tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29388480786295269232024-02-18T22:38:07.068-08:00Jordan's Travel BlogMy trip around the world!Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-60101641763821388652011-11-18T19:54:00.000-08:002011-11-18T19:49:30.626-08:00The Last One<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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It's a little anti-climatic to be writing from home. I've been busy with work and even when I was off Whistler has a sneaky way of keeping me distracted and outside away from my computer. Even though the blog has been put on the back burner for the last couple months, it's always been there in the back of my mind, nagging at me. I can't leave the story half finished! Now that winter is creeping in and the hours of daylight are dwindling I'm running out of excuses. If I'm going to finish this thing I better get a move on! So here it is, the last post, finally. . .<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful Whistler has a way of distracting me, I took this near my house on November 15</td></tr>
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I'd been putting it off, trying not to think about it since Peru. The dreaded budget. I knew I'd been spending a bit more than expected, but I'd saved enough to have a little bit of leeway. Here's a tip: always budget more than you think you will need. Things will cost more than you think they will. The prices in your guide book have inflated since the time of printing, believe me, and something will always go wrong that will cost you money. I knew all this before I left. I am intuitively good with money - how else could I budget such a trip? But now, as I stared at my banking information online I was cringing. My account balance was bleak and my credit debts high. Things were not looking good.<br />
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A mild episode of depression ensued. I couldn't afford to do much of anything, and as a result, I began to lose my way. Things were all blurring together, everywhere was starting to look the same. The absurd had begun to seem normal, the amazing was average, and everywhere I was could be compared to somewhere else better I'd already been. It's no way to travel, my normally astute observation of my surroundings was turning into indifference. Most of all, I was disappointed in myself for getting so absorbed by my own negativity.<br />
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I'm not going to lie to you, many of my last days spent in Central America were about passing the time and spending as little money as possible. There were towns I spent days in that I can barely recall except for the dingy cafe where I would sit and sip delicious Central American coffee <i>con leche</i> and leave my nose buried in a book. Finally my type-A travel personality was growing weary. I was weary.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Electrical Storm of Monumental Proportions</td></tr>
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On top if it all, things kept going wrong. I lost my cell phone in Honduras, I was almost mugged in Nicaragua, and was stuck in an electrical storm of monumental proportions while kayaking that left our group stranded and needing to be rescued. Strangely, these are the memories of my last days on the road that I now look back on and smile. <br />
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I don't want to bash Central America - people can definitely have fun and rewarding travel experiences there! The scuba diving was amazing, the small Caribbean islands were awesome, and there were some really sweet things to see and do. If you like surfing it will help, I would say it is one of the major draws there. I don't surf. If you have some change in your pocket it will be a lot better. I had none. I feel it is very comparable to South East Asia in terms of climate and landscape, where they differ is in culture. I personally liked the Buddhist culture of South East Asia better and I was at a point in my travels where my patience was dwindling and the Spanish language was starting to piss me off. But it remains a personal choice, and I'm sure there are many that will disagree with me. Who knows, if I was in Central America in a different time and mindset, maybe I would disagree with myself. <br />
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For those of you reading my story I just want you to know that you don't need to be special to undertake a trip like this. You also don't need to be overly bold, or brave, or outgoing. I am none of these things - if anything I'm quiet and subdued. What I am is restless. When I left home for the first time for a work placement in northern BC I was terrified. I thought everything would change while I was gone, that my friends would forget me, that I would regret leaving. What pushed me ahead was the fact that, as long as I can remember, I've wanted something bigger. What this big thing is I'm searching for exactly, I still don't know, but it doesn't stop me from looking. What I learned that summer was no one forgot me. . .when I returned things were much the same. I didn't regret leaving, in fact I was glad I went! Over the years since then I've put that restless energy into many different things but none of them have satisfied me. So, I think what you do need to undertake a journey such as this is a sense of restlessness. A need to search for something bigger, a pleasure in the unfamiliar, a hunger to lay your eyes on things that you couldn't ever imagine. Plus, I think you'll find the world is not so scary once you're out in it. People are born good and most of them stay that way. There is no where I have been where I haven't had to trust strangers, to put my faith in the unknown, to follow blindly. I put myself in the the hands of people far more disadvantaged than I am. Helpless and out of my element, they could have taken whatever they wanted from me, but guess what? They didn't. Of course I was scared sometimes, but I've learned to trust my instinct, and I can tell you it never let me down. You'll be surprised in the generosity and kindness of people all over the world.<br />
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As for what you will have to give up, it will be a lot. You are saying goodbye for your life for a while, sacrificing the safety of stability in favour of the unknown. You will miss the ones you love, and some days you will want a familiar person so bad you will want to pack your bags and run for home. It's often cold and lonely when you are alone in a culture and place you don't understand. But then again, the ones who matter will be waiting, and in the mean time new friends often offer you some of their warmth.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crazy, Hectic India</td></tr>
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Here's a little secret: the world is not a mysterious and unknown place beyond our shores. And please don't expect it to be. The Internet has forever ruined the mystery of travel and the modern globe is wrought with ingenuine experiences, over commercialization, and other travelers are EVERYWHERE. Despite this, travel can also be monumentally rewarding, educational, and eye opening. Just don't expect to be "the first" to be somewhere, this is not the world we live in, and in all honesty, you may think this is what you want, but you may find yourself somewhere so foreign and disorienting, you'll be seeking out and clinging to anyone and anything that is more like home. I wasn't new to international travel, I'd been all over other parts of Asia, and this still happened to me in India. It will fade, but you have to force yourself against your flight instinct to get out there, and it's not always easy. I find having a friend with you cuts the effect of culture shock in half. I never really realized this until I was alone in the unknown.<br />
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Travel is an escape from your everyday reality. We all need this from time to time, but I think people that always need to be on the move are running from something. I'm no different. I wanted to put the inevitability of being a grown-up off, just a little bit longer. I was tired choices I didn't know how to make. I didn't want to waste my life, rotting away at work and getting lost in the bubble of my daily routine. This is easy in Whistler, where we often forget there is, in fact, a real and flawed world out there. Most of all, I was running from the fact that I'd graduated university and hit a dead end, not sure where I wanted to go next and with no real opportunities in my field presenting them self. I wanted to open my eyes and mind and find a new direction. Now that my trip is at an end and reality has crept in, I'm ok with it. I'm done running. I'm exhausted from it actually. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80QDIsG5AjF_Wki97bDhu6p6llJX-2ZLKjdkRNSocfJm3MSX8s-6iIJwFZROEcSAwR1rdMY3nCWeXs392pEo_n8bEa9p0YkJUxGhyTIfQrr3C6Vq4iT1NMOve7EQpPEMS7yYmRPjltYFO/s1600/_DSC0884.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi80QDIsG5AjF_Wki97bDhu6p6llJX-2ZLKjdkRNSocfJm3MSX8s-6iIJwFZROEcSAwR1rdMY3nCWeXs392pEo_n8bEa9p0YkJUxGhyTIfQrr3C6Vq4iT1NMOve7EQpPEMS7yYmRPjltYFO/s320/_DSC0884.JPG" width="214" /></a>I thought this journey would help me to discover myself, realize what I wanted, help me plan my next move. But I'm back and things are much like they were before I left, the whole experience feels like little more than a vivid dream now that the reality of daily life surrounds me again. Have I changed at all? Sorry if I disappoint, but not really. What I've seen and done is like a little secret I keep to myself. I find it extremely hard to explain to anyone what it was like, how to share the totality of my experiences with an explanation of events or a story. I haven't even fully digested how or if this trip has changed me, but I still feel like the same person now that I'm back here. I just know more about the world and the people in it than I did before. Maybe this makes me wiser, but I don't know. I definitely feel more aware of my strengths and shortcomings, they are glaringly obvious when you are picking your way through cultures you don't understand. As for my next move, what I want. . . .Who knows. If I've discovered anything it's that I'm fundamentally indecisive. I feel like I've been taught to go for something concrete and tangible, like a science career, and when it comes to doing something abstract, like writing, with no clear way to acheive success, I have next to no confidence in the matter. Now that my science degree is beginning to feel like a useless and overpriced piece of paper, I really don't know. Maybe I should have gone with what I've always been told I'm good at. It's just getting started, I have no clue where to begin. . .<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hiking near Whistler</td></tr>
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And now I'm back in the land of pointed trees, clear, clean waters, and crisp mountain air. I get to live in a place where, once you get past the overbearing commercialism of a resort town, you can practically hear the magic whispering to you as you walk the streets. It's a little niche that is sheltered from poverty, starvation, and despair, where everything is beautiful and fun is foremost on everyone's mind. It's a place where residents are more likely to get on their bike and ride somewhere than get in their car. It's where we wish for snow rather than riches, embrace a sunny summer day more than materialism, and will put the future on hold to just live in the moment. I love living in a place where it's socially acceptable for boys to have shoulder length hair, where it's the norm for girls to wear skate shoes to their night out, and you won't get laughed at for wearing a toque in July. People from around the world are drawn here, and it's not by mistake. I'm extremely lucky I get to live in Whistler, there isn't a day that goes by that I'm not thankful. But even living in this magical place hasn't cured my restlessness. Travelling the world hasn't cured my restlessness. I'm still looking, searching, waiting for that something big. Stay tuned for my next move!<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-4056325616519125902011-07-17T16:38:00.000-07:002011-07-17T16:49:48.917-07:00Sand, Sun, and Tikal<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tulum, Mexico </td></tr>
</tbody></table>I lugged my ever heavier backpack from the airport out in to Cancun, Mexico. The airport was comfortably air conditioned and as soon as I stumbled into the untreated outside air I was pummelled with a thick curtain of humidity and heat. Instantly my skin was moist and sweat began to drip uncontrollably. I was fresh off a plane from Peru where it had been cold and the air had been earth cracking dry. Now I was worried I might float away the air was so wet. Luckily, I had 20kg of luggage to keep me grounded. Still, I found the sudden change in climate overpowering. A man with perfect English (people that speak English!!) helped me into a minivan taxi and we drove off towards Cancun.<br />
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Cancun has two parts: the hotel zone (or the 'ho zone' as we backpackers jokingly call it) and downtown. The hotel zone has the beach and all the fancy resorts. Then there's the 'real' Cancun, or downtown where the actual Mexicans live. Because I could afford it downtown, that's where I stayed, but just because it's real shouldn't imply that it's better. It's not. Downtown Cancun is basically a mini-America of concrete and fast food restaurants and a few more Mexicans about than in the US. . . Maybe. Worst of all the beach is a 30 minute drive away, which pretty much leaves nothing to do other than eat McDonalds while perusing Walmart.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Too many tourists, ruins of Tulum, Mexico</td></tr>
</tbody></table>My minivan took me through the hotel zone on the way to my hostel. I gaped at the mega-resorts we entered as we dropped my fellow passengers off for their luxury holiday. Far beyond the ho zone, I was the last to be dropped off, and I made friends with Carlos my English speaking minivan driver. We pulled up to a squat concrete hostel with enough barbed wire fencing to keep a small army from entering. SIGH. Occasionally reality sucks. I tipped Carlos (the only one in my van to do so, I might just add), rang the bell and was buzzed through the gate. <br />
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I approached the front desk: "hola or, uh, buenos notches. Umm, reservation Jordan Wagner. . .Umm una female dorm. . .or damas dorm I think. . .por favour," I attempted.<br />
"hi Jordan - yes we have you here," he answered in perfect English (clearly I wasn't in South America anymore), "but we don't have a female only dorm, it's mixed."<br />
<div style="text-align: right;"></div>I sighed, irritated. The advertisement on the Internet had specified a female-only dorm and I had sent an e-mail confirming that I would, in fact, be put in that dorm. That - along with the $10/night price tag - was the only reason I chose this hostel. Apparently they are bunch of liars around here! Let me explain, I'm not so prudish that I think males and females shouldn't bunk together, I have done so often. However, experience has taught me that I prefer a female-only dorm for 3 reasons. First of all, I am an extremely light sleeper and statistically females are less likely to snore. If there is snoring, they at least tend to do it quieter. Secondly, dorms often have mixed toilets and there is a reason why in almost every other situation bathroom activities of males and females are separated. I don't want to know what goes on in there, it's awkward, and the<b> <i>last</i></b> thing I want is to stumble in to a toilet with the seat left up and piss dribbling down the side. Yuck. Finally, most of the boys in dorms are perfectly pleasant, but occasionally I've been stuck with some creepy asshole, and I like to avoid this inconvenient situation, if possible. It appeared in this hostel, however, I wasn't going to have a choice. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My very nice hotel in Playa del Carmen</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I woke up the the next morning latish, and pushed through the heat and humidity to find some breakfast. After eating and wandering through Walmart I came back to my dorm to to grab my camera and some other stuff. It was almost 2:00pm, but there was still a man sleeping in there. He must have had a big night, I thought, as I made my way to my locker to retrieve my things, he was even sleeping through the cleaning lady busily making the beds. As I moved across the room something else came into sight: in a flaccid, wrinkled heap on the bed spread, all of this man's junk was spilling out of his boxer shorts. I clamped my eyes shut, horrified, but the damage was done. I turned to the cleaning lady with a sort of terror never before experienced, but she simply shrugged and went about her business. Poor woman, she must see this sort of thing all the time. I fought down vomit as I raged: this was EXACTLY the situation I had hoped to avoid with a female only dorm! I bet this asshole pissed on the toilet seat and snores too! I quickly retrieved my things and left the room, purposefully slamming the door as loud as I could. I left Cancun the next day.<br />
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<div style="text-align: right;"></div>Next I went to Playa del Carmen. It was, admittedly, a nice beach. It was also a busy beach with a mega-resort feel, which is not really my thing (somewhat ironically since I live in a mega ski resort, but it's just different when it comes to beaches, I want them to be pristine and empty!). I took the public bus out to the ruins of Tulum, the only Mayan site right on the ocean. I was quite possibly the hottest I've ever been as I walked the road to the park entrance. It was so roasting the heat waves had heat waves, and I picked 1:00pm to be out and about. I arrived at the ruins and discovered it wasn't only me that had braved the heat, there were hundreds and hundreds of tourists in a park not that big. A dark-clouded thunder storm was rolling in and the light and setting were amazing. Now, if only I could get a photo of the ruins without 5 dozen Americans posing in front of them. It was nearly impossible, but I managed to snap a few. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Local chilling, Caye Caulker</td></tr>
</tbody></table>In all of Central America the activity that I most wanted to do was scuba dive the Blue Hole in Belize. For those of you who don't know, the Blue Hole is a large underwater sink hole surrounded by reef. I was on Caye Caulker, an island off the coast of mainland Belize, and it was close enough to run daily dive trips to the Blue Hole. Unfortunately, I happened to be there during hurricane/monsoon season, and although there were no imminent hurricanes or monsoons, the ocean was rough enough to warrant cancelling the trip, day after day after day. I tried to amuse myself on the island, which, by the way, is awesome. It's a tiny, sand covered speck in the Caribbean - the opposite of the mega-resort. Nothing much goes on there except the palms swaying in the breeze, and I'll endorse anywhere where it's socially acceptable to do anything and everything in bare feet. While on the island I also developed an expensive addiction to shrimp. For those of you aware of my usual avoidance of seafood (yuck), I understand this may be shocking. I plan on kicking the habit when I get home though - nothing will be as good as the stuff they have here anyway. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View just before I hopped in the water, snorkelling, Belize</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Antsy to get in the water, I signed up for a sail/snorkel trip on the reefs near Caye Caulker. On my first jump into the sea I got to swim with a dugong, a large vegetarian mammal, a bit like a seal but more docile. I followed it out into the murky depths and watched as it slowly eased into the blue abyss beyond my vision. We also snorkelled with nurse sharks, sting rays, sea turtles, and all sorts of fish, but let's be honest, snorkelling is the dweeby little brother of scuba diving, and the Blue Hole was<b> <i>right there</i></b>! After waiting days, however, it seemed the diving trip was pretty much suspended for the rest of the off season. In one of the biggest disappointments of my entire trip, I had to move on before scuba diving the Blue Hole.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me at Tikal, Guatemala</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I had to follow up the Blue Hole disappointment with something good. Tikal in Guatemala seemed about right. Tikal is an ancient kingdom that was completely overgrown with rainforest after it's abandonment by the Mayans in the late 900AD. The locals around always knew it was hiding there, but it was officially excavated in the 1950s and has since become a tourist attraction. The Mayans, of course, are most famously known for their rapidly approaching dooms day on December 21, 2012. After visiting several ruins, however, and talking to the guides about this supposed day of destruction, I'm not entirely convinced. First of all, the Mayans weren't as smart as they are often made out to be. Yeah, they knew a lot about astrology <i><b>for their time</b></i> but they also thought the earth was flat, the sun and moon were gods, and that the sky was held up by giants. Clearly, they were off on a few things. Also, in Western documentaries they often fail to mention that the Mayans <b><i>didn't even believe in the end of time</i></b>. To the Mayans, time wasn't a linear, straight thing that had a beginning and an end. Their calendar was circular, in other words, when an era of time ends, another era simply starts again. One of my guides laughed at what Hollywood has done with the apparent end of the Mayan Calendar. He agreed that the the last date on the Mayan calendar is December 21,2012, but when I asked him if he thought something bad was going to happen on that day he just laughed, "it's just when the calendar ends," he said, "like at the end of this year the 2011 calendar will finish, but right away 2012 will start. Nothing really changes in the world, except that it is a new year. It is the same for the Mayans. A Mayan era is coming to an end, but another one will start right away, and on the day this happens there won't be any real change in the world. I don't think anything bad will happen, that wasn't the message they intended to give us."<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tikal, Guatemala</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So what happened to the Mayans? No they didn't mysteriously disappear into oblivion. Their societies began to fall apart after their greedy, corrupt kings began taking too much from an already impoverished people, creating civil unrest and war. Over population was a problem and there was a general strain on natural resources of the area. People were struggling for food and water. When a period of drought came to Central America much of the population did not survive, and the Mayan societies began to permanently fall apart. By the time the Spanish showed up there wasn't much left, but they did their best to destroy it anyway. Today there are still Mayans about, or aboriginals as they are now referred, but most are some combo of Spanish-Mayan mix. And there you have it, the moral of the story being we should stop shitting over December 21, 2012 and start fearing the degradation of our natural resources. That is what kills socieities, and now that we are globalised, that will probably be what kills most of us one day.<br />
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Tikal was cool, but at the risk of sounding like a total travel snob, I thought Ankor Wat in Cambodia was a titch better. What Tikal has that Ankor Wat does not is silence. There are no 8 year olds pursuing you ruthlessly to buy their post cards then giving you the finger when you don't (yes, I witnessed this at Ankor Wat). No one much is at Tikal, you can wander through the jungle in peace, then BAM you walk into an 1100 year old ruin. Pretty awesome. It was, however, the hottest day of all time on the day I was there, so after a few hours in the mind burning heat I was ready to hurl myself off of one of the pyramids. I am generally quite heat tolerant, in fact I like the heat, but there is no way around discomfort at 98% humidity and 38 degrees Celsius. BLEH.<br />
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I'm still sweating it out in Central America, but today is rainy. I have less than 2 weeks to go until my journey is at it's end. I will try to get one more blog post in before then.Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-47445164060468311842011-07-03T16:29:00.000-07:002011-07-03T16:29:57.178-07:00The Last of South America<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Arequipa</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Well, I'm going solo again. After battling through the strikes along the border to get into Bolivia, I now had to get myself back into Peru. I took a 12 hour overnight bus back to La Paz and then got stuck. The buses were all on strike, no one was going anywhere. Great. A day later I was able to get on a bus that was going to Peru. It was supposed to take 12 hours to get to Arequipa, my desired destination, but it instead took 18. Our bus was stopped on the highway by a mob of protesters that had filled the street. They had thrown a blockade of dirt and rock across the highway and no one was moving. So we sat and waited . . . And waited . . .And waited. Finally we began to creep forward, as the protesters raged, ¨No gringos! No gringos!¨<br />
Wait a minute, I'm a gringo! What did I do to deserve this! Last time I checked I didn't have much to do with mining in Peru . . . except maybe my enjoyment of their silver jewellery? Not reason enough for this! The locals on the bus advised us to duck into the aisle, and all the bus curtains were drawn closed as we inched through the strike line. I cringed, half expecting rocks and random farm implements to begin hurling through the windows. With two giant heaves our bus cleared the blockade, already mashed down by other vehicles. No foreign objects had been thrown at the bus. Freedom!<br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Back at the bus terminal in Puno more drama unfolded. It seemed the road between Puno and Cusco (a very popular route) had been completely closed by strikers. Everyone going to Cusco now had to go via Arequipa, a solid 20 hour detour. Sucks to be them. Chaos ensued as everyone scrambled for a place on the bus to Arequipa. I sat in my seat clutching my pre-booked ticket, listening to the distraught tourists wine. We finally rolled into Arequipa after midnight. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza de Armas, Arequipa</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Arequipa is a cute little colonial town with abundant churches, museums, and monasteries. Unfortunately my eyes tend to mist over at the thought of spending several days exploring these things. Booorrr-ing. I promptly booked an overnight tour of Calca Canyon. As I handed over my soles to the tour operator and signed my name on the dotted line, I was pleased to see 13 other travellers registered as well. Unfortunately, my joy was premature. I was lumped in with 6 middle aged French people (no English), 2 retired Brazilians (no English), and a Peruvian family with 3 kids under the age of 12 (annoying and no English). Now, I think I'm being generous when I say the French aren't exactly known for their friendliness, and they made little attempt to communicate with me. The kids brought a wrestling match to our minivan that included elbowing me in the head and kicking the back of my seat repetitively, and not appearing to notice or care. They only stopped the once their parents bought them noisemakers. Oh yes. Bird chirping ones. If you blew into them really hard they would screech. The kids preferred the screeching. Did I mention how much I love kids? No? That's because I don't. </div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Calca Canyon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'd confirmed that the Calca guide could speak English before I registered for the tour. With the rest of the group oblivious to the English language, however, the guide focused his efforts. He babbled on for hours in Spanish and got around to translating about 1/20th of his descriptions. The first day it didn't bother me much, I wandered around at the stops alone, learning nothing but blissfully free to explore where I liked. From the tips of the mountain tops to the bottom of the valley Calca Canyon is supposed to be the deepest in the world. However, it's not really as dramatic as other canyons, with a wide, open valley. Except for the two month rainy season, it is also extremely dry, so everything is brownish. Still, the meandering river and pre-Inca terraces are nice to look at. My enjoyment factor might have been a tad bit higher had I not been openly ignored by everyone. Midway through the first day we arrived in Chivay and were shuttled off to lunch. I was interested to see that guinea pig stew was on offer. Here's my chance to try the traditional Peruvian dish I'd heard so much about! I stirred the spoon around in search of a good piece of meat. As it turns out, guinea pig is mostly skin, cartilage, and bone. Yum. I managed to tear a small scrap off and . . .it tasted like chicken. The brown meat, but definitely chicken. Hmm. The stew was all right, but next time I want chicken, I'll just eat chicken!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Funky looking cactus, Calca Canyon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It seemed my budget price got me a far shittier hostel than everyone else on the tour. We dropped them all off first, so I got to see what I missing, and then promptly drove to the ghetto beyond the paved road where my hostel was located. The van could barely make it. There was a metal scrap yard across the way and the neighbourhood looked like it was about to crumble to the ground. Nice view. I was shown to my room, which actually didn't look so bad, maybe I'd even take a nap. I slid back the covers and several discarded hairs were still mashed to the pillow. Right. Doubting the bed's cleanliness I pulled out my sleeping bag and placed it on top of the covers. Maybe I'd skip the nap. I was shuttled to dinner that night with my group where I was sat with the French crew. They all talked happily in French and I stared at the ground. There was Peruvian music and traditional dance performances, which I almost enjoyed until the tip hat was shoved in my face, of course. I grumpily put in a few soles. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Flight of the Condor</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The next morning we were off early for more sight seeing. After a freezing night alone and not even a 'hi' from the group as I hopped into the van, I was not as perky this day. I'd come to the conclusion that everyone on my tour was an asshole. Yes, even the children. Actually, especially the children! I missed my comrades. This would be so much better if Hayley and Jess were here. Then we could ignore everyone too, and at least enjoy each other. Travelling alone can, on occasion, suck. This was one of those times. By the time we got to the flight of the condors viewing, I was irritable. I was ready to get back to Arequipa and to some friends I'd made there. I was not excited for the condors. The guide had actually got around to mentioning to me that condors have the largest wing span of any land bird in the Western hemisphere. What that basically boils down to is there are many birds the world over that are bigger than they are. They are not all <i>that</i> impressive. And they eat dead stuff? That's gross. I crowded with the swarm of other tourists gathered on the platform as the birds began their flight. They weren't that big, as I'd suspected, but they were flying close and fast. I began to take pictures, and I always get more cheerful when I have something fun and challenging to take pictures of. Before long I found myself running along the mountainside trying to get the perfect shot. Yep, it was official, I was having fun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQL7G_z0d8_RTivqqhqmb1eJerhyphenhyphen5WWJ8v7NbpuElUwl05oJgxf6rvL4ff0viidQ2kTph17UY505ibSpVFQxujJrwcREadpvAWZvo2atmYak5_k7dYcu3Y-nzrjPTJaguU-S-sWYmIU5AC/s1600/_DSC0852.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQL7G_z0d8_RTivqqhqmb1eJerhyphenhyphen5WWJ8v7NbpuElUwl05oJgxf6rvL4ff0viidQ2kTph17UY505ibSpVFQxujJrwcREadpvAWZvo2atmYak5_k7dYcu3Y-nzrjPTJaguU-S-sWYmIU5AC/s400/_DSC0852.JPG" width="267" /></a>I arrived back in Arequipa in time to get on a bus to Lima, where I would catch my flight to Mexico. I was looking forward to the 16 hour ride in the same way I look forward to dental work. The drive straddled the ocean most of the way and got my heart rate up as the bulky bus spead full speed around sharp corners perched atop cliffs that tumbled several hundred feet directly into a violent and rocky surf. I now understand why most buses run over night, they don't want their passengers to know how close they are to a painful and soggy death. Despite my terror, I was able to evaluate the South Peruvian coastline, and I can tell you it looks frighteningly post apocalyptic. The steep chunk of land that shoulders the sea is totally barren, nothing exists there except rock and sand and rubble. There isn't a even a speck of green, no sign of a living thing. I feared an unannounced nuclear disaster had taken place as we blasted past dusty and seemingly deserted villages. Only the odd string of laundry, fluttering alone in the wind, told me that people had been there recently. <br />
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Ten hours into the journey the bus was boarded by a group of cheerful American teens and their chaperones. We got to chatting and it turned out they were headed to Lima to catch the exact same flight as I was. When they discovered I planned to sleep at the airport - and take a notoriously sketchy Liman taxi to the airport alone - they were appalled. Why don't I just come and stay with them at their church, they asked, the more the merrier. I began to salivate over the prospect of a warm bed, the company of a warm tribe of comrades, and the safety of a prearranged bus. Wait a minute though . . .Church? I tensed and feared the worst. Was I about to be asked if I'd thought about my relationship with Jesus lately? I began to ponder the real cost of this 'free' bed. I inquired politely as possible what church, exactly, they were staying at. They were, in fact, missionaries, but of the Catholic sort, and not seeming at all fanatical. Well ok, I can be comfortable with that. I'm pretty sure whatever religion I am is pretty much the same thing. . .Right? I kept my religious ignorance to myself - I'm hopelessly uninformed as to who believes what these days - the point was I'd happily sit through a few prayers in return for a free bed. I'll thank the Lord for that any day! Just when I was beginning to count my lucky stars the mean pastor stepped in an vetoed the whole thing. They couldn't just invite some random girl to the church, apparently. I guess I <i>do</i> look pretty sketchy, and there were impressionable young minds at stake, but I thought God was accepting of everyone? These missionaries were horrible at selling their faith, I felt rejected. I was fed to a Liman taxi after all that. Luckily I have more street credentials than I'm given credit for. I picked a good taxi and arrived safely at the airport shortly after midnight. I spent the night on the hard floor under fluorescent lighting, but I wasn't the only one huddled there. I may have even gotten 4 hours of sleep before the hordes of morning travellers began stomping through my bedroom. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girl selling alpaca wool (with her baby alpaca in tow)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>How do I sum up South America? I really can't, but I can try to summarize my thoughts on Peru and Bolivia. Peruvians will probably be nice to you, Bolivians may or may not. Don't expect people from either country to speak English. Most people don't, even in travellers hostels and restaurants. I could have saved myself the culture shock and learned a little Spanish before I went, but I did not, and I regretted it. At first I was hopelessly reliant on Hayley to do most the talking, and then I had to swallow my dignity and attempt to speak for myself, at which I often failed miserably. I did eventually find I didn't need much to get by. I quickly learned proper pronunciation and grammar were not important, but getting my point across was. A few key words, numbers, and some creative sign language usually did the trick. Almost all people appreciate it if you try and they will not laugh at you if you crucify their language and fail horribly to communicate, which I did often. Although it <i><b>will</b></i> help if you can laugh at yourself. Believe me, it's way better to be the amusing and ignorant tourist than the frustrated and ignorant tourist.<br />
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Peru and Bolivia range from entirely traditional (and perhaps old fashioned) to verging on modern but not quite there yet. Bolivia is lagging behind Peru, and the cities are always more 'advanced' than small towns. Even so, after perusing the local markets in La Paz I came to the conclusion that everything the Western World didn't use in the 80's and 90's has now been shipped to Bolivia. Clothes, cell phones, home décor, cars, computers, you name it and it's at least ten years behind there. It is mildly amusing, except when trying to produce an online blog (or stream the NHL play-offs, in Hayley's case). Then the expired technology just becomes extremely annoying.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me amigas, Cusco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Generally I liked both countries. Specifically, I would put Cusco, the Salkantay trek (ending with Machu Picchu), and the Salt Flats tour as my top highlights. Go there, do these things! Bring your friends, it's much more fun that way. I've proven to myself I can embark on an extended journey alone - and I wouldn't be afraid to do it again - but what Peru and Bolivia have brought to my attention is that it's a lot more fun to travel with your friends! Plus you can combine talents, share expenses, and walk together down that sketchy road to the hostel at 3am. Way better! So if you are looking for an adventure and want to go somewhere with a unique culture, a fascinating history, regular fiestas, and outdoor activities abound, go to Peru and Bolivia! If you are reasonably intelligent (I take no responsibility for idiots), alert, and good humoured I can confidently say you will survive South America, and I bet you'll even like it too!<br />
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I am now in Central America blasting quickly through 6 countries on the last leg of my journey. My next blog will be from somewhere here.<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-9783165616688714602011-06-21T17:32:00.000-07:002011-06-21T17:43:13.240-07:00The Bolivian Adventure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbEbrqO5ywqliHFyQnvTW3F3cH9OYnu2tfYH9N_BPdKcFMbuxmHMprS5uqcXqSaz58OVQzfyrB3W7kS3Xrwe0scr1OXeP0TgSur8EH1C5nVMEZaYReViGeuyNRhHOSJUkmPFhvlXBx3-d/s1600/_DSC0386.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghbEbrqO5ywqliHFyQnvTW3F3cH9OYnu2tfYH9N_BPdKcFMbuxmHMprS5uqcXqSaz58OVQzfyrB3W7kS3Xrwe0scr1OXeP0TgSur8EH1C5nVMEZaYReViGeuyNRhHOSJUkmPFhvlXBx3-d/s320/_DSC0386.JPG" width="212" /></a>Jess, Hayley, and I arrived in Puno tired and hung over. Puno is a scrappy little town on the shores of Lake Titicaca. It's also the centre for the miners' strike that's been taking place along the Peru-Bolivia border. Besides its ridiculous name, Lake Titicaca is famous for being the highest commercially inhabited (e.g. more than the odd hut, there are actual towns) lake in the world, at 3811m above sea level (12000ft). After we found a hostel we hastily planned our Lake Titicaca trip and attempted to book transportation out of Puno, which was easier said than done with the strikes going on. Basically, the Peruvian miners were pissed they weren't getting paid enough, so to get the government's attention they blocked major roads, most of which have bus routes on them. This is a huge pain in the ass to those of us needing to take one of these routes, which just so happened to include me, Hayley, and Jess. So off we went for two days on Lake Titicaca not really knowing how, exactly, we were getting to our next destination. Personally, I was too hung over to care.</div></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Floating Island, Lake Titicaca</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our Lake Titicaca experience started with a trip to the floating islands. They were fairly impressive. The islands are built out of a crap load of reeds all tethered together, and yes, they do really float, you can often feel the ground sink beneath you with every step. Although real families do live on the islands, their main source of income these days comes from tourism, so it's, well, touristy. Still, it's quite a sight to see, these yellowing reed globs all bobbing merrily together. Perhaps the coolest thing about the islands is how the locals there deal with neighbourhood disputes. If a disagreement arises and you wish your pain in the ass next door neighbour would just go away, no problem! All you have to do is grab your trusty machete, cut them loose, and away they'll float! Ha! And don't worry about them too much, they'll most likely find a new island community to anchor to.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taquile Island, Lake Titicaca</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Next we arrived for our home stay on Amantani, one of the largest islands on the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca. A cute little lady in traditional skirt, shall, headwear, and braids met us at the port, and no, they don't just wear this stuff for show. In fact, all over Peru you can see the flared and ruffled skirts and rainbow coloured shawls, although less in the big cities. Ugly, in my opinion, but I'm sure they think the same thing about some of my outfits. Anyway, she led us off through the farmers' fields, past slightly disheveled cottages, and to her quaint little home with garden out front and lake view. Not bad, except for the 5 minute walk to the out house, lack of interior heating, and really, who doesn't have internet these days? We were fed and walked up to the highest peak of the island for 360 degree views and sunset. At dinner they gave the three of us the table while the family huddled around the kitchen floor, which was slightly bazaar, since there were six chairs. We tried to have a conversation, but the language barrier made things a little strained.<br />
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The next day we returned to Puno after a bit more island hopping. The strikes were in full force by the time we got back with protesters marching through the street, breaking bank windows all over town (another way to get the government's attention), and forming a full out mob in the main plaza. It made us a bit nervous, not because we thought they would turn violent, but because we had places to go dammit! Luckily we met the world's best 'travel agent', a.k.a. lady who lurks around the bus depot and smuggles tourists across the border. Now this may sound shady, but I swear to God she was the best damn person I've ever had working for me. Not only did she get us where we needed to go, but she came to our hotel room to give us minute to minute updates, scoured town looking for us when she needed to inform us of an urgent change (we were eating dinner, she tracked us down in a restaurant, in a town of over 100,000 I might add!), and was even there in the morning to make sure we were up and let us know our buses were going. She should win some sort of award for customer service, this woman. If you ever meet Betty in the Puno bus terminal, say 'yes' to whatever she tells you, and give her a hug from Jess, Hayley, and Jordan.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">La Paz, Bolivia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We had to get our passports stamped in a sketchy unidentified building by what I assume was the police the night before we left. We had to dodge protestors and rallies in the street. We had to cram into an unmarked minivan to get to the border. We had to maneuver around the rubble that still littered the road from the strikes. But for the love of God we were getting to Bolivia! Because she needed to catch her flight the next day, we left Jess with her fingers crossed that her bus would leave for Cusco. I think we unknowingly had horseshoes up our asses because we all made it to our destinations without trouble. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>And so we entered into Bolivia. One of South America's poorest nations, it is bone dry, chilly, and so high in elevation half the country is oxygen starved. There's a lush tropical rainforest too, apparently, but I didn't go there, so it's the cold desolation that remains fresh in my mind. Bolivians haven't quite figured out hospitality in the way that Peruvians have. Oh sure, they'll happily take your money, show you around, feed you maybe, but they're not going to inconvienience themselves by pretending to actually like you. I guess if I lived in such a thin aired, parched wasteland like they did, I'd be a little grumpy too. <br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Hayley in La Paz</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Our bus pushed its way through chaos as we made our way into La Paz. Traffic lurched as drivers battled for space on the road, horns were pounded aggressively. Swirls of particulates of all sorts of nastiness flew through the air as people jaywalked their way through town. As we finally dipped into the city centre I could see all of La Paz before me, a tangle of bricks clinging to the hillside, sliding their way into the valley bottom of high rise buildings. The snow capped mountains towered over the city, casting their mighty shadow over suburbia. The town itself bustles with people, crunches with traffic, and smells like exhaust mixed with fried chicken. There are cool activities to do in and around La Paz, if you have money. We didn't, so what's cool to do in La Paz if you are on a budget? Well my friends, a beer at a gringo's pub is $2. Wine is also cheap. Turns out, so is cocaine, which I heard through the commonly discussed grape vine you can buy for under $20 a gram from your bar tender. For those of you not up to speed on these things, that's dirt cheap. So when in La Paz you party, and party we did. We unfortunately experienced the most horrible bar of all time - Blue Lounge. All the hostel crowd goes there, but do yourself a favour and save yourself from the ear splitting music, hired male dancer whose signature move is the fist pump, and 40 minute wait at the bar. If you do want to go to La Paz's famous Route 36 Bar I can tell you it's not as sketchy as you might think, although expect an inevitable level of dodginess. I assume the police are being comfortably paid off to overlook the various illegal activities that occasionally (ok, sorry mom, frequently) take place there. Someone even told me the police have a share in the place, and I wouldn't be overly surprised if this were the case. Still, I have an inkling that Bolivian prison would suck big time, so party with caution. Compared to most we were almost prudishly conservative, and avoided any attention from law enforcement.</div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the salt flats</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Tiring of the urban scene and La Paz's smoggy streets, me and Hayley booked our bus tickets to Uyuni and a two day salt flats tour. We first had to survive the 12 hour overnight bus ride which was horrendously cold, long, and bumpy. A few hours after we left the La Paz the road turned to gravel and I'm pretty sure the bus didn't have shocks. You can't sleep when you are being rattled out of your seat. You also can't sleep when it's so cold the condensation on the windows is turning to ice. A girl puked in the isle, motion sick from the jostling I imagine. It added to the enjoyment. We arrived in Uyuni at 7am feeling a bit wobbly, confused to be back on solid ground, and wishing for a bed. No time for that though, we had to quickly book bus tickets, eat breakfast, and get to our salt flats tour before it started in 2 hours. <br />
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Our guides were as lovely as most Bolivians and didn't bother to introduce themselves when they picked us up in their 4x4. To be honest, I'm not even sure they said hello. We were warned that they would not speak English, we were not warned they were going pretend that there wasn't six of us crammed into their back seat. And crammed we were. The first three seats were ok, but the trunk seats were made for Bolivians, a.k.a. for someone 4 feet tall. Since all of us towered far above that, the unlucky 3 whose turn it was in the back got so crunched their knees were practically in their armpits. Comfy. The 4 foot tall guide/cook rode comfortably in shot gun, the ENITRE 3 days. <em>Bitch</em>. Maybe it was the miserable bus ride, or the grumpy guides, the shit seats, or perhaps the altitude, but I felt ill the entire tour to differing degrees of severity. The first night I got heart burn that radiated burning up my esophagus until I puked, and this has never happened before in my life. As this was not a commonly occurring problem for me I had nothing to treat it. I rummaged through my bag looking for something, anything to help. Sure that a hole was about to burn through my chest, I desperately swallowed globs of calcium enhanced toothpaste. Miraculously, it helped. Still, I barely slept for the second night in a row and I chugged 'antiacido', purchased at the hospital the next day, for the rest of the trip. I generally felt exhausted, queasy, stuffed up, disgruntled. And it was fucking cold! Wind chill of minus a bajillion, I swear. Why the hell do I sign up for this shit, I wondered, irritated. I just wanted a warm bed, a good movie, and 5 gallons of hot chocolate. I did my best to hide it and felt bad for Hayley as I feared she was with me at the unfortunate moment I was coming down with a bad case of travel burn out. On the positive side, my lack of appetite meant that I didn't have to worry about not liking the food - I wasn't going to eat it regardless.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Same truck on the salt flats, looking tiny</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10TwZtY44GjWAeBqs3vL4bHjohCIdwD2-lUcOMlz4TeHhbpd2IXPSaNkbSPCmoR-uWM4f6YRNtywQY5Es3hfvMdy3q3qcGSP0cPPHcEr8cDH98m_93pB7tq780uPrJs41KryIgnY5gseW/s1600/_CSC0860.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi10TwZtY44GjWAeBqs3vL4bHjohCIdwD2-lUcOMlz4TeHhbpd2IXPSaNkbSPCmoR-uWM4f6YRNtywQY5Es3hfvMdy3q3qcGSP0cPPHcEr8cDH98m_93pB7tq780uPrJs41KryIgnY5gseW/s200/_CSC0860.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Truck on the salt flats, actual size</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The fact that I STILL enjoyed myself and came out with a positive experience speaks to the wonder and beauty of the region. And thank you Hayley for not killing me in my bad tempered lethargy (although I thought I restrained fairly well from being a total bitch - correct me if I'm wrong). The first day we spent on the great white expanse that is the salt flat, the biggest in the world I believe. I'm not going to bore you with the details, but in short, the flats are what's left of a ginormous prehistoric lake. And is big and white and flat and, unsurprisingly, salty. So much so that your eyes don't really understand the expanse of it, things are magnified and minimized in strange ways. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Incahuasi Island with Cacti, Salt Flats</td></tr>
</tbody></table>There are also islands that punctuate the salt flats. Well, they're ancient islands, there's not so much in the way of a lake covering this part of the salt flats these days. Even in the prehistoric days the 'islands' were actually submerged corals or underwater volcanoes, so what I'm really saying is they were never actually islands at all. But they appear that way today, 'shoreline' and all. On our first day we stopped at one such island, called Incahuasi, and it was definitely a strange sight to see. Rising out of the white salt was a massive hunk of reddish rock that was entirely encrusted with massive, orange-spiked cacti. Despite feeling as if I would like to die, I couldn't help but climb to the top (I'm slightly obsessed with climbing to the top of things, I love a good photo op., and I hate doing things halfway - incase you hadn't noticed) and it was by far worth it. <br />
<br />
After a painful, esophagus burning night in a salt hotel (literally a hotel made from large, pure salt blocks) we continued south away from the salt flats. The terrain here is completely unworldly, so desolate and barren I felt as though I'd been plunked down on planet Mars. It was also painfully cold, with a cutting wind that made even a few minutes outside unbearable. We stopped at several salt lagoons, half frozen and seemingly lifeless pools of brine that were skirted with snow dusted mountains. Except for they were not entirely lifeless, flamingos actually attempt to scrape out a living here, and they must be eating something. My best guess is algae, which I assume could survive the hyper saline and ridiculously cold conditions. At certain times of year the flamingos flock to the lagoons in great numbers to breed. We were not here at this time, but you could still see a few baby pink clumps wading in the distance, bravely bearing the icy winds. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over steaming hot springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On our last day we were up and out before sunrise. The day was filled with more extraterrestrial experiences as we contemplated strange geomorphic formations, steaming geysers, bubbling hot springs, and wide desolate expanses of reddy brown earth. It was also the day that I almost killed our driver for his horrible taste in music, which he had cranked on repeat ALL DAY. Now, the Peruvians have their flute music - which is mildly annoying, especially when some kid follows you through his village attempting to play the wretched thing and then tries to demand a tip for his 'performance' (Yes, this happened more than once). But what the Bolivians have done with a synthesizer is just plain unholy. It should be illegal. Imagine, if you dare, high pitched electronic ditties reminiscent of 1990s video game music, but on crack. There is absolutely no base, and they beat is EXACTLY the same for every song, so that you're not even sure it IS a different song. All this it set against a winey Enrique Inglesias style voice - but ten times worse. At least Enrique, according to popular opinion anyway, can actually SING. These people cold not. Then imagine sitting in a SUV for hours on end, with your knees crunched to your shoulders, altitude sickness raging, and this abomination being blasted over the speakers. My normally calm, placid demeanor was wearing thin and even with earplugs, I was close to loosing my shit. I was on the edge of a loud and aggressive meltdown that involved beating the unfriendly Bolivian driver to his death. In a slightly insane last resort I instead pressed my head to the window, which with the earplugs vibrated through my skull creating a large and soothing buzz that blocked out any other noise. I took deep breaths. My Zen and sanity took a serious test out on those salt flats. </div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;">Geomorphic formations, steaming geysers, flamingo lagoons</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">It took me a few days to recover from the salt flats. I had come down with a serious cold, completely lost any signs of an appetite, and my energy levels were suffering. I needed warmth and I needed oxygen. A few days in Sucre, more than 1000m lower in elevation, was a perfect place to recover. Sucre is Bolivia's capital and is lined with pastel coloured colonial buildings and shady trees. I don't have much to say about it, because we didn't do much. We read our books on sunny benches, sipped wine, watched movies on our hostel's TV, and ate ice cream. Ahhhh. After I was on the mend we also went climbing, which was a first for me. Initially terrifying, once I learned to trust that the rope would, in fact, catch me if I fell, I had no problems scaling the cliff face. Since Whistler and Squamish are climbing meccas, this may be a hobby I take up when I get home!</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;">Then it was time to say goodbye to Hayley. She left in a taxi for her flight back home and I stood on the curb waving her off. After she was out of sight I lingered for a moment. Everything seemed quiet. Alone again. . . </div></div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-10639124792538991132011-06-09T09:25:00.000-07:002011-06-10T18:58:25.371-07:00The Girls Run Wild in Peru<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paragliders at sunset, Miraflores, Lima</td></tr>
</tbody></table>With excited squeals and a group hug Hayley, Jessica, and I reunited in the Lima airport, the three of us together for the first time in half a year. We waded together through the busy airport nearly bouncing up and down we were so excited. A few hours from now we'd be on a plane to Cusco and the girls trip adventure we'd been talking about for months was about to begin. . .<br />
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A few days prior I was alone and fighting of culture shock resulting from my extreme ignorance of the Spanish language. I literally arrived in South America knowing 'hola' and 'gracias' and nothing else. Not so smart. I was travel weary from a month of bush camping in Africa and now I was lost in a world in which I could barely communicate - it left me more than a little uninspired. But then, a few days later Hayley came bounding out of the arrivals gate, massive smile on her face and arms waving wildly at me, and it didn't matter. The girls were about to conquer Peru!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plaza de Armas, Cusco's center</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Hayley not only saved me with her glowing positivity, she also surprised me with a night at the Sheraton in Lima. Because we are employees back home we were upgraded for free and spent our 24 hours of luxury stuffing our faces with all-you-can-eat buffets and drinking free champagne and pisco sours. We explored central Lima before it was back to reality - and back to the backpackers hostel.<br />
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Lima didn't really live up to it's badass reputation for me. It's big, it's smoggy, it's somewhat shabby, but even central Lima didn't feel dangerous. Once we moved to Miraflores by the beach you could barely even tell you were in Lima, everything was clean and shiny and new. On our last evening we watched the paragliders soar along the coastline and into the fading sun. We tried to NOT watch the many couples getting it on on every park bench available. For some reason, this seems to be the thing to do in Lima!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3dL-t9zpzre947d3-_zXTiaaQ-sbrg_1UQDCcXTFDtqwBdLFaUSUKBqOL0t_hUooREK_-OIS_57129AYFepw_DNAi1-KxGoQStSdxvQxSQTigLY0QB05ugetX1OVFGp72drqwMAAjh5U/s1600/_CSC0492.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB3dL-t9zpzre947d3-_zXTiaaQ-sbrg_1UQDCcXTFDtqwBdLFaUSUKBqOL0t_hUooREK_-OIS_57129AYFepw_DNAi1-KxGoQStSdxvQxSQTigLY0QB05ugetX1OVFGp72drqwMAAjh5U/s320/_CSC0492.JPG" width="320px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Girls in Cusco, Peru</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Soon we met Jess and were off to Cusco. I had high expectations for this city and I must say they were met. Cusco's cobbled streets and stone and clay buildings have the feel of Europe for the price of the third world. It was definitely touristy, but it didn't take much of a walk past the main centre before the hawkers were gone, the buildings were more tattered, and you felt like you were in South America again. The best of both worlds, in my opinion. Cusco is also a high city, at 3400m (11150ft) we dragged our asses a bit the first day and found ourselves gasping as we hiked the steep hill to our hostel. To compensate we chugged coca tea by the gallon - which to be honest I'm not convinced actually does anything - but I guess I can't argue with 1000s of years of local knowledge, and it definitely didn't hurt.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Horseback riding near Cusco</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We warmed up for our Machu Picchu trek with and excessive amount of good food (including alpaca steaks, which were extremely delicious) and a day of horseback riding in the hills surrounding Cusco. Our guide was a cute little Peruvian who spoke next to no English and let us do pretty much whatever we wanted. With years of riding under my belt I was in heaven (unlike my terrifyingly hellish pony ride in Lesotho where I was pretty sure I was going to die). We could see the city below, painted perfectly into the valley and across the lower hills. We trotted through little villages and crumbling Incan ruins. I also finally fulfilled my lifelong dream of galloping at top speed through the open fields like a real cowgirl. Hayley followed merrily behind me but Jess was not so impressed - But what are friends for if not to push your limits and terrify you from time to time? Jess, you know you loved it and you weren't going to fall off anyway!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>With saddle sore legs (maybe all that galloping the day before a 5 day trek was poorly thought out, oops) we got up at 3:30am to make our way to the bus stop to begin our trek. We were excited to be with other people, but as dozens of gringos were herded onto the bus I got a little nervous. I thought this was supposed to be the less traveled route? The last thing I wanted was to be nose and nose with 100s of other tourists, which is why I really didn't have a problem doing the alternative trek and never setting foot on the Inca Trail. The first day was definitely a bit crowded as several trekking groups walked the trail together to the first camp, picking our way up into the hills and past the last of civilization. As the mountains peeked their white tops above the fading green hills, however, I stopped caring, and didn't take the guides long to separate us out into groups so that we were more spread out. I don't know if Jess was still traumatized from our horseback ride or if she was having trouble with the altitude, but she struggled a bit the first day. She hung in there like a trooper though, and made it to our camp on night one.<br />
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Although I was initially grumpy about so many people, once we had established our groups it wasn't so bad and, admittedly, the social factor ended up being one of my favourite parts of the trek. With Belgium, Holland, the UK, South Africa, Canada, and the USA being represented, along with the Peruvian guides and cooks, we were a truly international crew. We huddled around our dinner table the first evening and got to know each other as the chill of the night crept over the campsite. Shortly after an exhausted Hayley, Jess, and I piled into our tent and cuddled together to keep warm. Even with the body heat it was bitter cold and I buried my head deep into my sleeping bag and thanked myself for purchasing the thermals that were currently keeping me at least mostly warm. I learned my lesson after nearly freezing to death in Nepal!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Salkantay trek, 4600m above sea level </td></tr>
</tbody></table>We were up for an early start the next morning at 5am. The cooks woke us with a lovely delivery of hot coca tea right to our tent door. We sat and sipped the hot liquid in the dark, reluctant to enter into the frosty morning outside our tent. The day ahead was meant to be the hardest of the trek, not only the longest day in terms of time, but it also included the most elevation climbs and falls. We started with a steep ascent into the high mountain pass. The high elevation here made breathing difficult, I was pulling at the air as hard as I could, trying to bring as much of it into my lungs as possible, but the breaths just felt shallow and unsatisfactory. If I stumbled or lost my rhythm it literally felt like the air was being sucked from my lungs and I'd be left gasping for oxygen. Every so often though, I'd grip just the right amount of air and I could feel all the cells in my lungs licking it up, absorbing every molecule of the much needed oxygen into my tissues and sending a wave of relief over my entire body. We hiked up through the jaggedy white mountains and into the alpine, reaching our highest elevation at 4600m. The views here were stunning and the mist lifted just the right amount to expose the massive mountain tops, caked in ice and snow, as they reached into a glimmering blue sky. We paused to take a few photos, to thank Mother Earth in the Incan tradition, and to sufficiently let the searing wind freeze our sweat so that we were ready to run back down the other side of mountain.<br />
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As always I struggled with the food. I had to lie and tell the cooks that I was allergic to cilantro so they wouldn't put any of that nasty herb anywhere near my meals since they seemed to love to sprinkle it over every single dish. It's always discouraging to be extremely hungry and incapable of eating whatever is put in front of me. My anxiety always raised before meals as I waited to see what it was. If I didn't like it, I tried to force myself to eat it anyway, to shove spoonfuls of whatever it was in my mouth, but my throat literally closed and I would feel nauseated. It's extremely frustrating to be this way, but I don't know how to change it. My savoir was my stash of snacks I brought with me and what the cooks called the 'happy hour' after we'd completed our trek for the day. At this time they would serve up huge plates of biscuits, popcorn, and hot chocolate and I would fill my face and then dinner became just a bonus snack. So thank you happy hour for saving me from starvation!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgph2lhbKyYVMZW7lxdmx9hz_YJeg1c7i3GAALey5gKm3z-JG2GmFAb-1M1rAuX4klAi896DYsao2r17WNOw8s5qAXcnM4dOHflCDA3JJiZ318jTXcNTwt2KxA31vAt-7CVSOemaAVzanFA/s1600/_CSC0496.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgph2lhbKyYVMZW7lxdmx9hz_YJeg1c7i3GAALey5gKm3z-JG2GmFAb-1M1rAuX4klAi896DYsao2r17WNOw8s5qAXcnM4dOHflCDA3JJiZ318jTXcNTwt2KxA31vAt-7CVSOemaAVzanFA/s400/_CSC0496.JPG" t8="true" width="267px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our trekking crew at the hot springs</td></tr>
</tbody></table> The third day was the most fun. Not only was it the shortest in terms of walking time, we were also down lower so it was a lot warmer, and our efforts were rewarded with hot springs. With three days of accumulated grime and sore muscles, the springs felt amazing. There were local ladies selling snacks and beers on the water's edge and we relaxed into the mountain setting and enjoyed ourselves. That night we had a big bonfire and the three of us girls shared a few bottles of delicious Argentinean wine they sold at the campsite store for $10 each. We stayed up past our usual 8pm trekking bed time, all the way to 11pm. Rebels, I know.<br />
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I've officially donated my piece of shit hiking boots to charity and I apologize to whoever receives them. Three treks and 100s of kilometers walked and they still gave me blisters. Those stupid boots have almost caused me more than one trek melt down. I resisted my flip flops for days, then with one toe so raw it was bleeding I finally changed footwear - and then ended up walking through a river of mud and gravel that would never end, down a steep slippery slope, covering all my open foot wounds in random jungle sludge and almost falling on my face. I was so pissed off by the end of it I almost punched my favourite little Jessica in the face when she took a picture of me struggling down the hill. I also debated throwing my mud covered flip flops at lovely Hayley, who was laughing. I blame my hiking boots for all of this, by the way. Luckily, I will never have to see them again and our friendship survived the incident.<br />
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By the time we reached Aguas Calientes, the town nearest to Machu Picchu, we had been eaten alive by flies, hadn´t showered for 4 days, had more than a few sore muscles, and I personally never wanted to see another trek meal again, ever. I almost jumped up and down when I saw our hostel with hot water and restarants selling pizza! I had the best shower of my life that night and the best pizza, also. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6GYe6KknLLQTjllDkjBVYEIW5L_8K3EjLp4T2Kcu9MRkECwVFh9nIYRSni5HjWQ1VK1OZkKAg77PNZsFCdfLUc0Va5GohY224fJ2owODAAecdohiKCpCjSAGYc3O2ZTV2RBsAKqHshMSv/s1600/_CSC0517.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320px" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6GYe6KknLLQTjllDkjBVYEIW5L_8K3EjLp4T2Kcu9MRkECwVFh9nIYRSni5HjWQ1VK1OZkKAg77PNZsFCdfLUc0Va5GohY224fJ2owODAAecdohiKCpCjSAGYc3O2ZTV2RBsAKqHshMSv/s320/_CSC0517.JPG" t8="true" width="213px" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wayna Picchu is at the back right </td></tr>
</tbody></table> You know that mysterious looking, steep, jungle encrusted rock in the background of every classic photo of Machu Picchu? It´s called Wayna Picchu and our group was extremely determined to climb it. You need separate passes to get onto this rock, and you can't get those in advance. They give 200 away for each time slot and they are on a first come, first serve basis. So, up we got at 3:30am and speed walked down the dark street through hoards of other hikers so that we would be first in line when they opened the gate. Once they DO open the gate, you don't get your tickets there. Oh no, no. It's a race from the valley bottom up the wickedly steep mountain Machu Picchu is located on. They then sell you the tickets once you're at the top. We waited for the gate to open, trying not to get antsy in the ever growing line. At 5:00 when they started letting people through we rushed along with the crowds, resisting the urge to push and shove, and began our climb. It usually takes at least an hour to get up the ridiculously intense hill. It took our group 40 minutes. We practically sprinted up the trail, passing the more weak left and right, resisting the urge to rest, barely able to breathe, dripping with sweat even in the cool darkness before dawn. Our group was within the first 20 to the top, and I'm pretty sure Jess, Hayley, and I were the first girls of the day. All 15 of us got our Wayna Picchu passes without trouble. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE2WV7lWb-i5zgMBO-64nM77iVoOUz18ZoSQ0bDwoMiSacUfKcRWZld3zWe90y2yXU8GvqsG4Cdx3Y9PgmDVsgZSyQeIdYKZRU5S6Gp-xqRNvttP7wa7qc5l9jnvkl_YcVAts9_G23fIE/s1600/_CSC0514.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE2WV7lWb-i5zgMBO-64nM77iVoOUz18ZoSQ0bDwoMiSacUfKcRWZld3zWe90y2yXU8GvqsG4Cdx3Y9PgmDVsgZSyQeIdYKZRU5S6Gp-xqRNvttP7wa7qc5l9jnvkl_YcVAts9_G23fIE/s320/_CSC0514.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sitting on the top of Wayna Picchu, Machu Picchu below</td></tr>
</tbody></table>We spent the day exploring Machu Picchu and, of course, climbing Wayna Picchu. In the early morning the mist floated throughout the ruins and since we were there so early we nearly had the place to ourselves. I was too caught up in the setting to pay any attention to our guide's tour of the ruins. I spent most the time trailing behind the group or running around alone, daydreaming of ancient Incan civilizations, and not wanting to be disrupted by reality. Despite the early morning marathon up the side of the mountain, we were all excited and energetic to climb Wayna Picchu. With the cliffs edge threatening just beside you, you wind and climb your way up a steep ladder staircase. At the summit you feel like you are at the top of the world, with Machu Picchu barely more than a tiny patch in the forest below. By midday the tourist buses have arrived and the place is crawling with gringos. We snapped a few final pictures in the warmth of the afternoon sun, and then began the climb back down to Aguas Calientes to catch the train back to Machu Picchu.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4K28nJPpa0F5CwMChgTak6ezu4XB26oKGOejWagMKEb657FvKPZNOhJyOvEel8QJFsooCyhy8RkJwh2l-RV5D94PaqlsrcRRT2KM7tsZdGif-GIdb9zc1vJpAMkNQILGz-V5F8G2Hgmq/s1600/_CSC0521.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT4K28nJPpa0F5CwMChgTak6ezu4XB26oKGOejWagMKEb657FvKPZNOhJyOvEel8QJFsooCyhy8RkJwh2l-RV5D94PaqlsrcRRT2KM7tsZdGif-GIdb9zc1vJpAMkNQILGz-V5F8G2Hgmq/s320/_CSC0521.JPG" width="214" /></a></div>You would think after a 5 day trek, then an extremely early morning start at 3:30am, with a long day at Machu Picchu and a several hour journey back to Cusco, we'd be too exhausted to do anything but sleep. . . And true, we were tempted by our beds, almost thought about climbing in them. . .But then our entire trekking group was going out to celebrate our 5 day conquest . . . And we couldn't miss out, could we? Hell no! So minutes after we arrived back in Cusco and dumped our stuff, off we went to meet the rest of our group at the bar. The bars in Cusco are evil and stay open devilishly late. After being up for 25 hours, 4:30am is the time we arrived back at our hostel (and we left before the bar closed, by the way!). 6:30am is the time we had to get up to catch our 10 hour bus to Puno. I can tell you right now it was not fun. To make things even more enjoyable, we had splurged on a special tourist bus that stopped at all the sites along the way. It turned out to be a total waste because we felt so awful we wanted to cry every time the bus pulled over, had absolutely no interest in the sites, and almost vomited when we saw the massive lunch buffet provided for us. Good times. Despite the pain and agony, we did eventually make it to Puno.<br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"></div><a href="http://www.peruinkaintertravel.com/imagen/logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="81" src="http://www.peruinkaintertravel.com/imagen/logo.jpg" width="320" /></a>Before I wrap up I just want to say a word of warning for others about the company we booked our trek with. While the trek experience was great, the booking company was absolutely horrible. They were called <b>Peru Inka Intertravel</b> and you can find them online, but don't. The deceived us into thinking we were getting an upgraded trek, but once we got there we realized that we had actually been downgraded to a cheaper route that we paid double what everyone else did. Not only that, they were extremely disorganized, forgot our hostel bookings, sent us on a wild goose chase, and left us with more than a bitter taste in our mouths. When we confronted them about the situation they were vicious and said we would 'certainly not get any money back'. There's no place to leave feedback on their website - probably for a reason - but still, we are going to do what we can to bring them down! So please, <u><b>NO ONE BOOK WITH THIS COMPANY</b></u>! They are more than assholes!<br />
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I'm currently in Bolivia and admittedly, more than a little behind on my blog. Sorry for the wait! Hayley is leaving me in two days and I will once again be travelling alone, which generally leaves me with more free time. I'll fill you in on everything that's been going on then :)<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-18917318021608672322011-05-16T08:53:00.000-07:002011-05-16T13:07:53.413-07:00The Week of Hell<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Camping in the rain sucks. Camping in the cold and rain really sucks. Camping in the cold and rain with no escape, no warm, dry home to retreat to, just day after day of wet chill that penetrates discomfort deep into the bone . . . that equals hell.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjczBbma6CZ6zVmchjSuLx6ZVbHi1gXayER3v5XCk_QFG7sFQLbS17-aLh2qL3ERYVrL9x1pxa_C3qymoY3QdUbL-PxiuFP6AKsLYTwSd8xwApX4ZJSCHPbWqD_Q4PCo6VkdF8w7XEQGO/s1600/_CSC2168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbjczBbma6CZ6zVmchjSuLx6ZVbHi1gXayER3v5XCk_QFG7sFQLbS17-aLh2qL3ERYVrL9x1pxa_C3qymoY3QdUbL-PxiuFP6AKsLYTwSd8xwApX4ZJSCHPbWqD_Q4PCo6VkdF8w7XEQGO/s320/_CSC2168.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on the edge of Table Mountain, Cape Town</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Who knew that South Africa could be this miserable in early fall? I figured it was relatively close to the equator? Cape Town was beautiful and deceiving. If I'd known what was to come, I would have been stocking up on ponchos and rubber boots. But whilst in the comfort of a hostel it was gorgeous and warm outside, of course. I climbed table mountain for the most spectacular view of the city. It was a hard hike, but didn't take more than two hours, and it was by far worth it for the view of the city, ocean, and mountains beyond. The next day I took the hour long train ride out to Simonstown to see the local penguins. The town itself was beautiful, set right on the ocean and made up of old, colonial buildings, but by far the highlight was the beach and the super adorable African Penguins (also known as Jackass Penguins . . . but it sounds too mean to call such a cute little creature that)! I tried out my new and fabulously working camera lens. Although it murdered my budget, I'm extremely happy with my purchase and got some great shots! I really had to pick and choose, otherwise the remainder of this blog would be all penguin pictures!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">African Penguin</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOna3CoQMGIywXv5gpH3T7pDOluORkAgcXRaNsOo1fLNXRZNvyFXefnctU2VBogdnYmBMHKBfasNZPIkrDAPs9JDPW_3LXyqGBzlp4jo7eeuBnCquFbj5-hpHCnDq59MAGj5ZloYAC4SKg/s1600/_DSC1898.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOna3CoQMGIywXv5gpH3T7pDOluORkAgcXRaNsOo1fLNXRZNvyFXefnctU2VBogdnYmBMHKBfasNZPIkrDAPs9JDPW_3LXyqGBzlp4jo7eeuBnCquFbj5-hpHCnDq59MAGj5ZloYAC4SKg/s320/_DSC1898.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Penguin contemplating life at sunset</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As soon as we went back to the bush the misery started. Day 1, at Oudtshoorn, we went to an ostrich farm and I got to ride an ostrich, which was hilarious and terrifying at the same time. Ostriches are super fast and super dumb thus they are not really trainable - you just have to hold on for dear life while they pretty much run where they want. You get off by falling off. The farm had "ostrich boys" there to catch you when this inevitably happens. I think either I was moving too fast or everyone was laughing too hard because no one got a clear photo of me on the ostrich, unfortunately. That night the rains started, but it was only a hint of what was to come and relative dryness was maintained.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tsitsikamma National Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Day 2, Tsitsikamma National Park. We arrived late to a gorgeous sunset at a stunning campsite right on the ocean. Waves thundered majestically into jagged black rocks as the sky lit up with pink and yellow. That night, however, a storm of monumental proportions blew in. It began with the rain. Rain so hard it sounded like a garden hose was being sprayed directly against our tent. Then the wind. Our tent bent and creaked and threatened to blow away with us still inside. And the waves. They grew to such a size they vibrated the ground we were attempting to sleep on with every smash against the rocks. As giant BOOMS radiated across the campsite we sat chattering in our tents hoping they wouldn't breach the shore and wash us all away. Everything got wet. Clothes, sleeping bags, tents, mats, food, camping supplies, everything . . . and the rain never let up. The next morning we were scheduled to jump the world's highest bungee jump and we had to call it off due to the torrential downpour. Although I'm sure my mother is stoked, all of us that planned to do the jump, terrified as were were, drove off extremely disappointed.<br />
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That afternoon, day 3, we arrived at Addo Elephant National Park. We did a few game drives but didn't see much as I imagine most of the animals were hiding from the rain. The drama of the storm was over, it was now just a steady drizzle that would stop periodically to give us a glimmer of hope that the rain was done - and then it would start again. Our tents were so wet inside that almost no one slept in them. Instead we jammed ourselves uncomfortably on the bus, which was kind of a no-no, but no one cared, it was at least it was somewhat dry there.<br />
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Day 4 and 5 we spent in Hogsback, the place said to inspire J.R.R. Tolkien's Mirkwood Forest in <i>Lord of the Rings</i>. Now that everything was soaking wet the cold set in. Having no way to tell the temperature outside I can only guess, but we did see a few stray snowflakes fall, although they were not sticking. So it was damn cold. I wore every dry article of clothing I had and still laid shivering in my sleeping bag. My nose threatened to freeze off and the wind cut my skin. Extreme discomfort and hating of Tucan Tours for running a trip that was all camping this time of year. We did have time to check out the famous forest and it was very <i>Lord of the Rings. </i>We hiked through the mud and guck and overly flooded trails and got disgustingly dirty . . . which I always enjoy!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Basotho women outside her home, Lesotho</td></tr>
</tbody></table>On day 6 we entered into the Kingdom of Lesotho, said to be the highest country in the world as the entirety of the land is over 1000m above sea level. Even very mountainous countries like Nepal have valleys and plains that drop well below this. I thought this tiny country, completely surrounded on all sides by South Africa, was going to be exactly like its larger neighbour. It wasn't. It became markedly more rural and 3rd world as soon as we crossed the border. Despite the gloomy grey skies it was beautiful. It was also freezing! Everyone on the tour had had enough. We all used our own money to upgrade to huts. They still didn't have heat or bathrooms, but they did offer some relief from the rain and wind. Each night lightning flashed and the showers would come. The thunder was at times right over us and would bang so loudly it sounded like a bomb was going off. And it rained, and rained, and rained . . .<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA7cqGp-ghcb9cGUA7CMU0ycLmuoafxzUgGldFXuYeLlRvPk7IuJYAGGkgg8LSFNUvY3cnt-vPVvNsH_aSqIgsfC8bZFktxjWSz6Kl-U-qw35K7-l20KW_h26JwsCsjgmw8RiVBCdZTb9/s1600/_CSC2162.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaA7cqGp-ghcb9cGUA7CMU0ycLmuoafxzUgGldFXuYeLlRvPk7IuJYAGGkgg8LSFNUvY3cnt-vPVvNsH_aSqIgsfC8bZFktxjWSz6Kl-U-qw35K7-l20KW_h26JwsCsjgmw8RiVBCdZTb9/s320/_CSC2162.JPG" width="320" /></a>We did have a stroke of luck, however. On our one free day in Lesotho it stopped raining long enough for us to get out and explore. In the morning a translator/guide took a few of us out into the village. I loved it. This place just seems so untouched and unruined by tourism. The locals were friendly, and to my delight, liked having their picture taken! They didn't beg or harass me to buy anything, they just greeted us with a big smile and would happily show us their home or store or school or whatever else we wanted to take a gander at. The village itself is made up of of traditional round or square stone huts (like the above photo). Although it was basic, it was also very scenic and was more of the Africa I'd anticipated before I came - except for the freezing temperatures.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on my pony</td></tr>
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In the afternoon we had some fun with the famous Lesotho "ponies". Because the "ponies" are all mixed breeds at this point they are actually horse height and stature. I was relieved for this, I didn't want to flatten some poor little thing. Four of us did a 5 hour trek on horseback through the countryside. It was intense! As an experienced rider I was getting nervous on some of the extremely rough, steep, and uneven terrain we were covering. I think the inexperienced girls were actually frightened. Our guides' English was basic at best and he left me to lead and just barked commands at me that I could barely hear because he trailed at the back of the herd. I got more than a little irritated as I lead a group of shaky riders over sketchy terrain that I didn't know. As we were walking over a large patch of bedrock my friend's horse lost its footing and completely bailed head over tea kettle as she hung on for dear life. In retrospect it's actually fairly hilarious because in the end she and the horse were ok and the amount of curse words that came out of her usually proper mouth in the 30 seconds of panic was impressive. But it looked scary and made us all wonder if we were in capable hands. Shortly after my horse slipped trying to climb up a muddy bank, and as it slid backwards on its knees it almost took out the horse and girl behind me. More profanity. Despite the mishaps and the fairly useless guide, the scenery was gorgeous and we all truly enjoyed ourselves. Being on horseback in the middle of nowhere really made me feel like I had gone back in time. The people we encountered also looked like they came from another era, wrapped in blankets as they herded their cattle through the hills. Lesotho was definitely a highlight of Africa for me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQ-wBfxihsT6bqDeGbccrR4TJkW_8WHdDQxwGqBRAHzSSPY3H-JlKg-ygZy88R5KY_Yr_eJbnnMokHuqXGvrGZd_Nk-K_ObUpnY5WaHA6CdwiSIt9LdxVnJ8Yg5AhHb1TbOSvrOkVPZd_/s1600/_DSC0268.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBQ-wBfxihsT6bqDeGbccrR4TJkW_8WHdDQxwGqBRAHzSSPY3H-JlKg-ygZy88R5KY_Yr_eJbnnMokHuqXGvrGZd_Nk-K_ObUpnY5WaHA6CdwiSIt9LdxVnJ8Yg5AhHb1TbOSvrOkVPZd_/s640/_DSC0268.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I stopped to watch the girls and guide cross the river and snapped this photo from the back of my pony</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>I dreaded going to Johannesburg because it is one of the most dangerous and sketchy cities in the world and as a white girl I have "easy target" written all over me. On the last day of our tour 8 of us white girls and 2 local drivers went into the city to site see. I didn't get murdered, or mugged, or even harassed, but I did almost lose my shit on the most incompetent driver EVER!!!!! He didn't know where he was going, got repetitively lost, was generally impossible to reason with, and didn't want to turn in or stop anywhere because he was unjustifiably terrified of the car getting hijacked. We eventually made it to the famous suburb of Soweto and we had to argue with him to even turn in! After some aimless, lost driving we found Nelson Mandela's former home and did some site seeing. My highlight of the day, surprisingly, was when he dropped us at a mall for lunch. We were completely out of tourist territory and the 8 of us stuck out ridiculously. Baffled, sideways glances at us aside, it was good to see normal Africans doing normal shopping at a normal mall, further abolishing that stereotype of a famined, poverty stricken Africa that seems to be so stuck in everyone's mind. Like everywhere else in the world, there is poverty in Africa, but that's far from ALL that's here. The mall was also a highlight because I finally got to eat my African Mcdonalds meal, clearly a must do :) <br />
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The saga with the driver continued. Although we had clearly agreed that we had his services from 9-5 that day for the predetermined price that we had already paid him, he began demanding more money if we wanted to continue. Once we refused, he would not take us to any more sites, spouting off excuses that it was "too dangerous" or "he didn't know where it was". It was like pulling teeth trying to communicate with the man and we all sat squabbling in the car as we drove around, directionless. Several hours of argument later he drove me to the area of the hostel I'd planned on staying that night. As everyone else had already been dropped off I was alone with him and I was legitimately scared he might just dump me where ever to fend off the thieves and rapists on my own. He was so useless he couldn't find the place, and every time he had to use his cell phone to call for directions he would charge me $1.50. Finally the guys from the hostel had to come get me on the side of the road in their personal car after he failed to follow their directions. I had to take a long, hot shower after to calm my frazzled nerves! A lovely ending to the week of hell!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buenos Aires, Argentina</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Early the next morning I caught my flight to South America. I am now in Buenos Aires, Argentina for a one day stop over before I head off to Peru to meet Hayley and Jess! This is the part of my journey I have been the most excited for because I get to share it with friends. <br />
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So what did I learn in Africa? Almost all the visions and expectations I had about the place were wrong. I also learned that it is a continent with so much depth and complexity there is no way that I could sum it up here. My one month stint is in no way long enough to understand the under layers and tensions that ripple beneath the surface. Being on a tour had its definite drawbacks and advantages. On the one hand it's nearly impossible to get from A-B in Africa without a car. But staying in campsites in remote areas largely isolates us from the local population, leaving cultural interaction somewhat low. Not to mention camping in bad weather blows!<br />
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In more prosperous areas modern Africans dress and eat and live much like we do. In more remote or poorer areas they make do with what they have, thus differences tend to arise. There is some distinct tribal dress, but in my experience you rarely see that unless it's put on for tourists. I find it interesting how much of the media focuses on the tribes and the poor and leaves out the rest. Maybe because it's a little boring to be just like us, I know my eyes started to glaze over in South Africa a bit. But just when I was starting to think that everything I'd seen and read was clearly a lie, we'd drive by a shanty town the size of Whistler. I found myself startled that in such a modern nation, this can still exist. It's scary to me that not that long ago apartheid was a reality. You can still see the ripple effects, I don't think there are any white people living in these shanty towns. The fact that a lot of the limited wealth is still in the hands of the white, well . . . It's not fair, but how do you change it? People can still be racist here. As a white person in Africa you will be looked at as wealthy, no matter what your actual financial status. Random people, like school children, have approached me and blatantly just asked for money, like it's ok, like I should just give it to them so they can buy a sweet they don't even need because I'm just<i> that </i>rich. It's a strange sensation for someone who came from a very average home in a very average neighbourhood. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTGBTlKk5qbhCxG0YXKvWMVC5YjKslIYqLg1dA4SH4VrfYN85gdQFJ8YhBLBLVO1SCgmaePFfgKRAC8mESuLXvTgIQHtP2CzysUcs2K_sB0ixfonADKWIDQFAZM5uRUi-4FP0xPPCI84a/s1600/Untitled.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTGBTlKk5qbhCxG0YXKvWMVC5YjKslIYqLg1dA4SH4VrfYN85gdQFJ8YhBLBLVO1SCgmaePFfgKRAC8mESuLXvTgIQHtP2CzysUcs2K_sB0ixfonADKWIDQFAZM5uRUi-4FP0xPPCI84a/s320/Untitled.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Best shot of a lion, 300mm focal length</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Finally, there are not wild animals running around everywhere. You actually have to look pretty hard to find them! I am so disappointed that I only ever saw lions from quite far away, so that even with my zoom lens they were little more than a tiny dot. For that very reason, I definitely am coming back to Africa! It was just after the rainy season at the time I was there, which is not really the best time to see wildlife as water is plentiful and the animals are able to spread out. During the dry season they congregate around water holes, thus this is the best time. Anyone want to start planning a trip with me?<br />
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Early tomorrow I am off to Peru! Today I will try to enjoy Argentina the best I can with only one day and myself to hang out with! My next blog will be from somewhere in Peru or Bolivia.<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-46069112223610436612011-05-03T10:42:00.000-07:002011-05-03T13:18:07.438-07:00Namibia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6BkwXTjNhfF_UwFxAPpNc06ItGf1MLAW9zLwEhMn97gL-1ZdgV6XgNaJZfbCWxsOrd7UuH5AsDoOnEacMnkM6iji_hAShYliiNctDLnXfrP5PrHycGzmY9usYjNTD58ob9zYmPmdxHEN/s1600/IMG_1245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv6BkwXTjNhfF_UwFxAPpNc06ItGf1MLAW9zLwEhMn97gL-1ZdgV6XgNaJZfbCWxsOrd7UuH5AsDoOnEacMnkM6iji_hAShYliiNctDLnXfrP5PrHycGzmY9usYjNTD58ob9zYmPmdxHEN/s320/IMG_1245.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lonely tree, Namibia</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">Namibia is vast and sparse and beautiful. The land stretches so far towards the horizon that I can imagine the ends of the earth are just beyond my view. I love feeling like a tiny speck in an infinite landscape, like the whole world is empty and all of this laid out in front of me is mine. It's so different from home where I'm constantly surrounded by trees, mountains, and water. This place carries a different and quieter type of beauty.</span><br />
<div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJIuUhbV-Gydloq48U1bySR28B6ELx8kiY9pGjIdonmgwC-OZ_InQxEi3t-AaHJ7D3Z_nuh56BK5SBgE7J3UzvhR1Pf4ucIlTe3ZmihgkeuDc7M3QHe_7bTyyrVLCsr_AZMaVn0VLkLt3/s1600/IMG_1126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNJIuUhbV-Gydloq48U1bySR28B6ELx8kiY9pGjIdonmgwC-OZ_InQxEi3t-AaHJ7D3Z_nuh56BK5SBgE7J3UzvhR1Pf4ucIlTe3ZmihgkeuDc7M3QHe_7bTyyrVLCsr_AZMaVn0VLkLt3/s400/IMG_1126.JPG" width="266" /></a>Etosha means "big white space" and Etosha National Park is just that: a giant, parched salt pan surrounded by endless yellowing grassland and the odd patch of shrubby forest. Except this year they've had a lot of rain so the salt pan is now a massive lake and there's more blue around than white. Because it's so open I've got some of my best pictures yet, especially of giraffes, which seem to be in abundance here. I am a huge fan of these creatures with their disproportionate limbs, dopey expression, and orange checkered coat. I also visited a cheetah sanctuary where they rescue injured and problem cheetahs. They've had some since they were tiny cubs so they are very tame, like giant house cats, and can be petted. The difference is if a cheetah gets a little pissy and decides to swat at you it can tear an arm off. So I pet with caution, but I soon had the giant kitty purring in my hands. Other cheetahs at the sanctuary are semi wild and I had a chance to watch them feed, but I stayed safely in the jeep for that. I would rather watch lunch than BE lunch!</span></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjku2bSMlcxOoiML3GEE4Gi-UvpBe3IFuk375tMuBvrGl1wv9MmqI-w1KBlvF70RU8jFJo_HR-oDibNO4YNA-OFCYmPpzIy90-exZP24Gy5Rn_yojpTyv3S5jO13aesazGHPrh74bLq8PFR/s1600/_DSC1346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjku2bSMlcxOoiML3GEE4Gi-UvpBe3IFuk375tMuBvrGl1wv9MmqI-w1KBlvF70RU8jFJo_HR-oDibNO4YNA-OFCYmPpzIy90-exZP24Gy5Rn_yojpTyv3S5jO13aesazGHPrh74bLq8PFR/s320/_DSC1346.JPG" width="214" /></a>You would think as one of the more rich countries in Africa there would be some money around to invest in things like roads. In Namibia, all roads are all some combination of dirt, rock, and sand and bumpy at best. Maybe because there are next to no people here (2.5/km</span><span style="font-size: small;">2 </span><span style="font-size: small;">and most of those are in the capital of Windhoek) the government has decided it's not worth it. Our poor truck has bumped and rattled it's way across this country and of course, we got stuck. Now, when you're in the middle of the Namib Desert you can't just call a tow truck to come rescue you, you are basically on your own and you can hope whatever few strangers happen to drive by will stop to help. Never in the cool of the morning or evening do these events happen, no, no. They happen in the heat of the afternoon on the biggest hangover day of the entire trip. Almost everyone in the group had closed the campsite bar the night before doing an excessive amount of $2 shots. We stumbled into our tents at 3:30am and were up at 5:30am again to pack up camp in a dazed, half asleep, half still drunk stupor. So you can imagine how stoked we were when our bus came to a grinding halt into a sand bank in one of the hottest, driest regions of the world at the warmest time of day. We piled out cursing the cheap booze from the night before and begrudgingly helped dig or push or collect rocks or whatever needed doing. Some passersby stopped to help but even the tug of a 4x4 and a dozen people pushing wasn't able to free us. I was just beginning to contemplate if we would have to pitch our tents for the evening when a travel bus similar to our own drove by and offered us a tow. The crowd that had accumulated over the hours burst into applause when our truck was FINALLY was pulled from the sand. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhUYBEF8T19D7234RrwUtNTD7TsQIfWXI8UM7AzGDGbCRGdmiOhnGVDkl8Zq5a3yR-9vO8_qb1ANnzUXGxzaQrejwTOn7bo14jYAMBst8pn8rK9J7E-Y7W0HkH7ltY4hGhF9dey0rc4sA9/s1600/_DSC1479.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhUYBEF8T19D7234RrwUtNTD7TsQIfWXI8UM7AzGDGbCRGdmiOhnGVDkl8Zq5a3yR-9vO8_qb1ANnzUXGxzaQrejwTOn7bo14jYAMBst8pn8rK9J7E-Y7W0HkH7ltY4hGhF9dey0rc4sA9/s200/_DSC1479.JPG" width="200" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVUUwqW6C22nQkoSveegwk-MSMt77HwXWkxaH70tqoYvWFk85FR81_gkOHBRtwpVrqB3fgQim3YLJ7YGylWvbDvZBeJwrWw9KQvUARU0gBSjzOEBK8zIq7MJPWvCY47A1VCm3oc9bKu-D/s1600/_DSC1470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheVUUwqW6C22nQkoSveegwk-MSMt77HwXWkxaH70tqoYvWFk85FR81_gkOHBRtwpVrqB3fgQim3YLJ7YGylWvbDvZBeJwrWw9KQvUARU0gBSjzOEBK8zIq7MJPWvCY47A1VCm3oc9bKu-D/s200/_DSC1470.JPG" width="133" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelKcfvr5dfuBoHmS4yWwSt3cispzmQl8hLUqePY1K5p9Phyphenhyphenv-SlMJXaBQ3-nCprFlqQnB3UR8cZG0X60wKpEFI1TspO4c31ZPwLJa-g5CXiZEndVdzIf6RmPGkWkO6ijt18N0HnPj5ABU/s1600/_DSC1463.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgelKcfvr5dfuBoHmS4yWwSt3cispzmQl8hLUqePY1K5p9Phyphenhyphenv-SlMJXaBQ3-nCprFlqQnB3UR8cZG0X60wKpEFI1TspO4c31ZPwLJa-g5CXiZEndVdzIf6RmPGkWkO6ijt18N0HnPj5ABU/s200/_DSC1463.JPG" width="200" /></a></span><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiV5UvNs_HYEPUxe4U4gjE4AuDpFCiBIEcoNahv7Id_CnTCglg6YLICxt2edTRgq3PduA5ztpIrTigEFx-n6bUogpO5tVAnQxOkz51UMHG7utC1EjqPVLZZiV6UDNso7V3UTVjKxjpb_x/s1600/_DSC1630.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYiV5UvNs_HYEPUxe4U4gjE4AuDpFCiBIEcoNahv7Id_CnTCglg6YLICxt2edTRgq3PduA5ztpIrTigEFx-n6bUogpO5tVAnQxOkz51UMHG7utC1EjqPVLZZiV6UDNso7V3UTVjKxjpb_x/s320/_DSC1630.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above: Dune 45 Below: Sand boarding</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1xzxjI5lU2KFm7xwahPrBcPE75xwirs2lUFspqhdKJw8bllKmI_ybNKs3v2FQnfjwnQOMaXWy6S1JmOUHr-PgiePWYXaMdZtdjK_lPqC8Q7G9RUyFx7Hl6tXBQ71BsQx0E4FcBjbtLPy/s1600/%252889%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" j8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP1xzxjI5lU2KFm7xwahPrBcPE75xwirs2lUFspqhdKJw8bllKmI_ybNKs3v2FQnfjwnQOMaXWy6S1JmOUHr-PgiePWYXaMdZtdjK_lPqC8Q7G9RUyFx7Hl6tXBQ71BsQx0E4FcBjbtLPy/s320/%252889%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;">You eventually reach a place in Namibia where even the grass struggles to survive. Giant, red sand dunes the size of mountains rise into a perfect blue sky, their sandy limbs snaking and slithering into the valley floor. I got up at 4:00am to hike famous dune #45 for sunrise. I also did some sand boarding. On my first run down the dune I discovered that it wasn't far off from snowboarding, except maybe a little harder to turn. The other difference was I had to walk back up to the top in the hot sun. As I am accustomed to chair lifts and cool temperatures, I personally thought this part was super lame for 20 seconds worth of carving. While it may seem less extreme, sand sledding is really where it's at. They wax up this thin little piece of fibreboard and send you down the hill head first where you reach speeds of up to 80kph (yes, they even clock you with a speed gun). Now THAT is worth walking back up the hill for! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am now in South Africa. We pretty much B-lined it for Cape Town and I am here catching up on errands and pondering over a new camera lens that I can't really afford....Although a recent donation from a very generous couple will most likely make it possible. Cape Town is a completely modern city and it feels more like home than Africa. I'm sure there are bad neighbourhoods but the place we are staying is a short walk from the waterfront and seems completely safe. I'm pretty sure there are more Mercedes and BMWs around here than murderers or muggers! Why does everyone say it's so dangerous? I don't get it! My next post will hopefully be from Johannesburg before I fly out to South America. 'Til then!</span><br />
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<div align="left"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div></div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-52391695921627586602011-04-27T09:21:00.000-07:002011-04-27T09:32:47.738-07:00Lost in Botswana<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">The internet in Africa is slow and unreliable at best and compared to South East Asia it's costing me a small fortune at a very rarely found cyber cafe to write this blog. So please enjoy it and write me lots of comments!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OekZEyfDgbR5joyo9HqQTmcQIe2JFD75lU490QEf70mSSHa2rb4jPeinxB8W1Bk-hkaNcof1qrW2hWoDAuGNunlS5G8phmWrh1s7lst8kOcUO8YhhS_Sg91HcRDgh-cRZdkuU4R9vsoJ/s1600/_CSC1058.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3OekZEyfDgbR5joyo9HqQTmcQIe2JFD75lU490QEf70mSSHa2rb4jPeinxB8W1Bk-hkaNcof1qrW2hWoDAuGNunlS5G8phmWrh1s7lst8kOcUO8YhhS_Sg91HcRDgh-cRZdkuU4R9vsoJ/s320/_CSC1058.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I've spent the last week on a rapid journey across Botswana. As we (me and my group) crossed into the country from Zambia we were held up at the border. There's a river separating the two countries that you have to cross by ferry. It's probably a total of 200 meters in distance, but in traditional Africa fashion, things went wrong and it ended up taking all day. The ferry 'ramp' was actually an uneven piece of dirt that extended out into the river. It was somewhat amusing to watch the vehicles attempt to cross onto the boat, bumping and jostling and almost tipping until they would just sneak over the rise. It was just a matter of time before someone didn't make it. I watched as a large bus got stuck as it's back wheels dropped into a dip in the bank and the rear end got wedged on a higher piece of land. Great. While people tried to free the bus we stood for hours in the simmering sun trying to hide behind vehicles to steal any inch of shade. People came by selling snacks and carvings and other random stuff and most were friendly enough but there was this one guy. . . .I think he was drunk and he was begging for pretty much everything from food to clothes to money. The worst part was he had somehow sliced his hand open and was dripping blood all down his front. In his drunken stupor he waved his hands about as he expressed himself and flung blood everywhere, a droplet even landing on my tour companions white shirt. It was nauseating. I looked hopelessly at the bus stranded on the river bank and tried to keep my distance from Drunk Bleeding Man. And so I stood in the searing midday sun in a dusty lot waiting hours for a ferry ride that would take ten minutes. As you do in Africa.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQuIbiO_gcFHelko4sGnWAgFO6Ja55Uu_fliXqaubMv8HBV1trqq0yXyN_a3yo29iqkKqI7hiDxxDww_6f_565HRYSMoMliMy9135gUD238zwej1h6GGl6rZeJXxMdvKxmhIruKK43kqt/s1600/_CSC1062.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpQuIbiO_gcFHelko4sGnWAgFO6Ja55Uu_fliXqaubMv8HBV1trqq0yXyN_a3yo29iqkKqI7hiDxxDww_6f_565HRYSMoMliMy9135gUD238zwej1h6GGl6rZeJXxMdvKxmhIruKK43kqt/s320/_CSC1062.JPG" width="212" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1% were successful photos, like this one</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We did, however, eventually make it to Botswana. Botswana is a land locked country composed primarily of the Kalahari Desert. It has a high concentration of wildlife and a low concentration of people, with only 2 million in an area the size of France (population 66 million according to Wikipedia). The people that are here are doing pretty good for themselves, Botswana boasts a strong and growing economy. Even health care is free! Our first stop was at Chobe National Park. After a long day at the border we pitched our tents and went to bed early for our 5:45am game drive and afternoon Chobe River cruise. The only word I can use to describe the experience is epic. We saw almost everything you could hope to see including elephants, buffalo, crocodiles, warthogs, hippo, jackal, and even lions, although they were quite far away. What was NOT epic was my camera lens (55-200mm zoom) which was broken. It was a lesson in frustration as perfect, once in a lifetime photo opportunities presented themselves and I failed to capture them knowing all the while that if my lens was working properly it would have been <u><em>so</em></u> easy. I would say 80% of my pictures turned out blurry and another 19% were poorly composed because I was too stressed about focusing to think about composure. The remaining 1% are the ones you are seeing here. It was all I could do to keep myself from ripping my lens off and throwing it in the dirt and jumping up and down on it until it was a million tiny little bits. Since this tour is 99% camping and takes place mostly in the middle of nowhere, I won't be able to replace or repair it until Cape Town when the tour is already half over. This reality has been an extremely hard pill to swallow. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxbMK4jG-bHTdR01Bl1Ne1ce5xKGplKQAh4iDTVZ2OFvTPo2FIVRykGZIzj8wG4gyp2wH604S4ZaVuf6uPJaRy7PR4rZON5mP_dTQ6iY5bo87TwyzGbfvr_mDU2hI-WrLw7P7lXzOfEhZ/s1600/_CSC1069.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxbMK4jG-bHTdR01Bl1Ne1ce5xKGplKQAh4iDTVZ2OFvTPo2FIVRykGZIzj8wG4gyp2wH604S4ZaVuf6uPJaRy7PR4rZON5mP_dTQ6iY5bo87TwyzGbfvr_mDU2hI-WrLw7P7lXzOfEhZ/s320/_CSC1069.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Anna, one of our mokoro pollers</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So with a slight chip on my shoulder me and my group moved on to the Okavango Delta. The Okavango Delta is the largest inland delta (not flowing into the ocean but out onto the land) in the world. Very little water actually falls in Botswana. Heavy rains in Angola surge southeast and spread out over the Kalahari Desert turning otherwise parched land into a fertile and green oasis. It also attracts lots of wildlife. We spent several hours by 4x4 and mokoro (dug out canoe) to reach our remote camp site located directly between a hippo pond and a baboon family tree. We were greeted with the standard safety advisories from our guide:<br />
1. Don't go out into the bush alone, or a lion might eat you<br />
2. Don't leave your tent unzipped or a venomous snake, spider, or scorpion may crawl in<br />
3. Don't swim in the Delta without asking first, as there may be crocodiles and hippos lurking<br />
4. Do wear mosquito repellent, as there are lots of them and they do carry malaria<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElg7_pLqVMgHoiUZK8WP1i45vkmMBbUzQq_SQr3nqkZxiUrIB5m58xDJHSWBV8Nm8iBONDYY7v8Oc0coCLFzB95JPMcG8e883b5DxSwUDxJ9j0XElDKKBWZjULpkeoMPXrGx5mMGAK2Ix/s1600/_DSC0946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiElg7_pLqVMgHoiUZK8WP1i45vkmMBbUzQq_SQr3nqkZxiUrIB5m58xDJHSWBV8Nm8iBONDYY7v8Oc0coCLFzB95JPMcG8e883b5DxSwUDxJ9j0XElDKKBWZjULpkeoMPXrGx5mMGAK2Ix/s320/_DSC0946.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our group on foot safari</td></tr>
</tbody></table> Is there anything out here that won't kill you? The best part of this trip is that all the safaris take place on foot, so instead of having a jeep between you and some of the most dangerous animals on the planet, you are down there on the ground on an entirely even footing. Now this is my kind of trip! I must say our guides went out of their way to keep us safe and no one perished while on the delta. We did have a close encounter with a male hippo, however, who didn't like us trespassing around his pond. His posturing was enough to send us all running, except the guides, who watched us laughing. We also saw herds of zebra and elephants in the grasslands surrounding the Delta. A solitary giraffe peaked at us from behind the shrubs. The baboons played next to our campsite. The sky is big here and the sunset didn't just come to the horizon, there was 360 degrees of pinks and oranges and yellows and blues. At night we were serenaded to sleep by chirping frogs and bellowing hippos. It was slightly terrifying to get up in the night to pee not knowing for sure what was lurking in the shadows. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedL7Nu4BhlOHktv6a6B1BfUGvZE5AvTjGV1DoIW-G6cbZWDvAeH1Ivpb3TJQB-IPmlR0UHPjxD1DYclxRAVKW6M9OxKdHzDp1D5mDUhTSxC07un38uDlsn_0tirbdnVUfRGOe9Ccn-rfu/s1600/_DSC1033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiedL7Nu4BhlOHktv6a6B1BfUGvZE5AvTjGV1DoIW-G6cbZWDvAeH1Ivpb3TJQB-IPmlR0UHPjxD1DYclxRAVKW6M9OxKdHzDp1D5mDUhTSxC07un38uDlsn_0tirbdnVUfRGOe9Ccn-rfu/s320/_DSC1033.JPG" width="212" /></a></div>On our final day in Botswana the plan was to take the morkoros then the 4x4 back to civilization where we would drive the bus to the Namibia border THEN set up camp once we crossed. As usual, it went wrong. As the sun dipped below the horizon we had yet to make it to the border. Our driver couldn't see the dilapidated road signs in the dark and before we knew it we were lost, winding our way through a maze of tall shrubs and sandy gravel roads. It soon became clear that the border was beyond our reach for that evening and once we figured out where we were we'd have to bush camp. Damn. . . .Guess that's day # 4 without shower access and with all toilet business taking place behind a tree. We eventually found a spot on the side of the road to camp which was basically a semi-bare patch of sand. We set up camp in the dark and collapsed into our sleeping bags. The next morning we awoke to a stray cow with a very loud bell that had wandered into our campsite. We fumbled in the pitch black to tear down our tents, eat some food, and pack up camp. Finally, just as the the sun was creeping back into the sky we made it to the Botswana-Namibia border and safely crossed.<br />
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The next blog will be about Namibia.<br />
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Bonus Photos:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8PwcgIiQoSG3wfi7h7O8ZuXDzrJYqAbNkC1kIx5v4oJ91Zvqc3-mwEpQiWN6oFMalwM7wuVunuHgs9oiWwmnhdgj9fLdIjj8lwOYnylsWAw514Y3U1JzF8nuxgMMKqLWY9kVJ1CuRWUx/s1600/_CSC1072.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT8PwcgIiQoSG3wfi7h7O8ZuXDzrJYqAbNkC1kIx5v4oJ91Zvqc3-mwEpQiWN6oFMalwM7wuVunuHgs9oiWwmnhdgj9fLdIjj8lwOYnylsWAw514Y3U1JzF8nuxgMMKqLWY9kVJ1CuRWUx/s400/_CSC1072.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Frog in the reeds</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Guide and mokoro poller, Rogers</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBOal0seRQS4qKTp3WQ8LZtyZCiUjbFghCNVH1VQQtJRtuDr4m_QDF_AFYf5N5E1qrjM43oakGUaHVuUu6rygZ1BxVepM8WPhxOBUGDU7nJJ2_8GvPsolcPEcoF8uTOgPZRZ0kDHH7NVk/s1600/_CSC1067.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" i8="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOBOal0seRQS4qKTp3WQ8LZtyZCiUjbFghCNVH1VQQtJRtuDr4m_QDF_AFYf5N5E1qrjM43oakGUaHVuUu6rygZ1BxVepM8WPhxOBUGDU7nJJ2_8GvPsolcPEcoF8uTOgPZRZ0kDHH7NVk/s320/_CSC1067.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me trying to drive the mokoro...Not that easy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> </div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-42885395031889561302011-04-15T04:12:00.000-07:002011-04-15T04:25:29.456-07:00From Asia to Africa<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Now that I've left Indonesia, I've decided that the experience was mixed. I felt Bali was a bit of a let down. I might be the only person in the world that didn't like Ubud all that much. Sure it was pretty. . .But all the hype, all the 'eat, pray, love' images. . . It didn't live up. I rented a bike and tried to find the famous Ubud rice terraces that everyone raves about. I rode for hours and just got lost in a maze of urban sprawl. Maybe I should have done the actual organized tour you pay money for and they bring you to the terraces. But after they informed me they drop you at the top of the hill so all you have to do is coast down I didn't do it. I could not bring myself to pay $30 for something so un-extreme. So instead I spent way too much money on massages and wandered around bored.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kuta Beach on my last night in Indonesia</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kuta is definitely no paradise, with sleazy hawkers at every turn and little boy pickpocketers that get close to you under the guise of selling bracelets and then before you know it half your life is missing. I know more than one person that got robbed at or after the clubs. The beach is busy and trashy. There's an over abundance of young drunk Australians and fake tanned Europeans. . .Actually, I think they may outnumber the Balinese. Sound like a tropical dream to you? Meh it is what it is. Cheap, tasty food and drinks and all the low price merchandise you can buy. Well, 'low price' as long as your bargaining skills are well practiced. If not they'll take you for all your worth and won't bat an eyelash over it.<br />
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I liked Lombok and wish I could have spent more time there. I would like to go to some of the more remote islands as well, to find that real tropical paradise. I think the key to Indonesia is to get off the severely beaten (and in some cases ruined) track. I guess if you are just on a short holiday and want to get hammered and have a massage and buy some cheap shit, Bali may just be for you. If you detect a hint of cynicism, you're probably correct. Coming from India and Nepal where the culture is so raw and intact to Indonesia where they've bent over backwards to do everything our way was great for about 3 days. Then it got old, fast. For me anyway.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_TdZcaW8dJsT3e9eVgZ3ZArQfkirnkj2JZ33BBlF8GF4KUyD1SxMwB0AElgl5R_VPiGHS9iOk2uVDFjFIKBQrMGTjHCdjPWFBwfMWmnX7fmolIRbrIydadRViGekbAOq-uocG2KpVnmg/s1600/_CSC0052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg_TdZcaW8dJsT3e9eVgZ3ZArQfkirnkj2JZ33BBlF8GF4KUyD1SxMwB0AElgl5R_VPiGHS9iOk2uVDFjFIKBQrMGTjHCdjPWFBwfMWmnX7fmolIRbrIydadRViGekbAOq-uocG2KpVnmg/s320/_CSC0052.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zambezi River from the plane with Vic Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And now I'm going to Africa, first stop Livingtstone, Zambia. As I was flying over the African plains I wondered what to expect from these lands below. I honestly had completely no idea. The difference between now and when I arrived in India is that I feel so much more empowered. My confidence in my ability to go into a new and foreign place, totally alone, and handle myself is tenfold what it was. I'm not panicking this time, I'm looking calmly at the unknown continent below thinking I can handle whatever presents itself.<br />
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I arrive at the Livingstone airport and pay for my visa and gather my belongings. I follow the crowd of middle aged and retired tourists into Zambia. I am the only backpacker type. . . .God I'm the only one under the age of 50. . . is this a bad coincidence? We wander out into the tiny airport. There's a row of drivers and tour organizers waiting with signs for their clients. Of course, none of them say my name. I watch as every single person on my flight meets their pre-arranged pick-up. Oh. . . .Maybe I should have booked something? That's ok, I'll just take a taxi. I walk confidently outside into the warm Zambian sun and. . . .There's no one! There's a field with some trees to one side, some birds chirping from the other, an empty parking lot. Maybe this is a first hint that Africa will be nothing at all like Asia. Where are all the people fighting for my business? Where are all the rickshaws, the tuk-tuks, the scooters, anyone?!?! Hmmm. I wander back inside looking and feeling a bit lost. In the tiny airport an official notices and approaches.<br />
"Is your ride not here, miss" he asks in a deep African accent.<br />
"I don't have a ride," I said "do you know where I can get a taxi?"<br />
"Well yes, I can get you one," he motions to another man and says something in a language I don't understand. We stand quietly for a moment and he seems to sum me up. I wonder what he is thinking about me.<br />
"Where are you from?" He asks.<br />
"Canada," I reply. His eyes light up with my response.<br />
"Ahhh!" He say, "Zambians like Canadians.Very nice! Welcome to Zambia!" and he outstretched a slim, dark hand in my direction. I shook it and smiled. Ok I thought, I'm making friends already! This is good.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Victoria Falls</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Shortly after I was passed off the a taxi driver. And here comes the part that I hate the most about arriving somewhere new: The first drive. When everything is unknown to you, you have no reference for how much things should cost, whether to barter, or how honest the drivers are. This is when there is a 99% chance you will get ripped off. It's basically inevitable and you should just accept it as a extra travel cost until you get your bearings.<br />
"How much to town? And please, just give me the honest price," I said.<br />
"Well that depends," he replied, "whether you are kind and would like to give me a little extra so that I can have a drink tonight." I sighed. He launched into a sob story about how much gas costs, and the airport charges him, yadda, yadda, yadda. So this is how it's going to be. I'm not getting an honest answer out of him. We settled on $15, which I'm pretty sure it should have been about $5. But what can I do? He is my only ride. Like I said, extra travel cost. He took me to my hostel safely without hassle, so it was worth it, I GUESS.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWW60LtA40cOJyl_Tng2Isw4x9Av5acUM0D7u93U_xaYhPuTQPAlNy2Ph0_0QV3GrVkvmlP7HFnwYhlhE0P2Ju8L6JQ-wUpuuyEA40AzUJuuo0aV0g4n1yJB3rCZAt0yofIOmKHJ0bSqJ/s1600/_DSC0038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWW60LtA40cOJyl_Tng2Isw4x9Av5acUM0D7u93U_xaYhPuTQPAlNy2Ph0_0QV3GrVkvmlP7HFnwYhlhE0P2Ju8L6JQ-wUpuuyEA40AzUJuuo0aV0g4n1yJB3rCZAt0yofIOmKHJ0bSqJ/s200/_DSC0038.JPG" width="133" /></a>I checked in and gazed out the hostel window. It's not what I expected at all. I thought I would see dusty roads and shabby, decaying buildings and ratty looking children running about. There are none of these things. In fact, there's a modern looking strip mall across the street. Slim, tall, and well dressed Africans walk the evenly paved sidewalk. I gather some courage and push myself out into the world. I wander over to the grocery store and enter while trying to keep my mouth from gaping open. It's exactly like home! Well almost, except my pale skin is the minority. But there they were, normal people buying normal food at a normal grocery store. Of all the images fed to us about Africa, good or bad, none of them ever showed anything like this!<br />
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But I can't pretend to understand how everything works yet. How white and black people view each other here, I have no idea. Everything seems peaceful on the surface, but I sense and undercurrent of something that I can't yet describe. Is it hostility or resentment? Or maybe it's the whisper of the HIV epidemic that hides in 1 of every 7 adult Zambians. You can't see it in their faces, in their smiles, in their smooth, dark skin. If someone hadn't told you, you wouldn't even know it's residing there amongst these normal people doing normal things, just like home. The setting is the familiar, but maybe the difference is they have to live with a disease that has in some way touched every one of their lives. It's scary to think.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpBaDC5kHLGvc5ciaeA7OudXsgBwNT9TfmCPYZqdyOiGYULeDC_GVzRz0nO1ADXYBuoCAwWUp9rjlarTMCWgdVotZI8PB3Uv81kpNkxvaJ5ILKBEMWJBkK6I-yQy6a93-NjZX_xMsT2vo/s1600/_DSC0043.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifpBaDC5kHLGvc5ciaeA7OudXsgBwNT9TfmCPYZqdyOiGYULeDC_GVzRz0nO1ADXYBuoCAwWUp9rjlarTMCWgdVotZI8PB3Uv81kpNkxvaJ5ILKBEMWJBkK6I-yQy6a93-NjZX_xMsT2vo/s320/_DSC0043.JPG" width="214" /></a>And so am here, adjusting. I knew Africa would not be like Asia and it's not. It's extremely difficult and expensive to get from A to B. Food is expensive. Activities are expensive. Accommodation is expensive. Everything is expensive! You can throw your $30/day budget out the window! So for this leg of my trip I'm joining a tour to keep the trip feasible, safe, and my budget in check. But until I start that, I'm out and about exploring on my own. I've made it to Victoria Falls, the biggest falls in the world! You can tell. It's just after the rainy season here and the water thunders over the ridge and ricochets up and fills the entire view with mist. At some points it's literally like getting hit with a monsoon rainstorm! I got soaked! I managed to get some pictures from off to the side, but I'm not sure the pictures do the sheer volume of these falls justice. I would have loved to be able to afford one of those fancy flights to see the whole thing from the air...But it cost $200 for 15 minutes. I think I'll spend my money on safaris instead! I did see some baboons at the falls, and they were scary! They were quite large and they would walk really close to you and glare you down. Some of them were fighting and I didn't want to find out what one could do to me if they wanted! </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwaeH7u1zFvyYV0J7Op32rl3-gq-9J2K3P5sY-bbpA3ffFUt6SBXS_QSEHr0uPj2OPy8pIeiEGuaF5bZ0U-kAlvItewmmMGLcseUqw8J7LCRD8uB0qrrgFG6oAiOtrIuTTAsFx0T49PiHD/s1600/_DSC0042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwaeH7u1zFvyYV0J7Op32rl3-gq-9J2K3P5sY-bbpA3ffFUt6SBXS_QSEHr0uPj2OPy8pIeiEGuaF5bZ0U-kAlvItewmmMGLcseUqw8J7LCRD8uB0qrrgFG6oAiOtrIuTTAsFx0T49PiHD/s320/_DSC0042.JPG" width="211" /></a></div>So tomorrow I head off with my group to Chobe National Park in Botswana. This park has one of the largest animal concentrations in all of Africa. I'm super excited and hope I can get my broken camera lens to work good enough to capture some wildlife! Wish me luck!<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-90876370245117032622011-04-10T06:58:00.000-07:002011-04-10T06:58:08.161-07:00The "Vacation" from my Vacation<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmriresPfwZ3bLW1PCVuQXQd3Dmb-rR4T0zc5LXl6kd41KhKbPaVoGzl-FVJEDXzaOXWMt02BilbLqQXDtaL-ZVVGu3KCpWQPFDYuUV9rAL40_idDei-sMdbApasrVThQNkNrx1wySUNS/s1600/_DSC1251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWmriresPfwZ3bLW1PCVuQXQd3Dmb-rR4T0zc5LXl6kd41KhKbPaVoGzl-FVJEDXzaOXWMt02BilbLqQXDtaL-ZVVGu3KCpWQPFDYuUV9rAL40_idDei-sMdbApasrVThQNkNrx1wySUNS/s320/_DSC1251.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gili Trawangan</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Indonesia was supposed to be my break from hard travel. To relax, lay on the beach, do nothing. The vacation from my vacation. So far I've surfed, shopped, scuba dived, socialized, and trekked but I haven't spent a single day lazing the beach. Oops. <br />
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After Kuta I got on a boat to Gili Trawangan, a small island off Lombok that's known for it's diving, beaches, and backpacker scene. I arrived homeless and directionless, the boat literally dumps you and your belongings on the beach. As I walk up the shore a mob of local men converge on me shouting "accommodation!" or "transport!" and trying to thrust business cards in my face. Jesus, let me get my feet on solid ground at least! Fending off the bombardment I made my way to the main road and picked a direction. Right seems nice. So off I went down the dirt path, dodging fast moving pony carts packed with tourists. There are no motorized vehicles on Gili Trawangan, which is fairly tiny, only bicycles and pony drawn carriages. So cute! It turns out it's not so hard to find your way on Gili T., I managed to have my dive course and accommodation worked out within 30 minutes.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I had to ride a bike a long way for this solitude!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now let me tell you a thing or two about Gili Trawangan. An island paradise perhaps, with glimmering blue waters and corally white sands. But the local guys? What a pain in the ass! Constant attention from male Indonesians trying to shake my hand and not let go, wanting to know my name, what I'm doing, trying to sell me drugs, trying to <i>GIVE</i> me drugs, prompting me to party with them. I'm sure some mean well, but come on, let me walk down the street in peace on occasion! I got the impression that a unique Gili T. trend has formed where a lot of the local guys depend solely on tourists to fulfill their. . .needs. The local culture is mostly Muslim and quite conservative. Outside of marriage I don't think all these single young guys were getting laid . . . ever. And then, somewhere along the line boat loads of liberal Western girls showed up on their shores wearing practically nothing and wanting to party. A pattern formed and now, years later, I'm paying the price. I came here to <i>DIVE</i> dammit! I don't want your weed, I'm pretty sure Whistler is the weed capital of Canada, this is not new or exciting to me! Mushrooms? Fun, but not worth getting tossed in Indonesian jail for, that's not on my travel itinerary. And finally, yes, I'm all alone, boo hoo, but I'm not some sad, love starved traveler. I will be staying in my own hut tonight, thank you. I mostly laughed it all off, the harassment was in no way aggressive or scary, just a constant annoyance for those of us not interested. I've heard similar reviews from fellow female travelers, even some with male partners with them. So when you hear about the friendliness of the Gili Trawangan locals, yah, it's true, but they're just a little <u><i>too</i></u> friendly.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHC_o5w8ZV87xtDloen9OYMOalmvJUsEZYAQwjmgCl64Vx_-fLFh5UNHp7t2EcEXug1WESbQcqa66Yqib-oq7zVcr1oUtjspOAWfvd93AEQak3gf2x3rIzJGu3K4lK_OWPBzbgLhyn-YuP/s1600/_DSC1256.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHC_o5w8ZV87xtDloen9OYMOalmvJUsEZYAQwjmgCl64Vx_-fLFh5UNHp7t2EcEXug1WESbQcqa66Yqib-oq7zVcr1oUtjspOAWfvd93AEQak3gf2x3rIzJGu3K4lK_OWPBzbgLhyn-YuP/s200/_DSC1256.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and my dive instructors</td></tr>
</tbody></table>But I must say in the bubble of my dive school, run almost entirely by Westerners, I've totally enjoyed myself. I loved diving! My instructors said that I was very comfortable and capable, and I felt like it too, it's not hard and it's so rewarding! The best part was rolling backwards off the boat for the first time. Letting the tank weight tip me from the edge I began to fall. Then, with a crash I was born into a new blue world in which I could see nothing but bubbles and the surface up there somewhere glittering in the light. It's a little disorientating, but then I realized YAY, I can breathe, and YAY, I can see, and YAY, I'm not going to sink like a rock with all this heavy stuff strapped to my back. FUN! On the way into the depths you are taught how to equalize to get that ouchy feeling out of your ears...and then there is a whole new world to be discovered! Over my 3 day course I saw 8 sea turtles, some over a meter long, flying effortlessly through the water or just chilling on the bottom munching seaweed. I saw octopus and cuttle fish that could change their skin colour so quickly they appeared to pulsate with blues, and reds, and grays. I saw rays and lobster slinking along the bottom or hiding beneath the corals. On my deepest dive, to a depth of 22m (deeper an open water diver is supposed to go, but my fast learning and comfort was rewarded), we saw white tipped reef sharks! And all this is set amongst a forest of multi-textured corals of every shape and colour. The fish that inhabit this seascape come in the billions, ranging from massive, rainbow-coloured schools to tiny individual Nemos (clown fish) that hide in the anemones. Now I'm addicted and want to see more! It isn't a matter of if I will do my advanced dive course, but when.<br />
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After I completed my dive course I finally had a few days with no plan. Time to do nothing and finally get that beach time? Wrong. It seems my type-A travel personality got in the way, and I signed myself up to hike Ganung Rinjani. Quite possibly the <i>STUPIDEST</i> thing I have ever volunteered and paid money to do. Imagine a ginormous, active volcano nearly 4000m above sea level. Indonesia's second highest peak and of course I just <i>HAVE </i>to climb it. So much for my Indonesian vacation from my vacation. So off I went to the island of Lombok to climb Rinjani 4 days after they opened it for the season. That means 4 days ago it was considered too gnarly and dangerous to reach the summit. Like I said, stupid. . . . .<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8KFNKYEBNem3Pki63u4C9UQk0yiIQShbx4xS0KEI_wPqKcrVVrxERyzkccB3kY5xg_bbYBoaQOmDNevU7KRCHRjaOqIBQARsKRThCAItQRaIQ3s7bmHC-e6ZByeM2TGjG-uuO1KYAVeD/s1600/_DSC0042.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiE8KFNKYEBNem3Pki63u4C9UQk0yiIQShbx4xS0KEI_wPqKcrVVrxERyzkccB3kY5xg_bbYBoaQOmDNevU7KRCHRjaOqIBQARsKRThCAItQRaIQ3s7bmHC-e6ZByeM2TGjG-uuO1KYAVeD/s320/_DSC0042.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above: Our crew and guide Below: Very stylish poncho</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3Bc3VKhjmD5rFYUmnwpz3ygyNjYwmyTeaNZ43ATE7F6t17rblqNSLwdLTKQNckeGoKruicDj_MZExQ0HjNubNmA9QbjW07Ne9qJMZl73pk9X3qpUFia1AOMdmpQE-PsmnyVaPqZXUv6b/s1600/_DSC1340.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz3Bc3VKhjmD5rFYUmnwpz3ygyNjYwmyTeaNZ43ATE7F6t17rblqNSLwdLTKQNckeGoKruicDj_MZExQ0HjNubNmA9QbjW07Ne9qJMZl73pk9X3qpUFia1AOMdmpQE-PsmnyVaPqZXUv6b/s200/_DSC1340.JPG" width="200" /></a>As we drove across Lombok I was impressed, it is gorgeous and largely undeveloped. Tropical greenery bursts out of every available space and there are emerald rice patties rimmed with perfect swaying palms. Me and my fellow climbers, 3 Dutch friends and a German couple, arrive at the Rinjani base at Senaru ignorant of our upcoming test of wills. That morning we began our ascent through a steamy tropical jungle. The air was so humid it was hard to tell if the moisture was accumulating on us as we walked or if it was the sweat flowing from our pours, but regardless we were soon soaked and dripping. . . .And then it started to rain. It was raining so hard cats and dogs don't even begin to do this downpour justice. It was raining horses and cows, ok? My guide supplied me with the most ridiculous child's size poncho that was fluorescent pink and yellow with cartoons on the chest, AND the head hole was too small so I had to rip it to get it on. Stylish. And we walked, in the pouring rain, up a mountain, wrapped in unbreathable plastic (poncho) in the thickest humidity ever (not comfortable!). Not to mention it was steep, and muddy, and the trail was completely rutted out by rushing water. Why, exactly, did I sign myself up for this?<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8hS-yd9XLkLriiJjTA3rhCqA34CnnW1yEXpZmlVKykG7AhmLnt-M423mHqgOnjvNv5NMVrdd0dUJkXX1jcC_Ayz-aTaoWzAw4MAvuCrIgNgd_o9fkcA2nCUCs7xP_rguKwRIBSgv14ic/s1600/_DSC0055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB8hS-yd9XLkLriiJjTA3rhCqA34CnnW1yEXpZmlVKykG7AhmLnt-M423mHqgOnjvNv5NMVrdd0dUJkXX1jcC_Ayz-aTaoWzAw4MAvuCrIgNgd_o9fkcA2nCUCs7xP_rguKwRIBSgv14ic/s400/_DSC0055.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above: First view of the cone through the mist Below: The "trail"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_SxEZsodtxDDJvG8Jm3cfOL4cw-Q8rcOkFAyYWQQLxrpAvSmlroX4iHI0oXyhgWCEs5gAJSVqk1v6NKKGgEuznvgBn2UrBe-9J-2AgfcjQJ-zXaRjxb0oIVPcYs_4tJLMwewWjqO1SNy/s1600/_DSC0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia_SxEZsodtxDDJvG8Jm3cfOL4cw-Q8rcOkFAyYWQQLxrpAvSmlroX4iHI0oXyhgWCEs5gAJSVqk1v6NKKGgEuznvgBn2UrBe-9J-2AgfcjQJ-zXaRjxb0oIVPcYs_4tJLMwewWjqO1SNy/s200/_DSC0073.JPG" width="200" /></a>After and uncomfortable, damp night in a tent perched on uneven ground we set off at 5:30am. It was very steep uphill as we stumbled past the tree line and up to the rim of the crater. When we finally reached the top at 2641m above sea level we strained our eyes to see the view and . . . Mist. Damn. Not so inspiring. But, no time to waste, now that we had climbed over 2000 vertical meters, it was time to descend down inside the crater to the lake, over 600m below us. You'd think going down would be easier, and maybe it would have, if there was a proper trail. But everything was so overgrown, unmaintained, and crumbling we literally had to pick our way, step by step, foot by foot. And then it happened. The clouds began to part revealing the most surreal view I'd ever seen. Rising from a giant lake, with a backdrop of forest clinging to the outer crater, was the inner volcano, a large, barren cone with hardened lava reaching out in a star formation from it's base. It oozed steam into the atmosphere. It was stunning, and all at once, the hardship so far was worth it. Once we reached the crater lake we were rewarded with the most amazing hot springs, located directly beside a large, gushing waterfall. Only a few boulders held in the hot water that trickled directly from the rocks. Awesome! We all eagerly hopped in, soaking our poor, tired muscles. I took turns rotating from the cold river to the hot pools and it was soooo good. But soon our guide was urging us on. We'd only covered about half the ground we needed to that day. And lucky us, now that we'd climbed all the way down inside the crater, we now had to climb back out on the other side to base camp at 2639m. You do the math. I can tell you personally it sucked, big time.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbF1hsNqKRomr6Wb74QRSLq00Zfg0rh8LWhqqlUD96MgJgezQ_PtAjvsBvVD-9C2mG83jpdYpn6Y6IrLEmfaYzMrMSaftS8BK_jMaYXlvKn0m-uROQliPgghy0CCiIChPdqYyddLVaOq5/s1600/_CSC0254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXbF1hsNqKRomr6Wb74QRSLq00Zfg0rh8LWhqqlUD96MgJgezQ_PtAjvsBvVD-9C2mG83jpdYpn6Y6IrLEmfaYzMrMSaftS8BK_jMaYXlvKn0m-uROQliPgghy0CCiIChPdqYyddLVaOq5/s320/_CSC0254.JPG" width="179" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hot springs in the mist</td></tr>
</tbody></table>That afternoon we scrambled our way, in the rain, up the sheer crater's edge to base camp. It was freezing up there, and being so hot everywhere else I'd been up until that point I hadn't packed enough warm clothes. That night I froze, but at least I didn't have to suffer long . . .our wake up call came at 2:30am. No that's not a typo. 2:30am is the time you need to get up to reach the summit by sunrise, and you have to be there by then because shortly after the humidity rises from lower elevation and shrouds the entire view in mist. So by 3:00am we were on the side of the mountain climbing, in complete darkness, with only our flashlights for guidance. And it was no walk in the park. The volcanic soil was loose here and it's extremely steep. More often than not you had to scurry on all fours while your feet slid out from under you and your hands clung to the gravel while you hoped to God you wouldn't slide away into the dark abyss. The wind howled at what seemed like 100kms an hour. I'll tell you right now, we didn't all make it to the summit. In fact, a whopping 4 out of 6 of us were conquered by Rinjani that morning and had to turn back.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutor0uxROYto8HTkgyE-bOWSHnwe9NCcHiAvlL5t7OU_DxCSPKOxYrhotPUqkhqjxwXO2VKn0tf-Kzk4q7eb2fgQbsNpQgzRVEvPLLcibQSX1qmuSay443XD17AUH_9v4hAlinY8hZALH/s1600/_CSC0247.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutor0uxROYto8HTkgyE-bOWSHnwe9NCcHiAvlL5t7OU_DxCSPKOxYrhotPUqkhqjxwXO2VKn0tf-Kzk4q7eb2fgQbsNpQgzRVEvPLLcibQSX1qmuSay443XD17AUH_9v4hAlinY8hZALH/s320/_CSC0247.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise</td></tr>
</tbody></table>After 3 hours of climbing in the dark I noticed the sun was just bringing it's first hint of light to the horizon. For the first time, I looked around and realized how high I was, climbing a steep, gravel-coated ridge no more than a meter in width. It dropped down on either side into what looked like oblivion. I began to hyperventilate. Suddenly the wind felt like it was going to whip me right from the mountainside. I was all alone in the dark, with everyone either far ahead or behind me. I laid my stomach down on the earth and clutched the gravel in my hands and tried to breathe but I was panicking. This is so stupid, no mountain peak or pretty view is worth my life! Tears began to pour down my cheeks, right there, as I clung to the windy ridge. I wanted anything and everything familiar then, to be warm and dry and safe. I looked back down the trail and thought about turning back. . . .But did I? OH HELL NO. I made it to the summit blood, sweat, and tears and all. I'm not one to do things halfway. Just as I was about to have a panic attack the sun came and there was my guide, maybe 100m behind, sitting to watch it rise. He was alone, everyone else had gone back. I could see the peak high above my head and slowly I sat, then stood. I dug my feet in and continued into the wind for the final ascent. On the top was the most spectacular view I'd ever seen. The skies were open and you could see for miles to the Gilis in the northwest and Sumbawa in the east. The crater lake and cone was below us in full view, looking unworldly. Us two survivors had a celebratory high five and took turns snapping photos of one another. I was all smiles and couldn't believe I made it!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpHJfxnVNDbhfZfeZq2Xg-59MtpEOymqzfVHA5WYAH1btxSd__qn8QNp1s1ioKkjyzPFkcCSsumNTfGjC_zo9ODVILOvmhT3uAvTmIvCIAoc3izeuasbBg_80a7JCsfQ74wo_1iYygRwM/s1600/_CSC0252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbpHJfxnVNDbhfZfeZq2Xg-59MtpEOymqzfVHA5WYAH1btxSd__qn8QNp1s1ioKkjyzPFkcCSsumNTfGjC_zo9ODVILOvmhT3uAvTmIvCIAoc3izeuasbBg_80a7JCsfQ74wo_1iYygRwM/s400/_CSC0252.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View of the lake from the Rinjani summit, just after sunrise</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwsDsUIDnfRWwlYoyXsFAZ23Y9wxj0qztbJUrdgh0VhBV34vHqcv1kBdEY_ifqVsHzhH-stgUpJtIUFLzEsv7iqzhVR2i7Fz_VrARWHj36MOMLnqLqfv7S2P1qWad2Al-XD33iTyFOc37/s1600/_CSC0241.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKwsDsUIDnfRWwlYoyXsFAZ23Y9wxj0qztbJUrdgh0VhBV34vHqcv1kBdEY_ifqVsHzhH-stgUpJtIUFLzEsv7iqzhVR2i7Fz_VrARWHj36MOMLnqLqfv7S2P1qWad2Al-XD33iTyFOc37/s320/_CSC0241.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ubud sculpture</td></tr>
</tbody></table>And I will end the tale there. Just a side note, the real story still included another 7-8hr descent back to the nearest village at Sembalun, over 2500m below the Rinjani summit. I fell, I bruised and scratched my arm. My flip flops made a guest appearance as they so often do. I had to make my way all the way back to Gili T. that night, find a place to stay, book my ticket to Ubud the next day, collect my big pack from the travel agent's. By the time I collapsed into my rented bed for that night I think I was the most exhausted I'd ever been. That trek was extremely challenging and made Nepal look like child's play. <br />
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I'm now in Ubud spending way too much money on food and massages. Only one more day now until I am off to Zambia!<br />
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....Below are some monkey pictures that really weren't relevant to my story....They just hung around camp during the trek looking for handouts....But they were too cute so I had to include them :)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTaSzBQk7t479oojb6CJbJhLmZ9BBKPRMkj0vnVyCwkKtIJL54PjYbI__pzzRcFC8SwPokHUQHkmMTm7SBGXLkuN2nIcFtqgOQTPCmHBBiM0LsdpcMIV4w8KTnQV3EMFJH6s-yC7Olal1/s1600/_CSC0243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosSGXdUUkMEVf-vG3n7yH2jmgA9m4dSRxJMFn0MCECslHm0R_9jx8O8WbVtq3IMyvXnOmJfsjrCyVzceMI8MJ3TElfbWmzh-xDjoLpMPZ04aOJUyqoM0sara8VHZONVtG2AhUyHwqz5Jx/s1600/_CSC0248.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosSGXdUUkMEVf-vG3n7yH2jmgA9m4dSRxJMFn0MCECslHm0R_9jx8O8WbVtq3IMyvXnOmJfsjrCyVzceMI8MJ3TElfbWmzh-xDjoLpMPZ04aOJUyqoM0sara8VHZONVtG2AhUyHwqz5Jx/s320/_CSC0248.JPG" width="213" /></a> <img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzTaSzBQk7t479oojb6CJbJhLmZ9BBKPRMkj0vnVyCwkKtIJL54PjYbI__pzzRcFC8SwPokHUQHkmMTm7SBGXLkuN2nIcFtqgOQTPCmHBBiM0LsdpcMIV4w8KTnQV3EMFJH6s-yC7Olal1/s400/_CSC0243.JPG" width="266" /></div> </div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-89286545847318291672011-03-30T03:00:00.000-07:002011-03-31T04:16:06.481-07:00Nepal Thoughts, Transit Rambles, and Indonesia!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL0P14xMAetdaVAU8tARLdn5jKC4sOAkRx4Bo2Yj_NXE6LDff1KouamGDDRKYHNWfikt67U0d_ROXTXWEZt6vMIBVIkzzlYtFSHnHsOGyzO6t3AdCDZFcebMJbbQ-hrJgcbblfFf3CTnj/s1600/_DSC0810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguL0P14xMAetdaVAU8tARLdn5jKC4sOAkRx4Bo2Yj_NXE6LDff1KouamGDDRKYHNWfikt67U0d_ROXTXWEZt6vMIBVIkzzlYtFSHnHsOGyzO6t3AdCDZFcebMJbbQ-hrJgcbblfFf3CTnj/s400/_DSC0810.JPG" width="267" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nepal</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've been on a 2 day journey from Kathmandu, Nepal to Bali, Indonesia so I've had a lot of time to think about my experiences thus far. Before I get too into it, for all of you that have read the book <i>Eat, Pray, Love </i>and are seeing some similarities, yes I'm going from India to Indonesia like she did. But that's pretty much the end of it! I didn't go to India to pray, the only thing I'll be loving in Indonesia is the coral reefs and white sand beaches, and I never go to any foreign country to eat. I'm the pickiest eater on the face of the planet, I'm more likely to starve to death. I've always had an innate dessire to see the world, but at some point I'm going to have to put a career first, so thus I've lumped a huge trip together so I can see my top picks before I get (somewhat) serious about life. And hopefully I'll have some idea what I want to do with this somewhat serious life by the time I return. .. .But if I don't, I won't be surpirsed or disappointed.<br />
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So now that that's out of the way, let's talk about Nepal. Nepal is one of the poorest countries in the world, but in terms of physical beauty, friendly people, and outdoor activities, it is also one of the richest. Nepal is curerntly at that magical place where all the infrastructure and activities you need and want are there, but hasn't been ruined by mass resort-centred tourism. Granted if you want a luxourious and comfortable holiday, Nepal is not for you. But if you're like me and love the outdoors, genuine experiences, and don't mind roughing it a bit, Nepal can be your playground. <br />
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I've learned a lot while here. I've learned how to live with a maximum of 6 hours of electricity a day. It's the dry season when the dams aren't generating much power here, so they just don't have electricity! Can you imagine how well that would go over at home?? There would be riots in the street!! I've also learned that hand sanitizer is a magical substance that can multitask as an anticeptic AND deoderant! Scientifically tested and proven in the Himalayas by me, my friends! I've learned I hate curry. . . .Indian curry, Nepali curry, Thai curry, Malaysian curry, Burmese curry. I've tried them all and not a one have I enjoyed. So I'm offically giving up on curry. Finally, I've learned that showers and toilet paper, so coveted in the western world, are actually extravegant luxuries, and I shouldn't be so spoiled as to expect them on a daily basis!<br />
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Have I had any magical revelalations about my place in the world? No. Don't believe all the hype, all these travel novels (as the one above mentioned) that tell you that that trip you've just been dying to go on will solve all your miseries and help you discover your true meaning in life. It won't. Lucky for me, I had very few miseries to start off with. As for my place in the world, I'm finding travel, if anything, confuses the matter even more. Why do some people, like myself, have so much while others have so little? Not just material things, we come from a land of infinite possibility, from the second we are born we are told we can do anything, be anything, all we have to do it work a little at it. In India and Nepal you are born into your caste, from the second these people are born they are told who they're going to be and what they're going to do. There's little to no choice in the matter. So in the land of a million choices, shouldn't we be happier? For some reason, I find in general we're not. Why are so many of us unfulfilled, feeling like something is missing, like we should be more than we are? Maybe it's because this is what we have been taught <i><u>to</u></i> believe. If you can do <u><i>anything,</i></u> why are you (or I) serving people food, that's not good enough. Sitting at a desk? You're better than that. We are smarter, highly educated, and we deserve more. Maybe we are set up, from birth, to be disappointed in ourselves. <b><u>OR </u></b>maybe I'm spouting total crap! Maybe if the Nepalis and Indians had half the opportunities we did they'd be at the top of the world right now. Maybe we are not just the land of a million choices, but the land of a million self involved, ungrateful winers! Which do you think? I sure don't know! But before I get too philosophical here, my point to you is that travel is going to elicit more questions than answers. Especially if you are visiting regions more disadvantaged than your own. If it doesn't, you're not looking hard enough and you're missing the point. . .But that's another rant entirely.<br />
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So now I am in Indonesia. 24 hours of layovers and waiting in airports for 3 flights combined to equal only 10 hours in the air. SIGH. At the Singapore airport I got screwed over. One of the best airports in the world but all the amenities are inside security. Because I was changing airlines I had to collect my baggage and couldn't check back in for another nine hours. So all the free internet, beds, restaurants, butterfly and botanical gardens, pool, and TVs were within my reach, just through a glass door and x-ray machine, but I couldn't enter until my damn airline opened it's booth and checked my baggage, nine hours from the current time. Lovely. I guess I could have argued with the airport officials, but I just accepted my crappy fate. Others may have been smarter, but after living in the far end of the third world for the last month and a half I wasn't that hard to impress. Everything was so clean and shiny here! I drank a real hazelnut latte (for a real $5) and left my wallet sitting in front of me on the table and didn't fear it being snatched. I watched the people in their modern clothes. Shorts! And tank tops! And no one was gawking at them like they were deranged Western sluts. The holy grail of my whole Day In The First World experience was a trip to the washroom. Glistening and pristine, I nearly jumped up and down with glee when I saw the western toilet, freshly cleaned, with *<i>gasp</i>* toilet paper! WOW! It just doesn't get any better than this folks.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuu4IYdQcKwylz0eOM5p7K38mWcUmZM_y_WNOy3wCq_lL8RrGjdkA9tOYs8DY2QfSMFoam2yKRezAjWxUfDciB5QdUmmM1zorJMIah2bUWaJAUDGL5Uoy1_uGVNCH_QpIoWBD5B95laqo/s1600/_DSC1189.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyuu4IYdQcKwylz0eOM5p7K38mWcUmZM_y_WNOy3wCq_lL8RrGjdkA9tOYs8DY2QfSMFoam2yKRezAjWxUfDciB5QdUmmM1zorJMIah2bUWaJAUDGL5Uoy1_uGVNCH_QpIoWBD5B95laqo/s320/_DSC1189.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kuta Beach just before a storm </td></tr>
</tbody></table>So I finally arrived in Denpasar, Indonesia at local time 10:30pm. It's always a little unsettling to arrive alone, at night, in an unknown locale. But I am getting used to this travel thing, and it wasn't so bad. I met two solo guys going to Kuta Beach as well and we decided to share a cab. One guy was French Canadian and his accent was comforting reminder of my Whistler home. He had even BEEN in Whistler for a month before he'd left for this trip. So we talked about my home while we slid through the night to Kuta beach. We got dropped off on the side of the road about a km from Kuta, unannounced by the cab driver who was not very helpful with directions (I think he was pissed that he got three of us for the price of one, even though we gave him a good tip. Bad Karma coming his way!). So we got lost and spent the next hour wandering around looking for our hotels. Thunder was rumbling and as we wound our way down the allies and lanes near Kuta the lightning cracked and instantly a waterfall of rain fell from the sky. Just like in the movies! We ran for cover but we were already soaked, the streets filled up with water. After a short downfall it stopped and I was able to slosh through the puddles to my hotel for the evening.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY6UPFO7VfgsLVT2YbHBTeP9FDm3Ss0MrOTfQ38mJHXTHYgtPFtPpcdnp0Egfldt5WSJUIP2PDBBjvAQUocaqXiUEfwG_dAkyWOaOQ0bLBQFlKQtzs4ZpqxbX1ZzVCzJoIZsXWA_Wj9ge/s1600/_DSC1222.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeY6UPFO7VfgsLVT2YbHBTeP9FDm3Ss0MrOTfQ38mJHXTHYgtPFtPpcdnp0Egfldt5WSJUIP2PDBBjvAQUocaqXiUEfwG_dAkyWOaOQ0bLBQFlKQtzs4ZpqxbX1ZzVCzJoIZsXWA_Wj9ge/s320/_DSC1222.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me and Carly by our hotel pool</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Kuta Beach. A sun soaked strip of land lined with vendors and hawkers of every kind. Everything you could ever want or need is at your fingertips here - except any form of peace, quiet, or solitude. After India and Nepal, Kuta is a laugh-out-loud easy place to find my way. It is also glaringly unauthentic, commercial, and Westernized. But I'm ok with that, for a change. A day after my arrival I met up with Carly J. from home. We sipped beers with my new French Canadian buddy while we wandered the main strip, dodging hawkers selling everything from fake label sunglasses to hard drugs. We paid our condolences at the Kuta bombing memorial, then proceeded that evening to one of the biggest clubs on Bali. 6 floors of fake-tanned Westerners jostling to dance music, hip hop, or tech house. They even give you free drinks and snacks between 10pm and 12am. . .Although there's not much alcohol in them.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2oJuxMwl2KaonXxbt2MbjK9xJpw5q9t1UEhRAv4wkMqsBc7fg5tvgNaK2wSBxt2XmvAnTrX8BQppj3XhM57-OfTnkEtL3-eLSTQicFWYjh_ngR_YZtMBEY38cPTb6PKlso6NNIbrp08sj/s1600/_DSC1206.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2oJuxMwl2KaonXxbt2MbjK9xJpw5q9t1UEhRAv4wkMqsBc7fg5tvgNaK2wSBxt2XmvAnTrX8BQppj3XhM57-OfTnkEtL3-eLSTQicFWYjh_ngR_YZtMBEY38cPTb6PKlso6NNIbrp08sj/s200/_DSC1206.JPG" width="200" /></a><br />
<div style="text-align: right;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"></div>The next 2 days consisted of lounging by the pool, shopping in street stalls, surfing, and indulging in Kuta's many restaurants, including McDonalds. Hell yes I ate a Big Mac meal, on brand new wooden patio furniture, ocean side, with zero shame! All that surfing works up an appetite. Kuta actually has decent surf . . . If you don't mind wading amongst the trash. That beach is covered, from tip to tip,<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUgAMUhSa8NmAuy-ttQFnRcefPYKtroe3sS5WZGKpLp-hC7PerD1lVAlHTh7SXae7oEJGLp1lC9rG1QjIv2MzqghMINo60tifP9-PgZRYbxuZdpXtj1g4uY2r4Y5OyydPde_stZVlbEJJ/s1600/_DSC1219.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOUgAMUhSa8NmAuy-ttQFnRcefPYKtroe3sS5WZGKpLp-hC7PerD1lVAlHTh7SXae7oEJGLp1lC9rG1QjIv2MzqghMINo60tifP9-PgZRYbxuZdpXtj1g4uY2r4Y5OyydPde_stZVlbEJJ/s320/_DSC1219.JPG" width="320" /></a>in an excessive amount of garbage. It's disgusting, Kuta get your act together! So me and Carly bobbed around with the plastic wrappers and tried to catch some waves, with varying degrees of enjoyment and success. I guess the board rental only cost $3 for the day. Despite coating myself in SPF 70, my poor white limbs got toasted and I am now a lovely shade of pink. So currently I'm on a white sand island surrounded in crystal clear waters hiding from the sun. SIGH. Happy to report, however, that Gili Trawangan is garbage free. I found myself the cutest little bungalow maybe 1 minute from the beach with my own porch, bathroom, and breakfast included for $9. Saaweeeet! I also signed up for my PADI open water scuba dive course. I start tomorrow and this is literally a life long dream finally coming true for me! So I will be parked on Gili Trawangan for the next 4 days at least. I'll let you know how it goes :)<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-61017130436681899122011-03-25T08:40:00.000-07:002011-03-25T08:40:59.249-07:00Nepal Part 2: The Trek<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJ77kNgE0GwUgeuBkk8so7pgW_9knF9TELp-fjY102_6Y0NOzLfmRGbyPPxUK9XFloltmUYbjWCu7PJ99bUO15jW5sm5vsBs-c3wcwv4goAJspl2TS8O98itcG4omGMsMwI_j6VYOcdh2/s1600/_DSC0838.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTJ77kNgE0GwUgeuBkk8so7pgW_9knF9TELp-fjY102_6Y0NOzLfmRGbyPPxUK9XFloltmUYbjWCu7PJ99bUO15jW5sm5vsBs-c3wcwv4goAJspl2TS8O98itcG4omGMsMwI_j6VYOcdh2/s400/_DSC0838.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from Kagbeni</td></tr>
</tbody></table><u>DAY 1: THE BEGINNING</u><br />
I was ready to go, full of energy and excited to spend 9 days in the Himalayas doing one of my favourite activities, trekking. As we left our start point at Jonsom and entered into nature all of us fell quiet. The only sounds were the rhythmic crunching of our feet and the constant rushing of the wind. This was completely different terrain than I'd seen so far. We were totally submerged in the Himalayas and giant white peaks rose from what seemed like right in front of me. The landscape was otherwise vast and sparse, making me feel tiny and insignificant. The wind blew strong here, and despite the blue skies it was <u>cold</u>. I bundled into my wool toque and tried to keep up with the boys. 3 other guys, 2 male guides, and 2 male porters make up our team. Like or or not, I was going to have to be one of the boys for the next 9 days. Despite the shortest legs, least muscle mass, and smallest bladder (believe me, this matters in the open wilderness!) I seemed to be holding my own on day one. After hiking for several hours we arrived at Kagbeni (2810m above sea level), a small village nestled into the mountainside. The views here were stunning, I couldn't even decide where to look because there was 360 degrees of mind blowing amazingness. The village itself was made up of sturdy stone houses that were draped with multicoloured prayer flags that never ceased to flutter restlessly with the wind. After exploring around the village we turned in early to prepare for a long hike the next day.<br />
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</u><br />
<u>DAY 2: THE DAY OF UP</u><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIGJn5DYVzcCQhvOlU1hlPtFXMr6lZoAodMRY5vn7zOE0xHcLkMqfdDa6_ooS5mR-7H7se0CT4N9KTPDQ4JLEfQGOCOE17XxKCW6QRKWgiIXPwSc7RmGKIITuTDsNKmq1a-j94tNJW2QVl/s1600/_DSC0922.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIGJn5DYVzcCQhvOlU1hlPtFXMr6lZoAodMRY5vn7zOE0xHcLkMqfdDa6_ooS5mR-7H7se0CT4N9KTPDQ4JLEfQGOCOE17XxKCW6QRKWgiIXPwSc7RmGKIITuTDsNKmq1a-j94tNJW2QVl/s400/_DSC0922.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View on the way to Muktinath</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The next day we climbed above the snowline to Muktinath (3802m above sea level), which involved an entire day of uphill.1000m of up to be exact. I started out energetic, but by the end of the day I was dragging my ass up the hill. We were hiking high enough that the air began to get thin, and altitude sickness became a real possibility. But I seemed to do fine, other than some pathetic gasping for oxygen. The younger guys skipped merrily ahead, seemingly unaffected by the constant gain in elevation. SIGH. When we finally arrived at Muktinath I was definitely relieved, but when I tucked into bed that night the temperature became unbearably cold. I huddled in my sleeping bag in the fetal position, shivering. My nose was so cold I thought frost bite might set in overnight. I covered myself with more clothes and blankets, but it didn't help, the wind seemed to howl right through the nearly non-existent walls. I hated being alone then, cowering in my room. Damn you Nepal, for your lack of insulation and interior heating! You think a country this cold would have figured this stuff out by now! I wondered how the locals could survive a winter up here, isolated and frozen, God that would be horrible. No altitude sickness to report, but one of younger guys had some problems. That's what you get for trotting around so happily!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CMpa198uKJLe9SaD4Ftvv3otBkDiaGsKvvp3NtZrOyA9006nuvInXfvXnhbPTysDbybToGuJpr5sMrzT9Ac6h5QQ6J4csKQxIq7yb9s1dN43Pd2Fr0V1Kmb_fPx5ux5zy3ExbiArbsBw/s1600/_DSC0941.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5CMpa198uKJLe9SaD4Ftvv3otBkDiaGsKvvp3NtZrOyA9006nuvInXfvXnhbPTysDbybToGuJpr5sMrzT9Ac6h5QQ6J4csKQxIq7yb9s1dN43Pd2Fr0V1Kmb_fPx5ux5zy3ExbiArbsBw/s400/_DSC0941.JPG" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way to Marpha on my b-day</td></tr>
</tbody></table><u>DAY 3: BIRTHDAY CHEESEBURGER MELTDOWN</u><br />
By the next morning, weary, tired, and still cold, I was grumpy. And we had to walk 28kms that day. Happy Birthday to Me. Yes, this day just so happened to be my 27th birthday. When I was planning this trip I thought it would be cool to be doing something fun and adventurous on the day of my birth. Maybe it was because I started the day out unimpressed with life, but I actually found the whole thing depressing. Out here, we are completely cut off. Many villages didn't have phones, let alone cellphone reception or internet. I couldn't talk to a single person I loved on my Nepali birthday (which took place mostly on the 15th of March in Canada, a day before my actual birthday, since Nepal is 16.25 hours in the future). I didn't think it would be a big deal to me, but it was, and I was homesick. The guys tried, especially Rupan our main guide. He was so nice, arranging a card (Himalayas post card), gift (Nepali bracelet), cake (apple crumble from the orchards in Marpha), and bought some vodka for us all to share. But really, I just wanted my stupid phone to work or the damn internet to be available. Or better yet, I just wanted to be home, minus the aching legs, nasty blisters, sunburn, and with my loved ones eating a cheeseburger. Yes, a cheeseburger. This simple food item does not seem to exist in India or Nepal and that's all I wanted for my birthday and I did not get it! Is that too much to ask? We are hiking 20-odd kms a day on a vegetarian diet with only eggs and nuts (an lentils, YUCK) for protein. Well bull shit! I wanted an f-ing cheesburger and I felt entitled to pout because I couldn't have one. I put on a half smile for the guys, I think they were somewhat convinced. I went to bed aching for home.<br />
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<u>DAY 4: HEAD DOWN, FEET FORWARD</u> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ74rWYCnV8zLJszrPtYD7ysu452sWuAxtd1QmxlTL4Dv5XmhAEGtjMXlbIBiogW8rMqWXiH2r4SeMyeqtAO7McOxSWvjBs0eoIqHFnnRYXUpapz0Y1HUSzVvQvuKgzmk_7B7G8utO2243/s1600/_DSC0963.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZ74rWYCnV8zLJszrPtYD7ysu452sWuAxtd1QmxlTL4Dv5XmhAEGtjMXlbIBiogW8rMqWXiH2r4SeMyeqtAO7McOxSWvjBs0eoIqHFnnRYXUpapz0Y1HUSzVvQvuKgzmk_7B7G8utO2243/s400/_DSC0963.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Above: near Ghasa Below: Hiking in flip flops, carrying my skate shoes</td></tr>
</tbody></table><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHmQCwOYu0M5ajxWjBJupWFaBCTADCjNdNXKIxhcqVlVcvKHZ_-vm93p1g8JOVEp-zet38hZSew5_ZVvUXHlw7r4nDzB2xW_GQcoDJsngN76X62DI0PiAZz7hZw5LlQaCoTt9eFHaIgMU/s1600/_DSC0975.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="132" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNHmQCwOYu0M5ajxWjBJupWFaBCTADCjNdNXKIxhcqVlVcvKHZ_-vm93p1g8JOVEp-zet38hZSew5_ZVvUXHlw7r4nDzB2xW_GQcoDJsngN76X62DI0PiAZz7hZw5LlQaCoTt9eFHaIgMU/s200/_DSC0975.JPG" width="200" /></a>I woke up thinking "I'm supposed to be enjoying this trek. Why am I being such a baby. After all, I <i>chose</i> to do it. Alright, today will be the day! I'm a strong girl, I love the outdoors, adventure....I'm in Nepal!!! Screw the internet, phones, who needs them! I'm going to conquer the Himalayas!" and I hopped out of bed ready to go and OH....MY....GOD....I didn't think it was possible for walking to hurt that much. Apparently the bajillion kms of walking had taken their toll overnight and my muscles had tightened into a ridged, painful mass of useless tissue. And we were walking 24kms that day. Unable to convince my blistered feet back into my hiking boots, I hobbled out in my backup pair of skate shoes. Alright Himalayas, if this is how it's going to be, FINE. I can take a little pain. The first 10kms went relatively well, until I stumbled into a creek soaking my feet. My blisters screamed, my muscled tensed...I couldn't walk with wet feet. Time for the backup of the backup. for the next 14kms, much to everyone's bewilderment, I hiked in my flip flops. I hate to say it, but they were the most comfortable footwear I'd worn so far. My feet were happier, but my legs were getting increasingly painful. So I got my game face on. I clenched my teeth, cranked my ipod to the most angry dubstep music I had (thank you Excision) and put my head down and just walked. Every single step shot pain up my leg, into my lower back, and down again. But I channeled every last ounce of pent up frustration into keeping my feet moving. F-you Himalayas, I don't need shoes! I don't need meat! I don't need working appendages! I grimaced and dragged myself ungracefully up and down a mountain and finally we made it to our night's resting place...Just before my legs gave out and my f-word quota for the next decade was entirely used up. Now I just had to get through the next five days. Oh f*ck. <br />
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<u>DAY 5: THE STRUGGLE</u><br />
Day 5 came with as much pain as the day before with about half the determination. I limped, I stumbled, I nearly broke down and cried...and I didn't enjoy a single second of it. I could barely keep up with the guys, got frustrated that every single step was painful, and I wanted to rip my hiking boots off my feet and hurl them into the river. I found a reason to hate everyone and everything. Mostly I was pissed at myself because I was supposed to be able to <i>DO</i> this. This was my thing. Why am I struggling? Why am I the only one with blisters, shin splints, brutal pain? I hated feeling weak and my spirits drifted dangerously low that day. But I did not give up. I made it to the next stopping point at Tatopani (1189m). Thankfully there were hot springs here and I sighed relief as I dipped my aching muscles into the steamy, sulfur scented waters. Finally there was internet available and I could read all my birthday wishes from my friends and family. It lifted my spirits. But as I went to bed that night, licking my wounds, I feared the next day. I wasn't sure I could take another like the last...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayAviV-lHOK5je6d8ZwBj77aiakLDHfDOSFZFExT3BNCQfDG9Gjr4OOHkgXZB3KRsBdUXKo76uy-DVc_5lZkNNXY6q_Y35Y3FzbHzqgrXE_Icy4nAmNZaolLaOV53OjHwKmahBrCDZ6cf/s1600/_DSC0858.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjayAviV-lHOK5je6d8ZwBj77aiakLDHfDOSFZFExT3BNCQfDG9Gjr4OOHkgXZB3KRsBdUXKo76uy-DVc_5lZkNNXY6q_Y35Y3FzbHzqgrXE_Icy4nAmNZaolLaOV53OjHwKmahBrCDZ6cf/s320/_DSC0858.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prayer Wheels</td></tr>
</tbody></table><u>DAY 6 & 7: THE CLIMB</u><br />
It took 2 days to trek from the river valley at Tatopani (1189m) to reach the mountain top at Ghorepani (2724m). 2 entire days of steep climbing, so basically I was on the stair-master from 8am in the morning to 3pm when we stopped for the day. If I don't look like Wonder Woman by the end of this, I want my money back. Despite some huffing and puffing, the uphill turned out to be a blessing. It gave my sore shins a rest from any impact. As for the blisters, they were still there, ugly, bulbous masses or raw, gaping wounds. How I got around these was to again hike in my flip flops. I'm beginning to think that flip flops are the ultimate in footwear. I mean, they are 100% breathable, lightweight, durable, can get wet and will dry in minutes, and most importantly, DON'T RUB. All the locals wear them so there has to be some truth to this. So I climbed a mountain in my $10 flip flops while my $100 hiking boots dangled off the back of my pack. Figures.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrUo0oBjOp2IvQH9nGjwpEpN7zM_guuXyKj28s4nkIsCairglsJ55YsyxK0o28sciJsG1KGerETop2P4bLvgrnvglfKcJAckzO1Ai-_zN2Dn53krVZelLtw_bYVD_SDkh7c6DORIfUpp7/s1600/_DSC1105.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrUo0oBjOp2IvQH9nGjwpEpN7zM_guuXyKj28s4nkIsCairglsJ55YsyxK0o28sciJsG1KGerETop2P4bLvgrnvglfKcJAckzO1Ai-_zN2Dn53krVZelLtw_bYVD_SDkh7c6DORIfUpp7/s400/_DSC1105.JPG" width="266" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Prayer Flags</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Now that I wasn't looking angrily at the ground, I noticed it was a lot greener her. We weaved and climbed our way through villages that were just cute as a button. They kind of reminded me of The Shire from Lord of the Rings, just minus the hobbits and underground dwellings and plus some Nepalis and clay and cobblestone huts. Magical rings and evil lurking in the shadows, not quite, but you could tell life is not easy here. You try scaping out an existence on the side of a mountain with zero flat land, medical facilities, roads, power, or basic supplies. I know I couldn't do it. When electricity becomes a luxury, just count me out. I've been spoiled by my western upbringings. I like to rough it...for a week or two. Then I want my shower to be hot, my house to be heated, and I want to watch TV while eating a cheeseburger! The fact that I feel entitled to these things, that we <i>ALL</i> feel entitled to these things, well that says something about the world. Think about that next time your power knocks off and you don't know what to do with yourself!<br />
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<u>DAY 8 & 9: THE FINISH LINE</u><br />
Now that we'd climbed the mountain, we got to come down. Our last night on top everyone gathered around this makeshift wood stove in in our lodges main room. It was the only source of warmth as the wind howled and it stormed outside, so everyone staying at the lodge (all 10 of us) were there. It was cosy and social, but we all turned in early because we had a 5am hike to the top of Poon Hill (3210m) to watch the sunrise. 5:00am sucks. Hiking a mountain at 5:00am sucks even more. But as the sun came up over the Annapurna range of the Himalayas it was worth it. And then for the next 2 days we went down. Down and down and down and down. I was back to<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgERSXZSiSGnYoVdacCNrx-00ZSrI8zIwnXOAZKTwmrj63geqVfdCtvO1Nt8ihHjiG-I0dExepW2crsg2W1F0d8LPACG_Xtuc77ThrwmOLSPtEMKFPXFY1LPVglhd49_U2UMkVpFgl7hmJ/s1600/_DSC1093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgERSXZSiSGnYoVdacCNrx-00ZSrI8zIwnXOAZKTwmrj63geqVfdCtvO1Nt8ihHjiG-I0dExepW2crsg2W1F0d8LPACG_Xtuc77ThrwmOLSPtEMKFPXFY1LPVglhd49_U2UMkVpFgl7hmJ/s400/_DSC1093.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me on Poon Hill</td></tr>
</tbody></table>enjoying myself, but FINALLY, everyone else began to crap out. Knees hurt, muscles were pulled, people fell ill, blisters popped, struggling occurred, pills, bandages, braces came out. And all the while I hopped along footloose and ailment free snapping pictures and loving it. We snaked our way all the way down into the tropical rain forest, fully equipped with gushing waterfalls, gurgling little rivers, and Rhododendron forests in bloom. Yes forests, they are not bushes here but giant trees! Nepal really does have it all...except flat land...Oh, and beaches (and cheese burgers)! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CNqWjfzQs53l7X3B4XV9qqOzMRSgg6-W-6aLz8Hp9FDbH1khDA8LPgcXzl8fXHnWVA1HoO98VrZUQ3p7TUbKiW-jqn05cpw2N9MAz3bgV6Q3Nv0c-mo55QC6OC0Hx67ETRcvvVTFei-W/s1600/_DSC1034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1CNqWjfzQs53l7X3B4XV9qqOzMRSgg6-W-6aLz8Hp9FDbH1khDA8LPgcXzl8fXHnWVA1HoO98VrZUQ3p7TUbKiW-jqn05cpw2N9MAz3bgV6Q3Nv0c-mo55QC6OC0Hx67ETRcvvVTFei-W/s320/_DSC1034.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Rhododendron flowers from the forest </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
So I survived the trek and overall, enjoyed myself. Still haven't had that elusive cheeseburger. I'm currently finishing this blog from the Mumbai airport, en route to Indonesia. Rumour has there is a Mcdonalds on the Kuta strip where I'm staying for my first few days on Bali. Not going to lie, my hopes for a delicious beefy, cheesy burger are getting pretty high! Wish me luck! My next blog will be from Bali, Indonesia! <br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-17609053792665456782011-03-20T05:02:00.000-07:002011-03-22T03:38:15.532-07:00Nepal Part 1<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbC4rh6R0gn6zczr4FbdlTAx0-hBvirWn8gdT65RebCbr2fgVlecJ8DrPg1aUfu7V67CrbJHmgV0GNt0bRRbNFhcVitRnDowfz725WqTBPmEFtRNa0xHfhDZ28WP6D_aUsuH_wS5GmCywb/s1600/_DSC0783.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbC4rh6R0gn6zczr4FbdlTAx0-hBvirWn8gdT65RebCbr2fgVlecJ8DrPg1aUfu7V67CrbJHmgV0GNt0bRRbNFhcVitRnDowfz725WqTBPmEFtRNa0xHfhDZ28WP6D_aUsuH_wS5GmCywb/s320/_DSC0783.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kathmandu Valley</td></tr>
</tbody></table>As most of you probably know, I've been a bit disconnected lately as I've been trekking through the Himalayas for the last week. I still have two days left, but I just so happened to have an afternoon free in a village that has working internet (while the power is on, it could cut out at anytime). I apologise if this post is a bit rushed and not my best, but you will get the gist of what has been going on up until the trek. My next post after this one will go over the trek, in an effort to keep things from getting too long. <br />
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"You have now left hell and entered into heaven," were the first words spoken to me after I crossed the Nepal border. "Sure, sure," I thought. Little did I know that those words would become my mantra. Nepal, the rooftop of the world, is a dream. An organic wash of greens, grays, browns, and blues cover the landscape, dotted with ramshackle little villages and a patchwork of terraces. Rising above it all are the Himalayas, which tower in the distance, framing the whole scene with jaw-dropping beauty. It's just coming to the dry season, one of the best times of year to be here as everything is still green, but the skies are mostly clear and it's not too hot. The only sign of the chaos of India is a smoggy haze, blown up from the south, that sometimes lingers in the air.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv4_T1zAFCKbUyFI4pqL7lNnFsWAEMLeYEV7YVI2EEhfdLgd5ycCGAD4_lP-o7IAEGSyifiZ6bx-cWAmxLEyiQHTfBKMZCID2n5ZrRyqSoDUaUc5Y8kp0xel7YST1Q0rWeKNv1NHePaBch/s1600/_DSC0681.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv4_T1zAFCKbUyFI4pqL7lNnFsWAEMLeYEV7YVI2EEhfdLgd5ycCGAD4_lP-o7IAEGSyifiZ6bx-cWAmxLEyiQHTfBKMZCID2n5ZrRyqSoDUaUc5Y8kp0xel7YST1Q0rWeKNv1NHePaBch/s320/_DSC0681.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Walking on the elephant</td></tr>
</tbody></table>I've spent most of my time so far in the subtropical lowlands. By "lowlands" I mean no snow capped, 3000 meter peaks, it is still far from flat, with sharp changes in in elevation and very hilly. My first stop was Lumbini where I visited the birthplace of the Buddah. After I short stay, I went to Chitwan National Park where I jam packed about a billion activities into 2 days. Chitwan is beautiful in itself but the highlight for me was all the elephants. I went on an elephant trek, visited the elephant breeding centre with all the little babies, and then got to go swimming with some elephants! For the swimming, I watched the elephants crashed into the river with their trainers on their backs, rolling over and splashing around with glee. Once laying down, I climbed with the trainer onto the elephants side. Gripping it's huge neck and holding on for dear life, the giant animal stood up. Once upright, I was sitting on the bare back of the elephant while he splashed around. I could feel his rough skin and prickly hair beneath my palms and hear his ginormous breath beneath me. I then was able to stand up and walked up and down his spine, all the while being shot with water from the elephants trunk. When he had had enough the elephant rolled over again, sending me flying into the river. It was one of the best experiences ever. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAirIJVoRzMuVJTZ_tBJC4JA1_X85O52wsOqnGYWlZC5MbpzxR5cocO2eiMSf6SSpBtIDZjdDnlFrkEIDSAvDrSyV9x-eaakrCptGBsx1CrJkoW0BZtPXtIlcaSqWE3nzdgLpPLJSgZ6xb/s1600/_DSC0656.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAirIJVoRzMuVJTZ_tBJC4JA1_X85O52wsOqnGYWlZC5MbpzxR5cocO2eiMSf6SSpBtIDZjdDnlFrkEIDSAvDrSyV9x-eaakrCptGBsx1CrJkoW0BZtPXtIlcaSqWE3nzdgLpPLJSgZ6xb/s320/_DSC0656.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trainer on his elephant</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
Next it was off to Pohkara where I was the random western guest at a Nepali wedding. How did this come about you may ask? Well I happened to be walking down the street when a massive bus with a 5 piece band on the roof drove by. Liking the apparent party bus I waved and clapped at them, and then they stopped and asked if I wanted to see a Nepali wedding. Really? Hell yes I do! So off I went in my hiking boots, dirty jeans, and 3 days unwashed hair. I was introduced and passed around and tried to make conversation with only broken English to play with. I watched the ceremony quietly wondering if the bride or groom were wondering why the hell there was a random white girl at their wedding . . .but they didn't seem to even notice or care. Everyone kept asking me if I liked to dance and not knowing what I was getting myself into, I said sure. Before I knew it the band was being reassembled and everyone was shouting at me to dance. I was being dragged against my will by both my hands, so what could I do? Before I knew it I was busting a move with 3 Nepali guys to indecipherable music with about 70 people watching. I tried to encourage more to join but no one would budge. So, as a last resort, I looked around for the alcohol at this party, I needed a drink badly, but alas there didn't seem to be any! It was an equally humiliating and hilarious experience. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvZOIy1d9ggYkYsmYy1bZhXiUFI89_drGEiGd3mNnXpU52ZlIZrLqpaeeuyGruWDCiQ6EQdEX5T5fYF80ig1ggVckEhonhgGMGxzlbhrVbiMUinDlKcXHDD9cuqqXzAvpQJ62U2XEDVmo/s1600/_DSC0753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkvZOIy1d9ggYkYsmYy1bZhXiUFI89_drGEiGd3mNnXpU52ZlIZrLqpaeeuyGruWDCiQ6EQdEX5T5fYF80ig1ggVckEhonhgGMGxzlbhrVbiMUinDlKcXHDD9cuqqXzAvpQJ62U2XEDVmo/s320/_DSC0753.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wedding Ceremony</td></tr>
</tbody></table>When I'd finally had enough (much to every ones disappointment) they insisted that I stay and eat with them. I looked wearily at the unknown foods at the buffet. Anyone who knows me has seen my more than average selectiveness when it comes to food. In other words, I'm very picky. So as the unknown curry, sloppy vegetables, and scary looking sauces were piled on my plate I watched with terror. On the first bite a mass of unknown spices exploded in my mouth. Spicy, spicy, SPICY!!!! The second mix looked a bit more promising...But wait, no...It was terrible! Between each bite I shoveled a cleansing pile of white rice into my mouth, plastering a fake smile on my face. "Mmm, good," I lied. Finally a bowl of yogurt was pushed into my hands for dessert. Oh thank God something normal. After eating I'd had enough culture shock for the day and quietly (and quickly) left.<br />
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Next I arrived in Kathmandu. Despite some hype, the city resembled most of those of the third world, a tangled maze of indistinguishable streets, congested traffic, too many people, and too many piles of trash. After India, I was anxious to get out of the city, so me and two guys I was with promptly booked an overnight white water rafting trip down the Bhota Khosi. The first day was fairly mellow, we meandered our way through the mountainous jungle , impressive terraces, and picturesque little villages perched on the sides of cliffs. Children could see us coming and would thunder down the river banks screaming "Naaamaaasstte!" and waving vigorously. It was just us, our boat, and a few friendly Nepali along the way. We swam a bit and jumped off some cliffs, even though the water was icy cold. As we floated under a suspension bridge (very popular in Nepal), a line of crimson robed monks stopped to watch us pass beneath them. As we came closer, they waved, and I noticed one monk pull a cell phone out of his pocket and take a picture of us. A small reminder that the modern world is creeping in everywhere, even in a land seemingly so medieval. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimq766B-mNOz21y5oi9Jy2U3Fi4m3LMyaxRqGAhLLdgWAY0PsYbI_FbzHDs1bAmOR6ttkCnqhG08XanFc1I-ObaSPYNBJQ8W6P4sncjn7Z40aEGbJiUDfqqFORWYlX4H9Hh0pMy0EPwN7m/s1600/_DSC0745.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimq766B-mNOz21y5oi9Jy2U3Fi4m3LMyaxRqGAhLLdgWAY0PsYbI_FbzHDs1bAmOR6ttkCnqhG08XanFc1I-ObaSPYNBJQ8W6P4sncjn7Z40aEGbJiUDfqqFORWYlX4H9Hh0pMy0EPwN7m/s320/_DSC0745.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in Pohkara with Himalayas behind</td></tr>
</tbody></table>That night we made camp on a grassy bank beside the river. It was an incredible setting with the mountains rising 360 degrees around us. We were 'real' camping, sleeping on the hard ground, cooking by fire, and using mother natures toilet, the kind of camping I most enjoy! The next morning we were back on the river and it was a much more intense day, featuring only class 3 and 4 rapids. It was all going well until our emergency kayaker flipped over and got wedged up against a rock, held head first under water. Unable to stop ourselves against the rapids, we hurled right into him, hitting him hard and trapping him under our raft. In the impact, most of us were dislodged from our seats, and flew from the boat. The shock of the cold water was told me I was out of the raft before my eyes had surfaced. I pushed through the current back towards the boat, only then noticing almost everyone else had fallen out too. Our guide, a chiseled little Nepali guy with 0% body fat was right on us, and yanked me and a fully grown German guy simultaneously back into the raft like ragdolls. Luckily, our safety kayaker survived the crash, but was shaken and lost his paddle, so we had to continue on without him. But all was well and everyone, myself included, had a blast.<br />
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So that concludes the highlights of what's happened up until the trek. Hopefully I'll be able to catch up quickly when I get back to civilization! Until then :)<br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-67305684219267733112011-03-07T07:34:00.000-08:002011-03-07T07:38:11.201-08:00Varanasi and Final Thoughts on India<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyoPXb0jEWf_jaZ39Pv1H3mcwrqJMk6Tp8S3Z0UaoO4zH6aZcN_RLxntdmeu55ZMYwwwhfx1muWNPEEk2ctJrLpNn-vDxP6357ojuq9ScP7NX-TZFLY9Y3fOajdW9PUQX_JhDPxe-lD9T/s1600/_DSC0504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyoPXb0jEWf_jaZ39Pv1H3mcwrqJMk6Tp8S3Z0UaoO4zH6aZcN_RLxntdmeu55ZMYwwwhfx1muWNPEEk2ctJrLpNn-vDxP6357ojuq9ScP7NX-TZFLY9Y3fOajdW9PUQX_JhDPxe-lD9T/s1600/_DSC0504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyoPXb0jEWf_jaZ39Pv1H3mcwrqJMk6Tp8S3Z0UaoO4zH6aZcN_RLxntdmeu55ZMYwwwhfx1muWNPEEk2ctJrLpNn-vDxP6357ojuq9ScP7NX-TZFLY9Y3fOajdW9PUQX_JhDPxe-lD9T/s1600/_DSC0504.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDyoPXb0jEWf_jaZ39Pv1H3mcwrqJMk6Tp8S3Z0UaoO4zH6aZcN_RLxntdmeu55ZMYwwwhfx1muWNPEEk2ctJrLpNn-vDxP6357ojuq9ScP7NX-TZFLY9Y3fOajdW9PUQX_JhDPxe-lD9T/s200/_DSC0504.JPG" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Varanasi</td></tr>
</tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNrqDv_9PTvd3NSODkmhTE_3czAUkYUs_rn_5_Z6XlJ65O7SSOZDzj83zCs385ZbH8MvprxydEV3w8N0_-qDxs29ObF1Sy_n_KXeK-Bm6XCBiiQ_215rrNNgtprS16S9wYmXI5WHg5oy7/s1600/_DSC0484.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGNrqDv_9PTvd3NSODkmhTE_3czAUkYUs_rn_5_Z6XlJ65O7SSOZDzj83zCs385ZbH8MvprxydEV3w8N0_-qDxs29ObF1Sy_n_KXeK-Bm6XCBiiQ_215rrNNgtprS16S9wYmXI5WHg5oy7/s320/_DSC0484.JPG" width="214" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wood for cremation</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>Varanasi was the India I'd hoped and dreamed for. A place where holy men wander and life, death, riches, and poverty all mingle in some sort of strange and unjust balance. The tattered buildings cling to the banks of the Ganges River and the view is so surreal the eyes struggle to believe what they are seeing. People come in the thousands to bathe themselves in the spiritually cleansing (but horribly polluted) waters of the Ganges. Smoke twists up from one point on the river bank, covering the whole scene with a cloudy haze. This is where the cremations are taking place. As I approach I can see the dead bodies, wrapped in brightly coloured fabric, being carried to the river. They dip the body in the Ganges' holy waters to wash away any impurities before the body is burnt and the soul is sent away for reincarnation. As I get closer a priest approaches and says he can guide me through the process. He asks me to follow, and before I know it, I'm standing painfully close, literally inches from a burning corpse, so that the fire is scorching my skin and ashes are raining down on me. I didn't think he meant "guide me through" literally, but apparently he did. There are several neat piles of wood, some already burning, some ready for a new body. We continue walking, and stop less than a foot from a neatly wrapped corpse. I can smell it. I can see the bare toes they leave unwrapped for the cleansing. A tuft of hair escapes the fabric. I feel out of place, like a morbid form of wedding crasher. I and two other friends are the only women, as Indian women are not allowed here. I wonder why they make an exception for us. I cringe at the fire burning the back of my thighs, it's already over 30 degrees out here. I ask to move on. Thankfully we do. I make a donation for the families that struggle to afford wood for this process, receive a blessing from the priest, and then I retreat to the outskirts of the scene and watch for some time. They unwrap the bright fabric just before cremation, leaving only a thin, transparent layer of cloth covering the body. They place the body on a bed of wood, then perform several blessings that I can pretend to understand. Finally, they wedge grass between the earth and the wood bed and set it aflame. Nobody cries, as it is believed this will stop the soul from being set free. I was suddenly very aware of my mortality, my tiny little life lost in a sea of billions of other lives on this planet. This is enough to make a girl contemplate the meaning of it all. Strangely the process was not dark or depressing, in fact is was almost peaceful, silence seemed to fall over the whole scene, although it was not in actual fact quiet at all. This ritual has been going on 24 hours a day, 7 days a week for hundreds of years.<br />
<br />
India is so full of contrast that it can be viewed infinite different ways depending on the individual. I only saw a fraction of a huge country, focusing my time mainly in Rajasthan, so I'm sure my view of India as a whole is incomplete. I have learned and seen a lot, but in the end, my opinions are just <u><i>my</i></u> opinions, so take them with a grain of salt.<br />
<br />
My travels through South East Asia left me wishing for a simpler time when we were less focused on material possessions. A time when we could romp barefoot through the rice paddies, work the land, spend our nights in the comfort of a wood hut, and eat fried rice 24/7. India has elicited the exact opposite response and left me thanking God I'm from where I'm from. I'm f*cking loving my material possessions right about now! I guess I expected to find a plethora of mysterious ancient temples, a deeply spiritual people, yogis at every turn, and steamy green rice patties awash with beauty. I pretty much found none of those things. I'm disappointed to say, I never set foot in an ashram, saw a yogi, or did any yoga. Apparently I was in one of the WORST regions of India for this. Oops. Bad research. I had one opportunity in Pushcar, and I was sick, of course. The people <i>are</i> spiritual, when they're not trying to sell you something, which unfortunately is 99% of the time. I know I come from a privileged part of the world and as such I am seen as insanely wealthy, and compared to most of the people around, I was. About half of India seems to be doing ok for themselves, but the other half seem to be just squeaking by, on the edge of existence, working insanely or begging just to make ends meet (or not making ends meet, as the case often is). I get this and I respect this and thus I put up with the relentless harassment with a smile on my face and a polite as possible "no" every time. But it beats you down. I began to feel like a walking ATM rather than a living, breathing human being. In many cases it ruined whatever it was I was trying to experience. Being female made it infinitely worse. The nail in the coffin was I spent the majority of my time in a parched, sparsely vegetated desert with barely a blade of grass in sight, let alone a rice patty. Oops. Bad research.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbqZfmXIVkfVJegZiIXKIAuEm5w3cxjQEH0q9g07eUNS56MMbwWWK6CyDm_la4dQceJPeTmZSmPRSaJOSB5H24FJqjDjkKGvweqMqT5K87cXmRQ7pra0T8-a3xvdN_7kV1X7825SLcg4Y/s1600/_DSC0459.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJbqZfmXIVkfVJegZiIXKIAuEm5w3cxjQEH0q9g07eUNS56MMbwWWK6CyDm_la4dQceJPeTmZSmPRSaJOSB5H24FJqjDjkKGvweqMqT5K87cXmRQ7pra0T8-a3xvdN_7kV1X7825SLcg4Y/s320/_DSC0459.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Traffic in India</td></tr>
</tbody></table>All that being said, there were things I liked about India. The food was not one, except Mcdonalds, which was epic. I liked the public long distance buses. So crammed full, 30 seats meant 70 individuals should about fit. You may ask WHY I liked this, but I actually found it amusing, it was so wrong and so not like home. Once I got used to it, I liked the chaos, the bazillion people and their random methods of transport, all squashed in to an area that should be double the size. You never get lonely. I must say, despite harassment, I never felt in danger and moved about in what felt like safety, except for the impending traffic disaster that luckily never took place in my presence. People here are always willing to help you out, you will never get lost or want for something. Anything is possible in India . . .for a price. Chai tea is awesome. I liked the gaping stares of some people, mostly on public transport, trying to discretely (or not so discretely) take my photo, knowing I was probably one of the only Westerner's they'd ever seen. Camels have gained a small place in my heart. There is beauty here in India, you just have to (literally and figuratively) sift through the trash to find it. I guess that pretty much sums up my opinion of India. <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7w6xXiC2imtPrkVy0erqXevJ7yxNqd6IbLnyS6UlC4n8I0JYkSE5Y_8mbLvqMa8t5CjoLts6aRP5b13-8AkwaoU1WV2WrZB_0Rxk4r21rPChTj-cxTDcSqVr8bfksSaD1wZULH7e0BCrP/s1600/_DSC0175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7w6xXiC2imtPrkVy0erqXevJ7yxNqd6IbLnyS6UlC4n8I0JYkSE5Y_8mbLvqMa8t5CjoLts6aRP5b13-8AkwaoU1WV2WrZB_0Rxk4r21rPChTj-cxTDcSqVr8bfksSaD1wZULH7e0BCrP/s320/_DSC0175.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bye Bye India</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-80894104058225313542011-03-04T01:42:00.000-08:002011-03-04T01:42:28.222-08:00Camels, Temples, Henna, and Rats<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRd81D9UKTxsd5YR0DuY4Eub7QW1RMg5aHA9_DVGCC2ikSAxMy8HQhnPFiRo6eV9QQMcSzx-Rg6BHVnx7xSOq-soFo2cKSPE3ySuD1bu4Nj_SeQ25m98N9V5ZWWsQrx7ANy3fvuh2rVX3i/s1600/_DSC0380.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRd81D9UKTxsd5YR0DuY4Eub7QW1RMg5aHA9_DVGCC2ikSAxMy8HQhnPFiRo6eV9QQMcSzx-Rg6BHVnx7xSOq-soFo2cKSPE3ySuD1bu4Nj_SeQ25m98N9V5ZWWsQrx7ANy3fvuh2rVX3i/s320/_DSC0380.JPG" width="214" /></a>So much is happening day to day at this point it's hard to decide what to write about. I have only a few days left in India and while I want to breathe a giant sigh of relief, I am also a little sad because there are things that I would have like to do that I didn't have time for. But I think that's almost always the case while traveling, and better to focus on the experiences had, rather than experiences missed.<br />
<br />
By far the highlight of the last few days has been the camel trek we went on. We drove out into the desert, far past the hustle and bustle of Jaisalmer, and met our camels and guides on the side of the road. Camels may not be the most majestic of creatures but I've become a big fan anyway. What they lack in grace they make up for in ridiculousness. With big, docile eyes and a constant grin you can't help but be amused and delighted, awkward though they may be. They literally laid down on the ground like a giant dog for us to climb on their backs. Then, in one jerky motion, they are up on their feet, and we were off. We rode into the dunes of the Thar desert, stopping once to run through sand, which was so soft I didn't even need my sandals. After an hour or so we made camp, stopping only 60kms from the Pakistan border. At dark, we lit a campfire, and celebrated a fellow traveler's birthday with some impressive fireworks. We spent the rest of the night laying around watching the stars and enjoying the very rare Indian silence! At dawn the next morning we trot back out on our camels to watch the sun, a giant orange globe, peak it's head above the dunes for the first time that day. It was freezing and windy on the back of a camel (not to mention bouncy!) but it was by far worth it for the view. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACVPTlfjBu19YpN_Q7iTDVJRyv5phmYIaNBPy25hwG2VIbkI2nnxv9M1K7RyP_Tj_nG-awSz3xYBRtZqY6CGnj6l0GkmJVNDhZXXaoeFIW1sd_v9cqOj4EQK8UKkDamIhnbcUK1EKng3y/s1600/_DSC0324.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjACVPTlfjBu19YpN_Q7iTDVJRyv5phmYIaNBPy25hwG2VIbkI2nnxv9M1K7RyP_Tj_nG-awSz3xYBRtZqY6CGnj6l0GkmJVNDhZXXaoeFIW1sd_v9cqOj4EQK8UKkDamIhnbcUK1EKng3y/s320/_DSC0324.JPG" width="214" /></a>Other highlights include a trip to a Hindu temple in Jodhpur to watch the priest do his daily prayer. This was by far not a tourist activity, it was average people going to service (or whatever they call it here), and I would have felt extremely uncomfortable if I hadn't been with an Indian guide. He doesn't usually take people, and I sensed it would have been disrespectful to bring a boat load of tourists to watch, but because I was alone at the time he brought me. We had to bend to under a low roof at the entrance of the temple, stepping into a smoky interior. Once inside the roof opened up, and we walked around, paying our respect to each of the Gods, and then sat outside the chamber where the priest was preparing for the ceremony. The women all sat neatly off to one side, while the men gathered near the front. The priest lit this thing that kind of resembled a Jewish menorah (basically several candles on a stick - except these weren't candles). Then everyone started chanting slowly and periodically ringing this a large bell near the priest. The priest then began waving the fire around. The chanting got faster and faster, and the bell ringing again and again until everything was quite frenzied! I stood up with the men watching the whole thing go down, not really knowing to do or if they were pissed that I was snooping in on their religion. But then a man tied a prayer bracelet on my wrist and another filled my hand with flower pedals, showing that they accepted my presence. Obviously confused, my guide informed me the flower pedals were for the offering. A basket is passed around through the chaotic chanting, and you throw the pedals in as an offering to the Gods and you make a prayer after you do it. At the height of the chanting and bell ringing, the priest stopped waving the fire around and then, as a grand finale, splashes us all with water, the Hindu equivalent of holy water I assume. And then, as if nothing had happened the crowd scattered, and it was over. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJswfWW2LzJQpK-_WgCBVWUdXQcqMaV0hPdoHXZm3CbKAHH5rRtvog1bGWM4drNvrhsYt4pMRFIOQxsgiaxJcOMwjokh7-6V2MZnIlxUO0GoSZH-Ult6LztDnYojDfEgQWoYlw_sDfbNlr/s1600/_DSC0389.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJswfWW2LzJQpK-_WgCBVWUdXQcqMaV0hPdoHXZm3CbKAHH5rRtvog1bGWM4drNvrhsYt4pMRFIOQxsgiaxJcOMwjokh7-6V2MZnIlxUO0GoSZH-Ult6LztDnYojDfEgQWoYlw_sDfbNlr/s200/_DSC0389.JPG" width="133" /></a>The fact that I stood with the men during this ceremony is somewhat symbolic. I've found throughout my travels in India that the men are far more present, and I've found myself spending a lot of time talking to them. It's not that women don't exist, they are there, but the tend to always be sitting quietly to one side. They don't openly engage you and they don't tend to work in shops, so it was quite refreshing when me and a friend went to get henna done and a women was there, running her own business. She was very candid and open, and we had a great talk with her. While in the big cities woman's rights are gaining momentum, but it seems they are lagging painfully behind in more tribal areas. According to the shop owner, a girl can be eligible for marriage as soon as she starts menstruating. Her good friend was married off when she was just 11 years old, to a 36 year old man. A girl has no real rights, and is basically at the whim of what her parents decide to do with her. If she is lucky, she might receive an education, but many families think that this is wasted on girls (school is not free in India) as they are just going to be given away to a man and his family. In the case of the 11 year old girl, the husband died a couple years later leaving her 17 years old with 3 young children and no source of income. Her only hint of luck was that she had a son, so she could keep her property. If she's had only girls, the property would have been transferred back to the husband's family, as property (in the year 2011) still can't be passed through the female line. This pissed me off big time. Even in more "forward thinking" areas of India, most marriages are arranged, divorce is not possible, and all property and wealth is passed through the male line. This particular young girl, at the age of 17, will NEVER be allowed to remarry, as she has children from one line, and can't marry into another. This is all extreme bullshit if you ask me! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VjsNb8Q2Stjt8Ht0z2LEX9Ap_H5UGbaSa0ew1RvmgOvvhyphenhyphen_qfLuhZkhYnSCdWrSVptWRFnsNhwwvqkjwAsXHrHdOEWVHx7jRTFJxpPo5Stmhw-NHb_lYuuJpugrW3p62KYaewcw15NJF/s1600/_DSC0395.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6VjsNb8Q2Stjt8Ht0z2LEX9Ap_H5UGbaSa0ew1RvmgOvvhyphenhyphen_qfLuhZkhYnSCdWrSVptWRFnsNhwwvqkjwAsXHrHdOEWVHx7jRTFJxpPo5Stmhw-NHb_lYuuJpugrW3p62KYaewcw15NJF/s200/_DSC0395.JPG" width="133" /></a></div>Finally, I also visited Karni Mata, or the rat temple. This location is special because, like the name suggests, there are literally hundreds of rats living freely within the temple. For Hindus, it is a main site of pilgrimage, and they come to worship the rats which they believe are reincarnated humans. Because of this, the rats are sacred and are fed and cared for. Tourists can go take a gander, but they are not breaking the rules because you are a foreigner, it's a temple so SHOES OFF. It wasn't as bad as I thought, although you do feel vulnerable in bare feet, as you walk over the sticky marble caked with God knows what and rats scurrying everywhere. The plague no longer exists, right?<br />
<br />
Well...before I ramble too much longer, I am going to end here. We are off to Varanasi on a night train tonight, then I will be crossing over into the Nepal border after we are done there. <br />
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</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-79839000047197907522011-02-25T00:46:00.000-08:002011-02-25T04:35:05.533-08:00The Sickness<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pushcar </td></tr>
</tbody></table>I'm catapulting down the highway right now at what must be a million miles an hour, weaving aggressively in and out of traffic. Well ok, not <i>right</i> now, but I was when I wrote the original journal entry. I've encountered more than a few crazy third world drivers, but this guys is a specific breed of maniac. We are passing everything in sight, stopping for nothing, he rides his horn and brake all while talking on his cell phone and spitting brown wads of what I assume to be tobacco or betel out the window. I'm on my way to Jodhpur, I started the journey from Udaipur with white knuckles, praying for my life - Did I mention this car has no seat belts? But after a few hours of this madness, my life is in tact, and I've started to like this driver. He just cut a 8 hour journey into 6. We ain't stopping for no one bitches!!<br />
<br />
The last few days have been a mix of ups and downs. India likes to initiate most of her new arrivals with some form of sickness, and apparently I am no exception. I woke up on my last day in Jaipur feeling like I was hit by a bus. My entire body ached, I was feverish, my stomach was tied in a crampy, bloated knot...and I had to catch a bus in less than four hours. This is not the first time this has happened. When I was in the Philippines I was hit by food poisoning while on an overnight bus. The experience ranks up there with the worst in my life, as I had to desperately beg the driver to pull over so I could vomit on the side of the road or huddle face first over a putrid Philippino truckers toilet...and this happened again, and again, and again, until half the bus was wanting him to drive off and leave me, I'm sure. So as you can probably imagine, I was not looking for a repeat of this. Unfortunately, the tickets to Pushcar were purchased, everyone I was with was leaving, I didn't want to be left behind. So I dragged my feverish ass into a tuk-tuk and off to the train station. After a long wait and some confusion as to whether the bus we were looking for actually existed, we were on our way. I think this bus may have been built before the dawn of time - but luckily, it wasn't too full. I spread out, mashing my head into prehistoric seat debris, but I didn't care, my fever was raging. I felt like death but in all honesty, it could have been worse. My stomach stayed in place and I had room to spread out and hate my life in private. Made it to Pushcar feeling like ass but with no life altering traumatic experiences.<br />
<br />
Ahhh, Pushcar. The first Indian locale I would actually recommend. If you want to smoke hash with Hindu priests or buy dirt cheap hippie attire this is the place to be! Such a chilled out, relaxed town with so many things to do...Most of which I didn't have time for because I was cooped up in bed. But if there is one thing to make a girl feel better, it's a little retail therapy! Pushcar's main strip puts Thailand's Khoa San Road to shame! Endless, endless stores with beautiful items so cheap they are practically free. So I shopped 'til I dropped and bought two silk scarves, a pair of pants, a shirt, and three stone and (apparently real) silver pendants with rope for a grand total of $25.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilV_kzeAdSjNq85fV9Gwu5wkvHXdyXsSlX7Uu-wMhIolhe17pKA2azkuZB6CNdc1q-olUUxszIXA-2Z58dEqE8BZFSsN4fIXQNxwmBwcyytSNkDrWVPOR2fe3sD85YmLLCF46qPTTapYzO/s1600/_DSC0277.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilV_kzeAdSjNq85fV9Gwu5wkvHXdyXsSlX7Uu-wMhIolhe17pKA2azkuZB6CNdc1q-olUUxszIXA-2Z58dEqE8BZFSsN4fIXQNxwmBwcyytSNkDrWVPOR2fe3sD85YmLLCF46qPTTapYzO/s320/_DSC0277.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jodhpur</td></tr>
</tbody></table>So I am doing ok. I am travelling with people right now, and at first I was just ecstatic to not be alone, but now I am finding that I don't really connect to any of them in any real way. We've basically been brought together by our mutual desire to not be alone, and continue to cling to each other for that very reason, and my commonalities with them end there. So at the end of the day, I still feel alone, but at least with a cushion now. Tomorrow I am off Jaisalmer which is famous for its desert landscape and camel treks. Not going to lie, I'm excited to ride a camel!</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-50634011053802908422011-02-20T08:31:00.000-08:002011-02-20T09:21:32.566-08:00The Pink City<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKC6Bl_N_AGAenG8H4fPrbfFsw4FBLH4fvTEzuTnx9kZ0KRg7NnQkhXwApOZa5ckoxjKcokb2Aib9JdcmEdQCcYTEW_pNZYJtlQApl6IhIeQ0t7iflavQA79Re7otwMxOrargMzyvFwJ1/s1600/_DSC0104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHKC6Bl_N_AGAenG8H4fPrbfFsw4FBLH4fvTEzuTnx9kZ0KRg7NnQkhXwApOZa5ckoxjKcokb2Aib9JdcmEdQCcYTEW_pNZYJtlQApl6IhIeQ0t7iflavQA79Re7otwMxOrargMzyvFwJ1/s320/_DSC0104.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Me and India are beginning to come to terms with each other. It has been a hard road to this this agreement, with many battles along the way, but the beginnings of a friendship are underway. I still harbour a hint of a distaste in my mouth from Delhi, but Jaipur has been much more enjoyable. But let me start from the beginning...</div><div><br />
</div><div>I thought I would have travel companions to Jaipur, but I ended up having to do the journey completely alone. When I learned that I would be leaving at 3:30am, my level of enthusiasm for India reached an all-time low. I reluctantly left the safety of my hotel when my taxi pulled up, putting my faith in the unknown Indian driver. The car meandered through the nearly deserted streets, inhabited only by stray dogs, random herds of cattle, and thin, veiled street people that glided like black ghosts through the darkness. When we arrived at the train station I grit my teeth, thinking the driver was going to dump me at the gates to fend for myself - but instead he parked, dutifully grabbed my pack, and lead me through the jumble of trains, people, luggage, livestock and feces, until we found my seat. Thank you Unknown Indian Man, you just saved my life. </div><div><br />
</div><div>I wedged myself and my baggage into my coffin-like bunk and then something strange happened...For the first time on Indian soil I felt myself relax. Hell, I even dozed off! This phenomenon is hard to explain. Let me tell you it was definitely NOT due to the luxury or comfort of the train. Indian trains in no way resemble Canadian trains. First of all, people and luggage are shoved into every available orifice, and then some. It is by no ones standards, clean, quiet, appropriate temperature, or comfortably lit. In fact the florescent light above me flickered with every rock of the train (every few seconds), I was blasted by icy cold air from the open door next to my bunk, and every so often a shit smell so overpowering would arrive, and I would have to hold my breath to keep my stomach contents in place. I was the only fair skinned individual in sight, so my presence warranted more than a few double takes.</div><div><br />
</div><div>But...A young family was in the bunk across from mine. The tiny boy started at me dumbfounded with wide, muddy brown eyes and I couldn't help but smile. His uncle spoke some English and chatted me up, bought me a chai tea, and the family shared some bread with me. The uncle even escorted me off the train at my stop after he had learned I had no idea where Jaipur was or when to get off. And so, I arrived safe and my faith in the Indian population rejuvenated...Finally someone without an ulterior motive. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mAsMyU5imQWDjZGgq7AaOFatszZbfcvj82pKXqB1r3LZGWNeQAmObVRYtF8Bwa-ybOfzy_cxFUUvugtCBtLKH0j3NTrOURyvjT0-LbD0ZlFYEaj2XHPRP_0wtxjcmrGdaxWv8MrMBGTp/s1600/_DSC0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9mAsMyU5imQWDjZGgq7AaOFatszZbfcvj82pKXqB1r3LZGWNeQAmObVRYtF8Bwa-ybOfzy_cxFUUvugtCBtLKH0j3NTrOURyvjT0-LbD0ZlFYEaj2XHPRP_0wtxjcmrGdaxWv8MrMBGTp/s200/_DSC0048.JPG" width="133" /></a>And Jaipur has been far more enjoyable. Still absolute insanity, with more people crammed per square kilometer than should be legal. It's known as the "pink city" but really should be the "city with every method of transportation under the sun". And this is no exaggeration. Besides your obvious array of motorized vehicles, tuk-tuks, and bicycle rickshaws up the ying-yang, there are horse drawn carriages, camel drawn carriages, people riding donkeys, scooters, cows, pedal bikes, and elephants. Yes elephants. It is not uncommon to see a fully grown elephant come waltzing down your average congested inner city roadway. The whole city's traffic swirls in the most incredible, disheveled system of haphazard organization that somehow works. The pink city part is just the background to this scene, with rows of shabby pink, decaying buildings that line the inner city streets. I would love to be taking pictures of all this, but I feel like every time I pull out my camera I'm pretty much pasting a large sign to my forehead that reads "stupid rich white girl...Please rob me now"</div><div><br />
</div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ufyeo1Q3nja7GqCWTuqoXTFfu_oF7CDnDxM2QuCFOjWeNazTSX86YvAO9cKXEc2VUJcxa9paBe-O63-GvbTCxYF3OKdFiauyAqJPiaPOWFVm_BSpAHi96CCOaw_LBdgRMjzbtUwX6OOk/s1600/_DSC0126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ufyeo1Q3nja7GqCWTuqoXTFfu_oF7CDnDxM2QuCFOjWeNazTSX86YvAO9cKXEc2VUJcxa9paBe-O63-GvbTCxYF3OKdFiauyAqJPiaPOWFVm_BSpAHi96CCOaw_LBdgRMjzbtUwX6OOk/s200/_DSC0126.JPG" width="133" /></a>I won't bore you too much with the sites I've seen as I mostly wandered around by myself. History puts me to sleep so I've pretty much learned nothing about them other than they were really old and super fun to take lots of pictures of because cameras are more socially acceptable at these locales. I know, I know, I'm supposed to be an intelligent human being...but I just don't care who built the damn thing or why! The highlight was by far the monkey temple, which is an ancient temple built directly into a rock face, that is now home to hundreds of the cutest little monkeys! </div><div><br />
</div><div>Well I could ramble on but it's getting late here. To conclude, my emotional stability has improved considerably and thanks to all those who cared. It's still a tiring place to be, I'm harassed constantly by beggars, store owners, children, tuk-tuk drivers, and men whenever I'm on the street and they all want SOMETHING from me. But what I've come to realize, no one really means any harm. Indians are just very outgoing and open, and I'm shy and brought up in a comparably reserved and private society. Yes we are reserved compared to Indians! We hide everything neatly behind closed doors and regard strangers as either indifferently or suspiciously. Not so the case here! Also, I've always been taught to be polite to everyone. Here, you can't be too polite to anyone! That's code for "this person is an idiot, take advantage of them". Indians are not even polite to each other so really there's no point in trying. Respect yes, but no polite gestures needed. So for me, it's been quite an adjustment! Well...That's it for now, 'til next time. </div></div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-19803937210155075012011-02-17T07:34:00.000-08:002011-02-17T07:48:46.324-08:00Journey to Delhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">Well I am in Delhi feeling...humbled. It has been a tough 48 hours. I thought I'd be showering India with uncontainable excitement and glee by now, but instead I am intimidated. I was sitting in the Beijing airport waiting for my connecting flight and a wave of disorientation overtook me that I haven't been able to shake. Where the hell am I? What am I doing here? It's easy to sit in front of a computer screen and plan an around the world adventure, it's another thing entirely to follow through. Who was I to think I was so bold and brave and independent. I'm feeling more like a big wuss, I hate being alone right now, and I want to turn around and head home. No one was waiting for me in India...There are a bazillion people here but not a single soul gives a shit about me. <br />
<br />
If this post in annoyingly negative I apologize, but I'm not going to sugar coat it. This blog is supposed to be about my travel experience and so far this is it, 48 hours in. Why I'm not literally getting on that plane home is I'm assuming it will get better. I've traveled before and the disorientation fades, you adjust, the experiences you are having start to outweigh your longing for the familiar. I'm not there yet and I think more than just myself have felt this way while traveling. No one wants to admit they are struggling. That perhaps the giant leap out of ones comfort zone (that seemed like such a good idea at the time) should have included a few baby steps.<br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4yxmavxIPyTIEY-mCsuThi7_j8WSvysoHtJmoOwTE4jO1REUdgplqp_ZdMwqSGAjX66rgAa8kWU-H9NoYLo08wI6fIdGMnosPANsq9PfpKJ1EzAmWx5aX3i5_RKuZw1DwSW5rq9cxMlUL/s1600/_DSC0013.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4yxmavxIPyTIEY-mCsuThi7_j8WSvysoHtJmoOwTE4jO1REUdgplqp_ZdMwqSGAjX66rgAa8kWU-H9NoYLo08wI6fIdGMnosPANsq9PfpKJ1EzAmWx5aX3i5_RKuZw1DwSW5rq9cxMlUL/s320/_DSC0013.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the plane over Alaska</td></tr>
</tbody></table>India is hectic and mind boggling and I've barely ventured beyond the walls of my hostel. They served me unidentified sea creature in a bed of brown, gelatinous ooze on the airplane that began my road to despair. My best guess was that it was sea cucumber but I really have no idea, something with a lot of tentacles but not at all resembling octopus or squid, not that I would have enjoyed that anyway, but at lease I could identify them! From there, after 12 hours on a plane, I was groped by a Chinese security guard, doing her job I'm sure, but literally her hands were up my inner thighs to the money bits on both the front and back, she dove below the waist band of my pants, and she rubbed my chest more than once. If she was a guy I would have had to punch her! To finish the 28 hour journey, my cab driver dropped me at the wrong hotel. After he sped off, I stumbled in from the ridiculously late depths of the Indian night, exhausted and jet lagged, and realized: this isn't the place I wanted to go! But, at this point I'm starting to see the humour in these things. Nothing has gone horribly wrong, I'm alive at least. I'm going to effing conquer this world, even if I have to drag myself, kicking and screaming (and to be honest, weeping). Tomorrow, Jaipur on an overnight train, and hopefully I'll meet some nice travel companions. I don't think it will be hard to out do Delhi!<br />
<br />
</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-27456662549670800752011-02-06T14:20:00.000-08:002011-02-10T17:09:11.942-08:00The Build Up<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD-J3WLZDbMCJGmOA0bRLFj7qPubVWKP3gLkDPmxD55rSrZZDRGbiW3YSp1nZiFklMMrnTaFzIsJbmARoOyxvqT4U_hYyb580yTnKPQGU3Iy7ScAvCFqEAkkRP1DN_UmLSrrTjgG3H35j/s1600/_DSC0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDD-J3WLZDbMCJGmOA0bRLFj7qPubVWKP3gLkDPmxD55rSrZZDRGbiW3YSp1nZiFklMMrnTaFzIsJbmARoOyxvqT4U_hYyb580yTnKPQGU3Iy7ScAvCFqEAkkRP1DN_UmLSrrTjgG3H35j/s400/_DSC0024.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Goodbye Whistler</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"> There is now just over 1 week before I leave. I am cautiously excited. Maybe most people would be jumping for joy at the prospect of an around the world adventure only days from reality, but my excitement remains somewhat reserved. There are goodbyes that I still need to get through, I’m leaving behind important people that will be extremely hard to be away from. The reality that I’m going to be gone for nearly 6 months is hitting home, and this is getting more difficult for me. Also, this is my first totally solo international voyage and India as a first stop is somewhat intimidating. What if something bad happens to me? I’m not afraid to admit that I’m a little scared. Plus, as a girl who loves to travel, I sure HATE flying. I find it terrifying and unnatural. The 23 hour journey from Vancouver to Delhi is going to suck in a <u>big way</u>, it’s hard to look forward to over 19 hours on a plane (plus a 4 hour layover in Beijing, but at least then I’m on solid ground!). I think it’s about time someone hurried up and invented a teleporter!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> But that’s the negative stuff...it’s easy to wallow in that. I’m reminding myself of the adventure that’s just around the corner, the experiences I’ll have, the people I’ll meet, the places I’ll get to go. It’s always hard to be away from the ones you love, but those who count will still be here for me when I return. Of course I’m scared to be alone, scared that something will go wrong, but that’s a possibility at any point in life, I could stay in Canada and get hit by a bus and die tomorrow. I’m smart and have good instincts and it’s that I’m going to have to trust, along with my belief that most people in the world are good. I can’t hide away from my fears, no one ever accomplished anything by doing that. So I will say my goodbyes, even though I’ll probably cry. I will get on that plane, even though I’ll probably be nervous and hate every second of it. I’m ready to face my fears and I’m excited to overcome them. Goodbye Whistler, my next post will be from somewhere in India.Wish me luck!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2938848078629526923.post-45243396987818430902011-01-27T23:25:00.000-08:002011-02-06T13:45:17.754-08:00Why Travel?<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jrVORaBYKAHa74uHknfCIPPfh5XC40nPJ8Cun3bhrO2RQF6sDnSFbFvfLRAEi3u_pNVbTf4aDKfZzttaA5V1ghQXFFKB4zlbpyHSFfiPhVHhi-5HPxAIH8CdECyGy5rLUpy4t2-wfMYv/s1600/jump_edit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-jrVORaBYKAHa74uHknfCIPPfh5XC40nPJ8Cun3bhrO2RQF6sDnSFbFvfLRAEi3u_pNVbTf4aDKfZzttaA5V1ghQXFFKB4zlbpyHSFfiPhVHhi-5HPxAIH8CdECyGy5rLUpy4t2-wfMYv/s320/jump_edit.jpg" width="211" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 36.0pt;">Before my trip gets underway, I’d like to do a brief introduction to explain what motivated me to plan this adventure. Some of the reasons are obvious, they're what motivate the average traveller: a desire to explore different cultures, to marvel at natural and manmade wonders, to experience a history, language, and religion different than my own. In short, I wanna see the world baby! There's always been a restless, driving force inside of me, compelling me to explore something bigger than my own small existence. But why plan an around the world trip at this juncture in my life? To quote Don George in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">By the Seat of My Pants, Humorous Tales of Travel and Misadventure, </i>travel<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> “</i>ultimately teaches us not just about the people and places of the world we didn’t know existed – but about the unknown, unexplored corners of ourselves.” I’m at a place where the decisions that are going to affect the next half of my life are looming: careers, lifestyle, relationships. Verdicts are going have to be made, paths need to be chosen, the future is coming! They say the 20’s are supposed to be about self discovery and, well, I’m over halfway through and I don’t have a clue. So part of what I’m hoping to gain from this trip is some perspective on myself, on life, and maybe find some inspiration. I want to remove myself from all the things and people that influence me and figure out who I am, and what I want, while I still have the freedom to leave life behind. Whether this will happen for me or I’ll just end up miserable, lonely, broke, and cursing the rickshaw I rode in on remains to be seen. But regardless, the plane tickets are booked, visas are in order, and I have 2 weeks to pack my bags. I’m going on a trip around the world: 15 countries, 17 individual flights, 4 continents, and 1 life savings. Please follow me on my blog, and come along for the ride!</div>Jordiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04739997613665899205noreply@blogger.com1