Nepal Part IV: Trek to Everest Base Camp

21 Wednesday Apr 2010

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First of all, the photos are up!!! Here is the link:

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/NepalTrekToMountEverestBaseCampApril2010#

I write to you from Paradise on Ko Phi Phi Island in the Andaman Sea of Thailand…quite the change of scenery from when I last wrote (indeed from 2 days ago!) It is so strange to be back here, and away from all the people I’ve been with everyday since March 30th…that I really must write about the finale and trek down from Everest Base Camp before that world becomes clouded over by beaches and emerald green waters.

I left you with my climb of Kala Pattar at 18,200 feet with Don, one of the climbers. Most of the other trekkers were tired and/or sick when we arrived at the tiny settlement of Gorak Shep (the highest partly-inhabited settlement in the world at just over 17,000 feet!), but for some reason, I was wired and ready for action, so since Don wanted to do another acclimatization hike, I decided to accompany him. This location reminded me of Moss Isley from the original first Star Wars movie. A band of Sand People and Jawas would not go amiss in this sandy landscape. As it was afternoon, we expected clouds to have gathered over Mt. Everest, obscuring our views…but I whooped like a kid on Christmas Day when 30 minutes into our climb, the clouds parted and unveiled Sagarmatha in all his majesty. We got some incredible shots from this trek, and I was so happy to share this with Don, whom I’ve developed quite an affection for. He is inspirational: at 65, he is the first total hip replacement recipient to attempt the summit of Everest. And I could not keep up with him on the way up, the man is seriously in good shape! Way to go “SB”!

On the top of my highest peak on the trek, we happily took a bunch of pictures as we sat on the very narrow ledge that was literally strewn with prayer flags and rock cairns. We had to be quite careful on the descent, sliding down on our butts 🙂

The other reason that I climbed Kala Pattar this day instead of the day after Base Camp was that there was still a small chance that I might be allowed to stay the night there and then re-join the trekkers the following day. Joyce, Don’s wife, was offered the opportunity as a way of spending more time together before his summit bid, and Joyce was happy to have some company for the descent the next day. Unfortunately, after some very confusing, complicated, and albeit frustrating miscommunication with Alpine, Joyce opted not to stay the night, and as such, I was not permitted to stay either. I was extremely disappointed and could think of little else to wipe the vexation from my heart the following day.

Looking back on it now, I feel different. I think that getting the opportunity to see Base Camp was incredible, but perhaps it was best that only climbers stayed and settled in together as a cohesive group. It would have been amazing, but I am thrilled that I didn’t get so sick that I was not even able to trek the entire way, as many of the trekkers unfortunately had to turn around days before.

Incidentally, I am only now, finally, over my Khumbu cough and cold. I can’t remember the last time I had such prolonged symptoms, but I am glad that I waited to go diving until tomorrow, as the amount of congestion I have been suffering with would have made it impossible to equalize pressure in my ears.

Don and I made it back just in time for dinner and then I literally collapsed into bed, and had a fitful, breathless sleep before our “big day”.

It took 3 1/2 more hours of navigating sharp jagged rock and ice to get to base camp, and a little more to reach the space occupied by Alpine Ascents: a prime location directly at the foot of the Khumbu glacier. The sun that day was so bright, that even with glacier glasses, the glare was apparent because my camera often couldn’t handle how bright the conditions were.

I’d been imagining what base camp would look like for years. For some reason I always imagined approaching it on the right, but in reality you approach from the left. There are hundreds of brightly colored tents that sit on laboriously constructed and flattened rock platforms. Yaks bring in loads but do not stay long enough to create more pollution. Toilets are made in tents, the seat sits over a canister, which is later literally carried out of camp: on the back of a porter!!!! The air is thin, but the atmosphere is heavy with palpable anticipation.

The Alpine Ascents camp was incredible- the meal tent was enormous and stocked with all kinds of goodies from the States: Peanut butter, jelly beans, maple syrup, chocolate…and for the afternoon- we were told to eat anything we wanted while the kitchen prepared us a lunch. The kitchen is fully stocked, in fact, the sheer volume of equipment, gear, hardware, oxygen canisters, tents, etc etc is staggering. Its hard to imagine all of it arriving on the back of Yaks.

After lunch we took a walk over to the mighty Khumbu Glacier- the most challenging and dangerous part of the climb, leading to Camp I, usually in about 9 hours of walking, unroped, over and up crevasses with the aid of stepladders. We sat and watched, for about an hour, a lone climber making his way down towards us through the ice, and it was really mind-boggling to imagine that there was genuinely a navigable way through this maze. It does not make for an attractive prospect, for me at least!

We bid goodbye to Don (who’s tearful parting from Joyce moved me to tears, of course) and the Sherpas and made our way back down to Gorak Shep. My heart was heavy. And sad. Much of it inexplicable. Until we met up with our brave climbers once again as they themselves walked up to Base Camp from Lobuche…once again, there was an emotional exchange of good wishes and goodbyes as we passed the group one by one on the trail.

After another night at extreme altitude, we were all more than ready to DESCEND to a more comfortable amount of oxygen. The hypoxia was taking a toll on our strength and spirits. The following morning, however, I was able to rest while the group tackled Kala Pattar.

Around 11am, I got a surprise visit from Vern and Derek (who had been recovering from Bronchitis down in Pheriche) as they stopped for some Ra Noodle Soup on their way to Base Camp. I was so happy to see my friends again, and dosed up on big bear hugs from my lovely Vern. And on some songs, of course as Vern is never on the mountain without that guitar of his.

Thus started my rather melancholy descent. Not that the hike itself wasn’t beautiful, in fact, I really never got the sense of “oh, we’ve been here before I wish it were new….” I was just in a different head space- I most definitely had connected more with the climbing group, and now our numbers had more than halved, AND would continue to shrink the following day in Dingboche when the Island Peak Climbers, 4 of them plus climbing sherpas including Suzanne, left us for their summit bid. I missed my friends and felt somewhat lonely. Its weird going from a group of 44 strong, to a group of 8 (eventually in Lukla we were down to 5 plus Pasang!!). And I’d be lying if I didn’t say that a small part of me wished I was in Base camp training for the summit bid as well. Never thought I’d say that!

We doubled up the amount of ground covered on the way down as opposed to the way up. Our days were long but very methodical and by now I was in a predictable rhythm. Breakfast of porridge and eggs around 7am, walk till lunch, stop for lunch of soup, sherpa bread, potatoes and veggies with tea, then walk all afternoon usually stopping around 4 or 5pm. Then tea with popcorn followed by a “sponge” clean in my room as I set out my sleeping bag, changed into my fleece and went back to the teahouse common room to read before dinner. Then dinner, and usually bed around 8-9pm. Rinse and repeat.

We met up with two trekkers who’d had quite an ordeal with illness in Pheriche, and with most of the group still recovering from various maladies, we made for quite a slow walking bunch. The trail back to Namche Bazaar was so ridiculously long…a path carved into the hillside with bend after bend after bend after bend in the road! You were always convinced that the town would magically appear around the NEXT bend, and it didn’t! I was so happy to get to the Panorama Lodge…and was moved to tears when I was told that I would be getting my own room that had a SHOWER! Trekking strips you down to your most basic needs…so a shower can be ridiculously good entertainment. I was ecstatic to both shower, and have the luxury of doing some laundry…just enough to get us to Lukla before getting to my other bag of clean clothes in Kathmandu.

Well. That plan all went to hell in a handbasket. We arrived in Lukla in the afternoon of the 15th of April, tired but happy to be back and ready to get our flight in the morning. Joyce, Doug and I had a celebratory cake and latte at the local cafe before we settled in for a yummy meal shared with heartier souls that night at the Namaste Lodge. Everyone was very excited about our mutual return to civilization, especially the victims of the Himalayan “plague”.

So, it was with eager spirits that we breakfasted the next morning in preparation for being called over to the airport for our Twin Otter flight back to Kathmandu. Except that we weren’t called until 11:30am, by which point the clouds were starting to hover thick in the sky and cast a gloomy grey over our hopes. After a couple hours at the airport which more closely resembled a nuclear silo, we piled into a coffee shop next door and ordered cheesecake and coffee to raise our spirits. I was overjoyed when Jen lent me a book (as I had finished all of mine already) “The Time Traveller’s Wife” of about 650 pages. I was thinking at the time: it will be a shame to start and not finish this, but I can always get it stateside if I enjoy it?

I finished that book.

Our day 1 of waiting was ended when we were informed at about 4:30pm that our flight was cancelled due to bad weather. Disappointed and dirty, we trudged back to Namaste Lodge and awaited the plan for the next day. As with most scheduled flights, passengers arriving the next day with confirmed reservations would get the chance to get on planes before we did, despite the fact that they had not been delayed a day. You basically get put to the back of the line each day, and only get on a plane if somehow people don’t show up for their scheduled times. So, we were happy when the owner of the guesthouse bought us new tickets for the “second wave” of flights for the next day (we were on the third on the 16th) as it meant we had just as much of a shot at the flights as those with tickets for the 17th. However, the second wave of flights didn’t arrive from Kath the next day. We were screwed. And it was my birthday. Don, Joyce, and Juhie decided to fork out over $800 each for a privately chartered helicopter who’s pilot was willing to fly in this weather. The rest of us bid them adieu and hunkered down for our 3rd night at the Namaste Lodge.

Pasang was very kind and had a cake baked for me for my birthday…which was very odd indeed. We spent the day waiting to get out on a flight, which meant that we really couldn’t go for a hike or be gone for any significant period of time in case our plane was ready. I read all day, then after dinner and my cake (!!) I was horrified when the room clamored to watch English Premier Football League on TV. Yuck. I left and went for a walk back to the trail head and watched the gathering storm as lightning flashed across the night sky. I felt very lonely and sad. Happy 34 ;-(

The following morning we were awakened by Pasang at 5am with the news that Alpine Ascents had decided to send a helicopter for us. YAY!! And thank goodness that the 3 optionally paid for their own yesterday as there was only space for 5 on the chopper. Sadly, Pasang had to stay behind and wait for a flight. The helicopter eventually arrived around 9am and we were whisked into the air and to Kathmandu, flying in a very dramatic and very LOW altitude over the mountain passes (eek, I can see the hill that we’re cresting!!) and through the gathering cloud and bad weather. It was an exhilarating experience, and I enjoyed the chopper a lot more than the planes.

Well. By the time we were picked up at the airport and transferred to the Yak and Yeti, my nerves were frayed, no, actually they were completely shot. When I learned that despite the fact that I didn’t get to enjoy the luxuries of our Kath hotel for the previous two nights, that I would have to fork out over $100 to get a room that evening (none of my fellow trekkers were willing to share their rooms with me for half the price…ugh!) or find a new guesthouse for the night, I decided in that moment that I just needed to get the hell out of there. I was done. Finished. I wanted to get back to Thailand. It was a choice between more time in the Islands, or another morning in crowded, dirty, Kath. It was clear.

The only problem was that the whole time we were dealing with weather in Lukla, a similar issue was going down in Europe, but on a much grander scale. The volcano in Iceland. Flights were overbooked. And I didn’t have a confirmed ticket until the 19th.

I decided to risk it and go standby.

I was not comforted by the ticket agents downcast face and repeated warnings of “very low possibility madam”. I waited and waited, deciding to be ok no matter what. Miraculously, as about 13 of us gathered to here the standby announcements, I overheard someone saying “oh- he bumped me for number 8 on this list because HE was Star Alliance or some crap”…and I quickly piped up, arm waving, “I’m with Star Alliance Member Reward program!” “Where is your card, Madam?” “Oh, I never carry the card but the number is 13456673!!!”

Silence. Then “Ok, you get the third and final seat”.

I couldn’t believe it! I made the plane (just!) and on arriving in Bangkok, decided to axe the potential of dealing with the political tensions in the city by getting on the next flight to Phuket instead of taking an overnight bus. It was only $59. What the hell??

I was delirious by the time I landed in Phuket, at the height of a massive thunderstorm. I got a cab to town, found a semi decent guest house with air con and crashed out deliciously.

Well, I’ll leave it there! I’m going diving tonight for four nights, so I will update you all when I get back! My trip is coming to an end, but I am determined to stay “present” and enjoy each moment as it comes.

Much love,

Anita

Nepal Part III: Trek to Everest Base Camp

15 Thursday Apr 2010

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So we have finally arrived back in Lukla on our 15th day of trekking!
It has been an incredible journey and one that I will not quickly
forget.

I last left you on the afternoon that we arrived in Tengboche to visit
the monastery there, having detoured to stuff our faces with delicious
apple pie and real espresso at the bakery. Afterwards we went to the
visitor’s centre and watched a short documentary on the history and
purpose of the monastery, followed by the opportunity to witness the
monks chanting. It was a mesmerizing experience, in fact, listening
to the methodically and rhythmic words put me into a meditative and
very relaxed state, such that when it was time to depart- I had to be
knocked back to reality.

Descending from the monastery through a lovely birch forest, we came
upon our accommodation for our sixth night on the trail: The Rivendell
Lodge (which was named after the home of the elves in Lord of the
Rings- very exciting for a LOTR geek fan like me). It was in a
beautiful setting with views extending over Everest and Ama Dablam.
That evening was especially memorable for me as Vern and I were joined
by a wonderful guitarist named Ryan, who was a climbing member of
another expedition sharing the lodge that evening. After dinner, we
sat playing and singing tunes until about 10pm (which is in fact quite
late to be up on this trip, we’ve typically been going to bed around
8pm, so its not as lame as it sounds!) for a rapt audience of mostly
sherpas who clapped and sang along. I even got the chance to try out
“I’ve Got You Under My Skin” in an a capella style with clapping for
percussive background. Lots of fun.

The following day brought me my most memorable experience of the trek.
I had the incredible opportunity to witness the climbers receivng a
“Phuja” ceremony, where they are blessed by Lama Geishy to climb
Sagarmatha (Everest). A Lama is a Buddhist teacher, a holy man, who
is believed by the people to be a reincarnation of a Buddha. I
watched, entranced, as the Lama chanted, beat a drum rhythmically, and
then one by one, blessed each member of the climbing expedition with
prayer shawl and red corded necklace. After we were each given a
handful of rice which we threw in the air for good luck. It may sound
corny, but it was an extremely emotional experience and it had me in
tears very quickly.

Once the climbers left, the few trekkers who’d come the hard way up
the mountain to see the Lama were lucky enough to receive our own
Phuja. It was something that I will not soon forget.

We spent the next two nights in Pheriche (approx 14,000 feet)- the
following day being somewhat of an acclimatization/rest day. By this
point, a number of us had succumbed to hypoxia related conditions:
Harris had been flown by helicopter back to Kathmandu for a GI virus,
and now about four others were sick with GI/AMS symptoms. The degree
to which we were all at risk of getting so ill that we couldn’t
continue trekking, was not something I had given a great deal of
consideration to. As it turned out, one of the climbers, and six of
the trekkers got seriously ill on the trip at some point, and four had
to turn around before getting to base camp! In Pheriche, I came down
with a cold, but nothing more serious than a slight temperature and a
hacking cough (which still…eight days later has not gone away).
From what I can tell, the trouble is caused by a combination of
factors: 1 – altitude. Lack of oxygen (hypoxia) causes a weakening of
the body’s immune system making it more difficult to ward off bugs in
the first place, and harder to battle them once they are contracted 2
– melting pot of people from everywhere all crammed into teahouses
which become petri dishes for germs 3 – huge amounts of dust on the
trail get into your lungs and cause respiratory problems 4- Yak dung
and trash is burned and get into the atmosphere, and therefore, into
your lungs. Yuck.

Despite being quite ill, I still managed to sing to an even larger
crowd that night in the beautiful pine, large common room at the
Himalayan Hotel, which got so hot from the 50 or so bodies in there
that it seemed ridiculous to be dressed up in warm hiking gear.

After hacking all night, I was separated from my roomate and given my
own room to recover in the next day – score! I had a lovely hot
shower, napped, read, and tried to regain strength for the next
day…and more elevation gain. The sunsets at Pheriche were
astounding…lots of pink skies providing a dramatic backdrop to the
towering peaks all around us.

The next day was to be the last that the trekkers were walking
together with the climbers, and having gotten quite attached to the
latter group, I was not looking forward to saying goodbye. After a
morning visit to an Italian Atmospheric research station, I joined the
climbers for the afternoon steep slog up to the settlement of Lobuche
at just over 15,500 feet. I was definitely beginning to feel the
altitude, but pressure breathing seemed to help a lot. This was the
first night that I woke up in the night kind of gasping for air, and I
succumbed to taking half a tablet of Diamox…falling right back to
sleep. Lobuche was a tiny village…the facilities were becoming more
basic the higher we climbed. On the way, we stopped at a memorial
site to climbers that had perished on Everest. It was a sombre
location, covered in epitats and colorful Tibetan Prayer flags. I
found the memorial to Scott Fischer from the 1996 disaster.

That day the landscape really became more grand and awe-inspiring, now
we were walking alongside the towering giants like Nuptse. I snapped
a LOT of photos…can’t wait to share them!

Arriving at the teahouse with the climbers, I was dismayed to learn
that our two groups would be in separate accommodation that evening.
However, after taking some tea and preparing to leave, Lakpa Rita came
over and invited me to sleep in Jan’s room that night, and enjoy my
last evening dinner with the climbers. I was overjoyed and had a
thoroughly memorable evening talking, laughing, and sharing with my
new friends. Victor even shared one more scene from “The Holy Grail”
with me…which had me in stitches.

Having held it together the night before, I was not having such luck
in the morning. I sobbed my heart out as I hugged and bid goodbye to
Vern, Garrett, Victor, Jack, and….Quatchi! Yes…I decided to give
Quatchi to JR for the remainder of the expedition, as he said he’d be
happy to carry him up to the summit of Everest with him and his
mascot, Spike. So, as I type, Quatchi is at base camp preparing to
tackle the Khumbu Icefall to Camp I. Can’t wait to see the photos of
that!

Wiping away my tears and trying hard not to think about the potential
perils my friends would be facing in the next six weeks, I joined the
trekkers (although Don, a climber, was walking on with his wife Joyce
and the trekking party through to base camp, so one goodbye could
wait) as we headed on up to the trickily high base of Gorak Shep at
almost 17,000 feet! On arrival, I was quite pleased with how cute our
wooden little teahouse was, and we were given the afternoon to rest.
Rest? I was feeling pretty good, SO- Don and I decided to tackle Kala
Pattar ( a peak of just over 18,500 feet) that afternoon because of
the good light, instead of waiting until the day after next when the
group was scheduled to summit it together in the morning.

Initially, I planned to just walk half way…but I got summit fever
and Don and I decided to go all the way to the top. The views were
astounding and we got some incredible pics.

Will have to leave it there for now….in Lukla and will finish this
tomorrow in Kathmandu!

Love to you all!

Nepal Part II: Trek to Everest Base Camp

12 Monday Apr 2010

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Friends,

I’m starting where I left off before.


The first night at the beautiful Panorama Lodge gave me my first (of many) opportunities to sing my little heart out. Vern, one of the guides (and one of my favorite peeps on the trip) had a harmonica, John played the guitar and I sang along to a bunch of my favorite songs: Me & Bobby McGee, Summertime, even some “Hound Dog” by Elvis. I ended the evening with an a cappella rendition of “Mercedes Benz” by Janis Joplin and I had the entire room belting it out along with me. It was a wonderful evening and has since been repeated many times.

It’s Day eight of the trek and we are happily acclimatizing in Pheriche at a lovely little lodge called the Himalayan Hotel. I have finally succumbed to the dust and germs and am madly fighting a cold which had me very clogged up last night (though it didn’t stop me from singing a few song requests!).


The realization that I only have two more nights to hang out with the climbing group is starting to hit me hard. I have developed quite an attachment to several members of the expedition and each time I think about saying goodbye, especially considering the dangers they will be facing in the next six weeks, I get all choked up with emotion.


Vern and I have become quite close as a result of sharing songs together each evening. We’ve also shared our life stories and I find his tenacity, warmth and gut determination (having climbed and guided for the last 31 years) to be incredible. I will miss his warm smile, crazy eyebrows, and crazier outfits (he would often wear bright blue running shorts over tight black spandex shorts). Mostly I will miss his bear hugs and the fact that I get a true sense that he really gets who I am.


Derek has been a blast getting to know, he is a fearless “gangsta” type. Hard as nails, tough to the core, and a little rough around the edges when it comes to expressing his opinions, we hit it off early on. He is crazy enough (and a definite kindred spirit) that he went along with a skit that we put together where he wore my hot pink panties over his black long johns in a dinnertime impersonation of Vern. It had the room in hysterics, and thankfully, Vern took it really well. After all, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery.


Derek also gave me two new nicknames: “Player” and “Sex Kitten”. I didn’t object to either 😉


A slightly more surprising connection was formed with a climber named Victor, 44, from Dallas, Texas. It was obvious from the start that he was extraordinarily intelligent, handsome, and an extremely successful business man, owning a successful and international private equity firm. At a lunch stop we fell upon the topic of favorite SNL skits, and Victor mentioned how much he also enjoyed one of my personal favorites, “I’m on a Boat” with Andy Sanborne. And so, sharing his headphones we rocked out together, and I saw a very fun-loving side to him. That afternoon we hiked together, and to my delight, discovered that his love of musical theatre didn’t stop with Phantom of the Opera (I had sung “Think of Me” at his request the night before) and we happily spent the next 3 hours or so (breathlessly!!) belting out show tunes. It was so much fun, I wasn’t even aware of the steep inclines that we were tackling except that I couldn’t sustain any of the long notes.


Then climbing became much more difficult when Victor chose to share another of his extraordinary talents: he could quote long passages from Monty Python’s Holy Grail, complete with perfect accent, intonation, and character. I was laughing so hard that at one point I literally collapsed on the trail, unable to continue, clutching helplessly at my sides.


Since that afternoon, I have found Victor’s company to be refreshing and he always has wise and witty insights to share during table conversation. I do hope that we will stay in touch.


It has been very interesting to observe my friend Garrett on this trek in his professional role. He is most definitely in work mode, and displays an almost super human, courteous, politically correct, and non-inflammatory attitude 24/7. Sometimes it’s strange to not see him let loose and relax, but I have the utmost respect for his dedication and laser focus to the task at hand. And that is no easy task- I certainly do not envy the responsibility he shoulders, and I am deeply impressed at the wisdom and experience he is able to share with his climbers. Having said that, I look forward to seeing the more relaxed side to him, getting a drink together in Seattle this summer on his return.


Getting back to the trek, our second day in Namche Bazaar was designated an acclimatization day, but we spent the morning hiking up about a 1000 feet to the Everest View Hotel to get our first official snaps of the mountain, surrounded by his more beautiful partners: Lhotse, Nuptse, and the staggeringly beautiful Ama Dablam. We gathered on the balcony to have tea (again!) and I relished the impressive views taking a ton of pics before we headed back down for a free afternoon.


Derek and I teamed up and headed into town where I bought some prayer flags and earrings, and he purchased a rug for the inside of his future “home” tent at base camp. We had a great time laughing and sharing stories and that evening settled in with wine to eat popcorn and then dinner with our group, which inevitably ended in more guitar playing and singing of songs.


The following morning we headed out early on a de-tour from the trek to base camp – to the little town of Thame where our Sirdar, Lhakpa Rita, was born and raised. It was a stunning four hour walk, which we learned Lhakpa had to walk TWICE, SIX DAYS A WEEK, in order to attend school in Khumjung. Staggering. Descending into Thame, which incidentally is also the home of Passang, we saw our first authentic Yak, which belonged to Passang’s father whom we waved to as we passed. That night we stayed in a lodge that was owned and operated by Lhakpa’s sister.


After freshening up, several of us walked the steep hill above town to visit the Ringboche monastery above Thame. The Lama (Buddhist teacher that is supposed to be a reincarnation of a former enlightened Buddha) had died the previous fall, and so the community was in waiting for another Lama to be “discovered”. The monastery was a very serene location and the interior walls were laboriously patterned and covered with intricate artwork- much of it was extremely erotic in nature. We learned about the Tibetan Buddhist chant “Om Mane Padme Ohm” which is supposed to help cleanse the soul of the six negative emotions. Enjoying a picturesque sunset on the trek down I was again, flabbergasted at the astonishing beauty of this valley. We again enjoyed a thoroughly satisfying meal and headed to our rooms around 9 o’clock.


Day five took us back down towards Namche Bazaar where we took a detour to Khumjung, home of the school established for children of the Khumbu region by Sir Edmund Hillary. This was the day that was entirely highlighted by my time spent with Victor- that evening we celebrated Allison’s (another climber) birthday with a cake, and Victor kindly shared his awesome Monty Python talents for her and the crowd that inevitably gathered when he let it rip. I was happy for the ability to laugh sitting down this time. Victor and I watched “Touching the Void” together after dinner and I enjoyed the context of the movie even more by being surrounded by these incredibly talented mountaineers. After the movie, Victor recounted his story of being partially paralysed by a rock fall on his climb to the summit of Aconcagua in South America. It was an insane story of heroism and bravery which resulted in his life being saved. He honestly admits to being mad to climb these mountains, and he, Allison, and I had a very interesting conversation about their next two months on Everest. For Allison, this is her second attempt as her entire expedition team was turned around at the South Col eight years ago due to bad weather. She recounted a horrifying story of her summit attempt when her oxygen tank failed and she was convinced that she had cerebral edema before one of her guides discovered the malfunction, after almost 45 minutes of breathless, excruciating climbing.


How lucky am I to get to have conversations like this? Seriously?


Day six took us higher still and we all began to feel the lack of oxygen and the increasing need to practice rest steps and pressure breathing. The morning was a leisurely descent down a valley towards lunch where I was absolutely not hungry but ate after the guides insisted that we had quite a climb ahead of us in the afternoon. I met my first Polish trekkers that day about five minutes before arriving at the café where we ate. The Poles are everywhere!


That afternoon’s climb was rather long, but I found it quite easy as we soon formed a long snaking line of people all limited in pace to the leader at the front who was consciously trying to only push the climbers to 40% of their physical capacity. As a result, the climb was slow, steady, and quite manageable. Our destination was Tengboche, which was also home to the region’s largest monastery of the same name. On arrival, we were told that the monks were engaged in quiet prayer, but that there was a lovely bakery just a few minutes walk away which would provide a wonderful respite and diversion.


Okay, gotta go, internet very expensive here. More soon!

Nepal Part I: Trek to Everest Base Camp

08 Thursday Apr 2010

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I last left you a world away in the tropical country of Thailand. That last day before my flight to Nepal was jam packed and extremely fun. The most memorable part was going to a movie, and experiencing that everyone stands up and sings the national anthem to the King prior to the start. It was very interesting to experience.

The following day I was very very excited to be heading to Kathmandu. It was an early start, but I heavily underestimated how long the cab drive was going to take. I arrived at the airport with little over an hour before my scheduled flight was due to depart, and I still had to retrieve my trekking duffle bag from left luggage. Then there was a huge line at check-in for Thai Airlines. Luckily, I made it in time, but it definitely was a very brisk walk to the gate.

During the entire flight, my skin was literally buzzing with excitement and I almost felt sick to my stomach from the eager anticipation of embarking on one of the most incredible adventures of my life. We landed in Kathmandu; I parted with $40 for my Nepalese 30 day visa and was immediately greeted by Alpine Ascents, and got a big hug from my friend, and Alpine Ascents guide, Garrett. It was good to see a familiar face as I eagerly greeted and shook hands with every other team member as they arrived.

This trip was going to be particularly exciting because the trekkers have the amazing opportunity of hiking alongside the 9 heroic individuals who are planning on summiting Everest. I can’t tell you how wonderful it has been to share tea, breakfast, trails, and dinners with these fabulous individuals, getting to listen to their stories, and discovering the genesis of their drive to climb the world’s tallest mountains, as well as learn about the inevitable driving ambitions that permeate other aspects of their lives.

On arrival at our hotel, aptly named The Yak and Yeti, we checked into our rooms and spent the afternoon doing a gear check with our trekking guide, Suzanne. Suzanne is a warm and competent climber who lives in Seattle (when she’s not guiding) and I liked her immediately. She has incredible poise and is great at giving advice as well as listening.

That evening, we all showered and headed out for our welcome dinner at a local restaurant. Despite the fact that we were all heading out for over 3 weeks in the mountains, and were all gore-texed to the hilt, none of us thought to bring along a rain jacket for the evening. We were caught out in a torrential downpour just minutes from the hotel as the heavens opened and lightning streaked across the sky followed by cracking thunder. We huddled under an awning waiting for a van that took us all sopping wet to dinner. It was a lovely evening chatting with some of my fellow trekkers and climbers. This was a group of extreme characters and I could immediately tell that I was going to have a very good time indeed getting to know some of these people.

Jack, for instance, made quite the first impression. 60 years old, from Seattle, he had come to this expedition straight from Papua where we had just climbed one of the 7 summits, the Cartenz Pyramid. He met me, took my hand, and said, “well, what’s your name…and more importantly, what’s your room number?” Why is it that men over 50 always find me irresistible?

The following day we awoke early and embarked on a city tour that encompassed 3 wonderful temples in Kathmandu. Our guide’s name was Krishna and we visited 2 incredible Buddhist Stupas, and then one Hindu Temple. Buddhism in Tibet is far more liberal than it is in Thailand; our guide likened the comparison to “Catholicism vs. Protestantism”. The temples are not encrusted in gold, instead, they are whitewashed walled complexes with the seeing eye painted on the conical structure at the top. Moving in a clockwise direction, always, people use their hands to turn the “prayer wheels”, literally sending thousands of prayers out into the universe to bring good luck to the spinner.

The Hindu temple was a little more shocking. The two religions reside side by side in Nepalese culture and it is warming to see the harmony and sometimes intermingling of the two belief systems. When we arrived at this glorious 16th century building built along the river, there was a cremation ceremony about to take place. This location is the Nepalese equivalent to the Varanasi sacred cremation site in India on the Ganges River. A woman was being prepared for cremation by her family, her body laid out on a funeral pyre of wood next to the river, which was little more than a brown trickle strewn with litter and evidence of extreme pollution. They set fire to the wood and began singing a song. It was a very strange thing to witness, and stranger still was the fact that many tourists began videoing and taking photos of what I thought to be an extremely private family affair. It was a strange experience and really made me think long and hard about mortality…after all, you don’t get to see a dead body publicly burning everyday.

That afternoon we had free and I enjoyed a refreshing swim in the hotel pool before changing and deciding on heading down into the old part of the city to explore. No-one else seemed to want to go, so out I trudged, guidebook in hand, on my quest. Luckily I had brought along my rain jacket because after about 20 minutes the heavens opened and lightning lit up the darkening sky. It ended up being one of my more eventful evenings traveling- some pretty crazy events ensued. Firstly, it was impossible to read the map since none of the streets were signposted in English, so I had no idea where I was or if I was heading in the right direction. After asking several people the way to Durbar Square, I felt confident that I was going the right way. I was questioning the wisdom of my decision as I looked around with dismay at the seemingly thousands of cars clogging the street arteries, pumping out their disgusting engine filth while they all simultaneously honked their horns at those brave enough to try and cross the street. It was a cacophony of noise, dust, exhaust fumes, rain, and people, and I was utterly exhausted and overwhelmed within a half hour. I asked some Police upon passing to ensure I was still heading in the right direction and they told me that I was actually going in the exact opposite direction to Durbar Square. They pointed for me to turn around. I was getting extremely frustrated, but I persevered and eventually came across another tourist who spoke English and pointed me in the right way. The rain was falling hard now as I found myself dodging motorcycles, my jeans completely soaked through, in Durbar Square with its 30 or so temples in just a 3 block radius.

The atmosphere was electric. With the sky ominously dark with storm clouds, and the rumbling thunder, and the strange spires, shapes, smells, and people all hurrying through the streets covered in running muddy water. It felt like I was in a movie. It was the magic hour.

I settled under the awning of a temple to wait out the storm, which quickly appeared to be useless as it showed absolutely no signs of letting up. A couple of stray dogs congregated around me. I was so wet but found myself feeling exhilarated because I was completely surrounded by locals- there was not a single tourist in sight!

After wandering the streets in an attempt to find some dinner, I found myself lost yet again. After stepping on a dead rat, and walking in circles, I was ready to just get a cab back to the hotel – but I was unable to flag one down because of the incessant rainfall. My only hope was to try and figure out the way home on foot. It took me over an hour, and by the time I recognized my hotel’s street, I was severely overcome with noise, dirt, and wet. I stopped in a promising enough café called “Coffee and Sandwich” to order a coffee and sandwich to go. They didn’t have any coffee. What the hell? So I grabbed a chai from across the street (watching in wonderment as they poured gobs of Hershey’s chocolate syrup into the cup) and sadly had to down it very quickly as they had served it minus a lid in the kind of paper cup that saturates too quickly to be suitable to hold liquid.

What an evening. I was utterly spent and a little traumatized by the time I got back to the hotel where I did a final check on my gear, set it down in the lobby, and passed out in bed.

The following morning we were all extremely relieved to see blue skies, which really boded well for our flight to Lukla (flights in the tiny 7 seat Twin Otter planes are often cancelled due to cloud cover and passengers can be left stranded for days waiting out the weather on a first-come first served basis). I was still on an excited high and thoroughly enjoyed getting to know some of my fellow trekkers and climbers. Everyone was in high spirits. Jack and I plotted to play an April Fool’s joke on everyone by telling them that no flights were landing in Lukla, but it sort of fell apart. After several hours of waiting at the airport, we filed through security (curiously the airport has separate lines for female and male passengers) and got on board our tiny plane for our risky flight to the Himalayas.

The landing strip at Lukla is a scant 1500 feet. I was told that it was an extremely hairy descent and landing with barely any room for error. Brad, one of the trekkers, is in the Air Force and so secured one of the seats at the front of the aircraft to truly take everything in. He was absolutely in his element and whooped with joy as we came in for our final approach, which was, quite simply, astonishingly crazy. I have never clapped with more sincere appreciation for a safe landing in my life.

As I stepped off the plane and my eyes were first greeted by the sight of these majestic mountains, I shed my first of what would undoubtedly be many tears. It was so very beautiful.

It was day one of the trek. We had a relatively flat and downhill hike of about 3-4 hours to do before arriving at our first teahouse. We have been staying in teahouses every night on this trip and I have been extremely impressed at the standards of accommodation and food provided. On arrival, there are always copious amounts of tea provided, along with cookies, popcorn, or crackers. Generally, there is Sherpa tea (which is a deliciously rich milky tea), Lemon Tea, Hot Lemon, and Black tea on offer. We drink tea maybe 4 times each day, so the name “Teahouse” is entirely and literally appropriate. Mornings have generally begun with breakfast around 7, and then the onslaught of being fed constantly begins. We will have muesli and warm milk, then eggs and hash browns or pancakes for breakfast. After a few hours of hiking we generally stop for another round of tea then lunch, then a few more hours of hiking and then afternoon tea which sometimes leads directly into a full blown dinner! I have eaten so much food, it doesn’t feel like a trekking holiday at all- this is a luxurious “everything is taken care of for you” experience.

That first night we stayed at the Sunrise Lodge in Phakding. On the way, I chose to hike with a couple of our Sherpa helpers: Passang Tenji Sherpa and Lhakpa . I’ve come to adore these two wonderful individuals, as well as all of our wonderful Sherpa helpers, porters, and cooks. They are the most incredible people: they are always smiling, they never complain, they are so helpful and constantly anticipate your needs before you even realize that you have them. And they are the most ridiculously fit and strong people I have ever seen in my life. Even more than the Inca, I think. Constantly while hiking along the trail, we come across porters coming in the opposite direction, carrying the most mind boggling-heavy loads….all with a canvas strap across their FOREHEAD. I’ve seen them carry entire pieces of wooden furniture, 3 or 4 duffel bags all strapped carefully together, and baskets filled six feet high with canisters of fuel. They are so very strong and I can only wonder at the beating their necks receive.

I learned that Passang was 37 years old with a wife and child in Kathmandu, and Lhakpa was 26 and already married 2 years. Their English was excellent and they soon had me laughing with their stories. I learned that Sherpa men and women tend to be named after the day of the week that they are born, followed by a middle name that tells them apart. That’s why we have 3 Lakpas. Passang means Friday and Lhakpa is Wednesday. I casually mentioned that I was born on Saturday, and I was immediately nicknamed “Pemba” , which then was morphed into “Pembanita” and the name has stuck with my two Sherpa friends. They are wonderful guys.

I also had the pleasure of chatting for a couple of hours with Lhakpa Rita, our head Sherpa, or Expedition Sirdar as it is called here. Lhakpa is a legend and this will be his fourteenth ascent of Mount Everest at 43 years of age. I was a little starstruck as I listened to his stories of becoming a porter, then Sherpa, then Climbing Sherpa and eventually joining Alpine Ascents and moving to the United States 10 years ago. Lhakpa has just gotten his US Citizenship but it has been a long hard battle, including five years spent apart from his 3 children whom he left in the care of his family members in the small Himalayan town of Thame (which we had the pleasure of visiting on Day 3). I asked Lhakpa whether he was on the mountain during the disaster of 1996 and I listened intently as he described what it had been like, waiting out the storm and listening to the communications from the stranded guides such as Rob Hall, whom he had known personally. Alpine Ascents had absolutely decided not to attempt their summit bid on that fateful day of May 10- bad weather had been predicted and unfortunately for the 12 victims, had been ignored by other expedition teams. It was quite incredible to be walking with this man and get the opportunity to hear his first-hand account.

On arrival we settled to tea and then enjoyed looking at and purchasing some handmade jewelry from a local woman who had hiked in over thirty miles to set up a stall specifically for us at the lodge. I bought a beautiful necklace made of Yak bone. After dinner, I went for a little stroll back over the suspension bridge across the river with John, who is a journalist writing an account of the Everest Base Camp trek for the Notre Dame University journal. The smell of burning Yak Dung hung heavily in the air along with the stench of burning trash. I was feeling very overwhelmed at the realization that I was actually here….actually in the Himalayas, and about to see Mount Everest with my own eyes. I slept pretty well that night (each “room” had 2 twin beds in them) even though I had to use my -20 degree bag as a blanket instead of cooking inside it.

Since that first night we have steadily been making our way up the valley and acclimatizing as we go. Our second day brought us to the trade capital of the Khumbu Valley region: Namche Bazaar. It’s a large community built on a precipitously steep hillside. The day was extremely warm and I was quite happy hiking in shorts and a short sleeve shirt. The sun is perilously strong here so I slathered in sunscreen and wore a baseball cap. This is by no means an empty trail – there are lots of trekkers and many many Yaks and “Zobkyos” which are a cross between Yaks and cows. Yaks have much longer fur and long horns that curl straight up in the air. The “Zo’s” are a little concerning as they most certainly feel that they have right of way and will happily crush little trekkers who unknowingly step out in their way or perhaps don’t give them enough clearance for their bodies and their loads. Every so often, there is an angry Zo, which we are advised to give a wide berth, because those horns would easily gall anyone who was standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.

There are also picturesque little villages, sunburned children running around barefoot, lots of metal suspension bridges over precipitous heights and churning rivers underfoot, and thousands upon thousands of Tibetan prayer flags decorating every building and structure that we pass. It all really adds to the atmosphere of this hike, which is as much a cultural experience as it is a mountainous one.

We stayed for two nights in Namche Bazaar to acclimatize. We stayed at the sumptuously beautiful “Panorama Lodge” which had a killer view and a cozy Red main room covered in wooden tables, benches draped in red carpet, and lots of photos of famous climbers adorning the walls. Our main host, “Mama”, was a stupendous example of hospitality and immediately produced a cake proclaiming “Wel Come back Alpine Ascents”. The lodge also had a wonderfully stocked bar, and I welcomed a lovely glass of pre-dinner sherry after taking a delicious shower and changing into my warm fleece pants and down jacket.

Every meal with our group is a huge social gathering…with over 30 of us it can get quite boisterous. In the first few days, we naturally segregated into “trekkers” and “climbers” and each group sat at their own table. However, we have since most definitely intermingled a little bit more, but with clicks between certain individuals noticeably forming. In many ways, this feels like summer camp and gossip is already rife among expedition and trekking team members, although for the most part, it has been pretty harmless.

By that third day, many members of the team had succumbed to some form of illness- be it altitude related, respiratory-related (due to the large amounts of dust and burning dung in the air) or the most common, gastro-intestinal. Now its day six, and most of us are still just suffering with respiratory ailments, and the dreaded “Khumbu cough” which is hard to kick once it sets in. Our guides are very good about ensuring that we all cover our mouths and noses as we trek to protect our lungs as well as possible, but the coughing, at least for me, has been rather inevitable.

The first night at the beautiful Panorama Lodge gave me my first (of many) opportunities to sing my little heart out. Vern, one of the guides (and one of my favorite peeps on the trip) had a harmonica, John played the guitar and I sang along to a bunch of my favorite songs: Me & Bobby McGee, Summertime, even some “Hound Dog”.

I’ve got a really bad internet connection, so I’m going to send this out now and continue another time.

Cambodia Part II: Angkor What?

29 Monday Mar 2010

Posted by in Cambodia

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I’ve uploaded the Cambodia pics! Here is the link, hope you enjoy them!

http://picasaweb.google.com/anitalgray/CambodiaMarch2010#

I left you on my bus journey five days ago heading to Siem Reap. It started badly when I realized that Andrea was not in her seat on the bus. I tried, in vain, to explain to the staff on the bus that we needed to wait for her as she had paid for her ticket, but they didn’t understand me. Oh well?!

The ride was about six hours long and was quite trying on the senses. For those of you that are fans of my blog, you may recall a certain bus journey I had to endure in Chile in 2008, where an alarm kept sounding every 30 seconds for no apparent reason. Well, in Cambodia, the bus drivers honk their horns, for no apparent reason, incessantly every few seconds. They honk to say hello to other cars, they honk to warn people who are walking on the street, they honk when they haven’t honked in
several seconds. After a while it really grates on the nerves and I cursed myself that I hadn’t brought ear plugs.

To make it even worse, they were playing loud Khmer pop songs….AND a really bad martial arts movie…AT THE SAME TIME! yikes.

Good thing I was reading a book about the art of Buddhism. Read: sarcasm.

We stopped half way for some lunch. The heat hit you like a slap in the face as you stepped off the bus, and then continued slapping for the next 20 mins…you could feel your own sweat trickling down your legs. I decided to have what the locals were having…which was some kind of greenish looking soup, with weird brown looking fried thingies, and pinkish meat. It tasted OK and it cost 50c so I didn’t complain.

At least not until later that evening…more on that in a moment.

We arrived to the usual ONSLAUGHT of Tuk Tuk drivers asking whether “Lady, you need tuk tuk to hotel? I know nice guest house, will take you”, though they were particularly aggressive this time. I ignored them all, as usual, and immediately walked over to whomever was NOT screaming at me and haggled a $2 ride to my hostel choice. No, I didn’t want to stop at another hotel on the way. No, I didn’t care if my choice was “far far from town”. No, I didn’t want to see temple on the way. No I don’t want to stop at shop. No, I don’t care if I lady travelling on her own. No, no, no, no, no. I just want to get to my hostel. Thank you.

Jeez. Its like pulling teeth and you have to be downright nasty to get through: this is a land where “No” means nothing to the sellers, they see it as an opportunity to win a sale through repeating their sales pitch again, and again, and again (not to mention, that together with the Khmer accent…the words come out so harsh and the intonation sounds like they’re yelling “hey you stepped on my foot!!” instead of making a proposition (this became ever more apparent during the temple visits at Angkor Wat, where you are greeted by a sheer CACOPHONY of “Hey Lady, you want cold drink?”, “Hey Lady, you want food?”, “Hey Lady, you buy postcard? Only 3 for $1!!! (which my future travel buddy, Camille, from France, hysterically corrected by calmly replying “No, its 3 for only $1!) “Hey Lady, you want pineapple?”…and so on. They SCREECH their questions at you- and I heard these expressions easily hundreds of times each day at Angkor Wat…the intonation of those voices have made easily as indelible an impression on me as the temples did themselves, which is kind of sad.)

Finally got to my hostel and was delighted to find an air-conditioned room overlooking the pool, including breakfast, for $17. Wonderful. Dropped my bags, and literally raced into my bathing suit and jumped in the pool. Amazingly refreshing.

I headed into town for dinner that evening with two lovely British girls named Katie and Becky. We started on foot and then decided to grab a tuk tuk (apparently the annoying tuk tuk driver from earlier was telling the truth about the distance, although this turned out to be a plus for me instead of a minus) to a little food stall area by the river for some cheap eats. He clearly had no idea where he was going and dropped us at some random restaurant at which point he refused to respond to our request to be taken where we’d been asked. We all were just so frustrated that we got out and plonked ourselves down there to eat. Sometimes, its just not worth the fight. And I have to say, the “fight”, was definitely worse in Cambodia thus far compared with Thailand.

Our meal was lovely and the three of us ate handsomely for only $9, although the fresh spring rolls I ordered were disappointingly bland. I was too hungry to care. We all enjoyed a lovely conversation getting to know each other and then we headed back to get to bed, having decided to brave the 5am departure for sunrise at Angkor Wat.

Angkor What?

Not for me. That night, my stomach awakened me with the command that its contents needed to be emptied. Over the next 36 hours I wretched and writhed around in blissful travellers’ tummy agony. Oh how I enjoyed crawling back and forth to the bathroom on my hands and knees. How I enjoyed laying there and counting the minutes tick by. How I loved not having anyone with ambulatory skills nearby that could kindly fetch me some water and flat sprite. How slowly the day passed.

On the bright side, I read over half of my new book….and I had A/C so that I wasn’t sent over the edge with being ill AND relentlessly overheated. I was also very grateful that we had a bar/restaurant in the hotel…and that the staff were kind enough to read in my face when I finally made it down the stairs with the words “water and 2 bottles of sprite, please, now please” that I wasn’t going to be able to wait the customary SE Asian amount of time for service.

In the end, despite the fact that Andrea had disappeared (she emailed me saying that she took a later bus but she’d given in to the tuk tuk driver’s guest house recommendation and not come to Earthwalkers where I was staying) I was glad that I’d given myself 4 full days in Siem Reap since I missed a day and a half being out of it.

So, the second day…feeling a little wobbly still, I tentatively ate dried toast and tea for breakfast and struck up a conversation with a French girl who came and sat nearby. She was also travelling alone (yay!….Becky and Katie did a one-day Angkor wonder and had already left) and after some persuasion, as she was on a tight budget (to which I responded that I would pay for the tuk tuk for the day tour of the temples anyway, and I’d prefer to have the company) she agreed to join me as we hit the road to see the Eighth Wonder of the world. Camille was wonderful and very inspiring. She had been “working” her way around the world for the better part of a year, at age 23, and explained that she left France with only 500 euros to her name, and still managed to have about the same amount in her bank account today. See folks? You don’t need money to travel!!! Just guts and determination….(and hopefully a passport from a developed nation. ugh.)

Our driver, Si, was recommended to me by Katie and Becky. He claimed to speak English, but that was questionable. I completely forgave him because he never failed to smile…all day long. I called him “Smiley”. He was lovely and gave us zero pressure- which was very refreshing.

On that first day, I explained that I wanted to see some of the outer temples and save Angkor Wat itself for the following morning at sunrise. No sense in seeing the Big Kahuna on day one and having the other sites not have quite the same impact.

Camille was the perfect temple companion because she took her time, and was a bit of a history nerd like me. I was worried that I might get “templed” out, as I sort of did in Thailand, but nothing could have been further from the truth here. The more I saw of these incredible 9th, 10th, 11th century stone meccas built by Kings, married with nature (sometimes overtaken by it, such as the trees at Ta Prohm) and dedicated to the practice of Hinduism and Buddhism, the more fascinating they became.

The crowds were another thing. They were annoying. Though not as annoying as the hawkers. Which included children. Tiny children. I had a little girl, barely 3 years old, try to sell me 10 postcards for over 15 minutes while I rested on a tree trunk. We agreed that, sadly, her first words were undoubtedly “only 1 dollar”, and not “Mommy”.

We were very lucky that day to have also had a reprieve from the heat in the form of an early morning rainstorm that cleared the air nicely. I even had to wear a jacket on the tuk tuk ride in because there was a chill! It meant that we were able to spend most of the day getting in four or five temples before heading back to town for lunch.

My high spot for the day was the temple of Bayon: which has faces carved into numerous towers; a fabulous display of the egoistic nature of its designer King Jayavarmann VIII. It was captivating to look at the level of detail that went into all of the art work, the painstaking depictions of everything from legions of armies…to a women giving birth!

Camille and I took lunch in downtown Siem Reap. The town itself did not impress me much: it was a tourist trap and the prices were surprising (woo hoo! It just started thundering and raining here!) The smog, traffic and noise all made me thankful for my choice of hostel. After another slightly disappointing meal (I had a “platter” of Khmer food, but none was to my liking except for the banana in coconut milk dessert), we walked back to our hostel and enjoyed a lovely evening in the pool and getting to know our fellow backpackers.

The next day was the highlight of my trip to Cambodia. Together with another hostel guest, Marius from Norway, the three of us decided to rent bicycles and brave a 4:30am departure in the morning to catch sunrise at Angkor Wat, before tackling the “Grand Circuit” of just over 40km of road in total.

It was so exciting to don my headlamp and head out into the dark streets, dodging cars on the same mission as us. It was a 10k ride out to the pearl of the temples, and you could just make out a glow in the sky as we parked our bikes and took what felt like a surreal march to heaven along the long path across the moat leading to the glorious structure that is Angkor Wat.

It was one of those moments that I’ll never forget. It was spiritual.

That is, until we parked ourselves by the lake to capture the rising sun on our cameras together with a couple hundred other tourists ( including of course the Japanese tourists, who, I’m sorry, but who CANNOT EVER shut up and appreciate a truly tranquil experience like the rest of us manage. They have to shriek at each photo and share, and point, and yell at one another with wild hand gestures.) It was still magical, regardless.

After a few hours of clambering inside the giant building itself and climbing to the top of its highest turret, we set off on our bicycle discovery and took in about four more temples before we crashed for lunch. Of course, I ate at the woman’s stall who hadn’t screamed at me- telling her so as well. She understood.

My favorite was Preah Kanh because it had the same trees as Ta Promh magically taking over the walls and roofs of the structure, but it also had very intricate tiny passageways and rooms that you almost had to crawl through. Wonderful.

After lunch, Marius and I decided to begin the long ride home as we were completely beat, and the afternoon sun was starting to get brutal. Oh my god. That bike ride was so very very long. I was so happy to make it back and quickly got in the pool. The three of us could barely move, so we decided to ask Si to drive us back to catch the sunset. We all went to the popular sunset spot, but turned around after we realized that it was just the classic sunset looking at the sky from a hill, and we wanted to see the changing colors on the walls of the temples themselves. Si, so generously, zoomed us back over to Bayon so that we could see the faces change shade with the setting sun.. Unfortunately, after about 20 mins of exploring, a guard came by to inform us that it was “cloe”. Not a spelling error.

That night, someone said the magic word “pizza” and we happily devoured a large spinach and mushroom washing it down with good ol’ Angkor beer before taking our wrecked limbs to sleep.

The following morning I awoke early to bid goodbye to Camille who was busing it to the border and then getting the train to Bangkok. Interestingly, she would only arrive about an hour before I did, and my flight didn’t leave until that evening!

I spent the day chilling out mostly. I read, swam and wrote my blog. Si gave me a ride into town. He was so lovely. He even made me well up in my throat and choke back tears when he bid me goodbye at the airport. He thanked me for being “special lady good customer”, and asked if I might email him to help him with his “very bad engrish”. Of course I agreed, shook his hand, and then as I waved…he yelled out what he’d said to me the previous 3 evenings…”Good night Miss Anita…see you in d morning!”

The flight was strange. 35 minutes in total, and they served a full meal. Weird how the Thai’s will constantly haggle and then give things away like that when they’re not expected? I shoved mine into my backpack as I was not feeling good – again! Can’t say I’m a fan of Khmer food 😦

Landing in Bangkok, I grabbed a cab to my familiar hotel in Rambuttri.

Today was amazing. I did SO MUCH in Bangkok and I have a far improved opinion of the city as compared to before. I saw the giant reclining Buddha at Wat Pho, took in the crazy crazy narrow market streets of Chinatown, rode the river boat along the Cho Phra, saw a VIP movie at the cinema (think food and blankets provided!), watched Thai people doing mass aerobics in Lumphini Park, took in the skyscrapers around Siam Square and then rode the Sky Train home.

Then I wrote this. Didn’t mean for it to be so long…but sigh……

Tomorrow, I head to the airport at 7:30 for my flight to Kathmandu. Not sure if I’ll write much in the next two weeks as I head to Everest Base Camp. You can follow the journey online at Alpineascents.com

Will be back in Bangkok on April 19. Till then,

Much love,

Anita

Cambodia Part I: Same Same, But Different

28 Sunday Mar 2010

Posted by in Cambodia

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So last time I left you I was preparing for my flight to the capital of Cambodia, Phnom Penh, via Bangkok. That was last Monday and it was a full day of travelling. Tuk tuk to airport, flight to Bangkok (where I dropped off a bunch of gear at left luggage with my trekking bag), flight to Phnom Penh and tuk tuk (Cambodia style….same same, but different) to many different guest houses until deciding on a half decent one by the river. I should explain “same same, but different”. It is a phrase that one hears with extreme regularity from the locals whenever they want to express that something is similar to something else, or, more likely, that they have no idea how to explain the differences/qualities of something else in English. Therefore, it is used to describe another dish at a restaurant, a tour costing 30 bucks more, another room at a guest house…you get the idea. So, in that spirit, I describe Cambodia as just a little bit same same, but different.

On arrival in Phnom Penh, I obtained my visa for $20 and hopped into a tuk tuk (which is a 3 wheel taxi pulled along by a motorbike) with a French guy named Nelson, who kindly obliged letting me accompany him into town. It was ridiculously hot and I cursed my decision to wear jeans because it was a travel day. The traffic here was thick and the noise and crowds of the big city hit me pretty hard. In a very short time, I just wanted to get into a shower: jeans and all! We tried to find a decent hotel room, and I was quite surprised by the prices (all in US dollars, by the way…you only get Cambodian Real as change for something costing under a dollar) which were all over $20. I settled on a guest house on the mighty Tonle sap river, in what appeared to be a very touristy part of town…though I was too tired to care. Nelson was here to volunteer for an NGO designing a UV water purification system in Battambong and was only in Phnom Penh one night. After freshening up, we set out for some dinner. As I was still feeling under the weather, we settled on a place close by overlooking the water. My first impression here was the sheer number of tuk tuk drivers who bombard you with “Lady, tuk tuk? Lady, tuk tuk?” (I once counted 26 of these identical piercing queries during only a five minute stroll…which would test any one’s polite travel demeanor. I was so tempted to say…”Oh, yeah! I’ve changed my mind in the past TWO STEPS that I’ve taken since the last guy asked me, you annoying, screeching idiot!!! If I need a tuk, tuk, I’ll let you know!) Of course, men have it easy- they only hear “”Tuk, tuk?” In fact, I can honestly say that if I am never called “lady!!!!” again, it would be too soon…and I’ve only been in this country for 6 days.

I ordered Lemongrass chicken soup and was enjoying our conversation when we were joined by a rather strange Canadian man who appeared to be in his late fifties. He asked if he could join us, and began telling us that he was hear celebrating his engagement to a Cambodian woman whom he’d met here a few years ago, and that he’d just got back from her village where he stayed with her family on their farm along the Mekong River. That was all OK- I’ve gotten used to seeing old North American and European men with giant bellies prancing around with their trophy tiny young and lithe Asian women. But when he mentioned that she was all of 19 years of age…I was completely grossed out. He could probably read my expression, because he innocently asked, “What? Don’t you think we’ll be happy together?”, to which I responded, “You don’t want to hear my answer to that”. “No, no…I do” he insisted. So, I let him have it. I explained, which Nelson squirmed in his seat, very politely but firmly that he disgusted me, and that taking a young innocent girl, who doesn’t speak English, away from everything she holds dear, and taking her to the snowy north of Alberta and marrying her will only result in her extreme misery. However, with any luck, I said that I sincerely hoped that she used him to get a fine education, after which she’d figure out the mistake she’d made, and then take him for half of his money in a divorce and use the proceeds to give her family here a good life. He said he appreciated my honesty. I sincerely doubted him.

After wishing Nelson all the best for his volunteer work…I headed to my dark but air conditioned room and passed out.

The next day, I spent a solitary day sightseeing around the city…but having lots of small and wonderful interactions with various people. After breakfast of the smallest shake on earth for $2 I took a Tuk Tuk to the Tuol Sleng Prison museum, a gruesome reminder of the torturous occupation of Phnom Penh in the late seventies, during which a genocide of 2 million Khmer citizens took place. For those of you who don’t know, Cambodia suffered a horrendous civil war in the early 70’s, which culminated in the taking of Phnom Penh by the Khmer Rouge army, led by the insane and crazed Marxist, Pol Pot, on April 17, 1975. Every single citizen, man woman and child was forcibly removed from their homes, year zero was declared, money was abolished, and an agrarian class-less commune society was established which involved the mass production of food through forced hard labor in large “concentration camp-like” communes scattered throughout the countryside. What’s worse, families were separated, including children taken from their mothers. It was nearly 4 years of sheer terror for the people, while the military shot, and bludgeoned to death any persons failing to comply with their new gruelling life, suspected of siding with the old regime, intellectuals, professionals, teachers, and their children. Tuol Sleng used to be a high school but it was turned into a prison of torture where the KR could interrogate suspected rebels of the new order.

Of the 20,000 or so estimated inmates of the prison, none made it out alive.

The museum is a chilling collection of implements of torture, first hand accounts from the soldiers, holding cells, and of course, thousands of photos and documents that tell the story of crimes that few in the world realized the enormity of when it was going on.

It was so hard to believe that this was happening during my first few years of my life: in fact, I distinctly remember hearing about the situation in Cambodia while I was in the hospital at age 3 recovering from my burn accident. It is one of my first memories…

After that gruesome few hours, I walked over to a cafe that a friend in Chiang Mai had recommended that I try out. It was an incredibly delicious deli that served amazing paninis and cakes. It was just what I needed…a little taste of home. There, I met with Clare, an American from San Francisco who was also in Phnom Penh working on a clean drinking water project, but this time for her non-profit employer back home. It was interesting getting her perspective on life here in the city, and on how much the people struggle. We talked about the prevalence of PTSD, and how there was literally no-one in this country who didn’t have family who were murdered by the regime in the 70’s. By all accounts, Phnom penh is still a “new-ish” city that is trying to re-build and recover, mostly psychologically.

In the afternoon, I wandered over to the grounds of the Royal Palace and Silver Pagoda. I must have inadvertently found a sort of “secret entrance”, because there was no-one around and no ticket booth. I wandered around, happy to have the place to myself and standing underneath sprinklers that were working on the flowers. After an hour the place began to fill up and I realized that the grounds had been closed before! oops. Oh well. It was beautiful just wandering around the decadent gold and green buildings and going inside some of the silver laden temples to contemplate.

The heat was getting to me. I needed to head back to my hotel for a siesta- but before I did, I ran into and struck up a conversation with another single traveller named Andrea. We both had noticed one another because we shared a striking resemblance to one another. After sharing a tuk tuk back to town, we arranged to meet up for dinner that evening.

Later I tried to get on a boat for a sunset sail, but just missed it. Instead, I walked along the riverfront, calmly shaking my head at every “Lady!!! Lady!! you want….?” request for tuk-tuks, rooms, books, souvenirs etc. and tried to enjoy the sunset. I met Andrea at 7 and she convinced me to join her on the afternoon bus the next day heading to Siem Reap (a day earlier than I had originally planned) I agreed, deciding to visit the “Killing Fields” in the early morning, before the heat set in, at which point leaving this giant, loud metropolis would be just fine.

It was a 14km tuk tuk ride out to the Choeng Ek Killing Fields the next day at 6:45am – just one of the more famous areas of uncovered mass graves that were found after the fall of the Khmer Rouge in 1979. The most chilling site greets visitors as you walk through the main gate- a tall shrine eight stories high that is literally filled with thousands of human skulls. It is quite a sight.

As suggested, I bought some flowers and incense and paid my respects to these souls last “resting place”, before exploring more of the site. Human bone fragments could still be seen just below the surface of the ground in many places and there were at least 16 distinct marked graves, that were discovered with hundreds of naked rotting corpses in them. Extensive forensics have been performed to try to establish sex, age, and cause of death. In the majority of cases, the victims were bludgeoned in the head and then had their throats slit. Difficult to comprehend was that babies and children’s skulls were often smashed against a tree before being tossed in next to their mothers. The museum again did a good job of interpreting the series of events that led up to this atrocity in history, and there was also a 30 min documentary in English, which just happened to be showing in an AC auditorium (which was extremely welcome). After 2 hours or so, I returned to the driver who was waiting for me.

I had the chance to observe a lot of the suburbs and surrounding towns on the drive to and from the Killing Fields, and here, in no particular order, are some of my observations:

– Cambodia is developing very fast. There was a tremendous amount of construction.
– Lots of women seem to enjoy wearing pajamas as their day wear. Curious?
– There was a lot of pollution in the rivers….plumes of grey and purple chemical froth pools clogging up the area.
– Most people and families get around on their moto (motorbike). It was very common to see 4 people and children seated on one bike dodging the traffic.
– I saw several babies “attached” and sitting behind their moto driving mothers simply by a too large cardigan that forced their little arms out straight like ram rods and their mothers then took the long sleeves and tied them around their own bellies!
– Most businesses are open air and simply line the main street.
– Stray dogs are everywhere as well as lots of water buffalo.
– People of all ages were hard at work in the fields.

Anyhow, I’ll end it there. I got the six hour bus to Siem Reap that afternoon (nearly forgetting
my passport at the hotel!!) and funnily enough, Andrea wasn’t on the bus! Oh well….adventure at Angkor Wat lay ahead.

Will write Part II tomorrow from Bangkok as Tuesday I fly to Nepal for my Everest Adventure!

Thailand Part II

22 Monday Mar 2010

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I’m back in Chiang Mai and preparing to fly to Cambodia tomorrow, while fighting a weird cough/cold. It has not dampened my enjoyment and its been a full week here in Thailand.
So I last left you on my last evening in Chiang Mai before heading out on a 3 day/2 night trek into the rural hills north of the city to visit the indigenous Karen tribe villages. We spent that last evening travelling up to Doi Sudathep, a temple perched on a mountain about 20 mins outside the city which boasted incredible views of the sunset. After taking in the views, the five of us headed out for dinner and drinks to bid farewell (only Raizel was joining me on the trek) to our group of five. It was a memorable evening punctuated by the obligatory Irish pub for another St. Patrick’s day spent away from home. (and of course, there isn’t a city in the world that doesn’t have an Irish pub!)

After a quick breakfast and picking up my airline tickets for Cambodia the following Monday, we piled into a van to head out to the start of our trek. There were seven of us in the initial group, with only four who stayed for the full 2 nights of the excursion. We began our adventure with an elephant ride through the jungle. Now, I’ve been on elephants before, so I wasn’t initially that terribly enthused to give it a try, but decided that it was included and the elephants looked pretty happy and well treated. So up we went, Raizel and I.

Whoops of excitement from both of us prompted Raizel to point out that we were being rather “loud American tourists”, and we both vowed to tone it down a little. The scenery was beautiful and the elephants trotted along nicely with the weight on their backs. Then came time to feed the elephants, including the two baby elephants who came along sans riders to partake in the fun. We were given bananas to place gingerly into the elephants’ trunks which kept “snaking” into our laps hungrily almost immediately after a banana had been swallowed. It was once we were out of bananas that all hell broke loose. The elephants started to snort in discontent, flinging a mucous banana-filled spit all over us, and causing Raizel to begin shrieking at the top of her lungs. Add to that the fact that the baby elephant was ever more persistent in snottily rummaging through our legs, arms and laps with his hungry and snotty trunk, and you have two very loud “American tourists” screaming. To make matters even worse, our guide, who up to that point had been sitting on the elephant’s head navigating for us, decided to just jump off and let the elephant we were riding just do its own thing. That got Raizel into a complete frenzy as she recalled frightening memories of being thrown from a horse. The elephant sometimes would break out into a little run that made Raizel scream so hard it hurt my eardrums as I tried to soothe her by saying all was well (which of course I didn’t know for sure). One couldn’t help but notice as well that the snotty trunks very closely resembled the male sex organ which made their pursuit of our scared beings more…tasteless, shall we say? It all became even more entertaining when the whole group of us headed into the river and then the banana snot became fountains of muddy water, rocks and no doubt elephant poop all raining down over us. We should have worn plastic parkas!

It was all easily forgotten as we witnessed the baby elephants playing in the water and whooping for joy with their mom’s. It was wonderful to observe.
Filthy and covered in banana mucous, we headed to the trail head and happily hiked our gear ten minutes in to a raging waterfall. It was idyllic. We ate fried rice from little plastic bags and then ecstatically cooled and bathed ourselves in the turbulent water which was just cold enough to be bitingly refreshing.

After our swim, we hiked for a couple of hours to the location of our first night’s camp: a Karen village complete with a bamboo “hut” made for our shelter. It was delightfully devoid of tourists (which I had feared would be lining up to buy knick-knacks at souvenir stalls) and actually quite authentic from what I could tell. The village held about 10 different “homes” and we witnessed families returning from the rice fields’ and a days’ work, children running barefoot and playing with the chickens and the colorful outfits that adorned the married women (single women in Karen tribes wear only white to make it easier for the men to court them!)

Settling down to our outdoor table for a deserved chilled beer, I noticed that there were some pretty dark grey clouds looming towards us over the horizon. Our guide, Det (spelling??), said that he had heard on the news that a storm was coming tonight. This was very rare because we were slap bang in the middle of the dry season. Hmmmm. We waited, anxiously, as the “atmosphere” created by the dark clouds, the sticky heavy air, and the gathering winds spelled weather to come. Before we could start dinner, the first raindrops began to fall. And then, the heavens opened and unleashed their fury for the next several hours. It was one of the most violent downpours I’ve ever witnessed, churning the ground into a sea of red gushing mud, furiously plummeting down the hillsides. Needing to pee required running through a small exposed area between our shack and the outhouse, and we were soaked by the brief exposure to the elements. Safely inside our bamboo hut, we were incredulous as we began to hear the sound of giant hail pounding on the roof together with the rain. Hail? In Thailand? In this heat?

Apparently, yes.

We ended up dining inside our sleeping quarters, a wonderful red curry with rice, and then shared songs and stories to the sound of the storm outside.

We slept on little mattresses spread out on the bamboo floor, and I cursed myself for not bringing my cotton “mummy” liner as I looked on at the filthy pillow covers and sheet less beds with blankets that may not have seen the inside of a washing machine this past decade. Not expecting the rain was one thing, but none of us expected the temperature to plummet the way it did. It was so cold during the night, that all regard for sanitation vanished and I pulled four blankets tightly around every exposed piece of skin, shivering away. Brrr.

The next morning we awoke to a fresh air that had been cleaned from the smoke of the last 3 days (all the crops are being burned at present, creating horrendous smog in the area and difficult respiratory conditions) and no signs of damage from the storm, except for our chilled bodies which responded well to a fresh cup of hot coffee. After scrambled eggs and toast, we strapped on our backpacks and headed out on the trail.

We past several more villages this day, witnessing farmers at work in the fields, women gathering frogs to eat for dinner, a tarantula which our guide “poked” out of its nest with a stick (it emerged with such speed that the guide had to take a leap backwards to get out of its way…it was epic!), and lots of farm animals such as water buffalo, pigs, and chickens. It was beautiful countryside and only the heat kept us rambling at a comfortable pace. We said goodbye to our 3 “2night” friends and continued on our way to our lunch spot.

This was taken in a villager’s little bamboo home and it was a very memorable part of the trip as we watched four of the Karen people prepare their own authentic lunch of frogs, a BBQ bird which resembled a small chicken but clearly wasn’t, and a grilled concoction of red ants and larvae! Our Dutch companion, Dave, was brave enough to try all 3… including the bird’s brain and liver. We happily took pictures of him doing this and smiled at the offers to try for ourselves as we ate our safe noodles in broth.

Our guide, Det, was a fey little man, and he told us that he was in “training” to lead this tour himself. It was difficult to form an opinion of him because his English was so terrible. Whenever you asked a question, rather than admit that he didn’t understand a word you were saying, he would do the classic Thai “saving face” move of giggling lightly and then responding with the last word in your question, an incomprehensible word that was not English, OR, my personal favorite: just “yes” or “no”. On several occasions, he hit on Raizel and suggested that the “bunk” together…so after that, I didn’t trust him at all and he really got on my nerves.
After lunch he offered our group more noodles and then laughed at me implying I shouldn’t have a second helping because I was “fat”, at which point he poked me in the tummy. Irritating little man.

Things got a little amusing, albeit embarrassing, when we were offered chocolate bars for dessert which we happily agreed to pay 10 baht for. The bars were called “Beng Beng”, and when it came time to pay, each of us offered up information on how many “Beng Bengs” we were responsible for payment for. Our guide kept giggling at us, and it was difficult at first to determine if this was just his regular giggle that he did constantly, or if there was some unknown reason for his amusement. Eventually, he started telling us that “Beng Beng” was a bad word in the Karen language. “What does it mean?” we asked, shocked at our innocent mistake, realizing that since the Thai don’t have the same alphabet, they would have no idea what the name of the chocolate bars would sound like in the English language. He literally took out his dictionary and drew a little diagram of a vagina and said “it means middle of woman”. I couldn’t believe it! We didn’t know how to say hello, thank you, please, or goodbye, but we managed to repeatedly say “vagina” to the Karen people who hosted our lunch! Unbelievable.

We walked on another couple of hours and found ourselves in a rather muddy section of agricultural land. I gingerly took steps to avoid sinking into the mud, and heard Raizel mockingly comment “Is it a little muddy, Anita??” at which moment I heard her shriek as she herself stepped knee deep into the bog. I smiled broadly and said “Be slow to point out other people’s shit for you will soon step in your own!”

That evening brought us to another waterfall where we happily dragged on our swimsuits and jumped in the cool water. Marley and Dave (from the Netherlands) happily made out in front of us under the cascading water, so in love that they were oblivious to our onlooking stares. Its always so lovely to see people madly in love…except when you yourself are so very single…. I gave them both a hard time which they took extremely well 😉

Filing into our jungle camp for the evening, we came across a lone Korean man whom I fondly named Mr. Bath, because of his fascination with asking nonsensical questions about showers/baths/spas the following day. Apparently, he had been with a large Korean group, forgotten his towel in camp, dropped his bag to go fetch it, and then gotten horribly lost. He was very sweet, but communicating with him made communicating with Det seem easy as pie. It was painful even trying to convey agreement or refusal. After choosing a bamboo bungalow as far away from the “lovers” (who no doubt were going to make the most of having a private room) as possible, we all sat down to enjoy a cold beer before dinner. We noticed, to our chagrin, that storm clouds were gathering AGAIN, and this time…with two beers muddling my brain and lowering my defenses, I gave up some raucous entertainment singing my heart out as the clouds rolled in and my new onlooking fans (including ardent audience member Mr. Bath who kept saying “encore”) played the drums with their hands. It was an evening I will not soon forget. The rain started pounding down shortly after our dinner of yummy spiced vegetables and rice, and we had no choice but to retire to the storm safety of our huts as early as 8pm.

The storm was not quite as violent as the night before but it did provide some wonderful lightning and thunder claps. It was extremely engaging and I thoroughly enjoyed laying in my hut and listening to the sounds of the sky and watching as the river and camp light up with each strike of electricity.

Our last day involved a relatively short hike out to our waiting truck, which was colored by Mr. Bath’s insatiable questions about our hotel, whether they had showers, baths, or air conditioning. Mr. Bath was apparently very particular and after answering Raizel’s pleading glares to come and “save her” from her constant ‘I’m sorry…I’ve no idea what you are talking about” pleas, we together managed to ascertain that he was actually enquiring as to whether we knew of a public bath house available in Chiang Mai? We suggested he ask for a “spa” and hoped he’d give up with his ceaseless questions. Mr. Bath really was very sweet and I’ll not soon forget him. He was “picked up” by his lost group at the place we stopped at for lunch and we waved fond goodbyes.
Our truck took us safely (standing in the truck bed holding on for dear life) to a lunch stop before our Bamboo Rafting experience. Another first, which I love! We ate Pad Thai noodles, fried rice, and melon greedily.

The rafting experience was definitely improved by the fact that there had been such a significant down pouring of water the previous two evenings…the river was rather swollen. We imagined calmly sitting on this pontoon-like structure whilst being gently glided down the river, but the reality was rather different. We were soaked to the skin almost immediately by a combination of waves lapping over the rafts and our laughing river guide slapping down his oar on the water sending a wave of water over our heads. It was very good fun, especially when we navigated over the albeit mild rapid sections, because the raft itself was so flimsy. We watched as other groups capsized, and cheered ourselves as we managed to stay afloat through the last series of turbulent water.

I was very happy to get back to our guest house after the 2 hour drive home in a bumpy truck, though the ride was definitely aided by our hilarious recollections of Det, “Beng Bengs”, Mr. Bath, and the amorous forays of our Dutch friends.

We showered, re-humanized, and had an amazing organic salad dinner before heading out to the “Silver Temple” for “Monk Chat”, an opportunity to talk to a Buddhist Monk and ask random questions about his studies/life/Buddhism, and a free two hour class on meditation. Our “Tuk Tuk” driver dropped us a short walk from the temple and we navigated what turned out to be a wonderful Saturday street market full of Thai vendors selling everything from waffles to leather handbags. On arrival at the temple, which was a glorious aluminium/silver building, we were informed that the meditation teacher was away in Quebec, and that only the monk chat was available that evening. Slightly disappointed we sat down with the eager young monk to try out our questions.

His name was Thuy, which he told us meant “Fat”, but that after his nephew was given the same name, his parents added “Big”, so his name was “Fat Big”….which I thought was very sweet. We asked lots of questions like, “How old were you when you became a monk?”, “why did you choose this for yourself?”, “what’s a typical day like?”, and “Why can’t you be touched by a woman?”. He calmly and in his rather good English explained that in Thailand, it is a matter of cultural pride for every family to have at least one boy enter the Buddhist monastery..so he wanted to do that for his family. He entered at 18 and had been there for 3 years as a novice, sleeping on the ground while the monks each had an assigned bed. He said that his monastery focused on studying Buddhism, as opposed to studying meditation, which was interesting to learn. He also explained that he can’t be touched by a woman because it may lead to “Sexual Misconduct”. He was earnest, endearing and very encouraging of our exploration of his faith and beliefs.

After navigating the market back home, and guiltily stopping for a banana waffle filled with chocolate sauce which was so good it brought tears to our eyes, we happily crashed in our beds, ecstatic to be between clean sheets tonight.

Today brought a wonderful new experience of a Thai cooking class, which I was determined not to miss despite waking up with a horrible cough and stuffy nose. It lasted all day, and began with an informative tour of the local market where spices, vegetables and fruits were classified for us, and we all went back to the school laden with baskets straight out of “The Sound of Music”.
I really enjoyed the style of learning and the hands-on attentive teachers. I learned how to make Pad Thai, Chiang Mai Curry, Red Curry Paste, Mango with sticky rice, Seafood coconut soup, and Green Papaya salad. The group was lively and happily shared travel stories in between dishes, which we individually happily consumed as reward for our tested skills. By the end of the day, my tummy was so full I could barely move, and needed to take the rest of the day to “recover” and take it easy before my flights tomorrow to Cambodia. So, I’ve been writing this, and uploading my pics, which I hope that you enjoy!

SO ….that’s all for now, the next installment will no doubt be from the Khmer capital of Phnom Penh. I bid goodbye to Raziel sadly, happy that she will not be far away for me to visit when I get back to Seattle. I await further adventures!!

Much love,
Anita

Thailand Part I

17 Wednesday Mar 2010

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Friends,

Its hard to believe that this is only Day 4 of my trip thus far to Thailand. Feels like weeks have passed by. It was also very difficult to wrap my head around the speed at which I progressed from my job offer, to my travel plans, to actually leaving- five days in total. It sort of made my head spin. That was pushing it, even for me! I was filled with the usual anxieties of traveling alone, going somewhere exotic that I’m unfamiliar with, and not having done enough in the research department to calm my usual detail-oriented nerves. However, the moment I stepped on my first of three flights to Bangkok…everything dissipated and I was filled with a sense of excitement for yet another Anita Adventure extraordinaire.

My journey was extremely smooth and I cannot recommend Cathay Pacific more highly. They were incredibly particular about every detail of their flight service. I initially flew to Vancouver to catch my overnight flight to Hong Kong where I lost a Saturday night going over the dateline (but at least I didn’t need a date!) It was great seeing all of the Olympic paraphernalia again, and I managed to purchase a little Olympic Mascot keyring of “Quatchi” – the little furry Sasquatch that I liked so much in Whistler. I thought he would be a good little omen for me, and make my photos of tourist sites much more interesting when there was no-one around to take pictures for me.

My only complaint on the flight was that the Indian Mumbai-bound gentleman sitting next to me on my flight to Bangkok insisted on picking his feet for the duration of the 3 hour journey. Yuck. I arrived, bleary-eyed at Bangkok International at 1:30am local time. I’d been traveling for more than 25 hours. I was quite proud of myself for thinking that it might be best to pay for luggage storage at the airport itself for my giant duffel bag full of gear for my Everest trek, rather than lugging it around Thailand with me. I found left luggage for a little under a buck a day- and then grabbed a cab heading to my guest house for what was left of the night.

The city was buzzing. The driver of my cab assured me in broken English that he might be able to drop me “while walk from hotel” because of the “big meeting”. What was he talking about? “It’s not dangerous”, he assured me, “just many many traffic. You not hurt” Hmmm. I was not feeling reassured. As we drove towards the city centre, it became immediately apparent what he was referring to – thousands of red-shirted people protesting in the streets carrying anti-government banners, and lots of police dressed in full riot gear with bottles of tear gas. Oh, lovely. What a great date I picked to arrive… My “while walk” ended up just being a few hundred meters hopping through a mob of backpackers all drinking and partying up the night in the streets.

Once inside my hotel, I was very impressed by the cleanliness of my room and the peace and quiet within. I showered and quickly fell asleep. The next morning I awoke around 7am and took off for a wander around the nearby streets. I immediately grabbed a fresh fruit shake for breakfast (under a dollar) and noticed that every other storefront offered a variety of massages for about 6 dollars per hour. I was in heaven. Just leave me here!! Looking for a certain travel agency, I asked 3 people sitting to breakfast what street I was on, and promptly struck up a conversation, ascertained that they were all from Manchester, England, forgot all about my morning errand, and joined them on a jaunt to see The Emerald Buddha and Grand Palace.

On arrival, our wits were tested by an official looking man who informed us that the temple was not open until 11am and that we should take a cab to go visit another temple and then return…his “friend” would take us there for only 10 Baht each. This registered in my brain as a scam and we promptly moved on past him and entered the main entrance to find hundreds of other people enjoying the clearly open historic site. After the girls were given clothes to cover our shoulders and knees, we headed in to the site. I rented an English audio tour- I always get so historically nerdy and think that I really want to learn everything about a site like that…and then the heat hits me and I realize I’ve been listening to “Number 8 – The Chadi” for five minutes and I have no idea what’s been said.

The buildings were amazing, ornate and all built by one of the “Ramas” (1-4 if my memory serves). I took lots of pictures and took off my shoes to sit cross-legged in contemplation in front of the Emerald Buddha. I melted. After a refreshing Singha beer and lunch we all headed back to our rooms for a little kitty nap and met up later for some meandering around Khao San Road, shopping, and dinner. Feeling exhausted from jet lag, I eagerly paid 6 bucks for the Thai massage and got pummeled into oblivion. I kept screaming every time she worked on my foot’s surgical site, my English and frantic pointing to my scar apparently not enough to deter this tiny but mighty Thai lady from insisting on punishing it with her fists. Small price to pay for bliss everywhere else.

The next day, my new friends (Drew, Katie and Lucy) and I took a day trip to the Damnoen Saduak Floating Market, the bridge on the River Kwai, and the Tiger Temple. It was a full-on day… The market was extremely touristy but I didn’t care- it was full of the iconic picture-perfect boats overflowing with produce and straw hat wearing old ladies trying to sell you Mango with sticky rice. We happily sat in our canoe-like boat and enjoyed our water-based shopping trip for a couple of hours before we headed to the town of Kanchanaburi and the World War II museum overlooking the famed Bridge on the River Kwai.

I found the museum fascinating and moving as I read of the over 100,000 POW’s who perished building the railway the Japanese used as a supply and escape route from Thailand to Burma during WWII. There were lots of displays of authentic Japanese armored vehicles, currency and signs from the occupation of Thailand, as well as harrowing stories told by some of the survivors. A walk across the now re-build bridge took me back in time as I imagined what it would have been like to be forced to march out onto this bridge knowing that the allied planes were about to drop bombs on it. Chilling. They say that the river ran red with blood for over 4 days.

Another long drive took us to the controversial Tiger Temple, where about 30 tigers live and roam the grounds offering visitors the chance to get up close and personal with pictures and nervous petting (really? Petting? The tigers? I didn’t believe until I saw…) I had to buy a new pair of pants on arrival as I was informed that red and orange could make the tigers aggressive. I handed over cash very willingly upon hearing that for a blue pair of “fisherman’s pants” (which took me another 2 days to figure out how to tie properly I was a little uneasy about how the tigers were treated, especially since most of them were leashed and seemed very habituated to the humans stroking them. I did get my photo taken, my favorite encounter being with the cutest little tiger cubs.

After the 3 hour journey back to Bangkok, we were relieved to hear that we had managed to secure beds on the overnight sleeper train to Chiang Mai leaving in a couple of hours- so after a quick shower, we grabbed our backpacks and braved the crazed streets via taxi to the train station.

The train journey was quite a surreal experience: very exciting, romantic and patience-testing. Thank goodness we managed to secure the air conditioned cabin- the faces of the pained travellers sitting in the “fan-only” cars said it all. I slept extremely well despite the fact that they kept the fluorescent lights on all night (thanks to Cathy Pacific’s eye sleep-cover thingy).

In the morning, we stumbled down to the restaurant car (after taking an obligatory pee in the toilet/standing hole over the train tracks while holding your nose for the stench) and ordered coffee and coffee. While only 8am, the “manager” was blaring Thai pop tunes at a decibel that required yelling for passable conversation, and insisted on singing (badly) over the top of it at the same time. He was clearly on a controlled substance of some kind as evidenced by his inexplicable euphoria, announcement that he “does boys and girls, you know”, and then tendency to pass out when someone wanted to pay their check, muttering in Thai and shaking his head.

A few hours later, it became pretty obvious that we were going to be delayed because the train kept stopping every 10 minutes. We could but hope that the restaurant manager wasn’t sharing his drugs with the train driver. A lovely waitress came by and served us sandwiches for lunch as we sat hunched over on our bunk beds, unable to sit up because of the low ceiling. We made a new friend, Raicay, from Seattle (!!!) and sat laughing for hours at the situation, especially when the waitress would break out into a little song and dance for no reason.

Four hours late, we pulled into Chiang Mai station, and were immediately assaulted by the afternoon heat. Negotiating a fair price for a Sorng Taa ou to a guest house, we headed into town, checked in and then grabbed another mouthwatering delicious meal.

The food in Thailand has been outstanding so far. Fresh fruit and juices, and tons of veggies in every meal combined with delicious amounts of coconut milk and spices. Its been a huge part of the experience thus far and I look forward to every meal to try something new. In fact, I intend to take a day’s cooking class (wish you were here Magda!!) on Saturday after returning from a trek.

This morning I headed out around 6am ( I know – I’m NOT a morning person, but for some reason when I travel I metamorphosize) on a solo walking tour of the city temples when the peace and coolness of the morning was briefly interrupted by a terrifying encounter with a stray dog who attacked me. I did not provoke it in anyway, he just came right at me and bit me on the leg…THANKFULLY not puncturing the skin. A saffron-robed Buddhist monk came to my rescue and hit the dog with his stick getting him off of me. It was rather unnerving but after another twenty minute walk, I had brushed it off.

The temples were beautiful and I snapped a hundred photos before wandering back to the hotel via this Internet cafe.

Tomorrow, my new Seattle friend and I are heading north to do a 3 day hill-tribe trek, staying in traditional bamboo huts with the Karen people. I’m looking forward to it and getting some cardio exercise in. I will write again on my return.

Much love, Anita

Epilogue

17 Wednesday Jun 2009

Posted by in Central America, Panama

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I always start with the best of intentions to write a summary of my travels once I’m home. Something about the return to the familiar surroundings of reality usually squishes any creative impulse left in me to write; its as if the inspiration created by the constantly new stimuli fades away leaving nothing but…despair.

Yes. The culture shock of coming home is bad. All who have traveled for an extensive period of time are aware of this. Well. Let me tell you: it is made even worse by 1 – not having a job or significant other to come home to, and 2 – not having a crowd of people ready to throw you a “welcome home party”.

I was not even enthused significantly when I discovered that I had passed the CFP examination that I had been studying so hard for, during the months leading up to the trip.

Or worse yet: friends who’ve had you off their radar for so long they won’t even answer your wall-to-wall on Facebook.

As you can tell, I am sad to be home. And I’m going to need a lot of encouragement if I’m going to finally put pen to paper (figuratively of course) and make this blog into a book which I’ve been talking about writing for at least ten years, and still have done nothing about.

So, a conclusion of sorts to my time in Central & South America. That’s what I’ve been asked to write. Ok. I think I only have the strength to do this in list format. So, here goes:

1 – What were your favorite things about Central America?

– Its always warm enough to throw on a tank top, shorts, and a pair of flip flops.

– The men will ALWAYS remind you that you are a sexy, desirable, woman by hollering at you from every possible vantage point.

– People have an incredibly apparent sense of community and family. They stop and talk to each other on the street (forget Facebook!) They offer rides to each other as they drive down the street. They go out as families in the evening. They all live together under one roof and share everything they own. They take care of their elders.

– It seemed perfectly normal to be drinking beer at 10 o’clock in the morning.

– Oh! 50c beers! Ladies drink for free!

– Less than 40 feet of visibility seemed like a good reason not to go diving. (WHAT was I thinking??)

– Chicken buses with blaring music and a strobe light on the ceiling!

– Volcanoes

– Same power outlet voltages as back home

– Lots of adrenaline activities to try out – white water rafting/kayaking, canyoning, zip-lining canopy…

– No one is in a hurry to DO ANYTHING

Things I hated about Central America:

– No one is in a hurry to DO ANYTHING

– Each time you past a roadside store, restaurant and shop, it would be a requirement for there to be at least two stray dogs, and at least one, if not several crying, underclothed children.

– The idea of buying fast food fried chicken, and the speed at which it would happen is the equivalent to placing an order with God on a slip of paper.

– Forget trying to complain. About anything. Ever.

– Trash, everywhere…especially plastic bottles. People throw trash into rivers, and out of the windows of moving vehicles.

– Can’t order ice with your drink, or drink tap water anywhere except Panama City.

– Rice and beans does not constitute a good breakfast food item.

– If you sit down to order a meal in a restaurant, the wait staff will quickly think of ways to actively ignore you, for fear they might be required to actually do some work

– Chicken buses. That do not cater to the leg length of any individuals past Grade 8.

– “Is it safe?” is a question you have to leave behind in the hotel room.

– What were your favorite things about Peru and Bolivia?

– When my mountain guide told me how beautiful I was. And then proceeded to explain how all foreign women are SO BEAUTIFUL.

– Vast, breathtaking altiplano expanses.

– The incredible Andes mountains with their jagged snow capped peaks which begged me to climb them, altitude sickness be damned!

– Coca leaves. Observing what an active part of the culture they play. How chewing is as socially acceptable among friends as meeting for a drink is back home. How black it made everyone’s teeth.

– Llamas. And Alpacas. How cute they were. And how tasty!

– Inca Kola. How yellow it was. How popular it was- way more than Coca Cola.

– How almost every conversation, with every traveller you met, started with: “So, where are you from? Where are you travelling? Where are you going next/where’ve you been? How long are you going to be away?”

– How many conversations I had that last more than a few hours, at which point I realized that I didn’t know the person’s name.

– Ordering a meal which includes cocktails, wine, steak, and dessert for under $10!

– Things I hated about travelling in South America:

– Hostels that have become overrun with groups of Israeli backpackers, who clearly did not leave their country to experience any other culture other than their own.

– Paying for toilets. And the “whammy” system (which usually came out as just one whammy). Single whammy – toilet was clean enough to stomach using. Double – it had toilet paper. Triple – there was hand soap (which usually moved me to tears), and finally, Quadruple whammy – when you didn’t have to pay for it!!

– Long overnight bus journeys that contained every human endurance test known: Blaring loud violent movies to sleep through, temperatures ranging from a modern convection oven to the arctic. Seats that lovingly promised to recline which then failed to. Seats so large you bounced around in them like a ball in a ping pong machine. Death by Pan Flute music. All night. Creepy, secluded bus stations full of a few people who will hound you as you sleepily stumble off of the bus at 3:30 in the morning.

– How there are basically two directions you can travel through Peru and Bolivia in…and for a while, how each time I met somebody really cool that I could hang with- they would be travelling in the opposite direction to me.

– How you could never let your bags out of your sight. Even in Public bathrooms…hauling your backpack into the stall with you, being hardly unable to close the door!

– Never getting used to the altitude, past Cusco. I was always huffing to walk up a steep street. Knowing that people here are just born with a different lung capacity to my own.

In any case…I had a fantastic journey, which I must now turn into a book.

In summary:

Days away from home -76
Separate flights flown – 13
Countries visited – 7
Number of friends connected with on Facebook -24
Number of men I kissed – 3
Days spent at altitude -36
Days spent on bikes – 3
Archaeological sites visited – 5
Days I got up before 5am -12 (!!!!)
Days spent on buses (entirely) -11
Days spent in the jungle -5
Days spent in cities -19
Days of diving – 1
Days of snorkeling – 7
Days on tropical beaches -13
Nights in a tent under the stars – 6
Days spent hiking or climbing a mountain – 17 (!!!!)
Nights spent on overnight buses – 5
Religious festivals observed – 3

AND….number of first things attempted!

-Canopy “zip lining”
– Canyoning
-Riding a scooter
– Eating Alpaca/Llama
– Sand buggy/boarding
– Climbing a 20,000 foot mountain
– Going to a wrestling match
– Biking down the “world’s most dangerous road”

Panama Adventure II

03 Wednesday Jun 2009

Posted by in Costa Rica, Panama

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I am sitting in an Internet cafe in Alajuela, a tiny town north of San Jose that is just a five minute cab ride from the International Airport. At 8am tomorrow, I will board the first of three planes bound for Seattle. What an incredible journey and experience it has been. I plan to write an epilogue of sorts when I get home (I’m sure I’ll have more perspective then too!) but for now, here is the last week of my time in the beautiful country of Panama.

I last left you in the mountain town of Boquette, as I was de–Bocasing and coming down from the high of constant sun and parties. Boquette was a very quiet town. And quite chilly and rainy. Sadness! However, saying that, it really was beautiful and surrounded by lush cloud forest and Volcan Baru…the highest point in Panama. It was also famous for its whitewater, and Abraham and I decided to do a raft trip for the following day.

The alarm sounded at 6am, and we dragged ourselves out of bed to ready for the big day. I was very very sleepy, but the sight of extremely hot rafting guides in the van soon woke me up. he he. It was a two hour ride to the river, which we were told was in peak condition, for it was well into the rainy season, making some of the class IV rapids more like Class IV.5ish…. We’ll see!

The trip turned out to be very thrilling indeed. This was probably my sixth or seventh experience doing this, but I can honestly say I’ve never been through water this rough before. There were definitely moments where if you fell out of the boat you would have to kiss your own sweet ass goodbye. Curtains. Abraham did fall out of the boat, but luckily it was not in one of those places. It all happened so fast, and I went to move over to drag him back in the raft but found myself pinned down by the guy in front who had also fallen over by the ferocity of the water. Once all were safe and back in the boat, it was all a bit funny.

We were well and truly smashed by the end of the 3 hour long trip which included several portages and a lot of very heavy paddling. Lots of fun though, and once I had gotten more used to the constant rapids (there was no waiting between them like I’d found floating on other rivers, the thrills just kept on coming) I was able to relax a little more and just enjoy it.

By the time we got back into town, we both needed a nap which was glorious. Then we decadently returned to Boquette Bistro, and this time fell upon the Baked Brie and Chicken Teriyaki. Yum.

On our second day in Boquette I was starting to have difficulties deciding on my next travel destination. I had heard that Santa Catalina was a pretty coastal town that offered access to some of the best diving in Central America at Isla de Coiba. However, communication with the scuba company, or indeed any hoteliers down there was proving fruitless. On top of that, I was told it was an epic 8 hour journey there. Abraham and the girls were leaving for Panama City on the overnight bus, and if I went with them, I would have just enough time to visit the islands of the Comarca de Kuna Yale and the city before needing to come back to San Jose. It was either Coiba or the islands. Once I found out that a two tank dive was going to cost me $140 plus two days of travel time…I opted to head out that night to David and on to Panama City.

Trying to decide what to do that day, we stumbled across a place that rented scooters, and they looked like they would be a cheaper (not to say more fun) option for visiting some of the local waterfalls and hikes in the area. Abraham was very excited to try them, and since I could barely stay upright as I tried to drive one down a side street, we agreed that he would drive and I would be the passenger. We donned cute little helmets, filled the tanks with $2 of gas..and off we went into the hills to explore.

This was another “first””. I love doing things for the first time, and the scooters were a blast to ride and offered a unique perspective on the countryside around us. Abraham was loving the speed and corners, that is, until we were faced with giant hills where the tiny little engines sounded like they were issuing their last dying breath and at one point we were forced to dismount and push. Miraculously, we found the trail head to a 2 hour hike the owner of our hostel had recommended. It was a very pretty walk and I was enjoying the effortless way I seemed to be climbing uphill with the abundant oxygen in the air.

Driving back down to town I was determined to give “holding the reins” by driving the damn scooter myself another try. We fell about laughing as I crashed and burned several times, screaming along the way because there was a semi coming. At one point, Abraham had to reach over me and grab the brakes because we were “going down”. But I was determined and after learning to trust the bike itself (kind of like riding a push bike for the first time) I managed to drive all the way back to town, switching before traffic got too intense. Thank you for putting your life in my hands, Abraham!!

Heading back to the rental place, the heavens opened and pelted rain upon us. We got completely drenched, whereas our friends, who were five minutes ahead of us, stayed high and dry. But we’d had a great time.

We were to be on the 7pm bus to David, the second largest city in Panama, and then the overnight bus which was leaving at midnight. It was going to be a long night. David was by far one of the roughest cities I’d had the misfortune to spend a few hours in on this trip. Abraham and I walked around for hours looking for any restaurant that might be open, and we were told that everything was shut because it was…wait for it…8:30pm! Date night in David must be really hot and heavy. Eventually, after walking through dark rainy streets which looked like the perfect hangout for gang activity, we happened across a semi decent Chinese place before heading back to the terminal.

How I dislike overnight buses. This one turned out to be not so bad, actually. Somehow, having a seat which didn’t really recline very much helped me to fall asleep. Before it had felt like five minutes, we pulling into the bus station in the capital at 5:45am. Dazed and confused, we muddled out and got in a taxi bound for Casco Viejo, the older part of the city where the hostel Abraham had stayed at before was located: Luna’s Castle. Since beds weren’t ready yet, and Abraham was leaving that afternoon for Colombia, I offered to take him out for a final breakfast together before I made the most of the morning by visiting the Panama Canal. We found the best little cafe and ordered a slamming breakfast of fresh bread, eggs, bacon and goooooooood coffee for $4 each. It was fantastic, especially after that bus journey. I was very sad to see my Dutch friend leave, but he promised to meet up with me, maybe this year, and go diving together in the Red Sea….which I will hold him to!

I grabbed a cab and headed to the world famous waterway, trying to get there for 9am because that was when the big ships usually passed through. It was all rather fascinating though I was a little disappointed not to see any big cruise ships coming through. On top of that, my ex Jonathan, musician extraordinaire had only just finished his gig aboard Princess cruises and had been transiting the canal over the last several months and we’d missed each other by a few weeks. That would have been fun…to wave at him from the cafeteria as he stood on one of the ship’s balconies. Kind of like when we met up in Civvitavechia, hey Jonny?? 😉

I watched two ships pass through the Miraflores locks, one a container ship and the other an oil tanker. Seeing how little clearance the vessels have on either side is really astonishing, and how many people it takes to guide the ships through without hiccup. I really enjoyed the museum exhibits too which detailed future plans for two new sets of locks which would allow for much wider ships..up to 56 metres instead of the current 38 (gee, I hope I got that right…?) They also had a display on all of the bugs of Panama, and displayed dead samples of some of the largest and ugliest beetles, spiders, stick insects, crickets and moths.

By the time I got back to the hostel, my dorm bed was ready for me, and Abraham was still there with a fresh new hair cut. I gave him the gift I’d bought him at the canal…an emergency rain jacket, after what had happened on the last afternoon in Boquette. I bid my adieu, and then took a very needed shower and nap, hanging out in the hostel for the afternoon, arranging my trip for the next morning to head to San Blas (Comarca de Kuna Yale) and more Caribbean Paradise…

The Kuna are an indigenous people in Panama and have retained autonomy from Panamanian government and basically self govern. I was looking forward to seeing them and their beautiful costumes…the women in particular have a distinct look: short hair with a headscarf, lots of gold jewellery, layered very colorful print clothing, and most notably, large and ornate jewellery for the legs which cover from the ankle to the knee. I would be staying on an island called Senidup which was going to be a 90 minute boat ride from the Carti Airport where I flew into.

The flight I booked was only $40 (I didn’t know how long I was going to stay so I decided I would probably take the jeep option back to the city) and originally was scheduled to leave at 6am. So you can imagine my relief when I received an email stating that it would be delayed until 10! Yay!

I was meeting two friends that I’d made in Bocas del Toro on Isla Senidup. The transfer there went pretty smoothly but on arrival, I came to be informed by my friends that despite the fact that the island itself was only the size of a football field, there were two owners of two distinct set of huts. Turns out, I had reserved the huts on the wrong side of the island… No problem, right? Well, apparently, the two owners have kind of a war going on between them, and during my 3 day stay, it felt very much like I was in an episode of Lost, and I was one of the “Others”, because the two groups of backpackers staying on either side didn’t seem to mingle that well. Given the size of the island, it was a little ridiculous.

As was what happened when I first got there. Explaining to the owner that I wanted to stay with my friends on the other side of the island, he got very agitated and started demanding that I pay, and at one point, he and his 3 buddies had me cornered in a straw hut screaming about money and threatening to throw my bags in the ocean. The fact that this was supposed to be the idyllic paradise “get away from it all” island didn’t seem to be applying to my first encounter here. It turned out just to be a language mix up because all they had wanted was for me to pay for my boat transfer, which was easily accomplished by handing over $7. Phew.

Those 3 days were a very strange, wonderful and unique experience. I’ve visited many incredibly isolated and beautiful islands in my life…but I’ve never stayed on one that was this basic and untouched. And it was so cheap..one of the cheapest things I’ve done in my entire 3 months. The price was $20 a night for your hut, including breakfast, lunch and dinner! The days consisted of sleeping in till about 9am, walking around barefoot everywhere (even the straw huts had a sandy floor), eating meals in the communal straw hut, reading in hammocks looking over the crystal blue waters, snorkeling around the island’s reef about twice a day, sunbathing, napping, drinking, taking another swim, chatting to other travellers, playing cards, another nap…you get the picture? That first day I also took a day trip over to Isla Perros and had the distinct joy of snorkeling an artificial reef created by a shipwreck of a vessel that had the sense to sink in 20 feet of water. It was incredible and the visibility was great as was the variety of the fish.

It was a really relaxing time and I enjoyed the company of my fellow islanders muchly, especially Katherine and Fabio (who owned a restaurant in Casco Viejo which they invited me to come visit when I got back to the city) and a Brit named Gabi who, like me, escaped England to go work abroad in Austria 8 years ago. She especially liked my singing, and in the evenings, I would become a human jukebox and sing songs on the beach around a fire as we listened to the only other sound which was the waves lapping the shore. Of course you all know how much I must have hated that. 🙂

The afternoons on the island also brought thundershowers. It was a unique place to watch the lightning, especially in the evening when it lit up the entire sky. On my last morning there, we had a violent thunderstorm about 3am which lit up the whole island like it was daylight. Rain pouring in to my hut woke me up pretty suddenly…I had to switch bunks to avoid getting wet. My friends had left, and I admit to being a little frightened by the power of the thunderclaps which lasted for hours. What a memory though.

The only sad thing that happened during my 3 day stay in Paradise (other than the violent welcome I received) was that I accidentally dipped my camera in the ocean. Oops. It has stopped functioning, and whilst I may still be able to fix it, I am relieved that this happened near the end of my journey and not near the middle. At least my memory card is safe and had lots of pictures taken during the one really good day of weather on Senidup.

That jeep ride home was pretty rough going as we climbed up and over the central mountain range of Panama before arriving back to the Pacific coast and the city. I ran into Gabi back at the hostel and we happily scampered out to grab dinner at Cafe Havana before she got a night bus to Bocas del Toro which was her next destination of choice. We happily chatted over mojitos, ceviche, and Cuban sandwiches…and Gabi tried to convince me to grab my bags and come back with her to Bocas. I must admit that I was very tempted indeed, especially since I had to head back to Costa Rica in any case. However, since I’d already given money to someone to buy me my bus ticket to San Jose and I hadn’t really seen Panama city yet, I reluctantly declined.

In hindsight, I kind of wish I had just gone with her, but then again, it might not have had the same magical appeal as the first visit did, and it would forever alter my perception of it. and the time I had there.

I had two more days in Panama city and I explored. The first day I walked, for miles, around Casco Viejo and took in all the major sights and monuments to a Panama city of yesterday, that is experiencing much investment into renovation and restructuring. In fact, you could generally hear drilling from 7 in the morning from my hostel which made early starts much easier. Right before the afternoon rainy season storm, I grabbed a cab to the bus station (my friend wasn’t able to buy my bus ticket without my passport! So I could have gone to Bocas and not felt bad about that!) and bought my ticket for Tuesday night to San Jose (arriving at 3:30pm the next day) then went to catch a movie and some needed air conditioning. It was hot, hot I tell you!

That night I went to visit Katherine’s restaurant, Indigo, and dined like a princess. The food was amazing, I enjoyed a passion fruit infused ceviche of Sole, followed by fresh baked goat cheese and spinach spanikopita, and topped off with the softest fudge chocolate cake ever and coconut ice cream. And a bottle of wine. Fantastic. At Katherine’s request, I stayed and sang songs too until about 2 in the morning, and developed my Panamanian fan base. They all plotted to keep me there and enter me for Panamanian idol. It was a wonderful night to remember!

My final day I went north for a hike around the Parque Natural Metropolitano and promptly left after 15 minutes and about 1000 mosquito bites! ouch! A cab picked me up and scolded me for walking around the area alone, telling me that it was very dangerous. I agreed, but primarily because of the mosquitoes. I asked to be taken to Ave Balboa, to a spot where I could enjoy a stroll along the water. Of course, I was told. Yeah, my ass. Ave Balboa was completely closed due to construction, and I ended up walking through it to a neighborhood where I could hail another cab, all the while enduring constant whistles and cat calls from the construction workers I passed. I have never in all my travels, met men who felt they had more of a right to vocalize their intentions towards women as I found in Panama city. Nearly every passing car, some guy yelled out to me, sometimes sweet things, other times more vulgar. That’s not counting all of the “Chica“”, “”Amore!”, “Corazon!”” shouts I counted. At times I thought maybe I should be flattered, but the thing is this: the cat calls are not discriminating…they are directed to most all women. Its just an everyday normal thing.

Finally I visited the causeway which joins 4 islands together and has great views of the city, the canal, and the rest of the ocean on the other side. I rented a bike and went for a casual ride, stopping for a delicious lunch of garlic shrimp. After some last minute shopping, I returned to Luna’s, showered, re-packed, ate some sushi and grabbed a cab with my fellow traveller, Sarah, for the international terminal.

That bus ride was a nightmare. They had the air con blasting so much it must have dropped below 50 degrees Fahrenheit. I was wearing every layer I had and burying my face into my sweater to stop my nose icing over. Couldn’t sleep it was so cold. Then we were awoken by the loudest music imaginable at 5am to tell us we were at the border with Costa Rica. The border crossing took 3 and a 1/2 hours because they strip searched our bus for drugs. I’ve never stood around just waiting in the heat for so long, when I was so tired before. What made things worse was my last minute realization that my flight home from San Jose could have been changed to return from Panama City!!! I simply hadn’t considered this as a possibility until the last day, and then I was faced with having to come back to San Jose because I had left 1/2 of my luggage here!! That’s travelling brain for you…where has mine gone I ask you?

I managed to sleep for the next few hours despite the LOUD and horrifically violent movies they seem to always play on buses. We arrived in San Jose and jumped on another bus for Alajuela (the town closest to the airport) and checked into the hotel where I had stashed my things two weeks ago…. After pizza, we came here, I wrote this letter….and now its time to end….go back and pack…..and face the fact that my odyssey has come to a close.

My flight is at 8am tomorrow so I’ll be leaving around 6am. I plan to write an epilogue of sorts on my return and provide some overall observations of my time spent here.

I look forward to seeing many of you in the coming days and weeks!!!