Phad Thai and Chai: Jennifer and Nathan's Journey

A Trek in the Himalaya

2009-07-04T11:53:00.000-07:00

Temple Bells at Dhakuri Pass

Dhakuri Camp

Khati

Jen standing in front of Pindary valley

On the way up

Women threshing wheat at Khati

Woman collecting bamboo for baskets

View from our camp at Khati

Zero Point

Before bed at Zero Point

Baba's Temple

Baba, Ganesh and Us

As most of our friends and family are aware of by now, Jen and I have returned from India and Thailand. In fact, we are now busy preparing for our return trip to Asia, where we will serve for two years in Cambodia with the U.S. Peace Corps. During our preparations, Jen has created a photo journal of our most recent travels. It will feature five hundred of our favorite photos and the blog entries from our trip and will be for sale to anyone interested. Please contact us for more information.

And so, for her project, we decided to finally write about the last leg of our journey through India: a weeklong trek in the mighty Himalaya…

In our last entry, we had just left behind the sadhu-filled streets along the holy Ganga River in Rishikesh. Taking India’s now infamous public transportation we arrived back in Sonapani wobbly legged after a four-hour drive up winding mountain roads. We stayed for only two nights packing our bags for our trek to the Pindari Glacier, where Ashish had organized a first class expedition through his local connections.

We left early in the morning on the sixth of May, driving seven hours north to the small town of Saung. Our driver was a short Indian man with a cowboy hat and large aviator sunglasses. We stopped in Bageshwar along the way to pick up our trekking guide, Ganesh. He was about our age and spoke only broken English. We continued up the steep mountain roads, with large gray clouds building above our heads echoing thunder over the tall, still hidden peaks of the Himalaya.

At Saung we met Naresh, our donkey-wala in charge of hauling all of the food and equipment up the Pindari valley. That night we slept at eight thousand feet amidst terraced mountain slopes, rich green oak forests, and small hamlets that still live in a world where electricity and running water are myths from a distant future. Grasshoppers chirped loudly as we fell asleep and dogs howled all night throughout the valley.

The next morning began early; up at 5:15 am with a cup of steaming chai, we started the day refreshed and energized. We ate a breakfast of roti, sabzi, and porridge. Ganesh hustled about the camp with the exuberance that comes with youth and loyalty. The donkey was loaded by 7:30 and we embarked with the sun already blazing down on our backs. The first day’s climb was steep and rocky, but an otherwise arduous hike was made pleasant by massive oak trees and sunbathing lizards keeping us company. The infrastructure along the trail was very developed and we had the ability to drink anything from chai to 7-Up. We saw many people at chai shops and on the trail, mostly locals and a few other trekking groups. We reached the one-and-only pass of our trek by mid-day after gaining 4,500 feet in under ten miles, where we ate lunch and meditated at a small temple. Jen was blown away by her first glimpse of the Himalaya up close. That night we slept at Dhakuri, a small camp made up of a couple chai shops and rest houses.

We woke up the next morning at over ten thousand feet to the sounds of morning bird songs and donkey bells. I climbed out of my sleeping bag with great effort and opened the tent door. Staring at me straight in the eye was a panorama of peaks, standing over twenty thousand feet tall, just beginning to light up from the summit down. I clambered out into the dew-soaked dawn and stumbled to the chai-wala. He prepared two steaming cups of over sweetened tea, which I brought back to Jen still keeping warm in her sleeping bag. We watched the perfect, straight rays of the sun slowly illuminate the ridges of the snow-covered range across the valley.

Setting out after breakfast we began the longest leg of our trek – twenty-one kilometers up the glacial valley to a small, cold camp perched at the confluence of the Pindari River and a small glacier-fed tributary. We passed through ancient forests filled with the sound of small bells announcing the presence of hidden cows. Two dogs followed us several kilometers, dodging and weaving between our feet and keeping away less friendly canines. At lunch we stopped in Khati. A small, hidden village tucked deep away in the folds of the long valley, Khati was easily the most romantic place Jen and I had ever seen. The whole town was built into a terraced slope and the buildings were made of local stone with flat, rectangular mica slabs used for roofs. Wheat was laid out to dry on almost every roof and several acres of more wheat spread out below the houses, filled with women toiling in the afternoon sun. Children ran through the narrow streets, coming and going from a single room schoolhouse above the village. Men smoked bidis and watched us lazily with little interest.

By the third day, waking up cold and sore, we were beginning to feel the strain of our long journey to the Pindari Glacier. But we could afford our bodies little rest because we still faced the most challenging leg of our hike; we had to climb to zero-point by early afternoon, a five thousand foot elevation gain in under 7 miles. Aided by the omnipresent trekker’s chai and jaw-dropping views of the thundering Pindari River below us, however, we persevered all the way to the end of the trail with little trouble. Along the way we saw a Himalayan Monal, a resplendent bird considered an elusive delicacy to the locals.

Arriving at zero-point, we had hardly set up camp before our donkey-wala, Naresh, urged us to follow him to a large stone temple that seemed to emerge from the boulder-strewn fields above us. He wanted us to pay our respects to the only resident of zero-point – a boisterous baba famous for his hospitality and cooking. We had been told about the “zero-point baba” from our friend Ashish before we embarked on our trek, and so we were very eager to meet him in person. We entered his home through a small doorway built into a chest-high stonewall that surrounded the small temple grounds. Our guides greeted the baba with reverential awe and he quickly offered all of us chai. I was surprised to see a very healthy, not-quite-middle age Indian wearing a tattered pink down jacket smiling at us with a fantastic set of pearl white teeth. That evening we watched him cook sabzi and puri over several small gas stoves inside his dark, cozy kitchen while he discussed everything from politics to astro-physics with anyone willing to lend an ear. We sat in silence mostly, simply observing a holy man hard at work.

We retired for the night early, as a light snow had begun to fall at dusk. While drifting to sleep, a mighty trumpeting shook the valley as the baba blew forcefully into a conk shell to begin his nighttime puja to Nandadevi, the local mountain deity. In the middle of the night I awoke from a deep slumber, propelled by a dream to climb out of my sleeping bag. My breath billowed before me as I unzipped the ice-covered vestibule and stumbled into the night. Snow crunched under my feet as I stood up and moved away from our tent. As I slowly turned around, looking in every direction, I felt my heart pound quickly; above me, solid snow spires of unimaginable beauty stretched into the starry sky. The cold rushed into my veins alongside an ineffable joy. The bone-like radiance of the full moon cast night shadows thousands of feet long and illuminated the valley in a sharp, unreal glow. The pain of the sub-zero air closed in on me too quickly though, and so I could only remain transfixed for two short moments before I retreated back into the tent. I woke up Jen and she went outside to see the same spectacular views. Soon we were both fast asleep again.

In the morning we woke up to a flock of noisy choughs piercing the frostbitten dawn. After downing our morning chai, we trudged up the last bit of the glacial valley with Ganesh and photographed the massive peaks that had been hidden the previous afternoon by clouds. The Pindari Glacier was a wrinkled, sky blue field of ice just a quarter of a mile away. We stood on the high lateral moraine deposited by the glacier a hundred years before, reminding us of the battle it is slowly losing against a warming climate. We left the glacier behind and floated back down to the camp to eat breakfast with the baba before starting our descent back to Dwali.

The return hike back down the Pindary valley took us three more days. We walked slowly and deliberately – taking our time to imbibe the natural beauty of the mountains. We decided to stay in Khati for a night, rather than hike the long leg from Dwali to Dhakuri. Thunderstorms had rolled into the valley and left us drenched to the bone. We decided to rent an old timber cabin for two dollars rather than freeze in our small, damp tent. That evening we sat around a smoky fire with three older Indians from Gujurat and listened to their wizened guide tell tales in loud, rough Hindi. We met several other trekkers heading up to the glacier, eager to learn about the weather. It turns out we had been fated with a stroke of luck, because the thunderstorms had left behind over two feet of snow at zero-point, making the hike nearly impossible for the newcomers.

By the time our trek ended on the morning of the eighth day, we were both eager to head back to Sonapani. Our bodies were spent. However, the goodbyes to Ganesh and Naresh were bittersweet because we knew that leaving behind the Pindari valley was the beginning of our long trip home. We passed through high hill country filled with wheat and potato terraces, whitewashed homes with blue doors, and small families tilling fields with ancient oxen. The drive down from the Himalaya was like a drive lost in time. Jen and I both felt as though we had entered a dream, shaken by a nostalgia that seemed to come from a past life; every valley and village evoked memories that originated from places we had never been and times we could not recall. We entered a separate reality that drew us in and created an inexplicable loss for loved ones we never knew. It felt as though we had slipped through the cracks of our modern world and shortly lived in a parallel universe immortalized in fairy tales. We had said goodbye to India.

Tibetan Monks and Hindu Sages

2009-05-03T09:25:00.000-07:00

We're currently at the last outpost of tech-savvy civilization before heading back off into the Himalayas. A blog post is therefore warranted, though unfortunately uploading photographs seems to be an impossibility here. A brief update will have to suffice. Hey, that's just more incentive to sit through our slide show when we return to the states, right?

On the 22nd we boarded a bus in Amritsar. Eight hours later we'd left India. Though no passports had been stamped, no boarders crossed, by going to Dharamsala we'd certainly entered a different land. Dharamsala, located in the far west of the state of Himachal Pradesh, is known for being the seat of the Tibetan government in exile. Tibetans first started arriving in 1959, after the Chinese invaded their homeland and they were forced to cross the Himalayan rage on foot to find safety from Mao's brutal campaign to crush Tibetan culture. The Dalai Lama himself lives in the nearby village of McLeod Ganj, though His Holiness does not make many public appearances there these days. Our small guest house, a mere 10 minute walk from his residence, clung to the side of a mountain from which there were stunning views out over a lush valley.

I say that McLeod Ganj felt distinctly un-Indian for several reasons: 1) the population appears to be one third Indian, one third Tibetan, and one third Western traveler; 2) there are distinctly fewer cows; 3) it is unnaturally clean and quite 4) there are less people trying to get you to buy something; 5) there are far fewer crazy things happening on the street at any given moment. In many ways, it was a respite from the chaos of this country. But I'll tell you this: it proved to me just how addicted I have become to India's beautiful frenetic energy. There's never a dull moment. And by the time we'd spent five days in McLeod Ganj, I was more than ready to jump back into the fray.

Nathan spent the first two days alternating between exploring the town by himself and taking care of me since I was ridiculously sick. He visited several of McLeod Ganj's colorful Tibetan gompas (temples) and nature trails, and spent an afternoon volunteering at the Tibet Hope Center where he chatted with Tibetan monks and refugees during an English conversation class. Our third day in McLeod Ganj fell on a Saturday, the day which His Holiness the 17th Karmapa holds public audiences. I was feeling better by then (thank god for the efficiency of modern antibiotics) and so Nathan and I made our way down to a large temple complex to hear him speak. The Karmapa is the leader of the Karma Kagyu, or "Black Hat" school of Tibetan Buddhism. The current Karmapa, Ogyen Trinley Dorje, is only 23 years old. Along with 200 or so Tibetans and other Westerners, we sat on the floor of a large hall and listened to him discuss his thoughts on the dharma.

The English conversation class at the Tibetan Hope Center was in session again on our last day in town. This time we were both able to make it. It was amazing to hear each individual discuss their flight from Tibet (everyone we talked to crossed the mountains on foot), their new life in India, and their hopes for the future of their homeland. Though the Tibetan cause has largely gone out of vogue with protesters in the United States, the struggle for an autonomous Tibet is still very much alive for the Tibetan people. In many ways, our time in McLeod Ganj opened our eyes to the relevance and immediacy of this issue.

The evening of the 28th we had a train to catch in Pathankot, a transport hub several hours to the south of McLeod Ganj. It was supposed to be a simple bus down there. But as soon as we left the Tibetan enclave we were thrown into the madness of India in full force. Mid-journey our bus started overheating while going uphill, spewing vile gas everywhere, and broke down. After some milling about on the side of the road, another bus drove by and all the passengers from our bus jumped on, filling it to the brim. Through the chaos of this process we ascertained that this bus was not going to Pathankot, but we'd better get on any way so we could make it to the next town. We climbed the ladders up to the roof of the bus to strap down our backpacks, but before we could get down the driver was frantically screaming at us to sit and hold on - there was no room inside the bus. We had little choice but to cling onto the small railings on the top of the bus and flatten ourselves to the roof as the bus took off. Along with a group of Indian boys who'd ended up on the top as well, we dodged low-hanging branches and watched the sun sink towards the horizon as we careened along the mountain road. We road a good 25km that way. At least we had a good view! Needless to say, we made it to the next town alive and hired a van to take us to the train station.

We arrived the next morning in Haridwar, one of the holiest sights in Hinduism. This is where the mighty Ganga (the Ganjes River) leaves the foothills and enters the plains. The devout come from all over India to bathe in the water here and wash away their bad karma. We spent the whole day and the next morning wandering around the ghats, or stairs, which lead into the water. Sadhus (aesthetics), pilgrims, cotton-candy sellers, and everyone in between crowded by the river. At sunset hundreds of people - perhaps thousands - gathered on the ghats to listen to the music of the evening prayer and place puja (offerings) of little banana leaf boats filled with flowers and candles into the Ganga to be swept downstream with the current...

....I'd meant to resume writing this blog after a concert we attended this evening. But the concert, of sonorous traditional sitar and tabla, ran long and now we have a train to catch. So in short, we left Haridwar and spent the last few days in Rishikesh, the self-proclaimed "yoga capitol of the world." We've white-water rafted, visited the Beatles old ashram (they wrote most of the White Album here), wandered the streets, and watched the sun set over the Ganga while strolling down the river's white sand beaches.

By tomorrow afternoon we'll be in Sonapani again. From there will depart for the last leg of our journey: a nine day trek through the Himalayas to the Pindari Glacier. We'll try to put up one last blog post in Delhi before we leave, but we may not get the chance. If that's the case, you'll just have to hear about our trek in person when we're back in Seattle on the 19th!

The Golden Temple

2009-04-27T21:25:00.000-07:00

We rolled into Amritsar like we have in every other city here in India: dirty, exhausted and ready for more. We had traveled 21 hours north from Agra, the home of the Taj Mahal, to spend several days in Punjab, the land of the Sikhs. Known as the breadbasket of India, Punjab supplies over 70% of India's wheat, the staple commodity that makes all the savory Indian rotis possible. It is also famous for another, more sacred, reason - the Golden Temple.

Throughout the world the Sikhs are perhaps the most easily recognizable religious group because of their long, bushy beards and precisely wrapped turbans. Their religion, however, is largely a mystery to most people outside of India, who often mistake them for Muslims because of their dress. It was because of this confusion that many Sikhs suffered intense brutality after 9/11 in America. Sadly, that kind of persecution has long been a fact of life throughout the Sikhs' short history in India. We didn't know this, of course, when we arrived to Amritsar, but as we were soon to find out, the Sikhs are more than happy to share and discuss the ways of their religion and lives with anyone willing to lend an ear.

As Jen mentioned in our last blog, Indian cities are often divided between the "Old" and "New" cities, and it was to the frenetic and dizzying chaos of the old city that we headed when we arrived in Amritsar. Our hotel was sandwiched between dozens of small shops, tucked away in a small alley filled with noise from sun-up to sun-down. Accustomed to the liveliness of Indian cities at this point, we were nonetheless astonished by the sea of bodies pouring down the road outside our hotel. Consulting our spindly, beedie smoking hotel manager, we discovered they were pilgrims and visitors making their way to the Golden Temple.

Not wasting anytime, we unloaded our bags in our room, grabbed a couple of scarfs and handkerchiefs to cover our heads (our LP conveniently reminded us that head coverings are a must in any Sikh temple), and dove into the inexorable tide flowing down the road. Just a hundred yards away, behind a large, simple gateway, sat the massive temple complex bustling with activity. Following the crowd in front of us, we discarded our shoes at a locker room and hurried towards the sound of chanting emanating from within the complex.

We walked gingerly through a long, shallow pool of water at the main entrance, past pilgrims prostrating themselves on the ground and entered into the complex proper. Stretching out before us, in all directions, was a world so dramatically different from the one we had just left behind that we were stunned into paralysis. Several thousand pilgrims moved along a marble walkway in a clockwise direction. Circumscribed by their march stood a massive holy pool, directly in the middle of which was the brilliant reflection of the Darbar Sahib, or Golden Temple. A slow, harmonic chant filled the air, bringing to life a pervasive, other-worldly presence. Sikh men bathed in the pool, splashing water upon their bodies and colorful turbans. Women and children sat in happy conversation watching and waiting. Groups of young men and old men, families and lovers, all strolled quietly along gazing out at the simple, yet radiant temple.

Originally founded in 1577, the Golden Temple is considered the holiest shrine of the Sikh religion. Despite being blessed by the enlightened Mughal emperor Akbar, the temple was attacked and destroyed by another Mughal in the mid-18th century. After being rebuilt, the great Sikh leader Maharaja Ranjit Singh added golden roofing to turn it into the present day Golden Temple. The complex itself is a spiritual mecca, attracting upwards of 40,000 pilgrims and visitors a day. Sikhs come here to pay their respects to the original copy of the Sikh Holy Book, the Guru Granth Sahib.

In the 15th century, Guru Nanak founded Sikhism because he was not satisfied with either Hinduism or Islam. He attempted to consolidate the best of both religions and set about creating a faith based less on deities and divinity and more on pragmatism, equality and living a wholesome life. For several centuries, various Sikh Gurus upheld this ideal and wrote their teachings down for later generations to study. Then at the end of his life Guru Gobind Singh, the 10th Guru, declared that everything Sikhs needed had been recorded into the Granth Sahib, and thus anointed the holy book the last, and eternal, Guru.

Today, while the original Guru Granth Sahib is housed within the Golden Temple, copies of the holy book are found within every Sikh household. Many Sikhs treat the book as a real person, covering it when it is cold and protecting it from dust and the like. It provides all of the spiritual direction for the Sikh religion, and is respected as a source of knowledge rather than as a God.

As I said, we didn't know most of this when we arrived to the Golden Temple. Perhaps judging by the look of bewilderment on our foreign faces, a Sikh man with a bright blue turban and an easy smile approached us as we walked around the holy pool. After inquiring about where we were from, he swiftly adopted the role of impromptu tour guide and set about informing us of everything that had seemed so bizarre moments before.

Upon hearing that we had yet to visit the kitchens at the complex, he beckoned us to follow. In every Sikh temple throughout the world food is offered to any visitor, regardless of race, religion, or creed. Known as Guru-ka-Langer, this practice represents Sikhisms' inherent generosity and tolerance. Further, Langer provides Sikhs with an opportunity to help serve their community and strangers as they work together with their fellow followers regardless of class or gender.

Now, I know what you're thinking: if there are over 40,000 visitors to the Golden Temple everyday, how is it possible to provide this traditional service to everyone who wants food? At least, that was on my mind as our Sikh friend led us through the dining halls towards the kitchens redolent with all the sweet, pungent aromas of India.

The first room we entered in felt like a furnace. Three enormous machines stood in the middle of the room, one vigorously humming with activity. Small balls of dough were being pumped out onto a conveyor belt where they sped along to be flattened and finally hurled into a massive gas oven. Gliding to the end of the belt, they popped into a large wicker basket. Several women swiftly buttered these chapati and sent them on their way to the hungry crowds outside. From there we toured the hand-made chapati station where a dozen more men and women swiftly rolled chapati with wooden spools on marble blocks. Two pairs of Sikh men flipped dozens of chapati atop metal sheets resting above burning coals. Apparently all the food is prepared both traditionally and with modern efficiency.

Moving deeper into the kitchens we saw several massive vats of dhal and sabzi simmering above gas flames. A Sikh garbed only in a Kurta stood stirring the giant metal pot with a ladle over seven feet long. With some urging, I tried my hand at the task and found it exhilarating and difficult. What a treat. Everywhere were the normal staples of an Indian meal busily being prepared, but on a psychedelically large scale. We saw pots of chay the size of a baby swimming pool steaming above wood fires.

Obviously, we had to try the food that we had just "helped" prepare. We trailed behind our guide into the massive dining halls along with several other hundreds of hungry bellies. Grabbing a plate and spoon we sat down in a long row of fifty people, ogling the dozens of other rows of hungry people slurping and gulping down the tasty, vat-prepared lentils. The food was good. No, excellent. Volunteers slopped ladles of dhal and vegetables onto our plates at dizzying speeds. Just as quickly, the diners ate their food in record times, and before we knew what was happening, people were getting up with empty plates in less than five minutes. We hurried to catch up and left the hall with deliciously painful guts. We had just watched about a thousand people be fed in minutes; the Langer kitchen at the Golden Temple has been operating like this 24/7 for over four hundred years.

We spent the rest of the day digesting our food and taking in the whole experience. Our Sikh friend left us and we watched as the white marble slowly changed colors as the sun began to set. The Golden Temple itself took on a life of its own, shimmering with an aura of mystical light. The chanting turned to song as the sun set and we sat lost in a trance as the singing of the holy scriptures bathed us in sweet melancholy. I pondered nothing and everything at once, while the temple seemed to breathe slow, even breaths.

We stayed for the closing ceremony in an exhausted way. At 10:15 a group of holy Sikhs began to prepare a massive golden palanquin to carry the Granth Sahib from the Darbar Mandir to its resting place in the Akal Takhat. They adorned it with marigolds strung into beautiful garlands and placed several pillows inside the palanquin to make the short trip comfortable for the holy book. All the while the men chanted in perfect unison. Then, with eight men, they carried the palanquin on their shoulders down the marble walkway to pick up the book. Dozens of pilgrims bustled around them, lending a hand with the weight and watching in awe at the spiritual procession. We waited at the resting place for several minutes. Then, still to the sound of chanting, the large group came back with the holy book and with swift agility placed it onto the head of a Sikh who carried it up the steps and inside the main hall. There, behind thick glass doors and with hundreds of squirming bodies trying to watch, the Sikh put the book to rest with surprising gentleness. We watched as wooden doors closed and the Guru was left to slumber.

We left the temple that night much as we had that morning we arrived in Amritsar. This time though, there was a little more magic moving our feet as we stumbled back to our hotel, exhausted and ready for more.

Iconic India

2009-04-23T00:55:00.001-07:00

Basking in its magnificence

Guess what this is

Sunrise over the Taj

It was even better with coffee

Jen at the Agra Fort

The world's largest sundial

*Note: Check out the pics of our last post below!

It was 6am when we rolled into Jaipur on the night train from Udaipur. Disoriented from lack of sleep (per usual on the Indian railways) we fortified ourselves with the ubiquitous cup of chai before plunging into the raucous throng of rickshaw drivers. Jaipur, the captial of Rajasthan, is a large, loud city and so we where happy to discover that our guest house, while plagued with mosquitoes, was at least located in a quite part of town. Since we only had a day there, we decided to venture straight back into the fray after dropping off our bags.

Many Indian cities are divided into two general sections: the "old city," often fortified by an intimidating wall and filled with narrow, winding alleyways, and the "new city," which entails the modern sprawl which has grown up in the surrounding areas in recent decades. It's easy to imagine why the the old city tends to be the most interesting part; that is where we headed that morning. After entering through a beautiful, towering gateway we were bombarded by a whole range of stimuli so common in this country. Rickshaws, cars, and motorcycles honked and screeched incessantly; shop keepers screamed about their wares in a vain attempt to attract attention; the harsh sun shone down on the city's pink buildings and glistened off massive heaps of dried red chili peppers; strangers stopped to ask us "Hello? What is your country? Where are you going?" or simply to oogle us; cows of all shapes, sizes, and colors stared up at us with their luminous brown eyes as we glanced at the ground trying to avoid their piles of shit; our nostrils were filled with the conflicting scents of piss and sweet spices; and all the while we were literally pushed and shoved by the mass of humanity coursing down the long lane.

We located a minar, or tower, in the middle of the old city and climbed it's tightly spiraling ramp up to the top. We gazed down at the semi-organized chaos below. The old city of Jaipur is laid out in a grid with a long boulevard down the center. The quadrants on either side are roughly categorical: there's an area for textiles, one for perfumes, one for spices, one for jewelers, etc. While this kind of thematic layout is common in India, it seemed to be particularly well executed in Jaipur. From our perch we spotted an gigantic triangle rising up near the city palace. A man told us that it is part of an old observatory. Since it looked so out of place, and therefore intriguing, we decided to go investigate.

The observatory was built in the 17th century by the astronomically inclined Maharaja Jai Singh. Entering it's courtyard is like falling down the rabbit hole. And into a modern art sculpture garden. Huge, enigmatic structures surround you. Their clean, curving lines and simple tan and brick coloring make them beautiful to behold. Gone was the glitz and glamor of Indian design. They were just pure form. At first glance you'd have no idea what they were. Some have huge, round surfaces; some had stairs leading to nowhere. As we found out however, they are all large scale astronomical instruments designed to perform various functions such as finding the angle of a celestial body from the earth. One instrument was the world's largest sun dial.

The afternoon and evening were spent wandering the crowded city streets, eying the merchants' various wares, and occasionally entering into an intense bartering bout over a traditional Rajasthani scarf or piece of jewelry. We finished off the night with a couple of tasty South Indian dosas (spiced potatoes wrapped in a crispy crepe and dipped in coconut chutney) and attempted to get some sleep while mosquitoes buzzed around our heads, devouring Nathan. Good thing we brought plenty of anti-malaria medication...

The next mornig we bid goodbye to Jaipur and the state of Rajasthan as we jumped on a bus. It was bound for Agra, which is located just three hours south of Delhi in Uttar Pradesh, India's largest state. The city is home to Agra Fort, the largest of the mighty bastions built by the Mughals during the zenith of their empire in the 17th century. However, the Agra Fort is only a side show to the city's main attraction: the one and only Taj Mahal.

By mid- afternoon we were climbing the staircase of our guest house up to the rooftop restaurant. I stared out over the city and the Taj - the icon of India - stared back at me. Though I could hardly wait to rush right up to it, we were saving the trip there until the next day. Instead we headed off to the Agra Fort.

The Fort, surrounded by thick red sandstone walls 20 meters high and 2.5km in circumference, is a massive place. Though the British destroyed many of the interior buildings when they converted it into a garrison (you gotta love imperialists), the palaces, courtyards, fountains, and intricately carved walls which still remain are more than enough to transport you back in time and bring to life the opulent world of the Mughal kings. Several hours dissipated as we strolled through the grounds and fantasized about a bygone era. Satisfied, we returned to our rooftop restaurant where we put up our feet and sipped cold beer as we watched the night descend slowly upon the Taj and wrap up the magnificent structure in darkness.

Up with the sun the next morning, we studied the changing light on the Taj over breakfast before heading to its main gateway. We'd come to Agra expecting to pay 750 rupees each to enter the Taja Mahal's complex. That's roughly $15 each - a small fortune by Indian standards. But as luck would have it, we'd unwittingly arrived on World Heritage Celebration Day when entrance was absolutely free. Feeling flush, we sprung for a guide and were led through a towering red sandstone archway into the gardens surrounding the Taj. Some things in this world are famous for good reason. The Taj Mahal is one of them. I can easily say I have never seen a structure more beautiful, more perfect, or more awe-inspiring in my life.

They call the Taj the ultimate monument to love. When Mughal emperor Shah Jahan's second wife, Mumtaz Mahal, died in childbirth in 1631, he was so heartbroken that he decided to build her the world's most extravagant mausoleum. Twenty-two years later, after some 20,000 people had labored non-stop around the clock, the Taj was completed. You can take a look at the pictures, but none begin to do it justice. The entire complex is built with astounding symmetry. The domed white marble mausoleum is sculpted and inlaid with stones with such delicacy and perfection that it is almost incomprehensible. Its sheer beauty is overwhelming.

Though I could ramble on, I'll spare you further accolades and leave it at this: we could easily have spent the whole day simply staring at the Taj Mahal. As it was, we whiled away the morning there before time got the better of us and we had to head to the train station.

Let me take this moment to paint you a small picture. Our train was delayed by several hours (suprise suprise). While loitering around the station we ran into two Danish girls trying to get to Delhi. After chatting for bit, we thought we'd kill some time by playing a game of cards. We sat in a small circle on the ground listening intently as the girls explained how to play Hearts, innocently minding our own business. After a few minutes, we all sensed a change in atmosphere and swiveled our heads upwards. There, standing above us and staring at us with an direct frankness only Indians are capable of, was a crowd of a good solid 20 people. And that, my friends, is what traveling in India is like every single day. One begins to truly empathize with the gorillas at the Woodland Park Zoo.

Eventually the train arrived, we clambered on, and were headed north to Amritsar, in the far west of the state of Punjab. But more on that later...

A blue city, a floating palace, and James Bond

2009-04-18T00:55:00.000-07:00

Woman paying tribute to a Maharana's many widows

Traditional Rajasthani Desert Dance

A wandering baba

Check out this guy's moustache

A happy fruit-wala in Udaipur

Sunset over Lake Pichola

City Palace (featured in James Bond)

Jodhpur's massive fort

This Lassi tasted like India

The Blue City - Jodhpur

When Jen and I had finally finished clearing away the fine desert sand from behind our ears and between our toes, we were both skeptical that we would find anything half as awesome as a camel ride in the Thar desert. We were pleasantly surprised.

Leaving behind Jaisalmer and its golden castle, we took a bus eastward to the Blue City. An apt name for Jodhpur, which is covered by indigo buildings crammed haphazardly together behind an ancient sandstone wall. Perched above the busy lanes and spicy bazaars is Mehrangarh fort, an impregnable fortress standing vigil over a city and people that haven't quite accepted the modern era. Cows still brush elbows (hooves?) with rickshaw-walas and skirt through colonial era alleyways made claustrophobic by the incessant clamor of horns, bells and shouting urchins.

We spent only a day in Jodhpur, touring the massive fortress and sipping makhaniya lassis that imbibe all the aromas and flavors of India. The fort itself was founded in 1459 by Rao Jodha and in over five hundred years its walls have never been breached. Walking through the main gate it is easy to see why. The structure sits atop a hill over 300 feet tall and the thick sandstone walls climb another 100 feet higher. We wandered through the palace, letting ourselves become lost in history and fantasy. Like Jaisalmer, the Maharajas of Jodhpur lived lives of decadence, ruling from behind thick walls amid ornate halls filled with riches. We decided that the Rajput kings must have had the coolest royal life of any royalty in the world.

The next day we arrived by bus to Udaipur, the so-called "Venice of the East". I've never been to Venice, but certainly Udaipur is the most European of any Indian city I have yet to visit. Centered around a massive man made lake nestled in a valley of rolling mountains, Udaipur is the home to three magical palaces that once housed the fearsome Maharanas of Mewar. Of all the Rajput kingdoms, only Udaipur savagely fought to maintain its independence for 76 long, bloody generations. More recently, Udaipur made its world debut in the James Bond flick "Octopussy". As politically incorrect as its name is crass, the movie features all of the palaces and alleyways of the beautiful lake city. Guilty as charged, we succumbed to the lure of Hollywood and spent an evening sipping beers and gazing at the sparkling lake as Bond casually blew up palaces on TV (after 3 months of travel, beer and TV felt like paradise).

Seeking a little more adventure (or, perhaps inspired by Bond's shenanigans), we decided after a couple of days it was time to get our own wheels. Now, for anyone who has been to India knows, or can probably imagine, driving on Indian roads is not for the faint of heart. Roadrules are an afterthought and defensive driving a humorless joke. You compete with bicycles, cows, pedestrians, dogs, rickshaws (bike and auto), trucks, cars, more cows and everything else that is spilling into the street (and that means everything). Not surprisingly, we spent a good deal of time debating whether we wanted to drive there, on a scooter nonetheless. Eventually, I summoned my courage and headed to the rental shop next door to our hotel.

We rented the best bike on two wheels we could find (...for 300 rupees/six dollars) and hopped on a 25 year old, rusted scooter that drifted to the left when I wasn't paying attention. After checking out the machine, we hopped on the bike (with helmets of course) and I timidly creeped into the street. Immediately forced to jump into the fray, I was soon dodging and weaving simply to stay alive. I managed to make it to the petrol station to fill up and then take off again out of town for some serious cruising. We headed to the mountains and lost ourselves in our new found freedom.

In the afternoon we made our way to a government sponsered tourist trap called Shilpgram. Designed to expose tourists to "traditional village life" there were several replicas of villages from western India. We hired a guide named Dinesh who enthusiastically droned on about everything Indian. Perhaps impressed by our Hindi, or maybe because we were the only visitors that day, Dinesh invited us to have dinner with his family that night. We happily accepted. He picked us up at 8 pm on his silver motorcycle and took us to a new neighborhood just outside the Old City. Upon our arrival we were greeted by his entire family: aunts, uncles, cousins, daughters and sons, grandparents and neighbors. The women cooked our food while we were entertained by the children in Dinesh's room. When dinner came out, we happily dug into the heaps of home cooked dal, bathi (Rajasthani balls made of wheat and lentils), corn chapati, bhindi, butter lassi, and vegetable pakora with as much gusto as we could muster. What a feast! We ate and ate and ate, sticking to the golden rule of traveling that the more you eat, the happier your host will be. It worked.

The next couple of days were spent meandering the streets and bazaars of the Old City. We saw silver shops full of women clad in dazzling saris and duppatas haggling over jewelry. Old men drinking chay on dirty doorsteps trying to look important. Fruit-walas chasing away flies. Basket weavers slicing bamboo. Tea merchants counting rupees. Young children shouting. Vats of old gulab-jaman soaking in sun-heated syrup. A painted elephant carrying two foreign children. Rickshaw-walas selling joints. Cows grazing. Old women carrying pots and bags on their heads. And two white foreigners taking photos and gawking at it all.

We left Udaipur happy and exhausted, ready to venture forth to Jaipur and then the one and only, Taj Mahal.

PS. Again, we apologize for no photos. The only internet cafe we have found doesn't have anti-virus software and we are afraid to upload pictures after our near-total loss of all our photos in Jodhpur (we got a virus). So, check back soon, we promise to get some up asap! Much love to everyone.

Sand Castles and Camels

2009-04-09T03:47:00.000-07:00

Morning chay in the desert

Women on the sand dunes

Nathan and the two guides

It's camel time!

Traversing the Thar

Jain Temple in Jaisalmer Fort

Stylin': Jen and Ailey at Jama Masjid in Delhi

Us and our English class

Jumping for joy in forests near Sonapani

It's Holi!

Sunrise over Sonapani

Us in front of our cabin and the mountains

Just over a week ago we left behind Sonapani to begin the last leg of our journey. We had enjoyed several days of relaxation before deciding to travel earlier than we had originally planned. The high season had started in the foothills as vacationing Delhi-ites fled the heat of the plains to the south and consequently the staff was too busy for us to teach English. It was not a sad departure because we will be coming back to Uttarakhand in a month to trek to the Pindari Glacier.

Besides, all of India was calling us anyway. Which proved to be something of a head ache when we were trying to choose all the places to visit in our last six weeks. In the end, Jen's desire to ride a camel through a desert combined with my fond memories of Rajasthan made the land of the Maharajas the winning choice. So we boarded the night train from Kathgodam and headed south once again to Delhi, a necessary stop along our westbound journey.

While in Delhi we visited with our friend Rashee again and enjoyed our first taste of non-Indian cuisine in over a month. Ravioli and red sauce never tasted so good. The next day we meandered through the crowded alleyways of Chandi Chowk again, this time with our two new friends Cam and Ailey from none other than our hometown of Seattle. They had both come to Chirag to complete field research for the masters thesis for a program arranged by my 2006 Indian program director. We had a blast showing them around and getting lost in the hectic hustle and bustle of Old Delhi. That night we boarded a train and headed west to Jaisalmer, the golden city.

As you might be able to predict at this point, our train ride was interesting to say the least. I'll spare the details, suffice it to say "ticket" in India is merely a formality best suited for foreigners like us - the local commuters know better and just get on the train at the station right outside Delhi proper. We had a "cozy" first four hours with about 14 Indian men in our berth made for six.

The next afternoon after our fun 22 hour ride through the desert, we arrived in Jaisalmer. Throngs of touts greeted us at the station as thick as flies on a hot summer day (which it was). We pushed our way through to an auto only to be joined by a tenacious tout who couldn't take no for an answer. We drove around the old city and unloaded at Hotel Renuka, a small family run establishment we found in the LP. Despite the pleas of our insistent little friend, we followed our intuition to the hotel, where we were greeted by Sunny the owner.

That afternoon we strolled the lanes of the town and soaked in the sites up in the old fort. The Jaisalmer fort was founded in 1156 by the Rajput King Jaisala after he met an old wise man that relayed an ancient prophecy passed down from Krishna telling of a time when a great king would found a great kingdom on the hill Trikuta. Originally the town lived entirely behind the fort's walls, but nowadays only 25% of the old city's population still resides atop that sacred hill.

I had come here two years previously, but still the city left us both speechless. Everywhere one looks there are intricately carved flowers, peacocks and delicate symmetrical lattice work upon doorframes, windows, and balconies. The city itself is alive with the sounds of hawkers, children, cows and motorcycles. Residents bump elbows with foreign tourists while shopkeepers continuously intone their sacred mantra of, "Hello, where from? Please come in, seeing is free - make your eyes and your pocket happy together!" As long as you keep walking it's easy to pretend they're not shouting at you.

The next day we toured the Jaisalmer palace; it comes straight from fairy tales. Almost a thousand years old, countless epics have unfolded within its walls. The most tragic being the traditional jauhars. Due to undying chivalry and valor, the Rajputs that lived in Jaisalmer in ancient times were unwilling to surrender in battle. Three times in the fort's history conquerors forced the hand of Jaisalmer's warriors to die in battle. Prior to their final fight, the men would preside over the holy ceremony of Jauhar, where women ritually clothed would burn themselves alive in suicide to save themselves from the hands of their enemies. The men, afterwards, donned sacred saffron clothes and rode to battle to their death. This tradition helped to make the Rajputs' prowess as fierce fighters the stuff of legend even in the times of the Moghuls.

In the morning of the following we day we embarked upon our own epic - three days and two nights in the Thar desert. We left early in the morning and drove 35 kilometers into the desert where we met our two guides, Easera and Amba, and three camels: Rocket, Michael Jackson, and Johnny Walker. They were named by Americans - go figure. We rode for about two hours in a cool breeze; Easera told us we were lucky because the weather was good. However, our luck wasn't to last for long.

At lunch we set up under a tall mesquite-like tree for the afternoon to cook and escape the heat. Easera and Amba collected fuel wood and fried up sabzi and chapati with three stones over a bed of coals. They deftly made fat chapatis, or desert roti, that I so fondly remembered from my last trip. After lunch the wind began to pick up and blow sand into every crack, cranny, and crevice of our bodies. It was miserable, but we passed the time playing cards...and chasing cards.

By mid-afternoon, with the wind still blowing, we climbed back onto our humped-steeds and set off with the sun blazing. I rigged a haphazard turban with my scarf and settled into the not-so-comfortable sway of Michael Jackson's lumbering stride. We soon strolled towards a vast wall of rolling sand dunes. A flock of babblers raced beneath the camel's feet while a shrike chirped a lonely desert song. The dunes, as we had feared, were shedding layer upon layer of fine sand into the wind that cut into our eyes like glass.

Just as we were contemplating making our trip shorter, our guides directed us behind a giant desert shrub that provided refuge from the lethal gusts. Then, to make things even better, a lone figured garbed in sand-colored clothes approached through the desert grass lugging a massive burlap sack filled with ice-cold beer. I know what you're thinking - in the desert? Yes, truly. I recalled over two years ago my similar luck - refreshments brought to your fingertips (brought often over two hours away by foot) in the middle of a desolate land.

Our moods soon lifted, obviously, and we settled in for the evening as the wind slowly quieted down and the evening unfolded around us, sipping beer and watching our guides prepare dinner while the desert turned a radiant gold and then a deep dark purple. That night we slept under the Milky Way.

The morning sun broke over the horizon with a fiery crackle the next morning and soon we were out of bed frolicking in the dunes again. We sipped chay as the camels stumbled back into camp with a fully belly after a night of heavy grazing. We departed our camp and went swiftly to Kanoi, a nearby village teeming with goats, broken stone, and brilliant saris. There were almost no men, except for a handful of goat herders and others who made a life off the camel industry. According to the beer-wala who had visited us the night before, all men leave their wives and families to work in Gujurat, Pushkar, or Mumbai in the furniture industry. Otherwise, there are no jobs for them in that run down village. Even Easera admitted that he only made 1000 rupees a month...that is less than one dollar a day.

It is a hard life for these Rajput descendants. Our path through the village was followed by shouts for school pens and rupees. A woman collected cow-patties to prepare a fire and seal cracks in the walls of her home. Families trudged a kilometer in the heat for water. It brought up mixed emotions in both of us, some pity and shame, but we too quickly left behind the village to learn more.

That afternoon we ate lunch like the day before: under a vast tree and with lots of desert roti. We played cards and napped. We also saw a flock of peacocks - massive, regal birds with the most vivid gold, blue, and turquoise plumage I have ever seen. They flew with a radiant golden aura. We were mesmerized as we followed them in the blasting furnace. Marvelous.

We galloped across the Thar that afternoon for hours. I laughed gleefully, not so much from joy, but the exhilarating pain of being so alive. The camel bounced and leaped over rock and shrub, sand and field. My stomach followed suit. We raced another safari (and won) and shouted like cowboys from some dusty old western. Our only soundtrack the incessant flatulence of our over-fed camels.

When we arrived at the dunes our bodies were broken from the sun and the humps of those leggy creatures. WE made camp and watched the sun set. Desert doves hooted a melodious chorus across the land. We gazed in rhapsody, our muscles pounding and faces blazing, at the setting sun while soft sand wraths glided over our feet. We could almost feel the cogs of time grinding in reverse.

At dinner we tried our hand at making chapatis. A beer-wala emerged from nowhere to sell h is treasure. We bought rounds as our misshapen roti burned over the coals. With too much spice, we feasted in the desert darkness and shared stories. Then, with our bellies full and a cool breeze blowing, the four of us sang and danced in the moon light. The desert men chilled us with their foreign warble and seductive beat; we returned the favor with nasally Dylan.

Before retiring for the night we shared our binoculars with our guides and we moon-gazed together. I told them that 40 years ago a man walked on the Moon - they either didn't believe me or didn't care, I think the latter. We fell asleep and woke up again tired, sandy, and happy. We rode the camels back to the far-off road and parted ways with our trusty steeds and helpful guides. The next day we came to Jodhpur, but that is another story...

Teaching in the Himalayas

2009-03-28T01:16:00.000-07:00

After nearly 3 weeks without the internet (so it goes in rural India), I am please to announce that we have made our triumphant return the the 21st century and the world of blogging...

Once our week in Delhi drew to a close, it was time to head up north to Uttarakhand, a state in the northwest which boarders China to the north and Nepal to the east. Our ultimate destination there was Sonapani, the resort where Nathan stayed while studying abroad in India two and a half years ago. Sitla, a small collection of shops and houses draped over the crest of a hill, is the closest village to Sonapani. The first leg of the journey involved an overnight train ride from the Old Delhi station to Kathgodam, the last stop on India’s northern plains before you plunge into the Himalayan foothills (if you can call them that; these giants reach over 7,000 feet). A train ride seemed innocent enough. Little did we know what we were in for.

Here’s the Old Delhi train station in a nutshell: the stench of trash and piss, the scurry of rat feet, the pushing and shoving of hundreds of bodies, and the unrelenting, unsmiling stare coming from every pair of eyes. After a seemingly endless 45 minute delay, our train finally rolled in and was met with a frantic wave of humanity rushing towards its small doors. Pushing our way into our sleeper compartment, we found our ‘beds’ for the night, which consisted of slightly cushioned planks folded out from the walls and stacked 3 high. People chattered loudly well into the night, the train rocked and creaked, and every half an hour, without fail, a vender traversed the narrow aisle screaming ‘Pani pani! Pani pani!’ – Hindi for water. Needless to say, it was not the best night’s sleep.

From Kathgodam we caught a bus up to Sitla. And we’re not talking about a Metro bus here. We’re talking a rickety, decrepit specimen of a bus jammed packed with toothless old men and clambering small children. All that was missing was the live poultry. A large empty metal barrel was strapped to the top along with our backpacks, and its clanging from side to side accompanied the blaring Hindi music as the bus careened around endless hairpin curves. The journey towards Sitla is a long and nerve-wracking series of ascents and descents as you venture deep into the rugged mountain terrain.

Miraculously, I fell asleep on Nathan’s shoulder shortly into the 4 hour drive. When I woke up the bus had stopped for a quick chai break at a village clinging to the steep hillside. Nathan pulled me out of the bus and beyond the small collection of shop fronts. He pointed towards the horizon, then upwards. And there they were: the Himalayas. They took my breath away – quite literally. The day was perfectly clear and it seemed like if I reached out I could touch these mountains to end all mountains. They stretched from horizon to horizon, all the way into Nepal to the east. And I understood why the Himalayas are called the rooftop of the world.

We got off the bus at the sign for an ashram. A small paved road leads off the main thoroughfare and down a steep hill to the ashram’s compound. Then the pavement ends and a dirt road begins. Soon enough the road is replaced by a simple foot path. You walk for a half and hour. And then you reach Sonapani. How to describe Sonapani? It’s a resort, but only in the best sense of the word, with none of the commercial trappings. There are 12 beautiful red cabins perched on a hillside. White-washed walls and warm tones make the interiors cozy and inviting. Above the cabins is a dining hall, a large kitchen where the staff prepares scrumptious Indian feasts, and the home of the owners, Ashish and Deepa. Every space which isn’t occupied by a building or a footpath is filled with garden. We’ve come at the perfect time to see the place come to life. Peach, apricot, and apple trees are blooming, lemon trees are fruiting, and all sorts of flowers are opening their petals towards the sun. From anywhere on the slope you can look out over a verdant pine covered ridge and out to the more distant foothills. About 25km away the town of Almora lies draped over the crest of a hill. In the dark it becomes a net of stars cast out over a sea of mountains. Beyond there it is just layer upon layer of green until, on a clear day, your eyes to take in the Himalayas. The days at Sonapani are filled with the chirping and fluttering of a myriad birds, and the nights are deeply quiet and tranquil.

Beyond its physical beauty, however, what really makes Sonapani a fantastic place to stay is the kindness, warmth, and good humor of our hosts Ashish and Deepa. They’re both originally from this region, and after living and working in Delhi for some time, they returned here to open Sonapani 5 years ago. They have two awesome kids: Vanya, who’s five and a half, and Arunya, who’s 14 months old. Many a morning has been spent hanging out in the garden while Arunya speed-crawls and Vanya scampers about, and many and evening has been whiled away chatting around a bonfire. The lively, communal feel at Sonapani means we also get to visit with all of the guests. Most are urbanites who’ve made their way up to the mountains to escape the oppressive Delhi heat. There’s no more interesting of a way to learn about a country than discussing it with the citizens themselves, and everyone has been happy to contribute to our Indian education.

Our main purpose in coming to the village of Sitla (aside from general enjoyment, of course) was to volunteer with the Central Himalayan Rural Action Group (CHIRAG), a local NGO. Nathan worked with CHIRAG the last time he was here, so he contacted the director about English teaching opportunities. As it turns out, just as we arrived CHIRAG was beginning a program to train youth to work in the hospitality industry. We would be their English teachers.

CHIRAG’s located about 5km away from Sonapani. Getting there entails summiting a peak and traversing down the other side – so basically, it’s uphill both ways. We’ve been working on some killer thighs. When we arrived after our long walk on the first day of class we were greeted by12 slightly shy but smiling boys, all around 20 years old. These would be our students for the next three weeks. Hailing from small villages in the surrounding region, these boys had been hand-picked by CHIRAG to learn the ways of the hospitality industry – cleaning rooms, serving food, greeting guests, and the like – so that they would have a leg up in the job market. Working on the fly, we developed a curriculum based on grammar and vocabulary useful in this industry, and created exercises, role plays, and homework assignments. It certainly helped that Nathan has a handle on Hindi (I stumbled along with my beginner’s phrases) because some of the boys had very little prior knowledge of English. While they’d all been taught the Roman alphabet and some basic words in school, a few of them hadn’t completed high school. Others were pretty decent with basic English though, and most of the boys fell somewhere in between; it was a happy medium overall.

The boys were split up into two groups. We generally taught one class in the morning and one in the afternoon. On the second day of class Naveen, one of the boys in the afternoon group, spotted a drum in the corner of the classroom. When we were done with the lesson he seized the opportunity to bang out a joyous rhythm, and the rest of the boys burst into song. A couple of them even jumped up and danced raucously. The ice had officially been broken. Nathan mentioned that he plays the guitar, and some of the boys replied that they’d never seen that instrument in person. We had to rectify that, of course, so Nathan brought his guitar one day and we belted out Credence Clearwater songs for them. That’s what I call education.

During the second week we put class on hold for a couple of days and skipped town. March 11th was Holi – a festival of spring notorious for its bright colors and general debauchery. Ashish and Deepa invited us to spend the holiday with their family and them in Kathgodam. The day lived up to it’s reputation; in other words, it was a fabulous, psychedelic time. Nathan had procured a cheap all-white kurta and pants set and I was clad in an old kurta of Deepa’s and my baggy salwar pants (we were explicitly instructed not to wear nice clothes). As soon as we entered the garden of Ashish’s family’s house we were mobbed by smiling people with globs of bright colored powder in their hands. In accordance with glorious Holi tradition, they smeared the color over our faces and shoulders. Before we knew it we were looking like bad Jackson Pollack paintings, covered head to toe in glowing pink, yellow, red, and green. It was 10am and already the alcohol was flowing. Assuming that the festivities would last all day and well into the night, our first thought was "damn, these Indians really know how to party." Later we were to discover that the goal is to get as drunk as possible before lunch; after that the party subsides and people stumble back to their homes to shower and work off their hangovers. And so we embraced the Holi atmosphere, accepting the vodkas thrust into our hands, smothering people with bright colors, getting drenched with colored water pumped from squirt guns and dumped from buckets, and dancing wildly to the tiny-but-loud drum and trumpet band which had wandered into the garden to entertain our party. And when the mood would strike us we'd yell out, just like everyone else, "Holi hai!" - "It's Holi!"

After our foray into the wonderful world of Indian festivites, we made it back to Sonapani in one piece only to promptly fall ill with food poising. We speculate that a nasty bug came along with the greasy food at our Kathgodam hotel. We were back on our feet soon enough though, and picked up where we left off with English classes. The boys' last day of hospitality training was Saturday the 22nd. We helped them work out two short English role plays to present to all of the people who had worked on the program. They were a smash hit. The thank yous we recieved from the boys were really quite touching. It was very rewarding to hear that our English classes were helpful and enjoyable for them. We were sad to see the program end.
Since then we've been hanging out a Sonapani, sneaking into the kitchen to whip up some down home American cookin' (a la pancakes and cookies), trying to sneak in an English class or two with the staff here when they aren't too busy with guests, and plotting our adventures to come....

Part II Bangkok and Delhi

2009-03-09T03:55:00.000-07:00

Part II of Part I - Bangkok
Before we pick up where we left off, we want to quickly update you on our happenings and whereabouts. We are currently staying at Sonapani, a quiet rural resort in the foothills of the Himalaya. It’s located in between Nainital and Almora, two hill-stations in the state of Uttarakhand, India. We are volunteering at the Central Himalaya Rural Action Group (CHIRAG) organization, where I studied two and a half years ago with the University of Washington. Right now we are teaching English to a group of local youth training to enter the hospitality industry. We have been here for a week now and have been enjoying ourselves immensely, it is very peaceful and beautiful here. But, more on all of that later. (Note: Internet availability is minimal at best, so we have to apologize that we won't be able to upload pictures for a while. We will as soon as we have access to a fast, reliable connection again)
Back to our travels first. I think that I left off busily describing all of the food that we had eaten in Bangkok. Well, there’s more to tell there. After we left behind the mega-mall of the future we spent the evening touring two very distinct neighborhoods of the city. First, we went to the "middle east" part of town to delight in delicious hummous, dolmas, and apple-flavored hookah. All the signs were written in Arabic and everywhere north Africans mingled with Arabs and Muslim Thais (and a few of us farang). We dug it. It felt as though we had entered some futuristic city where all cultures blur together under the common banner of mega-metropolis living. Perhaps the future is now.
Continuing our nightly food blitzkrieg, Jeannette and Meaw shuttled us to their favorite late night noodle shop. Bam! Chinatown. It finally hit me: welcome to Asia. No other experience has come close to that noodle-slurping extravaganza in the bright, noisy turmoil of little China. We ate at a rickety street table and ordered noodle soup with everything. While I was munching on pork and fish stomach (with a few lungs tossed in for good measure) the street pulsed and hummed around us. People of all shapes and sizes dodged and weaved through shark-fin soup stalls, Durian fruit carts, garbage and refuse, and of course an unstoppable crush of humanity. We loved it.
The next day we spent with Meaw’s family north of Bangkok in the ancient Siam capitol of Ayuttayah. It was breathtaking. Raised by the Burmese in the 1700’s Ayuttayah never regained its lost glory; like so many ancient ruins, all that remains are the dusty, dilapidated buildings of a time once prosperous but now only half remembered. Meaw’s family showed us the proper way to pay respects to Buddha at the many, still quite active, Wats filled with incense and golden Buddhas.
The last day we toured through Bangkok’s famous bazaar called Jack-to-jack (my phonetic spelling) and stocked up on a variety of gifts and clothes. Our last meal in Thailand that night was appropriately the first we began with five weeks before: savory Rad-na. It was still lingering on our pallets when we woke up at 3 am the next morning to fly to India.
Part II – India
Where to begin? I’m positive this country has been showered with far more poetic prose than what I have written in my journal, so I’ll start with the nitty-gritty.
We arrived into Indira Gandhi International Airport late in the morning on the 23rd. Rashee, our friend from last summer’s program at Green River Community College, met us at the airport with a taxi, sparing us the painful process of finding a legit ride into Delhi. Our first meal? Dare I say? Yes, that’s right, McDonalds. I thought we ought to have been kicked out of the country (especially after boldly going to the ends of the culinary universe just a few nights before). Yet, as many who have traveled to other parts of the world have probably found, Micky-D’s still holds if nothing else the symbolic potency of modernity (think: clean toilets).
Our first night in India was distinctly more "India" than our first meal. Rashee had kindly found us a place to stay in south Delhi at a local dharam-shala called Durgabari. Not really a hotel, the dharam-shala is a "resting place" for Hindus that is connected to a mandir (temple). Interestingly for us, we had arrived on the first day of summer according to Hinduism, which is celebrated by the religious ceremony dedicated to Lord Shiva called Shivatri (my spelling). We were thrilled when at 6 pm the entire dharam-shala came alive with loud chanting, raucous bells banging, burning incense, monks and sari-clad women filling up the courtyard. However, what we first found to be exciting, exotic, and totally strange soon began losing its appeal as first midnight, then 1,2,3, and finally 4 am rolled around without any abatement of noise. Sorry Shiva, summer shouldn’t start until June 21st.
We spent a total of six days in Delhi. Normally, I’d be content with just six hours, but because we had the luxury of friends showing us around, it was actually very fun. The first day we toured around north Delhi, exploring the campus of Delhi university with Rashee’s friends Robert and Vashali. They showed us the site of the first revolt against British rule in 1857. Widely considered to mark the beginning of a several generation rebellion against colonial rule, it wouldn’t be until 1946 that India finally gained its independence.
The next day we headed to Old Delhi with Rashee and her friends. For those of you who have never made it to India, Old Delhi is probably what you think of when you picture India. Long the seat of power, Old Delhi is littered with ancient streets, shops, and mosques. It’s iconic street, Chandni Chowk, perhaps tells the full tale. It is as old as the city gets; straight from the medieval times, Chandni Chowk abounds in filth, noise and people. Everywhere there are people: on the street corners, in the road, behind you, crashing into you, into buildings, out of buildings, driving, climbing on rickshaws, running, hawking, pushing, shoving, staring, pissing, spitting, walking, farting and smiling. Everywhere is humanity. The stimulus is overwhelming. There are savory jalebis and succulent pakoras, gaudy saris and putrid puddles. Fat men, old men, scarred beggars, dirty children, staring perverts, delirious women, busy babus, crying babies. In the middle of all this is you – trying to stay calm in a chaotic ocean of bodies. Impossible. All you can do is look ahead and move. Don’t stop, don’t wait, don’t breathe. Count to 10, glance left and right, move forward, sideways, stop – run! Move, go, don’t wait. An ocean raging.
But that’s just my experience of Old Delhi. There’s also the picturesque Jawa Masjid and the monumental Red Fort. Both relics of Moghal rule, they stand resolutely in that ocean of humanity. We toured these, of course, and found them to be marvelous in their own right. Afterwards, we headed back to Chandni Chowk and feasted on a variety of parathas filled with chilies, potato, tomatoes, fenugreek, onion, and peas. That’s what Indian food is all about.
The rest of our time in Delhi was spent battling with rickshaw drivers, breaking into the U.S. Embassy fortress to fill out paperwork required for the Peace Corps, and marveling at more and more ancient stuff. When it was finally time to leave, we were both satiated and ready to go. Too bad we had to go through Old Delhi train station first…

Part I of Part I (Bangkok and Delhi)

2009-02-26T21:28:00.000-08:00

After twelve days backpacking, two Asian mega-metropolises, and mind-blowingly bizarre street food we now officially have way too much to write about in a single blog. A small tragedy, although one that has many rewards for us, the travelers. I apologize now for not posting pictures with this entry; we promise to do so soon.

We last left our trip at the quiet seaside town of Prechuap Khiri Khan on the Gulf of Thailand coast. From there we headed straight north to Petchaburi, a slightly larger city that has been the confluence of historical currents throughout Thailand's history. We went looking for Wats and found nothing but angry and aggressive long-tail macaques far too adjusted to city street life for any animal of the wild. Small wonder that we hopped on a bus to Bangkok the next day.

And what a great choice that was. Bangkok, known as the City of Angels to Thais, offers everything to everyone and more. We arrived in typical backpacker fashion (hopelessly lost) and spent the next day re-adjusting to city life after spending four weeks on relaxing beaches. We stayed with Jen's aunt, Jeanette, and her family at their condo in central Bangkok for the week that we were there. Jeanette has lived in Thailand for over two-decades and speaks fluent Thai. We appreciated such an incredible "in" for the first of many times the first night when we spent the evening devouring all the savory dishes that we never had the chance to try (ok, because we don't speak Thai and know hardly anything about the limitless possibilities of that awesome cuisine). We at yum salad, stir-fried snapper w/ exotic vegetables, fried springs rolls with taro root, clams in chili sauce, moong noddles with spicy salad, and delicious tangy shrimp soup. Yum!

The next few days were spent just taking in Bangkok. We went to Koh Ratanakosin to explore the Thai Royal Family's Grand Palace and other ancient Wats. On the way there, I felt I had entered a new world. The streets of Bangkok are filled with churning steel, chaotic movement, reckless scooters, and lung clogging exhaust. But the human traffic and colorful cacophony that fills the sidewalks is glorious. At the Grand Palace we made our way past the "guides" and into the main complex. Stop. Turn 360 degrees around. In every direction, on every square inch, looming above and resonating below were giant statues, ornate friezes, stupas and chedis in every color of the rainbow and more. We didn't know where to look, so we looked everywhere. In the Palace grounds resides the famous Emerald Buddha, a small jade-color statue of Buddha that has served as a symbol of Thailand's power for hundreds of years. It is decked and gold and countless Thais come to it to pay homage to everything Buddha. After the palace we walked around the rest of the old part of Bangkok and took in more Wats, Buddhas, and Bangkok street life before boarding a river taxi and cruising down the Chao Phraya.

The next day we went to Siam Paragon, supposedly one of the largest super-malls in all of Asia. Now, I have seen glimpses of wealth and modernity that put America to shame in some of the places I have traveled before, but nothing like this: seven stories, top-end boutiques, an entire floor filled with every cuisine and treat imaginable, a farmer's market, SE Asia's largest aquarium, an Imax, bowling alley, and a movie theatre with reclining chairs and full menu service. On top of this decadence, we happened to be there during a traditional north Thai food festival that was located right outside the mall. We ate Burmese curry, noodle-wrapped-noodles, a salad made with green black pepper, and much more. We were also entertained by traditional Thai ballads performed by the Lanna Troop. All this at a mall!

Now, I could go on forever more about the other awesome and exciting places, food, and people we experience in Bangkok, but sadly I have run out of time for this entry. I hate to leave on a cliff hanger, but we promise to update soon.

We still have India to talk about.

End of Part I (Bangkok and Delhi)

We are now in India, an ancient and chaotic country.

Gibbons, caves, and motorbikes

2009-02-15T18:26:00.000-08:00

...and wake up to the calls of gibbons we did! No other sound can match the eerie, high-pitched wooping of those great apes echoing in the morning.

We arrived in Khao Sok National Park in the afternoon of the 8th after eight long, arduous hours on the road from Koh Lanta. It was worth the trip. Khao Sok, as Jen mentioned in the last blog, is considered to be one of the oldest rainforests in the world. Although, it's not a "true" rainforest like its counterparts to the south in Malaysia. Technically speaking the park consists mostly of tropical evergreen forests, but to the clueless farang (foreigner) like us, it oozes with plenty of jungle vibes.

We spent the first day in Khao Sok trekking around in the cool morning, attempting to escape the heat of the day. We walked through giant groves of monastery bamboo, creeking and groaning, and soon spotted our first Dusty Langurs. They were cruising across the tops of the massive trees across the the river. These are Jen's favorite monkeys and I can see why. They are almost completely black, except for a large white-mask that looks like oversized goggles. They are nimble tree climbers too. Moving along, we happily meandered through the forest until we were startled by the explosive whooshing of giant birds above us. From the floor of the jungle we could just barely make out streaks of black and white until all of a sudden we saw three massive birds the likes of which we had never seen come into full view. Enter the hornbills. Residents of Khao Sok, there are over six species of hornbills (and if you don't know what they look like, I recommend looking them up). These were the massive white-crowned hornbill; they have giant gray-white beaks and fuzzy white mohawks. We listened in rapture to their loud cackling and booming woot-woot-wudwudwud. As I said before, Khao Sok oozes with jungle vibes.

And we got to find out just how much the next couple of days. That evening we booked an overnight safari into the jungle with the most reputable looking agency in town. A.k.a. the one with the most Bob Marley paraphanelia and least amount of hype. It was a great choice. Our guide, Sak, was a local who had spent 21 of his 32 years as a guide in the forest. He was filled with an encyclopedic knowledge of the park and happily shared it with us. We left early in the morning with three other farang and drove an hour east to Bantakun, grabbed some tasty fried banana treats, and then made our way north to the massive 165-sq. km. man made made lake created by the Rajjaphapa Dam. We hopped onto a sleek long-tail and zoomed across the water for an hour and a half. For you geography-geeks (like me), the entirety of Khao Sok is your classic karst topography. In other words, there are massive limestone cliffs and mountains that jut into the air to dizzying heights and are littered with undergroud caves (more on that soon). So as we skimmed the water we took in the breathtaking cliffs that lined the lakes shore.

We stayed in National Park lake-rafts at Tone Teuy that night. The rafts were made out of bamboo, which squeeked under our feet as we walked. But that was the only sound we heard except for the myriad hoots, chirps, and buzzing emanating from the forest. Before settling in for the night, however, we made an afternoon trip to Nahm Tah Lu cave. Only an hour long hike, my feet were soon shredded to pieces by the three dollar sandles I had bought the day before so that I could hike through forest streams and swim in the cave. We arrived quickly however and after pulling out our flashlights submerged without any ado into the dark opening of the cave. Soon we were dazzled by the massive stalagtites shimmering in the faint glow cast by our lights. Thousands of bats clung to the ceiling and ominous six inch spiders passively observed us in the dark. We walked, swam, and climbed our way through the cave for an hour before emerging on the other side into radiant brightness. Only afterwards did Sak, our guide, regall us with tales of rescuing people from the cave the year before. Thanks for that Sak.

That night we drove by longboat around the lake searching for nocturnal creatures. Unfortunately, because it was a full moon, the skiddish animals didn't put on a show for us, except for giant great hornbills sleeping high above us. The next morning we woke up before the sunrise to go out again in the boat, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ellusive gibbons we had been heard each morning since we had arrived in Khao Sok. No sightings there, but plenty of pig-tailed macaques and langurs sedately munching on the fruit of palm trees. In the afternoon we hiked to the top of a viewpoint about an hour north of Tone Teuy. The climb was steep and a little treacherous, but everyone handled the terrain easily. At the top we gazed in silence at the pre-historic jungle breathing below. Gibbons' calls reverberated against the limestone cliffs and echoed down the valleys of time. I felt as though I could fly.

We packed up the following day, February 12th, and began our slow return to Bangkok. We stopped in at Prechuap Khiri Khan, expecting to stay for only a night, and have ended up hanging around for four. Far different from its cousins to the south, Prechuap is a quiet seaside metropol that caters mainly to vacationing Thais. We rented a scooter the following day to explore the surrounding areas. On the first day we discovered an out of the way temple complex called Wat Ao Noi. The grounds were covered in Bougainvillia and colorful roosters. A giant Wat made of dark teakwood stood in the center. One of the resident monks beckoned us up the hill nearby, intoning simply "Big Buddha". He was right! At the top of the hill we found a cave with two reclining Buddhas, each over 50 feet long. Supposedly over five-hundred years old, we felt like we had stumbled into a very sacred place. For the rest of the day and next we took some time to relax and get rejuvinated after almost a week of non-stop moving, trekking, and exploring.

Yesterday, however, we got right back to it. Waking up at 6 am we drove north from Prechuap to Khao Sam Roi Yot National Park. Known for its bird diversity and excellent caves, we found ourselves like children in a candy store. We hiked early in the morning to a viewpoint and watched playful swifts and martins. In the afternoon we went to Tham Phraya Nakhon, the supposedly most photographed cave in Thailand. We found out why. Discovered several hundred years ago, and then officially "blessed" by King Rama V in 1890, the cave is made up of two massive karst sinkholes each over two-hundred feet deep. There is an ornate pagoda built to commemorate Rama V that hordes of Thai tourists flock to each day to pay homage to their king. We spent several hours simply wandering around taking in both the natural beauty and the cultural spectacle.

Now we leave for Petchaburi for a night before we complete our last leg of our trip in Bangkok! Sawutdee-krup!

Dugongs, Diving, and Delicious Thai Cuisine

2009-02-07T05:48:00.000-08:00

Quite a bit has happened since our initial post. But first and foremost, we've got some big news, and we might as well let the cat out of the bag. We've been officially invited into the Peace Corps, and our country of service will be... *drum roll*... Cambodia! So for all of you who've dreamed of traveling to Southeast Asia, or simply have a sense of adventure, you'll soon have a place to stay over in this part of the world. Needless to say, we're thrilled to have our assignment. Neither of us know much about Cambodia aside from the basics of its tragic history, and that the people are supposed to be incredibly kind (I was there briefly several years ago to visit the magnificent Angkor Wat temple complex, and I'm ashamed at how little I learned about the country at the time; sorry Lonely Planet, but your history section just doesn't cut it). We're looking forward to doing research. My aunt, a longtime resident of Bangkok, commented that Cambodia is the "wild west" and that the Khmer language sounds like slurred, lethargic Thai. Sounds like we're in for quite the ride!

We'll be leaving to begin our training on July 20th, exactly two months after we arrive back in Seattle from Delhi. Nathan will be teaching English and I will be working with youth. Beyond this we don't know much. We'll keep you posted with any updates... One of the most fortuitous elements of this whole process of discovery is that we received our assignment on Nathan's birthday (more on that later).

But now we turn our thoughts back to Thailand. The day after our grueling 68 mile kayaking trip we embarked on a search for the elusive dugong. The waters around Ko Libong are known to be one of the last homes of this rare cousin of the manatee. We chartered a long-tail boat from the Nature Resort and headed to the dugongs favorite spot with the resort manager, two giggling archetypal German women, and the boatman who was dubbed simply as the "Captain." After some time floating around and gazing out over seemingly empty waters, we began catching glimpses of the sandy-brown backs of dugongs as they surfaced for a breath of air. According to Thais dugongs are auspicious, and the manager assured us accordingly that we are now "lucky, very lucky." During the course of our time on the water we also stood in awe as a pod of dolphins jumped and cavorted near to our boat; climbed out onto a sandbar teeming with migratory birds; and snorkeled with tropical fish of all shapes and sizes. I even got to live out my fantasy of diving off a long-tail boat in the middle of the sea.

No day on Ko Libong is complete without being a spectator at a womens' soccer match - well, at least ours wasn't. Upon hearing word of the goings on, Nathan and I trooped down to the nearby fishing village's school yard. It appeared as if the entire population of the island had turned out for the game. The only non-locals there, we had more fun watching the enthusiasm of the crowd than the match itself. Not to mention that we chowed down on some seriously tasty eats prepared right there on the goal line. Mmmmm, fresh papaya salad.

After our blissful beach-bumming on Ko Libong, it was time to hit the urban fray. We'd enjoyed Trang town so much the last time we were there that we decided to make another stop-over. The tasty smorgishborg at Trang's night market was waiting for us. Armed with the equivalent of roughly $4 US, we tackled four curries, an unidentifiable fishy thing wrapped in a banana leaf, a hunk of fried chicken, mango and sticky rice, a coconut filled crepe-style dessert, a tangy orange-tamarind drink, and a bottle of water. And we even thought to bring our camera this time around.

Our taste buds satiated, we left Trang town the next morning for Ko Lanta, and island in the Krabi province. Our primary reason for coming for this destination was the world-class diving... and oh what diving it is! For Nathan's birthday on the 5th we hopped aboard a Scandinavian run dive boat (I swear, we took the plunge with every Swedish person in Thailand) and cruised out to Ko Ha. "Ko" means island in Thai, and "ha" means five. This collection of karst formations in the middle of the Andaman Sea was strikingly beautiful both above water and underneath. Along with a myriad of coral and fish species, we communed with a green sea turtle, a swimming moray eel which looked like a long undulating ribbon in the water, a banded sea snake, giant lobsters, lion fish, scorpion fish, and a varicose wart slug (it's prettier than it sounds).

That evening as the sun sank into the Andaman we strolled down a lengthy stretch of white sand beach to Time for Lime, a gorgeous Thai cooking school and restaurant with what we have deemed to be some of the world's most delicious food. When we were scuba diving with a school of banded barracuda earlier that day I never would have guest they'd melt so sublimely in my mouth.

Seeing as we just couldn't get enough of Time for Lime, we headed back there yesterday for a spectacular 6 hour cooking class. We are now well versed in the secrets of Thai cooking! Okay, maybe that's a bit of hyperbole, but at least we know where to start. After spending time discussing the cultural elements of Thai cuisine and its key ingredients, we got to try our hand at creating green curry, fresh spring rolls, lemongrass steamed fish with a spicy seafood sauce, and vegetable fried rice. I don't think either of us have ever been so eager to eat our own cooking.

Today we went on another spectacular dive with the same Scandinavian company, this time to Ko Bida Nok and Ko Bida Ni. Highlights from the deep include a leopard shark, blue-spotted stingray, a ribbon eel, a pipe fish, an anemone crab, dancing durban shrimp, and tons of clown fish.

Next up: the jungle. Tomorrow we head to Khao Sok, a national park home to the world's oldest rain forest. We're hoping to wake up to the sound of gibbons calling....

After 68 miles, we emerge victorious!

A Chou Leh woman making Jen's papaya salad

These women took their game serious

Local spectators enjoying the football match

This dolphin put on a show for us!

Surveying the land (of deliciousness)

We bought the one in the middle...

Better than KFC!

We weren't the only ones who

had a tough time deciding

Foodie translation:

"3 stars" in Thailand=

Holy Shit

Our masterpieces

Nathan after a dive in the Koh Haa Lagoon

The "Killer" Knife

Mortar and Pestel ,

the key ingredient to Thai Curry

Sawutdee Krup from Thailand!

2009-01-27T01:40:00.000-08:00

Hey Everyone!

So we finally did it, sort of. Here is our "official" blog for our travels through Thailand and India. We are excited to keep all of you up-to-date about our adventures for the next few months, along with lots of professional pictures (yeah right). Below, we have uploaded a handful of pics that document our trip so far, along with a few brief captions (warning: these are in reverse chronological order because I suck at using this blog-site).

For those of you who are interested, I thought I'd also recount a bit of our travels up till this point. It's been mostly beach bumming and lounging, but we've also managed to go on a few adventures and keep ourselves active!

We arrived into Bangkok on the 21st. The first thing we did when we got in was jump onto the internet and try and locate a video of Obama's inaugeration (for those of you not timezone savvy, he had just addressed the nation about two hours before we landed). We found one, but after 22 some odd hours of traveling, we fell asleep through half of it. Yeah, historical blasphemy, I s'pose.

We spent the next day just running around Bangkok trying to buy our tickets to India, which we got for the 23rd of February, and also find a train down south where the white sand beaches of postcards are. We had some great food that morning; barbequed pork and chicken with spicey soup over rice. Jen and I were both happy to have switched to the carnivorous ways a few weeks earlier.

We took the night train down to Surat Thani and from there we got suckered into a VIP bus to Krabi town. I say suckered because the local scam is to charge 3x the government rates for a bus trip and then drop you off about 3 km outside of town, where your only option is to book boats/hotels/taxis through the agents who got you the bus in the first place (we learned our lesson, obviously). Once we got to Krabi, we hopped onto a boat and puttered over the azure Andaman Sea for 30 km to Koh Phi Phi Don. This is the big brother of Koh Phi Phi Leh where the infamous (or at least its infamous here) "The Beach" was filmed.

Arriving in the port of Phi Phi, we were exhausted (up to almost three days of non-stop travel) and sweaty and suddenly bombarded by the omnipresent touts of the tourist-trade. Fortunately, we had booked a room at a resort on the supposedly calmer side of the island and soon found our way out to Ao Toh Koh by longboat (see pic below).

Toh Koh was splendid. We spent about six days there. The beach was marginal, but the atmosphere was just right; that is, totally serene. There were about eighteen small bungalows littered all up and down the beach. Ours was basically a roof and four walls and a mosquito net (no electricity half the day and windows with several wooden slats for a screen). For three days we simply swam, napped, and ate delicious Thai food at our own leisure. I jammed on my guitar too (see pic again). The birds were great (see pic of Pacific Reef Egret) and the monkeys bountiful.

On the fourth day we went diving with a local company, Viking Divers, recommended to us by a Danish dive master we met on the boat on the way out to Phi Phi. We had arranged a refresher course and an afternoon dive. Our instructer was American, who was being tested in-turn by her dive instructer. That actually insured a thorough review. Anyway -- the diving was awesome! We both had slight nerves beforehand, but about, oh 2 seconds, underwater we were both swimming around with the biggest grins (well, I tried to grin then quickly remembered that sixty feet underwater, grinning is pretty difficult). We saw black-tipped reef sharks, a scorpian fish, numerous trumpet fish, fan coral, hawksbill turtles, sea-slugs and many other goodies of the deep. By mid-afternoon we were ready to sleep underwater. Alas, we had only paid for two dives and soon found ourselves lying lazily along the lapping waves again.

After saying goodbye to Phi Phi, we hopped on a bus (government run this time) and headed south to Trang town, capital of Trang province. A small commercial town, Trang town is known for its night markets. After sightseeing at the local temple, we soon found out why. We showed up around dinner time to the nightly feast and were quickly overwhelmed by choices. Everywhere we looked there were foods we had no names for, but with aromas that allayed any skepticism we might had. Armed with about four dollars we bought six different dishes, each better than the other. Combined with the general hubub of hundreds of Thais (and two other tourists), we felt we had finally stumbled into Thailand.

We left Trang quickly though, leaving our musty, six dollar backpackers resort room (five-star) behind and meandered to the coast via mini-van. We spent a night at Hat Yao Nature Resort as the guests of honor, well, the only guests. Owned and operated by a charming retired-professor of natural medicine, the resort is geared towards nature conservation and organic-hippies like us. It was nice, but we decided to try out the sister resort off-shore on Koh Libong. Much nicer, this resort (where I type this blog-post) is situated in a long sandy cove shared with a fishing community of "sea-gypsies". Very friendly, the community is pretty isolated and subsists off what appears to be fishing and rubber tree plantations. Today we went for a 23 mile (or at least it now feels like it was that long) kayaking excursion to the other side of the island to visit another fishing town; where we roamed the streets for a couple of hours sampling a roadside stand selling a half-dozen delicious Thai deserts.

Now we're just loungin' again, using the world's oldest pain-killer, ice-cold Chang beer, to combat our soar shoulders and sunburnt necks. Yes, this is exactly what we thought Thailand would be like - pure awesomeness. (This was actually posted February 1st).

Sunset off Koh Libong

Jen headin' out to Koh Libong

Wat Tantayaphirom in Trang Town

Lanterns adorned the streets of Trang Town
after the Chinese New Year

Koh Phi Phi in all its glory!

Jammin' out in our hammock on Koh Phi Phi

A Pacific Reef Egret feasting on the evening tide

Jen about to plunge into the depths

(and frolick with Hawksbill Sea Turtles)

Our humble aboad at Ao Toh Ko, Phi Phi island

Taking our first longboat ride to Ao Toh Ko