Flowers and Camping

Even though we’ve been home long enough to need to do laundry and grocery shop, we are still beaming from our trip. While images of open-air markets from Vietnam and temples from Cambodia are still swirling, we would be remiss not to write about and share images from Singapore and the Philippines.

Singapore

While on the bus transit from the airport to our hotel, I spotted an elevated highway with the lush fuchsia bougainvillea flowers hanging off the railing. I squealed at Daniel to turn and look at the flowers flinging themselves off the railing, but we had passed them. I was disappointed that I had enjoyed the view too long and did not make Daniel look at the flowers until it was too late. As I chastised myself for missing a flower opportunity, I saw the bougainvillea again…and AGAIN. Every overpass had buckets of hanging flowers, vines, and leaves just dangling off the sides of the railing. Once I realized this I became absolutely silent. Daniel knows that when I’m silent I’m either angry or so happily overwhelmed I do not know what to say. He knew it was the latter after a few more bridges and started to take pictures of me to document the moment I realized we were in Julia’s dream destination: a country that was a botanical garden. It was incredible.

The next day we actually went to the National Botanical Garden of Singapore. It is the most visited botanical garden in the world and was absolutely spectacular. There was an orchid farm, entire plots of flowers along winding roads, and greenery exploding next to benches and coming out of every twist and turn of trees. We sloooowly walked through the tropical rainforest and orchid enclosure and then took a break. It was at this point I realized that either we needed to leave or I needed to spend a week in the botanical garden alone to study and take a picture of each specimen. We chose the former…it was a good choice. A week would not have even been enough.

We did not know what to expect from Singapore and it was certainly full of surprises. Singapore felt like the pace of New York City with the flavor and texture of Hong Kong. We met-up with a friend of Daniel’s from summer camp who works at the highest grossing casino in the world—Marina Bay Sands. We went to the casino/hotel’s roof and we could see almost each of Singapore’s borders. We stumbled across an outdoor market of food vendors called Gluttons Bay where we ate Hainanese chicken and rice dishes to our heart’s content. Across from our hotel we found a local dim sum restaurant with bao (steamed rice buns) that even I could eat—they were delicious. Daniel was almost as happy to find this restaurant as I was in the orchid enclosure.

We only stayed in Singapore for a few days, but the humidity, lush botanicals and delicious street food were all highlights of the trip for both of us.

Philippines

The last stop on our honeymoon were the 7,107 islands of the Philippines. Each of the island regions had their own culture and feel. We started in Cebu in the Visayas. We spent a few nights lounging in a resort over Daniel’s 31st birthday. That was rough. From Cebu we flew to the island of Palawan on the western coast of the Philippines. We stayed in Puerto Princesa a few nights island hoping and seeing the sights before heading to Fort Barton on the northwest coast.

We decided to take a risk and hop on a bangka from Fort Barton to a campground called Toby and Thelma’s Island Adventure. We thought we had a reservation—the telephone connection was dismal—and so we decided to take the bangka out to the private island campground and check things out for ourselves. A bangka is an outrigger canoe, but bigger, with two pontoon Catamaran-looking bamboo-winged sides coming out of the boat. It is quite the motorized contraption and glides over the ocean like an insect striding just above the water. 

The campground was tucked under a canopy of leafy palms and thatched roof huts with tents underneath them that blended in with the rocks and sand from the beach. The boat stopped short of the shore by…a lot, eight-massive-waves-crashing-on-you-short. Daniel was able to take his pants off and hold his backpack above his head and walk into the campsite, but I just got wet. There were only about six hut/tent set-ups on the beach and everyone had their own piece of beach and ocean front view from their tent. It was outrageously beautiful. The tents were HUGE with a full bamboo bed inside. Three meals a day were provided and the food was delicious. We now realize that this was all basically glamping, but the lack of running water and electricity still made it feel like real camping.

The highlight from the camping expedition was a natural stream coming off a set of rocks near the campground that Toby and Thelma made into an outdoor shower. They added a piece of carved out bamboo and the water streamed through the bamboo to make the most incredible jungle shower. It was complete with trees on all sides, an ocean view, and monkeys eating breakfast.

Once back on Luzon in Manila we took a city tour with a real-life character: Carlos Celdran. He took us on a performance art walking tour of the Spanish forts and cathedrals. The tour and Carlos himself is worth an entire blog post, but suffice it to say that he was very entertaining. We actually learned quite a bit about Filipino history and language on the tour. Carlos explained that in Filipino language, words for universal concepts tend to be native, while words for most objects are Spanish. For example, the words for love, sadness, and happiness all pre-existed the arrival of the Spaniards, but the words for fork, church, and statue all derived from the Spanish roots. When the Americans came to the Philippines, the word for facial tissue (Kleenex), the verb to take a picture (to Kodak), etc. were all added to the Filipino vernacular. The linguist in me found this fabulously interesting. Surprisingly, I also understood much more Filipino than I expected since the root for many words were in Spanish.

Daniel also really enjoyed the Mega Malls in Manila—who knew Daniel liked malls? I think he really just wanted to visit the food courts since they were teeming with lechon (whole pork roasts) at every corner. I would not be surprised if the malls had multiple zip codes for different floors or areas of the mall…it was insane. Finding the same door to exit where you entered was a full time job.

The Philippines were incredible and we still have 7,102 islands to visit. We would love to go back…any takers?

An Update from Vietnam, Two Countries Later

We’re a bit overdue for an update, so here goes (also, internet is too slow for photo uploads at the moment; "[photo]" to be replaced when we get to Manila now with photos!) :

Ho Chi Minh City

We arrived in Ho Chi Minh City on 12/23 and Julia began learning about dodging motorcycles on the sidewalk. We quickly discovered Nha Hang Ngon, an amazing restaurant in a large French villa, where traditional street food vendors line the wall and every dish is exquisite. We proceeded to eat there three times in two days and later frequented its sister restaurant, Quan An Ngon, multiple times when we got to Hanoi.

A visit to the American War Museum was just as painfully moving as the last time I was there.

A day trip to the Mekong Delta to see a floating market and local crafts was forgettable.

Dalat

Dalat, a small city up in the mountains about 5-8 hours north of Ho Chi Minh City, is a popular domestic honeymoon destination and was my favorite stop the last time I was in Vietnam. This time, it more than lived up to expectations.

The cool mountain air was a welcome respite, but the real star was the night market. In addition to the produce, food, and clothing stalls in the town center, along the river was stall after stall of plants, including orchids, succulents, and bonsai trees. Julia nearly lost her shit.

While in Dalat, we sampled a few culinary delicacies. The first, che, is basically sweetened coconut milk soup with corn, black beans, tapioca, banana, or sweet potato.

The second was a little more, um, unusual: weasel coffee. It’s coffee made from beans that have been eaten and pooped out by a civet. Strange concept, delicious coffee. We tried some at a cute little cafe, with our cup expertly prepared by the owner, who also raises the civets and roasts the beans.

On our last full day in Dalat, Julia let me plan a little independent day trip, involving a boat ride across a lake, an elephant ride (Julia’s first!), a gondola ride, and a visit to a monastery with beautiful gardens.

Nha Trang

Our next stop was Little Russia...er, I mean, Nha Trang. This beach town was absolutely overrun with Russians, due to the fact that until 2002 it was the location of Russia’s largest international military base. We spent three days lounging under palapas, reading fiction, sipping cocktails, and marveling at the fashion choices of Russian tourists.

Hanoi

We really only had one full day in Hanoi, essentially using it as a jumping off point for Halong Bay and Sapa. While we were there, we managed to grab dinner with one of Julia’s former co-workers, Genessa, who currently works for the Center for Disease Control and Prevention in Vietnam. It was great to see a familiar/friendly face after three weeks on the road.

Halong Bay

Not too much to say about Halong Bay, other than that it is absolutely gorgeous. We also enjoyed sharing the trip with three travelers from Mexico City, with whom Julia, of course, immediately found many friends in common.

Sapa

The only negative of our two days in Sapa was having to do the overnight train on either end. On the plus side, it really gave us two full days, during which we trekked over 20 miles through small villages and rice terraces with our private guide, Dong, from Handspan Travel (HIGHLY recommended). The views on the treks were stunning; we couldn’t stop taking photos. We couldn’t decide who was happier: us, the local children, or the ducks, pigs, dogs, chicken, and water buffalo, all of whom roamed freely among the terraces.

Ok, we’re off to catch a bus and will be without internet for a few days, so the Singapore and early Philippines updates will have to wait.

Sidewalks for Motorcycles

Sometimes when I walk on the sidewalks of Cambridge and a bike whisks past me, I grimace and think about pointing to the clearly demarcated No Bikes symbol with a line slashed through the circle etched on the pristine sidewalk beneath them. I usually think: “They could have hit me! What were they thinking? Bikes should be ridden on the road. Sidewalks are for pedestrians.” This seems straightforward, consistent, and simple. Enter: Ho Chi Minh City. Roads and sidewalks are for motorcycles, and thousands of them. For every one car on the road there were about 50 motorcycles surrounding it on every side. When the road became too congested with motorcycles and cars, motorcyclists simply hopped onto the sidewalk and sped away. I remarked in Cambodia about the high number of motorcycles on the road and Daniel laughed and told me to wait to make motorcycle judgments until we reached Vietnam. He was (unfortunately) correct. The motorcyclists in Cambodia were tame compared to Vietnam. At first I thought it was a passing time of day in a neighborhood or specific segment of the city, but, alas, the put-put-put of the motorcycles can be heard at all times of day and night. Surprisingly, over a matter of days, I went from utter fear of losing a toe or getting concussed on the sidewalk to enough confidence that I crossed a four-lane road by myself.

After accepting the motorcycles as a matter of life in the city, I began to admire them and see the differences among motorists instead of a sea of horns, lights and gasoline. Some women wore modesty skirts that Velcro-ed in the back over their short skirts or dresses while puttering off on their motorbikes. The masks some motorists wore covering their mouths and noses came in all shapes and designs. Some were floral, plaid, solid or Hello Kitty inspired. The masks wrapped around some bikers' entire necks (my dad would have loved the sun protection they offered) and others winged out stopping the wind from hitting the bikers’ ears. Many were sturdy and others disposable almost taking the form of operating room gear. I was entranced. I wanted a mask! I was not sure if I wanted a mask as a fashion statement of sorts or to actually protect my lungs. Daniel rolled his eyes at my plan to buy a mask, and I weighed the potential exposure risks and the minimal duration of exposure and decided I agreed with him.

However, once we reached the relaxed beach town of Nha Trang, I caved in and bought a...Despicable Me mask! I love it. I have only worn it a handful of times, and realistically, it is more of a fashion statement than health precaution. While I am pretty sure it makes me look even crazier walking the streets like a skittish toddler, I still love it.

I started to make a running list of what I saw occurring on sidewalks in Vietnam. Sidewalks are for: seating, traffic evasion, garbage disposal, store extenders, eating meals and snacks, drinking, gossiping, peeing, and cooking. I will continue to keep a list if I see more ‘activities’ on the multi-use sidewalks, but in the meantime they are just fascinating to observe.

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Matt and Larissa, this is a sidewalk haiku just for YOU!

Sidewalks are for, yes...
Parking, driving, and playgrounds
Puddle! Children! Bike!

Tuk-Tuk or Taxi?

“Should we take a tuk-tuk or a taxi?” Daniel’s earnest question stymied me. His face was beaming with anticipation to have finally landed in Cambodia. He was honestly happy to take either mode of transport to our guesthouse. But, what did he mean...“tuk-tuk?” Not only do I have a penchant for taxis, as was clear from the roast at our wedding, I usually choose the most seemingly secure option at all possible decision points. Maybe it was the honeymoon adrenalin or massive chartreuse backpack with a little yellow amaryllis on one of the buckles that inspired me...I’ll never be sure, but I went for it. We took my first tuk-tuk ride to our guesthouse.

The ride was exhilarating. I think I may have been squealing. Alright, I was squealing. The gasoline, wind, dust, pollution, incense, rubber, and sun were all competing to touch my face first as we whisked along. A tuk-tuk itself is not terribly complicated, but I had never seen such a clever idea executed en mass as on the streets of Phnom Penh. A tuk-tuk is a covered two-wheeled wood and metal wagon attached to a motorcycle. The hitch attaching the wagon section to the motorcycle is metal and then screwed on by a bolt to the back of the adapted motorcycle. Usually a driver will place a small piece of plastic—the top of a bleach or water bottle—between the hitch and the bolt to “secure it” in place. Tuk-tuks live in a world of only Plan A. This plastic bottle shard, bolt, and metal adapter is the plan. There is no need for Plan B since Plan A is working.

The mindset of making Plan B after Plan A does not pan out, is far from how I live my life in bucolic Cambridge. No, I have four insurances: two medical, one renters, and one life policy. The driver saw my hesitation as I mounted the wagon and I motioned “why not?” with my shoulders and eyebrows. His laugh and assuring nod constituted my fifth form of insurance.

As we zoomed past open air markets and stopped at traffic lights next to families of five on one motorcycle, I searched for anything familiar from my experiences in Latin America. It was not until about the fourth day in Cambodia that I realized what I was missing from Latin America—the sensuality, openness, and unfettered boldness of Brazil, Argentina, Dominican Republic, and Mexico. In most every setting I have visited in Latin America, everyone lives with such vim and vigor for life. They dance with zeal and frilly skirts in the streets, stand tall and ready to meet you, and smile at every opportunity. I was looking for similar characteristics in the Cambodian people, until I realized that I was not going to find it and I should rather look for unique dissimilarities from my Latin American base. Cambodians seemed reticent, docile, and seemingly accepting of their station in life. After visiting one of the famous prisons during the Khmer Rouge regime, I began to understand the atrocities that the Cambodians experienced as a people and saw their nature with more clarity.

I had seen filth in the streets and poverty throughout Honduras and Guatemala, but was surprised with the severity of both the three feet high piles of trash and extreme poverty at each turn in Phnom Penh. I could not help but think about a recent flyer I had received upon leaving Cambridge notifying us that there would be a neighborhood meeting to discuss what to do about the dead tree at the end of our block. Distance brings clarity and this was no different. The “problems” of Cambridge felt very far removed as I dodged dust and burning trash.

Cambodian food was a delight. We kept scouring for soy sauce on tables and asked waitstaff continuously if there was soy sauce used in dishes served to me...but there was none to be found. Hallelujah! We took a cooking class where I learned how to make curry from beginning to end, by grinding fresh ingredients into a paste with a wooden mortar and pestle. The yellowish hue on my fingers is a constant reminder that I need to find turmeric root in Cambridge. Wish me luck. I watched the pros roll fresh rice paper spring rolls until they looked factory-made. I watched morning glory leaf and galangal chopped with perfect precision. I have ordered fresh spring rolls at every juncture and still cannot decide which roll was best.

Dan's addition:

I am LOVING being back in Southeast Asia, and, as you can see, experiencing things anew through Julia’s eyes. Phnom Penh was fine, but Siem Reap, Ankor Wat, and the nearby temples were amazing and totally lived up to the hype. It felt a bit inappropriate to be scrambling over such ancient structures—there’s no way that's sustainable with the volume of visitors they’re seeing. If you've been thinking of going, don’t put it off, because they’re going to have to close down more parts of it before too long. If you do go, we highly recommend staying at Green Park Village Guest House. It’s a bit outside the downtown area, but it’s quiet, has high levels of service, delicious breakfast, and free tuk-tuk rides to and from town and the airport, all for $15 per night. Hard to beat.

New Steps, Together

I didn’t expect to be writing another post in this blog, especially not under the current circumstances. The last post, on June 17th, 2010, which began with a description of my ideal week as “chilling on the beach with three beautiful Swedish girls,” was even titled, “A Final Update in Three Parts.”

I’m now re-starting this blog on my honeymoon from Phnom Penh, Cambodia, with the assistance of a co-author: my wife, Julia Elitzer (née Goldberg). We’ll be updating it periodically over the next six weeks as we travel through Cambodia, Vietnam, the Philippines, and perhaps another country or two.

Our friends and family know that Julia and I were married two months ago in Tucson, AZ, after two and a half years of dating. Most of them also know that we initially met and dated very briefly in DC in Fall 2008. However, very few know that Julia was one of the reasons I set off the following year on the eight-month journey chronicled in this blog.

In the maiden entry, one rationale I gave for embarking on the trip was as follows:

I don't have a mortgage, kids, crushing student loans, a rigid career ladder to climb, or even a girlfriend [emphasis added]. When else in my life am I going to have the freedom to just take off on an extended, open-ended trip like this without concern for competing priorities and obligations?

You see, I had fallen hard for Julia and was still a bit heartbroken that she had ended things. In the year since we broke things off, I hadn’t encountered, much less dated, anyone who remotely held a candle to her. Julia had set a new standard in my mind, which no one else could meet. Part of the reason I set off on that journey was to attempt to fill the void that I didn’t even know existed before I met Julia.

Taking that trip turned out to be one of the best decisions I ever made. I had amazing experiences, including trekking the hills of Thailand, floating down the Mekong in Laos, feasting on snake in Vietnam, attending a wedding and visiting the Taj Mahal in India, volunteering for nonprofits and going on safaris in Tanzania and Uganda, and taking a 50-hour bus ride to South Africa for the World Cup. Along the way, I made new friends, found professional purpose, and developed greater self-confidence and self-awareness.

By the time I returned, I thought I had moved on from Julia. But nearly two years later, when Julia and I ran into each other in DC again, I realized right away that I had never really gotten over her.

When we decided to give each other another chance, I knew very quickly that this time it would last. Julia had also spent the intervening years in interesting places, including doing a Fulbright in Mexico City and massively overachieving as Acting General Manager for the US-Mexico Border Health Commission in El Paso, TX. During our time apart, we had both grown in ways that helped us understand who we are and what we want in life and made us even better partners for each other.

As my friend and roommate of six years, Rory, put it in his toast at my and Julia’s wedding, “Dan: you got to marry JULIA GOLDBERG!” Yes, I did! And I couldn’t be more excited to be embarking on a lifetime of adventures with her.

A Final Update in Three Parts

Friday, June 11

11:33am: Imagine you’ve been on the road (in Africa) for three weeks and just spent two and a half days solid on a ferry.  What would your ideal next week look like?

If you were me and your answer was “chilling on the beach with three beautiful Swedish girls,” you’d be very much in luck.

The ferry and subsequent matola (pickup truck) ride to Cape Maclear ultimately took 62 hours, a full day longer than expected.  Once there, however, it only took me 10 minutes to drop my bags in a dorm, hand a pile of laundry into reception, pick up a book from the library (McSweeney’s Mammoth Treasury of Thrilling Tales, edited by Michael Chabon), and be relaxing in a beach chair, a cold beer in hand and waves lapping at my feet.  Ah, paradise!

I spent the rest of the day reading, replying to email, and walking along the beach, confirming that the accommodations I had selected from the guidebook (Fat Monkeys) did in fact have the best vibe and amenities, despite being the furthest from town center (though it’s hard to complain about a <1Km walk along the beach).

The next day, spotting three beautiful girls at the beach bar, I figured it would be criminal to deny them my company, so I struck up a conversation with one of them.  Her name was Marlene, and she and her friends, Caroline and Elin, were all from Sweden and were on vacation in Malawi for the week after spending a few months volunteering at an orphanage for children with disabilities in Mozambique.  Obviously impressed with my cut physique, sharp wit, and high-roller lifestyle, the trio quickly adopted me into their group.  Accompanied frequently by a couple friendly locals, Jason and Solomon, we spent the next five days laying on the beach, swimming, snorkeling, boating, watching the fish eagles feed, playing with the hostel’s two adorable puppies, watching movies (sadly, it turns out the Princess Bride isn’t nearly as enjoyable if you didn’t grow up watching it countless times), dancing, learning to drum, having dinner at Solomon’s mother’s house, exploring the village market, and feasting on fresh bananas, tangerines, and the largest avocados I have ever seen (seriously, I made a meal out of just sliced avocado and a little salt).

By the time we parted ways, I was about as fully relaxed as imaginable.  Good thing too, because if I weren’t so relaxed, this bus ride I’m now on from Malawi to Johannesburg would be driving me out of my mind.  I’m not going to bother rehashing all the details, but let’s just say that instead of arriving in Johannesburg a couple of hours from now, we are sitting on the side of the road in Zimbabwe, with welders attempting to reattach the door.  As long as we get to Joburg by midday tomorrow so I can get to the USA/England match, it’ll all be ok…

Sunday, June 13

9:10am: GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAALLLLLLLLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!

Between my bus troubles (total transit time: 50 hours) and the fact that my ticket benefactors, Aaron and Arthur, were on a flight scheduled to arrive at 4:30pm the same day as the 8:30pm USA v England match a minimum two hour drive away in Rustenburg, I was convinced that we would end up getting to the game after halftime, if at all.  In order to maximize our chances, Josh (the guy from the train in Tanzania who I convinced to come to Malawi for a couple days, then the World Cup, much to the chagrin of his girlfriend in Zambia… sorry!) and I met Aaron and Arthur at the airport, gave their bags to the owner of the hostel where we are staying to bring back for us, then raced around trying to meet the cab driver I had encountered earlier in the day and arranged to drive us to the stadium and back.  Despite getting slightly lost just before reaching the stadium, we managed to get to our seats just in time to join our countrymen in belting out a deafening rendition of our national anthem.

I have never been at a sporting event with as much intensity as that match.  And maybe it’s because I don’t really follow soccer/football or maybe it’s because us USA fans were pleased with the 1-1 draw, but it seemed like everyone was just excited to be there and be cheering for their team, without the intense anxiety and desperate need to win that I associate with fandom at most tournament matches.  After the game, we joined pretty much every other American in the country in stopping off for the only fitting meal: McDonald’s.  Mmm, tastes like freedom!

Thursday, June 17

3:33am: I’m writing this final dispatch from my flight to DC from Johannesburg (via Dakar).  As the especially astute may notice from the timestamp of this post (if they are somehow also aware of my exact itinerary), I’m both attempting to switch myself over to Eastern Standard Time and failing miserably.  Somehow, knowing I’ll be landing in DC in a couple hours has me even more wired with anticipation than I have been for any destination since my first flight to Thailand.  I guess when you’ve gotten used to always arriving in new, foreign places, the familiar can be the one thing to really shock your system.

But before we get to the overwrought reflective stuff: WORLD CUP!!!

So on Monday, we spent most of the day watching matches on TVs and big screens at various restaurants and public venues.  I’ve never been much of a soccer fan, but traveling through the rest of this soccer-crazed world these past eight months has given me a new appreciation for the game.  Aaron and Arthur, however, are quite the dedicated soccer aficionados and their shared knowledge of the players and teams made the games even more interesting to watch.

Tuesday morning, Aaron and Arthur got up early and managed to secure the three of us tickets to the Netherlands/Denmark match.  We said goodbye to Josh who was headed back to Zambia, then raced over to the Soccer City stadium, pushed through the gates along with some 85,000 other fans, and got to our seats just minutes after the opening kick.  It was an exciting match and the throngs of orange-clad Dutch fans in our section were obviously quite pleased with the 2-0 result.

After the match, we expected some challenges leaving the stadium with our 85,000 fellow attendees, but the task was made slightly more difficult by an unexpected strike by a large group of bus drivers who were supposed to be transporting people to and from the stadium.  We eventually got back to the city center by way of a packed train, some apprehensive wandering through a decidedly non-touristy neighborhood, and a short but greatly appreciated cab ride.

While watching the evening’s Italy/Paraguay match in a bar, we met a very intelligent, seemingly-friendly guy who claimed to be a cameraman for SABC and after many hours of talking, offered to hook us up with tickets to the Brazil/Korea PDR match the next night.  Long story short, he ended up with our passport numbers and $20 from each of us, and we watched the Brazil match from the bar at our hostel.

My final day in Johannesburg, we went to the Apartheid Museum, which was really massive and impressive (yeah, sorry, not feeling very descriptive today), then I bid farewell to Aaron and Arthur, went to the airport and got on this plane.  Ta-da: end of trip!

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You know what?  Now that were at the reflective wrap-up section of the post, I really don’t have much that I feel the need to share.  It’s been an incredible trip and I’ve met some great people and seen some amazing thing.  I’m sure it’s changed me, but I don’t know yet quite how.  Maybe I’ll write one final post when I start to figure that out—or maybe you’ll get a bunch more posts if my job prospects don’t pan out and I decide to high-tail it down to Central and South America at the end of the summer to do some more traveling and work on my Spanish.  Either way, thanks so much for reading this blog over these past months.  Knowing that I had you all following along with my adventures gave me the push I needed to make the effort to really chronicle this journey and I’m sure I’ll treasure the record in the years ahead.   Thanks again, and I hope to see most of you very soon!

On the Road to Jo'burg

I really should be better about posting these updates as soon as I write them...

Wednesday, May 19

12:08pm: Didn't end up doing all that much over my two days in Nairobi.  Spent the first day relaxing and reading at a coffee shop in Westgate Mall, watched Iron Man 2, had sushi for lunch and dinner, and talked with other backpackers at the hostel, picking up some good travel tips for Malawi and learning that it probably won't be possible to go through Mozambique in the time that I have (it's at least 5 days of solid travel).  The next morning, I went to the US embassy and spent 30 minutes standing in line before seeing another American walk up to the guard, flash a US passport, and go right through.  Ended up being very easy to get the extra pages for my passport, involving filling out my address three times on one form and then waiting 20 minutes.

After the embassy, I stopped at Westgate Mall to use the wifi and confirm through travel.state.gov that I can get border visas for all the countries it's possible that I'll be passing through (Malawi, Mozambique, Zambia, South Africa).  Next was a visit to the National Museum, which had beautiful gardens and architecture, but I didn't enjoy the museum itself all that much.  The 9,100+ birds on display were pretty cool though and I want to remember to send photos of them to my 4-5th grade teacher, Liz Saplin, who loved birds and took her classes on bird watching expeditions.

I wasn't in the mood for more museums and the idea of going to one of the animal sanctuaries didn't seem appealing in comparison to the safaris I'm planning to go on at Ngorongoro Crater and Serengeti, so I just sat and read the Economist and went to see the new Robin Hood with Russell Crowe and Kate Blanchett (should have trusted my instincts and avoided that one).  After the movie, I realized that if I was already resorting to movies, there was absolutely no reason to stay in Nairobi another day, so I called to book a seat on an overnight bus to Mombasa, then went back to the hostel to pack up, have a quick dinner, and check out.

My 9pm bus got me into Mombasa a bit after 6am.  Discovering that there weren't any overnight buses to Lamu and not wanting to deal with trying to check into a hotel or find a place to drop my bag at that early hour, I boarded a 7am bus bound for Makinde.  One painful bus ride and a short ferry ride later, I found myself on Lamu, a small but beautiful Muslim island town, with two new friends: Andre, a recent graduate from outside of Philly, and Jans, a vacationer from Norway.  After visiting a few hotels with a tout, we eventually settled on the first place he had showed us, which had breezy rooms and, we discovered later, a rooftop view of the ocean and a clear, starry sky.  We encountered some persistent salesmen trying to get us to book a dhow ride or come for a traditional Swahili dinner in their homes (at vastly inflated prices), but shook them off and enjoyed some beer at one of the four places you can buy it on Lamu (and one of two where you can buy it cold) and then dinner at a nice seaside restaurant, eventually retiring to our hotel for some stargazing and an early evening.

We spent the morning exploring Lamu's narrow streets and avoiding stepping in the donkey dung produced by the island's ubiquitous inhabitants.  The town is like a labyrinth, with narrow, irregular passages between buildings that served to protect the town from invaders in centuries past.  This afternoon: more chilling and booking a dhow trip for tomorrow to drift through the mangroves and explore the Takwa ruins on nearby Manda Island.

Wednesday, June 2

7:00am: In retrospect, taking the ferry from Nkata Bay to Monkey Bay wasn’t such a hot idea.  It has managed to turn a 10-12 hour bus ride into what now appears to be three cold nights and two scenery-less days as the ferry zig-zags between the Malawian and Mozambiquen shores.  Most of the passengers at the start were just getting off at one of the islands, so there hasn’t even been much chance to make friends.  At least the stars and sunrises have been beautiful.  Anyway, as we’ve been sitting in the same place for the past three hours, loading and unloading passengers and cargo via small wooden boats, and don’t seem likely to move for at least another couple hours, I figured this would be a good time to write a quick catch up.

My three days and nights in Lamu were quite relaxing and totally worth the three days (total) of travel required to get there from Nairobi and then over to Arusha.  Upon arrival in Arusha, I checked my email and saw a note from one of my good friends, Martha, that her sister, Sam, was currently in Arusha and had just recovered from a bout of malaria and could I please check in on her if I happened to pass through.  Text messages were exchanged and I ended up hanging out with Sam and her friends, Kate and Aiofe, the next couple nights.  They’re all fun, down-to-earth people and I really enjoyed their company (and home cooking).

After a day spent tracking down the cheapest, most reliable safari with Alberto, a Spaniard I met at the hostel where I was staying, I departed on Monday morning to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro Crater.  Although frequently frustrated with the quality of the photos taken by my Nikon Coolpix (especially compared to the ones I got out of my comparably priced Panasonic Lumix earlier in my trip), I did manage to get some quality shots of the cheetahs, tree-climbing lions, rhinos, giraffes, zebras, hyenas, wildebeests, ostriches, and other assorted animals we encountered over our three-day safari.  The trip was the perfect length, with quality company and surprisingly delicious meals making the whole experience even more enjoyable.

After the safari, I spent one evening in Dar, playing with Bodie for an hour, having dinner with Alfred, and catching up with Sarah over drinks.  It was so good to see them all again and I was sorry to be departing so quickly, but alas, the twice-weekly train to Mbeya departed the next afternoon, so it was back on the road for me.  Lonely Planet warned that tickets for the train should be booked a few days in advance, but as I discovered at the station, this is just the result of a scam being perpetrated by the booking agents in collusion with touts: asking for a ticket at the window will result in being informed that the train is sold out, but if you go talk to one of the touts outside, they will charge you about $6 more than the ticket price, walk you to the ticket window, and nod at the agent, who will then erase one of the passenger names on her list and issue you a ticket.  This was by far my most blatant encounter with corruption to date and considering the many horror stories I’ve heard, I’m counting myself lucky to have gotten off so easy (knock on wood for my final two weeks!).

Traveling by train is infinitely nicer than traveling by bus.  Instead of being stuck in a single cramped seat, bouncing along Tanzania’s poorly maintained roads, I spent my 24-hour ride either sleeping soundly on a reasonably comfortable bed or having animated conversations in the dining car with other travelers.  I ended up making friends with a boatload (or trainload) of people, including one guy, Josh, another New York Jew, heading to visit his girlfriend in Zambia, where he had just finished his Peace Corps service.  I convinced Josh and Rooney, a Kiwi on his gap year, to take a detour with me and a Japanese traveler, Sugi, to Nkhata Bay, a little backpacker paradise in Malawi.  Despite falling prey to a scammer at our lodging in Mbeya who sold us bus tickets “all the way to Nkhata Bay” which did not pick up again after the Malawian border, we had a nice, relaxing evening and day in Nkhata Bay, after which Josh resumed his journey to Zambia (with plans to come meet me in Jo’burg for the World Cup) and I embarked on this ill-advised ferry ride.  At least Cape Maclear, another renowned backpacker beach hangout, looms in my future and I plan to spend at least three or four days there doing some heavy-duty chillaaaaaxin’.

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The response to my request for help in my last post (and on Facebook and gchat) with World Cup tickets and accommodations was overwhelming.  I received email introductions to multiple friends-of-friends who will be in Jo’burg at the same time, a ticket to the US-England match, and possibly even an apartment to crash in.  Between those connections, the many cool people I’ve encountered along the way (especially on the Dar-Mbeya train), and the heaps of additional people I’m sure I’ll meet when I get to Jo’burg, my five or so days of World Cup madness are shaping up to be a blast.

Despite the good times I’m having on the road and expecting to have at the World Cup, I find myself increasingly daydreaming about my return to the states and seeing all my friends and family.  It feels like I’ve been on hiatus from “real life” and I’m increasingly torn between on one hand the desire to achieve “real” goals like advancing my career, finding a life partner, and deepening relationships with people who I hope will be close life-long friends, and on the other hand a longing to see more of the world and just stay on the road for as long as humanly possible.  I’ve met a number of people on my travels who have been more or less on the road, living and working in developing countries, since finishing “uni” (college).  While they’re generally warm, fun, interesting people, I’m horrified of the prospect of waking up one day and finding myself in my early 30s, single, passing my time with people I’ve known for less than a year, a string of teaching and tourism gigs behind me, no real impact on the world, measuring time by how much longer I can stretch my meager savings while making sure I have enough left over to by a plane ticket home.

I know that’s not a very charitable view of the roving ex-pat life and I suspect the people I’m describing would respond by questioning why I would want to wake up one day in my early 30s, having spent most of my youth in offices and classrooms, climbing an unconquerable career ladder, living in only one or two cities, seeing the same people day-in and day-out, the rough course of the next 30-odd years (marriage, house, kids) already laid out before me, measuring time by how much longer it will take to save enough money to retire and spend the twilight of my life rekindling the carefree spirit whose brief flare inspired this quarter-life crisis.  The truth is, both those characterizations fail to capture the benefits and joy that can accompany either lifestyle, and really, trying to project how I’ll evaluate my life 5-8 years from now is both foolish and short-sighted.  For now, I’m just going to focus on making the most of my final two weeks (of this stint) in Africa…