tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73461707288372327622024-03-14T02:32:34.448-07:00A Journey of One Inchjillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.comBlogger47125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-36532548430251072482011-10-12T11:08:00.001-07:002011-10-12T12:09:26.621-07:00It's Been Awhile<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Hi there,<br /><div><br /></div><div>I can't believe it's been so long since I've updated this thing!</div><div><br /></div><div>I'm back in New York City, and every time I look at this photo (taken when I rode the Staten Island Ferry with my mom), I want to start singing "Empire State of Mind." Because I'm a dork, and because it feels so dang good to be home.</div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaqAO4X7q2x3M98QQg3a5GglVnxHKjoRPsEN6v-l-ZnJ3ZdbYNhOX2nRkTVTv0QOPLex3edzRl3-GkqhaCBdD6i-0QNQhcS1mbyJ4Puq5mUxR8bXWbzeOOL7-b1pJ6M4WGwCAueFAnR84/s400/New+York.jpg" style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662675767628250338" /><div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">A lot has happened in the past four months, and I just haven't been able to keep up. Here's a bit of what's been going on since I last posted:</div><div><br /></div><div>1. I finished my round-the-world trip with a safari in Tanzania, and saw, among other things, 21 lions in the wild. </div><div>2. I came home from traveling internationally, and immediately started jetting around the U.S. (Michigan, New Hampshire, Florida, California, Oregon, upstate New York, and Maine) for work research, moving boxes and boxes of books, and to attend lots of lovely weddings with old friends.*</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKW4oXZtshHelqXQ9ZWFw4fSNz-UuJ6PtD9MG5yhPNperkvRNKvE4KGxJsJJZqX8L5YFFBsc7eljvenTuMa3j3yAT7M6eKWEtcgQ9V11khyphenhyphenbABWWwsiJ6HZfonQ4rQwT_zKdMxsikbV04/s400/GA+Wedding.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662676058770967282" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 267px; " /></div><div><div style="text-align: left;">3. I moved in with Ad. Or rather, we moved into a totally awesome garden apartment together, in my old Brooklyn neighborhood.</div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZycFFmzacT1b5C7kfPqOg427QJ4jCS9p_0m7kKhUkyAVdcIzbeHFEyZ5U7Pq6dnX5SSy8SZWhj3l-n4O7Fby4tksmxdd89Rnj0ctWJ5gfyYx8c01GhAcBG7Wf_bH9gJHUwATi9mNsrIM/s400/Us.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662677298496997042" style="display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px; " /><div><div><div>4. We hosted several close friends and family members in our new place.</div><div>5. My little sister moved to NYC to start the Teaching Fellows program, and we've been getting some quality hang out time in. So sweet to have some family nearby for the first time in six years!</div><div>6. I started coaching with <a href="http://www.girlsontherun.org/">Girls on the Run</a>--a terrific after-school program that gets young girls moving and feeling good about themselves. It also motivates me to keep training for those two half marathons I signed up for...</div><div>7. I realized I need to actually <i>learn</i> how to be a freelancer and have spent a lot of time getting my files, taxes, healthcare, and workspace in order.</div><div>8. I've been working on (and am almost finished with) another exciting writing project. I'm also pumped that <i><a href="http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fire-james-patterson/1101718617">Witch & Wizard: The Fire</a></i> is out in just two more months!</div><div><br /></div><div>Now I'm really looking forward to a quiet, homey New York autumn, spent working diligently at my new office space, strolling around my neighborhood farmer's market among the changing leaves, snuggling up to the bf (and the cat), and watching way too many movies. </div><div><br /></div><div>A longer recap is coming soon, I promise. I lost my netbook computer cord, so haven't been able to access the photos from the last leg of my trip, but hopefully that situation will be remedied shortly and I can post a ton of great pics and tell you all about Zanzibar, the Serengeti, and how I felt at the end of seven months of solo travel. For now, I leave you with this: </div><div><br /></div><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi1e0lEM65TEGLqMq8OK4ZN_K848QIqR60WZD9I4UE2FNMF9qFZGwhHu789dzYRy6ySb5kTp-KLH9fc5Osk40bbMwaY1REy8rf3oU9OhJidIYuXCSHckMh2WYNz4XBJgFhMCmDe-Liamc/s320/Lobstah.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5662676884604720594" style="float: left; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: 0px; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " /><div><br /></div></div></div></div><div>LOBSTAH! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>*Black and white photo credit: <a href="http://www.michaelbarringer.com/">Mikey Barringer</a>. Everything else was taken on my very old iphone, which explains the quality.</div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-39959812944564051992011-05-30T09:27:00.001-07:002011-05-30T09:46:34.318-07:00King Tut's Will<div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612547891986064050" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSV9aBglplt7YEHziRRq_480K3jV6qzNxNuO7gT9vRG4ECOtA3bspRDY_tMXOLB1pDNVfbFlMMT8MdVa0Q_UGLjyu-muPYDhYHNetW9OiAIgrpPDeUaNAQX715SB2briSNPW9Jx6XU9L4/s400/Egypt+095.JPG" /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I’m in Tanzania, finally, and oh man, is it hot here. The monsoons have just ended, so I thought the post-rain would be a bit cooler than at other times of the year, but it’s still scorching. The air is stick<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0Eghm-EyeGxOSOKv0EiH_YVOcQEMiEDywYgtdTp5vlzR8dWcde4uDgcocpRH4b-iBMgswaz1Aby1O6sXw3vMoMpzwxbtNbImGJXG3XILBXqMKB2wvnSOybm_oXzFy3dBVZXclI6wQss/s1600/Egypt+046.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612548930526089282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx0Eghm-EyeGxOSOKv0EiH_YVOcQEMiEDywYgtdTp5vlzR8dWcde4uDgcocpRH4b-iBMgswaz1Aby1O6sXw3vMoMpzwxbtNbImGJXG3XILBXqMKB2wvnSOybm_oXzFy3dBVZXclI6wQss/s320/Egypt+046.JPG" /></a>y, heady with scent that is car exhaust and good food smashed together, and it feels like you’re breathing underwater. There are people everywhere weaving between the cars and dusty streets: men in tribal dress with sandals and walking sticks; women in smart suits wearing heels and carrying baskets atop their heads; women in loudly colorful scarves or head-to-toe black towing small children; a boy in a Barack Obama t-shirt swaying under three huge wooden fishing nets balanced on his shoulders. Beyonce gyrates through the radio.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">When I stepped off the plane at 5am, the sun was just rising, lighting dark grey and turquoise clouds from below with an eerie hot pink and silhouetting the palm trees and frenzied cars. I felt perky with anticipation, but with little sleep and three days of travel, also a bit disoriented upon reaching my hotel. Thankfully, the very helpful manager let me use an unoccupied triple for a few hours of sleep until my room was vacated. Now it’s early afternoon and I’m set up in my own mural-covered room with a big bed and a mosquito net. I’ve also had a fine curry lunch, ventured out to buy an adaptor, booked a ferry ticket to Zanzibar, inquired about safaris (expensive, turns out!) and (re-)purchased malaria prophylactics. It’s amazing how just forcing yourself to go out and get stuff done can instantly make you feel like things are nowhere near as difficult as you might imagine. I’m incredibly excited to be in Africa for the first time and to have an appropriately dramatic end to my round-the-world trip, but a lot has happened since I left Athens on Friday, too…<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">My stopover in Egypt was unexpected and bizarre—in a good way. I mean, I had expected a layover in Cairo, but I’d also expected there to be a transfer to Dar Es Salaam a few hours after I arrived, which turned out not to be the case “because of the revolution.” Apparently several flights were cancelled months ago, no one was told, and none of those flights were rebooked. Which, while at first seemed incredibly confusing (particularly since my luggage had somehow continued on without me), it meant that Egypt Air put me up in a schmancy hotel and plied me with free food. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI3HdYgoSstyHGdfBIcgo4D_XBm-M0aTL1nNtKJbNcsUNVMgHqz_To4EAwzUwdyuRvLliHdp1SBPNH6HctZQwF2DiDs6xdDMqrwMUhaeHWJ7v6th44231VfUtJTRFdmmW7PGaZPwwalfw/s1600/Egypt+037.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612550414303585282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI3HdYgoSstyHGdfBIcgo4D_XBm-M0aTL1nNtKJbNcsUNVMgHqz_To4EAwzUwdyuRvLliHdp1SBPNH6HctZQwF2DiDs6xdDMqrwMUhaeHWJ7v6th44231VfUtJTRFdmmW7PGaZPwwalfw/s320/Egypt+037.JPG" /></a><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Now for a very Dembowski anecdote: Upon checking in, I was given a mysterious key by the 18-year-old boy at the reception, with the awkward explanation of “because you are very beautiful.” Ha! It should be said that though the check-in counter had been a madhouse and I’d been quite smiley (free food! hotel! pyramids!), I am not the type of girl that gets those type of perks. So skeptical, I ventured down a smoke-smelling hallway… and opened the door to paradise. A living room suite! Two huge, flatscreen tvs! A kingsize be<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1j9fXXlKCBj_IxBlnXIJMDg0EG5cTFIXjY98Dyk2J0ogR-ibLzGQ-QBAtTuOPikDGBsuYEMHl0r42ze9LkzkNAUcOBpL_lKycTHHwcfDoUKLFPfOmsRG16jx3AMLzhHJrBDZSKO9mzKk/s1600/Egypt+120.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612548217805311330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1j9fXXlKCBj_IxBlnXIJMDg0EG5cTFIXjY98Dyk2J0ogR-ibLzGQ-QBAtTuOPikDGBsuYEMHl0r42ze9LkzkNAUcOBpL_lKycTHHwcfDoUKLFPfOmsRG16jx3AMLzhHJrBDZSKO9mzKk/s320/Egypt+120.JPG" /></a>d! Two bathrooms (one with both Jacuzzi and steamroom)! All for me! I was jumping up and down and squealing, and left such incoherent messages on both my parents’ and Ad’s phones… And then I got kicked out. …Yep. I totally should’ve known not to push my luck, but, already in bed, I stupidly called down to the reception to ask for the WiFi password. The manager was extremely confused as to why I was staying alone and for free in a suite that apparently hadn’t been checked in, and he and Mr. Suave (who, naturally, totally denied his involvement), showed up at midnight to escort me down the hall like a criminal. It was, all in all, extremely funny. And while I didn’t get to stay in my palace after all, I still got much fancier than I would’ve paid for myself, complete with bathtub. And I ate THIS while watching movies on cable:<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">On my free day in Cairo (my flight wasn’t until 11pm), I wasn’t really allowed out on my own since I was “in transit” and they’d confiscated my passport at the airport, but I did get to go on a sweet sightseeing expedition arranged by, again, Egypt Air. I spent four hours visiting the Nile, the Pyramids, an<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCqsw54bHO-JI-Q2gVuio4vtVdMlofuwbEsLt7HzlJ1XNeqNBfd5RTe1nFotuvgsa0pbTpwpFfPPQo7fHqABNCEDFc-YoCfrOfWL7N4R5mOE-ELLfZ0iVL0lYcbNpqJtj0Tlfv49NZPc/s1600/Egypt+067.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612548590124767858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpCqsw54bHO-JI-Q2gVuio4vtVdMlofuwbEsLt7HzlJ1XNeqNBfd5RTe1nFotuvgsa0pbTpwpFfPPQo7fHqABNCEDFc-YoCfrOfWL7N4R5mOE-ELLfZ0iVL0lYcbNpqJtj0Tlfv49NZPc/s320/Egypt+067.JPG" /></a>d the Sphinx. I only expected to get a whiff of the airport in Egypt, and instead I got to see the freaking Pyramids! Looking up at them was puzzling, more than anything. Though there they were in front of me, I still had trouble believing they really existed and weren’t just part of a movie set (my brain was seriously playing through a constant roll of “The Mummy,” the opening scene of “Despicable Me”—maybe they’re blow-up toys, I considered—and that weird Sesame Street movie where Big Bird has to, like, save King Tut or something). It felt kind of like looking up at the Himalayas, only somehow crazier, because someone BUILT them. My hands feel way wussy in comparison. </span></span></span><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612547085687020258" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsVP2ys6j0uPd_g72LdPWB12FKV4IotVJ2M3HRhnvVynkMrbjPssGed-rZ5SfkBWzuCaSe_1RjwWeynRHEQa6ReFuTJUQbhht1vUzQjYw01PQQSZQKTOXB3cv3-7WN11H12Kk10TMIpH4/s400/Egypt+060.JPG" /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Do you guys want to know what I learned?* Because, though I hadn’t anticipated this surprise World Wonder trip and didn’t read up beforehand, my guide gave me pop quizzes throughout the tour, so now I’m bursting to share. Okay: There are 114 pyramids in Egypt, 9 in Giza. The three most prominent were built for a king (whose name escapes me), his son, and his grandson, are around 5000 years old, and took around 25 years to build—who wants to bet the slaves didn’t even get a thank you note? The first is the largest at 146 meters high, and is made up of over 2.5 million blocks of limestone, each weighing 25 tons. 25 TONS! Each! The second has a white triangle on top; this is the remains of the white limestone cover installed to make the surface smooth and shiny. The third pyramid’s cover (also almost totally destroyed) was made of red granite, which had to be hauled from 1000 kilometers north down the Nile, and was super expensive. Some kings built their wives and mothers mini pyramids; other wives and mothers apparently didn’t cut it. I went inside the tomb of one of the wives. It was totally creepy and made me feel like Cass McBride, and if I were the least bit claustrophobic, I would have been reduced to please-don’t-bury-me-alive whimpers. To mummify people, you take out the stomach, intestine, lungs, liver, and kidneys and put them in a little box first. The brain is pulled out through the nose (you don’t need that gray BS for your next life!), and the heart stays with the body, so your dead peers can take one look through your rotting zombie flesh and tell if you were a good person and whether or not they should now socialize with you in the afterlife. The Sphinx faces the sun head-on and protects the tombs of the kings with her fierce lion body. Egyptians like the lotus flower (symbol of upper Egypt) as an alternative to Viagra.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Now I’ve got one more day in Dar, and then I head to Zanzibar for a bit. Then, who knows?<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">*Note: All these tidbits were brought to you by my oft-questionable short-term memory, and from the mouth of my at-times-a-little-sketch guide. So no promises that this is 100% fact.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-37549258013058415882011-05-30T07:48:00.000-07:002011-05-31T09:21:30.446-07:00"Readers are winners."<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLdOzRWITAt2U3nwjwHNjfNM9iQAM9OU4TgxTxAoSPG3yMKQAzYzxwheF3V5VBq5VohyphenhyphenSOyeSRO0Rm5Ox8y5pEkYHJEFz4pI0xYcCyQJrumCHnB4NKEfutQvvVflzH2QHuI7wIB86Kvo/s1600/Egypt+128.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 195px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 263px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612553579597920994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiLdOzRWITAt2U3nwjwHNjfNM9iQAM9OU4TgxTxAoSPG3yMKQAzYzxwheF3V5VBq5VohyphenhyphenSOyeSRO0Rm5Ox8y5pEkYHJEFz4pI0xYcCyQJrumCHnB4NKEfutQvvVflzH2QHuI7wIB86Kvo/s320/Egypt+128.JPG" /></a>This feels appropriate to post today, because today is my mom's birthday. Happy Birthday, Mom! Bobbie D is, hands down, the most voracious reader I know--an appropriate adjective as she seems to devour the things, and is never without a paperback in her purse. "No one understood when I st<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULDDtwXQLm5sxpvDV5XA_g-uMKYSCiboSvSRwLhfDTX7L5Gt9mTGqQA0TSI0MXZXGgGSY4CAXga9xqV466S-BFo3TCOlhO4iCe9taOY7BMB4rfD-OaJ3DCcKWpaeBiH2bX8oZmd7snB4/s1600/On+the+Road.bmp"></a>arted panicking because I forgot my book for the weekend up north!" she recently lamented. But I understand, because Mom also instilled in me this great love, and it's a love I've sadly neglected in recent years.<br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />Now, because I no longer read and edit manuscripts for a living and have been spending a disproportionate amount of time on planes, I’ve had a chance to read quite a few published books. Seeing as how, in the not-so-distant past, I found it impossible to tackle even a book a month for lack of time, this is a serious novelty. Since I left in December, I have read 17 books, actually (excluding guidebooks, etc). I don’t really have an update for my last two weeks in Greece except to remark that I’ve been writing a lot on Naxos Island, so I thought I’d take a minute to give <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCXjxNRm8qu6SMpzG1jmPQRi1LToN6J1PnV8YmO2xBQeYCEoQWb8OwrOx9lxGaLKBMU7JXoRqFOndcxwnN-kGTQVfLBI4hvLl1fDvMFKBQfvl2jXQtkkqE07T_O3AgkhV1NSI6FGnYYQ/s1600/On+the+Road.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 112px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 174px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612554211784025698" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTCXjxNRm8qu6SMpzG1jmPQRi1LToN6J1PnV8YmO2xBQeYCEoQWb8OwrOx9lxGaLKBMU7JXoRqFOndcxwnN-kGTQVfLBI4hvLl1fDvMFKBQfvl2jXQtkkqE07T_O3AgkhV1NSI6FGnYYQ/s200/On+the+Road.bmp" /></a>my quick thoughts on those books (and where I read them):<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">ON THE ROAD (New Zealand): fittingly read for the first time on the start of an epic journey, and still stirs the wanderer’s spirit 60 years after it was written.<br /><br />TRAVELERS' TALES THAILAND (New Zealand): a valuable collection for its introduction to the country and some very intriguing essays—(notably the one on collecting birds’ nests for the expensive soup)—though others felt misleading in their insistence on the two-facedness of Thai hospitality.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaKfdRWfAPO4OGjzR7MyaZXiEoLpffPXg4zp4fUQVWHDvHCDuQFNYUhoz608ajI3z7CWE7ZSrfbIPxFRaMDOsTJCde_PcaOMggGVK4i9hCG3t4BcFfMS55QEEiZlKQ_LBkdSFAEJouwiM/s1600/Strange+Things.bmp"></a>THE B<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqCp4ILe6ymnj0ntM3Ki8jq2_p-I9Fq3F0mkrvYNFJozq6hzc9h37wluCH5tcn9z391o8kVPrJmaWUGeLojbr2E8kRN7v78K6T3ehHfh7tfgQc8Evoz5VmX8WFotdUSirPd7Ww23xDPs/s1600/Blind+Assassin.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 112px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 173px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612531539704164034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJqCp4ILe6ymnj0ntM3Ki8jq2_p-I9Fq3F0mkrvYNFJozq6hzc9h37wluCH5tcn9z391o8kVPrJmaWUGeLojbr2E8kRN7v78K6T3ehHfh7tfgQc8Evoz5VmX8WFotdUSirPd7Ww23xDPs/s200/Blind+Assassin.bmp" /></a>LIND ASSASSIN (Thailand): part noir, part sci-fi, part historical love story, all Atwood in top form.<br /><br />STRANGE THINGS (Thailand): reliably smart, feminist essays on literature of the Canadian North, featuring wendigos, "Grey Owl Syndrome," isolation, and insanity.<br /><br />CAT’S EYE (Thailand—yes, more Atwood!): with cruel accuracy , brings you alarmingly back to those moments in childhood in which you were bullied at the hands of so-evil-they-weren’t-even-a<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73o85eEntMc3pMRngIpTF7jyIXhd_g9WL70Vi4wcPF5IbNYOnQdTyGJD6QKkYGwBlTqr8FviarMJ0g_d01SXWIu2S9TWwlF5atWxI0jooHW87Cyx-beQdpuw_O1iykWwVBKVDVV1oPmY/s1600/Graceling.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 113px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 173px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612530922287387618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi73o85eEntMc3pMRngIpTF7jyIXhd_g9WL70Vi4wcPF5IbNYOnQdTyGJD6QKkYGwBlTqr8FviarMJ0g_d01SXWIu2S9TWwlF5atWxI0jooHW87Cyx-beQdpuw_O1iykWwVBKVDVV1oPmY/s200/Graceling.bmp" /></a>ware-of-it ten-year-olds—even if this doesn’t explicitly parallel your life.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">[There is another book in here read upon arrival in India that I can’t for the life of me recall.]<br /><br /></span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-fareast; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi">GRACELING (India): an exciting dystopian YA page-turner about Katsa, a kick-ass, morally-conflicted heroine with a killing grace—yes, there’s a hot boy in it, too.<br /><br />TOUCHING THE VOID (Nepal): Joe Simpson's 'tude is at times a bit hard to abide, but his first-hand account of against-all-odds survival while mountain climbing in the Peruvian Andes in indeed terrifying and immensely readable.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjUzX5voSWgjq_O0XVl6knmisyj2NwZi3FfXKrWQGLRqTjN2v-yFvK_UFg_6-IgoGotuDnKiECiDf3JWxBhPhV44fLzymKFHuOWJXCHbh-J7-pZ8sabM3nFVc7yL28CC5fpfGCON1o3U/s1600/The+Book+Thief.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 109px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 171px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612529846281550562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdjUzX5voSWgjq_O0XVl6knmisyj2NwZi3FfXKrWQGLRqTjN2v-yFvK_UFg_6-IgoGotuDnKiECiDf3JWxBhPhV44fLzymKFHuOWJXCHbh-J7-pZ8sabM3nFVc7yL28CC5fpfGCON1o3U/s200/The+Book+Thief.bmp" /></a>THE BOOK THIEF (Nepal): set during the Holocaust and narrated by death, this is an exquisitely-rendered old favorite about love, life, and wonder through books—better and more heartbreaking with each read.<br /><br />THE FEAST OF LOVE (Nepal): U of M prof Charlie Baxter's charming and honest stories of love from several first-person narratives, along with a nostalgic glimpse into Ann Arbor neighborhoods.<br /><br />SOLD (Nepal): McCormick’s succinct and cutting first person narrative of a thirteen-year-old girl taken from a hilltop village in Nepal’s Himalayas with promises of a job as a maid, only to be sold into child sex slavery in Delhi’s brutal underworld.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6El5T2atjjMI9PzY5NNA7ze0xOFshCQHyH4vX8LGHujPjEE_PjItPApXTomRs11tomhrnudAqzk32dchZsy-GrVbbXVPvnDhA3PhuS6nCWaDKXC7fZZEO4JR2RW8OdgenzJFUZxT1Kc/s1600/Sold.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 110px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 161px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612529257225340722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6El5T2atjjMI9PzY5NNA7ze0xOFshCQHyH4vX8LGHujPjEE_PjItPApXTomRs11tomhrnudAqzk32dchZsy-GrVbbXVPvnDhA3PhuS6nCWaDKXC7fZZEO4JR2RW8OdgenzJFUZxT1Kc/s200/Sold.bmp" /></a>THE KITE RUNNER (Nepal): disappointing after the hype; true, it pulls at the heartstrings and yes, it gives a window into a culture ground underfoot, but read after A THOUSAND SPLENDID SUNS, it feels a bit contrived and verbose.<br /><br />WARM BODIES (Israel): angsty yet believable teen zombie love in an unfeeling world; funny and well-done, though puzzling that it <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTr5NxdFTeAjc8-JmZAtu7ovfhVYnMUUPlO5VXw_nWumzrJp2QmY8sDuisIlUVv3jbvNvr0aoTHXMw_ENN0TJO3qyeP-MHo6NlLvJUiVJayeLFIi1HTILZN1Wwtkv2bMaOszILLIHcl_o/s1600/Pittsburgh.jpg"></a>was released as an adult novel.<br /><br />WHAT I TALK ABOUT WHEN I TALK ABOUT RUNNING (Greece): though at times Murakami’s brisk, candid voice feels almost anti-social, the account is most valuable for the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3m6ryJV97VvTYu8XK9bBLMxe2OUMLM3u4b3i1COgX0mtJ9ZfH8CPHH4R78D8ag1jvzsqKd9SJ92zJn8GDvzxOq9VXSsVZuh2lwZIvNWZTeNseKqxbjCP-dYItLX7W6FwRNwGBWWZsxmQ/s1600/Warm+Bodies.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 113px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 172px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612527242423405746" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3m6ryJV97VvTYu8XK9bBLMxe2OUMLM3u4b3i1COgX0mtJ9ZfH8CPHH4R78D8ag1jvzsqKd9SJ92zJn8GDvzxOq9VXSsVZuh2lwZIvNWZTeNseKqxbjCP-dYItLX7W6FwRNwGBWWZsxmQ/s200/Warm+Bodies.bmp" /></a>glimpse into his writing process, and for both the admiration and intense desire to put on a pair of running shoes it inspires.<br /><br />WOLF HALL (Greece): a fascinating, engrossing, often gruesome fictionalized but seemingly historically-accurate look at Thomas Cromwell’s life during his rise to power under Henry VIII.<br /><br />THE MYSTERIES OF PITTSBURGH (Greece): thankfully more Fitzgeraldian than Caulfieldian; the language crackles, the dialogue smirks, and you both love and hate every so-real-they-could-spit character Art Bechstein comes across.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFU66mCN-dC-CRV_N75XLzYq9b2ok_PA5YNtagk5nSBmAzpuN52d9OTJBeB7qNekHiQAWO8reYvdecyR8mClG7h5abdRaNROjYJ0fCHU6_ETa4T8tMrCJiNolSBdGm-OevCGNvlKovInI/s1600/Running.bmp"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 105px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 172px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612529161158145234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFU66mCN-dC-CRV_N75XLzYq9b2ok_PA5YNtagk5nSBmAzpuN52d9OTJBeB7qNekHiQAWO8reYvdecyR8mClG7h5abdRaNROjYJ0fCHU6_ETa4T8tMrCJiNolSBdGm-OevCGNvlKovInI/s200/Running.bmp" /></a>DREAMS FROM MY FATHER (Greece): through an early memoir about his absent father, pre-president Obama opines on race and inheritance, and in the inspiring voice and intelligent, strikingly well-crafted sentences, it’s impossible not to glimpse the seed of what was to come.<br /><br /></span><br />*These are my opinions only, and do not reflect those of my publisher, Hachette Book Group, or of James Patterson.<br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ1qZhPvkuUNldtAZcXkPlum4wPP7eJLdOwBcH2WBq70FyKWN0TUMa3kB1iDDzLZWToytEjlFYfKer-a5rXmo0dbm7aCxrYirrJiFnnx__abcneAZ40OfPKJdwjmEYPjIHLEGHD4IsJg/s1600/Obama.bmp"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 112px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 174px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5612526657917267522" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ1qZhPvkuUNldtAZcXkPlum4wPP7eJLdOwBcH2WBq70FyKWN0TUMa3kB1iDDzLZWToytEjlFYfKer-a5rXmo0dbm7aCxrYirrJiFnnx__abcneAZ40OfPKJdwjmEYPjIHLEGHD4IsJg/s200/Obama.bmp" /></span></a></p>** I kind of miss the days of Book It, where you used to get a free personal pan pizza at Pizza Hut each time you passed a level. I dominated that competition, because it combined my two favorite things of all time: books and greasy food.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmQ1qZhPvkuUNldtAZcXkPlum4wPP7eJLdOwBcH2WBq70FyKWN0TUMa3kB1iDDzLZWToytEjlFYfKer-a5rXmo0dbm7aCxrYirrJiFnnx__abcneAZ40OfPKJdwjmEYPjIHLEGHD4IsJg/s1600/Obama.bmp"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></a></p></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-64196604089188506442011-05-19T01:30:00.000-07:002011-05-19T02:31:02.012-07:00Gratuitous Greece Photos<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608355192844960354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkfCpMKv730Qz-JsX_KzkpknEs9SVRIeh8JHQBSEDXY8bsNfanxGKB10FPEy9axZxsf9h3HpkjZsRj9_3r66hszyuqFw6F-R_L8xn663TmB6vA3DU-eEWYFbIr2-AVBzmLHV5TzSY2hyY/s400/Greece+367.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608354223351128642" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikPvMvJbnLwCg90e6IIA2V4-pLFz-o4NJ5N-M2jO9PswgUbF1aj10N7QccDDkGURAwL_LT57cmStTEb9RyTdBivYi29JCH1d_G0I2JIWbtnwm7kDZsycEGOVxVC1oKbZwg4Ahpi2wtYwg/s400/Greece+041.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608354988126752114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpyPN908-w8PLEOhi-lKySjzu4G4Ql9Ry6Hf4tPIVslWfp7ogK2jhxIBolnCdzh5Ef4JhxJ8kQSwK8zKMjmnXmgqqlVstn-bELCo2u0lzh3gzIP11EJMWothIBPG8zOn_E7gATElrRlc0/s400/Greece+227.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608353548220623810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikEMi6gTs_Qgo7HOv2WeZKSHwOmxE1MC2AykFuVLtk5Nx7xjeUhyWumPTrQoY6bJfwtG9qLyh_mPDl29d03UvEQZ_N4aqOLwbBoH9VhH05KJ7g6efVXO9kjIfwcevTUYP3gqFyQ8M9Fvk/s400/Greece+340.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608354017915148226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_eAqUNLyyTViaG_-mdmCiZsVB6La7hXVU9pLSZ2MApmgixg-fEdgXIGHf92RNrJWmLswtC3yX1UapO7UjvUVdw-03KJRqW12946DncH_sKBbXhW5MHvSexXvjdZNpOL6kCfhTJMXnEEw/s400/Greece+364.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608354798399723058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbuuMV04XDlx9qiBKy2CicGt9VGvbkagTEU0XeNhbeIwd864nGW-25SPxkYikC7DhXXye49W2JQCeFl6gUzw9vGxWhviKUQvIepTKOeipO3332bAPjMgmEXjKUN7tr5XsSwk9WZs7IvVQ/s400/Greece+177.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608352492724387346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLITnDkUdGUKLcai2wVUBbJYvmqLkW242tU-Xz2oMB15MA9b2ncEC-Xie0kJQYgxSEMziw6xXux0tcXCB7mmw_MPukvKNm9SIKbAKT7McnUbbn40Q1zA1cJtpC20iECE3iWfxelbpbNFE/s400/Greece+129.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608352643159875122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Ii1z1Jxh443u6jfgsH114SH_9HUvweuJMvxfFR7jU0dfZESwKatU_Po8GAqGF8QgqW9_TGODn5xSr_hjzpAr5aEd3oBvkxNCLK6H2MIHs2nkh2mIzlkmqMdlmBJeAOaGnERXtv1kZQQ/s400/Greece+134.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608353154207876274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYFoy91cfUFlWHXvf7DtHykGDSdnlHqonpsD4dh4UffEPmjj3oaEue78t_qnjbCGl_d7KGNPXs5jIgq2RqtPNkW9KI7hCMFFY2KxALUp7VCeo5PBI6unC0ovyi8H3ofEZ4Q_1FVdipIw8/s400/DSC00502.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608353790283639890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzdBXQvrrj3bQMI2pdIi2_EdaRzX5g6ehTEvUYNNNcq5t6d2vIMIdJB5bwbmSUC6eizgtlxeBTm8CrZmRU0DU55NuW2SMTc4OqkxVL17W-Gj2Cx9yWd66RIo76SnfhSA2U670NS8chmdA/s400/Greece+197.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608354607385497106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsyqFcBWI8O7Dk7LOafodMhyphenhyphenIGknP3UEA6D0CSLOU3u9uLn___zcJBRzTGa_-y7wazaVv6xiFJiRVzbBj79SrOH-0357XX-jozjnlVxu6GjhCpHGFAvd-fL_OouPzDsQeYrYAI86a9OSk/s400/Greece+250.JPG" />jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-36083997201222871742011-05-18T00:45:00.000-07:002011-05-21T01:56:09.215-07:00Month Five<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjukD2v50KDbLLWCXtCkTaJIMrbnWwhNFQbZ5Ct2Bhr7a4L7X7S3xF-GyyeGNfHxeuGU3hJ0iWjDwVTa1cDhGNNDDTvd37TQweK7i-csClcGxVJ9f86-WQJXIudMq2DAf74Hulfi9PxIFE/s1600/Greece+019.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608350807987536546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjukD2v50KDbLLWCXtCkTaJIMrbnWwhNFQbZ5Ct2Bhr7a4L7X7S3xF-GyyeGNfHxeuGU3hJ0iWjDwVTa1cDhGNNDDTvd37TQweK7i-csClcGxVJ9f86-WQJXIudMq2DAf74Hulfi9PxIFE/s400/Greece+019.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">My fifth month on the road was the definition of globe-trotting. I visited six countries (Nepal, India/Turkey [less than a day], Israel, USA, and Greece), spent 42 hours on planes and an additional 21 hours in airports for layovers, took 5 ferries, travelled in countless cabs—including a memorable ride in the back of a pick-up, answered approximately one million personal questions at customs, and even rode the New York City subway. I also made lots of new friends, got to see some of my oldest, hung out with my mom in a foreign country, and spent some quality time with my boyfriend after not seeing him for almost three months. And I got a new tattoo!<br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608350611886187922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDJvYXxtVvorwYdYqgWR3PKkEMieGdL3xW6Admc7Nxa0lnYrGm0u-EuAr0ymY_nvc7CguNZDPL-1CLZrNrOEG3ywFEs6BJZzsvuHiipAsYAFknoZ3_Abuhzcpw50Tkn9Q6kkPMRyWbzyY/s400/DSC00497.JPG" /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">So…maybe you can understand why it’s a little hazy.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4N2ywG2k4w5T37Yw5FN_G7LOPV4R8o416ctaAks7ih3z06_kmZyiSIFEpaMp9ZfCEFgaMrm2QKTubVoo580ke3HyK_BeibOHK6oMw9GVOT36R1pZl1sU2Z3qmD8PnjHLgIGaIKZi9Gg/s1600/Greece+352.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 280px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 203px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608350008172002242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS4N2ywG2k4w5T37Yw5FN_G7LOPV4R8o416ctaAks7ih3z06_kmZyiSIFEpaMp9ZfCEFgaMrm2QKTubVoo580ke3HyK_BeibOHK6oMw9GVOT36R1pZl1sU2Z3qmD8PnjHLgIGaIKZi9Gg/s320/Greece+352.JPG" /></span></a><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">I do have some news, though… After having a bit of a rough patch during the last month and struggling to make sense of why I wanted to keep traveling alone, I came to a tough decision: I’ve decided to come home a bit early, in mid-June instead of at the end of July. After already missing out on South America, I wasn’t quite willing to entirely give up my first trip to Africa, so I’ll still have three weeks in Tanzania and <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXlIC6UD9cG9LZAQ8Lj7wi2UR5L4csR6J9WkhTbBFRdS8xd-y0yrkPmswNOvA02ZRvoaSRel8tqfY5AVmyk8k-0VUi9nbScDkMg-r0IgdaDbP9YXoVOeb62dk1syeleJ7cFAtGWY6iyE/s1600/Greece+308.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608349790400340722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEXlIC6UD9cG9LZAQ8Lj7wi2UR5L4csR6J9WkhTbBFRdS8xd-y0yrkPmswNOvA02ZRvoaSRel8tqfY5AVmyk8k-0VUi9nbScDkMg-r0IgdaDbP9YXoVOeb62dk1syeleJ7cFAtGWY6iyE/s320/Greece+308.JPG" /></span></a>on the island of Zanzibar. </span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman';"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">Without that extra month and a half, I’ll still be missing out on Uganda and South Africa, which is a shame, but if this </span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">trip has taught me anything it’s that a) I will be a lifelong traveler, and b) instinct is the most important thing. And right now, my gut says it’s time to go home. It’s going to be a glorious summer!<br /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">Favorite place: Naxos, Greece<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">Favorite experience (tie): Lounging with Ad and the <em>New York Times</em> in Central Park; watching the sunset in Naxos with Mom<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">Favorite meal: Pequena in Brooklyn, NY (I know, I’m predictable. There have been so many phenomenal culinary experiences—Hummus in Israel! Feta in Greece! Momos in Nepal!—but my love for the “Little” TexMex standby will never falter.)<br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite saying: “Bravo!”<br />Favorite lodging: Aroma Suites, Santorini, Greece<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-49693229123138065982011-05-17T09:21:00.000-07:002011-05-21T02:05:53.074-07:00Feta! Olives! Yogurt! Wine! Greece!<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608340007989755298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Fo8NbUUH_sCNJL8K7oDnWZ4ctsbTmKFJmNWCkYmY6Nu4Tz5QjD5-YxMiR_uJlwDLiZhah2PvPHzRraLlK99umwE8Br7laqBx4YnHrXQv90EGt9PJroTYOG47IzrmKizaZL1UdWdrVD4/s400/DSC00526.JPG" /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I am currently on Naxos Island, in Greece. It’s the definition of idyllic here, and I have to admit that blogging feels a bit wrong in this environment. I have a little place at Despina’s Rooms, which is run by the aged and unbelievably kind Despina, who keeps the place charming, spotless, and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">cheap</i>. I can see the Aegean Sea from my window, write on the roof, and walk to the beach. It’s steps from the old, crumbling castle perched over the island. My days here are simple: I get up early to run along the beach, eat creamy yogurt for breakfast, have a cup of the strongest coffee (until now, I thought “so thick you can stand a spoon in it” was just hyperbole), work through the hottest part of the day, have a Greek salad with fresh veggies and the best feta, read on the beach for a bit, have some sort of just-caught fish for dinner, work more, sleep. Rinse and repeat. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608343173667843170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAvgj1PdmNPrxALVeiv3HuIeRTLTYLZpPAVxFQJ-WhMVIx4MDpoKCHHNc4ewolI2KDW81knJypZkgY9nEYVxYXT0u_F_b1US2YGGglSwmaV24hM8rMcJ0Zs_IrTMp2uWAf9ulvjM8BXNY/s400/Greece+Sunset+002.JPG" /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvo3ItboFokbug6-7oSci0GkVdbf-bVSvOj-XWfIIgueanlrXjd7ISd39PMgAunLhWw-Rf-kvb7w2DxXutxPSD65TMzUkcmuPLKoOAZi9ogVKk2l33NKP12SJII799qQtCoWYcU7Jj7J8/s1600/Greece+125.JPG"></a></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxahOUSPEpCjmG71EYd9zVC6NjV85XslyQOG785IDMRKh0MpjObkUM6XMZ1zZa8ar5WoiSL3OglUBxx0Iq8xjZHF2cgoRGv4K1PBaHgmjlRfppWaqXgoVzilcY3aEEhKn5zrcOe2uaCXE/s1600/Greece+154.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 310px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 228px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608347010864893922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxahOUSPEpCjmG71EYd9zVC6NjV85XslyQOG785IDMRKh0MpjObkUM6XMZ1zZa8ar5WoiSL3OglUBxx0Iq8xjZHF2cgoRGv4K1PBaHgmjlRfppWaqXgoVzilcY3aEEhKn5zrcOe2uaCXE/s320/Greece+154.JPG" /></a>This morning as I was walking back from my run along the turquoise water, sweaty and happy, a very large fish startled me by jumping up out of the water several times, as if it were just so ecstatic with its own bewildering existence it needed a way to express its joy. Regardless of its true reasons (even bigger fish in pursuit?), I thought, “That! Is exactly how I feel!” and I started running again at a clip, splashing through the water and yelling all by myself on the beach.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">The last couple months I’ve felt <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtDUHOTan0s6IT11GDNU3wgq8tlphzQHVvL82H-Pq62YehfD4QWANkgFVuaJwICPYBLFt3uvO3yocdx37J7V43uWv1ntLZAuwQtwjiXoaWCyI8rfP6YsqWfcv4sFKAtGwhu9JizNIosI/s1600/Greece+208.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608345771997839282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYtDUHOTan0s6IT11GDNU3wgq8tlphzQHVvL82H-Pq62YehfD4QWANkgFVuaJwICPYBLFt3uvO3yocdx37J7V43uWv1ntLZAuwQtwjiXoaWCyI8rfP6YsqWfcv4sFKAtGwhu9JizNIosI/s320/Greece+208.JPG" /></a>sort of dazed (will get to that shortly in my monthly recaps), but I’ve had a great week and a half in Greece—with the one notable exception of putting up with all the honeymooners smooching freaking <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">everywhere</i>, when the BF is so far away in New York. My mom met me here, appropriately, on Mother’s Day, May 8<sup>th</sup>. Her luggage was lost, as it is on every trip and, to her utter dismay, returned to her sans packs of Newports. I absolutely love traveling with my mom; we have terrific fun together! We’ve had the opportunity to do quite a few little mother-daughter getaways over the years, and she’s my ideal traveling companion in that she wants to see a few sights, but is content to mostly just wander around a new place, exploring tiny streets and unexpected corners, and most importantly, reserves plenty of time for relaxation. We always play a lot of Scrabble, read for hours side by side, eat very well, and drink gallons of red wine.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">On this particular trip, we spent two days in Athens visiting the Acropolis with its impressive Parthenon, milling about the National Gardens, witnessing the changing of the guard, and just walking around, where we were co<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_NHRsz-ZgxKglrWuXvtw4vrYeM7tp4MjlGDooxVs1LJYWVQGRyE2d05d4qOp0zmP5kxmSoKExm8WU_YcoXJaEFZHMhtqaH42c8ZC30DjlA4YR70e0VEgZZpYBWaJTObCbkj4KbPanXk/s1600/Greece+318.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608336753102659346" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7_NHRsz-ZgxKglrWuXvtw4vrYeM7tp4MjlGDooxVs1LJYWVQGRyE2d05d4qOp0zmP5kxmSoKExm8WU_YcoXJaEFZHMhtqaH42c8ZC30DjlA4YR70e0VEgZZpYBWaJTObCbkj4KbPanXk/s320/Greece+318.JPG" /></a>nstantly stumbling upon things that were thousands and thousands of years old. The mind boggles. There was also plenty of time spent rebuffing the advances of men—the Greek men LOVE them some Bobbie D, let me tell you. After Athens, we hopped on a ferry to Mykonos (okay, let’s be honest, here, in a classic Mom-and-Jill moment, we MISSED our ferry by two minutes—picture us running wildly with luggage…there were tears—and hopped on a different, longer ferry with a detour), accepted a very entertaining ride from a toothless man, who stuck us in the back of his pick-up with Victor, an excitable German Shepherd with an unfortunately poopy butt he was eager to wipe on me, and caught another boat to finally arrive at the justifiably gushed-over Santorini.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Santorini…wow. The jagged, imposing cliffs rising out of the sea (caused by a major volcanic explosion), the extraordinary sunsets, the elegant white and blue buildings perched along the Caldera…it all creates quite a dramatic impress<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQL1X_92CyBzJzseEQXOv7x9ACxaB-nv7jmdUktyGNG-FXjwJradXxTT_mMORqkxY2FDA8RRi6c_418vsKV_HSyjhfwzM7R3-jT_WzFy5AxsUb1F0dSPC88eS9RW1-a7E0UfRCTvAUUu8/s1600/DSC00560.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 162px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608337723351971122" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQL1X_92CyBzJzseEQXOv7x9ACxaB-nv7jmdUktyGNG-FXjwJradXxTT_mMORqkxY2FDA8RRi6c_418vsKV_HSyjhfwzM7R3-jT_WzFy5AxsUb1F0dSPC88eS9RW1-a7E0UfRCTvAUUu8/s320/DSC00560.JPG" /></a>ion. It was very windy and more than a little chilly when we were there, so we didn’t have the days of hanging out on black sand beaches that we were imagining, but we still had a fantastic time. We stayed in the incomparable Aroma Suites, which included cave-like rooms built right into the Caldera cliff front, a hot pink princess bed with a gauzy wraparound<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUjY9CyVMsDg9SixkjVqfe4RqKqNeDJn_9YHzT_q7o_O9TLUb5z3P6CR-LBlDiUks9yCG0wC0pE0eX4gLqv9M76yBdAmSFzP8qOJRD8EkvxZYqdZ7tDQlzM9B6fucIv-xq4LuvKoTmHs4/s1600/Greece+154.JPG"></a> veil, and over-the-top welcoming service. It was a bit out of my normal budget, but worth the splurge for just a few days. We rented a car and zipped around the island one day, and, after a 20-year break, Mom rediscovered her talents for driving a stick shift, channeling Speed Racer as she handled the tight curves on roads with no shoulder and 500 foot drops to the sea. Highlights included a monastery and the small town of Oia at the northern tip. On the last day, we walked down the many steps from Fira to the Old Port, and then hiked back up the cliff side in mid-day heat past the procession of “the donks.” Luckily, wine awaited us at the top.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608338620599930658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAcNbiFIaikNhuMkI1CKJjq2OMN7CnPn4V7K5J-vS7dl3LUSh9L_appdaqgjYn4C14ZasEIC8V5Mxo6szaEr8pR5wTMnQtGhz-27DhXItRtif7GeXxysRauWs4DKYlt8hyphenhyphenf1yBNZnFU-0/s400/Greece+211.JPG" /> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-E8qJWiqmb-UbOaTgLR77FwYLBut_Uq8ACT2hSSfRxj3Yu9-9bk-_JvMkJFHGAngFB_yDxBL5D8jSTgCO_tBrX_W52H6pZaQigC7pEiFH_rvL6csDMgvVO80vSL2aR2Ogzz3kEd5drE/s1600/DSC00518.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 277px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608338174621182354" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQ-E8qJWiqmb-UbOaTgLR77FwYLBut_Uq8ACT2hSSfRxj3Yu9-9bk-_JvMkJFHGAngFB_yDxBL5D8jSTgCO_tBrX_W52H6pZaQigC7pEiFH_rvL6csDMgvVO80vSL2aR2Ogzz3kEd5drE/s320/DSC00518.JPG" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">After Santorini, we headed for Naxos, where the sun finally made its glorious appearance. There we had two days of classic Greek Island beach lounging, complete with thatched umbrellas, lapping waves, and the occasional Pina Colada. And, a bit begrudgingly, some buckling down to work. It was a great week, but, too soon, my mom had to return home. Now I’m here for another two weeks, with three goals: get an insane amount of work done, consume as much feta as possible, and run every day. And then…Tanzania.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">* Oh, also: I did not win the lottery for the NYC Marathon this year, but decided to run a different one anyway. Hopefully this fall, and hopefully with the very impressive <a href="http://jefixaisdesvertiges.blogspot.com/">Suzi</a>. More on that later, I’m sure, but for <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytj8rkS4sIdXd3kgpC7EWypQTlC4pxtHT2H4OvKT6Xh6e3-lbHI1eIM3-jjgJURZmM0lCXCShVYVEzZgOhvjY7pbRbeTaqNlYzclG3oT-Xmbd21riRsgT3JdLV5MMCcYuNQ9KZxJfWQw/s1600/Greece+328.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608348022066953074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytj8rkS4sIdXd3kgpC7EWypQTlC4pxtHT2H4OvKT6Xh6e3-lbHI1eIM3-jjgJURZmM0lCXCShVYVEzZgOhvjY7pbRbeTaqNlYzclG3oT-Xmbd21riRsgT3JdLV5MMCcYuNQ9KZxJfWQw/s200/Greece+328.JPG" /></a>now, let the training begin.</span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">** And! My toenails have almost completely grown back already, getting progressively less Hobbit-like every day. I know you’ve been on the edge of your seats awaiting that news.</span></span></span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-55874470057409708102011-05-10T07:09:00.000-07:002011-05-21T02:06:22.512-07:00Home is wherever I'm with you.<span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">With Skype and the hubbub of the holidays and work, we managed the first few months okay apart, but by the tim<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaOVrUJr1YjeLgxZZ0EHVkQ7AcuOBQITTOnHrnvOJ_bJ1bjDwrwH3CJAckFzawtFD19er3h1_MfbwUt1nWB4RP2KL-Mr6H-xISCAAGEsivSYWOk0h3rCz_SaQywGAGtpVbjdtFVA_7qEo/s1600/Tattoo+009.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608329533702927330" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaOVrUJr1YjeLgxZZ0EHVkQ7AcuOBQITTOnHrnvOJ_bJ1bjDwrwH3CJAckFzawtFD19er3h1_MfbwUt1nWB4RP2KL-Mr6H-xISCAAGEsivSYWOk0h3rCz_SaQywGAGtpVbjdtFVA_7qEo/s320/Tattoo+009.JPG" /></a>e Ad met me in India at the end of February, I knew there was no way I could last another five months without seeing him. So, in one of my more irresponsible spur-of-the-moment decisions, I bought a round trip ticket from Israel to spend five days in New York City in the end of April. But oh, it was worth it. What a fantastic weekend! Beyond the usual ache of missing Ad, I had been feeling increasingly travel weary and homesick over the last month, and a whiff of New York Spring was just the breath of fresh air I needed to revive my spirit.</span><br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I arrived Friday morning, and immediately got in a run around the Central Park loop, which was fragrant with new flowers and marked with amusing chalk drawings of athletic fish that made the miles go by faster (thank you, La Veg<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArpPIUgmlYQ2DPlZ8SYq50dQahhrJ_dFUqXV2vyj7n-ORZWsh-AeUeqwpKRPrVuduCX8_MU4qDujFmV-T830gFM9Nrw1EUVT3gTYyL5AbqxiCgbWVeyAx9A_kMfUhDN42swWqGC4q7L8/s1600/Tattoo+003.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608330776571162114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgArpPIUgmlYQ2DPlZ8SYq50dQahhrJ_dFUqXV2vyj7n-ORZWsh-AeUeqwpKRPrVuduCX8_MU4qDujFmV-T830gFM9Nrw1EUVT3gTYyL5AbqxiCgbWVeyAx9A_kMfUhDN42swWqGC4q7L8/s320/Tattoo+003.JPG" /></a>a, whoever you are). Not an easy run—I was hobbling a bit the following day—but it was one I’d been craving for months, and I was pleasantly surprised I could still finish it without stopping after my months away from running. It definitely swayed me to take my sweet new trail running shoes back with me on the road.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Friday night Ad and I were totally spoiled by Bryn at <a href="http://www.oneluckyduck.com/purefoodandwine/">Pure Food and Wine</a>, the ultra-fancy and excellent raw vegan restaurant near Union Square, where she works. I wish I had a picture of the “<3 U Jill+Ad” she scrawled in apple cider reduction. Fantastic meal that included everything from enchiladas to mushroom/ramp croquettes to sushi. We were then lucky to catch Erik’s <a href="http://www.intallbuildings.com/">In Tall Buildings</a> show in the East Village with Karl. So good! I’m more impressed every time I hear Erik play.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebNseoGfuSFM6O5PClnMi-F1HRNv6CbSkKz67Rpzm-o1AV6yma9h_D_qmzL3WvW3fh0UgQpQYBUcGcpylKVkCLgujQo50bV8uXG_5SL356GNV44jqxCsoQwsUVq3cLYMx2HNp3fS3dPY/s1600/Tattoo+005.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 224px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 307px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608329341373604546" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhebNseoGfuSFM6O5PClnMi-F1HRNv6CbSkKz67Rpzm-o1AV6yma9h_D_qmzL3WvW3fh0UgQpQYBUcGcpylKVkCLgujQo50bV8uXG_5SL356GNV44jqxCsoQwsUVq3cLYMx2HNp3fS3dPY/s320/Tattoo+005.JPG" /></a><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Saturday included the double treat of brunch with Emily at Olea in the old hood and milling around the Brooklyn Flea with her and Ad and Bryn. Notable scores: rhubarb popsicles and hot Brooklyn Salsa Company salsa (I’ll have to wait until June for McClure’s pickles). Ad also picked up a used Tom Rush record—who his parents weirdly know! We got a big kick out of listening to it at home that night.<br /><br />I also got to (awesomely, briefly) see Manny and Tanya right before getting a tattoo at <a href="http://www.brooklyntattoo.com/">Brooklyn Tattoo</a>. Willy is absolutely the best artist I’ve ever been to; he listened to exactly what I wanted and did a perfect job with the really thin lines. After having a not-so-awesome experience at New York Adorned last fall (so bad I left sans tattoo and hefty deposit), I was relieved, to say the least.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Sunday was reserved as paper-coffee-park day with Ad, which was everything it should be. Then we headed to Brooklyn for a Tex-Mex dinner with Ad, Karl, and Patrice at my ultimate favorite, Pequena (the absence of which had given me such traumatic withdrawal I couldn’t even discuss it on this blog), followed by a fun neighborly shindig at Sharon and John’s (my old apartment, notably, which I still miss).<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Monday we saw Hanna, which was pretty good, as movies go, but which I probably disproportionately enjoyed both because I love a good kickass girl movie and because I really, really love going to the movies, and have missed that a lot a lot—I’m eager to resume my regular movie dates with Patrice. Then we had superior NYC pizza at Patsy’s with both Dorit and DANA, who just moved to New York to start Teaching Fellows! I’m so very excited to have my little sister in not only the same state, but the same city (and hopefully the same neighborhood) for the first time in about a decade. It’s going to be amazing.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I even made it to the Hachette office for a few minutes on Tuesday to squawk excited hellos at Connie, Kate, Pam, and Andrea as they headed off to a major meeting. Then Tuesday afternoon I had to go. It was such a brief whirlwind of a weekend, jam-packed with friends, family, and lots of BF time. I wish I could’ve taken it a little slower, but in the end I was so glad I got to see everyone and get to all the places I’d really been missing. It also, surprisingly and pleasingly, made me really excited to return to New York and sign a new lease. Last year I didn’t think I could ever live in the city again, but after some time away, I realize she’s still got quite a big chunk of my heart. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">*Note: I was too intoxicated on love and friends and subway fumes to remember to take any pictures during my time in NYC, so I'll have to make do with some post-trip pics. Thanks, <a href="http://www.etsy.com/search/handmade?ref=auto&q=lulubugjewelry">LuluBugJewelry</a>, for sharing your design for the tattoo!</span></p></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-53874842480041083092011-05-08T02:20:00.000-07:002011-05-21T02:07:09.642-07:00L'Chaim!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRB6Uf_s0XvGtLgpCHrnCBT9DGoadE_6YP24JPL-mvFc2Jg5pzl_GEo0MYwdLUfJ2cJcwuPHBlXtMREryx8r6QRCyADrCUiWqsLYV_GPGHpDulSGx8NRvYyatwVyyG2zF5NHwp8lFb0N4/s1600/Greece+002.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608325847239119970" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRB6Uf_s0XvGtLgpCHrnCBT9DGoadE_6YP24JPL-mvFc2Jg5pzl_GEo0MYwdLUfJ2cJcwuPHBlXtMREryx8r6QRCyADrCUiWqsLYV_GPGHpDulSGx8NRvYyatwVyyG2zF5NHwp8lFb0N4/s400/Greece+002.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I feel a bit sad about the way I treated Israel, in retrospect. I neglected her many treasures, there’s no doubt about it. The problem was, I was deeply homesick when I first arrived, and while watching all the families strolling around together in the sunshine during Passover and hearing more New York accents than I’d encountered in my entire journey, all I could think about was my fast-approaching weekend trip home. I didn’t do any sightseeing whatsoever my first week there, and since much of the city was closed on and off for the holidays, I spent most of my time on the beach, reading and working. There were endless amounts of people batting balls back and forth with paddles—clearly the hip thing to do. Also in: quirkily mismatched bikinis for teen girls, and Speedos for old men.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I did get to see Jaffa one night with new friend Elad, who was extremely pleasant, informative, and fun, and thought it his duty as an Israeli to promote tourism. Having no phone during my stay in Israel (I continue to live in the 90s with my broken, prehistoric cell), and spotty internet, I didn’t get to meet up with everyone else I’d hoped to, but such is life…</span></span></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608325528250182786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihZebPpF1AlG4HsgDhwhfMxLDiXYXZ5wAXsonpoMRVipRjT28hJ0JOcB9VQyxBelCi9yiMHXlAkitn0ZtJZ5LniqPScM2NFEGf8HygUEIRzsqEqaTwTzw0NONn6du8ljCFWL_a_dNS-fU/s400/Greece+040.JPG" /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Also I will say that reality lives up to the legend; I had THE best hummus of my life in Tel Aviv. (I realize I may be misspelling hummus according to Israelis—there seem to be a zillion different spellings and I am ambiv<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12evaVmFy3TuWhAlzfhf0Pig9-N5iukqtg-i8xzpYDVww9ofdi2PV8uBXsRO3OgBJULkbpyBlBlxafGGs-VK18YjQuEvy48EKXDjXwCTg6cPqeBC0Vr-P4ygScOehOXb62IOSb0-3_DU/s1600/Greece+001.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608325243962403298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh12evaVmFy3TuWhAlzfhf0Pig9-N5iukqtg-i8xzpYDVww9ofdi2PV8uBXsRO3OgBJULkbpyBlBlxafGGs-VK18YjQuEvy48EKXDjXwCTg6cPqeBC0Vr-P4ygScOehOXb62IOSb0-3_DU/s320/Greece+001.JPG" /></a>alent.) I made it a personal goal to try hummus at as many places as possible during my time in Israel. All were reliably garlicky, always included lemon, and often had a nice little pool of tahini in the center. My hostel (Gordon Inn) was also most notable for its ENORMOUS free breakfast every morning, which included not only shakshuka, but about five different kinds of freshly prepared hummus. I could eat hummus all day, and I often did. I also had my fair share of gelato, falafel, and sabich—a roadside delicacy (that I believe is originally Iraqi) of eggplant, egg, and salad, bursting out of a warm pita. Yum!<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">After five days in Tel Aviv, I embarked on my overseas jaunt to New York—on a redeye flight that was, straight from the captain’s mouth, “more than 50% children”…imagine how <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">that </i>went. After my weekend at home (more on that later), I returned to Israel much refreshed—albeit now much more suspicious to Israeli passport control (“Why did you come back to Israel? Why would you go home for such a short while? What is your budget for this trip? Do you have friends in Israel? What are their full names and where do they live?” and on and on). They searched my bag over and over, but eventually I got both back in and then out of the country. (“I just wanted to see my boyfriend!” I cried, quite honestly.)<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Apart from more beach time, I took a trip to the desert and Masada to see the ruins of Herod the Great's fortress, where the Sicarii faced off against the Romans in the year 72, eventually committing mass suicide rather than be defeated. The system for getting and storing water was genius, and I loved seeing the foundations for the floor and wall heating of the steam room, but most impressive was just the fact that it’s all still there after all these years, laid out under the desert sun. Straining your ears, you could almost hear the ram thudding against the wall as the Romans laid siege. On the way back, we took a detour to Ein Gedi Spa for some skin-rejuvenating mud baths, sulfurous swims, and blissfully buoyant but dangerously s<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F4vv1m8y49oLeJLF_WHRwW1fvV-5KakQSC-JX7lurJTzYIOJ0JUxUszH8Pb3qx1gdOheeLiFBO0Iw_yX-NxH1j8yFsqwIRm4TaJtYkrDOxL6lL6YR4DX4WJeGAdlwnDyLnrQBb8Un88/s1600/Greece+020.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 350px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 258px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608324972560127602" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F4vv1m8y49oLeJLF_WHRwW1fvV-5KakQSC-JX7lurJTzYIOJ0JUxUszH8Pb3qx1gdOheeLiFBO0Iw_yX-NxH1j8yFsqwIRm4TaJtYkrDOxL6lL6YR4DX4WJeGAdlwnDyLnrQBb8Un88/s400/Greece+020.JPG" /></a>un-beckoning floating in the very salty Dead Sea. It was definitely cool (as Kelly told me “It’s like your butt and the sand are opposite magnets repelling one another”), but also made my contacts totally freak out and my eyes get all squinty and red. My skin was baby’s ass smooth, though, that’s for sure.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I spent the rest of the week getting in some great runs along the beach. Tel Aviv is seriously my kind of city—lots of young people, lots to do, plenty of good food. It almost reminded me of Brooklyn, but with a better, more convenient beach. Very hot, but it was a place I could live, for sure. I had planned to finally go to Jerusalem on Saturday, but because it was Shabbat and I am an idiot, the buses weren’t running, so apart from driving through on the bus on the way to Masada, I totally missed out. Kind of an epic fail, to have gone to Israel and not seen Jerusalem, but hopefully I’ll get another chance…providing customs lets me back in the country.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-81027646457438667452011-05-01T00:00:00.000-07:002011-05-21T01:46:12.618-07:00Month Four<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCbpbMptFROR02zEx9FMBkAEfZ5baS87vWNBKBgy4znJIPTkr6Fs8L_iiNgkasvgFzpcOkqfmXepq8WWqMyl1ohjTDsq08GsGdomXUoFFVEfNihb1_Q7xQMODiwiEnpBDSVwneuDAisc/s1600/Nepal+051.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608321883917617554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHCbpbMptFROR02zEx9FMBkAEfZ5baS87vWNBKBgy4znJIPTkr6Fs8L_iiNgkasvgFzpcOkqfmXepq8WWqMyl1ohjTDsq08GsGdomXUoFFVEfNihb1_Q7xQMODiwiEnpBDSVwneuDAisc/s400/Nepal+051.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">This month marked the planned half-way point of my trip, and it also coincided with my first serious feelings of homesickness. I had been feeling a bit travel weary for a couple weeks in India, but after Everest, it hit me like a fist to the stomach: I wanted to go home. NOW. <?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQRlblMGiv4NSDlAnfCaexmCwV0WlWEEH_bJplssJJYURE5jq1qjjr-9DXCkZr2SYOYAPcMU0sxqlyF9UUKGvZt8VLlY05oDlkn7VkUEvx5PPobkHXdxBPkACpORAL61L-JVkPtdKVgs/s1600/Nepal+058.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608319849992359554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQRlblMGiv4NSDlAnfCaexmCwV0WlWEEH_bJplssJJYURE5jq1qjjr-9DXCkZr2SYOYAPcMU0sxqlyF9UUKGvZt8VLlY05oDlkn7VkUEvx5PPobkHXdxBPkACpORAL61L-JVkPtdKVgs/s320/Nepal+058.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:+0;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br />The decline in my health hadn’t helped. After two full courses of cipro, the Delhi Belly I’d first experienced in Dharamasala was still occasionally rearing its ugly head, almost a month later, and made things especially tough during the hike. I’d wake up daily feeling rotten, but would feel so much better by afternoon that I could almost convince myself it was gone… But more than my vague illness (which did get better once I got to Israel), I was just getting tired. Tired of packing my bulging bag, tired of constantly moving to a new guesthouse and a new city, tired of making the effort to see the sights, tired of having to find internet and a new good place to work, and really tired of not being able to see Ad. Two and a half weeks without Skype while I was hiking were a bit of a wake-up call; by the end of it I was miserable with missing him.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">But! I’m focusing on the negative, when, if I take a step back, the past month has also been one of the most incredible of the whole trip for what I’ve seen and accomplished. For one thing, and it’s a MAJOR one: Everest Base Camp. Truly some of the most fantastic sights I’ve ever seen surrounded us constantly, I met some amazing individuals, and I pushed myself—HARD. Getting there and then to Kala Patar left me with an immense feeling of accomplishment, and I wouldn’t take it back for anything. I spent April 8<sup>th</sup> (my four-month marker and also my sister’s birthday) looking at the tallest mountain in the world from 18,300 feet on a perfectly clear, blue day. I’ll never forget it. I also got quite a bit of work done despite the long hike, and it was work I was gratified by and proud of. I feel like I have the best job in the world, and it’s not one I couldn’t have imagined a little over a year ago. I’m thankful while the luck lasts!<o:p></o:p></span></span><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><br /><br /><div><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5608321616835769906" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFkbXPAaHd5YQ6p5Y87WcngWlwRKiL53jVSh0MplrUKXcgOhZUhyGAyzA_ex_UnfDN7t-MbZVaDtLj0hXDKyOKslGB4Y8QPIV2KO8LPcE8maSEnpO65Rj1MpxBsLRtqSjtZEhRq8cx8KQ/s400/Nepal+122.JPG" /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">Favorite place: McLeod Ganj, India<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite experience: Giddily jumping about with prayer flags at Everest Base Camp<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite meal: Thai food at Yin Yang in Kathmandu, Nepal with great friends after finishing one great hike<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite saying: “Ramro!”—“Great!” in Sherpa<br /></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite lodging: Hotel Marshyandi, Kathmandu, Nepal (HOT. SHOWER.)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-17626905659018392252011-04-20T02:20:00.000-07:002011-05-21T02:07:35.526-07:00Everest Base Camp Trek<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNJjK48Ztrm01dHwZdBEEJdby0WxQxZf8rzrHc-JzonVrVjFfo9qB3O3x85nQYeTqRNBIJJ6RcSejHzcjc0yBAchjhzQGI7-ZMbDQBIi95sy1WarmLjUaRJKFuZ8FiLM13c2etGmxkl0/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+235.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600571271989709666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVNJjK48Ztrm01dHwZdBEEJdby0WxQxZf8rzrHc-JzonVrVjFfo9qB3O3x85nQYeTqRNBIJJ6RcSejHzcjc0yBAchjhzQGI7-ZMbDQBIi95sy1WarmLjUaRJKFuZ8FiLM13c2etGmxkl0/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+235.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';" ><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I don’t know where to begin in summing up my two week trek through the Himalayas. What can I say, except to write that it was always breathtaking, often NELPy, and just maybe life-changing? I journalled every day of the trek, but reading over those scrawled notes now, I don’t feel any closer to being able to accurately describe the journey…</span><br /><br /></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600570490747460722" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr70_V0GdV5n8BYhcbERIi92p4Df-gBs59iTHsX6njs2zjsv0aiqk1iD7Osv5wxFmP8sQ_g-GSSwrwqa06UenO8s_pRr9rfikJqREnncfH3Co_pTCkmXGq6gMHBAUnb6rtzWD1Bfd6jq8/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+156.JPG" /><br /></span></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';" ><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">We started by flying into Lukla, rated the most dangerous airport in the world, with a narrow runway that is sandwiched between two mountains and ends abruptly at a brick wall. Terrifying. Then, over the next fifteen days, we wound our way through lush valleys full of cabbages, rhododendrons, and hundreds of holy stupas, up above the tree line and across narrow ridges surrounded on all sides by unfathomably big mountains and nothing else, and then back down again. We climbed from 9,200 feet at Lukla to 18,200 feet at Kala Patar, but—and this is a big but—since the terrain is never just ascension or descension and is instead the hilariously dubbed “Nepalese flat” (up down up down up down), we gained/lost, according to a Midwest doctor I met at the airport, who had clocked it, 35,000 ft/24,000 feet just on the way to Base Camp, with the reverse on the way back. Brutal. But awesome!<br /></span><br /></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600569352505747314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm8W4fsmsHg4vCOQ0QiZkhd2CKFQinqMQ27_ayLWSpxPBTc2oqitWq8h9elYFKht_Z0iaZgdkrvJ_tBM6WXIwTThpV_z_6cHfLzAGYEMPcKFpCHX7o9ymKSnImtItsdcYwUSCfqVpBl6E/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+040.JPG" /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">We had some culture along the way, as well. We visited a 600-year-old monastery looked after by one very old, very drunk monk. In Namche Bazaar, one of the bigger villages where we stayed for two nights to acclimate at around 12,000 feet, we visited our trip leader, Thupten’s hou</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRorOtY_KEMqagw5tcXVuxQQgo2bQHGi3IHLKIHQ32tTCvdrZO0rlDz790JC9jCwcrvr02uQaUADx5q2nHR_Fg_2pDrinI79L0zbUS8EosA2JiT0-aGUeZuoezzuUiY1i3VswVrZoxMm8/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+049.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600568956460582786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRorOtY_KEMqagw5tcXVuxQQgo2bQHGi3IHLKIHQ32tTCvdrZO0rlDz790JC9jCwcrvr02uQaUADx5q2nHR_Fg_2pDrinI79L0zbUS8EosA2JiT0-aGUeZuoezzuUiY1i3VswVrZoxMm8/s320/Everest+Base+Camp2+049.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">se. He showed us his elaborately decorated prayer room (typical of Sherpa homes), his own traditional, incredibly detailed paintings that depicted Tengboche monastery, where he had been a monk for ten years, with the mountains surrounding it and yetis peeking out from between them. (We got a chance to actually visit Tengboche on the return trip, too, on a particularly grueling day where we gained 1000 feet before lunch). Thupten also proudly displayed the photo of himself and Sir Edmund Hillary, who, after first summiting Everest, became close with the Sherpa people, as well as a photo of his father, a Sherpa guide, receiving an award from JFK for saving two Americans’ lives on Everest. The dogs were out of control at night in Namche, and when we stayed there on the way back down, they seemed especially insane. We later learned they had good cause: a hungry snow leopard had come down looking for a canine snack.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">We were camping, but with REI, this was luxury camping rather than truly roughing it: Dokyo (yak/cow mix) lugged our gear; porters carried our kitchen supplies (some of these thin boys managed to lug up to 120 kilos in the baskets with their forehead straps!); we slept on plump mats in tents already set up for us when we reached camp; we had hot tea</span><span style="font-family:georgia;"> to greet us for our 6am wake ups; and we weren’t exactly eating camp food. </span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yWr26i1hVHB4IVcjraQcuxum_FtS7BEKF3vudx3WTk3Wdjm03leAkLMTphA4OysGMfPej_S1SmsYK5MMvz2B_zM-Rd79-VVWvbamUiS-_6wJcSt4A8ktDtuM1Sd3v5nFZ0dFoymktxw/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+005.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 285px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600568423093251042" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yWr26i1hVHB4IVcjraQcuxum_FtS7BEKF3vudx3WTk3Wdjm03leAkLMTphA4OysGMfPej_S1SmsYK5MMvz2B_zM-Rd79-VVWvbamUiS-_6wJcSt4A8ktDtuM1Sd3v5nFZ0dFoymktxw/s320/Everest+Base+Camp2+005.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Oh, the food… As usual, I could go on for an entire blog entry about the food, but I’ll try to limit myself. First off, our cook, Madu, was a genius with a potato. We had every type of curried, mashed, and broiled potato you could imagine, each more delectable than the last. My sister Lisa would’ve been in heaven. Madu also somehow managed to pull off veggie burgers, pizza, and freaking APPLE. PIE. in a makeshift tent kitchen with not much more than a knife and an open flame. Not to mention my favorite, Sherpa stew. While our peers in the lodges had dahl day after day, we ate like kings, three times a day, plus tea.<br /><br />Al</span><span style="font-family:georgia;">l that said, even though our experience was leaps and bounds more cushy than it could’ve been, I don’t think I’ve ever been as uncomfortable for such an extended period of time in my whole life. On the second day, I was already sore, from the third day on I was absolutely freezing, and</span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhla5FtrJJP0-1vxC8znoZW8o9LlRKSu6k-UvSSpCOZhtm2h01zgfRXn3__Tr1rtSg9S-Wkw-HmgVW6uhPx9gHIsRv5iAucjTKMrsTvbs13F8198VzQJBydmfYLT0ANNMX6F6abJiN-Tlg/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+227.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600567092034243730" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhla5FtrJJP0-1vxC8znoZW8o9LlRKSu6k-UvSSpCOZhtm2h01zgfRXn3__Tr1rtSg9S-Wkw-HmgVW6uhPx9gHIsRv5iAucjTKMrsTvbs13F8198VzQJBydmfYLT0ANNMX6F6abJiN-Tlg/s320/Everest+Base+Camp2+227.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> by day ten my nose was chapped raw, my cuticles were all bleeding, my hair was starting to dread, Delhi Belly was back with a vengeance, and the air was so thin I never stopped hyperventilating, even while sleeping. The treks up to Everest Base Camp and Kala Patar, on two days when I was at my sickest and weakest, were physically the most difficult moments in my life. Harder than the marathon, harder than Mt. Roy on Christmas hung over and with no water, harder than Ms. Suzette’s grueling dance practices throughout my adolescence. When I made it to Base Camp, I cried tears of sheer joy—I had done it! I was finally here! The top wasn’t so far away at all, just a few thousand more feet—maybe someday I could do it! But by the next day, when I collapsed with Brian at the prayer flag-clad pole atop Kala Patar and took in the awe-inspiring view of Everest and the Khumbu Icefall, I was sobbing for different reasons: I was absolutely miserable, I couldn’t believe I wasn’t dead, and I was so, so relieved that there would be no more uphill (that turned out to be a farce, too, but that’s what I thought at the time). I also decided right then and there that everyone who ever decided to summit Everest was a lunatic, and that there was no way in hell I was going to do Kili in two months, regardless of whether its famous snows were disappearing. Another year, maybe, but not now, no way. </span></span><br /><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600567732346802194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiV6Vw2emxu5J22gs61_6ryyOSBJ48BMCiE1by1Wp1ZboZ6CSvw_XSbwoP6WgPmflnEvKhm7GxuTPcXarvbQqKoIUcsAhbgDwDyyMKhnNIxjQffY4c-eWoefxOOff1RUpsQaasfdGZw8y8/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+210.JPG" /></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%;font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';" ><span style="font-family:georgia;">But the mountains! LOOK at these incredible mountains! Every painful minute was worth it for those views</span>.</span> </span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600566356173346290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyE_wHRoE7TdIq9oVQncktzvLzzoQAIZUXAzKbe9ZQoDyyzhxY2hC8ZT66PCNtMjo9S31QKCTGGUhJvMXvSQ1cbRUtLNZz9DqwsWVdTQS2RiLS57c8h7whnr_6WckNN01RKqxxz59h9Gw/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+264.JPG" /></span><span style="LINE-HEIGHT: 115%"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">My companions were just about the best group of people I could’ve asked for. They were strong hikers who never complained, incredibly supportive of one another, and damn interesting individuals. Florin, who celebrated his 60<sup>th</sup> birthday on the trail, plodded along impressively and was always reliable for entertaining, unfiltered anecdotes.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJRyTv6Hw3hR4KojRBCezwXhDLo44GJa52DEsF_rB9R1RkS1zypGo0tvVnPYCZDElzbEGwVU7DUHo4orJR-NNljdLZ4FORwVBC7MjSpkH34Fk9SP5klSdPfkYSLFWWHYKHquef2btk9U/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+258.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600565804226945442" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWJRyTv6Hw3hR4KojRBCezwXhDLo44GJa52DEsF_rB9R1RkS1zypGo0tvVnPYCZDElzbEGwVU7DUHo4orJR-NNljdLZ4FORwVBC7MjSpkH34Fk9SP5klSdPfkYSLFWWHYKHquef2btk9U/s320/Everest+Base+Camp2+258.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"> His dancing at our farewell party was extremely…memorable. Catherine was a terrific roommate—by which I mean she came prepared with every single thing imaginable in her bag, Mary Poppins style, and was liberal with sharing all of it, from baby wipes to drugs to an extra sleeping pad. Having lived in LA for twenty years and climbed Mt. Whitney literally dozens of times (not to mention the various higher peaks around the world she’d conquered), she was the strongest hiker among us and kept us focused and excited. She also ran the London Marathon the day after she got back from the trip. Safe to say that I was totally in awe of her (so was one of the kitchen boys, much to our enjoyment). Catherine, I want to be you when I grow up. Peta, our graceful ballerina, was always sunny and energetic, even on the downhill days when her knees (which had recently received blasts of collagen to keep the bones from grinding together) were no doubt causing her intense pain. I loved our easy conversation and her very entertaining banter with her husband, Chris. Chris, who braved his biggest fear and inched across dozens o</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYoNWbf5mUNlv7f5hF5na7Tz8O-jiqJGl91f0BHjr7ZXV9Ep7DWUv-c3yGD6k-DxfKgsWaQcIZl_N3SAaQr7iROw_24LgQhZn1cbjVbRnqgYkNldzdXr9f8HefyDzFfL_2GpqIeo9qLc/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+060.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600565084985862290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSYoNWbf5mUNlv7f5hF5na7Tz8O-jiqJGl91f0BHjr7ZXV9Ep7DWUv-c3yGD6k-DxfKgsWaQcIZl_N3SAaQr7iROw_24LgQhZn1cbjVbRnqgYkNldzdXr9f8HefyDzFfL_2GpqIeo9qLc/s320/Everest+Base+Camp2+060.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">f swaying suspension bridges, provided endless quantities of dry, British humor as well as gummy electrolyte blocs en masse, and snored loud enough to wake the dead. One of the funniest moments of the trip was when Chris took on one of the porter’s loads, huffing and puffing for fifty yards behind the yaks. He was shocked, shrugging the basket off, that it was not, in fact, 60 kilos, but 20. And Brian, our Bostonian sweetheart. Brian had had a difficult couple years by anyone’s standards, but he was still out there achieving his dreams and helping all of us up and dealing out words of encouragement as we struggled along. On my really dark days, it was Brian and Chris who hung back, telling stories and making me forget I felt like utter crap. The staff was also awesome, and they are the deciding factor in what would make me recommend REI to anyone, despite the fact that you could definitely find ways to do it cheaper. Thupten was a patient, knowledgeable leader and totally dominated at Egyptian Rat Screw, Manny and K.C. were great guides who adjusted their pace to our needs while still pushing us physically, and the porters and kitchen boys were always helpful and gracious. Even in such a harsh environment, I felt utterly spoiled.</span></span><span style="font-size:85%;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5600563019457456818" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk6xqEHDuFnFRIf_EB-TEOWMvR4BasvYwSwUQsl_ABWZWWPN2g7pRUxbWqpknJY0wVnhUd5rJCJSLWrvKdXTKdVSVscfGBca3VEyEtArxFp7OkQTGkp2h4mOv03mdNBiFRl8nnqht0lwQ/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+219.JPG" /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Thank you, everyone, for a truly incredible experience. Next up: group reunion at the Grand Canyon for “rim to rim!”<br /><br />Note: That is not me doing the splits in front of Everest; it is the incredibly impressive and flexible Peta Barrett.</span></span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-5674954881951124792011-04-16T00:54:00.000-07:002011-04-28T05:01:39.000-07:00Himalaya Trek Picture Post 2<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596093583999632978" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhX5e3F2ee_EvYkKVyuOr9rsbu7TL9pDDWvNGYoWMhy4gD5GirEZv80hKuJo5s8NG04qhDSkxLkuk05N1o2qVUkQZYpBZQKyXNaOrV-kxN-vWXdqpJ7vNp_zwdmBJ0qccSPBUqRECRcv-I/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+304.JPG" /> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596103421092371234" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFiStgP5i1_HE80sfWEYIX1QdsC-Bvqf38eVimN34scO4PbDD7o1_MlpNupJUTYjAVSry62tYdtTPDz-vd2XWpEcL4TuCDsLFTMndnDmnHn6clzxi7jxxsfLspXcGpzgrrR1Z7pQDrj84/s400/Everest+Base+Camp+008.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596093020237381586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioLWXs-8VWnLtUbvvoxNV-H6o5k8R_XtiMleTtpVEmmPioPrh7d5fyG-B_y9JDf5oy3zcKhx2H2V-SNaPnR0AYRceoUW_5ZXFaHrBEYp6Dct46yFCSfgHKrk1ZwZCmdXB5ZSUd94Ui2EI/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+272.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596092002451898066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCd8Sub07gJ5i313E_9cd-RWLUqxLPbqhUIBPcTIZWjamH6Jinuc4DF-rVI3VkXBNrgcFKtkWcywahYVogX3XEavhQ-2aNbbQRFSji6W2iuZM0SXyTfoKOlrBW1szxKbOjKdXuvhFxvEs/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+089.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596091315779023826" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDUxvmDQBSkPzHDrvHEx-mg4ZP6oGm4X9ljnxwHUlpXVVaecyrA7fDwObB-gLFGjF53zc47F5vSDoS3F9RyP-AT70aQ6R0MT-PO6JItnCv9fdcOe9jMlnX0oHSUX1jI1f7hFfwVLQXXwM/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+027.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596090729659348658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMnpdMQwABOIclsKe5q3ZdX5UEB7kAeae7LrnxKiUyQkvPuTvT_TZK6dM3Tp4e8X183hJC8q57_dl4oJbQ6e7rpGTGY6aMaK9SnQ81MhnS7ePILRMTVLijIeduIpJx-jyBA9h6XZXJn4g/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+238.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596090211087521378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhytOPJLQ-rlB1d7BLKY45HnDF6qJ-iUfmzpoHLuJzQIb-6Mx85aDQSM3YYPtqKHR_xFEaBqgOuqnitassJ_GEf-rnHzDwtwux2kY2LnJDVuyxZdcMOeY_EUME1peC30RAjelRdu5C-cUU/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+243.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596088645964846242" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8m-ihwfj-Ozn9MEb4n66-uJ7vb3ODxI0pSOGw8loZ3SXnyktK4BLs5SdUqD4i4m_AezO8p4s5edfOZE4h-ggpowNg9z2UJWBzMM6vEV1uzVd28NNvOwmbiH5Nh5Rha1M1U0YqNfjc2ac/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+061.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596088155337124066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9EztQFWlHX5xMOcSlVQCekBl8hoPCPSkxg3FV7k-YEC8Cgs_zOQsfcYvTqeKvgtcJbsNTTmHP5AgoCEQkliwsvrzNC0L8VhHH7v5i6y86WA3g4sU9EM2h5n8kSo-30F8KPwFkKVsJU88/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+074.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596087004176916882" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEis-l-S3bD3GUNz3eK85BWu7K5kmvW4n4ejniHSNSDt1w_tM7hITxHZ7_-YYt2ODmKDPtqVnqhllj_3lONRyeBEAiNzAQDXdAvoKxUNN4JjYu-VxAV-oyjfuy5OsG0LHreyixYWvNUdCsg/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+104.JPG" />jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-71344921548834341932011-04-16T00:16:00.000-07:002011-04-16T00:53:49.431-07:00Himalaya Trek Picture Post 1After two weeks of hard trekking, I'm back from my Everest Base Camp hike. I'll have a full post coming soon, but for now, here are two picture posts to give you a taste of what I've been up to. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDGxUM1djJXVpwPNEOrx8muDhsBlVh2ahWv8X9BP4_8Afu31m-nTZuD16tR2qGca5vYSF3RpI_BfJa0R_EcjhU5bBb9AnztPz9sCAFYnEcNJeI4MWDW2Iw8BOC6APiMvr_-eJPktnxa0/s1600/Everest+Base+Camp2+105.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596084497280159666" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYDGxUM1djJXVpwPNEOrx8muDhsBlVh2ahWv8X9BP4_8Afu31m-nTZuD16tR2qGca5vYSF3RpI_BfJa0R_EcjhU5bBb9AnztPz9sCAFYnEcNJeI4MWDW2Iw8BOC6APiMvr_-eJPktnxa0/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+105.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596086089106416034" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3lKxjEPCQZYJW1p-VAfSfXD0u_SxrBKbxy1dhXgsR-rBt_Y0zJCIrepFtZ7v-8T9OtQz45ui2_l6gj5ACHW5CJ2BCqyoqWq_iR1osU3X1D_qCYXyjNzTFWG6ZjZj8fZp8RLKZzaKVd90/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+121.JPG" /></a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596083182035437170" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicGd5jR584LGaMxwLcRBYeYN9y8ErTWiBcdrxobYk08i6u7E3Xyt7wdvAc18NPGix3OM2kUo666M4EQbRpiY3oAMkjvluDX5mr6xbjNti1r0a4So1PLVUL2sayaJWNudcvdtpkc5y2hOg/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+124.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596082494843772114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovWOX2yRULiCRshutkMWnWLdGuhofJQevBg0H_UAb_D5pG3M8mnDv3a_GrueJz_DLwdTexlbAKLt7YfjcT_ef5nE0jBcnJnkB7bcoZxfK5dYZjJBrWXLWw8TAwH-m5MXhrTl_tPKsruw/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+130.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596081954642475186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEha1rvWLZDTJI5_f2Lzwh7t9qyAa81bm85WiT388dRpiDA3hMQmi-TPjA3G68FQtp0r-skYFQA8Ntr2iX1j1HWO-PmFv-3RexaoWQIeDItmD61u754h2AA8MtT7Dg6fJP3V-peyThqR4tw/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+136.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596081432567381810" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLxiIxp6cN7nPUcaizvxz0hIgL7HbyRVVL8kFjbnmzqRAxR_UQbmm5_NGVEp4ebrS5379_4tSa9mjwT0-uEELQJoX9IlADV9OBwWjkvYzIVsl6ZdY7I-x9_FYAAUJdf-WJTjSKzOPhPTc/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+149.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596080615908686338" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgFi-wdGqfxnJ7Z_ScEobA7moH2AYD77tyjYRjt_WsCRVWxRL1wagdL_bhWi9PTLknvj0KHMMYKJzWSgo76B5q0OE4MdrZsYR0UYr6fZ3xiQC8x0X7PS2W7yZmXII_Z3fVl9tidWtYfQ0/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+172.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596079378206521362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0MJoKneuddcwka0FS8JsO66N9wkCUeQpNcthLNsTjJUu4RgHJiG12fLWvIDptPE7pfZezP5OBACJXpxpalGOeE-aCpAQB-krXXinsoHzhdzdbvEXnqMF-QfordK5ICNfs2099w8Kv6hI/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+189.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596077934619858450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2WSpBRVldXUIdm4nNtgwjB_WB2z6tM0GXfy3CGGPjXrpzrKeRP0f1SVqE2keAJp-xb329MXZXS8HmwpF8ecaOQER7qtregEmDNF5KN3WzC86F3AU_UdvGT_ZeVAw1NsYYgayzv1c-fI0/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+230.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5596079873903011890" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSfjVC6mCEwbqmgTQX5f20Ag2FmIer0D5GLiPNbslrZinq5lYQJkamxLxEE-nWqaNWGRhs6ppZ5ArLpZDD80e7fQKvaCS-yegZUXdWKM6uM-K8_Uoxgp0KG_jw-hA2reWSwDKgUF_1BTE/s400/Everest+Base+Camp2+215.JPG" />jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-24756602705665226382011-03-29T04:17:00.000-07:002011-04-15T23:11:47.125-07:00Farewell, India, hello, Nepal!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHH4CF_01F1bUy4GbMlw4yDLA_0uCNcQoGC-9cot4DcEdZw8tHfOKoVv21cZv_UY4ma-RCiTDPszkqOK3lRKB8vgJxcwKEAmaOjySvBKBj3Honr7-L_nUjIsgeF46DDYO_bpTUJOUBp8/s1600/Nepal+065.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589588588773140946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFHH4CF_01F1bUy4GbMlw4yDLA_0uCNcQoGC-9cot4DcEdZw8tHfOKoVv21cZv_UY4ma-RCiTDPszkqOK3lRKB8vgJxcwKEAmaOjySvBKBj3Honr7-L_nUjIsgeF46DDYO_bpTUJOUBp8/s400/Nepal+065.JPG" /></a> <br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCf0HE-pK04bxn_GCBrde8vwqaz63K2Zyp5y3Q2Kf6AZh3uf4YAMGzjZ4QSvfVdftiLcf5hiE-yr-9ENBKoCOwhkAmry8Mxtmpx3BaPf5hSfQoz0HQhhTgFaLA7zUlae7bHowka5ChSEg/s1600/Nepal+034.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589583115951189410" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCf0HE-pK04bxn_GCBrde8vwqaz63K2Zyp5y3Q2Kf6AZh3uf4YAMGzjZ4QSvfVdftiLcf5hiE-yr-9ENBKoCOwhkAmry8Mxtmpx3BaPf5hSfQoz0HQhhTgFaLA7zUlae7bHowka5ChSEg/s320/Nepal+034.JPG" /></a>My last week in India was a wonderfully easy-going ride in the north. I took a noisy bus to McLeod Ganj (Upper Dharamasala) in Himachal Pradesh, where it was nice to have a breather after several days of fast-paced sight-seeing. I met a great group of people in the chilly little village bordering the Himalayas, and spent the whole week working on revisions in the very cozy Cafe Arabica, battling Delhi Belly while trying to continue inhaling as many delicious momos as humanly possible, and puzzling out the mysteries of the universe (no, really...) on rooftops beneath the stars. <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div>I also managed to time it right for seeing the Dalai Lama speak--pretty incredible to witness, as he's just decided to step down as a political leader, though I couldn't understand a word, as it was all in Tibetan--as well as observing Holy Day for the Hindus--essentially, a big party where everyone throws paint at one another. </div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I made cursory attempts at yoga (my stomach rebelled both times) and meditation (where, thinking I had succeeded in my intense focus on the third eye, I suddenly realized I had been worrying about my taxes for several minutes...), and did some light walking around the beautiful scenery. Then I headed to Delhi, where I spent approximately one and a half hours before heading to the airport and Nepal. In the airport a man farted on me, loudly and deliberately. Farewell, India.</div><br /><div></div><br /><div>I've been in Kathmandu now for a few days, getting last minute stuff together for my trek to Everest Base Camp. Hooohah! I'm so freaking excited for this thing. I met my group of five (plus me) today, and what a bunch of awesome, interesting people they are! We've got a Romania<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6axnBQ8kDi7-BEFEnmvT2diKX9kNYKpM5msDjgqqd_w37Zl_ylZz9B4WESssEDqx561UlFEz4tIMAqJ2vE5YaS7pb5evNZFgenMbk1_FCx3BjDVAVtR3mkrcQ-tpSje68uDZ4HD0-nds/s1600/Nepal+028.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589582094262802290" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6axnBQ8kDi7-BEFEnmvT2diKX9kNYKpM5msDjgqqd_w37Zl_ylZz9B4WESssEDqx561UlFEz4tIMAqJ2vE5YaS7pb5evNZFgenMbk1_FCx3BjDVAVtR3mkrcQ-tpSje68uDZ4HD0-nds/s320/Nepal+028.JPG" /></a>n ex-pat who has repeatedly circled the globe, a Bostonian bad-ass who used to run for Nike and is now a master of Haiku, an English ex-pat who has already run several marathons this year and has hiked everything from Rainier to Aconcagua, and a Californian couple (IT guy and former professional ballerina) who went to Botswana on their honeymoon. All are definitely (as REI requests) "infused with a sense of adventure." </div><br /><div></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5589581131810360850" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2tM8Z5AVTRTeLiqPZau1UTC0Bxfh7alVaZkW4t9Hj1vFWdlQr88hMz5HdfWIVgfZJlVQEXhvuUL6PEG4KMzqKw4zjG2A_YRno9aij9u5d1L3FoPE_FwfJIf96ED7T-HNw4We4Q60RrI0/s400/Nepal+102.JPG" /> <br /><div>Oh, man. This is going to be amazing. I'll be "going dark" for two weeks, obviously, so stay tuned for an update when I've returned from thin air...</div></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-62051024682076433492011-03-25T02:35:00.000-07:002011-03-25T02:58:43.722-07:00Running: the addiction that sneaks up on you.Right now, even though it's pretty sweet to be hanging out in Kathmandu, Nepal, I'm yearning for New York. Why? (Yes, I miss loved ones and brunches--thank you, G, for planting that seed...) But right now, in this moment, I really, really miss running. I <em>crave</em> it, suddenly and surprisingly. I just walked for hours, but my feet still itch with the urge. After the marathon, I never thought I'd yearn for that regimen again, but now all I want to do is put on my tennies and headphones and do the loop in Central Park until my legs give out. And I can't.<br /><br />I know some people (like Laura, from <a href="http://www.blogger.com/awanderingsole.com">A Wandering Sole</a>) manage to keep running while they travel, but I haven't really found it to be a viable option in the places I've been (excepting New Zealand). Beyond finding it hard to imagine running in these crowded, winding streets, as a woman alone, I want to stay as covered up as possible, and donning running shorts seemed implausible, particularly in India. That, and I didn't bring my shoes...<br /><br />Don't get me wrong, there's no doubt these past few months have been incredible, but while taking in world wonders and eating delicious treats, I've gotten pretty unhealthy. So as I'm preparing to hike to Everest Base Camp next week, I'm excited not just for the exhilarating sight itself, but also the physical endurance and exercise it'll take to get there, to finally feel my body straining for something again. It's going to be awesome! Then after, maybe new running shoes will be in order...jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-37942513334340298112011-03-20T14:58:00.000-07:002011-03-21T03:03:30.590-07:00Just a quick note to say<p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I am surrounded by the Himalayas, sitting on a floor of pillows and drinking chai in India. I saw the Dalai Lama speak this morning.<br /><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><o:p><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;"></span></o:p></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Is this real life?<br /><br /><br /></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">*Edit: Six hours after writing that, I was afflicted with my first case of the notorious Delhi Belly. Yes, this is real life.</span></span></span></p>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-61426940364066527242011-03-19T14:40:00.000-07:002011-03-21T04:42:33.081-07:00Month Three<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiles0a8deRck2JYBU1nZbo0Im3pOfQYqdQCWXwURaqEaStEuL0t8_5EDiiCKuM7KbVKZwyWjTqAkiTLA9k_5i0aBqQdU16kd2YcbysGY3wXI0Xq0F2c_19MQGlI8Ye4gXavmRAOHYSx7c/s1600/North+India+224.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586467764291686066" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiles0a8deRck2JYBU1nZbo0Im3pOfQYqdQCWXwURaqEaStEuL0t8_5EDiiCKuM7KbVKZwyWjTqAkiTLA9k_5i0aBqQdU16kd2YcbysGY3wXI0Xq0F2c_19MQGlI8Ye4gXavmRAOHYSx7c/s400/North+India+224.JPG" /></a><br /><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6oqJmefhgX5w35IqkBMstVlGI1hWDOvLc3QnsYs5_8VwwPFNePF5uEHY_i8M6OQUmCIddzEwr4obbS7v2VtC7-HrzJK-kkJVcjbC1oicD2Pval_dw_rPrSZwLJY8PAzTlIeAp8ElW_U/s1600/Rupee+001.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 192px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 274px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586467206767370786" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin6oqJmefhgX5w35IqkBMstVlGI1hWDOvLc3QnsYs5_8VwwPFNePF5uEHY_i8M6OQUmCIddzEwr4obbS7v2VtC7-HrzJK-kkJVcjbC1oicD2Pval_dw_rPrSZwLJY8PAzTlIeAp8ElW_U/s320/Rupee+001.JPG" /></a> <span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">My third month, traveling from Thailand into India, was all about acclimatization. I was way out of my comfort zone, but with time, I settled in. The one rupee coin has a thumbs up on it—how can you <em>not</em> warm up to India?<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br /><br /><div><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">Now I'm starting to really love this country just as I’m about to leave it—the colors, the landscape, the food, and even the heat. I love her contradictions, especially: a sea of garbage trod on by immaculately dressed women in beautifully-colored saris; fresh sewage running along the street leading to the breathtaking Taj Mahal; a man in traditional dress working in an electronic superstore; hands reaching for your wallet just outside the Golden Temple, where everything is free; ultra-effeminate heterosexual boy love alongside such dismissal of women; the incredibly complex (and flawless) system of organization for laundry and lunch delivery in sharp contrast to the mind-numbing bureaucracy endured to accomplish the simplest task; “untouchable” children begging in the same streets frequented by beyond-touch Bollywood movie stars...</span></span></span></span></p><div><br /></div><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">So many languages, cultures, religions, castes…all thrown together and coexisting to form one thundering heart, one indescribable country: this is the spice of India. </span></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;"></span></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">And there’s so much more to see!</span></span></span></span></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586466512180591554" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic1D_dGLpSh85lhcrl7x9UswEYo5djZJO9BDkSBlvqF_EB3szuJ8CP3Bl4rQ6qZ8jOta0vqcJJWdwaWlVHQEt35SShn02GLgUFjCDxql06Mym2SVmyPfuvO3Rzkr-9AFvrUSiBMIISMY4/s400/North+India+148.JPG" /><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite place: Udaipur</span></div><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite experience: having Ad around to share it with<br /></span><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite meal: thali in Ahmedabad</span></div><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite saying: "The only problem in India is no problem." [head wobble]</span></p><div><span style="font-size:85%;">Favorite lodging: Hotel Castle House, Goa</span></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-82206395132747498002011-03-17T14:07:00.000-07:002011-03-21T02:40:02.527-07:00Sights<span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;">I accompanied Wayne and Nicole to the train for an ultra-quick sightseeing adventure. We took sleeper class for the first time, which I didn’t find much different from 2 or 3 AC, apart from the fact that people were infinitely more curious about us. I arrived at my berth the second night to a family of 8 who watched me like television. They were quite entertained when, climbing to my upper bunk, I lost balance and catapulted over the side, smashing my breast bone into the side and landing in their laps. It was a definite Bobbie moment.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggei5bJUKuScAreRuVEZjEucaFyUiFH4kXY9LVtG5sKjGZkQf-0I6stOfvAecd9rV6Dwa3-Tr2VNmSt1bHQrOoxyO5mpugl2WfJMx0DARqTseIfjw25KaxZ8Sh0pwuw8x24whWluiMguI/s1600/North+India+212.JPG"></a><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586463158880123282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWqDWya3EYi5hSqdKP8Pv4lzA-_AtARykQeh-FME77LPfQ5YcRbNm9RtuFVyNvbmZfJ9CP_hCBd194domx8yfj7wz05nKkKkpbvmTE6cUZvHvMZqJMtiZkvIlcjeJtkFpVZE9AFF2mhIo/s400/North+India+179.JPG" />After a breakfast I never grow sick of—samosas and chai from train vendors—we headed for the Taj Mahal. We had four hours in Agra, which, minus train station, rickshaw, lunch, and queing up to get in, translated to about half an hour at the imposing world wonder. What a sweet half hour it was, too! The Taj Mahal shimmers in the light, and is so bright that, without sunglasses, it's difficult to look at directly. Though it appears to be all white at first glance, there are intricate designs throughout. I’m not doing it justice, so I’ll just concede that the monument to love is, as they say, <em>indescribable</em>.<br /><br />There were many people eager to get a picture with me (even more with Nicky, for her red hair); white skin makes one a celebrity in certain places, which, having grown up in the West, feels strange and a bit discomfiting. I imagine it's how people must feel when I want a picture of them for their colorful saris and bracelets, so I try to smile with as little awkwardness as possible for the women. The men make me more uncomfortable. <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 318px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 424px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586461194589603394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLFggtFHwovrzeupbCnOt4XHLJFI9GOCE55kCZc0nu1HmGyahxegc4iMeFKnScEGv0sNKgtDRCx_7Y5jbo9s9hyV2pauGNcWnxFzrVcqK7qRvD-bysog2nXxaX4tiipPhVwDSSfnuFAKg/s400/North+India+207.JPG" /> <div><div><div><div><div><div align="left">After Agra, we headed to Amritsar, where every moment was notable for the overwhelming kindness and inclusiveness displayed by the Sikh community. On my way into the stunning Golden Temple, a man offered to show me around and explain the ceremonies and construction. The entire sight, inside and out, is covered in gold leaf, and the singing you hear from outside is live, all the time. A man named Rohit stopped us on the street to offer his help, and w<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-4AiCyhUx3Vj__DSlKDCi15GZPLKRSrYB3Z7xLhV5bO5uOiVnsboattMeP_unnWkCwB0evFcNwiuYsMQOCYM297ngHEsrYWNopMD7jjF7UjpH0VfVMZNf1z5ZIi2u9m2TxIvgchRu8Q/s1600/North+India+260.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586460872909087858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy-4AiCyhUx3Vj__DSlKDCi15GZPLKRSrYB3Z7xLhV5bO5uOiVnsboattMeP_unnWkCwB0evFcNwiuYsMQOCYM297ngHEsrYWNopMD7jjF7UjpH0VfVMZNf1z5ZIi2u9m2TxIvgchRu8Q/s320/North+India+260.JPG" /></a>e ended up sipping the tastiest lassis with him. We also received everything for free—from a room at the Golden Temple to meals at the incredibly efficient 24-hour kitchen, which runs on volunteers and donations, and feeds up to 100,000 people a day. We took a turn at the sewa (selfless service) as well: Nicole helped make chapatti, and Laura from England and I chopped veggies on our last day.<br /><br />In the evening of my second day, I rode 20 kilometers to the India/Pakistan<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadzVNXo8bx_Cn-0Uc7tBrZ_mcN-EEEAgnqlBvVmHBbI8bFBTsJL3ygXckLDsE6-6pX5UrTkIhvIWBk_aq7jkVLCfuPOG1LmHGVk7fb0XLFXdjinkVzv5DZMo7LeXOuhqnAlkhK-md5FE/s1600/North+India+240.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586460309274782226" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadzVNXo8bx_Cn-0Uc7tBrZ_mcN-EEEAgnqlBvVmHBbI8bFBTsJL3ygXckLDsE6-6pX5UrTkIhvIWBk_aq7jkVLCfuPOG1LmHGVk7fb0XLFXdjinkVzv5DZMo7LeXOuhqnAlkhK-md5FE/s320/North+India+240.JPG" /></a> border in a death-defying van ride (seriously the most terrifying driving I’ve yet experienced—which is really saying something, in India). What an experience! Every day at 5pm, the guards on both sides perform a dramatic border-closing ritual. As tensions between the two countries have grown, this ceremony has expanded to become a sort of dance off a la “Honey” (yes, I did just reference a Jessica Alba movie), and the daily audience grew enough that they installed bleachers. Beyond the lively, crowd-inclusive dancing (taken from the latest popular Bollywood films), women lined up to run with the Indian flag down the street toward Pakistan, there were call-and-response cheers, and the impressively-uniformed guards flamboyantly high-kicked with solemn purpose toward the gate. Through all of it, of course, the crowd went wild.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28IB0qItJ1L1yOOV4IKO7dBZbLn_EDZkDk4qkReNdLpnJ0ugOEZCB2mUII4p-ck6X3i5Fe_mwPML77fdDdAl-iU2c0Mmq7t8ySaCAeC7sJSS-64AOTk23Os4VSraTpqvwsceVRwIMUc0/s1600/North+India+218.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586458813396503266" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28IB0qItJ1L1yOOV4IKO7dBZbLn_EDZkDk4qkReNdLpnJ0ugOEZCB2mUII4p-ck6X3i5Fe_mwPML77fdDdAl-iU2c0Mmq7t8ySaCAeC7sJSS-64AOTk23Os4VSraTpqvwsceVRwIMUc0/s320/North+India+218.JPG" /></a><br />After many dosas, ice creams, and package shipping together (you have to have packages sewn up by a tailor in order to mail them), Wayne and Nicky took off for Delhi, and I packed my bags for Dharamasala. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg28IB0qItJ1L1yOOV4IKO7dBZbLn_EDZkDk4qkReNdLpnJ0ugOEZCB2mUII4p-ck6X3i5Fe_mwPML77fdDdAl-iU2c0Mmq7t8ySaCAeC7sJSS-64AOTk23Os4VSraTpqvwsceVRwIMUc0/s1600/North+India+218.JPG"></a> </div><div align="left"><br /> </div></span></span></div></div></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-5323801451540258162011-03-14T01:18:00.000-07:002011-05-21T02:10:21.947-07:00Rajasthan--Ahmedabad and Udaipur<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBlMiJL2svHEUJ3i5J7t0swRu6tlROoPgR6yu4szy9QKjVE9nsMtEpyKF1YfzdR0lA-YGI1PTC1iHxkQZxCFWHUdwLkoVtJC-e243ETwuhn8aHUKs_iTzckgiOPzup5iHxuwX237ZMZyo/s1600/India+005.JPG"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tVltg_wsXC_zSbBBS9kacEWw8Fge5eALZfrpzEZ_AjkU2IWpTk_mJYW5Lwkno0JC76eKnlqiGLRRLUJoJh3XmA34lJftEu5y8lKzDyXW_97YF9pD5GP-Jw4So0zIcMe0M6Mw0pNEN3c/s1600/North+India+115.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586447439547463394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6tVltg_wsXC_zSbBBS9kacEWw8Fge5eALZfrpzEZ_AjkU2IWpTk_mJYW5Lwkno0JC76eKnlqiGLRRLUJoJh3XmA34lJftEu5y8lKzDyXW_97YF9pD5GP-Jw4So0zIcMe0M6Mw0pNEN3c/s320/North+India+115.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">After Ad left, I felt miserable and lonely. It seemed impossible that I had done this on my own for almost three months, and I felt like just heading home. Instead I caught the next train out of Mumbai.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">Ahmedabad was a dazed day and a half watching Bollywood movies on TV and mourning Ad’s departure in a hotel called the Ritz Inn that, while not related to the actual Ritz, was hands down the fanciest place I’ve stayed during my travels. I got room service twice.</span></span></span></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">On day two I did manage to venture out into the rickshaw-packed streets to do some errands. Without a map and with all the street signs in Hindi, I felt quite overwhelmed at first, but many kind people pointed me in the right direction. I had been nervous that I’d find it a lot more difficult without Ad around (beyond just missing his presence, I was worried I’d be harassed a lot more, based on some of the warnings I’d received). I’m relieved to say that that hasn’t been the case. If anything, people seem more eager to help and genuinely concerned for my welfare as a woman traveling alone. As such, I was able to locate a printer and get my hard-to-procure contact solution and phone charger without too much hassle. </span></span></span></span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2-i2XMfcwWyS1goDbwmYARhhITV1-nKa0jMUtR0r0RyrG9yAEmQ41TtglrWbP8_DQ5lCgdOVkif6K-6QsMLiMTfCkusPZHnh2J2L4_ozb_GQa4a5TfyHohEqOy80oZikSO74PpevxO4/s1600/India+005.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 288px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 211px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586453962786150178" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjW2-i2XMfcwWyS1goDbwmYARhhITV1-nKa0jMUtR0r0RyrG9yAEmQ41TtglrWbP8_DQ5lCgdOVkif6K-6QsMLiMTfCkusPZHnh2J2L4_ozb_GQa4a5TfyHohEqOy80oZikSO74PpevxO4/s320/India+005.JPG" /></a><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">(Let me take this moment to strongly advise against the Lonely Planet ekit for an international phone; the rates are through the roof [I’m paying almost $4 a minute to call the US from India despite the advertised $0.39], there’s a delay on the line, the charger broke, and the phone itself is such an ancient model that, despite the overwhelming number of technology stores on the streets here, NO ONE carries that type of charger anymore. If you plan to travel and need a phone, it’s much smarter to buy the phone and SIM from the country you’re in. Also, it’s worth noting that my $50 universal charger from New Zealand refuses to work in any outlet here, though I’ve spotted my former $2 model in use in several cafes. Grumble, grumble.) </span></span></span></span><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">After my errands, I had one of the best meals of my life at the restaurant atop the MK Mansion. I also went to see the Sidi Saiyad Mosque (where, shoeless and head covered, I was invited by one man to step closer and <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeA-ZBB96tDwYmOLOxgtpP28nR8OMjV_31um62qkz52u3OV8iuNaqgXC0Wxs4nE76HruBeYm9e3fyeWRYuUC7KM2Ngck5Qfs1w1bnY3xppZ_O5qe13oUS-PlHAvU_gcBVFLi7PScKZvs/s1600/North+India+001.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586451819918241458" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNeA-ZBB96tDwYmOLOxgtpP28nR8OMjV_31um62qkz52u3OV8iuNaqgXC0Wxs4nE76HruBeYm9e3fyeWRYuUC7KM2Ngck5Qfs1w1bnY3xppZ_O5qe13oUS-PlHAvU_gcBVFLi7PScKZvs/s320/North+India+001.JPG" /></a>encouraged to take a photo, and then yelled at by another who told me women weren’t allowed in and my picture-taking was incredibly disrespectful). </span></span></span></span><br /><br /></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">Another overnight train later, Udaipur was a little haven. Situated on a lake and in a valley, the white city—most buildings are white, as opposed to, say, the blue homes of Jodhpur—was distinctively less sweltering than my former stops, the people were friendly, and the whole place seemed infused with an easygoing outlook. The colors were also incredible—the brightest turquoises and richest saffrons I’d ever seen. I love Rajasthan. <o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">I ventured to Sunset Point the first evening, but of course got lost in the tiny, winding streets and was in danger of missing the sunset. A store owner volunteered to drive me the short distance so I’d make it in time, so I had my first, thrilling ride on a motorbike, dodging and weaving through rickshaws, cars, <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpWpq0OTmXOwkI5WAFquqtjGRY2s6iXYnd5yKjpwqD0z_MvDaeO0OdNungXJ48KBAz9wem10MaPFstbXcwXkN4Dutl3epBS4weFQfOFeTK7rKDAAbMj9om-frMgGSEXGmD3U8JsA_Evw/s1600/North+India+017.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586451327584521650" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpWpq0OTmXOwkI5WAFquqtjGRY2s6iXYnd5yKjpwqD0z_MvDaeO0OdNungXJ48KBAz9wem10MaPFstbXcwXkN4Dutl3epBS4weFQfOFeTK7rKDAAbMj9om-frMgGSEXGmD3U8JsA_Evw/s320/North+India+017.JPG" /></a>and pedestrians, and arrived safely and breathlessly to the spot on the hill just as the sun started its descent into Lake Pichola, lighting up the Lake Palace in the center.</span></span></span></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">On my second day, Chiky, my rickshaw driver from the train station, took me on a half-day tour to see Udaipur’s key sights, including the palace, the Museum of Heroes, and the folk art museum (complete with free puppet show), but the <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj00UsHOXMnbNO8CSpl4F9otRiiHjRuZEChSdaMpB9umRqnGj6ntXmB8x1lGfzMZEZuJoyhVaOsM0IpoRee_UnCNUuhYFieQ7AC2tA_2b-8YemKOVXQTW2LMX1-T0uHznOC-CaHFOJV27s/s1600/North+India+096.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 297px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 218px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586450578271663298" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj00UsHOXMnbNO8CSpl4F9otRiiHjRuZEChSdaMpB9umRqnGj6ntXmB8x1lGfzMZEZuJoyhVaOsM0IpoRee_UnCNUuhYFieQ7AC2tA_2b-8YemKOVXQTW2LMX1-T0uHznOC-CaHFOJV27s/s320/North+India+096.JPG" /></a>highlights were the detour to the bustling fruit and veg market and the final stop at the Royal Memorials, where I sat alone and in silence among the sea of imposing cenotaphs, awestruck.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586446078625416930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnhwOb_CPN9tVeDNmSv15tQ5JpSGGnbRqQKzsp6Uqg-Yp2OEdUHwYtAaMfUYHjWjZEwILTpo5cCuw_EV2pG5PeNa5-2a0_0Wkmtu5hDZCRL2zufO6tlDvgV9DdX6loPMgI-B3SfsOGol4/s400/North+India+123.JPG" /> <span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">The rest of my time during my almost week-long stay in “India’s most romantic city” was spent working in the extremely comfy rooftop restaurant of my hotel, looking at intricately detailed scarves or miniature paintings in the shops (where one very kind old master taught me how to improve my yogic breathing), or having guitar sing-alongs with Israelis. It was bliss.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586449650580744754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QXcDlMl6JyRcFAhHZysiKv2C_OSTzAHxBYCEpR0ERI3sZU6MN4ou-aZWZWT_i7z0AZTD5x8f1S73qnOo1rTrjREb4Kkd0juVGqwZVvvCOVqU0OceCBXzxB_gcdypKCDqgHKZ521jB40/s400/North+India+153.JPG" /> <span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">On Saturday morning I was, as usual, sitting on the floor of the hotel restaurant, drinking a banana lassi, and doing some work, thinking I might never leave Udaipur because it was so carefree and comfortable, when, out of the blue, in walked Wayne and Nicole. I had last seen my friends over a month before, on Tonsai Beach in Thailand, and had not expected to meet up with them in India at all. Yet, we ended up in the same city, at the same time, in the same restaurant. Very auspicious. With only five days left in India, they were on a whirlwind, marathon train adventure, determined to see a few more major sights before leaving. It was just the nudge I needed, so I checked out of my hotel on the spot, waved goodbye to fair Udaipur and my Israeli friends, and joined them on the train to Agra.<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586445230952768514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh25kWOdchc02uf_9qyYhDvJcdAWUJhYXixZrqtMds2sAjQgAlsbKaJmodE7ZoWW-YjjH3qpxmSDCf5UovZHdqVKZoo1OsrERuh3nCMA98lfEf49trg-ByBipXE6n1G9XDvWGLrdK-7cxU/s400/North+India+164.JPG" /></span></span></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-81337572750047302192011-03-05T00:44:00.000-08:002011-03-21T22:09:40.339-07:00Goa, Mumbai, Ad…<span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-size:85%;">With Ad it felt easy. Easy between us and easy to travel. It was a huge relief to have so much of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal">work</i> of traveling lifted from me, even for a short while, and I found myself leaning on him more than I expected. He explored the neighborhood while I worked. He paid attention to where we were going so we could find our way back. He got me coffee. He asked directions and hailed cabs. I could leave my stuff at the table when I went to use the bathroom without worrying. And, of course, it was wonderful to have the one I love there, in person.</span><br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUClcVD7o0De_uaRTyl53q3RxcU3EddJZ7BEb-ZYzTUp8pGLBkOh4X6MxXLDdLFOx60Vok-y5iUBsgqgfJGLub0oG1eHt8XYemeso1CMTiXHbVBBG14pAFuSsLdKrDRbC3siAZc0jFgAo/s1600/India+105.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586441401748001314" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUClcVD7o0De_uaRTyl53q3RxcU3EddJZ7BEb-ZYzTUp8pGLBkOh4X6MxXLDdLFOx60Vok-y5iUBsgqgfJGLub0oG1eHt8XYemeso1CMTiXHbVBBG14pAFuSsLdKrDRbC3siAZc0jFgAo/s400/India+105.JPG" /></span></a><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIS8Jeb2ag0vM1ImgQ8WCuPbvrJpbV-X_CgM4fS1cj8eoThfaoY5L49rq8FoHHzhyphenhyphenMnyA6H9JGwuwVYtcEKJtGdpmmYNF84NfU2XhaZTXmoRPnHrvjlcFIS6wQcg8QrRIYSviPsJPMKJc/s1600/India+158.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586441044630636514" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIS8Jeb2ag0vM1ImgQ8WCuPbvrJpbV-X_CgM4fS1cj8eoThfaoY5L49rq8FoHHzhyphenhyphenMnyA6H9JGwuwVYtcEKJtGdpmmYNF84NfU2XhaZTXmoRPnHrvjlcFIS6wQcg8QrRIYSviPsJPMKJc/s320/India+158.JPG" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;">We’d planned on three days in Goa, but instead we vegged out for five full days, taking in sunshine, lots of food, and one another’s company. There were vendors and touts everywhere, and one guy, in particular, so wanted to sell us light-up devil horns that he gave us a twenty minute demonstration of every one of his products. Goa is supposedly “ultra Western,” with bikinis on the beach a regular sight. Not my experience. After about ten minutes of being leered at in my bathing suit, I resigned myself to a t-shirt and pants. The staff at our hotel was highly entertaining, as was the dog and Mr. Bigglesworth-like cat pair that playfully attacked one another.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;"><br />My </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ayaq73M7frIOGjDbaqWWrfqskbJq5LALy4sujX-dUtFg0RoZ-tlb0kW2lOUx36eze0b-SYIrCSuqVpH84mmKoydr6YmK3Qk6_kUz9T1rs9hB8ah8kmDsstwqMTtr7iTmjRWgJ8SMfdU/s1600/India+047.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586440342218683106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6Ayaq73M7frIOGjDbaqWWrfqskbJq5LALy4sujX-dUtFg0RoZ-tlb0kW2lOUx36eze0b-SYIrCSuqVpH84mmKoydr6YmK3Qk6_kUz9T1rs9hB8ah8kmDsstwqMTtr7iTmjRWgJ8SMfdU/s320/India+047.JPG" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;">28<sup>th</sup> birthday was spent sipping pina coladas on a beach in India with one of my favorite people. Culture, love, and more than a few gray hairs. Not too bad. But the best part of my birthday happened a few days before, on the train ride to Goa: sour patch kids. No that wasn’t the real best part (though we did demolish those in hours—thanks, Mom!). The real best part: We were bored, and Ad said, “I know something that will pass the time,” and brought out a stack of envelopes. Oh, man—letters from friends and family! You guys made me laugh and cry, and some (Connie’s) did both, simultaneously and with snorting. I miss you all so much, and it was great to have a little piece of you halfway around the world with me on my bday. 2011: best yet.</span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9iO9MAWq8btIefHkary5vNKnlg9ReewKBW-3hFyE9iOBprv7dQ8_Z09woIhDQ8KXWIaZN09zTbw6NeDdwockMtASHHPw4Xl6wZWt4twc4wxMZqsL0M8b2Hgc1iEEdQlXpq2vY5cfjtg/s1600/India+085.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586437654865730450" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr9iO9MAWq8btIefHkary5vNKnlg9ReewKBW-3hFyE9iOBprv7dQ8_Z09woIhDQ8KXWIaZN09zTbw6NeDdwockMtASHHPw4Xl6wZWt4twc4wxMZqsL0M8b2Hgc1iEEdQlXpq2vY5cfjtg/s320/India+085.JPG" /></span></a></span></span></span></p><div><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;"></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;"></span></span></span></span></div><div><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">In Mumbai we stayed in Fort, near Crawford market. We decided to do some sightseeing and passed the British-constructed Gateway of India to take the ferry to Elephanta Island. There we saw the extremely old (specific, right?) caves that had taken 1,300 years to complete. Imagine your whole life spent chipping away at one piece of stone. They were incredible. There were also <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadtc7z3f3kgcZ7DMR4TJgwiENwUzsz7T285Fsm3ZMq-Dii2aVpd_Rk-6na8uC6alnkzC9X-wqMryqzyvfQeZYUNbgsZgIMJYsuYc0GckovDPldvO4uepAgPVZ30TbsyPKB7L83Og6G9U/s1600/India+067.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586439565892283058" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiadtc7z3f3kgcZ7DMR4TJgwiENwUzsz7T285Fsm3ZMq-Dii2aVpd_Rk-6na8uC6alnkzC9X-wqMryqzyvfQeZYUNbgsZgIMJYsuYc0GckovDPldvO4uepAgPVZ30TbsyPKB7L83Og6G9U/s320/India+067.JPG" /></span></a>monkeys everywhere. Sad monkeys, monkeys drinking Sprite. I’ll never get over the sight of monkeys, just lounging about. It always seems so impro</span><span style="color:#000000;">bable. I got too close to one nursing mother monkey who responded by almost biting my face off. Woah, there. </span></span></span></span><br /><br /></div><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586438684711498690" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsGZSL2vF3fFHDGVULp48BK5fc2SypXBf0QBxPp2h9YZKVPYuiypsox6PVAk42sjH_ls6qU-WyojD7_gUFSSM6ZYk3aNjzvfoy5UBDFTVBVALe0UDLuGdn2EvOC3g6ssR3DhdtXUdC0SI/s400/India+055.JPG" /><br /></span><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEqTdLaNNAhWZZMcups45A46RfV2DFZVvQpFi_-dgP2ueSEcE9QWn-D2PLpQlCODV0rzC-yPtPSQypgMCAr39VNLk9cB1t-jo-mo7RxvaTyMS4NBiEEBeVESQ0HBgYdry7p-ZSIRBUzE/s1600/India+042.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586436926590655922" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwEqTdLaNNAhWZZMcups45A46RfV2DFZVvQpFi_-dgP2ueSEcE9QWn-D2PLpQlCODV0rzC-yPtPSQypgMCAr39VNLk9cB1t-jo-mo7RxvaTyMS4NBiEEBeVESQ0HBgYdry7p-ZSIRBUzE/s320/India+042.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">Another afternoon, we headed out to see the Haji Ali Mosque rising from the sea, where there were lots of families beautifully dressed up, and teenage boys pushing one another into the water. At Chowpatty Beach, we watched couples shyly hugging, and we spent a lot of time just walking around Mumbai, eating sweets and taking in the tightly-packed streets, the rushing motorbikes, and the fabric stalls.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oUk5sWqaGWA9a0Ea1XthcZv6YqROAmj9xM8XwfSVY7Odwk2xBT6VFuQyvpb51Jt7HwZIgQe2BaNhji3OnouCBRXXndsif3qndDfO2eq0dT6Iux2FbiJC38cRKIwbYNxu22ouHZmgE6M/s1600/India+023.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586436456198254802" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7oUk5sWqaGWA9a0Ea1XthcZv6YqROAmj9xM8XwfSVY7Odwk2xBT6VFuQyvpb51Jt7HwZIgQe2BaNhji3OnouCBRXXndsif3qndDfO2eq0dT6Iux2FbiJC38cRKIwbYNxu22ouHZmgE6M/s320/India+023.JPG" /></span></a><span style="color:#000000;"><br /><br /><br /></span></p><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"></span></span></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"></span></span></span></p><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;color:#000000;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />Then, way too soon, Ad had to go home, and I had to leave the home of Bollywood. </span></span></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-21155487502580491352011-03-03T08:04:00.000-08:002011-05-21T02:11:27.190-07:00Week Two--Elephant Nature Park, Thailand<img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581371431362901186" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0obkY8UP-Y_Tav6AvhiWnHCtA5AIGnoCFiTysltXvEHtjMTWFnvtf5Wf_6ENiW7wcjWc-9wx_taZFyuIjmtVdhz0_rGRholyD_-A2Z8PBlRN7bYE9w1ED0KHn5J7_OoV63K_WvQHofZA/s400/Thailand+213.JPG" /><br /><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581370987663148754" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxbf2VizO33Zz8nYFA79rkhy34iXKkDnU-P8_dQr3agBX2AJRBO79-xnQSPtpsoGAIPjmvsPH_D8lvXDbVyqvEoAQy4Nw9linGLwkY_Zzkpl0mXuHsmVeQ5J0Lh-5E2T5Itus_v0s55lw/s320/Thailand+099.JPG" /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">When we returned back to the Elephant Nature Park after a week in the Karen village in Mae Chem, it felt like utter luxury. We had beds! With mattresses! And mosquito nets! The showers were still ice cold, but we weren’t complaining, because there was a distinct absence of palm-sized spiders inhabiting them. And the food! I cannot do justice to the food at ENP—with about 20 delicious, mostly-veggie offerings at every meal (Curry, curry, curry! Coconut, coconut, coconut!), I was nearly always teetering on ecstasy wit<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-NwAdO9qPIEVPc8pkdXy2mtyKgdwCLivNJm5_lAlmU4bTe7R7yetVwUMrvVzvQ_hplSg1kh8k_skXz-wjlA_cyo7uriHZtWI4-LaPCN-U60qfmz6lETTtwfoWW0gRpVSBO4Ylef1pnY/s1600/Thailand+066.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581372227233732610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF-NwAdO9qPIEVPc8pkdXy2mtyKgdwCLivNJm5_lAlmU4bTe7R7yetVwUMrvVzvQ_hplSg1kh8k_skXz-wjlA_cyo7uriHZtWI4-LaPCN-U60qfmz6lETTtwfoWW0gRpVSBO4Ylef1pnY/s320/Thailand+066.JPG" /></a>h the serene smile of food coma on my face.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I spent the days at the park “working,” but the few hours of poop-scooping, washing fruit, making banana balls, feeding the elephants, bathing the elephants, and the hilariously futile cleaning of the mud pit (read: MUD FIGHT!) felt more like fun at camp than hard labor. Apart from one rough morning of cutting very tall, very thick grass by hand with agonizingly dull machetes (motivation for dullness revealed when I very predictably smashed my shin on an over-zealous swing), the only real work was digesting the three enormous meals every day and keeping our camera batteries charged for the postcard-perfect elephants roaming everywhere.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVaTy1rCIQrF4nmi5K4Me6GCnysdbF5j0PtChTGdSBcOn-YH8cSd7QypXR_Q1z3y_XPCQTWl0am2YKzfDR-ScBw3daWgSR-0Z-sCdpMkc0uYvqSG-oKaMUTyFmnLHKnyafI_7hIrisqs/s1600/Thailand+252.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581373196392485490" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVaTy1rCIQrF4nmi5K4Me6GCnysdbF5j0PtChTGdSBcOn-YH8cSd7QypXR_Q1z3y_XPCQTWl0am2YKzfDR-ScBw3daWgSR-0Z-sCdpMkc0uYvqSG-oKaMUTyFmnLHKnyafI_7hIrisqs/s320/Thailand+252.JPG" /></a><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">In the middle of the week we had the chance to venture up to “Elephant Haven”—an overnight trip where we walked three of the elephants to veg out in the jungle for awhile—and later to the “New Property” to make mud bricks and build a seed house with the impressive Antoinette, a Dutch woman who started a project called “Bring the Elephant Home,” which focuses on the positive aspects of elephant tourism and in Thailand. I can now dig a hole and mix cement like a pro.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">One of the most notable experiences was when Rachel and I turned up at the baby corral one afternoon just in time to catch Lek singing one of the youngest to sleep for its afternoon nap. She beckoned us inside, and as she hummed “Que sera, sera” and Rachel stroked Pha Mai's trunk, the enormous baby shoved me underneath her belly, where I sat, neck bent below her swaying girth, for half an hour. “She trusts you,” Lek told me solemnly. “She wants to be your mama.”<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">My time at ENP was mostly light, fun, and an amazing chance to be up close and personal with these creatures, shoving basketfuls of watermelon at their waiting trunks and watching them play on the ele gym while I sipped Chang beer with friends on the patio. But there was another, more educational aspect to the whole experience as well, a lot of which was heart-wrenching. I don’t think it’d be fair if I didn’t share<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgclVflxHG6-Fcvhl2JbSnQyserCxgxUumW3BVQmOjzgYP5CLmRLpaRRuwg_thYos5uNrAn6srseKSS6hZu4J3TMXA7Aw6GDxXbH1SN_jni4t8-9lzT00Bdv40OXATGbNED3A6qAHD9U/s1600/Thailand+210.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581372806808077202" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitgclVflxHG6-Fcvhl2JbSnQyserCxgxUumW3BVQmOjzgYP5CLmRLpaRRuwg_thYos5uNrAn6srseKSS6hZu4J3TMXA7Aw6GDxXbH1SN_jni4t8-9lzT00Bdv40OXATGbNED3A6qAHD9U/s320/Thailand+210.JPG" /></a> some of it here…<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">If I took away anything from the ENP, it’s the knowledge that the Asian elephant, though revered throughout Thailand and a prominent figure in Thai culture in everything from temples to the King’s palace, currently lives a life of intense suffering, and its days are numbered. In the past 100 years, elephants in Thailand have dwindled from almost 100,000 to barely 3,000, and those that remain live under torturous conditions:<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Jokia, an elderly elephant at the park, was blinded in both eyes by her mahout when she was slacking on the logging job right after the death of her newborn. Mae Do could barely walk because her hip had been broken and deformed from a breeding camp in which up to forty males are forced on a single female. It was painful to watch her hobble around, but worse to see her become terrified and incontinent around Hope and Jungle Boy, the young males at the park. These are just a couple of the Park’s stories—others include survivors of land mines and drug addicts—but nearly all Asian elephants encounter misery early on in their lives. When they are three or four years old, all working elep<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMq82j16hXzNQP3WzyNvKq6kKtoqb9X0BSPcPiSzM1jYV0mvFn5jDm6wPmc7qhjnBEGmpM83dW9psOzZCEHOqKCvaPtPBuM2HY5M9H9CJ2HNg0EI3_6Ey22wy5mAk9r3_lTCN-VT9ALA/s1600/Thailand+096.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581370706077000610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLMq82j16hXzNQP3WzyNvKq6kKtoqb9X0BSPcPiSzM1jYV0mvFn5jDm6wPmc7qhjnBEGmpM83dW9psOzZCEHOqKCvaPtPBuM2HY5M9H9CJ2HNg0EI3_6Ey22wy5mAk9r3_lTCN-VT9ALA/s320/Thailand+096.JPG" /></a>hants in Thailand (which is almost all of the population—very few are currently wild) undergo pujam, a breaking ceremony where they are placed in a cage, stabbed with hooks, beaten with clubs, and shouted at for four days to a week. Almost half die in this process. Elephants live to around the same age as humans and have similar developmental stages. They are also incredibly intelligent, emotional, social animals—if I’m remembering right, the only other animal besides man that cries tears. Imagine a toddler tortured for a week with nails. Imagine what impact that has developmentally. Or what it does to its mother.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Please, please, please, if you visit countries where elephants are part of the tourist industry, don’t give money or bananas to mahouts begging with their elephants in the streets. Resist the draw of elephant treks, elephant paintings, elephant dancing and elephant sports. No matter how legit some of these operations may seem on the surface, those elephants have almost universally been beaten into submission for our entertainment.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman', 'serif';"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;">Before coming to the Park, I thought elephants were really cool. I thought logging was bad for the environment. I never would’ve condoned the mistreatment of animals, but didn’t see anything wrong with riding elephants, either, and even looked into a hill trek that ended in an elephant ride. But Jennifer and Bryn recommended the ENP, and I’m so grateful I took their advice. If you do still want an amazing, close-up elephant experience in Thailand that promotes sustainability and conservation through education, I can’t recommend The Elephant Nature Park strongly enough. Check them out at </span><a href="http://www.elephantnaturepark.org/"><span style="font-family:georgia;font-size:85%;color:#0000ff;">www.elephantnaturepark.org</span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">. I’m definitely going back.</span></span></span> <br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size:85%;"></span></p><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581371846682288530" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiW2a9K9c8KTduMMvPVYLq7_y92vqhVmkPnSGkN-2Vy8CyMgVjR9TODwW0jkgSFNg1I-0YFjb3a-k-tnw3rn-V0pmwCgMVpTlEpsAZ860AAEJm3hatkkFX97l_kETCCXVOLzS0l_N9Ndo/s400/Thailand+298.JPG" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-91189877081184766172011-03-01T05:03:00.001-08:002011-05-21T02:12:32.559-07:00Month Two<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXbqzbPrL7KL6q1gG248nYyjMGWIxPFKlQfrOsAL40kDdYSRWHP8a5VwYvDZp5o_6p0jvXv9H_uaS8lVNDKJSY7rhReH5L16vRwAVttsitj0WJpZlsAW_bs7pH7runto7mV5tnPdYGjE/s1600/Hong+Kong+019.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579097515875956930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVXbqzbPrL7KL6q1gG248nYyjMGWIxPFKlQfrOsAL40kDdYSRWHP8a5VwYvDZp5o_6p0jvXv9H_uaS8lVNDKJSY7rhReH5L16vRwAVttsitj0WJpZlsAW_bs7pH7runto7mV5tnPdYGjE/s320/Hong+Kong+019.JPG" /></a> <span style="font-family:georgia;">In my second month on the road, I kicked off my first foray into Asia with Hong Kong and then Thailand. I have to admit, despite the language barrier, different seasons (wet and dry), new systems of transportation navigation, and more conservative dress, I didn’t experience much culture shock and found it fairly easy to acclimate myself. I do realize, however, that this was likely because a) Hong Kong is super Westernized, b) apart from an organized trip to a Karen village, I clung very closely to the beaten path in Thailand, and c) almost everyone everywhere seems to speak enough English to help a girl out when I’m looking at everything in big eyed, confused wonder.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">I’ve definitely gotten more comfortable with the nomadic lifestyle; as I meet more and more travelers—gap year students, retirees, couples who’ve sold their homes and quit their jobs, families with young children—at this point, it’s actually starting to feel like staying put is what’s abnormal. This might be the longest period of time I go for alone, but I’ve started to realize that I need this, regularly, at least for a short amount of time. Maybe I’ll go for a month each year, or for six weeks, but there are so many places to see, I know it’ll take my whole lifetime to even make a dent.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">From spending the majority of my time in HK holed up in my guesthouse alone without much human contact, I’ve definitely been savoring the islands of interaction with friends along the way more this past month. My best times have been spent joking about hipsters with John, battling feral monkeys with Wayne and Nicole, and shoveling shit and avoiding arachnids with Rachel. I also came to accept that traveling constantly doesn’t have to mean constantly doing things. I chill out at home, and can have off days here as well—even if home is a hotel room. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><div><br /><div><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579097008974866610" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOMBgT_4TRPeEFL8KiiycouwYypdG1TKa17iKmjxKlLk-gLuyjEj6QK1A_zxmam6iIZTwXqJwfMpq_uOar-Cfmg4xadojjltK7Me3WxCvTe9q5GlYV4mOsPhFfz5XG1uS9uWiHzinjx0I/s400/Thailand+051.JPG" /><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I learned quite a bit this month, of course: I learned to savor every single thing I put in my mouth. I learned to bargain well and with a smile, how to eat a crab, to give a Thai massage, to co<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip61P3gEI9xh39ACohFzOVwVgLZRODeXmcGW1rF314fK2Fcz-si983U17E3Mv0kAE8s7GfyUMFr5bEJz1h7DnQr2RaujK4JbvcmS-zcZLGne2db6vtin7OgGcTk0Mee2aryQL_XkdHkcI/s1600/Thailand+331.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579098359106033858" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip61P3gEI9xh39ACohFzOVwVgLZRODeXmcGW1rF314fK2Fcz-si983U17E3Mv0kAE8s7GfyUMFr5bEJz1h7DnQr2RaujK4JbvcmS-zcZLGne2db6vtin7OgGcTk0Mee2aryQL_XkdHkcI/s320/Thailand+331.JPG" /></a>ok a mean red curry, to count and say hello and thanks in multiple languages, to rock climb (well, at least to start to), to tie a secure belay knot, to make banana balls, to mix cement, to stop traveler’s diarrhea dead in its tracks, and to understand the meaning of “Thai time.” <o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;"></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I also learned that it’s not how pretty your feet look, it’s how well they serve you to navigate tiny alleys and dusty hilltops. Even without toenails. This one’s for you, Rebecca: <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579096793405488402" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD491arvqKKbprHN4-He1cAkBRdB6OamgaNhSeFsBYp9imx1xfnEnQzTLadmxQ79VxCSmAhcPPGYjdhlIkfaLahSOfzWVkqTjJAe35jaWz8zO1eMaRtQHPb4-IsUncv3TNZb2ZbXMcN4s/s400/Thailand+058.JPG" /><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Favorite place: Tonsai Bay, Thailand<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Favorite experience: Being mommied by Pha Mai, the baby elephant<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Favorite meal: Tie between spicy crab in Hong Kong and every meal I had at the Elephant Nature Park<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Favorite saying: "Same same…but different.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Favorite lodging: The homestay in the Karen village—at least in retrospect.<o:p></o:p></span></p></div></div></div>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-73481330052712139242011-03-01T03:46:00.000-08:002011-03-01T04:55:13.061-08:00Week One, ENP--Mae Chem, ThailandAfter two weeks at the Elephant Nature Park, cut off from the real world, and after nearly a month away from this blog, it’s hard to know how to sum up my recent activities. I’ll give it my best shot.<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p> <img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 402px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 501px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579080467512392194" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQlXMr34O5ck_64cAa4FukSQLH_3aO5maXJpkyhZmOA9dzaxfEbP-xKRJLR9NLmEMT6aKwBvxl4RKtXVg3kD4BvZzv-fSX0soq7u9GbLmEsu7jsa2tci1_QTNcCw-NaXGYwauOqjtCRsg/s400/Thailand+185.JPG" /><span style="font-family:georgia;">The park is about an hour and a half from Chiang Mai in northern Thailand. It’s home to 32 elephants and is run by Lek Chailert (“Lek” is a nickname that means “small” in Thai), the passionate, incredibly well-spoken founder, whose mission is to save the Asian elephant, which is currently edging toward extinction, and advocate against the systematic torture that is a given for working elephants in Thailand.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Rachel and I were paired up from the very first day, and I felt like I hit the jackpot, roomie-wise. She was super laid back, we had a similar sense of humor (that is, we laughe<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEl-GfoI5PVYgM2oPfss-eiYHWAHkl0j15LE4WAUUIiXzwW4zI12icaqRWaDkrGLf4LvXmEbWjEaca-AXgLVTEQbPgmmaBrkCY2y0GqbRG6o7kgD4cQXk36XjABVspBO1k0HZpn7tFPQ/s1600/Thailand+144.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 289px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 197px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579080831277622930" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIEl-GfoI5PVYgM2oPfss-eiYHWAHkl0j15LE4WAUUIiXzwW4zI12icaqRWaDkrGLf4LvXmEbWjEaca-AXgLVTEQbPgmmaBrkCY2y0GqbRG6o7kgD4cQXk36XjABVspBO1k0HZpn7tFPQ/s400/Thailand+144.JPG" /></a>d at the absurdity of almost every situation—from the ant infestation to her dubiously risque massage to the rats eating my underwear to shoveling poop while less-enthusiastic volunteers took pictures of us shoveling poop), and she was also traveling on her own, taking four months off from her job as a mental health nurse in England.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">After dinner on the first night, Rachel and I stumbled upon Lek giving a talk to around a dozen other volunteers at a picnic table. Lek motioned for us to sit down and we listened for awhile as she described a hill tribe six hours away in Mae Chem, where volunteers would sleep in the villagers’ huts, do “whatever needed to be done,” and spend two days walking in the jungle with the Karen people’s elephants, among them two babies. At the end of the talk, Lek asked who wanted to go on this “Journey to Freedom,” a week-long trip from the park. As everyone else raised their hands, Rachel and I looked at each other. We had two weeks at ENP. Did we want to go? Oh, yes.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-PdDTjlPrXa0hJGmzFyvllpZbt2-vg40XweEDyq-dgCtNOQmIVgFgzVVDvqTDKl8H4IcDrVK0wii6GSdhS5FSNng5e3pUwwiCDalriOvjhZjSFur4rQX5iyQnb5F5-Er-wrgNkqq4PI/s1600/Thailand+124.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579080154088345378" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-PdDTjlPrXa0hJGmzFyvllpZbt2-vg40XweEDyq-dgCtNOQmIVgFgzVVDvqTDKl8H4IcDrVK0wii6GSdhS5FSNng5e3pUwwiCDalriOvjhZjSFur4rQX5iyQnb5F5-Er-wrgNkqq4PI/s320/Thailand+124.JPG" /></a>At 8am the next morning, we were clenching our teeth as our van barreled north down the back roads, shooting past buses and mopeds around hairpin turns on the edge of cliffs sorely in need of a guardrail. We later switched out of the van and spent the last hour of the trip standing up, bumping along a two track through the jungle and past fields of cabbage as we climbed higher and higher up the mountains.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">The village looked down from its perch to the dense, green valley below, and the 13 of us were welcomed into three homes. Our house mother was really curious about us at first, and watched everything we did with extreme interest; the first night, she didn’t leave the doorway until all four of us had closed our eyes to sleep. The lives of the Karen people definitely contrasted m<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9yQIjklNgLqET1jpjvDKCWtfsMH2nEGUYo3m6BZPnITtJBP9grPUHACZDPhj5TWuIBJkvoYu5qyMgunP9vYglEv77TqHtANYRK71W3OcLhhF7jIsBSvYbxp3QXlHzBGQcpe93hnK6hA/s1600/Thailand+119.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579082782882119394" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie9yQIjklNgLqET1jpjvDKCWtfsMH2nEGUYo3m6BZPnITtJBP9grPUHACZDPhj5TWuIBJkvoYu5qyMgunP9vYglEv77TqHtANYRK71W3OcLhhF7jIsBSvYbxp3QXlHzBGQcpe93hnK6hA/s320/Thailand+119.JPG" /></a>y own more than any I’d seen up to this point. The huts were made of bamboo, some of them beautifully woven, others Spartan, some with decorative windows, others missing walls. Hogs, dogs, water buffalo, and chickens lived beneath the houses. The women wore beautiful sarongs which they wove, and only virgins were permitted to make the shockingly strong rice whiskey. <o:p></o:p></span><br /><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br />We spent the first couple of days generally being a nuisance to the villagers. No, that’s probably wrong, but it certainly felt that way much of the time. We had three vet students with us, and they led the group in vaccinating the abundance of dogs and cats for rabies and de-worming them. We also attempted to “build” a “shower,” which really meant that we knocked down a perfectly good bathroom (only built in the first place for Western visitors) in front of expertly-constructed new homes and, with no tools, nails, wood, leadership, or carpentry experience, managed to rig up a very precarious and hilariously lopsided shack with no roof. We even managed to jam a hole in the hose that was to supply said shower in the process. But regardless of the outcome, we did our damndest, and I think all of us knew that it was more the money we (and the ENP) paid that mattered, less our construction successes. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFGySXhzTjh4XNG31G-wMB5TH53nW03JmhkQJtZO-jIOwCx0hZSOuyrDNdfik07M3mUdCVou7qp7o_rP1QEgErxCj7ATDXmyGgW4HfZD54hsEVQ3Tjj1QvTZl7FbdsO10vkoSdFDn-aLU/s1600/Thailand+135.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579079428913189618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFGySXhzTjh4XNG31G-wMB5TH53nW03JmhkQJtZO-jIOwCx0hZSOuyrDNdfik07M3mUdCVou7qp7o_rP1QEgErxCj7ATDXmyGgW4HfZD54hsEVQ3Tjj1QvTZl7FbdsO10vkoSdFDn-aLU/s320/Thailand+135.JPG" /></a></span><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">Toward the end of the week, we met the elephants. The mother, a teenage daughter, and four month-old twins are owned by one of the families in the village. It’s historically a sign of prestige for the Karen to own an elephant, but these days the villagers are usually far removed from their elephants and rent them out to logging camps or trekking camps. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ_68jBOrMlrT6PLOkYtl_JQuPkDcSlrKxptbpBNOQxVZBb_5AR7Dp6jW0OKAkKBo6GsaKFavj8d_Moexip57OsRwFnE-F1oPJkfd484FV2XmPU5rW_Lz2Zpl9LjAwgZRsVhgdrNuOVnU/s1600/Thailand+138.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579081423817095794" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ_68jBOrMlrT6PLOkYtl_JQuPkDcSlrKxptbpBNOQxVZBb_5AR7Dp6jW0OKAkKBo6GsaKFavj8d_Moexip57OsRwFnE-F1oPJkfd484FV2XmPU5rW_Lz2Zpl9LjAwgZRsVhgdrNuOVnU/s320/Thailand+138.JPG" /></a>The elephants can earn far more a day in logging season than their owners can (300 baht/$10/a day versus 3 baht/day), so it’s a hard sell to fight the camps. In the case of these four elephants, the ENP essentially pays the owner instead to insure that the elephants can NOT work. As such, we got to don some gum boots/Wellies and plod after the elephants in the surrounding dense jungle, sloshing through mud and rivers lined with webs filled with these palm-sized spiders: </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2i7apaW-RaZL5Vcu5eI48xF4Z5zBhmtvGcrFS-OaSGymFDvjsab2iB4Kp2gwHbOJD8kb24K3K8_88xF-vDR1FcT2eDS9IJx0gRYYdtU04diHJDlNfjrYl2jsY_CgAcgpB_iTY25eHRc/s1600/Thailand+157.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579078843245672706" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB2i7apaW-RaZL5Vcu5eI48xF4Z5zBhmtvGcrFS-OaSGymFDvjsab2iB4Kp2gwHbOJD8kb24K3K8_88xF-vDR1FcT2eDS9IJx0gRYYdtU04diHJDlNfjrYl2jsY_CgAcgpB_iTY25eHRc/s320/Thailand+157.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">Apparently Hugh walked smack into a web and ended up with one of the nightmarish suckers on his face, but because he is both quiet-natured and Australian (i.e. used to unfathomably grotesque arachnids), he just brushed it off and waited until we were leaving the village to casually mention it to anyone.<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">In the evenings, we sat with the locals around a campfire under a sky glowing with more stars than I imagined existed. The oldest woman in the village, Sozu, who was 65, took a liking to me and linked her arm in mine. With no common language and no shared background, we could barely communicate, but we laughed and laughed as she tried to teach me to count to ten in Karen (Deh, Kee, Suh, Louie, Zeh, Ho, Nouie, Huh, Kwee, T’chee) and I tried to teach her the English equivalent. We had a chance to ask the Karen people about their culture and they questioned us in turn (“How old are you?” “Where do you come from?” “Why do you come here?” “What do you do at home?”) Jobs like “marketing assistant” and “children’s book writer” were a bit lost in translation, though Dino did his best.</span></p></div><div><div><div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHFc34vXWTA6ALMWmgKYYJ_LmwMgkWksu4FDsA3p856JvpGhQoEFS9-Yu9v0MfuZrnXriKZ6f7crYHIQef8AKZFjUUigZregUSE-GwCzm-dUBorFjWTAZ6Cc5PdKyar7XXG0EC86KSAc/s1600/Thailand+105.JPG"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579078017362803282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkHFc34vXWTA6ALMWmgKYYJ_LmwMgkWksu4FDsA3p856JvpGhQoEFS9-Yu9v0MfuZrnXriKZ6f7crYHIQef8AKZFjUUigZregUSE-GwCzm-dUBorFjWTAZ6Cc5PdKyar7XXG0EC86KSAc/s320/Thailand+105.JPG" /></span></a><span style="font-family:georgia;">Poor Dino. Dino was our guide throughout the week, and after a day or two, I began to pity him what must have been the overwhelmingly frustrating task of managing us: translating between us and the Karen (whose language seemed to have more French influence than Thai), the Karen and us, answering every imaginable question about the elephants and the Karen people, directing our hourly tasks in the village, all while explaining where we needed to sleep, when we would eat, where we’d go next, how many local customs we’d offended in the last five minutes, and how to manage the toilet (Tip: in Thailand, toilet paper does NOT go in the toilet. Ever.).<br /><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">We also had a chance to buy <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DvVWcK1zRFQMUCcNJ8sT80AVo4B2aF0Mn-gSi0HrBvfr0JFv8QaAPEhCXNG5rbv7w8o2qmuqPNhFgn6GrecnJxBlgyP0C8TNA-Srqk3AuIxGFNJEOrjhgeAIhG9F4hXu_UUQtM6q7g4/s1600/Thailand+160.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 308px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 237px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579089658633523762" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3DvVWcK1zRFQMUCcNJ8sT80AVo4B2aF0Mn-gSi0HrBvfr0JFv8QaAPEhCXNG5rbv7w8o2qmuqPNhFgn6GrecnJxBlgyP0C8TNA-Srqk3AuIxGFNJEOrjhgeAIhG9F4hXu_UUQtM6q7g4/s320/Thailand+160.JPG" /></a>the beautifully woven scarves, bags, sarongs, and shirts that the women had made. After we left, we learned that the women don’t sell their wares at the market in Chiang Mai or elsewhere. The woven items they’d made, they’d done so only to sell to us. When I learned this I remembered the stacks of scarves and bags, a dozen women’s eyes watching me intently. I wished I would’ve bought every single thing on that table.</span></div><br /><div><div><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I find it hard to know how to talk about some of my experiences with accuracy, honesty, and sensitivity, because so much seems marred by the haze of my own feelings of guilt—of my own excess, my privilege. (I expect this will be magnified in India.) The children had worms because of bare feet combined with rare toilet usage. There were starving dogs everywhere. The women chewed betel nuts so were spitting constantly, the oldest among them with very decayed teeth. It seemed…simple. Primitive. But it feels unfair to call it that, too. Only from a Western lens does it seem that way. To the Karen people, who seemed extremely happy living in their picturesque jungle paradise, it is only their life. The life they’ve always known. This was not a trek with an agency, which might cart ten groups a day through, encouraging the kids to beg for change and gifts. This was a trip set up through a conservationist organization with the goal of keeping more elephants out of logging camps just over the border in Burma, encouraging a closer relationship with the Karen and their elephants (as they once had decades ago), while providing them with a way to earn income. I know these things. But I struggled because it still felt wrong to be there, somehow. It felt like disturbing the peace.</span></p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcm5W01lTp1r8GYhooqUmdKdVq7KBH4SOUkcBpZ_uBG0Hv-sG5uklUQSIfgUHAqKKPGd-UTw1WoPzI-dBuDc8sueZWEoVc6H4I_uGVPCQReSapDdLi0_ITCZOJhSz6cfPLj8Q-kXAOB8/s1600/Thailand+189.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579077064716984114" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqcm5W01lTp1r8GYhooqUmdKdVq7KBH4SOUkcBpZ_uBG0Hv-sG5uklUQSIfgUHAqKKPGd-UTw1WoPzI-dBuDc8sueZWEoVc6H4I_uGVPCQReSapDdLi0_ITCZOJhSz6cfPLj8Q-kXAOB8/s320/Thailand+189.JPG" /></a><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /></span><span style="font-family:georgia;">The night before we left, Dino fielded questions around the campfire again. An older man asked something, and Dino shrugged, looking at us. “He wants to know if you’ll come back.” All of the villagers nodded and smiled.<br /></span><p style="LINE-HEIGHT: normal; MARGIN: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-pagination: none; mso-layout-grid-align: none" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">As the Thais like to say, <em>mai ben rai</em>. No worries. We'll figure it out</span>.</span></p></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><p> </p><p><span style="font-family:georgia;">*Note: All names and phrases were a total guess as far as spelling. I'll do a separate post on my week spent at the actual Elephant Nature Park.</span></p>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-83053349284956603372011-03-01T00:08:00.000-08:002011-03-21T00:43:25.260-07:00India: First Impressions<span style="font-size:85%;">India is both easier and harder than I thought it would be. </span><br /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586431636375179106" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-JjBu3jiUGD57SxGf-YPOx9uzOAAwyjsoNxcPuGoe2Qcq-C7_jGG758Z6xyN_pJv6QkoxRtb3SEFkdfS31xmfi6a8v3_6U6l6Io-qFR9HBQhpq1bt1jyGpFc6WzY6nacYiJotHU1I5mM/s400/India+112.JPG" /><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">Individually, the challenges aren’t exceptional. There are plenty of Western toilets and toilet paper is much more common here than it was in Thailand. I can manage the open stares, and dressing conservatively certainly helps. Though the traffic is a complete circus and on a whole new level from any road antics I’d previously witnessed, New York cabs prepared me at least a tiny bit for the necessity of complete faith in your driver. And, as Ad said, “From what people had said, I kind of thought it would be a sea of child amputees.” It’s not. But neither is it like anything I’ve experienced before.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">“The only problem in India is no problem,” several different vendors have told me over the past few weeks. Yeah but… can you really help me fix this actual problem?<br /><br /></span></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;">My arrival at the airport gave me an early glimpse into what I would come to know (and, gradually, to sort of love) as India’s reliable unreliableness. At baggage claim, I followed the instructions on the screen for my baggage carousel. It wasn’t running. I checked another one that said “Bangkok,” but learned that it was off of a Thai Airways flight, not my Air India plane. I was pointed to the other side of the airport (there were apparently two baggage areas at opposite ends, though no signs indicated this). I trekked over there, waited in line to enter the area, presented my passport and ticket again. Got inside. No luck. Went back to the other side. Line. Passpor<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDBY63dsrNr_jhd3PPuJ5rKv6Yw-o8TJm4bJhzlx0TosCKDHwWFCCuaxU52gJDQ1ybw0-LLr-JWANBGscike5sc1aOyID4Z5ZnGlaG2BBS0fb9vQiLel_AORicpsPVwC2b97_26TJMKI/s1600/North+India+145.JPG"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586434193427644322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxDBY63dsrNr_jhd3PPuJ5rKv6Yw-o8TJm4bJhzlx0TosCKDHwWFCCuaxU52gJDQ1ybw0-LLr-JWANBGscike5sc1aOyID4Z5ZnGlaG2BBS0fb9vQiLel_AORicpsPVwC2b97_26TJMKI/s320/North+India+145.JPG" /></a>t. Ticket. Rinse and repeat for around an hour. In near-despair, I asked an official-looking airport person where the lost luggage counter was so I could file a claim. He didn’t answer, but started walking with me. On our way, I spotted my backpack rounding the corner of a carousel inexplicably labeled “Tel Aviv.” I gleefully snatched it off the belt, and the “official” picked up my daypack. I asked for it back repeatedly. When we got to the door (twenty paces away), he said I owed him 100 Rupees. </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXHVOD-lbiIsl6g2SVZTiKdG1E1agK-9itX2EchWqCYCLQGQtJyBw5uyaGHxCLEmkbdGitMcrQwUtj0fIe7ZB1Zxj8WLsELqxCG8ENGNjeQ-D1Qj-hFMz8J4r6lopcwol6XMH40jYn93c/s1600/North+India+140.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586428857821553282" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXHVOD-lbiIsl6g2SVZTiKdG1E1agK-9itX2EchWqCYCLQGQtJyBw5uyaGHxCLEmkbdGitMcrQwUtj0fIe7ZB1Zxj8WLsELqxCG8ENGNjeQ-D1Qj-hFMz8J4r6lopcwol6XMH40jYn93c/s320/North+India+140.JPG" /></span></a></span></span></span><span style="color:#000000;"><br /><br /><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">I definitely struggled at first, here in India. Everything seemed so unnecessarily complicated, from getting a taxi to ordering food to printing a train ticket at an internet café. Garbage and poverty were everywhere. Beyond just language (many people speak English), there was a serious communication barrier; I could not explain myself, at all. There seemed to be no lines; whoever shoved most forcefully and with the most gall was first. Interactions with most men felt either predatory or dismissive. The touts had an aggression that was exhausting. “Yes. Madam. You buy.” “No.” “Cheap price for you.” “No.” After awhile it started to feel like everyone wanted something from me; every interaction seemed loaded. I felt guarded here in a way I’d never been, felt pressed in and pushed on. Any one of these things would’ve been manageable. But it was everything at once, all of the time!<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /><o:p></o:p></span></span></span><br /></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;"><span style="color:#000000;"><br />All of this leading to…. DUN DUN. Culture shock. Recognize it. Accept it. Overcome it.<br /></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70d0TXsGj7IVGnTJjyUP645SzBU28vg4mQyexCjtLuEakxvac9Drs8u4HsfHTB1jjK8UgYI0zkQwuKA5GNOvZ6gSj9w88C097BfLLX_-ZJloi_1aI35FSKVb50jNcWsQzFHGvihEdab0/s1600/North+India+138.JPG"><span style="color:#000000;"><img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586430523417822562" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg70d0TXsGj7IVGnTJjyUP645SzBU28vg4mQyexCjtLuEakxvac9Drs8u4HsfHTB1jjK8UgYI0zkQwuKA5GNOvZ6gSj9w88C097BfLLX_-ZJloi_1aI35FSKVb50jNcWsQzFHGvihEdab0/s320/North+India+138.JPG" /></span></a><br /></span></span></span><span style="color:#000000;"><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">There is much to love here, too. The vivid pinks, blues, greens, and yellows of the saris. The rhythm and expertise of the taxi and motorbike drivers as they weave and dodge, their horns speaking an intricate language. The exquisite mixture of spices and diversity of flavor in endless curries, dosas, thalis. The candy in the street stalls, tasting of pistachio, milk, and molasses and so, so sweet. And the people, curious and pushy and beautiful and resourceful, and full of the joy of life.<br /><br /></span></span></span><span style="font-family:'Times New Roman','serif';font-size:12;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"><span style="font-size:85%;">India is a place that constantly surprises in the amount she can give and take away. I just needed to settle in and throw my expectations out the window. </span></span></span></span>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-66933055492031456232011-02-17T07:58:00.000-08:002011-02-17T08:33:40.519-08:00Thailand Picture PostHey guys... I'm baaaaaack!<br /><div><div><br /><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div><div>Sorry to be incommunicado for so long. The Elephant Nature Park was fantastic, but it was much harder to get web access than I'd thought. I'll have a couple longer posts up soon, but for now, here, as promised, is the picture post from my time in Bangkok and Tonsai.<br /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574696070472187586" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYKhmbnmaQO2kfcKTmF4QIGDv4P9NMTwoeF35eDWOdaym6Y_bNrgQQ1XNvQwHMqIsis9lFZxJB4WN_JoUFXi28mkR_ZYoGmnqB_rGz99rWRnXhq21BHRaHv1oq2XVnGKiwZ6mEhgCi_jw/s400/Thailand+334.JPG" /><br /><div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574692347488044370" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieIIDTCdsEgAQ7rl0spSi4ETIT4HGcfk0J8E9t-vaMyLCqOUpT_jm7vmcYgRPUHbgez01J0XZgBWSAx77PeuC89-Wqz-ctm4jd4YdvpM5MJPOydfEAyxYYX87yX6G_otl1aul4spWd2Fs/s400/Thailand+333.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574694246934223362" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicsYcgxwoSQOhbJHYorGak80OrOLSgAdUGm2Sd2d9XbQkkWSd2vlKUeo14_oGuCOMPL2ElAD1388TH_CMDvb7GjvtM-vIgC20jtbx5bRNgOLhDLgsxyTo8XBcTxIqoapFYTvppep1wjoM/s400/Thailand+030.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574693804469216274" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3xchji8sM2IDmAEolqilj0i8xxmvnxedASDTNs95-CUwwLpGBfvExCswg5fCVexur-o_obhzs4g5lUirVDSWxqs6N9MrVcTpSvzQw1i1ilo7WUIDDM3oTdht5nAmavdetCQa8GWEpjNU/s400/Thailand+015.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 300px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574694027384894946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr3eTty_diQdRyBSVLx8glvzURhJt-FyHXRPhVysUXGv9wAPjxNUmUnEhYtyMEV3IVskSnN1FGpASLvv0JGcKK-G7QbUPfCE2tOKRzH_prCQOD6a7-89T4kkEKxIWthHhF_8IIlevZEYk/s400/Thailand+019.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574692668985970946" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYE-mcnbEDoean7We8aoBP6OEx_V8sUbCsRE1s1cMq1-cDL0zuoyYPjIRbXBriSKVS27NTADTa1d14LhgL9QNUhkj58IcnaWsCyqWWr31KbIYf4wA8denv39zMbTHocV_ASG4vYFMzLg/s400/Thailand+337.JPG" /><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574692880207440994" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF8CHRkXs4H84cjqe8qo0wlcy0sjkAjN_i7ydBAQiSvm9AmQ_PkNzO8VvrwSVbioKoYLdUO417EDfWbZwcGMUCzPuosrsE-eJGlfxHpqE6daefho-wrMMSzTciK2_2JVqVcAshC7kT4GI/s400/Thailand+036.JPG" /></div><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574691538730367618" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB0BiEBYkoflSCeiHUPdclKmiIiZAfx2V-fcYLffPOGnWygf7BlqxG6sWdllzs56S-Qa0qAtoUrW00RB7OPC7qpefXG6XujnlFwLZ2e0dzX2Y-C_wzGiDO2uYE8vlC5Csu9SoK3IJg7Ag/s400/Thailand+046.JPG" /></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div><br /><p>Elephant pics coming soon!</p>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7346170728837232762.post-26549724931586033062011-01-30T10:28:00.000-08:002011-01-30T10:42:49.570-08:00Bangkok and Tonsai<p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">*Note: Haven’t uploaded photos of Thailand yet, but I wanted to get this update in before I head to the elephant park. Photo update will follow later.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">I arrived in Bangkok on Sunday night and met up with Wayne, a friend from high school (and my prom date, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">haha</span>) who I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">hadn</span>’t seen since we graduated (Ten years! Man, I feel old). He and his girlfriend, Nicole, are, auspiciously, doing a round the world trip now as well, and we happen to be hitting up a lot of the same places. We wandered around the city together a bit, poking in temples-under-repair (those gilded windows are all painted by hand!), meandering around the frenzied tourist hub of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Kaosan</span> Road, and chowing down on both curry and insects. It was a good introduction to Thailand, but I also found Bangkok totally overwhelming with its <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal"><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">farang</span></i>-focused markets, pushy touts, and seedy sex tourism, and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">wasn</span>’t so sure I wanted to hang out there alone for a full week as planned before heading to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chiang</span> Mai. I also had a great time with W&N, who were headed to rock climb near <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">Krabi</span>, and was kind of depressed at the idea of being alone again.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">On Tuesday I decided it would be great to hang around with friends for a bit longer, so a last-minute flight, a cab ride, and two <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">longtail</span> boat rides later, I arrived at <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tonsai</span>, a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error">beachy</span> climbers’ haven in the south. <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tonsai</span> is ultra chill, with a strangely rural, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error">jungly</span> feel, even while it’s crawling with white/Western Rastafarian backpackers. I stayed in a teeny tiny hut with a mosquito net (which I came to foolishly, desperately believe was a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error">forcefield</span> that protected me from not only mosquitoes, but rats, geckos, roaches, and ginormous spiders, all of which I had seen up close and personal around the area). An <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error">arachnophobic</span>, I think I'll eternally resent Wayne for ever showing me the web with a certain enormous, sinister monster crouched in the middle). Either way, I grew very attached to my little abode, and was sad to leave it in the end.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">My week in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tonsai</span> passed in a blissful blur of red curry for every meal (<em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error">Phed</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error">mak</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_17" class="blsp-spelling-error">mak</span>!—</em>very very spicy), countless banana shakes, doggy paddling in the warm waters of the Andaman Sea, ultra cheap yet ultra terrific Thai massages from Didi and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_18" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sa</span>, working, and hanging out with my friends at a bizarre open mic night, during which many jokes were exchanged regarding a peculiar character called “Dave 1.”</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">On Saturday, we got up before the sun rose to beat the morning rush of climbers over on <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_19" class="blsp-spelling-error">Railey</span> Beach. Using Wayne and Nicole’s gear and with their expert coaching, I had my first go at rock climbing in a world-class location, full of insane stalactites and really cool crags. Despite what it might look like at first when you see ten year old kids scuttling up the bare face of the cliff quick as spiders and when you watch people like Wayne and Nicky expertly maneuvering their limbs using invisible toeholds with hip-twisting grace, let me tell you, climbing is <u>hard</u> . With Nicole belaying me, I felt totally safe, but physically, it pushed me to my limits. It’s incredibly frustrating when you just want to GET THERE, and mentally, you have total willpower and confidence in your ability to do it, but your body just fails you and you fall, again and again. It <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_20" class="blsp-spelling-error">doesn</span>’t help that I have arms like noodles with zero upper body strength. I have some serious rope burn and bruises that make me look hardcore, but mostly it was my ego that took a bit of a beating—a dangerous situation that always makes me want to do it AGAIN, and BETTER. I can see how people get addicted to the rush; I’m already investigating climbing classes in NYC. Sweet.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">At <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_21" class="blsp-spelling-error">Phra</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_22" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nang</span> beach—epically beautiful, a la Garland’s “The Beach,” but very busy—we had a mid-afternoon swim and peeked into the bizarre phallic shrine (think wooden penises—<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_23" class="blsp-spelling-error">peni</span>?—everywhere). We also saw around a dozen monkeys. Close up! And with day-old baby monkeys clutching at them. As much as I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_24" class="blsp-spelling-error">didn</span>’t want to be the stereotypical tourist, I <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_25" class="blsp-spelling-error">couldn</span>’t help but gawk. I’d upload a video here if it <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_26" class="blsp-spelling-error">wasn</span>’t so huge.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Later, it was time to wave farewell to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_27" class="blsp-spelling-error">Wayno</span> and Nicky, and to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_28" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tonsai</span>. I could’<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_29" class="blsp-spelling-error">ve</span> probably stayed there for another full month, vegging and learning to climb, but <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_30" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chiang</span> Mai with its elephants was beckoning. While I waited for enough people to gather for a <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_31" class="blsp-spelling-error">longtail</span> ride to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_32" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ao</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_33" class="blsp-spelling-error">Nang</span>, we decided to post up at a beach bar and split a bucket of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_34" class="blsp-spelling-error">Samsong</span> and coke. Naturally, on the way there, a monkey <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_35" class="blsp-spelling-error">leapt</span> from a tree onto my back and attempted to throttle me. Because that is the type of thing that happens in <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_36" class="blsp-spelling-error">Tonsai</span>. Luckily (and also sadly), the little booger ended up being tethered to the tree, so while I panicked and shrieked bloody murder, Nicky and Wayne shouted to “Keep walking!” and soon I was free from his tenacious grip. Authentic Thai experience right there, folks.</span></p><p style="MARGIN: 0in 0in 10pt" class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:georgia;">Tomorrow I’m headed to the Elephant Nature Park. I’m there for two weeks, and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_37" class="blsp-spelling-error">internet</span> will be spotty, so don’t worry if things are a bit quiet around here. </span></p>jillhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08732684747253455242noreply@blogger.com7