"Readers are winners."

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.

Just a quick note to say

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.

Rajasthan--Ahmedabad and Udaipur

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.

India: First Impressions

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.

Updates

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

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

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.

Month One

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.

Balance

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.