Today Nepal, Tomorrow Tibet

Sometimes Trekking, Sometimes Rafting

So there is this Nepali guide song that is in Nepali except for the lines "Sometimes trekking, sometimes rafting." And so that's what we did. Apparently Nepal is famous for it's rafting, and so we took a two day trip down the Bhote Khosi. I had never been rafting before and for whatever reason, it never really compelled me. I was pretty indifferent, but I figured if there was ever a time to try, it was here in Nepal. As it turns out I had a blast despite the fact that the rapids were mainly class 2 and 3s due to the drought and the spring time; not the rager it usually is after the monsoon season in the fall. I see rafting as a more physical and exciting version of the water rides I used to do at amusement parks. I know that's probably an oversimplification to say the least, but it was fun. We stayed at this place called the Lost Resort and it was really beautiful and peaceful there.

In our group were these five girls who were spending the year volunteering in remote villages in the Terai of Nepal near India and had gotten two weeks off for vacation. I must say I was really impressed. They were living with host families in separate villages and their lifestyles were like the locals. Dal Bhaat twice a day, sharing a room, latrines, one didn't have electricity, the whole nine yards. They had nothing but our full respect.

Last Days in Kathmandu and Taking off for Tibet

And I was really exhausted when we got back. I thought it was all the rowing, being tired of being in Kathmandu and I felt a little bit itchy to move on. We've been in Nepal for almost six weeks, which is the longest we've been anywhere. But as it turns out I've got a head cold. nargh. But I'm sad to be leaving Nepal. I've gotten used to the craziness of Kathmandu. It seems a shame to leave now that I've mastered walking down the street without getting hit by a rickshaw and make our way back to our guest house despite the fact that there are no street names.

I did some last minute sightseeing (I finally got a glimpse of the Kumari living goddess, an eight year old girl that lives in a temple and is worshipped as a goddess).

We also went to the movies and saw a very western style Indian movie (Being Cyrus) in the movie theater. I was a little disappointed we didn't see some Bollywood, but I must say I was impressed with the theater. Stadium style, assigned seating (e. leven no more pincher move!), huge screen and super clean. They even checked my bag as I walked in to make sure I wasn't smuggling in snacks, smokes or gum.

So we leave at 6 am in a jeep for Tibet. Every tour agency we spoke to told us not to expect very much from the guide or the guesthouses once we cross the border, but we're both psyched to be back in the mountains. More when we get to Lhasa.

By the way, we decided that we needed a little more time to avoid rushing through China, so we're now coming back home at the end of June. Clarence (or anyone else), if you can make it to China before then, let us know.

Random Bits about Nepal

Okay, I was a little tired when I wrote my last post and so there are a few random bits I'd like to add.

Posing with the Maoists

Also, to add one good story, we did encounter the Maoists in Ghorepani on the Annapurna Circuit (as expected) and we were asked to make a "donation" to their cause, of roughly $15. It was a little disappointing in some regards; they look like ordinary Nepalis, unarmed, no uniforms. In fact, I thought they were Nepali trekkers. Anyhoo, we asked for a "group discount", which they readily agreed to, knocking off about 15%. And so we all go went and paid and received receipts for our donations to ensure that we didn't get asked again if we came across their colleagues. I was feeling a bit bitter about being forced to give them money, so I asked if I could take a picture of them writing out the receipts. I was sure that they would say no. Somehow they thought I wanted a picture posing with them, and agreed to do it. So we ended up getting this group photo of all of us waving our receipts in the air with the two Maoists. Of course after we took the picture, they told us that we were not to show the pictures to the Army under any circumstances. Not the smartest people. We suspected they sent their interns since it was snowing outside.

Gurus, Twix and Wine

So I did opt for a three day yoga course at Sadhana Yoga in Pokhara. It's about a 40 minute walk outside of town and on top of this hill with an amazing view of the lake. It was a pretty good deal - paying about $25 a day for room, board and classes. Ashanga, the guru there, was pretty young and had a funny sense of humor. On the first night I wasn't sure what to expect, but he ended up telling us a rather crude joke involving Harleys and women in heaven. The only other student there was a German named Peter who was there for over a month doing a teacher training course.

What I also appreciated about Ashanga was his back sliding ways. All the meals prepared (read dal bhaat) were organic and ayervedic. On my first afternoon, Durga, Ashanga'swife, asked me if I wanted a sweet. I said sure, since I loved her lunch, expecting some kind of homemade sweet. Instead, she comes back with two packages of Twix which she shared with me and her family. Ashanga said he tried Twix a few years ago and it kind of stuck with him. For the record, that was a one shot offer of Twix.

However, on the second night, he had a friend from Kathmandu visiting. This friend was person who inspired and supported him in creating the center eight years ago and he had come to see it for the first time. As a celebration, we had red wine with dinner. Again, not the typical diet of a yogi. Ashanga explained, several years ago he read an article describing a study done on people all around the world who lived to be over 100. Apparently the one common habit they had was having red wine on a regular basis. So he thought to himself, "I really love this life, and I'm willing to try anything that will help me prolong it." I really appreciated the sincerity with which he said this. So he ran out and bought some red wine. (He didn't know how to open the bottle when he first got it, and ended up stuffing the cork down). Now he really enjoys wine and has it every few months. He did confess if he budget would allow him to buy more wine, he would drink it more often.

It was a little bit chaotic at the Ashram, with some visitors there and his one and half year old son closing in on his terrible twos. But it was fun and pretty relaxing. The highlights were Durga's cooking and the yoga classes themselves. Still I don't know if the classes were for everyone. Two complete beginners participated for a day and I think were a little shell shocked. But I thought it was exactly what I needed to move my yoga forward. I guess a private instructor will do that. I do feel like my yoga really improved over the three days. Of course, now the question is how do I keep it up while on the road.

Starfuckers (or rather, DiplomatFuckers) and Simon to the Rescue

So our friend Aimee is in Kathmandu with her mother and they're staying with a friend of her mom's, Mary Kay, who works for the American Embassy here. We met them for coffee on our return from Pokhara. Mary Kay wanted to see her son play in the basketball tournament at the American Embassy's recreational compound down the street and invited us along. Apparently, the Ambassador is quite the baller and was playing in the tournament. I must say, Simon and I were ridicolously impressed with the fact that we got into the compound and were seeing the Ambassador in the flesh. He has been in the news a lot here, making many remarks about the political situation. The tournament was set up with nine teams of executive, security and support staff at the embassy, but it was really the expats that had any skill.

As we were watching, the Ambassador's son got swiped by his own teammate and got a gash above his eye, which started bleeding heavily. Someone came out with a box of medical supplies which was completely disorganized. Simon was annoyed at all the inefficiency as they were trolling about the box and went and got our first aid kit, beautifully arranged to the highest standards. The staff was really excited for the kit and kept asking Simon for swipes, gauze and bandages. (Diane, btw, I believe we used some of the alcohol wipes you gave us in Peru!) Aimee and I found the whole thing really funny and took a few pictures during the treatment with the basketball game going on in the background.

We're probably one of the only people to take photos of both Maoists and the US Ambassador on one roll of film.

The Ambassador's wife was really grateful, as was Mary Kay, who asked if they could repay us in any way. Sadly, my request for Simon to receive citizenship was denied. But hopefully this will go on his record. And they did take us out to dinner to a really nice French restaurant owned by some former member of the Nepali Royalty. There we got to ogle the Nepali glitterati.

Clearly we are unsophisticated Americans who are easily impressed.

Rafting and Tibet
So we're slated to start driving towards to Lhasa, Tibet on Saturday and in the meantime, we're gonna go rafting on the Bhote Khosi, apparently a pretty intense river, mostly Class 4.

Echoing thoughts on Annapurna

So once again, I’ll just elaborate on Simon's blog entry; I wholeheartedly agree with his sentiments. (Still no pictures, but imagine a post card image of the Himalayas and that's what we'd post.)

Creating Memories

It's funny what tricks our memory plays on us. If you ask me now, I would look back on working our way up to the pass and think how cool and exciting it was to do it in the middle of the snow storm. However, I remember distinctly a handful of moments when I was truly scared that I would never be able to catch my breath, that my left arm would freeze off since it was so numb, wondering how the hell we were going to find the trail under all that snow, and wanting to be finished with it. These memories are more like facts in my mind, like the height of the pass itself, but are stripped entirely of the emotion and the physical discomfort that I experienced with them. But I’ll try to tell it like I think it was.

The top of the pass was the hardest thing I've ever done, more specifically the last 45 minutes to the top. As we got higher up, it was getting harder and harder for me to breathe and I literally needed to stop after every 4 steps to catch my breath, which also made me a lot colder and stiffer since I was barely moving. To say the least I was exhausted. And of course the snow and wind grew tougher the higher we got. But I knew that I was not suffering from serious altitude sickness like some of the other trekkers we had seen. I finally had to ask Simon to take some of the weight from my pack for the last 50 meters to ensure I could keep moving. I would have liked to have said that I carried all my weight up the pass, but I knew that it was a safer bet to not be so proud. My confidence was somewhat shot since I had rolled my friggin’ ankle again the day before (once again, on perfectly flat ground.)

But in the end, we did it and I’m psyched. Even though we missed the views at the very top, we had such amazing views all along, truly stunning, that I don’t feel like I missed out.

The Camping Americans

I hate to take comfort in other people’s misery, but we met these two Americans from Arizona who were travelling with an entourage of nine porters and two guides and I can’t believe how thankful I was every time I saw them. It turns out they had signed up to do a trek in the west and off the beaten path, but the company got worried about Maoist activities and changed their itinerary. To say the least this type of expedition is completely unnecessary on the circuit we were on. Nevertheless, they braved on in their tents every night, in the backyard of guesthouses, while their porters stayed in rooms inside. But after a snow storm or two, the started to get a bit cranky and just wanted a hot shower. So while I appreciated my time in the guesthouses, my appreciation increased exponentially when I saw them.

Trekking Fuel

I must say, I enjoyed the food on the most part. Dal Bhaat isn’t nearly as dreary as many others made it sound. There is a surprising amount of variation in the dish – the consistency of the dal lentils, the kind of curry, presence and type of pickle etc. Knowing that you have an unlimited plate of hot food coming to you at lunch or dinner is a great motivator (to continue walking and to order the dal bhaat). The thing that killed me was that we denied ourselves of the noodles, since they were generally ramen noodles and we saw a lot of the packaging ending up in the rivers and streams near the villages. The first thing I did when I got into town was order noodles. And I don’t know how this has come about, but I’ve had, hands down, the best oatmeal (that’s porridge for you brits), ever on this trip. Nepalis make delicious creamy perfectly sweetened oat porridge.

Becoming British

We ended up on the same schedule as four Brits (Will, Nicky, Louise and Curtis) and a Dutch guy (Mark) and it was really great. After trekking on our own for five nights we were ready for some company. We had met other trekkers who were pleasant, but it was nice to be I the company of people you really enjoyed. And playing poker with them.
It was great fun hanging out with everyone, but Simon and I are slowly turning into Brits ourselves after spending so much time with them. We’re starting to pick up their speech patterns. Hopefully, we won’t ended up speaking with half assed accents a la Madonna and will just continue to use the adjective "nice" to describe our food and be pleased with we are served tea with "proper" milk.

Yoga Dreaming

So I’m slated to start a two day yoga retreat tonight. The irony is that I’m a little nervous about it. I don’t know why. It’s something I want to do, though the schedule sounds a bit challenging (getting up at 6 am for meditation and doing things until 8 pm), but I know it will be good. While I’ve seen the center, there is definitely a fear of the unknown here. I’m a little jealous of Simon who will be zen with HBO in our guesthouse.

Kathmandu and the Annapurna Circuit

Now having been in Nepal for almost a month, it’s hard to sum it up in single entry. Blame on three weeks trekking without internet access. Sorry no photos. I’m on another slow connection.

Arrival in Kathmandu

Upon exit from the airport, a fierce pack of taxi drivers descended on us, offering us rides and hotel rooms with an intensity we‘d never seen in S. America. I eventually settled on one of the more demure guys, who, rather than trying to hard sell us, simply asked me what we were planning on doing in his country.

However, as we walked away from the terminal, another taxi driver called out to us, “He not real taxi driver! Bad man!” Vaguely disturbing. But we stuck with him, and, thankfully, he delivered us safely to Mitu, the wife of Asheesh, our Nepali friend we met last fall at Todd and Jacquie’s wedding.

Asheesh, Mitu, and their 1-year old daughter live in Patan, a city just outside Kathmandu. They made us feel extremely welcome, particularly since Asheesh had just gotten home after 6 months in the US. Thanks, guys! You’re welcome anytime you find yourself in El Cerrito, one of America’s great tourist destinations. We have a Macaroni Grill, you know.

Kathmandu Impressions

I now appreciate what people mean when they say, “Total sensory overload.” I’d always chalked that phrase up to hyperbole, but seriously, the city blew my mind. Bikes, smoke belching motorcycles, minibuses, pedestrians, and cars clog the streets. People whose ethnicities span the spectrum from East Asian to South Asian, wear everything from colorful saris to Linkin Park t-shirts. Vendors squeeze into every conceivable corner and alleyway. Ancient brick buildings slowly crumble on themselves, people chop up entire sides of buffalo on the street (blood running into the gutter), beggars slouch on temple steps, dumplings steam pours out of a streetcart, Nepali music blares from every stall, trekkers paw through one knock off North Face jacket after another, bolts of fabric drape from windows above, the guttural hawking and spitting, the smell of roasting peas and curry. We’d dive into alleyways choked with people, then stumble onto a quiet courtyard smelling of incense and pigeons. A yellow haze hangs over the city, blocking the views of the mountains beyond.

Just walking through town felt like an extreme sport. I wanted to stop and stare at everything, but couldn’t for fear of being hit by motorbikes, who push their way through the crowds while blaring their horns.

The place feels really really old, and really really alive. There’s no need for a museum, when history is part of the everyday. In the middle of Patan, people queue up at fresh water springs with tin carafes, just as they have for hundreds of years. Minutes away from the best hospital in the country (where Mitu works) families have never seen a doctor in their lives, treating illnesses with folk remedies. Asheesh showed us through a busy temple, ruled by rats, then brought us to another with throngs of people worshipping in a dozen different ways (paint, smoke, sacrifice, music, money, fire, food, paper, etc.) to a dozen different gods. Just across from the second temple, we stopped by a family friend’s tiny three-room flat in an ancient building. Here, Asheesh dropped off an MP3 player as a gift from the States.

To be honest, all this was unsustainable. The noise, crowds, pollution, and intense foreignness of it all wore us out only after four days, and Jen and I had to escape for the countryside and trekking.

The Annapurna Circuit

Three weeks trekking may sound intense, but the circuit around the Annapurna range is lined with villages and guest houses. It’s less like camping, more of a walk from town to town. You could do the whole thing without a sleeping bag. I’d been expecting to stay in dark bedbug-ridden holes, and was pleasantly surprised to find clean, comfortable mattresses and sunny rooms.

While many trekkers do the circuit with a porter and/or guide, carrying only a daypack, we opted to do the heavy lifting ourselves. We’d been hardened by weeks of trekking in South America, after all, and, frankly, the thought of spending that much time alone with a guide was daunting and potentially oppressive. We’d had our fair share of mediocre guides and couldn’t imagine hanging out with them 24-7 for 3 weeks.

I don’t think we ever regretted this decision, but we definitely suffered more than other trekkers, who moved much more quickly with their light packs. My big toes, about 2 weeks into the trek, were strained, getting increasingly sore every day. Crossing the Thorong Pass at 5400 meters was the hardest thing Jen has ever done. She could barely catch her breath at that altitude and had to hand over some of her weight to me (more on that later). Still, it feels satisfying to have made our own decisions and carried our own weight.

The Standard Discussion on Food

Nepal is not known for its cuisine. The country lives on dal (a thin lentil soup) and baht (steamed white rice). And while many guest houses on the Annapurna Circuit offer noodles, fried rice, and some bastardized forms of Italian and Mexican food, you’re usually pushing your luck if you go beyond the standard dal baht set, which also includes a vegetable curry of some kind. Besides, dal baht is nutritious, easy to cook, and the kitchen is making it for themselves anyway, thereby saving fuel. And it’s all you can eat. The cook would come out, even after we were only half finished, and spoon huge heapings of rice, curry, and lentils onto our plates.

So for the first week we dutifully ate dal baht twice a day. At first, I was game, hungry after hours of walking. But after only a couple of days, I ate with little pleasure, only to refuel. To be fair, the dal baht set did change slightly from guesthouse to guesthouse. Yellow or brown dal; occasionally a papadam; sometimes potato curry, sometimes vegetable curry; hey look, a little pickle on the side! Our morning oatmeal offered blessed relief. We varied our choice of tea in a desperate attempt for diversity.

When we finally met and started hanging out with other trekkers, we were amazed to see them order off the other, more exotic sections of the menu. Enchiladas, macaroni, tomato soup! It’s amazing the things you can do with ketchup! One place (Bob Marley Guest House in Muktinath, one of the more remote spots on the circuit) actually served pesto gnocchi (possibly made with parsley). We quickly fell off the dal baht wagon, cutting back to once a day. This was a good move, or I would have lost even more weight on the trip.

Kumar, one of the guides we met, gushed passionately about a “very good dal baht” in Khathmandu. I thought, “Sure, buddy. I’ve had dal baht every day for the last two weeks and not once have I thought, ‘This is dramatically different than the stuff I had yesterday.’ You expect me to believe there’s some super special dal baht in Kathmandu that will blow my mind?”

Then one day we had lunch at a guesthouse with a noticeably tastier dal baht set. The pickle was more vibrant, the dal more rich, and the curry currier. So that’s what this stuff is supposed to taste like! Kumar later explained that he considers that the best dal baht on the circuit. It’s like I’d been eating Spaghettio’s my whole life, and never tasted fresh pasta. I resolved to track down Kumar’s mythical dal baht.

The Scenery

The Annapurna Circuit is the most popular trek in Nepal, partly because of the diverse scenery which changes as the trail ascends to the Thorong Pass at the northern end of the circuit, then descends once more into more populated areas.

I’d break it down this way:

The first third of the circuit is unimpressive, hot, and littered with donkey shit and candy bar wrappers. The hills are scarred by deforestation and the villages are uninteresting and crummy. Garbage fires burn constantly.

The second third of the circuit blew me away. Snow capped peaks, clear skies, crazy blizzards, empty deserts, prayer flags fluttering over remote monasteries. Twice we walked on fresh snow, with blue skies and towering mountains in every direction. The Himalayas make Argentina’s Fitzroy look quaint. These days made the trek worthwhile for me.

The last third is more mellow, but certainly beautiful in a subtle way. Quiet rice terraces, blooming rhododendron forests, colorful rocks along the riverbeds, ancient well-preserved villages. A nice way to round out the trek.

The Annapurna region is not a wild place. At the top of the Thorong Pass, for example, the most inaccessible point on the trail, people sell tea out of a stone hut during peak trekking season. But the human element, the culture which shifts with the scenery, also adds to the trek’s appeal. I’ve heard, for example, that this area has become more like Tibet than Tibet, ever since the Han Chinese have driven hordes of Tibetans across the border.

Thorong Pass

The Thorong Pass represents the high point, literally, of the circuit, at over 5400 meters. At that altitude, acute mountain sickness (AMS) becomes a serious threat. Trekkers must creep up to the pass slowly, taking rest days at slightly lower elevations. As you ascend, your breath becomes shorter and sleep becomes more difficult. Moving at anything beyond a snail’s pace immediately causes your heart to start racing and your breath to become panicky. Other trekkers we met suffered vertigo, headaches, and nausea. Some had to turn around and walk all the way back past the crappy first third of the circuit. For days before the Thorong Pass, trekkers obsess over it, considering AMS, acclimatization strategies, the weather, clothing, estimated time to get up and down, departure hour.

So it was a huge relief when Jen and I finally set off at 5AM in below freezing temps, ascending the pass to the light of our headlamps. This was magical. Stars overhead, a handful of blinking flashlights on the trail below, no sound but my steady breathing and the slow crunching of my boots. I’d just finished The Snow Leopard, a great book about the Himalayas and Buddhism, and appreciated how the altitude forced me to slow down, calm my breath, and think only about the next step. A funny Zen gift.

As dawn broke, the mountains emerged around us. Other trekkers appeared, smiles on their red faces. We climbed slowly but steadily to the pass across a gray lunar landscape.

Towards the summit, though, the sun, which had failed to break through all morning, disappeared behind a dark cloud. The wind picked up, snow started to fall in steady wet flakes, and the temperature dropped. The snow obscured the path, forcing us to move hesitantly, and I could barely make out the trail markers, ghostly poles every 200 meters. By then, after almost five hours of sustained climbing, Jen was spent, stopping to catch her breath every four steps. Dressed lightly for the climb and waiting for Jen to catch up, I began to feel the panicky edge of hypothermia. Finding our way up the pass would be, at best, a struggle under these conditions. A Swedish-Scottish couple in front of us appeared equally tired, the guy constantly stopping to sit in the snow. Images of getting lost in the storm began creeping into my head.

Thankfully, at that point, a guided trekking group who had been trailing us all morning appeared, and I told Jen, “We need to keep up with these guys!” She transferred a bunch of gear into my pack, and with a lightened load managed to hang with the group. I scrambled after them. Twenty minutes later we reached the summit and people began high-fiving all around. Jen’s huge smile and hug showed her relief.

While the group celebrated, I ducked into the tea hut, a tiny stone building, closed for the season, to put on more clothes and cram in some biscuits. I knew we weren’t out of the woods yet, with a five hour descent still facing us and the storm showing no sign of letting up. Pitch black inside, I stumbled, and looked up to see a haggard bearded face with intense blue eyes staring back at me. The guy, a little dazed, explained in thick Russian accent that he had come up the pass from the other side and would wait out the storm before descending. I looked doubtfully over his ratty backpack, which I had tripped over, and hoped he was prepared to spend a cold cold night. It would be well below freezing even in the hut.

One of the trekking group stumbled inside, struggling to put on his rain gear. Early hypothermia had set in, and he fumbled with his shoe laces and grew combative as his guide tried to assist. “Bloody boots,” he kept saying over and over again. “Well they’re just going to have to wait!”

Things had clearly gotten a little out of hand. It was still dumping. We had to get off this mountain.

The descent went on forever. We slid down icy trails, peered through the mist for trail markers, and traversed steep snow fields, stopping only to eat biscuits and chocolate. Roberto, another trekker we’d met the day before, eventually caught up to us. He’d started late and got a little lost on the pass, suffering some hallucinations in the snow. Fortunately, he’d managed to follow our footsteps down the mountain. When the three of us stopped at a tea hut at the base of the pass to suck down a thermos of hot lemon, we were all soaked, cold, and exhausted.

Finally, ten hours after we started that morning, we walked into the Bob Marley Guesthouse to a hot shower, tomato soup, warm chapattis, and a wood burning stove. The rest of the trekkers had arrived hours ago, and confessed to being seriously worried about us, as we were the last ones over the pass that day (with the exception of one other couple who moved even more slowly than we did).

The snow continued through the next day, shutting down the pass. Everyone spent the next day in the guesthouse, playing cards and drinking tea. (Jen and I found the one poker player in the group. We taught the game to a guide and two other trekkers and proceeded to play seven straight no limit Hold ‘Em tournaments that afternoon. Jen one won, I won two. We would play many more games over the next few days. Poker + Mountains + Thermos of Hot Tea = Heaven.)

The next morning we woke early, looked out of frosted windows to find blue skies, an amphitheater of enormous peaks, and fields of pristine snow everywhere.

The Strike

I won’t bore you with the details of Nepal’s political situation, but Maoist insurgents are currently engaged in an ongoing conflict with the royal government. Every so often, they call a “strike,” preventing all vehicles from traveling on intercity roads. The country grinds to a halt during these strikes.

Sadly, the Maoists announced a strike while we were on the trek, muddying our transport situation from the trailhead back to Pokhara.

Over the last few days of the circuit, we’d heard varying accounts of the situation, but all we could do was walk out to the trailhead and hope for the best. I steadfastly refused to walk another two days on a road into town.

So yesterday morning, we plopped our backpacks down on the road, prepared to wait. Locals came by, trying to convince us that walking two days to Pokhara was our only option. But we knew several other trekkers had managed to scam rides. A burnt frame of a government bus, set aflame by Maoists just three days before, sat by the side of the road, an ominous sign. (We were reassured that the Maoists had let everyone get off the bus before torching it.) A soldier said we’d just missed our chance to hop on an ambulance fifteen minutes ago. One guy offered to bring us on the back of his motorcycle in two trips. Two and a half hours crawled by. We had a cup of milk tea, read our books, and watched the steady parade of walkers to Pokhara.

Suddenly, without warning, a local bus roared around the corner, the conductor yelling at us to hurry and grabbing our bags. Seeing as how this was the only viable transport we’d seen all morning, we shrugged and hopped on. The guy was clearly taking a chance that he wouldn’t run into any Maoists, since the army had appeared in force after the bus torching incident. Everyone aboard, all locals, seemed a little edgy but were glad to pay a premium for the ride to town. Every time the bus would slow to pick up passengers, people would crane their necks to see what was happening. Folks by the side of the road would look up and point at us, apparently surprised to see a bus coming by.

We finally arrived two hours later in Pokhara, and promptly checked into a lux hotel with cable TV, a private bath, and a great view of the lake. Nepal’s political situation has killed tourism, so we were able to negotiate a great $25/night rate in what would normally be a $45 room. Consider that we’d been living on $10/day for the past three weeks, and never paid more that $2 for a room. Hot showers on the circuit were few and far between, electricity spotty at best. So this was a big deal.

Today, all we’ve done is have a big breakfast, laze around, and watch TV. Jen is looking into a yoga retreat, I may go rafting. Life is good.

Last Word on Laos

Vang Vieng

Virtually every backpacker who swings by Vang Vieng’s floats 3 kilometers down the Nam Song river in a giant inner tube. “Tubing,” amazingly enough, has made this tiny outpost a major stopover for Southeast Asia travelers. In fact, I’d say the entire town’s identity and economy revolves around tubing, with some ancillary outdoor activities also thrown into the mix.

Jen and I did the tubing thing, and admittedly found it a pretty fun and relaxing way to spend an afternoon. It’s not what I would call exciting - at this time of year, the river runs *really* slowly – but still – enjoyable. You float by riverside bars that look like part of the Swiss Family Robinson set, you have a Beerlao, you play volleyball, you take a turn on the rope swing...what’s not to like? Actually, Jen did find that it’s best to let go off the rope swing at the top, not bottom of the arc. She pretty much plowed into the water at top speed, much to the delight and horror of onlookers.

Vientiane

Our last Laos stop, Vientiane, had neither the grace of Luang Prabang nor the hedonistic vibe of Vang Vieng. Like our buddy Khanh said, “It’s dead, dude. Like Sacramento.”

But I did like seeing a city where tourism was a relatively minor part of daily life. Even in the most touristy areas, t-shirt shops and backpackers were few and far between. However, there are a lot of ex-pats in the city, thanks to all the embassies and foreign aid agencies. So you could get a great pain au chocolate along with your super strong Laos coffee in the morning. In fact, just for a change of scenery, we went to see a screwball French lesbian comedy at the French Cultural Center. As we walked to the theater, I had great hopes of enjoying pre-screening cocktails with all the French ex-pat glitterati. “Ah, remember the good old days, Pierre?” they would say. “Yes, colonialism was the best, wasn’t it?” So I was sorely disappointed to see only two other people at the theater. They did seem French, at least.

Basically, we walked around town all day, just getting a feel for the place. I liked this sign, on the giant monument in the center of town (I’d add a photo but I'm on a real slow connection):

“At the northeastern end of Lanexang Avenue arises a huge structure resembling the Arc de Triomphe. It is the Victory Gate of Ventiane, built in 1962, but never complete [sic] due to the country’s turbulent history. From a closer distance it appears even less impressive, like a monster of concrete.”

I think Vientiane’s PR and marketing department could use a little help. “Monster of concrete?” Ouch.

Oh, the hot soymilk we had from a street vendor was great. One of the best street foods yet.

Goodbye Laos, Hello Nepal

We’re staying at a friend’s place just outside of Kathmandu. My first impression of the city is that it is friggin’ amazing and insane. For the first time on this trip I feel like I’m seeing a place that’s totally unfamiliar and new. Total sensory overload. Tomorrow we leave on a 21-day trek around Annapurna. More when we return…

Asking For It

(This is an old post, I had trouble publishing a few days ago)... Asking For It should have been the title of Simon's Bangkok post. I think I cursed myself, as I joked with some friends back at home about needing to eat some improperly handled food to lose all the weight I gained while on the Marco Polo and from the Argentine steaks, fries and quarter kilo tubs of ice cream. On my last day in SF, of all places, I developed a stomach ache which had stuck with me through the flight to Asia. I wasn't particularly hungry but did my best to have a bite of everything that Simon ate. And of course, I got sick. I'll spare you the gory detials, it wasn't that bad, but I didn't want to venture too far away from our guest house for a few days. But I'm okay now (though the same weight) and ready to conquer, after all, I am in noodle heaven. But I agree who heartedly about our obsession with food. Had I set up the blog, I would have given it the subtitle: Where Simon and Louie eat their way through two (three) continents. I really do believe that food is the best way to understand a culture. I took a cooking course in town and learned how to make a fried rice salad, a meat salad, a local beef stew, ginger fish (not that good) and chicken steamed in banana leaves - all things that I don't have the proper equipment or spices to make at home. But it was a really neat experience.

Luang Prabang: The Adventure Continues

Luang Prabang

(Blogger seems to be messing with its photo function and it has a few bugs. I'll add some later.)

Luang Prabang ranks as one of the most beautiful cities we've seen, right up there with Salvador, Brazil. And like Salvador, Luang Prabang has a staff of foreign and local architects constantly working to preserve the city's historical resources, thanks to its designation as a UNESCO World Heritage site. The cities architectural riches include over 30 functioning Buddhist temples - golden towers with graceful swooping eaves - nestled among historic French colonial buildings. The city's pedestrian-friendly layout is the stuff of city planners' wet dreams.

The streets are active, but not noisy, with a steady stream of motorcabs and bicycles. Orange-robed monks stroll alongside tourists in Tevas, school children, and Lao women in colorful native skirts. Tree-lined brick alleys weave among quiet temples, and open air restaurants line the Mekong River, selling fruit shakes, curries, beer, and barbecue.

Luang Prabang's highlight, however, is its night market. This three block long handicraft fair appears on the main street every evening, with people selling handwoven fabrics, local food, wood carvings, knickknacks, and the ubiquitous Beerlao t-shirts. The vendors lounge on colorful rugs, lit by strings of yellow lightbulbs. Unlike many night markets, a strange hush hangs over the street. People speak in low murmurs, as if in a library. A "saba dee" here and there, some quiet bargaining, but no radios or salespeople trying to push anything on you. The loudest noise is the chanting of the monks in the surrounding temples at sundown.

In fact, this peacefulness is Luang Prabang's defining characteristic. Unlike Bahia, Brazil, which prides itself on its "traquilo" beach vibe, the feeling here is more Zen calm than afternoon siesta.

Shared Encounters

Over the last two days, we did an overnight trek to some native villages outside of the city. The landscape was "more interesting than beautiful," as described by an Aussie girl we met. Villagers have decimated the local flora and fauna through heavy slash and burn agriculture, and the hillsides are a checkerboard of bare spots and new growth.

Laos is made up of several distinct ethnic groups, with the Lao, Hmong, and Khmu the most widely recognized in the Luang Prabang region. These cultures vary significantly in terms of religion and language, as well as more obscure characteristics like the number of doors in their houses, the altitude they live at, and how they carry firewood. Our trek took us through each of these communities, and ended at a Hmong village where we spent the night at an elder's house.

The poverty in these villages is harsh, though folks seem to manage pretty well with subsistence agriculture. Clothes and flashlight batteries seem to be the major supplies they need from town. However, you can see major problems on the horizon, as the Lao government continues to urge villages to move down the hillsides and consolidate closer to roads, utilities, schools, and other infrastructure. This process will inevitably lead to conflicts as villages become more crowded and resources scarce. God only knows how their distinct cultures will be affected over time. Understandably, the government hopes to promote education and economic development in these rural areas, but you have to wonder if folks would be better off just living the same way they have for hundreds of years.

Derek, the cheezy French Canadian manager of our trekking service insists on referring to the village visits as "sharing an encounter."* Though appallingly PC, I think it accurately describes the bizarre cultural exchange that occurs on these treks. We ogle the dirt floors, native dress, babies crawling unsupervised through rocks, and livestock everywhere, while they marvel at our digital cameras, inflatable matresses, clunky hiking boots, and IPods. (One of the guys on our tour discovered the kids could get down to SnoopDogg, bopping up and down while sharing the headphones, but got bored with Miles Davis. Good beats are universal, apparently.) While the villagers see a relatively steady stream of trekkers, tourists still remain somewhat of a novelty, as evidenced by the children that gathered to stare everywhere we went.**

Throughout these shared encounters, I felt creepy and voyeuristic. You can't help it, particularly when you step into a smelly hot dark hut and think, "I'm in for a grim night." The fact that you paid more money than this family will see this year to have this experience only makes it worse ($50 each, for the record). That being said, playing with the children, letting the local men take a few hammy karate pose photos of each other with the camera, learning local vocab with the help of a phrase book - anything besides sitting in a corner, quietly observing, helps to ease this tension for me. By morning, I even felt more comfortable in the hut and with the villagers.

How the West Has Won

I don't know why SE Asia seems so much more vulnerable to Western culture than South America. The catering to tourists is even more pronounced than in Cuzco, Peru, probably the most touristy town we've seen thus far. (Ushuaia, Argentina is touristy, but in the same way Times Square is touristy. You know what I mean.) Whole towns, like Vang Vieng, our current location, are overwhelmed by tourists. Vang Vieng is infamous for the Friends Bars, three open air bars right next to one another showing a constant stream of Friends episodes to stoned or drunk backpackers. (Aighhh! There is no God!!) Somehow, even the most touristy South American destination appears less compromised than this. It's not just a question of size, either, as much of Bangkok, a huge city, is just as ready to lay itself prostate to the tourist dollar.

To its credit, Luang Prabang has made efforts to protect itself from tourists. Posters are everywhere explaining how to behave yourself at the monks' daily alms ritual. Another poster gives tips on how to conduct yourself as a tourist, my favorite being "Maintain good hygiene, or prepare to be laughed at." There's a little cartoon of nasty barefoot hippes with torn clothes and locals pointing and laughing. Priceless. Even Vang Vieng guesthouses have handwritten signs pleading tourists to maintain a neat appearance.

Lao Disco

Last night we went to the local disco, upon recommendation from Derek. It was excellent. When we came in, people were dancing to standard club technopop, albeit with a little more restraint than Westerners would. The action realy picked up, though, when the live music came on. The act, which looked like a wedding band with 40-year old men in suits, played what can only be described as "adult contemporary" Lao music, which fired the crowd up into a series of complex line dances. The people broke it down in a reserved, yet strangely charming way, never touching, never making any sharp or aggressive movements. As is typical in Laos, the place shut down at 11:30pm sharp.

I Can't Stop Eating

The other day I rented a tiny pink girl's bike with a basket and biked around Luang Prabang, stopping whenever I saw a food vendor.

Between the street food bike trip and just walking around, I've tried:
A fried empanada filled with sweet corn
Fresh sugar cane juice on ice (served in a plastic bag)
A sweet waffle, possibly made with taro
Mystery meat on a stick, grilled over coals
Salty sticky rice cooked on a stick (the one thing I haven't really liked thus far)
Grab bag of savory and sweet pastries and cookies
Orange cake
Sugar coated fried dough (i.e., a donut)
Dinner several times at a street buffet at the night market. You pick veggies, rice, and noodles, toss them into a bowl, and the lady heats it all up in a wok. You pour on various sauces at the table. $0.50 for this.
Noodles.

All in all, I'd say the food is similar to Thai, but generally less vibrant and tasty. It's good, but not amazing.

* One of Derek's clients came into the office while we were there, and complained that his motorcab driver had brought him to a handicraft store on the way to the trailhead. Derek, equally pissed, exclaimed, "But that's not a shared encounter!"

** Between our time in Iquitos, a random bike trip Jen and I made to a village across the Mekong from Luang Prabang, and this 2-day trek, I've become pretty adept at entertaining the kids. Digital cameras are especially great for this.

One Night in Bangkok

(I mean, I had to use that title, right?)

48 Hours in the East Bay

Following a three stopover flight from BA to SFO and 24 hours of travel, we stumbled into Neil and Rachel's apartment exhausted, but happy to be home. After three months of traveling, I was struck by the easy access to an enormous fridge, cold potable water from the tap, a big fluffy comforter, and the plush toilet paper. (I swear it's at least 250 thread count. Stop over sometime.)

We spent the two days madly doing errands, eating a lot of Mexican food (I had it three times), filing our tax extension, and trading out some stuff from our house, which seems in good shape (knock on wood).

Jen has also realized the job market is bleak. That, combined with a few other factors, has made us toy with the idea of an extra two months in Asia (we had planned on three). It's embarassingly indulgent, I know, but all signs point to yes. That would give us enough time to take a crash course in Mandarin and really trek the Himalayas to our heart's content. We'll see...

Food Porn En Route to Laos

We're now spending the night in Bangkok, basically eating as much street food as possible and getting Thai massages (insert happy ending joke here).

While home, my boss at BAE asked me why we dedicate so much blog space to food. It's true. We love it. While traveling, I spend the day wondering what to have for dinner, or, in the case of Argentina, planning my ice cream combo for the evening. We have long discussions on Top 5 Meals of the trip, regularly updating the list as new entries appear. (For the record, most of them were in Brazil, with the boar as a strong Argentina entry.) The Bottom 5 are equally debated. (Peru, sadly, is well represented, though, to be fair, one of those meals was on a bus)

Given this food obsession, Thailand is AWESOME. While the commercialism and rampant backpacker scene turns me off, I could spend two days just wandering from street vendor to street vendor. In fact, that's what I'm doing now.

In the last seven hours, I've had a spicy green curry with rice, a banana crepe with condensed milk, barbecue chicken on a stick, these crunchy savory/sweet taco-like things (my favorite so far), fresh cucumbers and deep fried fish fritters in a spicy sweet sauce, pineapple wedges on a stick, and a rambutan fruit shake (a bold, possibly unwise move since it was made with unidentified water and ice). And nothing was more than $1.

Tomorrow we leave at 1:30pm for Laos, so I have the morning to keep going. On my hit list: mango sticky rice, green papaya salad, assorted meats on a stick, and whatever else I can find. I cannot, however, bring myself to have the grasshoppers or grubs, which they sell on a stick or in a bag like popcorn. I'm a big baby, I know. If it were Fear Factor, I'd be walking off in slow motion, with a voiceover saying how proud I was to make it that far. But, hell, you can see the wings and eyes and antennae and everything! (See photo. I think this guy should rethink his business plan and charge people just to take the photo, because I suspect he has more photographers than bug buyers.)

Quick Thoughts on Bangkok

At a glance, it looks a lot like Manila. But the traces of Buddhism (wats all over), the unparalleled street life, and the tourists everywhere really stand out as different.

No place we saw in Peru, Brazil, or Argentina had quite the concentration of foreign tourists as our little backpacker ghetto in Bangkok. In this neighborhood, we outnumber the locals by far. Also, I'm a little disturbed by how well they cater to us. They really have us pegged. Right now, for example, they're showing Napoleon Dynamite in the bar behind me. The t-shirts, Lonely Planet books, backpacks, and other crap for sale are EXACTLY the sort of things we need and want. Frankly, it just seems too contrived. Dorky white guys with tiny Thai women on their arms are everywhere. Like Leonardo di Caprio in The Beach, I, too, long for an "authentic" experience, not just one made for foreign consumption. (Just one of many ways Leo and I are alike. It's eerie, really.) I know this is problematic, but there it is.

That being said, I dig the energy and vibe of Bangkok on a Saturday night. It's really really fun. I could sit and drink cold beers on the street, watching the people go by all night, occasionally wandering over to the nearest vendor to get more meat on a stick.

Unhijacked Thoughts on Antartica

Nargh, I accidently lost this post the other day, so I'm gonna have to try to recreate the wheel here...Most of this is old news, since we've actually left Argentina and are back in SF for two days before Asia...

Happy Belated Chinese New Year! So I am glad that Simon hijacked my blog and added more info on the trip. I was getting a bit tired during that blog, b/c for some reason, I was feeling a little seasick being off the boat. Wierd I know, but I felt like I was walking on matresses all day. Anyhoo, there were a few things that I wanted to emphasis, clarify and add to the Antarctica blog that weren't there before.

Ready for the Titantic

Okay, Simon talked about formal night briefly, but this definitely deserves some elaboration because you really have to know how terrible we looked. So once we learned of the formal nights, Janine and I scrambled around trying tofind clothes that weren't made out of some quick-dry high-tech fabric or denim. We ended up getting these black pants for about $20 US. You can't go wrong with black, right? The guys said they weren't interested in buying suits, so they said the would opt for dinner at the alternative dining room. Alix, Janine and I figured we'd just have a girls night.

But we learned a few hours before the first formal dinner, that the guys could borrow suits from the boat. And surely enough, our trusty cabin steward, Exor, delivered an "outfit" to our door 20 minutes before dinner started. (Yes, his name was really "Exor.") These are the outfits that Simon, Alan and Yossei were sporting in the previous Antarctica posting. If you look closely you will notice that Simon's hiking boot seems a little more exposed the others. You might think it's an issue with the camera angle, but sadly no. Simon's pants were about three sizes too small, and the hem of the pants barely skimmed the top of his boots. He looked like he was ready for the Marco Polo to take on water. We actually tried to take a picture of the hem of the pants, but no joke, the flash reflected off the shine of his black pants and the image was washed out. In addition, he had to use safety pins to close up his pants. Thankfully he had a double breasted jacket.

This outfit looked truly horrendous and I can't believe they would even loan them out on the ships. The scene could have been worse, Simon was initially going to wear his white trainers (that's "sneakers" for those of you who haven't been spending too much time with Brits) with the outfit, which I convinced him out of. But I laughed all the way to dinner. And when Janine noticed his pants, she was laughing to the point of tears. She had been suffering through some bad seasickness for most of the day, but she said that all the laughing cured her and was begging him not to take the pants off. So much for Dramamine.

I should say that I wasn't looking so great either. I wore these mint green shoes with black pants. The pants I had gotten were too long and I had to duct tape them up on the boat (which was a trick I learned as an intern in DC). It was quite the scene before dinner as Simon was pinning his pants and I was duct taping mine.

I should also mention Tom and Mary, the couple seated at our table as well. They were an older couple and incredibly sweet. They assured us on the first night that we wouldn't have a problem getting into the formal nights, and if we did, they told us to just call over to them, and say "Grandma, were here!" They were seasoned travellers themselves and it was clear that they were fairly well off, but they kept saying sincerely, that it has been a very good life and that they were so lucky to have good health, a wonderful family and successful careers. It's something that is really wonderful to hear someone say and you don't hear it enough. And when Mary saw me and Simon waiting for the dining room doors to be be opened, she said "My don't you two look nice! It would be an honor to dine with you." As I said, incredibly sweet.

I have to hand it to Simon who pulled it off the night with class. If it were me, I would have opted to eat alone at the buffet table for dinner. And if Simon had laughed at my outfit all the way to dinner, I would have thrown him overboard. Honestly, I have no idea if this comes across as being funny to you - might be something you just have to see - but I'm still laughing as I write about this for the second time. This has to be one of my favorite memories of the trip so far.

Things That Were Meant to Be

I am still amazed at how everything worked out the way it did for the trip and it really happened because of an odd set of coincidences.

First of all, we would have never even met Alan and Janine, if we weren't put on the same trekking group on the Inca Trail. And I don't think Alan and I would have been able to convince our significant others on our own. But our joint enthusiam, along with the fact that there would be another couple to hangout with on the boat, really helped convince Simon and Janine.

Second, and this is small, but really significant. The day we found the tickets we were slated to go hiking with Alan and Janine, but when we met up, Simon realized he forgot his camera. While he went back for it, Alan mentioned the deal he had heard about the night before. By the time Simon came back, the seed was planted and fertilizing in my mind. This sparked the day long search for tickets across Ushuaia. If Simon hadn't forgotten the camera, and we had gone on a hike as planned, we wouldn't have had the time to research these tickets.

(I have to say, Alan and I were on the same page all day. Our thought processes were remarkable similar. We both saw it as an opportunity of a lifetime and were really determined to see it through. We felt that we would be satisfied if someone at the end of the line just said, "I'm sorry, it's too late." But we never got that response. Instead we always got another phone number, another agency to try. And when we got the last number to call at 5 pm, I looked at Alan and said, "Okay, last number." And of course, that was the magic number.)

Third, if we hadn't missed the boat the first time we wouldn't have gone with Alix, who we met in Buenos Aires. I had been thinking about emailing here while I was in Ushuaia to see if she was around, but I got bogged down with a job application. Holger, one of the people who witnessed our high fiving the first time around, decided to try to go on the cruise the following week, but needed a cabinmate. Alix arrived in town the day he put up a sign in her hostal. As soon as Alan and Janine mentioned that Holger had found a cabinmate who was a British girl named Alix, I knew it was her.

It was amazing to meet up again with three people whom we really liked from our previous travels and spend a week with them on the boat. It certainly wouldn't have been nearly as much fun. You meet a lot of really great people along the way, but you rarely spend more than a day or two with them before you part ways. So it's nice when you can meet people again and that goodbye isn't forever.

Last Stop: Bariloche, Argentina

It´s almost too easy here. The food is delicious and reasonably priced, we´re camping in a nice lady´s backyard, the weather is wonderful, and the trekking is gorgeous. Sadly, we hop a bus this afternoon to Buenos Aires, then head back home to SF. On the plus side, we´ve heard great things about the buses here. We opted for the one with a super reclining chair (almost bedlike), since it´s a 20+ hour trip. Apparently, it´s like being in first class on an airplane. They bring around drinks (including alcohol), food, and of course there will be movies.

Eat Bariloche

Bariloche is a lot like Lake Tahoe, a ski town right next to a big blue lake, surrounded by snow capped peaks. The shopping is probably a little more touristy than you´ll find in Tahoe, but it´s not too obnoxious.

The city has lived up to its reputation for great food, which we´ve been sampling liberally since we don´t have access to a stove (in Argentina we´ve typically been buying groceries and cooking ourselves). In the photo I´m about to dig into a plate of wild boar with a brown mushroom sauce, potato puffs, and carmelized carrots. Boar is a local specialty, and as a big Asterix fan, I had to try it. One of the best meals of the trip thus far. (You´ll also see my hair at the longest it´s been in years.)

Prices are decent which made dining out more reasonable. The boar cost $9 at a fancy restaurant, and you can get a whole roast chicken with fries for $6. Big plate of spaghetti with bolognesa sauce - $2. Quarter kilo of the best ice cream ever, with three flavors - $2.15 (dark chocolate with orange bits, passion fruit, and chocolate chip was my Dream Team combo after eating there almost every night). A dozen beef empanadas - $2.30.

Trek Bariloche

We did a couple of overnights to huts in the local national park. The first involved a hellish slog on a hot, steep, blood-sucking fly infested, dusty trail. The flies there were the size of nickels, buzz in your ears, and hurt like hell when they bite. You couldn´t stop to rest or appreciate any views (which were limited) because you´d instantly be swarmed. It was all worth it once we got above treeline, though. The hut, an impeccably maintained cabin with a wood stove, beautiful kitchen, and spectacular 360 degree vista, was perched at the edge of an enormous glacier. Giant Andean condors circled overhead. Seriously. See photo at sunrise.

The second trek took took us along a ridge with awesome views of the valley below, jagged volcanic spires above, and some surprisingly impressive exposure. At some points we had to do minor hand clambering over big drops. Super fun.

I would definitely come back here to do some longer treks. I could imagine one month in Patagonia spent backpacking in parks around Bariloche, Fitz Roy, and Torres del Paine in Chile (which we skipped in favor of Antarctica).

Asia Next, Specifically Laos

It´ll be weird shifting gears in Asia. I expect language problems, more weather extremes, bad stomachs, and dirtier hostels and bathrooms. But at least the food will be exciting and cheap. Like I said, Argentina was just too easy. We´ve gone all soft.

Antarctica, The Final Frontier

Paso de la Oveja

Before getting on the cruise, Jen and I spent 3 days backpacking in the Tierra del Fuego National Park just north of Ushuaia. The trip involved 2 days of muddy rainy swamp hopping and one spectacular day walking over the "Sheep´s Pass."

We bought a semi-fancy $50 tent in Ushuaia, finding it more economical than continually renting gear. Fortunately, we didn't opt for the $13 supermarket tent special, since we ended up spending 2 nights in steady wind and rain and would have been soaked. In fact, the rain was so bad that our campsite on the second night was completely blocked off by a raging stream. We had to make do on a crummy waterlogged spot further up the hill.


The only other really notable point of this trip was breakfast on the last morning - hot polenta with cocoa powder and peach jam. I can't recommend this dish, as you can see from Jen's face. It had the color and consistency of baby poo, and tasted, um, disgusting. But it kept us warm going over the pass and held us for several hours before lunch.

Aboard the Marco Polo

I'll let Jen fill you in on the details of the trip. Suffice to say that I've seen enough penguins for a lifetime, ate more food than humanly possible (including some good pinoy food last night - thanks to the all pinoy crew), watched six crappy movies on cable (three in a row yesterday), spied five humpback whales *right* off the ship's bow (and many more from a distance), improved my table tennis game, and witnessed some truly incredible landscapes. The photos don't capture the feeling of a glassy pale blue ocean, studded with twisty icebergs and glaciers all the way to the horizon. Definitely worth the trip. However, I am psyched to be back on land and ready to end the sloth.

Now we're headed north to Bariloche, a ski town in the Lake District, where we'll do more trekking.

Cruise Thoughts

I had a pretty good time on the cruise. I really appreciated the luxury of a cabin with clean sheets and a private bath, especially since the day before Simon and I got on the boat, we did a three day backpacking trip through mud, rain and hail in the mountains of Ushuaia (but I must say the two days of rain, were definitely worth it for the third day, when we walked out along the side of this amazing valley). So after sleeping in a wet sleeping bag, I was really psyched to be on the Aloha Deck.

My parents are huge fans of of cruises, but I always poo pooed them. While I had a pretty good time on our trip, it was mainly because we traveled with other backpackers we had met before, not because of the buffets, dinner shows and casino. In fact, we skipped the dinner shows and casino, leaving us plenty of time to goof off on the boat, whale watch, and drink in our cabins. There were also a bunch of lectures so you could be edjumacated on Antarctica properly. Simon and I fell asleep at all of them.

Other Passengers

The demographic of the rest of boat was very much old and white. And while our fellow passengers were really friendly and sweet (one man, Wayne, even paid for our wine at dinner because he took pity on the poor backpackers and admired what we were doing), it wasn´t exactly the crowd who´d get down to Usher at the "Charleston Club."

The Scandal of the Cheap Tickets (this entry is now hijacked by Simon)

During the cruise, a rumor got out among the other passengers that a bunch of young people had scored $680 tickets. This sparked a minor uprising at the reception desk, where people insisted on room upgrades. A sign saying "No upgrades are possible due to a full ship" appeared at the desk the next morning. Clearly something was going around. During a landing, one of the ship´s naturalists turned away from the penguins, sidled up to Alan and whispered, "So how much did you get the tickets for?"

The rumor continues to evolve throughout the cruise - an older woman approached Alix, one of our group, and asked her if she was one of those "Australian backpackers who had traveled to Ushuaia on a truck." Being neither Australian nor a trucker, and knowing nobody on board who fit that description, Alix had to say no. "Oh. You know they´re the young people with smiles on their faces," the lady said.

To add to the intrigue, we later learned that the Miami Lady who sold us the tickets no longer worked at Norwegian Cruise Lines. We have no idea why, but you have to wonder. She did sell a whole bunch of them at the last minute.

Our crew of backpackers, all of whom bought tickets from Miami Lady, included:

Alan and Janine - our friends from the Inca Trail. Alan went on to win two Marco Polo ping pong championships, taking home a duffel bag and insulated beer bag as prizes. He beat up on an old Japanese woman and a 60-year old American man in the finals. Janine suffered from seasickness both coming and going across the Drake Passage, but managed to recover and have a great time. She turned 33 on board.

Holger - the German guy who started it all when he told Alan about the 1000 euro online deal. When he saw our price he called Miami Lady and got another ticket. He just had to find one more person to share the cabin with him - they wouldn´t sell him a private room at that price. After reviewing applications from eager backpackers, he found Alix (see below). Holger meticulously recorded every aspect of the cruise on his three cameras, including penguins, whales, and waiters parading around the Baked Alaska at dinner to the tune of "In the Navy." (This was one of the more gay moments of the cruise, followed closely by all the waiters singing "So Long, Farewell" on the last night. Another campy bit was the nightly announcement for dinner playing "Don´t Cry for Me Argentina" on a xylophone.)

Alix - we spent New Years with Alix in Buenos Aires. We got along really well with her (an exception when it comes to other travellers) and were plesantly suprised to see Holger had chosen her as a cabin mate. We didn´t even know she was in Ushuaia. Being able to do the cruise with her was an unexpected benefit of missing the ship the previous week. Alix´s drive to see wildlife was unparalleled. She got up at 6am every morning to stand in the cold on the bow, hoping to catch a glimpse of a humpback, orca, or minke whale.

Yossi - a young Israeli who heard about the tickets through the grapevine and scored the last berth on the ship. In fact, he bought the ticket so close to the deadline that the crew was still using his cabin as a storage room when he got on board. When we got back to Ushuaia, Yossi found that he had become quite famous among the Israeli backpacker network (which is enormous, by the way). Other Israelis would spot his complimentary Marco Polo expedition jacket and say, "So you´re the guy who went to Antarctica for $680!"

Marcus and Alexandra - A Swiss father-daughter team traveling through Argentina together. Marcus was the only one of us who actually had a proper suit to wear to the formal dinners on board. He arrived in Ushuaia from Switzerland after Alexandra bought the tickets, so was able to bring clothes from home. The rest of us guys borrowed navy blue blazers and shiny polyester black pants from the crew and wore hiking boots as our formal shoes. My blazer smelled like an armpit.

(blog unhijacked, back to Louie)

The Food? - eh

As for the provisions, I must say I was terribly disappointed. Maybe food on other cruise lines is better, but the Marco Polo served mass produced conference fare that had been overcooked so that it was barely edible. No need to publish any food porn here. (One exception - For afternoon tea, they made these great meringue cookies with a chocolate ganache of some kind.) Despite the unremarkable food, we still managed to stuff ourselves sick. It was hard to turn down free eats after watching our budget for the last couple of months.

Penguins and Their Poo

I was thrilled by my first step onto Antarctica and first penguin sighting. I got greedier as the time went by and I found myself wanting more and more. I LOVED the penguins. I could watch them for hours, even though they´re pretty filthy animals and their colonies stunk of penguin poo. (At every landing, before getting back on board, a team of men would scrub the guano off our boots. I´m not sure who was more humiliated, them or us.) Sadly, our landings were very limited in scope. We were always fenced into an area that was just a couple of city blocks long. While I was glad to see that they were limiting the environmental impact on the continent, it was frustrating to see such a small bit of it. I definitely wouldn´t consider Antartica "done."

okay, now after seven days of luxury, we´re heading to bariloche to do more camping!

Now in Patagonia

New Year´s in BA

After leaving Rio we spent a couple of days in Buenos Aires, including a very chill New Year´s. Our evening consisted of hanging on the hostel roof deck, drinking with travelers and eating an obscene amount of grilled meat (see the photo) - a classic Argentinean asado. Fireworks were few and far between (unlike Manila, which becomes a warzone) and nobody really left their homes before 2am (like Manila, where people hang with their families though midnight).

The morning after we checked out the BA Chinatown, the only place with open shops. It´s about two blocks worth of so-so restaurants and one super expensive Asian supermarket. Instant ramen for $1/pack. The noodles at the restaurant really made Jen´s day, though.

BA Impressions

We took a 4-hour guided bicycle tour around town, seeing the neighborhoods on big orange beach cruisers. In addition, we made the obligatory pilgrimage to Evita´s tomb, and spent some time in the shopping districts, which are really cheap. Like Jen said, we also ate a ton of ice cream, which kicks ass here. Homemade shops offer two scoops for $0.75 to $1.50. The ice cream is smooth, creamy, and rich - more like gelato than the American stuff.



I´d heard how gorgeous BA was, Paris of South America etc. etc. But honestly, I didn´t think it was all that. Definitely way more European than any other South American city we´d seen, but it lacks the unique beauty of Barcelona or (I imagine) Paris. It reminded me of Madrid, which I never thought that much of. Also, it was hot and the parks had become dusty and dry with the lack of rain. The piles of dogshit on the sidewalks don´t help, either. Somehow professional dog walking has emerged as a major industry here, but laws regarding dog crap are regularly ignored.

Patagonia

After the dry heat of BA, we were relieved to find cool weather in El Calafate, a hub for trekking the Patagonian Andes. The once tiny town has blown up, thanks to the new airport, completed only three years ago. Now El Calafate looks like a little ski resort, with tons of stores selling cheezy sweatshirts, fancy mate gourds, and outdoor gear. Everything is way more expensive than BA, partly because it serves tourists, but also because it´s pretty tough to ship goods there.

Most folks come to see the enormous 70-meter tall Perito Moreno Glacier, actually 1.5 hours away. But we decided to skip it and hopped a bus for El Chaltén, a much smaller town (only dirt roads) at the base of the Fitzroy range in el Parque Nacional de los Glaciares. We spent the next 8 days backpacking in some of the most spectacular spots I´ve ever seen. The Fitzroy area is remarkably accessible - we could hike out from any point in the park in half a day. Unfortunately, this means the park is swamped with day trippers. On the plus side, though, this meant a mellow intro to fully loaded backpacking for Jen. Important because we lacked good gear, it was cold and rainy, and Jen´s ankles crumple if you give them a mean look. It also let me walk into town to resupply after 3 nights.

We loved the camping. In contrast to the constant decision making of traveling, all we had to think about for 8 days was eating, keeping warm, and appreciating the view. Admittedly, it was a long time to go without a shower. Jen´s ability to stay in the same tent as me was more likely a testament to her poor sense of smell than her love. But we did pretty well.



Top 5 Things on the Fitzroy Trek

1) Lunch all alone by a milky blue lake and hanging glacier.

2) Drinking pure glacier water straight from the streams. No need for pumps or iodine.

3) Hot powdered baby food for breakfast, surprisingly good with syrup and jam. Argentines eat a piece of toast and coffee in the mornings, so I couldn´t find instant oatmeal anywhere.

4) Warming up in the ranger´s tent for a couple of hours passing around the mate gourd. He gave us a little tutorial on mate customs.

5) Eating a huge plate of steak, fried eggs, salad, and french fries right after getting back into town.

Ushuaia, Southermost Town in the World

We got here three days ago. OK, it´s kind of lame, and looks like Fisherman´s Wharf. Apparently, Ushuaia is a major rookery for fuzzy stuffed penguins. But the town is a nice size - not too big or small, and we´ve hooked up with Alan and Janine, our friends who got engaged on the Inca Trail. The first night we joined them on a beaver "hunt" (insert beaver joke here). Apparently the animals were introduced from Canada in the 1940s in the hopes of starting a beaver pelt industry. But the entrepreneurs quickly found that Ushuaia´s milder temperatures led to pretty poor coats. So now the beasties are all over the place, busily flooding areas with their dams. And with no natural predators here the creatures can reach 50 kilos. (Twice the maximum load for a Inca Trail porter, by the way, so you´d have a tough time bringing your beaver on the Trail.) The trip was surprisingly fun; we got really close to them and warmed up afterwards in the cabin with cheese, bread, sausage, wine, and tea.

Antarctica or Bust

We used the entire next day tracking a rumor of cheap boat tickets to Antarctica. Alan had heard of some for 1000 euros the night before, not bad considering the "cheap" cruises usually go for 3000 euros. Janine and I weren´t convinced we wanted to spend that money or a week on an ocean liner, Antarctica be damned, but Jen seemed intrigued. Alan quickly seized her interest, sparking a 6 hour epic quest across downtown Ushuaia.

The Marco Polo left that night, so the four of us hurried through a dozen travel agents, shipping offices, and tourist information centers, and twice tried to sneak through port security to speak to someone on the ship, docked only a few meters away. One false lead led to another. Throughout this search we argued the merits of the trip and discussed the possibility of supernatural "signs" telling us to go to Antarctica. (Alan was convinced of them.) I eventually realized there was no way I could ditch the voyage if we actually located these mythical tickets.

Finally, one agent gave us the number of a Buenos Aires travel agent who *supposedly* sold last minute fares. At this point, the passengers had boarded the ship, and I doubted the agent´s claim after so many false leads. I began to look into a half-day penguin tour, instead. Janine was done for. For god´s sake, the ship was scheduled to depart in 2.5 hours. But Alan and Jen, the Antarctica champions, doggedly ran to a phone booth and called Buenos Aires.

To make a long story short (the phone calling continued for another hour or so), Alan ended up talking to a lady in Miami who managed to locate four tickets for the unheard of price of $678. Understand this includes the works - luxury cruise, jacuzzi, food, etc. for 7 days - and was way less than we had hoped for. Alan pumped his fist, the onlookers in the hostel lobby gawked jealously, and all thoughts of abandoning the trip evaporated. It was now 6:45 and the ship left at 8pm. Jen and I ran back to our hostel to stuff our packs and we all hopped a taxi for the port, arriving, breathless, at 7:10.

That´s when we noticed that - wait for it, wait for it - the ship had departed. Port security said it had been gone for a couple of hours, in fact. Apparently, the captain, not having received the message that some flithy backpackers had scored last minute tickets, decided to leave early.

Stunned, we rode the taxi back to the hostel and in our daze, the driver managed to get us to double pay for the cab fare, adding insult to injury.

Antarctica Epilogue

Alan and I immediately called the Miami travel agent who apologized profusely and assured us that our credit cards wouldn´t be charged. Remembering the look on Jen´s face when it became clear we wouldn´t be having captain´s cocktails that night, I asked Miami Lady if we could get a similar deal next week, when the Marco Polo would be back in town. I figured we might spend a few extra days in Ushuaia, but wouldn´t really lose much. Miami Lady assured us that yes, we could just confirm on Monday.

Alan and Janine were in a crappier position, having already cancelled their flights out of town upon booking the cruise. It´s impossible to get flights leaving Ushuaia without two weeks notice at peak season, so they were staring at the bleak possibility of another two weeks at the Southernmost Town in the World or paying for business class seats.

Anyway, Jen and I decided overnight that we wouldn´t ever get to Antarctica again at this price, so what the hell. After some painful soul searching and coin flipping, Alan and Janine decided to join us.

So in 7 days we´re off to Antarctica. While I´m appalled at being trapped on a floating hotel for a week (on-board casino, 24-hour buffets, and duty free shopping), it could actually be fun with Alan and Janine, and - hell, it´s Antarctica.

From the beaches to the ghetto - last thoughts on Brazil

Okay, we're in Argentina, and I've got some things I want to write about now, but there are some last thoughts on Brazil that I wanted to get in.

Favela Tours

So after some debate, Simon and I decided to take a guided tour of a favela, slum towns on the hills surrounding Rio. (It`s funny, in Rio, the rich live at sea level close to the beach and the poor live in the hills with amazing views of the beach.) I am sure many of you are appalled by the idea. And you should be; it seems completely jacked up to bring tourists in to view the blight and poverty of a city in such a voyeuristic way. But the more that I thought about it, the economist in me realized that everyone is probably better off with the tour in existience. We, as a travelers, have a better sense of what life is like in Rio, rather than staying on the ritzy beach in Ipanema drinking coconut juice and working on our tans. Aand the favelas are better off, since a portion of the fee goes towards community projects. I was not entirely comfortable with the idea, but I thought I would be less comfortable with the thought of turning a blind eye to it. It also had gotten some pretty amazing reviews from fellow travellers so we went for it.

We went with a guide named Luis, who owns a company called Be A Local, and has run tours in the favela for three years. On the main road, the favelas were actually much more built up that I expected. For some reason, I expected shanty towns and clapboard houses, as many people said that the communities aren't really recognized by the government. However, for the record, there is a post office, a health clinic, schools and community workers picking up trash, or at least in the particular favela we were in (though none of these services are enough to support the favela´s population - about 200,000 people). Instead of corrugated metal and wood, I found all the houses were made of brick and most had more than one floor. There were also tons of stores , including bars, bakeries, grocery stores etc. That being said, the conditions, especially as you got further away from the main road, were pretty squalid. Open sewers and garbage everywhere.

Tons of "regular" people live in the favela, including a lot of blue collar workers such as waiters, housekeepers, etc and all the people that keep Rio working. Not surprisingly gangs and drug dealers control a lot of what goes on there. I´m sure Luis sends a cut of our fee to the local dealer. And while Luis pointed out some drug dealers that were keeping watch (so we don`t take pictures of them), it felt pretty safe in the favela with the guide.

What was more interesting than the favelas themselves is seeing how Luis interacted with the members of the community. His company, among other things, created a free day care program which houses 60 kids in the community. He is obviously concerned about the kids in the community, but gives them a lot of tough love. He told the kids that he did not want to see them begging tourists for money. If they wanted money, they would have to do something for it. So with the help of favela artists, the kids paint make small paintings, bracelets and necklaces to sell. He told us that we should only buy them if we wanted them and not because we were motivated by guilt. He also insisted that under no circumstances should we buy if we are approached by kids trying to hard sell some of their crafts. And whenever a child did it, he said he has punished them by not bringing his tour groups by for a week. He felt they would not be learning anything from simply getting handouts and/or trying to guilt people into buying things. Tough love. I really admire what he is trying to do, and I can`t imagine how many lines he has to draw in a given day.

It´s a tough situation, and definitely not all black and white and I am glad I did it.

Churrascaria

Okay, in a terrible juxtaposition from the favela tour, the night before going into a favela we went to a traditional Brazillian Churrascaria. Basically, it´s an all-you-can eat restaurant with buffet tables of salad and sushi and waiters bringing racks of grilled meat right to your table. You get these little buttons with one side in green that says "sí" and the other side in red saying "no." If you don't want to get any more meat, you turn your button over so the waiters know not to come by. However, it seemed that the waiters kept disrespecting Simon's red button for some reason and kept piling on the meat. The food was pretty good and I was really excited for the sushi, which was just ok by any American standard, but welcome since I was totally craving rice. I had to stop after maybe a plate and half of meat (it's hard to count since it just keeps coming). As Simon said, you don´t want it to be a bad experience. We went with four others in our hostel and had a blast. I think our entire meal, plus drinks ended up being about $15 USD each. I am glad I did it, but it has kind of turned me off of meat for a while. Good thing I'm in Argentina.

Franguese

Simon's talked about his thoughts on language and I should add my experience on this. I speak some french and toisanse, a variation of the cantonese dialect. I've used each once, and in only one of those occurences was it marginally helpful. The first was in a hostel where I brokered a shopping trip between and American girl and a French girl. The second was in Peru when we went to a cambio to exchange dollars and the owners were chinese and spoke toisanese (which by the way, is really rare, esp considering the husband was born in the jungle of peru). And it wasn't necessary, since they spoke spanish perfectly.

I took some crappy adult ed class in spanish before I left, and it didn't really help all that much. But to be honest, I don't thinkI could have handled anything more intensive given work and packing up and the like. If I know the context, I think I can understand the gist of what is going on. And one out of three times, the word in french is same as the one in spanish, so I find myself using french a lot. It's a terrible habit.

But when Simon caught some kind of bug in Itacare, I had to buy a thermonter to measure his temperature. The best I could muster was "Mi esposo tiene un febre. Quiero se cuantos celcius." Downright miserable I know. The pharmacists (I had to go to several before I found one which carried thermonters) were utterly confused. When they figured it out, I was totally confused, because they started sticking pens and things into their armpit and shaking their head. I didn't realize that you stick the thermonter in your armpit and not in your mouth in this country . I felt like an ignorant american in Brazil, in particular. I figured, I need to focus on one language right now and I think Spanish is the one.

But I also find that I get nervous speaking Spanish and sometimes I will really think about something and put off asking a question, for lack of confidence. For instance, I just wanted to know what neighborhood our hostel was in, but I spent about five minutes rehearsing the question "Donde esta el hostal en Buenos Aires?" in my head before asking it. It's the same nervousness I get when I try to talk to someone else (other than family members) in chinese. I just need to be more agressive about speaking more. Hablo castellano bonito un dia.

Five Reasons I Am Excited About Argentina
1. Tap water - you can drink it here, so I can drink to my hearts content
2. Ice cream and butter - the dairy is amazing in this country
3. Pesos - the exchange is great due to a weak peso and we can eat out again for about $2-4 each.
4. No mosquitos (or at least in BA)
5. Salads - related to the water issue. I know I can eat as many salads as possible.

Christmas in Itacaré

After 22 hours of traveling via bus (only 6 hours of which was air conditioned) we arrived in Itacaré, a small fishing village on the coast, turned hippie/hipster hotspot.

Right off the bat, I spent a day in bed with a fever and throwing up. Was it the chicken patty, the warm cup of tapioca pudding from that damn street vendor, or just a 24 hour bug caught on the bus? Reading the Health section of Lonely Planet Brazil suggested dengue fever. Apparently, in 2002, 800,000 people in Rio came down with it. That´s like the entire city of San Francisco getting ill. By noon on the second day, though, I could keep down a bowl of ramen and seemed to be fine.

Santa Cruz of Brazil

Itacaré is the Santa Cruz of Brazil. Lots and lots of white kids with dreadlocks selling jewelry. And these are Brazilians, not foreign imports. It´s like you need a tattoo or piercing just to get on the beach. Or at least a golden torso sculpted by years of paddling out into fierce surf. I, of course, have none of these. I quickly rented a surfboard to remedy the situation. Three days and I should be tan, if not sculpted.

The next morning I woke to a light rain, and resolutely lugged my enormous longboard to the beginner´s beach. I imagined Brodie heading into the Thousand Year Storm at Bells Beach, Keanu "I am an FBI agent" Reeves shaking his head on the shore. The rain picked up, further fueling my romantic surfer notions. In fact, the surf seemed a little rough for a "beginner´s beach," and sure enough, a nice lady in the waves told me to stay away from the rocks because the "waves were big today." After watching me try to catch an enormous roller and get pummelled, she also told me to stop that immediately. I thankfully moved closer to shore to find the baby waves.

I quickly learned that a surfboard´s first instinct is to try and kill you. It has many weapons at its disposal. The three sharp fins to sever an artery, the leash to tangle your legs, the board to club you on the head and ribs as it flops around in the waves. In fact, most of the first hour was spent figuring out how to avoid these threats, nevermind the huge friggin waves. It´s like swimming with a rabid pitbull chained to your ankle.

By the end of the second hour I had rope burn across my palm and my chest was scratched up from the board, despite the rash guard. I did stand up a few times, though I would be hard pressed to say that I actually "caught" a wave. The waves were only getting rougher as the tide went out, so I called it a day.

Over the next couple of days I came back to find much friendlier conditions. I'd say I actually caught and rode a total of one wave in 7 hours in the water. I stood up many times, but the wave died soon after I got to my feet. Still, super fun. Also, I'm really tan now, so there´s that.

Xmas in the Tropics

As Christmas approached, the people in town got noticeably paler and squashier, signaling the arrival of Brazilian tourists from the big cities. More families appeared and the restaurants started raising the prices. Fortunately, our hotel didn´t up their rates (we had a private air-conditioned room for $17) till the 27th, after we left. A few of the other places started to double and triple rates as early as the 25th.



For Xmas dinner we splurged on the fancy place in town, and had an AWESOME meal of fish with plantains, onions, and greens all sizzling on a skillet. Great sides of beans and rice, too. For dessert, we´d been having only açaí, a cold berry custard that we first tasted in Lençois (see photo of me about to dig in). The açaí berry, native to Amazonia, supposedly has amazing healthful properties. A cold bowl of açaí with sliced bananas is pretty much the best thing in the world. Someone should be importing this stuff.

Since we´re headed to Argentina tomorrow, a look back on the last 3.5 weeks:

Top 5 Brazil Things (In No Particular Order)

1. Açaí - Already covered above. Today we arrived in Ipanema to find every just-arrived New Year´s tourist sucking it up like it´s going out of style. As they should.

2. Havaiannas - Everyone from street kids to the wealthiest Carioca wears these rubber flip flops. They are really comfortable. I naively bought another brand when I first got here, only to experience burning discomfort after only a block or two. There´s just something about these slippers that works really well. A couple of the Lençois guides wore them with a fully loaded pack up and down steep terrain. Apparently, they sell for real cash in the US and Europe, particularly the fancy styles (I predictably have the basic ninja black). I think a nice Brazilian vacation could be financed through ebay auctions of Haviannas in the States, assuming you can sneak a couple of hundred pairs through customs.

3. Hot People - Brazilians are just really hot. There´s no getting around that. The chicks are nice and golden, with curves in all the right places. The guys look like surfers or super ripped breakdancers. And they're not afraid to show it off. The nice lady at the money exchange place today was about to explode out of her top, all over the keyboard. It´s probably also worth noting that Brazilians (at least in Bahia, which is, admittedly, the beach state - a rough equivalent of California) are super friendly and laid back.

4. Thumbs Up - Brazilians give a sincere "thumbs up" to express agreement, understanding, enthusiasm, whatever. The first time a guy did it to me (he actually gave me two thumbs up, a bolder option) I thought he was just doing it because he thought I was American, and that´s what cool Americans do. It took a couple more before I got used to it, and now I find it hard to avoid. It´s especially useful if you don´t speak the language but want to be friendly and agreeable. Surfer types will use the standard "hang loose" or "shaka" as an alternative.

5. Juices - In all forms are great here. Every place from the fancy Ipanema juice bar to the crappiest bus station lanchonette has a blender and an assortment of fruits. I also dig the fresh coconuts everywhere. I don´t actually like coconut juice that much, but it´s cool that you can buy an iced coconut with a straw on the beach, on the city street, and (again) at a bus station in the middle of nowhere. There´s also fresh sugar cane juice, squeezed from the cane right in front of you. A little lemon, some ice...ahhhh...

Other Travelers

We meet a lot of them, all the time. I´ve become more wary of writing snarky things about them since they may stumble onto this blog. Nevetheless, it´s worth noting that it's hard to find people that you want to hang out with for a long time. Even a meal can become tiresome in the wrong company, as evidenced by the lengthy diatribe we suffered last night on product tracking software, as used on the sales and marketing of insulating materials (I shit you not). I guess Jen and I are, deep inside, anti-social bastards, despite the friendly veneer. I start up conversations with other travelers constantly, but if things aren´t going well, I soon want to bolt. Jen and I have settled into a nice rhythm of our own. That being said, it would be nice to meet some fun folks.

I Heart Lençois

We left Salvador after a couple of days, feeling like we´d exhausted things to do in the old part of town. On the way to the bus station, I was amazed by the freeways, malls, and skyscrapers throughout the rest of the city. Spending most of our time in old Salvador (apparently slated for destruction until UNESCO stepped in) gave us a skewed view of the place for sure.

Lençois

Is an old diamond mining town inland from Salvador, whose economy now relies on tourism to the Chapada Diamantina national park. With only 9000 residents, Lençois has a nice small town feel. After only a couple of days we were seeing familiar faces on the street. It´s totally safe, too, a nice change from Salvador, where the fear of pickpockets (justified or not) and aggressive panhandlers burns you out after a while. Lençois is the kind of town where I could walk down to the river, pay a nice lady to wash our clothes, then come back to find them hanging to dry without anyone watching them.

This is the place for photos to make your friends jealous at home. Countless waterfalls and swimming holes were just a short hike from our hostel. The park itself consists of high dry mesas, with deep river-cut canyons where the vegetation and climate gets more humid and tropical.

Our Trek

Three days, two nights crossing the park from east to west. Like Jen said, it was tough descending and ascending the canyon walls. Hot as hell, and our guide, Washington, had pretty weak cooking skills, though you had to give him an A for effort. He´d prepare multiple dishes at each meal, each salted like it was going out of style. But the falls made it worthwhile.

The Ride Back

Getting back to Lençois from Capón, the town at the western end of the park, proved interesting. First, our group was collectively reamed by the driver, who charged $10 each for the 2 hour ride. I assumed we´d be in the nice air-conditioned minibus parked outside of the cafe, and was surprised to see the guy pull up in a pickup truck and start chucking our backpacks on the bed. The grim reality set in when he motioned for us to climb in next to the packs. For an hour we bounced along on a dirt road, our asses battered into a fine pulp.

When we finally did hit cruising speed on the asphalt, the cops promptly pulled the driver over for illegally trasporting passengers. None of us had any cigarettes to bribe the cop, and we were definitely not going to give up any more cash, so despite the guides´protests, the driver abandoned us at a gas station by the side of the road. The good news was that we found ourselves next to a gorgeous mesa. The bad news was that we were still 25 k from Lençois.

For 30 minutes the guides joked about more trekking, after which half the group thumbed a ride, leaving the rest of us to wait for the bus. Seconds after the hitchers drove off, one of the guides said "something something domingo!" and slapped himself on the head. Ah, yes. Apparently the bus doesn´t run on domingos.



So Washington hitched a ride solo to some other town near Lençois, where his buddy met him with a car. He came for us after an hour or so. (While waiting I had the most delicious sweet corn tamale from the gas station snack bar.) Of course, when we saw the car, it became clear that we wouldn´t fit, forcing Washington and another guide into the trunk. Sadly, Wash´s buddy drove like a real newbie, with a steady look of fear on his face. Having to dodge cow-sized potholes and cargo trucks probably didn´t help. At some point on the ride, one of the bumps slammed the trunk shut, leaving Wash and the other guy in a dark hot hole full of carbon monoxide. Occassionally, we´d thump on the backdash to make sure they were still alive.

It was all good though, when we got to Lençois and had dinner at Wash´s house. His baby mama is a significantly better cook than he is. Beans, rice, noodles, a delicious mystery chicken paste (best not to ask), fish, salad, and fresh passionfruit juice.

Climbing

I also did a one-day climbing trip in Lençois. Was I worried that the guide had a huge tattoo of a marijuana leaf on his arm? Eh, maybe a little. Perhaps to quell any fears, he also had a tattoo saying "Highly Experienced Guide."

At the crag, I was happy/surprised to see multiple well-protected bolted routes. I led something that felt like a 5.8, floundered up a 5.9, and fell off a 5.10something.

Sure enough, the guide sparked up some European weed (stronger than the local stuff), but remained committed to safety, always pre-clipping the first bolt when possible and making sure the quickdraws were facing the right way.