A Journey of One Inch

It's Been Awhile

2011-10-12T11:08:00.001-07:00

Hi there,

I can't believe it's been so long since I've updated this thing!

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.

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:

1. I finished my round-the-world trip with a safari in Tanzania, and saw, among other things, 21 lions in the wild.

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.*

3. I moved in with Ad. Or rather, we moved into a totally awesome garden apartment together, in my old Brooklyn neighborhood.

4. We hosted several close friends and family members in our new place.

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!

6. I started coaching with Girls on the Run--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...

7. I realized I need to actually learn how to be a freelancer and have spent a lot of time getting my files, taxes, healthcare, and workspace in order.

8. I've been working on (and am almost finished with) another exciting writing project. I'm also pumped that Witch & Wizard: The Fire is out in just two more months!

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.

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:

LOBSTAH!

*Black and white photo credit: Mikey Barringer. Everything else was taken on my very old iphone, which explains the quality.

King Tut's Will

2011-05-30T09:27:00.001-07:00

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 sticky, 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.

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…

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.

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 bed! 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:

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, and 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.
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.

Now I’ve got one more day in Dar, and then I head to Zanzibar for a bit. Then, who knows?

*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.

"Readers are winners."

2011-05-30T07:48:00.000-07:00

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 started 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.

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 my quick thoughts on those books (and where I read them):

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.

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.

THE BLIND ASSASSIN (Thailand): part noir, part sci-fi, part historical love story, all Atwood in top form.

STRANGE THINGS (Thailand): reliably smart, feminist essays on literature of the Canadian North, featuring wendigos, "Grey Owl Syndrome," isolation, and insanity.

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-aware-of-it ten-year-olds—even if this doesn’t explicitly parallel your life.

[There is another book in here read upon arrival in India that I can’t for the life of me recall.]

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

WARM BODIES (Israel): angsty yet believable teen zombie love in an unfeeling world; funny and well-done, though puzzling that it was released as an adult novel.

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 glimpse into his writing process, and for both the admiration and intense desire to put on a pair of running shoes it inspires.

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.

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.

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.

*These are my opinions only, and do not reflect those of my publisher, Hachette Book Group, or of James Patterson.

** 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.

Gratuitous Greece Photos

2011-05-19T01:30:00.000-07:00

Month Five

2011-05-18T00:45:00.000-07:00

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!
So…maybe you can understand why it’s a little hazy.

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 on the island of Zanzibar. 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 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!

Favorite place: Naxos, Greece
Favorite experience (tie): Lounging with Ad and the New York Times in Central Park; watching the sunset in Naxos with Mom
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.)
Favorite saying: “Bravo!”
Favorite lodging: Aroma Suites, Santorini, Greece

Feta! Olives! Yogurt! Wine! Greece!

2011-05-17T09:21:00.000-07:00

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 cheap. 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. 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.

The last couple months I’ve felt 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 everywhere, when the BF is so far away in New York. My mom met me here, appropriately, on Mother’s Day, May 8^th. 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.

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 constantly 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.

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 impression. 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 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.
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.

* 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 Suzi. More on that later, I’m sure, but for now, let the training begin.

** 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.

Home is wherever I'm with you.

2011-05-10T07:09:00.000-07:00

With Skype and the hubbub of the holidays and work, we managed the first few months okay apart, but by the time 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.

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 Vega, 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.

Friday night Ad and I were totally spoiled by Bryn at Pure Food and Wine, 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 In Tall Buildings show in the East Village with Karl. So good! I’m more impressed every time I hear Erik play.

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.

I also got to (awesomely, briefly) see Manny and Tanya right before getting a tattoo at Brooklyn Tattoo. 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.

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).

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.

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.

*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, LuluBugJewelry, for sharing your design for the tattoo!

L'Chaim!

2011-05-08T02:20:00.000-07:00

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.

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…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 ambivalent.) 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!

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 that 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.)

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 sun-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.

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.

Month Four

2011-05-01T00:00:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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^th (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!

Favorite place: McLeod Ganj, India
Favorite experience: Giddily jumping about with prayer flags at Everest Base Camp
Favorite meal: Thai food at Yin Yang in Kathmandu, Nepal with great friends after finishing one great hike
Favorite saying: “Ramro!”—“Great!” in Sherpa
Favorite lodging: Hotel Marshyandi, Kathmandu, Nepal (HOT. SHOWER.)

Everest Base Camp Trek

2011-04-20T02:20:00.000-07:00

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…

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!

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 house. 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.

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 to greet us for our 6am wake ups; and we weren’t exactly eating camp food.

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.

All 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 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.
But the mountains! LOOK at these incredible mountains! Every painful minute was worth it for those views. 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^th birthday on the trail, plodded along impressively and was always reliable for entertaining, unfiltered anecdotes. 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 of 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.Thank you, everyone, for a truly incredible experience. Next up: group reunion at the Grand Canyon for “rim to rim!”

Note: That is not me doing the splits in front of Everest; it is the incredibly impressive and flexible Peta Barrett.

Himalaya Trek Picture Post 2

2011-04-16T00:54:00.000-07:00

Himalaya Trek Picture Post 1

2011-04-16T00:16:00.000-07:00

After 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.

Farewell, India, hello, Nepal!

2011-03-29T04:17:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

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 Romanian 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."

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...

Running: the addiction that sneaks up on you.

2011-03-25T02:35:00.000-07:00

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 crave 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.

I know some people (like Laura, from A Wandering Sole) 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...

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...

Just a quick note to say

2011-03-20T14:58:00.000-07:00

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.

Is this real life?

*Edit: Six hours after writing that, I was afflicted with my first case of the notorious Delhi Belly. Yes, this is real life.

Month Three

2011-03-19T14:40:00.000-07:00

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 not warm up to India?

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...

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.

And there’s so much more to see!

Favorite place: Udaipur

Favorite experience: having Ad around to share it with
Favorite meal: thali in Ahmedabad

Favorite saying: "The only problem in India is no problem." [head wobble]

Favorite lodging: Hotel Castle House, Goa

Sights

2011-03-17T14:07:00.000-07:00

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.
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, indescribable.

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.

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 we 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.

In the evening of my second day, I rode 20 kilometers to the India/Pakistan 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.

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.

Rajasthan--Ahmedabad and Udaipur

2011-03-14T01:18:00.000-07:00

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.

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.

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.

(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.)

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 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).

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.

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, 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.

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 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. 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. 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.

Goa, Mumbai, Ad…

2011-03-05T00:44:00.000-08:00

With Ad it felt easy. Easy between us and easy to travel. It was a huge relief to have so much of the work 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.

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.

My 28^th 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.

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 monkeys everywhere. Sad monkeys, monkeys drinking Sprite. I’ll never get over the sight of monkeys, just lounging about. It always seems so improbable. I got too close to one nursing mother monkey who responded by almost biting my face off. Woah, there.

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.

Then, way too soon, Ad had to go home, and I had to leave the home of Bollywood.

Week Two--Elephant Nature Park, Thailand

2011-03-03T08:04:00.000-08:00

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 with the serene smile of food coma on my face.

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.

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.

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.”

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 some of it here…

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:

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 elephants 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.

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.

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 www.elephantnaturepark.org. I’m definitely going back.

Month Two

2011-03-01T05:03:00.001-08:00

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.

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.

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.

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 cook 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.”

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:

Favorite place: Tonsai Bay, Thailand

Favorite experience: Being mommied by Pha Mai, the baby elephant

Favorite meal: Tie between spicy crab in Hong Kong and every meal I had at the Elephant Nature Park

Favorite saying: "Same same…but different.”

Favorite lodging: The homestay in the Karen village—at least in retrospect.

Week One, ENP--Mae Chem, Thailand

2011-03-01T03:46:00.000-08:00

After 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. 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.

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 laughed 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.

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.

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.

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 my 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.

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.

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. 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:

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.

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.

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.).

We also had a chance to buy 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.

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.

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.

As the Thais like to say, mai ben rai. No worries. We'll figure it out.

*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.

India: First Impressions

2011-03-01T00:08:00.000-08:00

India is both easier and harder than I thought it would be.
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.

“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?

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. Passport. 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.

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!

All of this leading to…. DUN DUN. Culture shock. Recognize it. Accept it. Overcome it.

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.

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.

Thailand Picture Post

2011-02-17T07:58:00.000-08:00

Hey guys... I'm baaaaaack!

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.

Elephant pics coming soon!

Bangkok and Tonsai

2011-01-30T10:28:00.000-08:00

*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.

I arrived in Bangkok on Sunday night and met up with Wayne, a friend from high school (and my prom date, haha) who I hadn’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 Kaosan 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 farang-focused markets, pushy touts, and seedy sex tourism, and wasn’t so sure I wanted to hang out there alone for a full week as planned before heading to Chiang Mai. I also had a great time with W&N, who were headed to rock climb near Krabi, and was kind of depressed at the idea of being alone again.

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 longtail boat rides later, I arrived at Tonsai, a beachy climbers’ haven in the south. Tonsai is ultra chill, with a strangely rural, jungly 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 forcefield 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 arachnophobic, 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.

My week in Tonsai passed in a blissful blur of red curry for every meal (Phed mak mak!—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 Sa, 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.”

On Saturday, we got up before the sun rose to beat the morning rush of climbers over on Railey 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 hard . 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 doesn’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.

At Phra Nang 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—peni?—everywhere). We also saw around a dozen monkeys. Close up! And with day-old baby monkeys clutching at them. As much as I didn’t want to be the stereotypical tourist, I couldn’t help but gawk. I’d upload a video here if it wasn’t so huge.

Later, it was time to wave farewell to Wayno and Nicky, and to Tonsai. I could’ve probably stayed there for another full month, vegging and learning to climb, but Chiang Mai with its elephants was beckoning. While I waited for enough people to gather for a longtail ride to Ao Nang, we decided to post up at a beach bar and split a bucket of Samsong and coke. Naturally, on the way there, a monkey leapt from a tree onto my back and attempted to throttle me. Because that is the type of thing that happens in Tonsai. 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.

Tomorrow I’m headed to the Elephant Nature Park. I’m there for two weeks, and internet will be spotty, so don’t worry if things are a bit quiet around here.

Hong Kong, Part Deux

2011-01-28T06:46:00.000-08:00

I spent my last several days in Hong Kong exploring the markets and—shocker—eating Dim Sum like my life depended on it. I walked around the fruit markets (Alvina turned me on to wax apples) and fish markets of Reclamation Street, saw some grisly sights at the wet market—not for the squeamish—and poked around the orchids and ranunculus (my favorite) at the flower market further north. Those red, beet-like vegetables are given to people for good luck and good health during Chinese New Year. I also made my way to the nearby bird garden/market and watched giddy old men feed live grasshoppers to their songbirds with chopsticks. It was one of my favorite places.

My last night in town, I went with John and his friend Jesse to see CocoRosie, which was surreal both because I was seeing a band I love with friends in Hong Kong and because it was CocoRosie and they embody surrealism. The weirdest/most awesome part of the experience was the supremely bizarre Tez, the French beatboxer who opened for them. Watch this if you have a minute to get a taste: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YbpCiFa-gNY&feature=related

Bye bye for now, Hong Kong. My Buddha belly thanks you.

Updates

2011-01-25T13:49:00.000-08:00

I'm currently in Bangkok, but after having a great time with Wayno and Nicky (involving whiskey and grasshoppers* in soy sauce...), I've decided to follow them down to Krabi before heading up to Chiang Mai next week.

Update on the remainder of my time in Hong Kong coming soon.

Also, some bigger news: I cancelled the South American leg of my trip.

After traveling fairly quickly through New Zealand last month, I realized that I might get more out of this experience if I slowed down a bit. I had planned to do three countries in South America (Argentina, Bolivia, Peru) in just under a month, which seemed way too fast. Since I'm not able to extend my trip for longer (and am not sure I'd want to, anyway), I decided to stay in Africa for a bit longer and join a volunteer program in Uganda. I'm still returning in the beginning of August, but South America will have to wait until next time.

*Note: I have a hunch that most Thai people do not in fact feast on scorpions and insects and that the stalls exist solely for tipsy tourists, but it was all in good fun nonetheless.

Excess

2011-01-25T09:30:00.000-08:00

You guys, I committed a MAJOR no-no for traveling light for an extended period of time: I bought heels.

I seriously don’t know what I was thinking. It was like I had a temporary lobotomy. I have nowhere to wear these things anyway, and there is virtually no space in my backpack. They aren’t even a light, strappy pair, and they don’t even have a low heel that I could actually get some use out of. They’re high, chunky, and extremely heavy. My only explanation is that I was weak and feeling gross, the salesman was very convincing, they were cheap, and they were extremely cute. Unfortunately, like everything else in Hong Kong, they are also extremely non-returnable. Since they’re too heavy to ship, I guess I will do my penance by carrying them around for a month, and then hopefully Ad can carry them home for me from India. Lesson learned.

Unexpected things I've needed on the road:

Large scarf—good for a variety of purposes, from towel to blanket to headscarf to belt to great way to dress up an outfit.

Divacup—I couldn’t be a bigger fan. You do not want to lug around a year’s worth of tampons, do you?

Hankies—I have two and use them constantly, particularly since arriving in HK since I’m eating a lot of spicy food and napkins in restaurants seem to be a rarity. My hankies also made me feel good when we hiked down Lantau and someone had left about 200 used tissues along the path.

Lipstick (or another unnecessary/feminine item)—I’m normally not a lipstick wearer at home (or much of a makeup wearer period), and not really a very girly girl in general. But after feeling totally grubby and wearing the same very functional, plain, less than cute clothes for a month, I’ve found it can really make me feel attractive again. If I had been wearing lipstick, I probably wouldn’t have bought heels.

Fake wedding ring—Comes in handy more often than you’d think.

A sweet knife—Ditto. I use my pocket knife multiple times a day (this might be because it has a bottle opener as well…).

A hidden pocket—I found that I hated money belts and refused to wear them, so I sewed (or had my sister sew, because let’s be honest, I am not that craftsy) a pocket in my bra. I carry some extra cash in there just in case. It’s come in handy twice, and I suspect it would be even more convenient if I ever got robbed.

Small change purse—I don’t have a wallet, but use either my daypack or my passport pouch to carry money. When I don’t want to lug crap around with me, the change purse comes in really handy, especially since a lot of countries are coin-heavy in their currency.

Shampoo bar—Lush makes a great shampoo/conditioner in one solid bar that I’m obsessed with. You don’t have to worry about leakage (my first 2oz liquid shampoo spilled ALL OVER my backpack), plastic baggies at the airport, toting multiple bottles, or replenishing, since it lasts a really long time. Totally biodegradable, so you can take camping, and can also double as soap.

Multivitamin and hand sanitizer—An attempt at sickness prevention. Again, I’m not normally a proponent of either at home, but with an immune system weakened by constantly switching time zones, eating less healthfully, and constantly using public transit, I’ll take ‘em.

Color—Some of the best advice I received before I left was to pack only things that I felt really good in. I did, but on the recommendation of many packing lists, I also packed only blacks and neutrals so that everything could go together, and that really contributed to feeling like I was wearing the same thing every single day (I kind of was, since my two t-shirts are exactly the same shirt). When I lost my only sweater in my final days in New Zealand and then arrived in Hong Kong to really cold* weather, I was so bored with black that I bought a bright red sweater to replace it. And I love it! So my advice is, bring one really bright, stand-out item, but one that is functional and that you can still wear regularly.

A smile—this might sound obvious, but I've started to realize that my default expression, while not a scowl exactly, is kind of frowny (I blame 5 years in NYC). A smile can communicate a lot when you don't speak the language, and makes people want to help you.

*Note, for all you New Yorkers and Michiganders: Okay, not *really* cold at all, more like 50 (F), but cold for HK!

**The hearts were stickers on my wall at the Hong Kong guesthouse. Seemed appropriate.

Love and distance

2011-01-19T09:39:00.000-08:00

Something I haven't really written about on this blog but which affects my life a whole lot and which I get asked about quite a bit is being in a long distance relationship. When I left for my eight month, round the world solo trip, I was three months into the best relationship of my life. Three very amazing months in.

So why did I go when things were so great at home?

My only answer is that I couldn’t not go. I had this trip planned for a couple months before things got serious between us, and there was a point when I honestly considered cancelling it. But in the end I knew that I might never get this opportunity again—that I might have a regular-hours job again, that I might be broke again, that I might have kids or a mortgage, and that it would only be harder for me to leave for that long if we’d been dating for a year, or five years. And I knew I had to do it. With anyone else, I think I would've ended things before leaving or not left at all. But with Ad, things are different—good different. Maybe it was exactly because things were going so well in my relationship that I felt okay about leaving, and about staying together through it: It seemed strong enough to survive the time and distance. And if it wasn’t, then it wasn’t meant to be anyway, right?

Isn’t it hard?

It’s incredibly hard. Even while I’m having all these sweet experiences, it’s hard to miss out on everything at home. Christmas was hard. His birthday. I’m missing attending three or four weddings with him. Sundays—New York Times and coffee and lounge day—are tough. Difficult days when we can’t give one another pep talks are bad. Not being able to just physically be around one another is the worst.

How do we cope?

We hang out together on Skype. We email things we'd usually chat about. I write letters and send postcards. I carry pictures around and show people I meet and talk about him constantly. I count down the days until we meet in India. We make plans for when I get back. But while I think about him a lot, I also try to focus on the experiences I’m having, why this is important to me, and why I’m not ready to come home just yet, despite what I’m missing. After I cried four days in a row after we talked on Skype, I realized we just can’t talk every day. Because as good as it is to see one another, it actually does make it harder.

What does Ad think about all this?

He’s been incredibly supportive and reassuring that everything will work out. Of course, after a month and a half, I’d say that it’s been much harder than either of us imagined it would be, and eight months, which sounded like a long time when I started, now feels like an eternity. But I still feel like it was the right thing, and I’m so grateful to be with someone who is sure enough of himself—and us—to be able to deal with my craziness. I can’t wait to travel together some day (and also to be together at home). Til then, Skype has my undying gratitude.

唔好意思. M̀h'gōi.

2011-01-17T20:33:00.000-08:00

So, I'm in Hong Kong! (I actually have been for about a week.)

I'm staying in a guest house in Kowloon, the peninsula north of Hong Kong Island, and though most people on the island speak English, up here I've gotten very good at explaining myself through sign language. I can't seem to get a grip on even a few short phrases in Cantonese with its daunting nine tones, but I have gotten "M̀h'gōi" down. It can be used to mean "please," "thank you," or "excuse me," which makes up for a lot of other things I can't get across. The strangest thing about being here after New Zealand has been going from being surrounded by backpackers in hostels to being alone and unable to communicate a large amount of the time. It's a bit isolating, but I've really been enjoying it.

Hong Kong is expensive, but there's loads to do on the cheap as well--like eat with friends. Or eat alone. You could eat dim sum. Or wanton soup. Or moon cake, fish balls, tea eggs, congee, pork buns, various noodle, rice, and curry dishes, sweet tofu soup with ginger (tong sui), giant shrimp, bird's nest soup, spicy crab, these tasty bubbly waffle things they sell on the street... You get the idea. A few people told me that two weeks was way too long to be in HK, and that there wasn't much to do. To those people I say: you gravely underestimate my dedication to eating. Hong Kong is ALL about food, and I have been reveling in it. There's even a terrific vegetarian restaurant right next to my guest house (though I am eating meat, too).

My old friend (as in we go way back), John, lives here, and we've been hanging out. John is a toy designer, so I got to see the showroom full of all the awesome stuff he's working on. Way to be 500% cooler than the rest of us, John. When I first got to town, we met up for very hot fish soup at Spicy Mama, and rode the ferry over to Hong Kong to watch the light show on the buildings (every night at 8pm). Later in the week we checked out Wing Wah, which Francis had recommended. Delicious shrimp and pork wonton soup with hovering-between-soft-and-crunchy-perfectly-done egg noodles. John also told me about this famous Australian dairy where they have the fluffiest scrambled eggs served with noodle soup. Yum.

Besides eating and thinking about eating, I've mostly been working quite a bit in various cafes (slurping down pearl tea and milk tea with condensed milk; I'm seriously going to gain 100 lbs). I have ventured out to a few of the night markets like a good little tourist, and am sharpening my bargaining skills.

On Saturday evening, I met Joe, who Bryn and Ad grew up with and who is also living in HK. We joined up with his friends for a very lively night of bar-hopping in Lan Kwai Fong, including everything from a dive bar with a great jukebox to a club with a Filipino band covering American pop songs to a swanky rooftop place with a view of the harbor to the place at the very end of the night when Joe said, "You might be the only woman in here who is not a prostitute. Are you okay with that?" Hey, I just go with it.

Sunday morning, I got up early and joined John and his friends Jeff, Nancy, and Winnie for an all day hike up to Lantau Peak, the highest point in Hong Kong at 934 meters. Lantau Island is also home to the Big Buddha and Lo Pin Monastery, both of which we passed on the way to the trail head. I thought it was the biggest Buddha in the world, but John said it's more like the world's tallest, outdoor, bronze Buddha seated on a lotus blossom with its right hand up... or something. Either way, the statue is gigantic and impressive, and from the scale of this picture, you can see how it towers over its surroundings.

The hike itself was awesome, challenging, and unlike anything I thought I could've found in Hong Kong. Over seven hours, we scrambled up a steep hillside dense with reedy grasses, crawled over boulders, and tip-toed across narrow exposed ridges on a trail that you wouldn't know was there were it not for the ribbons hanging from trees every so often. It was particularly surreal to be pushing our way through such wild surroundings and still be able to see the skyscrapers of the city below. Through the fog at Lantau Peak, the sun looked like it was setting right in the middle of the sky. It was there one second, and then just gone. With darkness encroaching, we started the hour and a half jaunt down rock stairs that went all the way back to the Buddha. If you are feeling like you are in decent shape and not so very old, attempt this activity and see how you feel afterward. We were all creaking and groaning, and my knees were already starting to swell by the time we reached the bottom.

The meal after our long hike was pretty much the culmination of all my food fantasies. Amazing crispy tofu (the inside was silky smooth), broccoli in black bean sauce, steamed veggies with canned fish (way better than description implies), and the wonderful, hot, garlicky goodness that was the spicy crab.

After dinner, we were all in a food coma and zombified from our physical exhaustion, but Nancy convinced us to go for a late-night massage so we could actually walk the next morning. For one tenth of the cost of a massage in New York, a sweet older lady poked, prodded, and kneaded my aching muscles to total bliss with her Hulk-strength hands. It was the best massage ever, but it's been two days and I'm still limping from the hike. Maybe one more is in order...

[Tap tap] Is this thing on?

2011-01-12T18:36:00.000-08:00

Hey friends,

After a month of traveling and blogging, I gotta ask... Who's actually reading this?

You see, innitially, I'd planned to blog so that I wouldn't have to email so much (I really, really hate email) and so that my family could follow me and know that I was okay. Now, I realize that my reasons have evolved to be way more selfish than that: I want a way to feel connected with home, even while I'm far away. Only sometimes it feels like I'm just sending out these posts like folded, crumpled messages in bottles, and they're all just sinking somewhere in the middle of the ocean.

Ha! Wow, that's dramatic. Sorry for that awful simile. Now I'm too amused by it to delete.

Bottom line: this isn't meant to be a "Yo, why don't you shower me with love?" post, I swear, but if, like Kot, you felt like leaving a comment to let me know you were reading, that would be super cool.

I'd also love to hear opinions on the layout of the blog, etc. Are you happy with frequency of posts? Are the pictures too big or too many? Is there too much junk over on the right? Is it difficult to comment or subscribe? Do you like the Facebook reminders? I don't plan to make money off of this thing, but I do want people to have a good experience reading it.

Love you big, Jill

Month One

2011-01-12T14:57:00.000-08:00

I stole this map from a google image search. Don't tell.

Well, I'm one month into my travels, with seven more to go. It's time for a general check in.

Overall, despite my continually evoking the wrath of Mother Nature, New Zealand (Aotearoa) was totally "sweet as" (second "s" intentionally missing, per Kiwi culture). In a country roughly the size of Colorado, there are mountains, beaches, glaciers, hot springs, volcanoes, rain forests, fiords, farms, islands, vineyards, impossibly striking roses and huge lavender plants everywhere, mythical Kiwi birds that New Zealanders believe in like American children believe in Santa Clause, 13 times as many sheep as people, and 70,000 working Germans. Also, everyone is fit. It's like Pleasantville, only in full color, and obsessed with rugby. My parents warned me that if I started in NZ, I wouldn't want to go anywhere else. While that isn't true, I did love the place, and hope to go back sometime.

Favorite place: Wanaka

Favorite experience: tie between skydiving and day two hiking Abel Tasman

Favorite meal: Ferg Burger in Queenstown, with a pint of Mac's Great White

Favorite saying: "Sweet as!"

Favorite lodging: YHA Purple Cow, Wanaka

As far as traveling in general goes, none of the issues I've encountered so far have been more than little hiccups, which I guess was the point in starting out in a very Western country--not too far from my comfort zone. Though I loved seeing so many different things in one month, I think in the future it might be better to stay in one area of a country, volunteering or finding another meaningful way to get to know a place a bit more. I'm really looking forward to the elephant sanctuary in Thailand for that reason.

I've gotten good at making quick friends and staying open to whatever new plans develop, but I'm savoring the time I have alone as well. There was definitely a period about three weeks in when I was already starting to feel a bit exhausted and overwhelmed with being constantly on the move, but a few days to recharge in one place worked wonders. The good thing about traveling alone is having the freedom to listen to yourself and make decisions based on what's best for you, rather than based on deadlines or another person's desires and itinerary.

That said, it does get lonely sometimes. I've never been homesick, really, more just peoplesick. I miss Ad and I miss my friends and fam. I miss having a community that is not so permeable, but I've also met some great people that I hope to stay in contact with and host in New York or Michigan at some point.

What else? Having a routine has been key to feeling grounded, and it's made me grateful to have work while on the road and have to set regular time aside for that. I've found that vanity is out the window. Hey, I'm still showering regularly--I'm not going for rank funk--but most of the time I don't bother with a mirror or a hairbrush. Dry shampoo is total bullshit, at least the one I tried. If I'm feeling particularly nast, red lipstick is a cure-all. Despite traveling light, my book addiction is still raging. It's becoming a problem. When I left the U.S., I had a guidebook, two novels, and a book of short stories, but I was determined to get it down to one novel and one guidebook. A month later and I'm done with the novel and short stories, yet I've somehow managed to acquire another three novels. I see good books just sitting there lonely at backpackers' book exchanges, and I just can't say no. Long story short: my back hurts.

On to the heavy stuff (besides books)... This past month has been vital for another reason. I felt like I had lost some part of myself in the past couple of years--a fundamental belief in myself, an independence--and I couldn't even say why, or how to change that feeling. I think traveling has restored some of that. I feel like I can do anything. It's made me remember that I am extremely hardy--a fact that I often forget when I'm in a position to rely on others who seem infinitely better at something. It's not that I feel invincible (that's dangerous), but rather capable again. And that feels pretty damn good.

Envy

2011-01-11T20:55:00.001-08:00

Just read that there is currently snow in 49 states in the U.S.

Home, I miss you. Well, snow, I miss you.

But not enough to come back just yet. The food in Hong Kong is too good.

Farewell, New Zealand, Hello (and Goodbye) Australia

2011-01-11T02:31:00.000-08:00

(sung) "AAAAAHHHH!"

When I saw the Sydney Opera House from afar, all I could think of was the operatic belt depicted in "Finding Nemo." But I'm getting ahead of things...

On January 4th, I got to Christchurch and pretty much broke all of the rules I had set for myself and so faithfully adhered to over the last month: I bought clothes. I picked up more books. I ate at an Americanized, super touristy pseudo-Mexican restaurant, and paid $26 for a sub-par burrito. I even bought a very overpriced margarita. But I was so happy to finally be rid of my plague funk and out and about again, I didn't even care.

Christchurch was a bit of a ghost town while I was there, due to both New Year's holiday closings and destruction from the earthquake in September. They've had over 1000 aftershocks since then, and there were two during my stay (neither of which I felt due to my extensively-documented obliviousness and heavy sleeping tendencies). Christchurch wasn't a complete bust, though. I stayed at Kiwi Basecamp, which had friendly service and FREE fresh-baked bread every morning, and I had a great dinner with Genevieve, an American from California, and spent a very pleasant day and evening with the darkly-witty Catherine from Auckland. The worst thing about traveling is meeting people for a short day whom you wish you could get to know over years. Two shining examples, here.

From Christchurch, I took a day trip to Kaikoura (pronounced "Ky-kota" by the Maori), intent on swimming with dolphins, as enthusiastically prescribed by Joy. Sadly, this was not in the cards; the water was insanely rocky, and my main sightseeing activity ended up being watching almost everyone on the boat vomit miserably into buckets. Silver lining: turns out, I don't get seasick! Actually, the REAL silver lining was that I did get to see wild dolphins, up close and personal, doing their jubilant wild dolphin thing. It was pretty cool. Observe:

After a brief stay back in Auckland (more good times with Cat), it was bye-bye, New Zealand. It was sad to wave farewell to my Kiwi paradise, and I'll admit that I'm already plotting ways to get back there, for longer. But this time, I was headed for Hong Kong, though it took me quite a long time to actually get there.

My layover in Sydney was more lively than expected. In the day and a half I had to check it out, I stayed in a ridiculously huge YHA that had a freaking pool and arcade, and I again met up with Leanne, who has bravely decided to quit her job in the UK and remain in Australia for a year, and her friend, Rhi, at the Sydney Festival in Hyde Park. It was extremely hot out, and while savoring ice cream from one of the stalls and watching a silent movie on the projection screen, we were accosted by these strange birds:

They've got the mentality of NYC pigeons or Ann Arbor squirrels, but seemed way more awesome because of their weird appearance and the fact that I only had to deal with one afternoon of shooing them away. Later, we ambled through the streets and around the harbor, stopping only for beer and macarons. Ah, macarons! Thank you, Abra, for introducing me to these colorful, luscious treats. My life hasn't been the same since. Sydney reminded me of New York (or at least Midtown) like no place ever has. Made me feel a bit cozy in an ultra-commercial, slightly-uncomfortable way. I spent the second day exploring the city on foot, and then it was back to the airport.

Since leaving Australia, I've been in a layover-filled haze, stumbling around Malaysian airports and peeling contacts from bloodshot eyes. I'm now in Hong Kong (my first taste of Asia), and have been in a constant, blissful food coma since my arrival. But more on that later...

Kepler Track

2011-01-04T14:01:00.000-08:00

My three-day tramp on the Kepler Track in the southwest (Fiordland) ended on New Year's Eve. It reminded me a lot of Mount Washington, actually: the first and last days wound up and down through dense, mossy forest abundant with ferns, and the middle day was spent picking our way along the Forest Burn Saddle and a long, narrow alpine ridge with heart-stopping views at the top of the Kepler mountains, summitting Mt. Luxmore in the process.

It was supposed to rain and didn't, but during pretty much the entire trek across the exposed passage, we were hit with 100k winds. Sometimes we could barely stand and as the wind caught my pack, I was sure I was about to be catapulted off the mountain into the rocks below. I loved it; it often felt like I was the last person on earth--just me against the elements. Actually, I loved the eerie, haunted feeling of Fiordland altogether and wish I'd had more time there to do the Routeburn and other tracks as well.

Oren from Israel (on the left) was leaving my hostel for the Kepler at the same time, so we agreed to walk to the start at the control gates together (45 minutes out of town). We ended up sticking together for the whole three days and Oren tried to scare me with stories of his friends' legs getting crushed while hiking in South America. A former soldier, he also properly adjusted my pack so that it stopped hurting all the time. I was convinced my new backpack just sucked or didn't fit me right (it adjusts differently than my other pack), but, to absolutely no one's surprise, I was just stubbornly doing it wrong.

At the Luxmore hut, we met more Israelis, and Nadav, Gal, and company taught me a card game called "Yaniv" (spelling?) that I'm obsessed with, even though I always get too excited to play my cards and therefore lose. I now also have several willing guides while I'm in Tel Aviv. Yes!

I didn't chance on a kiwi sighting (sorry, Mom)--unsurprising since the birds for which New Zealanders are named are nocturnal, shy creatures--but we did spot some curious fantails along the track, and several people we met had seen Kea parrots (I wasn't so lucky).

Apart from the Kepler hike, the last week has been pretty quiet. I returned from the Kepler quite sick and stayed in Te Anau for several days to recoup. New Year's was a bust--there was a great live cover band playing in the park right outside the hostel (CCR! Joan Jett!) and fireworks at midnight, but I was feeling too rotten to leave my bed. As 2011 arrived in the Southern Hemisphere, I toasted with my dad on Facebook with a sip of beer and sudafed. I ended up cancelling my kayaking trip to Milford Sound and being a total hermit in my hostel in Queenstown, too. Man, this is sounding really depressing as I write it! But it honestly hasn't felt that way (at least not most of the time). Of course I'm bummed to miss these places since they're two of the best-loved in New Zealand, but I think after a month of moving constantly, recharging my batteries for a bit was definitely the best thing I could've done. I also did a ton of work, which is always a good feeling. I'm still sniffling a bit now that I'm in Christchurch, but I'm back on my feet and exploring happily. Only two more days in NZ. I'll be sad to say goodbye to my kiwi paradise (I swear I'll be back), but I'm certainly looking forward to Asia--and to living more cheaply!

Oh, also, since it appears that even though my backpack is officially carry-on size, no one's ever going to let me take it carry-on, using my Christmas money, I bought this (my first leatherman):

Thanks, Mom and Dad!

Balance

2011-01-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

As I wrote to Kate earlier, travel is so strange in that it's draining and invigorating simultaneously; a self-sustaining cycle that makes me long for home one minute and dream of another trip the next.

I was particularly struck by this dichotomy yesterday while walking around Te Anau. I've been sick the last several days after hiking the Kepler Track (post on that coming soon), and, finally venturing outside after two full days spent holed up in bed coughing, sniffing, honking, and working, working, working, I felt exposed, alone, and really homesick. Then I browsed through a book on volunteering worldwide and saw "Ata Wenua," a breathtaking film showing rarely-seen images of Fiordland shot from a helicopter, and, an hour after my bout of sadness, thought this isn't enough time. There is SO MUCH MORE.

But there will always be so much more, and home has it's place, too. The trick is finding the balance.

Christmas in Wanaka

2010-12-26T22:42:00.000-08:00

On Christmas morning, I got up super early to climb Mt. Roy in Wanaka with my friend, Adrian. It was an excellent idea, but we didn't go about it the best way. To put it plainly, we were really, really stupid.

I can only attribute our stupidity to some lingering fuzziness from Sam's birthday bar bonanza the night before, because now when I remember that I set out on a seven hour hike, two and a half hours of which involved summitting a 1600 meter mountain in the blistering ozone-less sun without any sunscreen or much water but with a nalgene full of Jameson hot toddy while in a state of supreme dehydration, I'm still kind of dumbfounded.

The tramp up was BRUTAL. Over two hours of switchbacks that seemed to go straight up and never end. The-top-is-just-around-the-bend syndrome. My calves were screaming, my throat was parched, and I whined the whole way that it was worse than the marathon. It really was. But...

The top had this view:

And the way up and down had these sheep, everywhere:

Totally worth it, and a pretty top-notch way to spend Christmas morning.

When we got back, after making Christmas phone calls home, everyone feasted at our giant hostel barbeque, a bunch of orphans huddled together around sausages, crepes, enchiladas, and fritters. The pie, though slightly undercooked on the bottom because I have yet to truly understand conversions to celsius paired with ovens with settings in Italian, was still quite tasty.

Before leaving Wanaka, I did make it out to Puzzling world. Which was, indeed, puzzling. Got stuck in the maze for over an hour and sprained my brain on all the enigmas, but that's another story...

Regardless, Merry Christmas to all (and to all a good night...)!

Wanaka, Continued

2010-12-26T21:48:00.000-08:00

From the moment I arrived in Wanaka, I was in love. For one thing, the sun was shining, which, as you may have gathered, has been a bit of a rarity during my trip. It was windy, but there was glorious blue sky, serious mountains, and a picturesque lake all laid out before me. This first photo is on the bus ride in.

The YHA hostel was also awesome--hands down the best place I have stayed in so far, with clean rooms, homey lounge, a huge kitchen, and a spectacular view. When I saw Sam and Leanne, my friends from Nelson, I knew it was going to be a good Christmas. And when, an hour after arriving, I found a farmer's market a block away with peonies, new potatoes, and sweettart cherries, I was in heaven.

The first night, I joined Sam and Leanne for a movie--Eat Pray Love (yeah, I know, haha...)--at this kitchy little theater called Cinema Paradiso. You sit on old couches and car seats, have dinner half way through at intermission, and bring wine and homemade ice cream on in with you. The way all movie theaters should be! The next day was Christmas Eve and also Sam's birthday, so we celebrated with cake and champagne first thing in the morning.

And then...

I WENT SKYDIVING. My tandem jumper was Adriano from Brazil, and on the way up we chatted and went over instructions. He had a bit of a thick accent, so I was convinced I had misunderstood everything and would jump to my death. I didn't have too much time to get nervous though, because in no time, we were up at the jump site. But as I watched the two people before me nonchalantly topple out of the plane I finally thought...Oh. Shit. Then we were scooching over and I was hyperventilating and my mind went blank and I forgot everything Adriano had told me and I thought he'd count to three or ten or say "Ready" or SOMETHING...but he didn't. He just leaned forward and we fell out of the door of a plane 12,000 feet up and for two whole seconds I thought only:

That's it. I'm going to die now.

And then it didn't even feel like falling. For the rest of the 45 second freefall it just felt like staying in one place with really fast, really cold wind surging up past me. The ground didn't even seem to be getting closer. Then Adriano released the parachute and everything was lovely. Views like I can't describe over Lake Wanaka and Mount Aspiring and Mount Roy. I felt like I could see the whole world. Incredible. Because I am cheap, I didn't spring for the video or disc of pictures, but I do have this supremely awkward photo of me post-jump to share for your viewing pleasure:

When I got back, I made pie (my hands were still shaking from the adrenaline three hours later, and pitting cherries was a hilarious task), and then we got a big group together to go out for Sam's birthday. Great to meet so many people from so many different places. My friends here are American, British, German, and French. Fast travel also promotes fast friendships. What a great group to spend the holidays with!

Franz Joseph Glacier

2010-12-26T19:30:00.000-08:00

For the trip down to the glaciers, I joined up with Greg from Connecticut and Jason from California. I'd met Greg while we were both drenched in Abel Tasman, and Jason was coming from weeks of surfing in Raglan when we chatted him up on the bus.

We had hoped to join a group to hike up on the Franz Joseph Glacier, but alas, more rain. Instead, we decided to take a self-guided walk as close as we could get to it, which was around 1500 feet away because of the flooding and probability of river surges.

The walk to the glacier--around 5k--was pretty amazing itself. We crossed this dire-looking river of gray, surging water, with huge chunks of the glacier floating on by us. We each stuck a hand in to test it. Cold enough to kill you within a few minutes. We walked through a rainforest along the highway. Crazy.

And then...there it was. Even in the rain, even so far away, even having receded a crazy amount in the last 100 years, the thing left all of us speechless. Well, okay, we all said, "woahhhhhh." Truly magestic and huge and a shattering testiment to how miniscule we humans really are. Franz Joseph glacier is currently receding, and that's in response to the amount of snowfall it received five years ago--which is pretty impressive, considering it takes most glaciers at least 15 years to respond. We hung around for almost an hour just staring at it.

The rain had been big and sloppy, but not unpleasant, just long enough for us to get a good look at the glacier, and seeing we were satisfied, Mother Nature decided to really let loose shortly afterward. It was much colder by the glacier--no tropical downfall like I'd seen in Abel Tasman--and pretty soon the wind really picked up, too. This was probably the most severe weather I've ever been out in. We were completely doubled over against a wicked* headwind, the icy rain needling into our faces. Again, nothing was waterproof.

Miserable, Greg and I ended up hitching** back with a lovely Spanish couple who took pity on us. Jason was more adventurous and kept exploring the trails in the rain. On the way back, we pumped ourselves up with talk of hot showers, a dip in the hot springs, and chucking our wet clothes in the dryer. HA! Instead we got back to the hostel to find the power out, and commiserated with wine and other damp backpackers.

Unfortunately, I couldn't stay another day, and I left Greg and Jason to their own adventures, as I was headed to Wanaka for Christmas. I do wish I could've gotten up on the ice and trudged through those mystical blue caverns, but the view from afar had it's own sort of appeal, and was worth it anyway.

*Wicked? Clearly I've been hanging around the Brits and the Kiwis for too long.

**Don't worry! Hitching, weirdly, is actually really safe and incredibly common in New Zealand. It's usually tourists who pick other tourists up, but Kiwis often oblige, too. Don't think I'd ever do it alone, but with a guy it was easy.
***That last image was of the glacier from the bus as I was leaving.

Wanaka

2010-12-23T15:00:00.000-08:00

Longer post later, but just a quick note to say that I am in Wanaka and never want to leave. It really is the most beautiful place on Earth. Went to the farmer's market, just jumped out of an airplane at 12,000 feet, and will be spending Christmas here with Sam and Leanne--the awesome Welsh girls I met in Nelson. Life is good.

Abel Tasman Coastal Track

2010-12-19T02:14:00.000-08:00

I've really had some comically bad weather for hiking.

I set out from Nelson for the Abel Tasman Coastal Track on Friday. It's one of the Great Walks, so you have to book the huts ahead of time, and since it's the holidays and the busiest time of year, the two huts that were left were very far apart, and I had to do the track in two and a half days instead of the suggested four. When I heard that it was supposed to rain ALL weekend, I refused to be deterred! After missing the trek in Tongariro, I wasn't going to cave to a bit of drizzle.

The hike began at 9am. The first thing I learned: water resistant is not even close to water proof. I was absolutely drenched within ten minutes. Fortunately, it's summer here, so I was only wet and not cold and wet. And once I was soaked, I didn't mind the rain so much. The whole track was still really beautiful, way up in cliffs and forest along the coast, and because of the rain, I hardly saw anyone else. I've found that I feel a lot less lonely by myself in nature than I do in cities; New York has often felt like the loneliest place in the world, but in the woods I'm fine.

I listened to The Hours and A Single Man soundtracks for part of my seven hour tramp through the downpour, which added a certain drama to the whole endeavor. Phillip Glass can make even squatting to pee feel epic.

I met some wonderful people in the huts--lots of Swiss and Germans and Kiwis--and we played Uno until late into the night (okay, until about nine, when it got dark and we all hit the sack). I also met a really sweet newlywed couple from London who I shared a beer with at an upscale cafe that randomly appeared in the middle of the track--hoping to see them again at Doubtful Sound in January.

The second day was sunny (apparently New Zealand's weather predictions change as regularly as Michigan's) and ideal for hiking. After a few hours out, I had some time to kill so that I could make the river and estuary crossings at low tide (there were four), so I lounged on the beach. After twenty minutes of not seeing a single soul, I swallowed my usual embarrassment and went skinnydipping in Tasman Bay, with penguins and fur seals looking on disapprovingly. Living la vida loca* here! It's known as "the gold coast" because granite deposits turn the sand a rich bright gold (through a process that Emily Elert could probably explain far more clearly than I...).

The wildlife was out in full effect throughout the track. I had bellbirds and warblers singing their little hearts out, I nearly stepped on a possum (an opposum?) that reared back on his hind legs like a tiny bear and hissed at me, and I realized a second too late that I was very near some oyster catchers' babies, which resulted in the parents chasing me out in a flying frenzy, latching onto my backpack and trying to peck me to death. It was straight out of Hitchcock*.

Day two, though sunny, was a super long hiking day (eleven hours), so the ol' legs are really getting the work in before Everest. The last four hours were less fun, mostly because it was on a poorly-marked path through dark forest, and I didn't see another soul the whole time. And the last hour was misery as more storm clouds moved in with the quickly-approaching dusk and I had no idea how much further I had to go. I also started seeing what I believed to be a trail of blood, but which might've been berry juice. Of course I took this to be an ominous sign. If it was in fact blood and not berries (too dark to tell for sure), the sign was probably "Hey! I'm a friendly hiker with a nosebleed who is just ahead of you. Congrats--you're headed in the right direction and we're in this together!" But naturally, I took it instead to mean "Hey! I am a crazed killer who is leaving the blood of my last victim as a warning: you're next!" I felt like Ralph from The Lord of the Flies,* and had horrific visions of a stick sharpened at both ends.

Of course, I did finally make it, never learned the source of the dark fluid, and then hiked out in the rain again this morning. I met a nice American from Connecticut on the bus back, and we might travel together for awhile (would be great to have company), and I'm back in Nelson, blessedly dry and squeaky clean at last.

*Note: When left to their lonesome in the wilderness for a relatively long period of time, I'm sure many people spend their time pondering philosophy and the meaning of life. I seem to instead spend my time meditating on pop culture. Hrm.

**Note #2: All photos taken early in second day during good weather!

Tongariro and Wellington

2010-12-18T22:53:00.000-08:00

I bussed from Auckland to Tongariro National Park on Monday with the intention of doing the Alpine Crossing (an eight-hour hike that is, by most accounts "the BEST day hike in New Zealand." Unfortunately, after a three month drought, Tuesday the heavens opened up and it poured all day. I stayed at a great lodge that was nearly empty and just worked all day.

Side note: I've spent a lot of time bussing back and forth across the country and imagined it would be sort of a necessary annoyance. Surprisingly, I've actually enjoyed every bit of it. Public transit is incredibly well-run and pleasant here, and instead of reading and sleeping as I imagined I would, I've spent hours with my face glued to the window taking in the scenery, which is beautiful and varied. Five minutes out of the city center, and you have hundreds of sheep, cow, and alpaca farms, then forests that rival the redwoods, then almost desert, then mountains and jungle. It's pretty incredible; the bus drivers have the best job in the country.

Since Wednesday was sunny and my bus didn't leave until 1pm, I decided to get up at 6 and get some good hiking in. I just did a few short jaunts on tracks near the lodge, but it was well worth it. In five hours, I managed to take in a couple rivers, several serious waterfalls, and both Mt. Ruapehu (with its snowy peaks--the picture doesn't nearly do it justice) and Mt. Ngauruhoe (Mt. Doom to Lord of the Rings fans). The Kiwis love to make tourists try to pronounce those mountain names!

I only had one night in Wellington, sadly--it was clearly a super sweet city--so, feeling a bit lonely and homesick, I decided to go out on the town before catching the ferry in the morning. Never have I had a worse idea. You will never feel like a sadder sap than if you head to a bar to drink alone while listening to live folky ballads. Take it from one who knows.

Then it was on to the South Island, where I spent the first night in Nelson salsa dancing with some hilarious Welsh girls. Nelson is wonderful and I'll be spending a few more days there to recoup.

Give/Take

2010-12-18T22:43:00.000-08:00

After almost two weeks on the road, I've already reassessed the items in my pack for function and weight. Jenn Yeomans, you were so right--you find that you really do need very little.

Thrown Away/Given Away/Sent Home:
2 cotton t-shirts (smelly fast, WAY too long to dry)
cotton tank (stretched beyond recognition)
synthetic tank with built-in bra (most uncomfortable item of clothing imaginable)
shoulder bag
glasses
mini moleskin
dry shampoo
peppermint bark (ate half, but it made my whole bag smell minty sweet)

Lost:
dashing red pashmina scarf (left on bus)
two more toenails (down to five now; six weeks later and the marathon is the gift that keeps on giving)
appetite
inhibitions

Bought:
day pack
merino t-shirt
merino tank
food storage containers

Wish I Had:
actual rain gear instead of a wind shell
waterproof hiking boots
sports bra

Love More Than Anything:
Zaphod, the Bro Haven (little mouse from Dana)
quick drying, light-weight hiking pants
awesome braided laundry line
red lipstick!

It's been amazingly difficult trying to figure out what to do about food while on the road. I want to eat healthy, and I don't want to constantly be eating out (NZ is REALLY expensive), but it's difficult when I'm constantly moving and can't keep leftovers refrigerated. I keep buying one thing at a time and eating it for days; I spent three days only eating boiled eggs, two eating broccoli, and four surviving on mostly bagels. I'm kind of sick of the whole thing and have actually started just replacing meals with protein shakes and trail mix because it's easy. Seriously depressing. Ideas?

Auckland

2010-12-11T15:56:00.000-08:00

I don't know where to start. It's only been a couple days, but I feel like I've been gone for months already. Actual travel details are pretty boring, so I'll spare you. The trip over can be summed up thus: slept for 20 hours, arrived at hostel, slept for another 5.

Now when I'm awake, I feel like I'm sleepwalking, so Auckland's taken on a twinge of the surreal. Rather than fight jetlag, I've just been keeping ridiculous hours, going to bed around 8pm and waking up at 4am. I have barely spoken to anyone in three days. Though I can fake being gregarious fairly well for short periods of time, when left to my own devices I realize I don't actually like to talk all that much, especially to strangers, and I worry a bit about just turning into a total hermit while on the road. I imagine I'll get over it when I start to get lonely.

As long as hostels are cheap, I don't care too much about the accomodations, but staying in them has made me feel like a washed up old lady. Since most of the Western world encourages a gap year after high school, almost all of my comrades are 18-20. Let's just say I've had a glimpse of popov flashbacks from freshman year and woke up this morning to my ceiling shaking in time to drunken moaning. Ah, youth! It's been interesting. Today is rainy, so I'm inside booking stuff and catching up on some work. Looks like I'll be down to the South Island by later this week.

Biggest surprises so far have been how capable and confident I feel (starting off in an English speaking country definitely helps, and with a little patience, most everything feels manageable), and how annoying loading and unloading my backpack has already become. It seems every time I get the thing done up, I need something that's buried right in the middle. I need to come up with a better system, or else ditch half of my stuff.

Also, despite the complexity of this trip, I've already started to realize I won't be able to sustain constantly being on the move for long. I've never visited any of these countries, so my tendency is to want to see everything I can, but I think it's probably necessary for me to find a home base in each place, instead, even if it means I miss a lot of the "must-sees." A Kiwi told me that "Auckland is the armpit of the country!" I don't know if I buy that, since it's still pretty gorgeous, but it made me laugh because that is exactly what my dad says about Ohio.Auckland has everything you could need, but I think I might need a base in greener (literally) pastures. Goal: find a sheep farm.

Yesterday I took a ferry to Waiheke Island ("Wa HEH keh," according to the Kiwi who corrected my "Wehiki"...and then asked me to accompany him home). Waiheke looks like Hawaii (or what I imagine Hawaii looks like, based on 5 seasons of LOST) crossed with Italy: imposing cliffs, rolling, vibrant greenery, tropical plants, turquoise water, and lots of vineyards. I spent the day reading in the sun, reapplying sunscreen religiously to combat the ozone hole (Kiwis have the highest skin cancer rates in the world), and sampling wine at the vineyards. Definitely a nice day to recoup. Also, it's true that New Zealanders are the nicest people on the planet. I asked a girl manning an ice cream booth in the middle of nowhere if I could find internet anywhere nearby, and she offered up her laptop.

I'm reading On The Road, which is both contributing to my excitement and vague homesickness (teared up when I heard that awful Kid Rock song about Northern Michigan--ha!). Kerouac feels very appropriate, regardless. "I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future."

More to come, I'm sure...

Down to the Wire

2010-12-02T06:17:00.000-08:00

Wow. So much to do, so precious* little time.

I am trying to get as much work done as possible before I go, but my head is a-jumble with a screeching that can only be described as a high-alert stress sound reminiscent of a rape whistle (included in my headlamp, BTW), and it is blocking out all other coherent thoughts. Since no one is home, I thought it would help to just scream for a minute to sort of, you know, clear out my system and start fresh. It didn't, but I did succeed in scaring the crap out of the cat. Stella is not amused.

In short, I'm starting to panic a bit.

Tonight will be spent with the sisters, tomorrow morning Ad arrives, the weekend is wedding and friend-tastic, and then I'm back in New York for two days until departure. Which means I have to do last minute errands, complete all necessary work, do laundry and have all of my things of value squirreled away where the sisters won't be able to locate them for eight months...by this afternoon.

I've been going to bed late and getting up at 5:30a for many days to squeeze it all in, which I guess will help me avoid jet lag on Wednesday as I sleep through the whole 5+13 hour flight. (Who am I kidding? I can sleep anywhere, anytime anyway. I am a sleep champ.)

But! I'm already completely packed, and it all fits into a carry-on-sized backpack and a small messenger bag. Behold:

My hiking boots are even in there! So are my jeans! And my lightweight cooking pot! Osprey bags coupled with Eagle Creek stuff sacks are a truly magical combo. It also helped that, due to your suggestions, I cut the number of clothes in half and left out a few other things, like the stove and bug spray (list has been updated, as such). Honestly, I haven't been bitten by a mosquito in YEARS, and I've got $700 worth of anti-malarials stashed, anyway. Shudder.

I've started saying goodbyes, which has been strange because it doesn't feel real at all. How will I not see Gina until her wedding in September? I can't believe when I hug my grandmother and say "See you next August," that that can possibly be the case. Or my parents. I'm already getting weepy. I know... me, weepy? Ha.

I am almost 28-years-old, but my family is super big on traditions, and this is the first time in my life I won't be with them on Christmas. That means no How the Grinch Stole Christmas read-aloud ("Dahoo Doris, fahoo Forest, welcome Christmas, Christmas cheeeer!"); none of Dad's famous hors d'oeuvres, wine, blaring Christmas tunes, and ornament hoarding while we decorate the tree (drunk Santa must be positioned to look as pathetic as possible, while the hanged baby needs a prominent position); and no new shot at finding the hidden pickle. Not to mention Christmas Eve dinner and the elaborate who-can-open-presents-slowest competition. Mom gave me my yearly supply of peppermint bark already since I won't be around. I usually wolf down the entire tin as soon as it's out of my stocking, but I'm trying to ration it out so I can have some Christmas morning and feel a little closer to the fam (even though Santa will come a day ahead of time in New Zealand).

Okay, I guess I can't complain too much, though. I still can't believe it's even possible for me to do something like this--something a lot of people wait their whole lives for. And despite the vague melancholy at leaving everyone I love to go so far and for so long, despite the daunting task of tackling so many new places alone and navigating through cultures in which I don't speak the language, more than anything, really, I'm so freaking pumped! Six days! Ahhhhhhh!

*Note: whenever I use the word "precious"--which is rarely, mind you--I think of Gollum. Every. Single. Time. Damn you, Tolkien.

Round the World Packing List/Check List

2010-11-19T07:57:00.000-08:00

With fewer than three weeks left until I take off for 13 countries in eight months on my round the world solo trip, I'm getting down to the nitty gritty. I just notified the bank, scheduled a final doctor's appointment, called H&R Block, and picked up my anti-malarials. I have my final pack list and all the items that need to fit inside my carry-on-sized backpack, so I feel like I could take off at any moment. Scary! Now I've just got to find time to finish ongoing jobs and spend as much time with friends and family as possible.

Here are my Packing and Before You Go odds and ends lists, if anyone is interested. Let me know if I'm missing anything, or if I should definitely leave something behind. Looking to shave off ounces wherever possible. (Note: will pick up heavier stuff for hiking Everest and Kilimanjaro along the way.)

Important Documents:
passport
debit card
2 credit cards
10 extra passport photos (for visas)
copies of above and birth certificate
copies of e-tickets
travel insurance info
small amount of cash

Clothing:
2 long sleeved shirts
2 tee shirts
2 tank tops
1 button-up camp shirt
jeans (despite weight and slow-drying time)
hiking pants
1 dress
1 pair of shorts
hooded fleece
lightweight sweater
lightweight cardigan
Northface waterproof windbreaker
long underwear bottoms/leggings
bathing suit
7 pairs of wicking undies
regular bra, sports bra
1 pair of low cotton socks
2 pairs of hiking socks
bandana
pashmina scarf

Shoes: kick-arounds
hiking boots (Mom's Merrells)
flip flops

Toiletries:
2 oz shampoo
2 oz conditioner
2 oz anti-frizz
body wash
toothbrush/toothpaste/floss
razor
deodorant
face lotion/face sunscreen
sunscreen
extra contacts
contact solution
nail clippers
make up (mascara, eyeliner, tinted chapstick)
sample of perfume (a luxury, but is a pick-me-up sometimes)
ear plugs
divacup
bobbie pins, elastics

Misc:
small pack of tissues
antibacterial gel
large quick dry towel
headlamp
silk sleep sheet (pricy, but supposedly worth it)
carabiner
sunglasses
neck pouch
Pacsafe portable safe
TSA approved combination lock
luggage tag
laundry soap/mini clothesline/universal sink plug
deck of cards
mini pot/tupperware/spork
steripen (to avoid pitching hundreds of plastic bottles)
nalgene
fake wedding ring (as discouragement)
protective charm Dana gave me when she was 12
2 energy bars

Med kit:
6 Ibuprofin (pain, fever)
6 extra strength Tylenol (headache)
6 Benadryl (allergy)
6 Dayquil (cough, cold)
Cipro (traveler's diarrhea)
Malarone (anti-malarial)
anti-itch swab (after bite)
3 rehydration packets
Bacitracin
band aids in various sizes
gauze
medical tape
moleskin (blisters)
steri strips
skin glue
duct tape
sharpee
safety pins
mini sewing kit
rubber bands
lighter

Electronics:
netbook (+ charger, case)
ipod (+ charger)
digital camera (+ charger, extra battery, 16 GB SD card, 4 GB SD card, otter box)
phone (+ charger, SIM card)
Skype headphones
flash drive x2
universal adapter
watch with alarm

Bags:
Osprey Kestrel 48 backpack (comes with rain cover)
Pacsafe laptop bag/daypack
Eagle Creek stuff sacks
ziplock gallon bags
ziplock quart bags
large trash bag
toiletry bag

Books/Writing:
pen
moleskin notebook
moleskin info book
guidebook
2 reading books
mini colored pencil set
talking items (pics of family/friends, MI/NYC postcards)

What I did before I left:
- Dentist/Doctor/Gyno check ups
- Immunizations for Cholera, Yellow Fever, Typhoid, Hep A/B (had already had Polio, Measles, Mumps, Rubella, Tetanus/Diphtheria boosters)
- Gave my dad power of attorney so he could handle signing contracts, cashing checks, filing taxes, and monitoring my bank accounts/bills
- Made a folder for Dad to help with the task
- Made sure my passport would be up-to-date at least 6 months past my travel dates
- Notified banks and credit cards of my travel plans
- Had my phone service suspended
- Scanned important docs to save in an online vault
- Checked the travel advisory for countries I planned to visit
- Copied key information from guidebooks into moleskin info journal so I could carry less
- Set up an international phone service
- Got addresses of friends who wanted mail
- Set up a blog/flickr account/Skype
- Set up car/pet care
- Paid any bills in advance
- Set up auto-transfer of money from Savings to Checking each month, to stay on-budget
- Got travel insurance
- Confirmed flights
- Started eating small portions of meat (after being veggie for 10 years) to get my digestive system in shape should I have to/want to eat meat in local cuisine
- Got a HI (Hostels International) membership
- Set up parts of the trip that needed booking in advance (flight from Auckland to Christ Church, hiking Everest Base Camp, Elephant Sanctuary in Thailand...)
- Made a list of important phone numbers/addresses in case of emergency (US Embassies, Amex global assist, etc.)
- Read up on safety, scams, climate, culture, etc.
- Figured out a plan for continuing to work while traveling

My first marathon!

2010-11-18T18:09:00.000-08:00

On Sunday, November 7, I ran the ING NYC Marathon, a distance that seemed impossible to me even a month ago. I trained for 16 weeks following (or trying to follow) Hal Higdon's Novice Marathon Training Program--I admit I slacked a bit at the end. But I did it! And it was one of the best, and definitely hardest, both mentally and physically, things I've done in my life.

I had been sick since the Tuesday before, nursing a nasty head cold, and I was also worried about a bruised tailbone I'd suffered from getting my foot stuck in the toilet and hitting my butt on the tile floor (but that's another story...). On Friday, I was getting seriously worried I'd have to back out, but by the Groundwork pep rally and carb-loaded dinner on Saturday, with the help of copious amounts of Dayquil, Airborne, Zicam, kombucha, ginger tea, and sleep, I was feeling a lot better. It also probably had a lot to do with Ad babying me and Dana flying 700 miles to cheer me on!

Sunday morning I felt surprisingly good and totally ready to tackle the thing. Instead of just wanting to get it over with (the way I'd felt days before), I was REALLY excited about seeing all of the boroughs, experiencing the camaraderie of the runners, and feeling the real strength and power of my body. With a forecast of 51 degrees and sunny, it was also absolutely perfect running weather.

For breakfast, I had a salt bagel with peanut butter and banana, a gatorade, and a coffee. At 5:45am, I set off in my hot pink throw-away sweats, armed with tissues tucked into my shirt sleeves for my still-runny nose. I didn't see ANYONE in running gear on the C train, and started to get really worried I was headed the wrong way, but at Chambers Street I finally found a huge cohort of marathoners and followed them to the ferry. The next few hours seemed to fly by as I stretched, drank an obscene amount of water, and got to my corral. I made a friend there named Erin. She was around my age and running her first marathon alone as well, and we bonded over strategies and nerves. Then, at 10:40am, it was finally time to start.

Erin and I surged over the Verrazano Bridge together. It was an incredible rush (I'd never been to Staten Island before), and clothes were flying left and right like colorful flags. I was practically sprinting through miles 1 and 2, despite warnings to conserve energy, but soon I waved Erin on--she was much faster than I was!

Erin had warned me to keep to the middle of the bridge since people pee off the sides, and I have to admit I wished I was a guy about half way across, my bladder already bursting from all the gatorade, coffee, and water I'd slugged before the start. I didn't have to wait too long, though--a water station and porta-potties were set up at mile 3, and pretty much every mile after that.

Running up the streets in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn was a great way to start the race. Lots of vibrant music, and the crowds felt really intimate. I ran behind "Bob from Jersey," who was carrying two American flags, for a long time, and let me tell you, people LOVE Jersey! I laughed when I saw a sign that said "You're almost there! Only 21.5 miles to go!" I was feeling great, and that feeling just grew as more and more people were yelling my name. It felt like all those people were out there cheering just for me.

My former coworkers, Alvina and Sarah, were the ones who initially got me running, starting with the Chase Corporate Challenge 5k three years ago. I remember watching them run the NYC Marathon in 2006 and being totally in awe of their accomplishment. I was convinced I would never be capable of such a feat, but they were so encouraging, insisting anyone could run a marathon if they trained for it.

I reread Alvina's marathon blog post a few weeks ago for motivation, and took her advice (and Rose's before her) to write my name on my shirt. I'd also gone with my cousin, Cullen's, call to "dress like a superhero so you'll feel like a superhero." Standing in front of the mirror at 5am that Sunday, I was having doubts and feeling a bit self-conscious about the neon yellow shirt and huge black letters spelling my name. In all probability, I was going to spend the day sweaty, in serious pain, and with facial expressions ranging from scowl to suicidal. Did I really want to essentially wear a flashing sign saying "LOOK AT ME"? Turns out, yes. At times, people shouting my name was the only thing that kept me going!

I unexpectedly saw Elliot in Park Slope at one of the water stations. He was the first person I knew, and I was thrilled and totally shocked to see him, since I didn't think I'd be able to pick anyone out on the sides of those very wide streets!

By Clinton Hill I was really hitting my stride. It was great to be back in the familiar territory of my old neighborhood, and the dance parties along the Lafayette sidelines were epic. And of course dear friends were waiting for me there. Karl, Amy, Sharon, and Jon were great motivation, and were also able to take my gloves and ipod shuffle off my hands. (I should've listened to Ad--headphones were an absolute nuisance.)

The first 12 miles flew by! I was averaging 9-9:30/min miles--WAY under my training pace--without even feeling winded, and smiling from ear to ear. I saw Serena and the Groundwork crew in Bed Stuy shortly after. Team Groundwork raised over $26,000 for leadership programs for kids in East New York and Bed Stuy, and it was thrilling to be a part of that effort.

Ad, Dana, Bryn, Neil, and Kari were waiting for me among shrieking hipsters in Williamsburg, and I stopped long enough to slather my mouth (and most of my face) in vaseline, pose for a picture for Dana to send to Mom and Dad, and shriek "I can't slow down! I really need to slow down!" Turns out I didn't need to worry, because slow down I certainly would.

I loved Queens, but I might be biased by the fact that I was given a fist bump, a banana half, an orange, a cookie, and a hug all within five minutes of entering the borough, right when I needed it. And the jam bands were seriously out of control! So were the firefighters all in a line giving high-fives.

When I hit the dreaded Queensboro Bridge at mile 15--a very steep mile, made more harsh with the sudden silence of no cheering crowds for the first time in the entire course--I started to feel a twinge in my lower right leg, but I tried to shake it off and breathe into it, sure it was just temporary.

What they say is true: turning onto First Ave, with the people on the sidelines ten rows deep, was so inspiring. But the pain in my leg was getting rapidly worse, pulsing through shin, ankle, and now knee, so it felt like a long, straight road to hell. I still don't know what went on there--I hadn't had any trouble with that leg in any of my training runs, and it didn't take long to feel better in the few days after the race, either. Regardless, I was pretty miserable, and started counting down the streets until mile 18.5, where I knew I'd see Ad, Dana, Bryn, and Neil again. I needed a familiar face. A hug and a kiss and a bit of encouragement. Thirty blocks until Ad and Dana. Ten. Five. When I finally reached them, I downed my first goo, said "I'm not in as good of shape as I was last time you saw me," and then braced myself and got going.

There were a lot of Achilles teams--able-bodied runners flagging others with disabilities that made it tough for them to complete the race alone (blindness, a bad heart...). I ran behind a man with a leg amputation for a bit, and felt so inspired and grateful that I started to enjoy every second I could keep going.

Getting into the Bronx was a huge relief, because I knew there was no way I'd quit now. The crowds were enthusiastic, and I probably got more "GO JILL!"s and "You can do it, girl!"s at mile 20 than anywhere else. And boy did I need it. 20 was my longest training run, and those extra 6 miles were truly brutal. I didn't ever hit "the wall," exactly, but by then my whole right leg was absolutely throbbing, a blister was getting serious on my left heel, and I was just exhausted. But there was no stopping, and I even avoided water stations for fear I wouldn't be able to get going again.

Harlem was full of music, loud cheers, and really excited little kids handing out gatorade. One of the best parts of the course for me, for sure, especially since I was in the home stretch. Memorable signs on the way down 5th Ave included "Who needs toenails?", "Chuck Norris never ran a marathon!", "Your feet hurt because you're kicking so much ass!", and "Just finish your f*cking race!" That last one, in particular, really hit home.

By the time I got to Ad, Dana, Bryn, and Neil for the last time at mile 23 (they were all over the city that day!), I was in pretty rough shape. I teared up as I limped toward them, but didn't stop for a hug because I knew I'd never get going again if I stopped for even a second. I think I whimpered something like "I'm going to die here" to Dana as I passed. I believed it at that point.

The last 3 miles were slow, uphill torture, but the crowds were seriously going crazy! A man who had to be at least 80 sprinted past me in that final stretch, and I tried to push my legs to follow his example, but I didn't have much left in me. I thought about walking (or just quitting entirely) constantly, but someone was screaming my name and words of encouragement literally every ten feet. It really helped. And as I rounded that last curve and passed the 400, 200, and 100 meter signs, it suddenly all felt worth it.

Getting handed that medal and Mylar cape after I crossed the finish line was as incredible as I'd imagined it would be, and tears were streaming down my cheeks. On the walk back from the finish, I ran into Peter Brown, who was waiting for his girlfriend, Gwen. Check out Gwen's awesome stop-motion video of the marathon (shot from a camera on her head) if you get a chance.

I had no time goals for the marathon. I'd estimated I'd been training at about an 11 min/mile pace, but for my first marathon, my goal was just to finish, not keel over, and run (jog) the whole way if possible. With a finish time of 5 hours and 50 seconds, I accomplished all of those goals. And looking through the Brightroom Photography photos posted online a few days later, I was proud to see I was grinning in every picture, looking like I was having the time of my life, even when it hurt, doing something I never, ever thought I could do.

Ad and co. were waiting for me after at 72nd street, and wrapped me up in warm sweats and lots of hugs. When I called my parents to reassure them I wasn't dead, Mom said, "You're done with marathons now, right?" and I said yeah, I thought one was enough. But when The New York Times posted the names of the marathoners in Monday's paper and I missed the cut by 11 minutes, I went straight to the New York Road Runners web page and put my name in the lottery for the 2011 marathon. It'll be easier the second time around, right?