. And of course, most of these toilet shacks had no electricity. So don't forget your flashlight. Or your toilet paper.

Now that that's covered, back to our trek...

A lot of our path was marked by a crude stone path laid down by locals over centuries. And said path consisted of thousands upon thousands upon thousands of crude stone stairs, which, through some bizarre fluke in the universe, always led up but rarely led down. An average day consisted of anywhere from six to eight hours of walking.

Unfortunately, all this Up--while it was taking it's toll on everyone and leading to extremely foul thoughts, which would have manifested into extremely foul language had any of us the puff to speak--was really difficult on Alan, who's had chronic lung problems his whole life. As a result, when we reached the village of Chhomrong (yes, two h's) he decided to hang out there while the rest of us decided to torture ourselves further by heading up (Up) to Annapurna Base Camp.

Well. This was the Up that trumped all other Up's.We Up'd our way through mossy forests with monkeys and languers (larger, white monkeys) leaping through the trees overhead. We Up'd past the bamboo forests (growing, not ironically, just outside the village of Bamboo) with it's thirty-foot stalks. We Up'd until the trees became small and sparse with no spring buds yet and the grass was still yellow and dry from winter. We Up'd until one evening it started to rain, and the rain turned to hail, and I found myself skipping across three inches of ice in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and I wondered not for the first time what the hell it was I thought I was doing, and then we Up'd some more...

(to be continued... in part three)

We came, we saw (and trekked, and vomited, and laughed, and cried... well, nearly), we conquored: trekking the Annapurnas in Nepal!!

2010-04-03T03:58:00.000-07:00

Oh. My. LORD.

So, Team Average Joe--that is, Sara, Alan (Poppa Coles), Bill (Poppa Bedford) and $ue--have just completed trekking in Nepal. Before I write about this, let me paint a picture for you: you know how sometimes you're hanging out with your friends and one of you will come up with a really wild idea, like raising mongooses or opening a casino or going trekking in the Himalayas, and for about two hours it'll sound like an awesome plan and you're all gung ho about it, and then later you come to your senses and realise that it'll never work because you're just not the type of people who raise mongooses or trek the Himalayas, and you all have a good laugh and go back to your normal life? Well, imagine that, without the latter part...

I'm really not sure how to describe the last two wks of our lives, so I'm just going to start at the beginning. Which, coincidentally, was a terrible, terrible place...

We arrived in the parking lot of the Himalayas (or something like that--a parking lot at the edge of the woods, at least) all rearin' to go, and the first thing we came across was a crudely built stone staircase that led Up. WELL. Up?! Nobody said anything about Up! Needless to say, we weren't prepared for such a preposterous direction. It wasn't ten minutes before Poppa Bedford was sitting on the steps holding his head, dizzy, nauseous, heart thundering like a thousand horses, sweat pouring from his eyeballs (or were those tears?)... never have I heard such swearing! If Momma Bedford had been there, she would have been shocked and appalled. Oh lord. Two weeks of THIS?! It took us two hours to make it up that staircase... and the average time is twenty five minutes. (This was around when the porters were muttering to each other in Nepalese, and I'm pretty sure I overheard the phrase, "We still get paid even if they die, right?")

The good news is that we eventually made it up those stairs, and after a 45 min rest and a couple of bottles of Fanta, we were reading to go again. Fortunately, the rest of the day, and the one that followed, weren't quite so strenuous. We found ourselves walking along hillsides and valleysides by terraced fields of rice and alloo (potatoes), passing thru tiny villages made up of no more than a few houses and some oxen and goats wandering aimlessly, barefoot Nepali children with noserings running after baby chickens and asking for candy. Nepali people, by the way, are the strongest people in the universe. They're all quite tiny, but are 100 percent muscle. I don't even think they have any room for organs. We saw these incredibly ancient men and women carrying MASSIVE straw baskets on their backs filled with grass, straw, food, strange supplies and parcels... our porters carried two of our massive backpacks EACH. And these guys were MAYBE five feet tall and MAYBE 100lbs. I don't care how many days you hit the gym or how much you can bench press--I have never met anyone as tough as these folk.

Day Three, however, was what was known as Black Noodle Thursday. These noodles weren't actually black, and I'm not even sure if it was a Thursday, but it was a day that none of us will ever forget. Lesson learned while trekking Nepal: all meals should take at least 45 min to arrive, no matter what you order. If it comes any quicker... well, let's just say that you really don't know a person until you're, ah, callin' Ralph on the big white phone--or, in our case, the little blue bucket--next to them. Fortunately, our teahouse had enough little blue buckets to go around. Needless to say, it was a rough night.

But eventually, we recovered, and onward we went. When trekking Nepal, it is important to remember that there is only one direction, and that is Up. My god, I've never encountered so much Up in my life. I swear, there were moments that I was convinced if we went Up any more, we'd hit Mars. Up became a way of life. We were more or less following a river, sort of, and the path led us Up over hills and down valleys--although you knew that for every step down you took, there'd be two Up to follow. (in case you're wondering why I'm writing Up with a capital letter, it is because at this point it has become a way of life for us, almost a religion--flat had gone the way of the dodo) Usually we were walking through forests, passing through the occasional village (and the term village is used loosely--there was like eight people and a chicken in each one)

I'm going to publish this post now, because internet here is a bit sketch and I don't want to lose what I've written--part 2 is coming immediately....

Kathmanduuuuuude this is AWESOME!!!

2010-03-19T08:07:00.000-07:00

We've been in Nepal for a total of twenty four extremely jetlagged hours... and we're all in LOVE. This place is so. Freaking. Cool!!! First of all, we met up with our dads (Alan is Sara's dad and Bill is $ue's, for future reference, so you'll know who fell off the mountain--just kidding, moms!), who will be joining us for this leg of the trip. Yay bonding time over treturous hikes and hot yak butter tea! (ominous foreshadowing for the weeks to come...)

Anyway, our first impression of Kathmandu was utter chaos. It's the type of city where it feels like everyone is living (and walking, and talking, and driving) on top of each other, the way that vines and trees grow on top of one another in the rainforest. The buildings are tall and narrow with structure more like the Lego creation of a Riddelin-withdrawal child. The roads are narrow and crammed with pedestrians, bicycles, cars, motorcycles, mo-peds, and rickshaws (armed with rubber ducky horns), and it's so chaotic that we still can't figure out what side of the street people drive on here. Road rules appear to consist of horns and prayers. However, the people are smiling ear to ear (except for the ones that get run over) and the chaos isn't a stressful type. In fact, everyone seems incredibly laid back and happy--and why wouldn't they? Two p.m. on a Thursday and everyone's wandering the streets buying fruit and incense and gaily running each other over.

Also, it must be noted that Kathmandu is hippy mecca. Hemp bags, brightly coloured flowy clothing, spicey incense, rainbow patches depicting Om signs and mushrooms, handcrafted jewellery, and dreadlocked backpackers as far as the eye can see ($ue has never felt more at home). It's what Kensington Market has always dreamed to be. Duuuuude, this is awwwweeeesome, maaannnn!!

It must be noted that all hippy merchandise (as well as everything else) is purchased on a bartering basis. Example of this:
Guy selling cool hippy patches: "500 rupeees."
Dad: "I'll give you 250."
Guy: "Please, sir!!"
Dad: "250, or I'm going to the guy across the street... and I'll give HIM 500!!"
Guy: "Sir!!!! Are you trying to take my store??!!"

We stumbled across a couple of temples while wandering aimlessly (yes, we were completely without Aimee). Lots of statues of Buddha and... um... some gods with names not as easily remembered as Buddha... and lots of colourful paint jobs... and pigeons.

Tea drinkers: Nepalese sweet milk tea is worth writing home about!! (um... hence me writing home about it...)

Tomorrow we start our epic trek. Our guide is a man named Buddha (no, seriously). If that's not a good omen, I'm not sure what is.

Lots of love,
Team Coles and Team Bedford

Tea and laundry... (Norwich, England)

2010-03-15T04:44:00.001-07:00

An extremely brief update of the last two weeks:

We've been in England, staying with Sara's cousins in London and then her grandmother in Norwich. It's been nothing but tea, laundry, markets, and pyjama days.... and I regret nothing!!!

!!!! AFRICA PHOTOS !!!!

2010-03-04T08:14:00.000-08:00

View $ue's photos online:

http://s821.photobucket.com/albums/zz137/theesckey/Africa Sara/Africa Sue/?albumview=slideshow

(Sara's photos coming soon)

Note: not in any sort of proper order...

Rhino? RhiYES!

2010-03-03T10:20:00.000-08:00

Feb 27 (Matobo, Zimbabwe): Today we went rhino tracking, and it was definitely one of the highlights of the entire trip. The guy who took us (a separate guide than our Drifters guide) had grown up in the bush around rhinos (as well as all the other big scary African animals) and knew so much about... well, everything. He told us about how the rhino numbers have dwindled so drastically due to poaching (the rhino horn is sold as an aphrodesiac in Asia, even though it's made out of the same stuff as our fingernails) that there is virtually no hope in getting the population back up because there is such a small gene pool now and that there is an extremely good chance that the rhino will be extinct within a generation. In the part, there are men patrolling for poachers and if you are suspected to be a poacher, you will be SHOT on sight. But despite the risk, there are still tons of people willing to try to get a rhino horn--in Feb alone, 15 people had been caught (he wasn't allowed to say how many made it out alive). With the unemployment rate in Zimbabwe being between 95-97%, people are (understandably) desperate and the money they'd make from selling that horn on the black market is enough to set them for life. Anyway, we all piled into a four-by-four Jeep and he took us out into the wilderness. We were split into two groups to actually do the tracking. It was so cool, walking through the bush, looking at the rhino prints, trying to determine where they were and when, and where they could be now. And then, rhinos spotted! The rhinos took off (not RUNNING, but just sort of hurrying away) and we took off after them. If you ever said to me that I'd be chasing a rhino through Zimbabwe on foot, I would have told you that you were nuts, but... here we are. We saw a couple of rhinos, both mother-and-baby and father, and the closest we got was about 15 meters away. Our guide actually said that these rhinos were surprisingly skittish compared to how they usually are (keeping in mind that, although these rhinos are wild, they are somewhat used to people tracking them) which meant that poachers had been near. It's weird to think that our blurry rhino photos we may show to our kids one day and have to explain how rhinos are now extinct. I never thought of myself as a huge rhino fan before (I was pretty take-it-or-leave-it over 'em), but they're really awesome creatures. They look prehistoric.

Feb 28 (Machete, South Africa): We left the lush, rainy forests of Zimbabwe and crossed back into South Africa (it actually took the last group seven hrs, so the fact that we did it in two was pretty good). There were guys walking around with guns rounding up the Zimbabwans who were trying to cross by swimming across the croc-and-hippo infested rivers... who will then try again tomorrow. I've never been happier that I'm Canadian. We camped for the last time, in a desert-type camp similar to the ones we stayed in on the first few nights, and saw more bushman paintings. In the middle of the night, we heard baboons screaming (actually, $ue thought it was the guy in the tent next door snoring, but anyway).

Mar 1 (Johannesburg, South Africa): Back to the city! We drove into Johannesburg, which really doesn't look as scary as it supposedly is. In fact, it looks just like a normal city, except every house/business/building has a massive concrete wall around it topped with either spikes or barbed wire, and all the windows have bars over them. Still, there's lots of greenery, and the houses in the area we were in were very nice.

Mar 2 (up in the air): Flights Johannesburg to Dubai, and then to London to stay once again with Sara's cousin Karen and husband Lee in Kent. Bug-free beds! Showers (though no clean clothes to change into)! TEA!

Mar 3 (Kent, England): And here I sit, blogging away, in my smelly clothes and a cup of tea nearby. So, final thoughts on Africa: Overall, our trip was a total blast. Sure, there were moments (lagoon in tent, sand lice, generally having to function on 5 or 6 hrs of sleep per night, etc) where we felt somewhat out of our element, but we knew from the get-go that this trip would be a challenge. And we came out the other side, exhausted and smelly but smiling! We didn't really know what to expect going in, but we certainly didn't expect to be able to see and experience everything that we did. The animals were definitely what made it special, but the landscape was also wild--especially because we saw so many different types of landscapes in such a short time. And, not to sound all endorsement-ish, but Drifters was a killer company and we'd definitely recommend them to all our friends (that's you guys out there! *click and fingergun*). I'm sure we'll think of more to say once we've recovered from jetlag but... uh... yeah.

Vic Falls And Beyond

2010-03-03T09:44:00.000-08:00

Feb 25 (Vic Falls, Zimbabwe): This morning, we went white water rafting down the Zambezei River (the river that divides Zimbabwe and Zambia and feeds Victoria Falls), and it was absolutely elephreakin' AWESOME!!!!! We've all been white water rafting before (all of us in Interlaken in Switzerland and $ue on the Ottawa River), but this completely took the cake. First of all, it was breathtakingly gorgeous. The river is in the center of this vast gorge, which is covered with lush greenery and beautiful thin wispy waterfalls. As with many things in Africa, a big part of the reason why it was so stunning was because nobody had gone and screwed it up. Sitting in our raft in the middle of the river, we saw exactly what the fisherman would have seen thousands of years ago sitting in his canoe... had he been stupid enough to take a canoe onto the Zambezei in the rapids. Of course, the rafting itself was an absolute blast. Both Krista and $ue fell out at one point or another, but were quickly rescued and returned to the raft. We had smiles plastered on our faces the entire time, even when it started to POUR (of course) and we could barely see the rapids ahead because of the rain in our eyes. Though, I must admit the walk down two and (especially) up from the river through the gorge was quite... challenging. Ah well, practice for Nepal, right? After rafting, we decided to go see the Falls themselves. Now, again, I was expecting something similar to Niagara Falls, but this was completely different. First of all, as I said before, nobody came along and messed it up. There were no paved streets next to the falls, no tacky souvenier shops, no hot dog stands. It was just Falls and Jungle (because of the constant spray of the falls, the forest directly around it is actually rainforest) and a little stone walking path that ran through the trees about thirty feet from the falls and every now and again popped out at a look-out point, surrounded by a little wooden safety fence made of uncarved logs. The funny thing is that there's no one spot where you can see the entire falls (and, in fact, there isn't just one set of falls--there's the main falls, and then smaller ones around it). You just pop out at different look-out spots and catch a glimpse, and then have to piece it together in your mind. And because the gorge is relatively narrow, a lot of mist gets trapped and so you can rarely (if ever) see the river at the bottom, and sometimes you can't even see the falls directly across from you. It's strange but cool in a very natural way (I feel like I'm saying "awesome" and "cool" a lot in this blog, but I honestly can't think of any other words that sum up exactly how we feel about it). At the very end of the walkway, the trees disappear and the mist turns into an out and out downpour, regardless of what the weather is like in the rest of Vic Falls. The fences disappear, too. You just walk and eventually you get to the edge--a bunch of rocks and then a massive drop (don't worry, there is a warning sign, so we weren't in any danger of accidentally wandering off the edge or anything). From those rocks, all you can see are glimpses of falls and gorge and churning water through the thick mist, and a giant rainbow across it all. It was (awesome? cool? breath-taking? wicked? awe-inspiring? majestic? unbelievable?) ... yeah.

Feb 26 (Hwange, Zimbabwe): Back to camping, this time in lush Zimbabwe. We arrived at our campsite and went for yet another game drive, though most of the people on our tour opted out because it was raining again (but not Team Canada, we're hardcore!). We didn't see quite as many animals as we did on our previous game drives, but I'm pretty sure we were spoiled on those so it's okay, and we still saw quite a few: elephants, giraffes, antelopes, three white rhinos (which, ironically, were a dark brownish colour--darker than the black rhinos) and lots of baboons. Strangely, we passed through a hydro field and saw a bunch of baboons hanging on the giant hydro towers. Our driver jumped out and scared them so we got to see them all jump and scramble down, and a couple of them slid down the cables like firemen! It was pretty funny. All the sandlice seemed to have dispersed (and bites were healing), though everything still smells funky.

Recap Part... Three? Four? Is somebody counting this?

2010-03-03T09:22:00.000-08:00

Feb 23 (Nata, Botswana): &!*%^$£ SAND LICE *&!$%^!!!!!!!!! Lesson learned in Africa: if you feel like something is biting you in the middle of the night, it probably is. That morning, everyone in our camp woke up in the delta with sand lice bites of varying severity (Sara and Krista were mild to moderate, $ue had been devoured alive). Sand lice bites are similar to mosquito bites, though a bit smaller, and occur in large clusters on the arms and legs. And the REALLY crappy thing about sand lice is that they can stick in your sleeping bag like a bad smell and follow you wherever you go. Lovely. (Once again, there was a bit of not-speaking done that morning... though we soon saw a giant rainbow over the Delta, which we took as the land being like, "Um... my bad, sorry 'bout that" and made us feel a little better. Aw, Africa wants to be friends) This time, as we drove out of the Delta, Team Canada was actually allowed to sit on the roof of the four by four, although our guide didn't always remember that when we hit the low-hanging thornbush branches... at one point, we all had to fling ourselves onto our backs Matrix-style and cover our faces with our arms. Good times. On the upside, $ue's clothes were now dry. Though everything smelled (and, sadly, still smells) like a wet dog wearing gym sneakers with no socks. What do you want from me, Motherland?!?!

Feb 24 (Vic Falls, Zimbabwe): Elephants!!! Elephants!!! ELEPHREAKINPHANTS!!! We were driving down the highway and BAM! (Er, BAM as in it was right there, not BAM as in we hit it... needed to clarify that one) It was standing right at the side of the road, just chewin' on a branch, staring at us as if to say, "I'm really big, what are you going to do about it?" And it was really big. It was as tall as a twelve-foot-tall tree! And quite... girthy. Let's just say that you wouldn't want to meet it in a darkened alley (it would steal your wallet AND stamp you to death). And then, twenty minutes later... another elephant! And another! I'm starting to think Botswana is overrun with elephants the way southern California is overrun with illegal immigrants. Soon they'll be flippin' burgers and mowin' lawns... or something like that... That afternoon, we went on another game drive, this time in Chobe National Park. Elephants, giraffes, of course more springbok, more Pumbas (a couple Pumbas running across the road and upsetting traffic--speaking of which, we also saw a very large elephant moseying across the highway as if it owned the place, which it may as well have given it was the size of, well, an elephant!), water buffalo--these are the guys whose horns curve down and then flip out on either side of their head like a fifties hairstyle. We also saw hippos out of the water, grazing. They looked like cow-sized jellybeans. And another lioness... this one up close! She was in the bushes and almost completely hidden, just dozing. AhhhhhPennsylvaniaaaaaBabbaDeeeeeeShikaYahhhh! (that was the lyrics to Circle of Life from the Lion King, in case you didn't catch that). Honestly, this is probably going to sound ridiculous (warning!! Something stupid coming up!!) but... I just can't believe how many animals there are in Africa. Seriously, they're EVERYWHERE. Anyway, that day we also crossed into Zimbabwe and drove to Victoria Falls. Now, when I heard we were heading to Vic Falls (the tourist capital of Africa), I was picturing a little town similar to Niagara Falls (with lots of cheesy tourist-type things and cafes [though hopefully without poison quiche]), or at least Swakopmund. But this was completely different. There was maybe one main street, which was quite run down and half the shops on it were closed (and the other half had very thick bars over the window). Other than that, it was just... bush. Forest. On one side of the road there was our hostel and a couple other houses (with MASSIVE gates topped with barbed wire surrounding them) and on the other side... more forest. It was really weird. And we were warned not to be wandering around by ourselves at night. "Because of muggers and rapists?" "Um... well, yeah, but mostly because of elephants and leopards." Scary. Anyway, after dinner we were entertained with more traditional dancers, these ones with costumes and a drum and more energy than the Energizer Bunny on Redbull. Wow, can these people wiggle ferociously! Sara was even brought onstage and danced with. And while we were all very impressed with her shimmying, even she couldn't keep up. These guys were awesome! Also, this was one of the nights that we got to stay in a hostel, which we were absolutely stoked about because there were still a couple of sand lice kicking around $ue's sleeping bag and our tent was smelling about as fetching as our clothing. Ah, a hostel. Clean sheets. A soft mattress. And mostly, NO BUGS. Or so we thought until it was time to crawl into bed and $ue pulled back her sheet and discovered a massive swarm of ants all over her pillow. (Seriously, Africa?? SERIOUSLY?!) Krista's bed had a few too, and so the two of us decided to go find alternate accomodation for the night ("Good luck with that!" calls Sara as she passes out cold in her non-anty bed). Reception was closed for the night and so we went and knocked on our guide's room. Fortunately for us, he had two extra beds in his room and allowed us to crash. He wasn't going to bed right away and so we sat up for a bit, and then decided to go for a walk. So we pushed back the GIANT gate and stepped onto the road. Well, we hadn't gone fifteen feet when Krista was like, "Um... something's watching us." Sure enough, there were a couple of pairs of greenish yellow eyes staring at us from the bushes. And this Something--or rather, these Somethings--were black shapes about the size of donkeys. We watched them watching us for a while. They paced back and forth. We paced back and forth. Our guide took a few steps closer... and then very calmly said, "Get back inside. NOW." The next morning, we went to check for tracks, and discovered lion pawprints in the dirt road. ....COOL!!!!!

Recap Continued... Again...

2010-03-03T08:34:00.000-08:00

Feb 21 (Maun, Botswana): We woke up after very little sleep, grumpy, damp and wanting our mums. And it was still raining, so we couldn't even hang our clothing out the window to dry. Needless to say, we did not say one word to anyone for about two hours. However, it wasn't all bad--people were quick to lend clothing, and even though $ue ended up swimming in what could only be described as mom clothing, it's amazing how quickly your mood improves when you're warm and dry. We also crossed into Botswana that day.

Feb 22 (Okavango Delta, Botswana): This was day we got hardcore and earned our stripes--we camped out in the Okavango Delta! A delta, Sara informs me, is an area where a river splits into lots of smaller "fingers", and results in marshlands mixed with bush. Now, up to this point, we've either been camping in public campsites or in private Drifters campsites--and even if we were the only ones there, we still had things like toilets and showers (even though they were often semi-outdoors in that there would be makeshift stick walls but no roof). In the Delta, there was nothing. We were just stopping in the middle of the bush and setting up camp. Also, there was NO ONE around, traditional communities or otherwise. Why? Well... and parents, I'd like to take this moment to remind you that we are all okay and all limbs and digits are accounted for... this was Big Five territory. The Big Five are the five most dangerous animals to hunt on foot, and therefore generally regarded as the most dangerous animals in Africa: lions, elephants, water buffalo, leopards and rhinos. And we were in the thick of it! Wicked, eh? To get into the delta, we had to abandon our truck and all pile into a four-by-four with open-air walls/windows and tires up to my chest. The ride in was incredibly bumpy and took us through small streams three feet deep! There was a sunroof and we all took turns standing with our heads poking out, dodging low-hanging branches. Unfortunately, one of these branches got the better of Sara and smacked her a good one as she was posing for a photo (don't worry, it was just a scratch! Pretty cool war wound, though. She actually had a thorn sticking out of her ear for half an hour until Krista tweezed it out *Janice faints*). We had a couple of African guides camping with us for additional safety--they lived in the traditional community just on the edge of the Delta. And when we first arrived, they acted as our polers and took us for rides in mekoros. A mekoro is a traditional canoe carved as one solid piece from a tree. Two people sit in it, and the poler stands at the back and uses a large wooden pole to push us through the marsh, sort of like in a gondola in Venice. The marsh that they took us through was beautiful (you wouldn't think of a marsh as beautiful, I know, but I never thought I'd spit antelope poop either, so here we are [Shira: bah! I JUST managed for forget about that!]). There were long reeds with tiny speckled frogs clinging to them and tons of white and purple waterlilies floating on giant lily pads all around us. It was very peaceful and serene. At least, it was, until we heard what could only be described as a very loud moo-grunt. And there, with just their eyes and ears poking out of the water, were hippos! It was crazy. We sat and watched them for a while. Every now and then, one would stick it's head out (the head alone was about the size of... uh... of an ottoman) and a few times they even yawned, exposing MASSIVE pink mouthes. As I said, it was all quite breath-taking... until it started to POUR cats and dogs (or springboks and ostriches). Just in case any of us were a little too close to reaching nirvana. The polers quickly poled us back to the edge and we hurried through the marsh back to our campsite, soaking wet (something which we were getting quite used to by this point). But the good thing about the rainy season is that the rains never last too long, and after an hour or so of playing cards under a giant tarp the weather gods gave us a break. Now, I know we're starting to sound like pretty cool cats here, taking thornbushes to the face and getting caught in the rain surrounded by hippos and not getting too worked up about it, but you should remember that we were still a tour of 19-24 yr old city girls, and that was evident every now and again. For instance, at one point we decided we were hungry, and our guide made the mistake of saying that he had forgotten to pack copious amounts of food so we should perhaps be a little more aware of our food intake. WELL. What?!?! No food?!?!?! Suddenly, we were RAVENOUS and went a little... feral. Apples were shared between three people. Hamburger buns were split into four. The bag of marshmellows never stood a chance. It was what could only be described as a frenzy. The guides were agast. And, after a few minutes (once we'd all gotten our sugar fixes), we were pretty agast too, and made a vow to never speak of it again (don't worry, they don't have this blog address). What happens in the delta, stays in the delta. Anyway, later that evening we decided to go for a bushwalk with our guides, which was pretty awesome. We saw more hippos--it was funny, as we walked around the marsh you could see their little ears and eyes turning to follow us. (Of course, it's funny when you've got three African guides keeping you safe--it'd be absolutely terrifying had we been alone) And we also saw baboons!! They were jumping playfully through the trees, and one even came down to check us out. He sat on a log and scratched, and then scratched more in response to our laughter and attention. Awesome! Though, one of the most intense (as they say, camping is in-tents... get it? no? no?) of the Delta Experience for $ue didn't come until about 4 am when she had to pee. It's one thing to hang around the campsite when there are a few Big Strong Men ready to chase off any lions that happen to meander over. It's another thing altogether to have to venture out there in the middle of the night to take a whiz. She woke up Krista to come with her. *$ue climbs out of tent, then looks expectantly at Krista. Krista sticks her face out of tent* "Alright, here I am, go pee!" "Ohhhhhhh no ya don't!!! GET OUT HERE!" And although we didn't see any animals, and although we peed only four feet away from our tent (hey, we're no fools, you think we're going OUT THERE?!), it was still a definite adrenalin rush--especially to hear the sounds of the Delta all around you. We came, we peed, we conquered! ....Or something like that.

Recap Continued...

2010-03-03T07:41:00.000-08:00

Feb 18 and 19 (Etosha, Namibia): Etosha National Park!!! Etosha is a game reserve, and it's absolutely MASSIVE. Possibly comparable to the size of Algonquin? Or bigger? I'm not sure, I'll have to look into that (actually, I totally made that up and could be completely off with my predictions, but Sara's busy right now and I don't have time to ask her so we'll just go with that). Etosha was absolutely majestic--definitely one of the highlights of our whole trip. It won us over within the first twenty minutes of our arrival. On the edge of the camp, there's this HUGE waterhole. It's kind of funny, because it's very "typical African waterhole"-esque (whatever you're picturing, that's what it looks like) and on one side there's a low brick wall (with scary wire to keep out the dangerous animals, don't worry parents) and then benches for us to sit on, so it kind of reminded me of an interactive display you'd see at Disneyworld. Anyway, at first there were just some springbok (antelopes) drinking and doing their thing. Then, a herd of zebra showed up (and the antelope, knowing the pecking order, left to give them space) and they splashed around for a bit. But then... GIRAFFES!!!!!!! Not one, not two, but THREE of them!!!! At first, we could see them in the distance: "Omg, is that a giraffe?!?!" "No, I think it's a tree." "But it's moving!" "You're moving!" "Maybe it's just a really tall springbok." "OMG IT'S A GIRAFFE!!!!" and we all have about eighteen photos of them at fifty foot intervals approaching the waterhole. And when they got there, they just hung out for a bit, drinking awkwardly (have you ever seen a giraffe drink? Certainly one of the less glamourous wonders of nature) and chillin' out. The neat thing about giraffes is that, unlike springbok and zebra who jump first and act questions later, they play it real cool. If they hear a noise or grow suspicious, instead of bolting, they wait, look around, check out the situation. In fact, they rarely move at all, and are usually just frozen in tableau (which makes it awesome for photos... although I'm sure half of ours are blurry anyway). At one point, the giraffes and the zebra were drinking simultaneously. Later that day, we went for a game drive, which basically means you drive around the grasslands (which are so flat you could, as they say in Saskatchewan, stand on a bucket and watch your dog run away for three days... or meerkat?) until you see something cool. What neither of us expected was just how many cool things we saw. Animals were EVERYWHERE!!!!!! Springboks were like pigeons in Chinatown--vast herds of them stretching for as far as the eye could see. Zebras were like squirrels. There were other type of antelope as well, and more giraffes, gliding gracefully across the plains and chewing on the trees (and at times galloping across the road in front of our truck), and tons of ostriches and an ostrich baby (which is really cute in that hideous sort of way), and warthogs with babies (we've now seen both Timon and Pumba!), and tons of lizards, and mongooses (mongeese?), and wildebeest which are ugly and sort of angry and gangly and awkward and have hair in strange places and therefore $ue decided they looked like 14-yr-old boys, and... RHINOS!!!! We saw two rhinos. They were black rhinos, which is just a name because they were in fact more of a whitish grey colour. One of them was at the watering hole at night ("Look! A rhino!" "Pfft, that's a rock!" "It's moving!" "You're moving!" "Stop saying that!") and the other was at the side of the road RIGHT BY THE TRUCK!! It was awesome; it just stood there and stared at us for a bit, then turned tail and jogged off. And if that's not enough for you... LIONS!!!!!!!! We saw two lions. One was a female; she was far away and more of a moving speck, but definitely a lion. The second was a male and he was much closer, drinking from a watering hole (not the one by our campsite--parents, relax!). It was so breathtaking to see. Like the giraffes, he also played it cool. You could tell by his stride he really was the king. Alright, alright, I know I'm sounding like I've got sunbrain, but it really was awe-inspiring. In the evening, after dinner, we decided to hit up the waterhole again to see who came out as the sun set. And it was here that we saw not only one of the greatest things we saw on the whole trip but, at least in $ue's opinion, one of the most awesome things we've seen, ever. As the sun was going down, SEVEN giraffes came out to drink. Now, because of the way the light was, it was difficult to see them standing at the edge of the waterhole. But you could see their black silhouettes reflected perfectly in the still water, the blazing sunset reflected also as their backdrop. It was... stunning. So incredibly moving. Of course, we took pictures, but even without seeing them I can guarantee that it won't have done that image justice. All I can think is that we are some of the luckiest people in the world. Speaking of final thoughts, we have two after Etosha: 1) There is something philosophical about watching a giraffe, or a rhino, or a lion, who remains still and calm and only moves in life when it is necessary after quietly observing the situation... be less like a springbok, more like a giraffe (hmm, perhaps I should go into the fortune cookie writing business) and 2) zoos are so incredibly cruel.

Feb 20 (Caprivi, Namibia): Even more driving. "I love the open road, and all that it suggests" (Billy Corgan). We passed by a lot of traditional communities, and even got to go in and visit one. These are little communities made up of about four or five small huts. The huts are round (obv. one room) with thatch roofs, and are usually made of mud or sticks but sometimes pop cans as well. Everyone in the community is related, and there are many people living in each hut. These people lead very traditional lives, growing crops. They are miles away from any sort of doctor, but the children usually do go to school (though the walk to and from often takes hours). They were friendly people, though most didn't speak English, and were quick to show us around. They're also incredibly skilled at carrying things on their heads--the most interesting thing we saw was a watering can. The area is known as the Caprivi strip, which is lush and has great farming land. Speaking of which, the scenery changed from desert to grassland/plains to more of a bush, and that evening we stayed at a hostel that had the coolest bathrooms EVER. One was entitled "A Loo With A View" and was a toilet hidden behind some trees that looked out onto a field. That night, we encountered our first... challenge. After setting up our tent, we went out to the hostel bar with the rest of our group. During the few hours we were there, it started to POUR (we were nearing Botswana and Zimbabwe, and it's the rainy season there). But we weren't concerned--after all, we were smart little girls and had put our rain cover over our tent. Now, let me interject for a moment here. There are many things in Africa that are wonderful. Giraffes=wonderful. People with watering cans on their head=wonderful. Tent rain covers=malicious, spiteful, NOT our friends. We came to this conclusion when, at one a.m, we discovered that said rain cover had betrayed us and abandoned its duties and BLOWN OFF at some point during the evening. As a result, there was a lagoon inside our tent. Sara got lucky and only about half of the items in her backpack were soaked, but $ue's bag received the full front of the onslot--EVERYTHING inside was drenched. The bag itself was dripping. And, of course, the clothing we were wearing was also wet as we'd run from the bar to our tent in the rain. So, after a few minutes of standing ankle deep and cursing the gods, we decided to go sleep in the truck. Which meant that Sara spent the night cramped in a little ball in a chair. As for $ue, she attempted to sleep on the only flat part of the truck available--what she didn't expect was that there was a leak above it and she got dripped on all night. We spent the remainder of the night scavenging the truck like vultures, grabbing sweaters and towels that belonged to the other girls on the trip and layering them all night in an attempt to stay warm and dry. You win this round, Africa.

(To be continued... er, right now)

Don't Worry, We're Not Dead! (London, England)

2010-03-03T07:02:00.000-08:00

...It's just that internet access in the Okavango Delta, Zimbabwe and the other places-with-cool-sounding-names that we've been to (we passed by a sign for a township that had a ! [click] in it's name) was, well, nil.

So, before I begin, I am proud to announce that both of us are in one piece, give or take a couple of insect bites, and while all the clothing we own smells absolutely horrific and I'm fairly sure my pants are dirty enough that they can not only stand up under their own free will but they will soon begin running around, we are doing just fine :)

Now, as for the last two weeks...

Feb 16 (Spitskop, Namibia): We finally left Swakopmund (just as I was learning how to spell it!) and en route back to the middle of nowhere (actually, this was a new nowhere we were heading for), we stopped off at a seal colony. Now, I'm not sure what you picture when someone says seal colony. I was thinking of a couple of seals lounging on rocks, being cute and posing for photo-op's. What I didn't expect was 210 000 seals spread out across the rocks and beach. They were EVERYWHERE. It just looked like a mass of wet black slugs, wriggling in the sunshine. The noise was really weird--I don't know if you've ever heard a seal, but if you close your eyes it kind of sounds like a tortured cow. Now picture hundreds of thousands of them. And the smell!! It was cool once we got used to it (and once we saw a couple babies that we could coo over), but I have to admit, in the beginning, it was a bit... creepy? I never thought I'd be freaked out by seals before, but there you have it. That evening, we camped in the desert in this massive cave underneath a precariously balanced boulder. Team Canada decided to climb this large rock mountain thingy ("not a roooocckkkk, not yet a mouuuuuntaiiiin" ... that was a reference to "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" by Britney Spears, in case you didn't get that) and watch the sunset. It was a bit difficult scrambling to the top (yes, Sara had to lift us) and en route we saw a dassie (something like a guinea pig) that had been fully mummified by the sun. Aimee, it's not road kill, but I thought of you anyway. The view from the top was spectacular. You could see probably about two thirds of the horizon curving around you as if you were on a giant dinner plate. It was totally flat desert/bits of grass/small bushes and trees, with a couple of other teenage mountains (for complete lack of a better term) rising up in front of us. The coolest part was, other than a couple of dirt roads snaking through, it probably looked exactly the same to us as it did to the bushmen x-many thousands of years ago. It was quite windy and cold though, and $ue was quick to wrap her dreads and headband around her like a turban and hide in a hole, earning the title of Osama Bin $ue. Yes, there are photos.

Feb 17 (Brandberg, Namibia): We camped in yet another nowhere in the desert, although this camp was awesome because it had a resident meerkat! $ue fell in love and played with it all afternoon. Although it was wild, it had been domesticated and acted like a little dog, play-nipping and rolling over to get it's stomach scratched and the like. $ue will definitely be on the hunt for one in some Chinatown back alley upon return (*Bedfords shudder*). We also went for a walk and saw traditional bushmen paintings on the rock (this was actually pre-meerkat, but I couldn't contain my excitement when writing this blog). They've been done from various natural materials--blood from animals, milk from plants, ostrich eggs--and it's amazing how well they've clung to the rock after thousands and thousands of years. Of course, I have chocolate that's been clinging to my favourite shirt for about that long, so perhaps it's not so amazing. In the evening, a group of traditional singers and dancers came and performed for us in their click-language. It was really cool to see. There are four different clicks, but you can probably only manage two of them.

(I'm publishing this because I'm nervous of the computer crashing and losing my work, but I'll add another entry right away)

Still in Swakawakalakawhatever...

2010-02-15T06:16:00.000-08:00

...taking advantage of internet access.

Today, Sara and Krista went quad biking on the sand dunes. It was incredible, climbing up the side of the dunes kind of like a rollercoaster except you get to steer! Unfortunately, $ue had to miss out, as apparently the vegetarian quiches in Africa commonly contain ham. It was quite crisp (Swakopmund is significantly colder than the rest of the area due to the fact that it's by the ocean; as it is, we're all in pants and sweatshirts... mind you, after the desert, we're certainly not complaining) and there was a bit of ocean fog, but nonetheless a good time was had by all (well, except $ue, but she'll survive).

To add to it's strangeness, Swakopmund is a town where the most spoken language is German, although there's lots of English and Afrikaanse as there is everywhere in southern Africa. It's brightly coloured with lots of box-like architecture, which makes me think it is primarily home to rich robots (Bender, perhaps?). It is also very difficult to buy shorts, as Sara discovered. Ham in the vegetarian quiches, no shorts, robot cribs, desert to the left of us, ocean to the right ( *sings* and here we are, stuck in the middle with $ue) ... honestly, where ARE we?!?!

Well, that's all we have to report. Lots of love, S and $.

"Saskqua... Saska... Squawk... Sara, where are we?" "Swakopmund." "Gotchya."

2010-02-14T07:04:00.000-08:00

Greetings from... uh, that place!! ^

We've done a LOT since our last entry. First, we went on a second canoe trip on the Oranje River, and $ue is pleased to report that this one was significantly more successful than the last. It was really bizarre to see the effects of the flooding though, we had to dodge tree tops that were poking out of the middle of the river!

After that, we packed up all our stuff and headed out to another campsite. En route, we stopped by Fish River Canyon (the 2nd largest canyon in the world). So it may not have been The Grand Canyon, but everyone agreed that it looked pretty darn grand to us. It was HUGE, and breathtaking, and didn't look real (don't worry, no one stepped off the edge to test that theory). And what was really cool was that, unlike all the touristy spots in North America and Europe, there was NO ONE else there except for us. And there was nothing tourist-esque about it--just the canyon, and a small straw hut, and some guy sitting on a stool looking really sweaty.

We've done a ridiculous amount of driving. The funny thing about Namibia is that no matter where you are you feel as though you're in the exact middle of nowhere. The road is dirt; we raaaarely pass another vehicle. Any sort of small farmhouse dwelling is scarse, and most of the hamlets we drive through consist of a gas station. The landscape, however, is ever-changing. Everything from rocky outcrops to super small bumpy hills like a miniature golf course, to nothing but dry sand and dirt, to grassland with acacia trees, to mountainous-type regions. We can't fall asleep on the drive because we're always afraid of missing something--well, that and the fact that some of the bumps in the road have sent us airbourne.

The Drifter's Desert Camp, where we've pitched our tents for the last three nights, was really cool. It's surrounded by 224 000 hectares of this spectacular nothingness, and there are lots of what look like mountain crumbs--massive massive massive piles of reddish boulders that were once part of mountians but have been standing there so long that the granite that was once between them holding the mountain form together has long since eroded away.

Animal sightings so far: plenty of springbok and hemsbok (types of antelope), a brown hyena (on the road hundreds of miles from our camp--not to worry, parents!!), ostriches, bat eared foxes, zebras ("disco donkeys"), lots of geckos, and a wild cat (which is just like a normal housecat except skinnier and without an inflated sense of entitlement).

We've done a lot of hiking/walking, which has been really interesting. Gross Alert (Shira, please, STOP READING NOW, this may destroy our friendship): on one of our walks, our guide convinced us to have a spitting contest... with springbok pellets!! Disgusting, I know, but when in Namibia, right?? (please, someone get Shira a puke bucket...) At one point, Team Canada (Sara, Krista and myself) decided to go for a walk on our own away from the camp and came across the most beautiful scene ever. You could just see the miles and miles (sorry, kilometers and kilometers) of grassland, animals grazing in the distance, beautiful mountains, the sunlight sparkling off... everything... it was so gorgeous, we were convinced it was a backdrop, and that if we kept walking we'd eventually hit a canvas painting (hmm, perhaps that was due to the 40+ degree heat??)

But by far the COOLEST place we've been to (even though we had to wake up at 3:30 am to get there!!!!) was the Sossusvlei sand dunes. Like everything else in Namibia, they're in the middle of NOWHERE, and they're these massive massive massive bright orange-red sand dunes (60-300 meters tall), windswept, looking exactly like a rust coloured version of Egypt (Aimee, we may need to compare notes on that). We climbed one of the dunes and just hung out on top for a while, taking in the sights and trying to wrap our minds around this alien land... okay, and running down the sides yelling "WEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!". And, as if that wasn't enough, we then went for a walk through this bizarre landscape, nothing but red sand under foot and a bit of clay in some spots, poking through like the bones of the earth, and the occasional acacia tree (more often dead than alive). We could practically hear the theme song to The Good, The Bad and The Ugly in the background. AND, according to Sara's trusty thermometre, the temperature was somewhere between 44 and 54 degrees!!!!!!! I was an idiot and refused to listen to the guide when he told us not to wear sandles, and by the end of it my feet were on FIRE. But, all in all, we made it through without succumbing to heat stroke or hallucination.

Actually, if you want to know what it looked like, there's an image of one of the dunes on most Windows desktop photo options that come with the computer. Look for a red windswept sand dune... I didn't think such a place actually existed, I always figured it was some photoshop job, but WE WERE THERE!!! Lemme tell ya, it's a bit bizarre to spend how many hours per day staring at a computer and then to finally find yourself IN your screen saver... I'm sure there's a philosophical thought in there somewhere, but it's way too hot to think of it.

Swakopmund is a strange little resort town, like Whistler, complete with palm trees, by the ocean, surrounded by desert. Namibia is a weird, weird, weird, weird, weird place. But we're having a blast and drinking lots of water and taking plenty of photos, and thinking of you all!!

Lots of love, S and $ (sweaty, sandy and smiling)

$ue: "Where IS Namibia, anyway?" Sara: smacks forehead

2010-02-10T05:54:00.000-08:00

Ah, Namibia: desert, mountians, the Oranje River, dusty dirt roads, scorpions, an Internet cafe...

Brief recap: On the 8th, we piled into the Drifter's bus and hit the road. And drove. And drove. Aaaaand drove. The scenery we past was desert, but Arizona-style desert as opposed to Egypt-style desert (not that either of us have been to either, but this is what we gather). Lots of dust, low semi-mountainous craggy rock outcrops, and small bushes. And talk about hot!!! According to Sara's thermometre, it reached 38.8 degrees Celcius in that truck. Something to think about while you're all freezing your tuckases (tucki?) off while shovelling the driveway. After about eight hours and a couple of sandwich-and-pee stops, we finally reached our destination... which appeared to be more or less the exact middle of nowhere. Except there was a toilet there (still, we found it far more sanitary to use the bushes that God gave us).

We set up our tent and went exploring around the brush. Animal sighting no. 1: a dassie (pronounced "dussie"), which looks like a large guinea pig. $ue was immediately smitten and attempted to chase it--but they scampered away cutely and she was left wheezing in the brambles. Dinner was around the campfire and actually quite delicious for campfire-esque food. Shortly after, we encountered animal sighting no. 2: a SCORPION!!!! Fortunately, it was a "not so scary" scorpion--the sting is comparable to that of a bee's. But still! And the stars were breath-taking...

The next morning, we were up at sunrise (which is far less romantic than it sounds) and hit the road again--but only for two hours this time. We crossed over into Namibia and eventually arrived at our camp, which is next to the Oranje River. As a result, the campsite itself is incredibly lush compared to the rest of the area, which is pretty much desert as far as the eye can see. The river was incredibly flooded due to heavy rainstorm in the south farther upstream--you could see just the tops of trees poking out in what seemed like the middle of the stream! We all climbed into canoes and went for a paddle. Sara and Krista did well, but $ue and her canoe buddy failed miserably... the guide not only had to come rescue them, but then attach a cord to their canoe and drag them around, like a little kid on a leash at the mall. *$ue hangs head* *$ue's parents hang heads*

That night, we decided to camp out under the stars sans tent, which sounded like a great idea except for a couple of factors. Factor number one: it was incredibly muggy--so muggy that Sara was prompted to exclaim, "Why, it's only this muggy in Toronto before a thunderstorm!" Factor number two: The massive swollen river due to, well, thunderstorms. Factor number three: The lightening we could see in the distance from a--you guessed it--thunderstorm. Factor number four: The fact that the stars were mysteriously "disappearing" as we fell asleep. Yet our trusty African guide said, "Rain?! Pffffffft!"

And yet, low and behold, we were woken up at 2 am when it poured onto our camps and we all had to scramble for our gear and seek shelter in the lunch hut.

That's all for now, as internet is a scarse commodity out here... lots of love!!! S and $.

From sharks to Cape Point and onwards

2010-02-07T10:08:00.000-08:00

First official day of the tour!! But, with us wanting to find the craziest experiences possible, we opted out of the afternoon winery tour and headed straight for the most great white shark-infested waters in the world. Obviously.

We staggered out of bed bleary-eyed at 530 AM and got on the bus to the dive site. A couple hours later, a light breakfast and a brief rundown of what to expect, the boat was whizzing out into the ocean. We got into our wetsuits as the crew lowered the cage into the side of the water, with the not too pleasing smell of fish in the air to bring our carnivorous friends to the boat. We were quick to volunteer to go first, and got in feeling a little nauseated and COLD (the ocean water is freezing!!! we were more afraid of the cold than the sharks). As soon as they yelled they were coming, we ducked under the water to see the massive grey shapes move right by in front of us!! After we came out of the water, from above we could see them coming up through the water to grab the fish with their jaws. The ones we saw were from 2m long up to a massive 4m!! It didn't help however that the choppy water is some of the worst we'd experienced, so we spent half the time glancing at the sharks before staring at the horizon. Over half the group weren't able to keep that light breakfast we had down. Unfortunately Sara fell into that category, although Sue managed to narrowly escape. But definitely an experience of a lifetime.

Today we headed to Cape Point, a national park on the most South west point of Africa. The scenery was breathtaking, gorgeous mountains and wide open ocean. We even saw some wild ostriches wandering through the brush.

Then what we were most excited about... PENGUINS!! The little African penguins that live by the rocky shore are so chilled out that they let you just wander up and around them, and they just stand there like miniature butlers and look at you. After many a picture and girly squeals of delight we headed to a late lunch and back to the hostel.

Tomorrow we're leaving behind civilization, and heading up in the truck overland towards the deserts of Namibia. Camping at its basic... we'll see how we survive!!

Sandy and Sunburnt in Cape Town

2010-02-05T08:47:00.000-08:00

Krista joined our crew and the three of us spent the morning at Sea Point Beach, frolicking on rocks and looking at little sea creatures in the tide pools (sea creatures of note: numerous small starfish and TWO different types of sea anenomae... $ue felt just like David Attenborough). Then, we hopped on a bus tour on a double decker bus that drove us around the city. We drove partially up to Table Mountain as well as through the various districts, including what used to be District 6 and the Cape Town equivelent of Post Road. We then hit Cape Bay, which is "the" beach in South Africa (apparently). We tried to tan to a beautiful golden brown but just ended up being pasty yet selectively sunburnt where our sunscreen had failed us ($ue's left ear hurts!!). Sara and Krista were brave enough to tread into the frigid water, but $ue got her toes wet and quite literally ran screaming.

Hello from Cape Town, South Africa!

2010-02-04T10:23:00.000-08:00

It's begun!!! World or bust 2010 is here. The skinny, pasty chicks take on the world!

We would like to begin this blog with a lyric from a song that Aimee wrote for $ue when she first backpacked Australia. Different trip and a new face along, but the sentiment remains the same:

"IIIIIII hope you don't diiiiiie! IIIIII reeeeeally hope you don't diiiiiie! Don't get eeeeeaten by a shaaaark! Don't get biiiiit by a buuuuug! Don't faaaaall off a moooountain! IIIIII really hope you don't diiiiie!"

Wise words, Aimee, wise words. Perhaps the Beegees were a little more optomistic when they coined "Ah, ah, ah, ah, stayin' alive! Stayin' alive!" but nonetheless, a powerful message.

And, day two (three? ish? I am lead to believe that at some point we travelled back through time??) and so far, so good.

Recap:

After heading to London we caught some zzzz's at Sara's cousin's Karen's place, after attempting the British Museum (we decided that that was far beyond our calibre when Sara so eliquoettely commented: "Wow... this stuff looks old" ... despite the fact that we were in fact staring at a blank wall at the time). After sweet tea, good conversation and, well, more sleep, we packed up and headed to Gatwick.

8ish hours later, and we were in Dubai. Notes on Dubai: best. airport. ever. Shiny with waterfalls. Also, we got complimentary booze and socks. Then, we boarded plane number three to head to Cape Town.

Or so we thought.

Nine hours and multiple Simpsons episodes (and some strange vegetarian plane food) later, we started to decend into Cape Town. Table Mountain rose majestically over the city as we started our approach... and then suddenly it sank back into the earth as we zoomed away.

Huh? ...yeah, that's what we said.

Apparently there was something "blocking the runway" (whatever that means) and we were being rerouted to Durban, which is located exactly as far away from Cape Town as South African boarders will allow. Two hours later, we landed--though not overly gracefully, as Durban I don't think was made to accomodate a boeing 777. As Sara and I watched, horrified, on our miniscreens (the plane had a camera on the nose), we came to a bumpy and screeeeeeching halt just 20 feet from the Ominous Pylons of the Abyss (alright, Sara says it was more like 100 ft, but I know what I saw).

Good grief.

After three hours on the tarmac (!!!), we spent ANOTHER two hours flying back to Cape Town (!!!!!), and arrived bleary eyed and confused (case in point: $ue, arguing with her sarong: "It says sarong, but it feels sa'right!"). Fortunately, our hostel pickup guy waited faithfully and we made it to the hostel just in time to pass out cold.

Today we decided to indulge a bit and catch up on some well-deserved rest (see: slept til noon). Then we took a walk through Cape Town, down to the waterfront. Cape Town's pretty--sort of like a more disorganised version of Amsterdam (much, much, much more disorganised)... although everything seems to be under construction. It was about 27 degrees and not a cloud in the sky (mwahahaha suuuucckkkeeerrrssss!!!), although the parents should be pleased to note we applied enough sunblock to retain our pasty glow.

Meeting Krista tomorrow, though not entirely sure on what our plans will be.

Day 1 in Cape Town without any stabby incidents: success!!

Lots of love,

S and $.