My Holiday Video tradition lives on! Holiday Greetings to everyone has stumbled by my little online home in 2011. It was a really busy travel year  – I go through the staggering numbers in the video – so watch closely! In making this video it was a good time to reflect upon my 2011 travels.  I  realized I’ve been to a lot of new places, met many new people, and added oodles of new friends to my ‘global family’ this year! Maybe more than any other year.  I really believe that I am one of the luckiest people around as I get to do what I love every day – explore, learn, and meet people.

For all of you who I met for the first time this year around all parts of this globe – it was a pleasure to spend time with you and learn about your country and culture.  For my old friends  – thanks for sticking by me and always giving me a bed to sleep in!

I bring you the 5th annual Ottsworld Holiday Video Card!

Yes – I’ve been doing this 5 years – if you are curious what the other years looked like – you can check them out here:

Holidays 2010

Holidays 2009

Holiday 2008

Holiday 2007

So – what do you think…have I changed over the years?!

You can see for miles in the Gobi Desert

We slowly moved deeper into Mongolia where the foreign landscapes, people, and towns started to become normal to me. We were moving from western Mongolia into Central Mongolia and the Gobi Desert; from Altai to Bayankhongor.

The landscapes changed dramatically as we left the Altai mountains and hills behind and had nothing but perfectly flat landscape in front of us now. The gers became less and the amount of people and trucks that we encountered were dwindling. This posed a bit of a problem since we relied on those people and truckers to ask directions normally!

We did run into a few teams when in Altai but as soon as we left the city we were pretty much on our own. We would take every opportunity to stop in the little villages and ger truck stops to ask for directions and to normally fix flat tires. The little towns were bustling in Mongolian standards; motorcycles parked on the main streets, mini markets, super markets, and markets all stood side by side. It was also a great opportunity to fill up on water and beer; after all, we were heading into the desert!

The bustling 'main street' in Dariv Mongolia

The Gobi plays tricks on you. The perfectly flat landscape provided illusions of water, cars, and camels that were never really there. It felt like you could see forever – yet you had no real way to judge distance. As we tried to find our way onto the ‘main road’ that we had seemingly wandered off of we would see little puffs of dust on the horizon and try to gauge where they were and what direction they were going – but it was a puzzle.

We’d see what we thought was a car or motorcycle in the distance, but as we drove closer, it would turn out to be a tire. You actually felt as if you were losing your mind unable to trust your eyes any longer. But we just kept heading East with our compass and hoped that we would end up in some form of civilization.

Camels are our only entertainment in the Gobi

After driving all afternoon and seeing nothing but camels and tires, we finally came across a little ger camp. The camp appeared to be a little rest stop for truckers, buses, and miners. We were excited to see civilization again and get some assurance that we were going the right direction! However our excitement quickly faded when we pulled up to a big winding river.

We asked a couple of kids on a motorcycle if we were headed in the right direction and they motioned to follow them. We initially thought that they were headed to the Bayankhongor too, so we followed them. Instead they pulled up to the river and started to motion to follow them. We clearly weren’t getting to Bayankhongor without crossing this river. And this was an actual river, it was the deepest yet.

Before we could even really think about it we decided to follow them. We tried to ask them if we’d make it in our car, but as we looked at them on their motorcycle, we determined if they could make it then we ‘should’ be able to make it too. Before we knew it we were following them into the water which was splashing up on our hood.

However this wasn’t an obvious river crossing of point A to point B. This was a complex geometry problem. These boys clearly knew that going directly across wasn’t viable, that we had to snake through the river in the shallowest parts in order to make it to the other side. As a passenger it was nerve-wracking and exciting at the same time. Dave kept it in 1st gear and his foot on the gas constantly and we all cheered for our bald tires to somehow grip the slippery rocks and keep moving forward.

The motorcycle would pull up onto a little island and then take off again in a illogical direction downriver. The motorcycle actually lost its traction once and nearly went down, but somehow the nimble boys kept it upright. We continued to snake through tributaries of the river wondering if it would ever stop. In one particularly deep section water came in the floorboards of the front passenger seat where I was sitting.

Video from Dave and Deb’s YouTube channel – check out all of their great videos!

But the little Hot Box made it. We paid the boys $5 for their help and were all on an adrenaline high that we made it through with little damage except for a wet floorboard. We later learned that many of the teams were towed through that river crossing. However I think the fact that we didn’t have much time to think about it or debate was actually in our favor. We simply put our trust in the locals and followed the un-obvious path diligently.

Now we were certain we were going in the right direction to Byankhongor but the sun was quickly going down so we picked a nice flat spot in the Gobi to camp for the night. We had picked up some Chengis Khan vodka in one of the little villages that morning, so we all celebrated our day’s Gobi adventures.

Our Gobi Desert camp site

As the sun went down and the stars started to appear, we were treated to one of the greatest sites yet in Mongolia – the Milky Way. We stayed up late, sitting on our camp stools mesmerized by the billions of stars and the crystal clear line of the Milky Way. Shooting stars graced us and we all thanked our lucky stars that we (and our car) had made it this far.

Getting ready to go into the abyss with a little help from a local

When I was a kid I used to have this thing called a ‘bubble’; it was made of Styrofoam in the shape of an oval about a foot long.  It was used for swimming…actually it kept me from sinking.  The bubble was strapped around my waste and basically kept me afloat in the pool. I loved the water and I loved my bubble.

As we sat looking at the river crossing with a wind and rain storm at our backs, kids begging for candy around us, and a local guy assuring us we could make it – all I could think about was my old bubble. I thought to myself – I wish our car had a bubble.

This river crossing was much deeper than the ones we did the day before, but we had to tackle it. The local (possibly drunk) guy felt like we could make it without a tow, so we decided to trust his instinct. After all – locals know best. Even drunk locals probably know better than 3 North Americans that knew nothing about river crossings!

However, right when we were trying to sort out our best route to cross, a powerful wind/dust storm came up and the whole sky turned brownish gray. It was pandemonium as we tried to communicate with the local guy, and could barely see 4 feet in front of us! Deb once again took the driving position as Dave and I waded to the other side and waited for her with our fingers crossed. Dave and the local guy tried to direct her a bit around the rocks but I just stood there hoping for the best and wishing for a bubble.

We actually did many river crossings and we got better at every one. We learned to mainly trust the locals. If they said you could make it – then you could. They knew the exact complex routes that you should take to get across – and trust me – they weren’t always the most obvious or straight forward routes.

Dave and Deb put together a great video compilation of all of our recorded river crossings. The one at the end is the one I’m referring to today. Enjoy…with or without a bubble…

Soakng up the Mongolia Landscapes

Since we had made it into Mongolia – it was time to slow down and enjoy our surroundings. One problem, Rick had a flight to catch. He hitchhiked a ride with another team to Khovd to try to sort out his flight issues while Dave, Deb, and I took a slow day of filming and photography. The Mongolian landscape is like no other to me; and it screams out “Look at me, I am perfect. Take my photo!!”

It’s so hard to balance the desire to complete the rally challenge and the desire to actually slow down and enjoy our surroundings and experiences. A part of me felt like the longer we had the car out on these roads the greater likelihood of us not making it, yet here we were in the most stunning landscapes in the world. Then there was also the desire to keep up with the other teams we met. It was a difficult balance though because we wanted to also savor the experience. Dave, Deb, and I had an unlimited amount of time to get through Mongolia, so we decided to actually soak it in.

Our stunning camp site heading into the mountains

Wild horses dot the landscape

Today’s drive took us around snow-capped mountains, and it also took us through some of our greatest challenges to date – rivers. This was the first test of our little low clearance car. However I must admit – it helped to be 200lbs lighter without Rick in the car today. Still – we knew that we had the wrong car for crossing rivers in Mongolia, but that’s the whole point of the rally.

The Hot Box pauses to take in the scenery

Since we were going ‘Sunday drive speed’, some of the other teams caught up with us. It was great to reunite with the Sign Up Team and Cider Me Up team – not only because they were a fun group of guys, but also because they had big vehicles which could potentially tow us through water if we needed it!

We all pulled up to the first crossing and sent out our guinea pigs to test the depth. It was only about a foot deep – so we decided to go for it. Deb put it in gear and dove in with a splash! She kept her foot on the gas and powered through as we all cheered her on! I can only imagine that the Hot Box enjoyed the cool bath!

Will the Hot Box Float?

Just when we thought we had mastered river crossings – we came across this bridge. I don’t even know if I would call it a bridge – it was more of a relic or felt like a prop from a Hollywood movie. When we first saw it from a distance, Deb said, “Oh, it doesn’t look bad”, and then we pulled up closer. Dave got out to survey the viability of crossing it and determined that we could make it. Deb and I stayed in the car as Dave directed us around some of the worse-off areas of the dilapidated bridge. At one point there were only a few exposed railroad ties that we could cross on. We stopped at the precipice to consider it for a moment and then gingerly dropped down onto the railroad ties. The ties creaked, I let out a scream, and Deb hit the gas to safely deliver us to the other side and solid ground!

An adventurous bridge crossing

Will the bridge hold????

Video from Dave and Deb’s YouTube channel – check out all of their great videos!

We stopped for a quick tomato and cheese sandwich on the hood of our car and took off towards the Mongol Rally Ger Camp in Khovd. We were all eager to reach the camp as it promised internet and showers…I’m not exactly sure what I was more excited about!

We pulled into Khovd at 3:30PM and quickly joined the other teams there drinking beer. The camp was run by Mongolians who had experience with the Mongol Rally. After the last few years of hosting ralliers coming through Khovd, the ger camp owner decided to do the rally himself this year as the Mongolians2Mongolia Team (the first ever Mongolians in the Mongol Rally’s 8 year history). His wife and extended family were left to run the camp this year and they eagerly awaited his team’s arrival!

One night at Ger camp....

We were excited to have a night in a ger with a proper bed. But first there was more team bonding to do over beer. Throughout the night more teams arrived and everyone recanted stories about the first few days in Mongolia. Some were unbelievable, and many centered around car issues and repairs. But we were happy to see the teams that we camped with at the border all making it through Mongolia. We were especially happy to run back into the Mongolian Madness team who’s antics entertained us to no end. One of the mates had a black eye as we learned that the Irish boys had some team disagreements. That’s certainly one way to handle team dissension! However all was fun and laughs now with a few beers and a few more miles under everyone’s bald tires.

A late night of rally partying – but back on the road tomorrow!

Warren, Betsy, and I

I’ve been lucky enough to meet up with many friends in London in between doing Mongol Rally prep.  One of the friends I met was Warren and Betsy Talbot from Married with Luggage Blog.  Meeting them for the first time after working with them digitally was a real treat.  It was as if I was meet long, lost friends.  We talked about travel, career breaks, men (or lack thereof), and the Mongol Rally of course.  It seems like everyone is interested in the rally – and I don’t blame them…it’s kinda cool, but I hardly feel like it’s real.

Betsy and Warren took the time to feed me beers and then interview me on why I was doing the Mongol Rally. Here’s the video interview for your viewing pleasure.  This is actually part of a blog post that they did over on their wonderful site that talks about doing things that scare you.

One of my favorite things about the post they did is that their readers are commenting on it and sharing secrets about what scares them. So make sure you stop on by their post and add the things that scare you and what you are going to do about it!

A Mongolian boy watches television in his ger in the Gobi Desert

We are seduced by video.  It’s everywhere – your tv, the internet, your phone, and in your car.  You can’t escape it.   And I’m willing to bet that most people want to be a part of video, behind the camera or in front of it; we are fascinated by it.  In my world of travel writing and blogging, video is becoming more and more prevalent.  Seeing a place, hearing a place, watching the people move around a place has an impact much greater than words.  It supplements the words and sets expectations about a destination.

If you are looking to learn more about how you can take your amateur travel videos up a few notches to well-produced, effective videos which really impact people, then I’ve got the ebook for you.  Lisa Lubin is a Emmy award winning television producer and I’m proud to call her my friend.  She has taken her television production talents and turned it into a consulting business.  Video is the largest growing component on the web. LLmedia video consulting will help elevate the level of your video to get your business where it needs to be to compete in today’s market.  In addition to offering one on one consulting  at LL Media, she also recently came out with a new ebook for the beginning video enthusiast:

Video 101:  Tips and Tricks for Awesome Visual Storytelling.

The first thing that struck me about the book was the cover.  It was a book about video story telling and here was Lisa with her Canon SLR camera.  That seemed odd to me; but it just goes to show you how behind the times I am when it comes to video.  People today shoot high quality video on their SLR’s.  I of course own an old SLR that doesn’t have this feature and now of course I want one.  Damn you Lisa!

The 2^nd overall thing that struck me about the book was how many similarities there are to photography, or at least the kind of photography I like to do – photo journalism.  It’s about telling a story – whether that be with still shots or moving picture…the goal is the same.  To provide the viewer with a story and knowledge that goes beyond what they may initially see.  This also explains why Lisa is such a great photographer!

The Book

The book is organized into 4 main sections:

• Story
• Shoot
• Writing
• Editing

And a bonus section on the Top 10 Commandments  of Visual Story Telling

A Glossary of terms is also provided so not only will you shoot like a pro now, you’ll sounds like one too when you start to infuse words like “B roll” and “natsound” into your vocabulary!

Within each section there are Tips sprinkled in like this one,

“You do not want to ever completely pre-interview a subject. You want the on camera interview to be as natural as possible. Pre-interviewing can take away any  spontaneity to their answers. Of course give them an idea and ask them some things, but do not ask them everything.”

At the end of sections she provides a ‘tear sheet’ that you can easily print out and take with you to make sure you have all of your bases covered.

My Thoughts

I enjoyed the book and even though I haven’t shot much video yet, it helped me really think about how to tell a story to my audience.  It made me think about my photography and journalism.  But it also introduced me to new concepts around interviewing and editing that I hadn’t come across before.  Lisa studied journalism in school, I studied accounting…nuff said.

For those of you who travel and want to capture a high quality video story of your travels – this will certainly give you the tools and theory to get you started.  Or if you simply want to improve your journalism, it will provide tips that apply to writing, photography, and video production.

Whether you shoot video to sell a product, inform, promote yourself or your blog, spread your ideas, entertain, or porn (ok…I just threw that one in to see if you were reading) – then Lisa’s book will be a great jumping off point to give you direction and ultimately get you making good, effective videos.  Yeah…and it probably does apply for porn too come to think of it.

Click here to view more details and purchase the Video 101 ebook.

Lisa working as a television producer before her travels

Preparing for the worst?

It’s in my DNA to be prepared, to plan, to have a giant project plan that I can happily tick off the accomplishments. I’m happy when I can graph the critical path, and build dependencies. I’m a project planning geek and in my past corporate life I was paid big bucks to plan and prepare software applications and rollouts for some of the largest American retail stores.

But seriously, how can one really prepare and plan for this?

“Imagine you’re lost in a massive desert, hundreds of miles from civilisation, driving a car even your granny would be embarrased by. 50% of your wheels just fell off and a search for tools turns up a dirty sock and two dried apricots.
This is what the Mongol Rally is about. Getting stuck, lost and in trouble, then finding your way out armed with just your wits and the sock and apricots.
It’s about setting forth to tackle 1/3 of the surface of the Earth; unprepared, ill-advised and with no idea of what might happen. What you generally find is a whole giant shit heap of adventure.” –From the Mongol Rally Website

I have met my match in the Mongol Rally and it has won. I’ve given up trying to plan for it and have surrendered to the absurdity of it all.  I don’t really think it’s possible to plan for adventure – as the word ‘adventure’ is like a slippery, wet water balloon…you can never get a good grip on it, and it could completely burst at any time.  Adventure is immune to planning.

I still remember the first skype call I did with Dave, Deb, and Rick; I immediately went into project planning mode, and quickly learned that I was losing ground against the unknown of the Mongol Rally. There are so many risks and contingencies on this project plan ; it was an exercise in futility.

My packing sure was an exercise in futilitiy!

I have been able to break down a few things and prepare the best I could – but it’s far from a plan:

Physically Preparing:
How do you prepare to sit in a car for 6 to 8 hours a day for 6 to 8 weeks? Well the obvious answer is you sit. And you sit a lot. This is actually pretty easy for me as most days I’m sitting at my computer for about 8 hours a day…sometimes I barely move! I have also been busy updating my play lists on my ipod and I’ve been practicing saying “Are we there yet?” in the perfect questioning, whiny tone that will make my teammates want to push me out of the car and put me out of my sitting misery.

Tactically Preparing:
I’m not a camper, yet this rally will have me camping for about 3 to 4 weeks. That’s the longest I’ve ever camped. I’m expecting I should get a Girl Scout badge when it’s all done (or I would be equally happy with a box of Thin Mints). I figured I better give my tent a test run so last night I set it up all by myself in my friend’s NYC apartment. Seriously – if I can set a 2 person tent up solo in a small NYC apartment, then I can set it up anywhere…right? I blew up my new air mattress, and laid in the tent trying to imagine being in Uzbekistan in the tent…but the NYC taxi noise distracted me from my camel daydreaming.

Sure - it's a little cramped...but it works!

Geographically Preparing:
My good friends at Lonely Planet donated the digital guides for all of the countries we pass through in the rally…woohoo…that means we have less books and more space for toilet paper! Since they donated the guides, I purchased a Kindle and have been busy loading it up with the guides and other books for the long days of driving and no internet access. I’ve also thrown in a big bottle of Dramamine in case I find that I can’t read my Kindle while riding in the car!

Mentally Preparing:
This is the hard one. The key to long term traveling is to find your ‘travel zen’ ; the sweet spot of not knowing what’s going to happen next and to be ok with the unknown. It’s about embracing uncertainty and discovery. I wish I could say that I was fully mentally prepared, but I’m not. I feel like I’ve got a pretty good start on it though, as I’m tired of futile planning and simply want the ‘games’ to begin and see what happens. If there is anything that travel has taught me, it’s that the only predictable thing is that it will be unpredictable.

Until I find my travel zen, I’ve been watching this to mentally prepare me…the Mongol Rally trailer from a few years back….still entertaining, still disturbing, still kickin’

I have been able to gain a little sanity by preparing myself physically, tactically, geographically, and mentally – but the rest is left up to the big, bad unknown.

I’m now at the point where I’m super excited to simply get on the road and see what it throws at us. I’m tired of worrying, planning, and trying to plan for contingencies…I just want to drive.

Chance, Luck, Faith.  That’s what my plan is.

In the hands of my capable local driver

I’ve been paying close attention to transportation lately. Sure, transportation has always been a particular fascination of mine while traveling, but recently it’s become an obsession.

My upcoming participation in the Mongol Rally has heightened my transportation sixth sense to new levels; culminating in sleeplessness and worry. As I’ve traveled through Italy, Jordan, and Lebanon these past few months I can’t help but look at every little car and have the following thoughts run through my mind:

• Could 4 people and all of their gear fit in that?
• I wonder if it’s easy to get parts for that car?
• Is there enough clearance on that car to drive through Mongolian terrain?
• I wonder how much that little car costs?
• Can we put a roof rack on that?
• I wonder what kind of gas mileage it gets?
• How long would those tires last on dirt roads?

Previously I never even noticed these cars; never gave them a second thought. But now having the challenge of finding a car that we can drive in the Mongol Rally across two continents has heightened my car awareness.

Not only do I wonder about the vehicle, but I’m also obsessed with the actual driving of the vehicle in a foreign country. I’ve traveled through 40+ countries – but I’ve only driven in one of those countries – Vietnam. I lived there a year and it took 5 months before I would rent a bike and another 2 weeks before I would take it out of my living room and try to drive it.

Truth be told, the driving in other countries scares the crap out of me.  I can’t tell you how many times I have thought it might be the last day of my life while screeching around hairpin turns in a bus or vehicle that was older than me and roads so narrow we wouldn’t even consider it enough space to qualify as a shoulder in America! I’ve dealt with these scary situations by telling myself that the driver MUST know what he is doing…he’s a native of and he knows how they drive and maneuver on these roads…right? He knows the unwritten and confusing rules of the road way better than I ever could. So I put my blind faith and utter fear of dying in the hands of the driver, say a few prayers, and try to find my ‘happy place’.

Now we (a bunch of foreigners) will be doing the driving for 6 to 8 weeks through countries that none of us know or understand. Who knows what the rules of the road are in Uzbekistan? Do we yield for camels or not? Is there a manual I can download from a website or something?! I guess we’ll have to learn fast when we cross the border…really fast.

Here are some of the tips I’ve been picking up as I’ve been observing driving through the countries I’ve recently been traveling through:
• You must be aggressive – in Italy…there was no time for being passive. Itlanians are aggressive in romance and in driving!
• Lines mean absolutely nothing – in Jordan and Lebanon lines were a waste of paint. A two lane road effortlessly turned into a 4 lane road. (see an example of this in the video below from my drive to Zhale)

• Stoplights have no meaning – in Lebanon many of the stoplights weren’t even working, but the locals were so used to it that it didn’t’ matter. Imagine Atlanta without stoplights…seriously…what would happen? The word Clusterf#@ck comes to mind…but strangely it worked in Lebanon.
• Horns are used more often than a blinker – in all of these countries horns rule. In fact everywhere I’ve been in the world the horn is used…except for America. For some reason we have been taught that a horn is used as a last resort of being totally pissed. But a horn is used as a side mirror, a blinker, a brake light, and I bet in the right circumstances it could light your cigarette and change a tire too.

I’ve been taking driving notes as I travel this winter, but it’s not making me any more relaxed about the fact that we will be driving across 2 continents.  I’m switching roles from passenger to driver.  I try to imagine myself behind the wheel driving through these cities by myself.  I will no longer be able to put my faith in the hands of the ‘local driver’ because that driver this summer will be a bunch of North Americans.

Also – if you havne’t done so already – please consider donating towards our charity – we are working very hard at trying to raise enough money to purchase an ambulance to donate at the end of the rally.
Donate by clicking here:

The mile long Sik has irrigation drainage carved into the walls draining down into Petra

Petra was the main topic in John William Burgon’s Poem Petra. Referring to it as the inaccessible city which he had heard described but had never seen. The Poem was awarded the Newdigate Prize in 1845 :

“ It seems no work of Man’s creative hand,
by labour wrought as wavering fancy planned;
But from the rock as if by magic grown,
eternal, silent, beautiful, alone!
Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine,
where erst Athena held her rites divine;
Not saintly-grey, like many a minster fane,
that crowns the hill and consecrates the plain;
But rose-red as if the blush of dawn,
that first beheld them were not yet withdrawn;
The hues of youth upon a brow of woe,
which Man deemed old two thousand years ago,
match me such marvel save in Eastern clime,
a rose-red city half as old as time. ”

I went into Petra blind, no real research, no real idea of what to expect; I prefer to keep things a mystery so I feel like I’m discovering them myself. However, I will provide you a little background in order to kick off my week of blogging about Petra.

The city of Petra achieved its greatest importance under the Nabateans, an ancient people whose original homeland was in northeastern Arabia. They migrated westward in the 6th century BC and eventually settled at Petra. The Nabateans were master merchants. They achieved this title due to their monopoly on the caravan spice trade that involved China, Egypt, Greece, and India and passed from the Arabian interior to the coast. By the 1st century BC the Nabataean kingdom extended from Damascus in the north to the Red Sea in the south, and Petra was home to as many as 30,000 people. It was during this period that the most impressive structures of Petra were built, including the Treasury, the Great Temple and the Qasr el-Bint el-Faroun. If you are an ancient history buff and want to know more, then I suggest checking out Wikipedia.

Thanks to Indiana Jones, Petra became known in the modern world to masses. It is a Unesco World Heritage site and was recently named one of the ‘New’ 7 Wonders of the World

The long downward entrance to Petra through the Siq is memorable – especially when there aren’t any tourists around. I forced myself to get up early in order to experience the entrance without the onslaught of tourists groups. The Siq is a mile-long narrow gorge leading into the city of Petra, emerging dramatically in front of the Treasury along the way. Here’s your first view of the ancient entrance…completely solitary…you can imagine what it was like to be there thousands of years ago. However, nothing will bolt you back into the present day like a 4X4!

It doesn't get any fresher than this

When you get those late night hunger pains, attacking your insides as if they miners in an empty cavern; when you can hear the echoing grumbles of your insides – what do you do? In Amman you go to Salah El-Din sandwich shop.

At 10PM on Thursday night I had my pajamas on sitting at my host family’s home. We were all chatting and all of a sudden they asked me if I wanted to go downtown for a sandwich. I was a bit confused…”A sandwich, right now? I have my pajamas on.” I was convinced this was a ‘lost in translation’ type of conversation, but I was wrong; they really wanted to go for a sandwich. What made this even more surprising is that the family lives in Fuheis a town outside of Amman; basically a 30 minute drive to downtown if there’s no traffic.

As much as I wanted to simply call it a night and go to bed, I felt like this was one of those opportunities I should seize; however I wasn’t going to seize it in my pajamas. I quickly changed and 5 of us walked out the door to go get a sandwich.

Saif (the husband of Rawan) was not only our driver but my personal tour guide as we hit the Amman traffic circles in reverse order. One of the first things I learned about Amman was that the traffic circles were numbered starting with circle 1 near downtown and the further you go out the higher the numbers go. Saif pointed out every piece of Amman landmark trivia possible as I tried to take it all in under the cover of darkness. This was really my first trip into the city so I felt like a young child pressing my nose against the window hanging on his every word.

A line of men...

We finally started to get into the valley of downtown as the hills of buildings rose up around us with twinkling lights. There were many people out walking around; after all in the Middle east Thursday night is the beginning of their weekend. We pulled up and doubled parked by some cars and Dana groaned, “oh, the place is full of men”. We had driven by the Salah El-Din and sure enough there was a line of men outside and mulling about. I didn’t really know what Dana’s comment meant, but Saif started taking sandwich orders in the car.

I innocently said, aren’t you all going to go inside? Thinking who in their right minds would drive all the way here and not go inside?! However I had to remind myself that I was in a foreign culture, one that I hardly understood and certainly didn’t understand the intricate balance of men and women interactions. Dana, Etedal, and Rawan had decided to stay in the car. However the adventurous side of me wanted to go in; after all, I had changed out of my pajamas to go on this trip, so I might as well get out of the car if it was acceptable! I asked the women if I could go in with Saif and they said sure that I would be fine because I was clearly western and no one would give me any problem.

That was all I needed, so I grabbed my camera and got out of the car. We walked into the small take away restaurant called Salah El-Din and I was the only woman there currently. It didn’t really bother me at all, mainly because I was fascinated by what was in front of me. A hot brick oven and two men working in what appeared to be a very chaotic environment. The place was a little messy, but you could tell that it just couldn’t keep up with the amount of people coming in. I asked Saif if I could take some pictures of the place and he quickly as the man behind the counter who wiggled his hands in a fashion with I thought meant no, but Saif turned around and said sure – no problem. Ah – the joy of foreign body language.

Sesame seeds go on top

I took a couple of shots of the counter, and then the man motioned for me to come behind the counter to take more photos. I once again didn’t think that I understood what he was trying to say to me, but he kept on motioning for me to come around behind the counter, so finally I decided to follow his instructions. All of a sudden, there I was on the other side of the counter next to the guy shoveling break in and out of the oven. What a great vantage point; plus I had everyone looking at me..the crazy female tourist with the camera. It’s a good thing I decided to change out of my pajamas.

Saif ordered 8 sandwiches. The man handed him 8 loaves of bread as they came right out of the hot oven, 8 cheese triangles, a bag of thyme, and 8 eggs which appeared to be really dirty. I was a bit confused about the whole situation; and why we were they giving us a raw egg? Saif quickly explained that the egg wasn’t raw and that it had been baked in the oven…whew.

We walked over to a rather dirty counter and we sat down our bread and picked up one of the many knives laying randomly on the counter. Saif then proceeded to show me that this was a ‘make your own’ sandwich shop. We were given all of the ingredients – now it was up to us to put them all together!

Video of Saif teaching me how to put together the perfect sandwich:

I was fascinated with the process, quickly I jumped in and started helping out; I felt like a local. And for all purposes, I was as there weren’t any tourists in the place. After the fact when I tried to look it up on Google I realized that the place was so ‘local’ I can’t even find it on a Google Search. We quickly put together our 8 piping hot sandwiches and then grabbed 5 cups of tea and took it all to the car for our late night feast.

Me making a few sandwiches

Let me tell you…this fresh out of the oven self service sandwich was better than any egg sandwich I had ever ordered in NYC. Pure yumminess. Plus to top it off – 8 sandwiches and 5 teas cost us 6 Jordanian Dinar (aprox. $8US).

We drove around downtown Amman some more and did a bit more site-seeing, before heading back to Fuheis. I was overjoyed with our impromptu sandwich outing; being exposed to places like that; a place I would’ve have never found on my own, is what travel is all about to me. More than ever my travel style is changing; it’s not about seeing a ton of places to tick off a list. It’s about slow travel; integrating into the culture and being local. My host family and I were off to a great start!

Ho Ho Ho

It’s that time of year when I start to receive oodles of holiday cards in the mail with lots of little faces staring back at me.  The family holiday photos have arrived en mass.  Ok – I may be lying a bit…I don’t really get mail since I don’t have a mailbox or any real way to receive it.  But I do know that if I had a mailbox…it would be stuffed with cheesy family photos.

This time of year always reminds me that there is just…me.  I have no one to show off (and that’s ok with me).  Hell, I even gave up my kitty cat 4 years ago in order to travel thereby forgoing my opportunity to pose as a spinster with my cat dressed in a Santa hat.  You would have loved to see that – right?

So instead of subjecting you to photos of kids or pets that I don’t have, I will subject you to photos of me and my ‘ baby’…my travels.  Because everyone needs something to show off.

Happy Holidays to you and your family!

What's in season at the Midi Market?

I adore markets; they are my single favorite place in any country or city to photograph, visit, interact, and write about. By going to the market, you experience the culture and commerce of a country.

When I was told about the Sunday Midi Market in Brussels, it was #1 on my list of places to visit. The Midi Market is said to be the biggest in Europe behind Ventimiglia on the Italian Riviera. On average 450 stand holders sell their wares, mainly foodstuffs and clothes of all varieties. It is held around the big Midi train station making it easily reachable by all public transportation. As far as I can tell, it is held year around on Sundays from 6AM to 2PM.

As I stepped out of the Gare du Midi station I was excited to experience the famous market. I followed the mass of people and started to see the temporary stalls lining the roads. To my surprise, I didn’t see fruit and vegetables, instead I saw shampoo, make-up, and kitchen appliances! This is one of the cultural oddities of the European markets, it’s not simply food, it’s EVERYTHING. It’s as if WalMart exploded onto the streets. Socks, shoes, coffee makers, nail polish, underwear, rice makers, flowers, fruit, vegetables, butcher, baker, candy, cheese, and handbags. Shame on me for simply thinking this was a place to by food; it was much more than that.

I meandered through the clothing and home supplies, and walked towards the loud noise in the distance. Ahead of me was quite a commotion; the energy pulled me in closer and closer. I had heard the Midi Market was vocal, meaning the vendors would yell at you trying to get you to come to their stands. However, As the day progresses, the prices fall and the yelling gets more urgent and vocal. If you even look at peach and linger on it a bit they have it in a sack and handed to you! This persuasive selling mainly was confined to the fresh fruit and vegetable vendors. I stood and watched them effortlessly switch between Arabic, French, and Flemish in their vocal pitches to the public.

At this moment I realized what an incredibly diverse melting pot this market really was. I walked down the crowded aisles getting lost among olive and nut vendors making me wonder for a moment what country I was in. It felt as if I were in Morocco, Italy, France, and Egypt all at the same time! And to top it off the origins of the shoppers themselves were just as diverse as the vendors.

I was also surprised to see large trailers trucks which turned into cheese shops, butcher shops, and candy stores as if they were straight out of the Transformers movie. All of the stands had samples available to taste, so you could check the quality before you bought.

I honestly couldn’t figure out any real layout to the massive outdoor market which wove through train underpasses and parking lots. The food vendors seemed to be spread out all over while the flower, clothing, and luggage vendors were all in one place. I wandered aimlessly dodging rolling bags filled to the brim with produce, kids tagging on their mother’s dress, and occasionally trying to escape the impromptu rain showers! They even had waffle vendors enticing you with the aroma of freshly made waffles meandering through the market. It was a complete sensory experience!

The prices were by far the best in town. In fact, if you liked to gamble a bit, you could stay around the market later in the day and see the prices drop considerably, but the inventory went fast at the end. The vendors would make new signs and stick them out on the fruit, so it paid to wander around a bit and try to find the best prices. Of course it took me more time as I tried to convert Euro to dollars and kilos to pounds in my head…eventually I just gave up and stopped worrying about it!

Most of the vendors had someone at their stand who could speak English, but considering I was surrounded by all of these multilingual people, I felt kind of silly about my lack of language skills! However, my language barrier didn’t stop me; I ended up buying all of my produce, cheese, and bread at the market for the week – it was an amazing value. I went home with my backpack brimming with white plastic bags!

I was in Brussels for 4 weeks and I went to this Sunday market 3 times as it was my favorite entertainment in town. It didn’t take me long to establish my favorite vendors whom I would revisit and purchase from. My best advice is to bring a big bag (preferably one with wheels), come hungry (so you can stop for a waffle), come late (to get the best falling prices), brush up on your French numbers, and bring a camera!

Make the Sunday Midi Market part of your tourist travels in Belgium!
View Photography of Midi Market Brussels

The Enchanted Forest

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 19

Coming Down to Reality

Down Dooby Doo Down Down, Comma comma
Down Dooby Doo Down Down, Comma comma
Down Dooby Doo Down Down
Leaving Annapurna is Haaarrrrdddd…. tooooooooo…. dooooo…

I couldn’t get this tune out of my head.  Probably because…

There was nowhere to go now but down.

Our downward path first led us through the ‘enchanted’ Rotadendrum forest as we left Ghorepani and the white peaks behind. The forest was beautiful and creepy at the same time. Rays of sun made their way through the mossy green foliage poking thru crooked tree branches with powerful light rays. The scene was made even more eerie by the incessant sound of singing locust in the trees. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the headless horseman reared up in front of me.

After a couple of hours, we left the locust and enchanted forest behind and popped out on a terraced hillside bustling with harvest activity. It was as if we had broken out of a fog – the whole landscape changed in a few small steps.

The trail was like the super highway. People were on their way up to Ghorepani and fast people were practically sprinting down towards Pokhara. It was fun to meet all of the fresh faced trekkers just starting their adventure – it actually made me feel very happy to be where we were – near the end of our circuit and closer than ever to a good shower and real bed.

We stopped for lunch at the picturesque hill town of Ulleri and then started the knee crushing stairway to Hell…oops…I mean stairway to Hile. We had already read about this challenge in our guide book…the dreaded 3,283 steps down to Hile descending over 1,879 feet. Truth be known, we had already been going down steps for the last 40 minutes of trekking so my dodgy runner’s knee was already feeling the effects of the steep stone descent.

Stairway to Hile

I knew this would pose the greatest challenge for my dad too. His descending skills were far worse than his climbing skills – it obviously ran in the family. To make it worse the descent was on the open hillside with no shade. Just switchbacks of ‘stairs’ – uneven, haphazard stones placed like stairs. After all – there weren’t the steps to the public library – they were ‘trail’ steps. It could’ve been worse though – we could have been going up the stairs!

All I could think about as I planted my hiking pole on the step below to take pressure off my knee was , “Who in their right mind actually counted these steps?!” Seriously – how did they know there were 3,283 – that’s bullshit.

We had been descending stairs steadily for an hour, nearing the bottom and knee relief when we came across the chicken porters. Actually you could first smell them, then you could see them. At one point on the trail, it was like an animal super highway; chicken couped porters, a donkey train, and herd of sheep all converged on the steps. Are there animal rules for who has the right of way? Dr. Doolittle would know the answer to that question I bet.

We slept in Hile that night after a good beer and popcorn; you could tell that we were getting much closer to civilization now…popcorn was a special treat! We slept late the next morning and had a easy rolling 3 hour downhill hike to Birethanthi. We took our time and observed all of the harvesting in the fields and kids going to school. Birethanthi was really the last village on the circuit and we could’ve easily went on to Pokhara but instead we soaked up one more lazy afternoon of peace, simplicity, and mountain peaks.

Chicken Porters - you could smell them coming!

That night Bishnu, Deihl, Dad, and I celebrated our last night together with Roxie (Nepali moonshine); reliving some of the best moments on our circuit hike thru the hundreds of photos I had taken. I think we were 2 of about 10 people actually overnighting in Birethanti; the comforts of Pokhara were too enticing for most hikers who had been on the circuit for over 18 days!

The next morning we had breakfast and put on our packs one last time. As soon as we crossed over the bridge out of Birethanti we left the trekking village world behind as if we had went thru the exit of Disneyworld…the fantasy was over. We entered a grittier, charmless area with shops lining a muddy road. The people I saw might have been better off financially but in the case of village life I’m convinced less is more. It felt as if we were walking through slums in a way – or maybe I was just adjusting my perspective back to ‘reality’.

Then the real jolt happened. The sound of a loud bus horn blew at an annoying pitch. It was like nails on a chalkboard ; the noise echoed through my skull and I let out a sigh.

For my dad and I , the Annapurna Circuit was finished.

View photos from Days 20 & 21

Read the complete Tiger Balm Tales from the beginning!

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth
Vol. 6 – Road Work Ahead
Vol. 7 – Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 8 – And on the 7th Day We Rested
Vol. 9 – Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 10 – No Room at the Inns
Vol. 11 – A Mouse in My House
Vol. 12 – Beware of Falling Rocks
Vol. 13 – The Longest Day
Vol. 14 – Motorized Travel
Vol. 15 – A River Runs Thru It
Vol. 16 – Carbo Loading
Vol. 17 – Danger Curves Ahead!
Vol. 18 – Going Up Again

Heading back up the terraces

Tiger Balm Tales Vol 18

Going Up…AGAIN

We had been on the trail now for 18 days. We no longer had that rookie look in our eyes. We were no longer surprised by cold showers, the same menu, donkeys squeezing by us on the trail. We were old timers. We had 4 days on the trail before we hung up our boots in retirement. Dad and I had one last pass to get over, and then on to civilization.

Basket Weaver

Today we were starting a two-day climb…yes climb. Even though we had peaked on the Thorung La Pass 3 days earlier, it wasn’t all downhill from there. Instead it was downhill – and then uphill again to 9075 ft and then back downhill into Pokhara. However what made this climb different was that this was stress free hiking. Unlike Thorung La Pass, we knew we could make it to Ghorepani at a mere 9075 ft – no problem. It’s really amazing how enjoyable it can be when you aren’t constantly worried about “will I make it?”

Tatopani was a nice stop for us once I calmed myself from my harrowing bus ride.  Tatopani is a popular stop along the Annapurna Circuit thanks to its natural hot springs; trekkers tend to use it as a rejuvenation stop before continuing the upward climb to Ghorepani. Try as I might, I’m not really a Hot Springs gal. I realized this must run in the family, as my dad also had no interest in the hot springs. Instead, my father and I decided to simply use Tatopani as a good internet and beer stop skipping the famous hot springs.

Instead, Tatopani offered me a special kind of therapy that my body was craving; fruit therapy. The little village was tropical compared to the high altitude peaks we had come from. Orange and lime trees were abundant and my body welcomed some sweet/sour citrus fruit into my system; better than any hot springs in my opinion!

Leaving Tatopani after a hearty breakfast including fresh orange juice, we were energized for our climb. We hadn’t really done any strenuous hiking since the pass, but that was going to change today. We were at 4,580 ft and had to climb to 9,075 ft in two days.

The trail to Ghorepani took us back among the rice fields and functioning villages – a welcome site. The villages before this at higher altitudes seemed to mainly exist for the circuit trekkers, but the villages we walked thru today were farming villages full of kids and families who lived there year around. Kids along the trail sold sweet green oranges bursting with flavor; I of course put a few in my pack.

Video Trekking to Shikha:

After a good morning hike we stopped for Daal Bhat and corn bread. As we were getting up to leave, an old friend ‘floated’ by – Roman. We had been meeting and leaving Roman for the past 4 days on the trail; each time thinking it would be our last to see each other. The ‘river’ of the Annapurna Circuit never ceased to amaze me – depositing friends floating down the ‘river’ when you least expected it. Roman trekked with us to Shikha where we were to stay for the night. We said our final goodbyes as he headed for the big climb to Ghorepani and dad and I settled down for a relaxing night in Shikha.

Model in the Making

Shikha wasn’t exactly a normal stop on the trail; they had a few guest houses. Shikha was mainly a functioning village full of farmers and herders. It was great to be back in a non-touristy village. We spend our afternoon walking around the village watching the villagers go about their afternoon chores; thrashing beans, feeding goats, milking cows, and making baskets. Of course the kids came running down home from school and offered a wealth of entertainment for us posing as ‘models’.

The next morning we knew we had a challenging climb to Ghorepani, so we ate a hearty breakfast of porridge and started the climb. We walked with kids on their way to school; brothers and sisters walking in cheap flip flops hand in hand bounding up the steep mountain to go to primary school; a typical day for them as we were gasping for air. It was fun however to see the hillside come to life in the golden morning sun. Villagers were out harvesting their hillside crops; serenading us as we walked by.

As we walked up a seemingly never-ending array of stone steps, various parts of my body cried out in exhaustion. Strangely my whole body seemed to be itching too. I tried to ignore it and get into a hiking rhythm. I was able to get a second wind and decided I would speed up a bit and take fewer breaks; mainly because I wanted to be done with this day of climbing and those damn steps! I took off and found myself quickly all alone on the trail. I hit my stride and arrived in Ghorepani about 20 minutes ahead of dad, Bishnu and Diehl. It actually felt great to work that hard and sweat profusely; I had earned my cinnamon roll today!

Signs marked the trail

I sat on the wall itchy and hungry waiting for my crew to arrive taking in the lovely views of Ghorepani and dealing with a tinge of sadness knowing this was our last big climb on the circuit.

We checked into an ugly little room; but it came with a hot shower…a real HOT shower. I had been waiting for a good shower for a while now and quickly called dibs for the first shot to use the shower! Unfortunately I thought my itchiness was due to the fact I was wearing the same dirty, sweaty clothes for the last 3 days, but I quickly realized that it was a rash all over my body! Apparently I was having an allergic reaction to the antibiotics I had been taking since falling ill in Manang . The saga never ends. I took some allergy pills and put on lose fitting, clean clothes and tried to ignore the itchiness.

Sadly, Ghorepani was a disappointment. Maybe I had too high of expectations (which is usually the case) since I had to work so hard to get to the mountaintop town. I was disappointed because it appeared to be just another tourist town; cold and thrown together like a bunch of legos. No real locals lived here, but they came here to work at guest houses for the tourist season. Two men dressed in ethnic garb, stood in the town ‘center’ with violins and played the same exact tune for 4 hours for tourists in hopes of donations. Dad and I sat and watched as ‘newbie tourists’ were enthralled by the singing and dancing and then were hit up for money. It felt as if we didn’t belong here with the rest of the tourists; as if we had been banished to the ‘kiddie pool’ after swimming in the deep end. It just wasn’t exciting or authentic as the past days going over the pass. Let’s face it – we were old timers existing on the trail for 19 days, and here was the new batch of rookies coming all wide-eyed and fresh. The little town tried to be charming by painting all of the metal buildings and roofs blue; but it all fell gravely short if you ask me. It really existed, in all of its blueness for tourists; mainly the ones who came from Pokhara and wanted to hike to Poon Hill.

Rooftop

Ghorepani is seen as a nice alternative for tourists who don’t want to do the whole Annapurna circuit, but want to do a short hike with views of the peaks. It is a short day or two-day hike from the big tourist town of Pokhara. Many groups came to Ghorepani to see the sun rise at Poon Hill viewpoint, and then hike back down. In order to see the sunrise, you need to get up at 4:30 AM to trek up 1.500 ft. to the viewpoint and see the sunrise on a clear day. Dad and I talked about it, but decided that we would skip the early rise trek. This was mainly because we felt like we had already been to the Super Bowl…Thorung La Pass; we were among the peaks that the others were vying to get a photo of. For some reason it didn’t appeal to us.

Instead us two old-timers had a celebratory beer and cinnamon roll happy we had finished our last major climb. It would be all downhill from here!

View photos from Annapurna Day 18 & 19

Read the complete Tiger Balm Tales from the beginning!

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth
Vol. 6 – Road Work Ahead
Vol. 7 – Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 8 – And on the 7th Day We Rested
Vol. 9 – Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 10 – No Room at the Inns
Vol. 11 – A Mouse in My House
Vol. 12 – Beware of Falling Rocks
Vol. 13 – The Longest Day
Vol. 14 – Motorized Travel
Vol. 15 – A River Runs Thru It
Vol. 16 – Carbo Loading
Vol. 17 – Danger Curves Ahead!

Dad going to Thorung La Pass

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 13

The Longest Day

KLOMP, KLOMP, KLOMP
The sounds of hiking boots on wooden floor echoed outside my door. I poked my nose out of my warm sleeping bag cocoon, breathed in the cold air, and let it out only to see my hot breath evaporate into the darkness.

I’m aware those footseps are a ‘wake-up’ call to begin this worrisome day, but I know the footsteps aren’t for me; they are for my neighbor. I tried to put my head beneath the sleeping bag again like a turtle reverting back into his shell. I didn’t want to think about the coming day; I just wanted to sleep another 20 minutes. Soon my watch alarm went off beckoning us to stand upright and face our challenge. However the reality was we were both already awake thinking and wondering about what lie ahead for us.

Snowy peaks Annapurna

We started at 5:30AM in the complete darkness. I was wearing nearly every piece of clothing I had been carrying for the last 12 days. Well-outfitted Europeans breezed by us in their down jackets and other technical gear covering them from head to toe; they were a walking Northface billboard. On the other end of the spectrum, my dad and I looked like we had raided a garage sale with a hodge-podge of winter type trekking gear. Honestly, we were poorly prepared when it came to technical, winter clothing. I had just spent the last year living at the equator in Vietnam, I didn’t even own a coat, so I had to borrow one. We operated under the idea that as long as we kept moving we would stay warm.

Our little headlamps cut through the darkness giving you the effect of being in a tunnel. It was un-nerving to not be able to see more than a 5 ft. radius of your surroundings. The sun slowly rose in the sky, so close to us I felt I could reach out and touch it. I let the radiating rays hit my body and give me energy. Everything around us seemed to be happening in slow motion, our breathing, our steps, the people moving around us, yet there was a palpable energy in the air propelling us forward.

The march to the top was a surreal experience taking us 4 hours to go from 15,100 ft to the 17,770 ft Thorung La Pass. The 4 hours seemed to be a roller coaster of emotions not to mention a roller coaster of nausea. Trekking in high altitude slows down your pace, and turns your insides as well as your brain into jelly. It’s like some drug induced high; memories and thoughts seemed to float through my brain in slow motion getting stuck for a while and rattling around. Until you actually experience this yourself, you can’t imagine how each step seems to take such an effort that it leaves you breathless. My normal healthy self had eroded away into heavy breathing and legs that felt like they were 60 pounds each.

Video of trail up to the pass:

The sound of silence on the path was eerie; sounds of breathing, and snow crunching below our feet were the only thing I could hear. I don’t even think we talked among ourselves except to ask the occasional question “How are you doing?” My dad was breathing heavy and going slow, but his spirits were high. Bishnu was our eternal cheerleader, greeting us with a smile and encouragement at every rest break; and there were many rest breaks. One thing that fueled us was the local Nepalese who sat perched with their donkeys at the steep switchbacks, waiting for us to give up and use 4 legs instead of 2; I imagined them to be vultures. It was cruel punishment. However, one thing that holds true for my family – we don’t give up.

As any great challenge is achieved, great emotions tend to go along with it. As we neared the pass I turned around and watched my dad come around the last bend. My whole body tensed up, my throat closed, my brow furrowed, and I could feel the tears well up in my eyes. I was overcome with pride and love as I watched him realize that he was at the top. I clumsily tried to video the moment but tears stung my eyes and my narration was wobbly at best as I swallowed my words.

Thorung La Pass Accomplishment

I was relieved that we both had made it up safely and I was happy that we had met the challenge together. As I watched him walk toward me I wondered what I would be doing when I was 73. What adventures would I have, and who in the world would be with me?

Even my dad was overcome with emotions; something I rarely get a glimpse of. In fact, I don’t know if I can ever remember a time when I saw him emotional. Angry – yes; tears of emotions – no. He talked about his mom watching him from above on this day, her birthday. She would’ve thought he was crazy for doing this, and she would have been really mad at me for talking him into it!

Bishnu and Diehl (our porter) smoked a celebratory cigarette. We took pictures by the summit sign and reveled in our massive accomplishment. That feeling of being on a high of utter happiness is one of the best feelings in the world. The sun was shining, the sky was blue, we were at 17,770 ft. and we were ecstatic. In my dad’s elation, he gathered us ( Bishnu, Diehl, and myself) all around and told us he had a question that we had to answer honestly – no bullshit. We all agreed to the terms. He got very serious and asked , “On the first day of our trekking, did you think I would make it here to the pass?” We all broke out in laughter and answered a resounding “NO!” . That’s the honest to God truth. After the first few days Bishnu and I sat down and starting making plan B…we didn’t think dad would be able to make it. I never told my dad this. But in the end he proved us all wrong, which made him glow with pride.

Video at the top!

As we soaked in our accomplishment, little did we know what lie ahead of us. Unfortunately it turned out to be an icy downward slope which would prove to take our elation, chew it up, and spit it out down the other side of the snow covered pass. We next had to go from 17,700 ft. to 12,335 ft at the next town of Muktinath. We sent Deihl ahead so that he could get to Muktinath and secure a room as we knew we’d have a slow descent.

The other side of Thorung La

I looked over the other side of the pass and saw a white expanse of rock and snow. Upon closer look the snow was really a sheet of ice. I decided to embrace the wide open space, avoiding the well traveled/icy trail and go ‘off-road’. I picked my own trail through the deep crunchy snow imaging my heavy hiking boots were light, wide snow shoes. At times I could walk on top of the snow and sometimes I would sink in to my upper calf. I generally ran wildly down the mountain side (think Sound of Music in the snow). My dad however didn’t like the uncertainty of my route. Instead he took the slow, slippery route where hundreds before him had gone a few hours earlier leaving a snow packed ice slide.

Needless to say he fell more than once or twice, but he persevered at a turtle pace; and I could feel his nerves with every step. This set my worrying mind in motion again. Visions of broken hips and ankles dominated my thoughts so much so that I could no longer watch him tediously choose his icy route. So I point myself downhill and tried not to think about him as I knew Bishnu was there to watch him and worry for me.

After a few hours we got through the icy snow path and a steep descent down another mountain lie ahead of us. It felt never ending. While most younger, braver people quickly went down the mountain, Dad and I slowly and cautiously made our way down. The good news is that we made some really great friends along the way. We had already been hiking for 8 hours when we met Roman, a tall solo hiker. He was a breath of fresh air since we were all tired of each other by that time; the excitement of someone new to talk to gave us new energy!

Dad slowing down...

However, my dad was slowly deteriorating. The pounding downhill, the stress of the day, the hours on our feet, and little to no food had all taken its toll. First it was his back, then his feet. After 11 hours of hiking he was walking like he was a 73 year old; limping a bit, a pained look in his face with each slow step. We were still far above our destination of Muktinath. The sun was quickly going down and the moon was already up. We had to end the day as we started 11 hours earlier; with headlamps.

I felt like we were barely moving at times, and it pained me to see my dad struggling so much. The sun was down when Deihl came out on the trail looking for us. He had arrived in Muktinath 4 hours earlier and booked our room expecting us to arrive hours before this. He was worried that we hadn’t arrived yet and had come out looking for us; a touching act for a porter to do. He was so happy when he found us limping down the mountain in one piece.

That’s when the most memorable part of this trip happened for me. Diehl and Bishnu each took Dad’s arms and placed them around their shoulders and helped my dad ‘walk’ the last 40 minutes into town navigating down yet more steps by headlamp. I walked on the side trying to illuminate the way with my headlamp and giving encouragement. But in my mind was this feeling of pride, sadness, and gratitude equally vying for my attention. I was sad that my dad couldn’t walk into town on his own two feet, but so immensely proud of his 13 hour accomplishment today.

Towards Muktinath

Bishnu and Diehl helped dad make it to the guesthouse. We arrived in the ‘lobby/dining hall’ and the 3 Polish women who we had befriended the day before were there eating their dinner and celebrating. When they saw us they let out a gasp and as they saw my dad being helped in, they actually stood up and clapped for us. I love the camaraderie on this trail. This was the welcome we needed; smiles beamed on our faces. We were done for the day, and we survived.

Diehl had reserved us a room with a hot ensuite shower – heaven. I quickly gave dad some Alieve and set up a hot (ok – warm) shower for him. Even though we were both starving, exhaustion set in and we barely ate or celebrated at all at the guesthouse. We would save that for tomorrow.

For the first time in 2 weeks we slept without the cloud of anxiety over us. We had successfully made it over the pass. The next day when we woke up and I started getting up to go to breakfast, Dad sat up slowly and said “What adventure are we going to do next?”

I just laughed. I loved his quest for adventure. I answered, “I don’t know – maybe Antarctica?” He laid back down apparently happy with my answer.

See all the photos of our 13 hour Trek!

Like the Tiger Balm Tales?  Then start from the beginning!

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth
Vol. 6 – Road Work Ahead
Vol. 7 – Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 8 – And on the 7th Day We Rested
Vol. 9 – Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 10 – No Room at the Inns
Vol. 11 – A Mouse in My House
Vol. 12 – Beware of Falling Rocks

Ledar, Nepal - Annapurna Circuit

Tiger Balm Tales vol. 11

Day 10 – A Mouse in My House

After 10 days of decreasing temperatures and increasing wind my body is rebelling. My lips have become as dry as the Gobi Desert , my nasal passages feel like hard booger craters have invaded it, and my hands are so dry they look like they belong to a 60 yr. old; the elements most definitely do have an effect on your body.
We hiked slowly from Gunsang to Ledar today. We saw ice for the first time on the trail. We saw no trees. We breathed harder than we had the day before. Now we are holed up in the 1 of 3 guest houses in the encampment of Ledar waiting; waiting for our body to acclimate a little more.

Donkey Aroma

During one of our trekking breaks today our guide, Bishnu, said “Ohhhhh, I’m smelling like a donkey! I can’t wait for a shower.” Not only did the donkey reference make me laugh, but it also made me realize that I’ve now been wearing the same pants for 10 days, the same shirt for 9 days, the same jog bra for 9 days, the same socks for 4 days; this is beyond donkey filth! On top of the filth, everything smells like Tiger Balm!  However, it’s a part of trekking for 21 days. I do wonder at times if these clothes will ever be clean again, or should I burn them for warmth at high camp? I guess the good news is that everyone smells equally badly; like a pack of donkeys.

Even more troubling that my physical rebellion or my odor, is my mental rebellion. After 10 days I’m annoyed.   The sunroom in our guesthouse is buzzing with various conversations I find hard to ignore. I don’t understand why trekkers only like to share bad stories about trekking; trekkers who have disappeared, ones who were robbed, ones who die from AMS. This is seriously annoying conversation. Why isn’t anyone telling any good heartwarming stories – the ones about people making it? Or is it that people don’t ever make it…no…that’s just my mind playing stupid tricks on me – right?

All of this negative talk is making me feel ill.

Ledar Guesthouse View

However I also knew why I was annoyed and feeling crappy. Of all days, at all times – I got my period today. So not only was I exhausted, cold and sore – but I also had cramps. Timing is everything. Even though this is a subject that my dad and I had never discussed in my lifetime (my family rarely discusses anything personal), I decided what the hell, I’m an adult and we are trekking partners – so I mentioned to him that I wasn’t feeling well because I had my period. His reply, “Well, at least you’re not pregnant.”

Wait a minute…was this my dad?  My dad making a very funny joke about a subject that we had never talked about before?  I was in shock!   I felt as if I had entered the Father Knows Best twilight zone. This is why I love traveling with my dad, I get these glimpses of him that I never had exposure to before. Previously I only had exposure to the ‘father figure’, not the man. These are the memories that will be burned in my brain.

Dad and I started studying our next 2 trekking days on our map; in 2 days we’ll be climbing higher than either of us ever have climbed before. As we looked at the calendar we realized that we’ll cross the pass on Oct. 30th. We both realized what that meant; Oct. 30th was a special date to our family. My father’s mother (my Grandma Ott) who just recently passed away last Febuary at 97 years old, would have been 98 years old on Oct. 30th. We were going to cross the pass on her birthday. We didn’t plan this – it just happened thanks to our slow speed and my illness ; but it was clearly meant to be.

That afternoon as I sat and tried to journal, trying not to listen to the horror stories around me.  I looked over at my dad, he seemed just fine. In fact, he was great. He didn’t seem worried or annoyed like me. Instead he seemed really happy. I started to think about how far we’ve come. In all of that distance, I never saw anyone near his age range attempting what he is attempting. I’m sure there’s been plenty of people over 73 years old get over Thorang La Pass, but they are not my dad, and that’s who I care about now.

Dad taking a break

We are a good father-daughter team. We lean on each other and provide encouragement when we need to. I realize this is the longest time we’ve ever spent together alone. In fact,  this is the longest time he’s been away from my mom since they’ve been married 50 years. Surprisingly this is all going really well. I think the best thing about growing older is that your relationship with your parents change from inequal to equal….and I suppose eventually that will change again. But I’ve decided that instead of being annoyed with everything, I’ll enjoy this moment. Sure, I’ll still worry about our ability to get over the pass as a team. But I will appreciate every possible moment of this teamwork.

Our teamwork was never appreciated more than that night when we went back to our cold, dark room to sleep. I entered the room with my headlamp providing a narrow beam of light cutting thru the darkness. I went to put my journal on my bed and that’s when I saw it – two beady eyes staring back at me. A little mouse was scurrying around on my bed as if it were his. I scared the shit out of it; it scared the shit out of me. Amazingly I turned around to my dad who was closing the door to the room and said in a stifled, yet startled tone, “There’s a mouse on my bed.” With precision teamwork and two headlamps we were able to chase the outnumbered mouse off my bed and out the door. I slammed the door shut…whew.

Yet in reality I knew the mouse on my bed had scarred me mentally; this would be a worse than usual night of sleep at altitude. After all, it didn’t take me long to realize that the mouse got in our room when the door was shut; we were in its house. I pulled my sleeping bag string tighter so that only my eyes could peer out; attempting to shut out any entrance for the pesky mouse. One good thing about my excessive worrying about the mouse was that I was no longer worrying about crossing the pass!

Video of Trail:

Start the Tiger Balm Tales from the Beginning!

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth
Vol. 6 – Road Work Ahead
Vol. 7 – Changing Rhythms on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 8 – And on the 7th Day We Rested
Vol. 9 – Paralyzed on the Annapurna Circuit
Vol. 10 – No Room at the Inns

Many days while trekking I was overwhelmed by the beauty and sounds around me.  I wished that everyone could see and experience what I was seeing.  Here are some of my panoramic videos along the trail towards Manang (Days 4, 5, and 6).  I think you’ll quickly see and hear why this trek in Nepal is so stunning!

Granite Trail:

Chame to Pisang:

Surrounded by Water near Tal:

Windy Valley near Manang:

Tiger Balm Tales Vol. 6

Day 2 & 3 Bahundanda to Dharapani

What is it about growing older that changes us?  Not only do our feet get bigger, but we tend to also develop more irrational fears.  I’ve been aware of it for some time now; my growing fear of heights.   As each year goes by I turn into Jimmy Stewart in Vertigo…I freeze, the world seems to spin around me, and I have to talk myself through the irrational panic.  Why on earth did I think that going on a hiking trip in the Himalayas would be a good idea?

After hiking a day to get to the trail, we were now hiking on the main Annapurna trail.  This tourist route had little villages peppered along the trail giving you an endless supply of drinks, fruit, food, people watching, and lodging.  However the downside to hiking the trail was that it was like a super highway of tourists.  On day 1 we were surrounded by locals, and from here on out we would be surrounded by tourists.  We chose to hike the trail at the best time of the year; the weather was perfect – no more monsoon, and not freezing cold yet.  Of course this was why everyone else also decided to come and hike the trail; Oct/Nov was high season.

The hills are alive...

As we took off and crested the hill from Bahundanda we dipped down into a stunning green valley of rice terraces.  The green grass met the blue skys; the landscape seemed to explode. It didn’t take long for groups of people and porters to start passing us.  It was as if they were flashing their bright lights behind us kindly requesting us slow pokes to move over so they could pass.  Instead of lights, they had walking polls – klink, klink, KLINK on the rocks as they came up behind us.  As groups of people briskly walked by us I wondered…why?  Why are they in such a hurry?  We are in this beautiful scenery nestled among the Himalayas, and we traveled presumably long distances to get here, but I seldom saw many of these people look up from the trail.  They just kept maintaining their pace, not noticing the environment around them.  All so they could get to the next village and wait?  Granted, maybe I’m a bit too slow, and I take too many pictures, but I prescribe to slow travel I guess; I want to soak it all in.

A temporary fix

Every time we seemed to gain some elevation on the trail, we promptly turned around and lost it.  Up and down, Up-Up and down, Up-Up-Up and down.   We also ran into some trail issues – namely rock slides.  The rock slides would force us to use alternate routes, often sending us way up a steep mountainside with loose rock or down to a bridge to cross over the river.

One of the bridges looked as if it were made of toothpicks and was put up a few hours before we arrived there.  I watched others cross over the low bridge slowly; it looked easy enough.  I waited my turn and gingerly took steps onto the bamboo poles which creaked and flexed with each step.  All I could hear was the water rushing below me as I tried to balance on the 3 bamboo poles; rejoicing silently when I stepped on solid ground again.

If it wasn’t rock slides slowing us up, it was road construction.  Yes, they are sadly building a road on the Annapurna Circuit – a topic I will later discuss in detail.  When I first read about the road being built, I was quite concerned about what it would do to the trail.  However, once I got there and saw it in person, I realized that the road would progress slower than the US Universal Health Care legislation.  You may wonder how they build a road in a 3^rd world country, high up in the mountains through solid rock on a cliff face.  Wonder no more:

5 men, a sledge hammer, and a shovel….yup…that won’t be finished in my lifetime.

For now the road construction led to some entertaining photography and videos, but it also led to obstacles that sent my adrenaline through the roof.  I stopped to get footage of this slow, laborious road project as my father and Bishnu went on ahead.  They had long since grown tired of waiting for me and my camera.  I got the footage, joked with the locals, and left with a smile; but when I rounded the corner the smile quickly disappeared and I was suddenly aware of my heart pounding in my chest.

The blasting for the birth of the road left rock slides and a narrow little loose dirt trail that danced along the edge of the cliff-face.  I don’t mind climbing, I don’t mind descending, I don’t mind carrying heavy packs.  But I hate narrow trails near ledges that will send you plummeting to your death.  This new trail was about 3 feet wide, yet it looked like 1 foot in my terrified mind.  As I took a few steps, I felt as if I were hanging off the side of a monuntain.  I slowed down and took each step as if it were my first…and sorta my last.

My brain raced with thoughts of everything that could go wrong.  For a moment I think I forgot how to walk.  I tried to tune out the sound of the rushing river a 700 feet below me.  I was acutely aware of the big pack on my back and how it could throw off my center of balance and leave me nowhere to step to recover.  Time slowed down and I slowly took each step concentrating so hard I began to talk to myself.

With each year I add to my life this stupid fear of heights seems to get worse and worse.  Maybe it has something to so with the fact that as we get older, our appendages keep growing while the rest of us shrinks – in my head I have clown size feet now!  Clown size feet don’t fit on narrow trails!

I was thrilled to catch up with my Dad and Bishnu a while later as we entered the village of Dharapani.  I just wanted to make sure they had safely made it through that section of the trail.  Needless to say, I think the only thing that would’ve made that narrow trail worse would’ve been to watch my father go on it; then I really would have been a basket case!

View all the photos from Day 2 and 3 of Hiking – or click on an image to see more detail:

Want to start at the beginning of the Tiger Balm Tales?

Vol. 1 – The Begining of a Nepal Trekking Plan
Vol. 2 – Preparing the Parents
Vol. 3 – Annapurna Itinerary
Vol. 4 – Travel Back in Time
Vol. 5 – Breathe Through Your Mouth

A White Christmas Indeed!

This Christmas was shaping up to be one of my favorites.   After living abroad alone last year,  I had planned to spend Christmas with my mom and dad in South Dakota.  My whole family is spread out in the Midwest and it rarely happens that we are all in the same place due to my vagabond travels and my sister’s family living overseas.  However, this year all good fortunes aligned allowing my sister and family (who just moved back to the US) and my brother’s family to join us in South Dakota!  I LOVE Christmas, and I really love being around my family for Christmas – so this was a treat of epic proportions for me amplified by the fact that I had been away for the last 15 months.

However, Mother Nature had other plans…

Me in the snow...

As early as Tuesday it started – the 24/7 coverage of the ‘approaching storm’ in the Midwest plains; my ground zero.  One thing I’ve been amazed at since arriving back in the US for the holidays is American’s addiction to weather.  It’s weather overload for me, Doppler this – Storm Tracker that…I stare in amazement at the television screen wondering how people can live their life when they are so concerned with the weather?!

At first on Tuesday I didn’t believe it, by Wednesday I was in denial, by Thursday I was starting to accept, and by Friday morning  – I knew it wouldn’t happen…no one would make it here for the holidays.  The blizzard did indeed arrive, just like the Storm Tracker Radar said it would.

Snow and wind is a terrible combination for the plains where there is little to impede the wind’s wrath and power.  Silently my mom, dad, and I all were a bit saddened by the situation as we were all looking forward to having a house full of people, nieces running around, games, food, drink, and more food.  But as we looked at our huge platter of homemade cinnamon rolls, dozens of freshly baked cookies, 12 pounds of prime rib; the three of us knew that we were on our own.  The TV informed us the main interstate in South Dakota was to be closed the whole day.  The state had officially come to a stand still; outside visitors were turned away and we all settled in for a small, quiet, snowy Christmas.

As a family we had decided to only get gifts for the kids – no adults would exchange gifts (at least not anything major), so we looked at our little tree and each had one gift beneath it to exchange.  I had brought my parents back some small trinkets back from Asia.  Small trinkets are great – but when they are your only gifts…it’s kind of pathetic.  In the same vain, I opened up my gift from my mom; a Snuggie.  I could write a whole post on that lovely piece of American culture on it’s own.  The Snuggie – the blanket that has sleeves…only in America.

The whole situation was a bit sad to me.  I sulked at first.  I was shut in a house getting buried by the wind and snow.  Sulking gets you nowhere though, it’s wasted time.  Then I decided to treat the situation like any other travel adventure I had been on for the last 3 years – I would treat it as a cultural scene that others in the world might like to see.  I got out my camera.

Sometimes it’s hard to see our everyday lives as different and unique.  The truth is, I have a hard time being inspired by my own culture, let alone my family.  But today I wanted to try to see it thru the eyes of a visiting culture.  A visiting foreigner would surely want to go outside and play in the snow, no matter how cold and windy it was.  They would want to try all of the unique food.  They would also be amazed by the incessant television weather coverage.  They would be intrigued by the Snuggie blanket.  They would be fascinated by our culture; especially during one of the most important and celebrated festivals of the year.  It wouldn’t matter to them if there was 3 of us, or if there was my whole extended family here; they would like it anyway.

Green Bean Casserole

After I started looking at the situation as a foreigner, it became interesting to me.  Even the foods became interesting.  Really, what other culture eats casserole?  Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup is a staple in our cupboard along with cheese whiz.  That alone could be compared to Durian in Asia or eating insects – people would most likely wonder why we would eat such lifeless food out of cans and jars.

I made my parents come out and play in the snow, we drank Peppermint Patty’s (hot chocolate + Peppermint Schnapps), and ate from our big platter of decorated sugar cookies.   Surprisingly, the day turned out ok.  I even got in my Snuggie and watched the movie Christmas Story on television conveniently showing for 24 hours back to back.  After all, in America, you can never have too much of a good thing.

Fun is not always evident, but sometimes all you need is a new set of eyes; a new perspective.

View all of the photos from the Christmas Blizzard!

Video of the road conditions!

For the 3rd year in a row, I’ve decided not to purchase stamps and instead send my Holiday Greetings electronically!  I seem to live my whole life virtually anyway, why should this be any different!  This video card was created on my new Christmas present to myself – my new macbook – the learning curve switching form pc to mac has been challenging – but totally worth it!

The video card is less than 4 minutes -I hope you enjoy hearing my updates from my never-dull and travel-filled 2009!

If you have trouble viewing the video or prefer lower quality – then you can use this link and view it on YouTube directly:
Holiday Card from Ottsworld

If you’ve been missing the sound of my voice, or you can’t remember what I look like – then check out the video interview I did for a great new blog by Will Peach! Will has started a super new blog with a unique concept. He lives in Saigon and instead of writing about travel in Vietnam and surrounding areas, he instead interviews people as they travel through Vietnam. I just love this conept – it’s fresh and new; and lord knows there are many interesting people traveling through Saigon!

He recently contacted me to do an interview and I hopped at the chance to be a part of his concept. The interview is mainly about how to run a blog, and how Ottsworld was formed in addition to some tidbits about living and bloggining in Vietnam. Click on over and check out my video interview and enjoy some of his other great interviews!
http://d2point0.wordpress.com/2009/10/03/one-blog-at-a-time-sherry-ott/

Rush Hour

Start from the Beginning - Motorbike Diaries Vol. 1

Resistance is Futile – Assimilation

I’m not sure how it happened, but I’ve become one of them. I wear a jacket (which I’m boiling in), a mask, a poncho, ….I’m a Vietnamese motorbike driver. I’ve become used to being squeezed into small places and driving through them. I can drive really slow and coast while keeping my balance. I can drive through flooded streets with my feet up on my seat so that my feet won’t get wet while still balancing the bike. I can dodge slow pedestrians. I can maneuver the bike into the narrowest parking spaces in alleys. I have learned how to honk to simply let someone know I’m ‘here’. In fact, I use my mirrors less and less and my horn more and more. Seriously – how the hell did this happen? I so vividly remember my first time I took the bike out of the living room and accelerated into this crazy motorbike culture scared to death.

I’m absolutely convinced I will have to retrain my brain to look left before turning right again as I don’t even get the urge to look left any longer. I’ve learned that you don’t wait for opportunities (for a lull in traffic) when driving in Vietnam, you make opportunities.

Me and my motorbike - and one flat tire...

Six months have gone by and now I’m able to do what I previously thought was impossible; I zone out. I actually look at stuff around me, notice new restaurants, can read street signs, and most of all I use the driving time to think. I’ve even been able to zone out the horns that are constantly honking at me. Nor am I shocked or horrified by what I see around me any longer – 4 people on a motorbike, a guy carrying a refrigerator on the back of his bike, a dog on the bike, or a boy standing on a bike seat behind the driver – yes, standing. However a boy sleeping between his parents on a motorbike in the pouring rain did catch my attention for a bit the other day. I think I was simply jealous of his ability to sleep in a impossible environment.

Last week I was so zoned out that I didn’t notice the broken glass that I ran over until it was too late – 2 flat tires…yes, 2. I pushed my bike to a corner that had a tire tube propped up on it (the Vietnamese symbol for tire fixer nearby) and 10 minutes and 75 cents later the guy had fixed the holes and I was off.

I find that I still do have a couple of ‘limits’ on what I won’t do. I won’t drive on a sidewalk; it pisses me off when other people do it while I’m trying to walk down the street, so I won’t be one of those people. I won’t go the wrong way down a one way street. (My high school driver-ed teacher would be so proud of me) I won’t carry a refrigerator, a flat screen TV or a computer on the back of my bike! However just recently I did find myself carrying a 30 lb backpack on my bike driving through flooded streets praying that I wouldn’t lose my balance. Finally, I won’t wear flip flops while driving as I’m too scared to lose one of them! I can’t tell you how many flip flops and sandals I see in the middle of the street; deposited there accidentally, never to see it’s other half again.

The most stunning thing is that I know it is my motorbike that I will miss the most out of everything in Vietnam. It is the thing that scared me the most and the thing that I loved the most about my time in Vietnam; which goes to show you – I’m completely dysfunctional. Learning to ride in Saigon was one of my goals, and even though it took me 5 months to get up the nerve to try and then 2 more weeks to actually take it out of my living room and put the key in the ignition; I conquered the fear, and for that I’m immensely thankful.
Video of my taking off on my bike after my flat tire was fixed.

Follow my motorbike journey from the beginning with the Motorbike Diaries Vol. 1 – Learning How to Drive a Motorbike in Vietnam

Get your own Vietnam Motorbike License and get out on the streets!

Lending a Hand

View Naadam Photography

Snapshots of the Naadam Festival

I woke up to hear our jeep ignition turn on and leave the guesthouse. I laid in my sleeping bag disturbed; wondering why Shat sped off at 6AM without saying goodbye. I felt a bit jolted as we had spent 3 days with him bonding in the jeep, desert, and villages. I tried to justify his unsocial behavior as cultural; maybe just something we westerners didn’t understand. As we ate our rice breakfast Natalie, Valerie and I discussed Shat’s abrupt departure and our surprise and dismay about being ‘dumped’.

According to the Ger to Ger loose itinerary we were stuck in this grey, bleak town until 11AM so I decided to try to make the best of it and find some beauty in it’s coldness by going for a walk around the dusty empty streets with my camera. I was surprised to find that there were more people out buzzing around the gravel roads than I had expected. I perched myself in the middle of the convergence of tire tracks which was presumably the ‘town center’ and watched the village sputter to life.

While snapping photos, I saw our old jeep speed through town towards our guesthouse. A wave of shame fell over me for ever doubting Shat’s intentions and social skills. He obviously hadn’t left us without saying goodbye. I stopped in at the store to get some bottled water for our day’s journey. When I stepped outside, our jeep was speeding towards me with a trail of dust following. Valerie and Natalie were in it already. It stopped and Shat opened the door and said, “Sherry, Naadam.”; I immediately hopped in as if he had said the magic words – “Sherry, Brad Pitt wants to see you.”

One word in Mongolian that I knew before I arrived in Ulanbatar was Naadam; the annual Mongolian festival celebrated in early July coinciding with the New Year. Naadam is the sole reason why many people travel to Mongolia. With 3 good travel months of the year and one large festival full of cultural artistry and sport; it becomes the focal part of many tourists’ trips. However I had to make the regretful financial decision and miss Naadam since the economics of supply and demand took over the airline and tour costs in early July in Mongolia. An already expensive airfare became impossible to afford on my ESL teaching salary. I wondered if it would be a move that I would regret once I arrived in Mongolia. Admittingly, after meeting tourists who had been here for the festivities, I felt pangs of regret resulting from my budget decision to skip Naadam.

However, when Shat pulled up in a fury and said the word “Naadam” in his heavy Mongolian accent, I knew I had been given a second chance by the travel Gods. Shat was my savior leading me to it. I knew that the official ceremony had already taken place in Ulanbatar on July 11th with a huge fanfare and throngs of tourists. Each even was highly orchestrated for the thousands of viewers in the capital city. However, I also knew that communities around the rest of Mongolia celebrated at different times around the 11th of July. Today was July 31st; much later than I would’ve expected any lingering celebrations, but I certainly wasn’t going to question it.

Mini jockeys and horses

Shat drove us out of the village and over a rocky hill where we saw a bunch of people gathering with horses. With small children as the jockey on the small Mongolian horses it all looked correct proportionally. We weren’t sure if a race had just ended or was about to start, but we did realize that this village was celebrating Naadam today.

The people started dissipating and Shat beckoned for us to get in the jeep so that we could continue on to our next Ger on the itinerary. I got back in and asked him if we could stay for more Naadam and he said, “No, Ger to Ger.” I had been here long enough to understand the cryptic English. This meant that he must keep us on our planned itinerary.

I was dejected as we started to drive away. I knew I didn’t want to regret missing this cultural photography opportunity and decided to ask him to call the Ger to Ger office and explain that we wanted to stay for this cultural opportunity. After a short conversation and explanation that we’d rather watch Naadam than go horse riding again, it was set! Shat was to take care of us the rest of the day at Naadam!

Best Dressed

Naadam is the festival of the 3 manly sports; wrestling, horse racing, and archery. I decided to leave my feminist alter ego inside and enjoy the manly sports without worry about why there weren’t any women allowed to participate. However, I did find out that young girls were allowed to race the horses; this was the only alternative if you didn’t have a son in your family! Regardless, there were many girls there in their best dressed outfits to watch all of the men compete – and I was one of them!

 It was challenging to figure out the rituals of Naadam without a guide or any nearby English speakers. We had no one to ask our many questions to. We sat on little benches where all of the locals gathered to spectate. The atmosphere was festive in this grey little village. They even had a few games set up; one in which you threw a ball at a pyramid of old, empty paint cans. I loved the simplicity of it all; no neon lights, no funnel cakes, no rides. After an opening ceremony of singing and various speeches, the competitions were ready to begin.

Now you see it...

Now you don't...

I found it stunning that for the past week whenever I met a Mongolian man it felt as if there was this cowboy aura about them. They were rough, tough, silent, and hard working. Plus, they wore theses elaborate traditional robes with beautiful colorful sashes and always a hat; sometimes a cowboy hat or baseball hat. So when these manly men oozing testosterone suddenly stripped down to baby blue and pink speedos and mini jackets with pointed hats; I about fell over. I know why they call wrestling a manly sport; you had to be in touch with your manhood to wear that outfit! Most of their bodies were shockingly fit despite a lack of gyms, bad smoking habits, and having a heavy dairy diet. These were bodies you couldn’t form in a gym; instead they were bodies developed form hard, manual work.

Beginnings and Endings

The wrestling itself had many strange rituals such as greeting each other and doing a victory dance resembling a bird. When they entered the ‘ring’ they squatted, slapped their thighs and then slapped their ass and ran into the ‘ring’. At the beginning and the end of the match, the wrestlers put their arms out in the air horizontally, and slowly flapped up and down in a fluid motion. I found it to be an odd way to taunt the competitor. When one of the men pinned his opponent, he would get up, get his hat from the officiator, and then proceed to do this bird dance. It kind of reminded me of the taunting that American football players do when they make a touchdown.

We are watching you...

As we watched all of the villagers compete, the villagers seemed to be watching us – the strange foreigners in the crowd. People would come up and sit next to us for a while just to take us in and size us up; then they’d leave. This didn’t bother me as long as they weren’t going to challenge me to a wrestling match! Then again, being a woman, there was really no fear of that happening (oops – the feminism needs to go back on a ‘time out’). The locals all passed around a big bowl of airag, fermented mare’s milk. Who knew that you could get drinkable milk from a horse? The bowl eventually was passed to us by a nice local that wanted us to be included in the festivities. I gave it a whiff, and decided, what the hell; I drank. It had that sourish taste of home made booze, but it honestly wasn’t too bad. In fact it was better than most of the cheap liquor I drank in college!

Game On	In the Grasp
Airborne	Down for the Count

  I loved the competition. The wrestlers were tough, really tough. There was no nicely padded floor, no apparent rules; only the hard, rocky desert ground to land on. They were focused as they began their match often spending the first few minutes simply staring their opponent down. The next move was often taking swipes at the other person, sometimes even latching on to their pretty baby blue ‘jacket’. You were lulled into relaxation as you watched the grown men pawing at each other as if they were puppies playing – then all of a sudden – ATTACK! Before I knew it someone was airborne and you heard a thud. The dust cleared and a winner was declared. The loser brushed the pebbles and dust out of their speedos and graciously watched the winner do their bird dance and receive his prize from the judges – hard unleavened bread/dunts…all of that for bortzig.

Down to the Wire

 After many random wrestling matches; some occurring at the same time, the spectators suddenly got up and started walking or driving up over the hill in the distance. Shat gathered us up and took us there too. Way off in the distance you could see them; little puffs of dust. It took me a while to figure out what I was looking at or for, and then it dawned on me that this was the horse race. I wondered where in the world the horses started at – clearly they had been running for a while. The child jockeys raced them in to the finish line on bare backs while families cheered the competitors on. After the race the horses all came to the main ground where the wrestling had been taking place and various forms of milk were poured on the winning horses as some sort of honor; milk is King in Mongolia!

Shat (on the right) and his friends watch Naadam

Seeing this small town festival was my highlight of my time in Mongolia. It oozed cultural experience which of course made me happy. Shat took care of us all day directing us where to go and where to sit.  He even took us to his friend’s home to eat freshly made buuz.  The events not on the itinerary are often the best – thanks Shat!

View all the Naadam photography

The stare

Mongolian Horizon

“We all live under the same sky but we don’t have the same horizon” – Konrad Adenauer

Isolation
I have been to about 90% of Asia and there’s one things that hold constant among all Asian countries; population density. There are so many people in Asia, it’s mind boggling. This population density contributes to why Asians aren’t as protective of their personal space as westerners, and they don’t like to queue. However when arriving in Mongolia I was stunned at the emptiness. The country of Mongolia has the lowest population density in the world. I had never experience emptiness like this before. We’d drive for 100km in the desert and you wouldn’t see another human being; nor a truck or car or motorcycle. However, we were never really alone as we were surrounded by the animals; camels, horses, goats, sheep, and yaks. We’d see packs of random camels grazing in the seemingly barren desert. I honestly have no idea what they were grazing on!

Kaleidoscope of Colors and Texture
As we left Ulanbatar the terrain changes from rolling green hills with gers puffing out fairy tale smoke to the pebbly brown hills of the Gobi. I saw the last tree I would see in days, and soon the desert colors and landscape seemingly changed as quickly as the turn of a kaleidoscope. I’d look at the jeep window and see a flat, brown rocky landscape. I’d look up again and see mountains in the distance and then the landscape would be greener with little blades of young grass sprouting up from the parched earth. Next my eyes would be greeted with a pebbly landscape that looked steely and gray with no sign of life. Finally I would stare out my window wondering if I had missed us shoot into orbit somehow; it looked as though we had landed on the moon. This unearthly surface was one of my favorite. Strangely the desert was more colorful than I ever would have imagined. 

 View Mongolian Landscape photography

No Sand in the Desert?
When you think of the desert, you think of sand – right? Not so fast, the Gobi isn’t a sandy desert. In fact, in my 12 days there, I saw very little sand (even though my camera sensor would say otherwise evidenced by all the dust particles on my photos that I had to edit!) Instead there were boulders, rocks, pebbles and dirt.

Uush Sand Dunes

There are some large sand dunes, however you had to travel to find them, they were more or a rarity than the norm. We luckily did travel to the Uush sand dunes; the dunes known for their amazing healing sand (according to the locals who would bury their bodies in it). After a long drive through the flat dusty terrain, we finally saw the dunes raise up out of the nothingness. We climbed to the top of the dune and sat down in the fine sand and took inventory of our surroundings. It was an amazing view from the top; looking down on the flat, hard desert floor. As I looked out into the distance I noticed that the brilliant blue sky disappearing into a brown haze. I asked our local host about the strange sky; a sandstorm he said. I’ve been in a lot of weather conditions all over the world, but never a sandstorm. I decided to take on the emotion of our host and stay calm and watch it get closer and closer as our sun disappeared and the wind picked up. Seemingly at the last minute he looked at us and said “We go now”, and we all proceeded to race down the huge dune to safety! It was invigorating as we ran into the ger and the sand started whistling past the door and we all took a safe cover. The desert was full of surprises!

Mongolian Safari

Desert Safari
I felt as if we were on safari at times; I had memory flashbacks to my time in Kenya, driving a bumpy jeep through barren land in search of animals. In the Gobi, it seemed as if the animals would come look at us, and we in turn would look at them as if the idea of a shared heartbeat in this empty landscape drew us together. At one point we came over a small rise in the landscape and suddenly saw a herd of lightening fast Ibex dart across the vast desert. I yelped in delight as if I had just seen a cheetah! The only thing you could see was little puffs of dust following their trails as they disappeared out of sight as fast they came into our sight. In addition to the unique Ibex sighting, there was another unusual animal in the desert; the camel. It’s important to note that camels in the Gobi desert are actually unique, I was told the Gobi is the only place you’ll find two hump camels in the world which makes them even rarer than elephants!

Nothing survives here!

The Desert Effect
As if I were on a movie set, we drive and bump our way past rotting animal carcasses, skulls, and various bones scattered on the desert floor. The bones would be so white from the sun that they seemed unreal. In fact, my first reaction to going by what looked to be a yak skull was ‘Is that for real?” As if I thought some movie director had decided to put a fake skull out in the middle of nowhere to create a ‘desert effect’. These are the times when realize that maybe there has been too much television influence on my life and not enough real life experiences! Real life in the desert is hard; especially for the animals. These were the animals that didn’t make it for one reason or another. But you can be sure that in the great ‘circle of life’ the other animals benefited from the death as evidenced by the cleanly picked skeletons. One animal’s death was another’s feast.

A few lone trees were a pleasant surprise

Mirage of Trees
After driving for miles and miles towards the sand dunes, I saw something off in the distance. The little black formations were unusual, but I assumed they were camels or horses milling together in solidarity against the elements. I kept my eye on the dark odd-shaped spots as we continued to drive closer to them. I rubbed my eyes, still fixated on the spots, realizing that these weren’t animals, nor were they people; they were trees. A strange little clump of trees had sprung up out of the dry, cracked desert floor! I wondered if I was seeing things; was this indeed a mirage? I had gone days without seeing trees and my brain was surprised to see this one time familiar image again. The unexplainable bunch of hearty trees appeared to be growing next to a dried out river bed; I imagined these tree roots sucking every last ounce of water out of the river until it was gone and only a slurping sound remained; certainly the heat was getting to me!

Distant Storms

Stormy Weather

One great thing about a desert is that you can see for miles and miles; the horizon surrounding you like a halo. However, sometime that pure horizon would be disrupted by a strange site; rain. Never once did it rain on us, however it seemed to be quite often raining around us. I felt like we existed with a giant forcefield around us ensuring the rain clouds stayed always in the distance. However, this rain forcefield did provide many fabulous opportunities to watch as the storm took on a life of its own and slowly moved across the desert gathering darkness and power.

Endless Sky
I stared out the window trying to figure out why the Mongolian sky seemed so different; unique and larger than life. After much thought I came to the conclusion that in NYC or Saigon or most of the places I’ve ever lived, you have to look up to see the sky. You have to make a special effort to view it as it’s normally such a small percentage of our overall view. However in the flat, treeless Gobi, the sky was now about 70% of my view and it was straight in front of me. I felt as if I were in one of those round-about theatres where everywhere you looked was clouds. When the sky is constantly within your line of sight, it takes on this vastness that you could feel; and this is what I’ll remember most about the Mongolian landscape.

To Queue or not to Queue…a heated subject in Asia!

While in Mongolia I was able to test a theory of mine:

Queues don’t exist in Asia

I thought I was on the right track to proving it when I arrived at the Ulanbatar airport and saw the immigration ‘free for all’. A small room with a hundred or so people just in mass pushing their way up front with no regard to queuing. The few tourists, including myself, just sat there dumbfounded, but did our best to push our way towards the immigration desk.

However while driving through the Gobi Desert, my theory was proven wrong! In a desolate land where there are few humans, the animals have seemed to figured out the benefits of queuing!
Enjoy!

Travel in the Gobi

During my Gobi Desert travels I experienced all sorts transportation; some more enjoyable than others. True to the Ger to Ger vision, we mainly traveled as the locals did unless we had really far distances to cover. I found the whole experience fascinating as some of the old nomadic ways of travel had evolved into more modern nomadic travel.

The Mongolian Super Highway

Bus:
As soon as we traveled 35 minutes outside of Ulanbatar, the pavement disappeared and there was nothing but dirt for the next 12 days. I was honestly surprised and a bit scared when I realized this was it – the end of infrastructure. The little bubble of infrastructure around Ulanbatar was so small, what in the world was I in for now? The bus now traveled at peak speeds along the Mongolian dirt super hi-way…a bunch of tracks branching off going every which way like a maze. 

ZZZZZzz

by the constant bumps and sways on the uneven ‘hi-way’. In fact, within about 20 minutes the whole bus seemed to be sleeping but us!  The bus made one stop in a small encampment where everyone piled off the bus and went out into the barren desert and relieved their bladders. This was my first exposure to the Mongolian ‘openess’ (aka kiss privacy goodbye). Let me remind you, we were in the desert; there were no trees, no big rocks, no hills – nowhere to hide. I watched the lineup of women about 40 ft. away from the bus squatting and peeing in plain sight and thought about how quickly I would have to shed my own culture to survive.

Horses rest in the sun - no water here!

Horse:
There’s something notably different about Mongolian horses; unlike the people, they are small. They actually look like the size of ponies. Don’t be fooled by their size though because like everything in Mongolia, they are strong. We did a 15k horse journey one day in order to arrive at our next ger and it was full of surprises. To begin with,  I was surprised at how small and uncomfortable the saddle was. Mongolians use wooden saddles and like their horses, the saddles are also miniature. As we took off into the vast Gobi Desert waving goodbye to our last hosts I looked at what was ahead of me – absolutely nothing.  Just me, my travel partners, and our Mongolian host trotting through miles and miles of nothing. The only shade we had was provided by the large clouds that would periodically pass overhead. Riding in these extreme nothingness conditions felt surreal; was I really here, or was I dreaming this? Once again, a moment where I had to pinch myself.

Modern Nomad

Motorcycle:
I didn’t actually ride a motorcycle, however my stuff was frequently transported by motorcycle. In fact, the motorcycle was the modern Mongolian herder’s horse. Many times off in the distance I would see a herd of animals be rounded up by their herder…on a motorcycle. I wondered if John Wayne were still alive and making movies, would he be on a motorcycle now? Considering the massive distances families sometimes had to travel to get to their ‘neighbors’ or a town, I actually think that having motorcycles is quite a good idea for them.

The projectile camel!

Camel/Horse Cart:
Many times the herders would throw all of our bags onto a old wooden cart, with a blanket and place a camel or horse at the front and off we went to the next ger. I actually preferred this mode of travel as it was more comfortable than the wooden horse saddle and I was able to take pictures at the same time as we slowly rode across the desert. However, I’ve never been a huge fan of camels and this trip solidified that feeling. One of the camels we took wasn’t too terribly happy with his duty and decided to ‘doody’ all over our cart and us…projectile camel shit. Needless to say, we walked the rest of the way while the camel and our hosts slowly rode along without us! I’m positive that this was one of these cultural divides as we walked the remaining 6k and the Mongolians continued to ride on the cart with our luggage wondering why we didn’t find the shit experience as funny as they did.

Desert Mechanic

Jeep:
Many times we had to cover some pretty massive distances and that’s when we went modern…by Jeep. However, before you get the image of LandRovers or Hummers in your head…let me remind you where we were…Mongolia. We were transported by Russian Jeep; old, heavy resembling a tank and riding like one too. Many of the jeeps we rode in had padding on the ceiling, for good reason. The jeep rides were long and hard, bumpy, hot, and dirty; but it was better than the camel shit! Actually, we had a great time in the Jeep. Our driver, Shat (short for Shatarbaatar) was the best. He entertained us by constantly saying he was sorry when he went over a bump that sent us airborne (which was a frequent occurrence), he played Mongolian music, and best of all he would stop whenever I wanted a picture or video!

His English was actually better than most of the people we encountered, plus he had a dictionary in his visor always ready at our disposal. We finished our trip by driving 400 km with Shat through the

Shat, Me, and Natalie take a rest from the bumpy ride

Gobi back to Ulanbatar; the scenery was stunning. However the bone jarring ride was hell for 10 hours – yes, 10 hours. It felt as if I was on an old wooden roller coaster all day; it was too much of a good thing! This was some of the most difficult and exhausting travel I had ever done; my whole body ached.

Pit Crew:
I would be amiss if I didn’t mention the Mongolians amazing mechanical aptitude. In every form of transportation I mentioned we had a mechanical glitch at some point or another (I’m counting the camel shit as a glitch). I’ve decided that if I ever become a race car driver, I’m hiring Mongolians for my pit crew; I’ve never seen people change a tire so fast! In our trip – we had 4 flat tires; 2 the first day within 30 minutes of each other! One of our flat tires was actually on the motorcycle transporting our bags and we were on horseback. Here we were, stuck in the desert as our Mongolian hosts did something I’ve never seen before;

Fixing a flat tire with string

they fixed a flat tire with a piece of shoestring. They found the hole and wound the string so tight around it that it could hold air again.  It was a temporary fix, but it allowed us to get back on our horses and be on our way. At one point on our way back to Ulanbatar we had mechanical trouble and Shat pulled out this tray of nuts and bolts, disappeared under the hood, and soon we were back on the road. Plus, I loved the fact that Shat carried a roll of duck tape on his gear shift…you never know when you might need to tape the engine together! The great thing about the breakdowns and flat tires is that is gave us another opportunity to get out and survey our surroundings; as one of my favorite songs says, “There’s beauty in the breakdown.”

Navigation:
In a land with no roads, signs, landmarks or even a tree I was amazed that we weren’t wandering aimlessly in the desert; miraculousy our host always found our destination. Much like Elmer Fudd hunts for wabbits, we had to hunt for 2 tire tracks going in a direction that was relatively correct (this part was determined by the sun and shadows I believe!) I was fascinated with the jeep navigation; we’d be going for 30 km following 2 tire tracks and then we’d suddenly lose them.

Watch Out! For What?

We’d zig zag around the desert aimlessly looking for another set to follow. During this time I was normally doing a mental checklist of how much water and food I had with me and if I knew any survival skills for surviving in the desert. After doing this day after day, I have to admit that I actually got pretty good at finding tracks and pointing them out occasionally to try to help out Shat! One of the funiest moments was coming across this one sign in the desert. For 10 days we hadn’t seen a single sign until this exclamation point – I was so tickled by it that I made Shat stop so I could take a picture; he of course thought I was crazy.

Whichever way your cross the desert; camel, horse, by foot, cart, motorcycle, bus, or jeep I can guarantee you it will be an adventure you’ll never forget!

Yet another flat tire

Comfortable? No, not really!

Ahhhh - Fresh Air...

I often wonder how many months the pollution and dust in Saigon will take off my life.  For this reason, I can’t imagine living here long term.  Hell, I imagine that living here long term is akin to smoking a pack of cigarettes a day! That may be an exageration, however no one really knows what a toll this environment is taking on people’s lungs and life span. 

My old mask

As you have seen, I have a little mask that I picked up from a local street shop here.  In reality, it doesn’t do much to keep cargcinogins from getting into my lungs, which may be why I have developed a ‘smoker’s cough’.  However, it does help me fit in when I’m driving and people don’t stare quite as much.  Last week though I decided to invest in my health a bit more by purchasing a proper pollution mask. 

My Darth Vader look

I found it in a grocery store and the box said – “Pollution Mask” – followed by a bunch of Vietnamese.  It was enough to catch my eye.  It has a carbon filter and valves so that it has a tight fit against your mouth ensuring that the air you breath in is going through the filter.  Granted – I look like Darth Vader, and probably sound like him when I actually have to speak through the mask!  This kind of negates my quest to blend in, but I figure it’s all in the name of health!

One thing that amazes me here is the local’s tolerance to these harsh conditions.  You’ve seen my commute to work after it has rained and the road is like driving over a giant waffle!  However, when it doesn’t rain then it means that the little, heavily traveled dirt road is a giant Grapes of Wrath dust bowl!  

I stare out the window in amazement as the locals drive behind these dusty trucks inhaling the dust and pollution without much of a care.  In this vido the guy was so calm about the poor and dangerous driving conditions that he was chatting on his cell phone.

Just last week there was a fatal truck/motorbike accident on this road. I was coming home from work and was stopped by the mass of people that were trying to rush to see what happened. The accident was tragic, yet not surprising. Traffic was stopped for hours as the police tried to make their way out to the countryside to investigate. I ended up walking by foot for a while with my students until I could get another taxi. I was able to get a close up look at the family’s dusty lives and homes along this trecherous road.

My ‘Pollution Mask’ costs me 85,000 dong (roughly $5 USD). It’s not expensive, but certainly not cheap in local standards. However I often find myself staring out my car window in disbelief that more people don’t have proper masks – or masks at all for that matter. In fact, many times I see couples on a motorbike where the woman is on the back with a mask and the husband is driving with no mask. She consideratly places her hand on his face and cups it around his mouth as they drive down the dusty highway. Even though proper masks are seemingly cheap, I know that the answers as to why more people don’t have them are complicated. I only wish I could get one for everyone, but that of course doesn’t guarantee they would wear them.

The children’s helmet laws went into effect this month. I have seen a slight improvment in kids wearing helmets; however, the fact is that 50% of them still don’t wear anything. Something I will never understand.

This country will continue to baffle and confuse me, but it’s why I moved here to see a different way of life. Hopefully it won’t shave too many years off my life!

You may want to pop a Dramamine before watching this video of my commute to work. I teach at a manufacturing plant outside of HCMC and have to commute an hour each way to get there. Luckily they provide the transportation else I would have been one of those people on the motorbikes that you see in the video among the huge trucks and potholes. The road is a mess, and getting worse during rainy season. Actually there isn’t really much of a road, it’s mainly crumbling and falling apart. It’s heavily traveled by big trucks, private company cars (like mine), and the locals on motorbikes with a death-wish.

Enjoy the bumpy ride, it’s taken from the back seat and the best I could do!

Bringing you a video this week.  I was out walking last weekend running some errands and decided to put my video on while crossing an intersection.  Sorry it’s a bit bouncy…but hard to keep it still when you are walking with your camera held out in front of you and also trying to make sure no one was going to try to steal it as they drove by.  As you can see from the video, they tend to get quite close.  There really is not concept of ‘Pedestrians have the right away’.  In fact the thought of that makes me laugh; a sure sign that I may have been here to long.    Enjoy!

Crossing the street in Vietnam

Found this great video of how to cross the street in Vietnam. It doesn’t actually give you any specific pointers – but you will get the idea of what it’s like here for real.

A few pointers – walk slow, make eye contact with the person/vehicles coming towards you, NEVER go backwards or run quickly….and somehow this miraculously works!

Ok – so this isn’t a picture…it’s a video.  For all of you out there wondering why I keep whining about being scared to get a motorbike and drive it myself; hopefully this will explain some things.  This is my commute to work on a very average day.  I’m taking the video from the back of the motorbike taxi that I’m on.

Happy Holidays from Vietnam!  Click on the video to hear and see my Holiday message for 2008! 

On top of Schilthorn - Switzerland

For the ‘best of’ Switzerland Photography – click here!

For All snapshots of Geneva – click here!
For all snapshots of Interlaken and Zorbing – click here!

There used to be a brand of treats called Little Debbie (in the Midwest). I would always beg my mom to buy us Little Debbie Swiss Rolls. They were basically the same as a Hostess Ho Ho – but cheaper. I could eat a whole package of 12 in a sitting if I was allowed; however I was never allowed. Instead I would try to make each individually wrapped Swiss Roll last as long as I could; I wouldn’t just eat these rolls, I would dissect them like a surgeon. Photo: Fresh Brioche in Switzerland First I would pull all of the hard chocolate off the outside, next I would slowly unroll it till it was flat. I would take my finger and smear off and eat all of the white filling, finally I would eat the chocolate cake. I honestly have no idea what the Swiss Roll had to do with the Swiss…not once in my 10 days in Switzerland did I see a Swiss Roll. The closest thing I could find was an adventure activity to roll down a Swiss hill…there’s no chocolate involved…but it does sound fun…why not?

I arrived in Switzerland for a 10 day break from the heat; coming from Northern Africa and going to India. Switzerland was my haven of cool. The Swiss are also lucky enough to have my dear friend Veronique living in their finely tuned country. So not only was this a break from the heat – but a visit to one of my favorite friends on her home turf. When I arrived in Geneva, my other friend Angie, from San Francisco, was also visiting Veronique on her way back home to the US. So we all had a couple of days together to hang out, see some sites, swap travel stories, and get some good ole girl talk in.

Photo: Rides at the Fetes de Geneve
When I made the plans to go visit Veronique, I had no idea that the beginning of August was such a monumental time for the Swiss. August 1st was the Swiss Creation Day! This is basically their independence celebration. This was a party time in Switzerland and around Geneva. In addition to the activities on Creation Day, Geneva had their annual week long Fetes De Geneve – a big carnival like celebration on the lakeshore. So even though I was missing out on all of the state fairs this summer in the US…I had the Swiss version right in front of Veronique’s apartment. I was surrounded by the smell of cotton candy every night! It actually was a fun photographic experience, so I drug Veronique out one night to watch the rides and work on my photography. It was a good outing and I’m rather happy with many shots.

For all Photography of Fetes De Geneve

We have fireworks for 4th of July, and the Swiss have farm brunch on Creation Day. Veronique, some of her friends, and me drove out to the countryside and attended a large farm brunch to start the day. There were Swiss flags flying everywhere, an accordion player, and plenty of cheese…I would expect nothing less from a Swiss brunch. After brunch we decided to try to hike off some of cheese, and make it back into Geneva in time for the fireworks.

Veronique and I decided to go out and explore the Swiss mountains on the weekend. I had my eye on Internlaken, the adventure sports capital of Switzerland! We took off on an early panoramic train ride to Interlaken abut 3 hours from Geneva. I was taken aback by the perfect beauty that I witnessed outside of my train window. The vistas were about too perfect – stunning green hills with little cottages nestled between the hills. I honestly thought Hansel and Gretel were going to come out of the skipping out of the valley and onto the train. We arrived in the Interlaken, a stunning valley surrounded by two lakes, and snowy mountain peaks. The largest mountain was the Jungfrau which was perfectly placed in the middle of the valley. I honestly looked too perfect at times! We made a stop at the tourist office and plotted our activities…trekking, gondola-ing, and zorbing. Being the adventure capital of Switzerland – I really felt like I needed to get a bit of adrenaline rush out of Interlaken – which is where zorbing came in.

Zorbing is not some new dance, or an alien life form – instead it is a Swiss Roll of sorts. It requires a large inflated plastic ball, and a hill…are you intrigued? I honestly can’t believe that I convinced Veronique to do this – but she was game for a roll. We arrived at the Zorbing hill before sunset with a bunch of other thrill seekers (mainly young Aussies…go figure). There’s no skill required to zorb…just a strong stomach. The zorber wears a neck brace, gets into the zorbing ball, straps in as if you were in a jet fighter plane, and then they push you down the hill. The inflated giant ball not only rolls down the hill with you inside, but it also bounces – getting completely airborne at times. At the end of the hill a giant net acts as the brake for the ball. I figured that if I could survive motion sickness on a Moroccan bus – I could survive zorbing! The distance was rather short, but the impact dizzying! Veronique was a trooper and went first. After she nearly lost her pants jumping into the zorb, she strapped herself in and went rolling down the Swiss mountainside! They allowed you to take a small point and shoot camera inside the zorb for the ride, so I of course took the opportunity to document the experience. On my first roll, I attempted to video the ride inside the ball. Unfortunately – I’m having trouble getting it uploaded – so you will have to check back later to see the exciting video – so be sure to check out the pictures in the meantime! After the first complete revolution, I lost control of the camera, but you can hear me laughing all the way to the bottom! On the second roll, I attempted to photograph me at different parts of the roll, mainly getting exciting shots of my elbow. Overall – it was an exhilarating experience – and we both felt like we deserved a glass of wine after the ordeal!

The next morning we spent slowly making our way up to the Schilthorn peak which offered stunning views of the Jungfrau covered in snow. I wanted to hike to the top, but we didn’t have the time, nor the fitness to be able to do that in one day! So we opted for the next best option…automated machinery. The Swiss love their machines…it’s an engineers paradise. We rode up the mountain via train, gondola, and funicular…a trifecta of mechanical engineering! Along the way we did do some hiking between gondola stops. The villages in the mountains were once again pristine and the picture of perfect Swiss living. There was plenty of beer, tuba playing, berry strudel – and cows. The cows were hours of entertainment for me. You could hear them for miles – as they all wore their large cowbells grazing the steep hillside. When I say large…I mean large. I have no idea why the cow needs to be wearing a bell the size of it’s head – I guess the Swiss live by the ‘bigger is better’ attitude…at least when it comes to cow bells. As we arrived at the top by our last gondola – I soaked in the cool air, the quiet, the wide open space – as I won’t get a experience like this in New Delhi!

Veronique and I

The rest of the week in Geneva was spent cooking, doing laundry, trip planning, frivolous shopping, sushi eating, and stocking up on travel necessities prior to arriving in India. I achieved exactly what I wanted to in Switzerland – I was able to visit the home of a very close friend, and I was able to refuel a bit in cool weather. I also had some bonus experiences that really made my time in Switzerland memorable – Creation Day, Fetes de Geneve, trekking in the mountains, and a real Swiss ‘zorbing’ roll!

Photo: Veronique and I at the top of Schilthorn

A Swiss send-off! Video of a yoddeler!