.

The World By Sea

2007-12-07T09:45:00.000-07:00

Well, it's a long story (actually it's kind of a short story as far as how fast everything changed), but I quit my job two weeks later joined my friend to sail around the world and try to do some good along the way. I haven't posted because it all happened so quick. But if you are still reading this blog and are interested I have made my own website for this adventure. I'd love to hear from you. I'll be posting blogs, video and maybe an occassional podcast. Stop by and say hello!

Here's my sight:
www.theworldbysea.com

or

www.travelingd.com

Hope to see you then!
Take care.
Derek

To Cruise or To Sail?

2007-11-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

I'm sorry and you're right. I've pretty well had my fill of breakfast burrito. I'm telling you, this corporate gig is taking up A LOT of my time. But I hope we can get past that because I need your advice. I know, I know. We don't talk. I don't call. And then one day I show up on your doorstep with big sad eyes, and want something from you?!? It's not fair, you're right... but pleeeeaaase.

My life is at a crossroads. And when it rains it pours. Right now I have all kinds of opportunities knocking. All good. Some great. For the sake of time I'll run two by you. Please consider each carefully and then get back with me:

Life Option 1:

As many of you know, I have always wanted to live in the Northwest. The evergreens, the mountains, the ocean, the people. I love it. Specifically, Portland has a special place. Well I had a shot earlier in the year when Princess Cruises interviewed me for a Regional Manager Position... in Portland. I was runner up to a guy who already lived in Portland and was working for a different cruise line in the same position.

Then out of nowhere I get this lead that another position opened for a different cruise line. It's almost the exact same job: Work out of home. Company car. Good pay. Cruise benefits. Live in Portland and call on Washington and Oregon. I track down the person I need to interview with, interview a couple times, and now out of over 100 applicants I am one of four. I'll probably find out on Friday if I "got the job". Honestly, I think I'm in the running after the last interview. I do know none of the other applicants come from cruise backgrounds. Sounds perfect, right?

Life Option 2:

I love to travel and I want to change the world. If you are reading this, you probably already know that too. Well in the past year, as I have been wearing the Public Relations cap at the Grand Canyon Railway (our PR Director left), I had the opportunity to host several groups of travel writers. Travel, write, and have someone else pay. Not bad. So I had toyed with the idea that if I did not have a good job lead by the new year I might try my hand at travel writing. Take another trip and see what I can make of it.

Now the kicker. I have a friend from college who shares the same see the world passion as I do, if not more so. He's done the crabbing thing in Alaska. He's built houses in Ireland. He's traveled. I recently met up with him as he was passing through Arizona and he told me he was planning on sailing around the World... and I could come if I wanted to. Sail around the World? Are you kidding me? It would change your life. So the idea is this: Pack my bags (again). Grab my camcorders, my camera, bring my laptop and sail. Sail AROUND the World. Meanwhile I take this silly little blog to the next level. Look for sponsorship, my own website, video blog, the whole nine. Then get on the boat, and sail. And here's the beautiful thing, bit by bit maybe make a difference on the human level. Pull in to port in some country and build a house for a family. Report on the human condition every step of the way. Then a year and a half later return to this sweet country, find my way to Portland and... and who knows what.

There's a story there somewhere. The risk for sailing? Well staying alive. (Just kidding mom--it's totally safe and the boats already been around the world twice. MOM, it's fine!) Actually the biggest risk is that I've never actually sailed. In fact the only time I spent even a night on a boat was in Thailand when I returned to the same port I left from after a full night of "sailing". Will I like it? Can I handle it? That's the risk. But isn't that what life is... risk. Worst case scenario, I leave. I fly back with my puny sailor tail tucked between my legs and whimper back to, to Portland. Problem is I won't have a job, much less a sweet job like the one I think I'll be offered in a couple of days.

What to do? What to do? Currently I'm taking a poll. So tell me what you think.

Cruise... or... sail?

Cheers.

Workin D and the $1000 Burrito

2007-07-25T18:38:00.000-07:00

One of the big reasons my blogging came to a significant stop is the simple fact that the ol' 8 to 5 is just not as entertaining as, say, traveling the world. Well I am sorry to say this week has been more entertaining than most. Let me introduce the world to "Workin D".

Workin D is an honest fellow. He works hard for a train. Puts in his time for the man. And when that evening whistle blows Workin D heads straight home, exchanges his corporate uniform for something a bit more comf, and hits the town either seated faithfully on his scoot or atop his trusty yard sale bike.

In the mornings, D sets his alarm early enough to be ready an hour before the man requires. However, after the inevitable late night with his band-member roommates, Workin D, consistently hits the snoozer leaving him 30-45 minutes before his corporate start. Never enough, but mostly sufficient, D spends his precious moments to walk downtown where he picks up the usual split-shot Americano from his favorite and appropriately named Flagstaff coffee shop-"Late for the Train".

One particular morning was different though. Perhaps it was the overcast cover. Maybe the more trying-than-normal work week. Whatever the case, Workin D decided it was a good day to change it up a bit. First he walked to his local grocer to purchase an apple, but after bitting into the crisp treat, D decided his hunger was too strong for his small fruit to satisfy. Yes this craving was much more suited for a breakfast burrito than a small fruit, and D had knew just the place.

Flagstaff is home to one of Northern Arizona's largest hospitals, and what people often forget is that nice hospitals have nice cafeterias which serve respectable breakfast burros at a respectable rate. Workin D was well aware of this seldom known fact. He strolled confidently into the FMC Caf, grabbed his foil wrapped feast and headed back home. By this point Workin D's 45 minutes was nearly up, forcing him to eat his burrito in his car on the way to work.

Now, if there is any fault to be had with the near perfect FMC breakfast b, it is the need to put the salsa on yourself. This, as you can imagine, is rather inconvenient when driving. Especially stop-n-go traffic. Especially when it is raining. And ESPECIALLY when the car in front of you is not moving... Poor Workin D. A good guy, hard worker, and impeccable driving record (excepting the one little incident when he was 16 and rolled his car on I-40). That was all about to change.

D safely steered the car with his left knee, whilst delicately applying the salsa in his left hand to the exposed burrito in his right hand. Mouth watering, he lifted the potato, cheesey egg roll to his anxious lips. Then just his mouth instinctively reached like new born, his eye noticed the rest of the traffic, specifically the traffic right in front of him, was moving at a much slower pace, specifically 0 miles per hour. Foot to brake! Bumper to bumper! Burrito to windshield! Workin' D quickly matched the speed of the car in front of him.

"Holy Blank!" Both cars pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot. D was shaking like a thirteen year old girl who didn't make the cheer squad as he watched through his egg stained windshield a guy get out of the car he had just shared space with. The man reinserted the missing lens from his eye glasses and walked to the back of his car. Workin D, still shaking and now assured of massive lawsuit mustered up some backbone, got out of his car and prepared for the worst.

Fortunately, the damage did not look as bad as the burrito battered dashboard may have indicated. The man ended up being a college kid. The lawsuit ended up being a post crash cup of coffee. Still the cops were called, citation written, and when all was said and done, the estimated damage came out to $1,100 (not counting the late' Workin D bought for the kid who in the end came away thinking he had a new bumper and best friend).

Working D proceeded to his corporate chamber and finished off the unfortunate day. The next morning, D decided maybe he would return to his coffee ritual and has not had a breakfast burrito since.

The end.

Back In Biz

2007-07-14T11:48:00.001-07:00

Well here we go. After MONTHS of silence I have decided to come out of hiding and compose anther blog. Not even a pseudo blog written by one of my friends. No, a true blog typed by the tips of my very own fingers. But before I get going I'd like to dedicate this to Ken in Portland who I recently bumped into. Ken, bless his heart, is one of the faithful, who told me when I saw him that he still visits the blog and offered his condolences for the last real blog before my hiatus (the depressing piece on suicide). This one's for you my friend as one of the primary inspirations to dust off the wheels of blog and get this thing rolling again.

And now as I sit here in Macy's coffee shop-Flagstaff, AZ, where I spent so much of my time in the final stretch of retirement, I can't help but observe a few things:

Observation #1. I am blogging on a site titled: World Trip 2006. Cool huh? I'm not sure if you noticed or not but I am no longer on a "World Trip". And furthermore, we are about 6 months out of 2006. And yes, to answer your question, it is embarrassing. I just haven't really gotten around to changing it yet.

Observation #2. There's really no reason to feel embarrassed when you haven't blogged in half a year, because there's a good chance nobody is reading anyway. But, I'm reading it and maybe Ken is reading it, so I maintain that there are at lease two good reasons to be embarrassed.

Now, let's get on with it. I've decided this re-entry blog I will commit to explaining where I've been and what's happened personally since the new year. When I got back from my trip, as you (and by you I mean Ken and myself) well know I spent a good month recuperating at coffee shops, and planning my next move to my beloved Portland. Well it seems someone opened their yapper here in Flagstaff because I got a call from the GCR explaining they heard I was back in town and asking me if I wanted to "rejoin the team".

"Perfect!" you say. "Quit. Travel the world. Come back like you never left." But that's just it, I did quit and travel the world and opened my eyes to a new perspective on life. And quite frankly, I was ready for the next "step". So when the GCR called for an interview, I thought, "Well, I won't take it, but what's the harm in interviewing..." Anyway I took the job. I guess everyone has their price. Truth is I needed money and even though I was shooting for a 25% increase in salary, I guess I was willing to settle for 13%.

Having sold out, I feel like I need to explain myself again. You may ask, "Didn't you learn anything in your travel Derek? Money isn't everything." Well yes, I can see that now, but at the time my thoughts were: 1. Money is something and I need some. 2. It'll look good on the resume to have a company ask you to come back and pay more after you quit and traveled for a year (er 9 months). 3. It's easier to find a job when you have a job, which means it'll be easier to find a job in Portland when it comes up.

They're all true, I think. But worth it??? I don't know. I am making money. I did interview for a great job with Princess Cruises based in Portland...(but came in runner up). But truthfully, Ken (and anyone else who most likely is not reading right now), I'm ready. I just turned 30 years old and I am ready to take the next step. I want to change the world. I want to travel... again (there's still a LOT of Southern Hemisphere I need to see). I want to move to Portland. I think I'd be willing to settle for one or two of the three right now.

That's probably enough rambling for the re-entry. The last thing I want to do is annoy the only reader that's visiting by too much rambling. But I'll be back, and probably even within the next 6 months.

Ciao.

2007-04-30T17:22:00.000-07:00

well I suppose it's time to write. There is always a time when the silence must end, and you must speak again, especially following a moment of difficulty. And so, this is that first note; brace yourself.

As life tends to do, it has continued to happen, each day, as if to say, whether I like it or not. It keeps moving. The weather is starting to change in Flagstaff, the snow is hopefully finally coming to a close, and it's beginning to feel like those classic Flagstaff summer days, with early evening bike rides and barbecues. Sometimes, of course, those barbecues that are "forbidden to display fireworks", do, of course, display fireworks, and Ben, the birthday boy, holds the sparkler high above his head in childlike delight, as the colors light his face in the late night, and then of course the landlord comes over, the tenants hustle up the staircase, and the guests sit silently stunned as the landlord professes: "consider this your notice: 30 days". But nonetheless, we've started barbecuing, and it tastes good. And, we still have a house.
As nice of course, as Flagstaff is, especially this time of year, Portland is still there in the back of my mind- maybe I'll end up there soon. Maybe near the 4th, when there are legal fireworks in the sky. We'll see.

You think you know me...you think you understand my excellence, but what you know is limited by my own lense. This, is the third person account...the one viewing the painting, rather than the painting speaking of itself.

And then, two weeks ago, eight of us set off to meet in Puerto Rico. We flew stand by, which ended up meaning we did a lot more not flying than we did flying. That is to say, we missed five flights for the two we caught. But after a long sleepless night and an intense weight in the plane, we all got on, and set off to Houston, and then, beautiful San Juan. Seeing as there were eight of us, we of course rented a car for five, a beautiful gray Taurus. And so fitting into the car was a treat, sometimes people lying through the trunk, sometimes two across four more in the back; always quite sweaty, hot, a lot of different opinions on directions, and one driver (myself) with a bad case of the runs. oh well. at least I had my own seat. We saw the rainforest, stunningly blue and green beaches, we snorkeled around reefs and through underwater caves, we (alright only one of us) saw a shark, and cut our feet on sharp little water critters and we swam and barbecued and kept each other up late, and woke each other up early. The "us" that was there was me, Ben, Corn, Jason, Mandi, Laurel, Dustin, and Heather. Then Katie met us for the weekend. It was a great trip, full of a lot of laughter, sun, a lot of Corn's burned body and Ben's slumber. We returned even closer than we left.

And as for NickelCreek, they were in town. I didn't go to the show, but I heard it wasn't all that good, and that the lead singer, was not- well, was not as much a man as everyone would have hoped. I've been back to work, which is a drag, but whenever I'm at work and having a hard day, I can always remember the old saying, "dream in your sleep like no one's watching, watch people sleep like they're dreaming", and then I remember what's important in life. it's time to dance like no one's watching and sing like I'm the Drummer Boy himself. IT's time for life. It's time for Flagstaff. It's time for love.

*The above post was written by H. Quinn as D. Turner.*

Frail

2007-01-20T12:25:00.000-07:00

On January 2, I received word from my mother that Rod committed suicide. At the time, because it was maybe 5th-hand information there was room for question, for hope. It was recently confirmed.

Rod was a friend to the family on a few levels. He lived in the same small town as my grandparents, aunt and cousins in Australia. He was gracious, and giving. He had traveled all over the world to surf and while in Australia worked for the Post and volunteered at the fire department. I met him my last trip to Australia. Knowing his history of surf, I took full advantage of the opportunity and after showing interest with some well place questions, he offered to teach me. I took him up and, in return, offered to host him on the Grand Canyon Railway...if he ever came to the states.

Last year, he took me up. Out of the blue I got a call. He was coming to America and on his way to visit my family-who had since moved to the states (to Oregon)- he wanted to check out this Grand Canyon. So fresh off the plane from Oz, we welcomed him to the consummate American bachelor pad. My house is composed four bachelors, three are in bands and one (me) has a full-time job. Which means there is a lot of free time to do things like make a "party-switch". That is of course a light switch in the living room that when flipped immediately activates music, disco lights, and a flashing stop light.

So when I say we "welcomed him", I mean a roommate coming home and activating the switch while a jet-lagged Rod, who at best barely knew me, sat half asleep on the couch watching an apartment of American nutcases dance in the living room. It was a great start to the one week I had to know Rod. We had a fun time. He spoke often of his three beautiful daughters (all in their 20's) but was especially excited about the eldest, who he had just reunited with shortly before coming to America. After a week of frisbee golf, watching "Cops" and "Crazy Police Chases" (two shows he loved), and of course a trip on the Grand Canyon Railway, Rod continued on to Oregon where he stayed several months with my family.

And that's it. We weren't very close. I had only a pocket full of vived memories. But it was enough. Enough to call a person a friend. Enough to mourn.

It's almost hard to write. To imagine a sadness that drives a friend to take his own life... my heart is flushed with sorrow. It aches. It's a time like this when a person is drawn to pray. You hurt for the person who hurt too much. In any other situation you call. You comfort. You listen. You say you care. You walk along side and you tell him it's never bad enough. You are a friend.

But suicide is hopelessly unique. No one realizes his friend's situation is that bad. It is the act itself that sheds first light on that dark fact. And then it's too late. There is no release for the compassion that fills you. I find myself wanting to pray for him, to hurt along side him and tell him it's ok. I cannot.

I don't know what to do. How to mourn. How to approach God. I can pray for the daughters he was so proud of. For his friends. I can pray for those who were close. So much closer than myself. Whose hurt is so much more. But still it's hard to let go. It's hard to know, to accept it is over. I cannot grasp finality.

The walls have fallen
The key is turned
Coal and ashes
Intention burned

My heart is broken
No where to bleed.
My eyes now open
No thing to see.

Blank to tears
Cannot decide
Pain to static
Emotions collide.

Filled with compassion
Too late to pray
Aching for action
But too late to say

Start Spreading the News

2007-01-14T19:23:00.000-07:00

Welcome to 2007. For some reason it's been more difficult for me to sit down and blog something interesting recently. That might have something to do with my coming out of retirement... but I'd hate for the first entry in 2007 to start off with such a depressing announcement so I will save that tidbit of life info for later.

Instead let's begin the first entry of the new year at the beginning. At the end of my previous blog, for those of you who had the patience and perseverance to make it through my last blog (which was pointed out to be the "longest ever written") I had to hustle out the door so I could make it to Times Square for the New Year. I arrived in New York at 5:30 am on December 29, where I met a friend who moved there in the summer to be a flight attendant. After a little nap and a stroll around Rockefeller Center, Times Square, and other sites I've seen on TV, we met up with some of Mandi's (my friend) friends at a local pub in Midtown.

This is where I met Steve. Steve was the boyfriend of Mandi's friend, who I found out the next day Mandi hardly knew. But that's the thing about New Yorkers, is anyone who is a friend of a friend is a friend, especially after a "few" drinks. "So where are you from?" "Arizona. Have you lived here long?" "4 years." "Do you like it?" "Yeah, it's great. I live one block from Times Square in a 35th floor apartment with a balcony." "...whoa..." yada, yada, yada and a drink or two later... "I could get you some passes my place for New Year's if you guys want?" "Uhm yeah... that'd be cool", is what I said but was thinking something a little more along the lines of: "Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME! HECK Yes, I want!" "Cool just call if you want them..."

Did he remember when we called? No. Did we still milk a couple of 35 floor passes to New Year to a guys apartment that actually was going up to Connecticut on New Year's? Yes. And that's where my last blog ended. But where I ended up when that clock struck midnight on New Year's Eve was right in the middle of Times Square (and one million plus people). Even better was the fact that we got into a section that was blockaded off for people who were probably standing around since 12:00 noon to get good positioning.At 11:15 pm when we made our way down the block to Times Square, we approached the blockaded section and my new best friend with the NYPD, where after waiting for almost one full minute we were secretly waived into the blockaded section. A perfect ending to a nearly perfect year.

There are some great stories to be told about New York, the city that never sleeps, except on New Year's Day. Stories about the subway and the linebackeresque drunk guy telling the entire car that "That's the kinda guy you don't mess with...black gloves...friggin Irish and Scottish... Nah, that's the kind of guy that's packin...We good, man, we good," which he said ofcourse referring to a big-smiling Derek. Stories about Broadway, Central Park, walking the Brooklyn Bridge and the streets of New York. But I can take a hint, my friends. So instead of another never ending blog entry, I will just tell you that New York is pretty freaking great. One of America's, nay the world's greatest. Happy New Year.

Holiday Highlights

2006-12-28T01:36:00.000-07:00

Merry Christmas, everyone and a Happy New Year!

Right now I am sitting in an apartment in downtown Brooklyn and to be honest it is hard to think of anything besides New Year's in New York-TONIGHT! But I also understand that it might be a little bit strange to blog about New Year's in New York when I haven't even talked about Christmas. So I've decided I will try to quickly address a couple of my Christmas highlights so in the next couple days I can talk about my New Year celebration IN NEW YORK CITY(!) without feeling bad about myself. Which is not how you want to start out a new year.

Christmas is a time of giving. It's a time to put differences behind you, make some sacrifices and sit down round the yule log with a tall drink of nog and the ones you love. Well as you all know this was a special year for me, and it was important that Christmas be a special one. It was just that. Not only because I got to spend it with my family in Oregon which I love, but I can safely say that this year included two different Christmas "bests": 1. The best gift I have ever given. And 2. The best Christmas Dream.
Christmas Gift
You should always give of yourself, but this year I wanted to take it one step further and actually give myself.

The idea started months ago. The work began a week before Thanksgiving. Then after 2-3 weeks of blood, sweat, and coffee (to assist with the 4am mornings) we held the greatest gift ever. At least to us. It was "Christmas on Columbus", a Christmas album from the 116 Boyz including Jay, Ben, Corn, and myself. Mix 4 guys with an ear for music and a heart for mankind, and in the end you get about 8 tracks of Christmas Gold... and a little bit of wierdness. The album was entirely original with the exception of one angelic rendition of Drummer Boy, which was recorded before we decided to go entirely original and the strangest version of Ave Maria-ever. The tracks were as follows:
1. Christmas Intro.
2. Waiting- A back-home blue grass classic about the roomies waiting to see if Jason will make it home for Christmas this year.
3. Drummer Boy- The traditional song sung beautifully by a young angelic stud.
4. Christmas Interlude- That strange mid-album talk track about mistle toe and extended awkward laugh.
5. We Still Believe- A dark Burton-esque song of a group of children holding to their belief of Santa.
6. Got Soul- With sounds from the 50's, this classic has verses from each of the roommates and one neighbor, including the infamous "freak-out" by J-Holla.
7. Ave Maria- Featuring Dustin Evans (or is it?), this rendition of Ave Maria is both reflective and creepy.
8. Chipmunks on Columbus- What's a Christmas with out the Chipmunks? That's what we thought so this is our original Chipmunk gem.

I wanted to post the songs for everyone, but I haven't figured out to do that yet on Blogger. I will let you know if I can figure it out...even though it might be a little bit late this year.

Christmas Dream
Dreams... From the beginning of time, dreams have driven, inspired, and moved mankind. To some dreams are simply a chemical movement during while in a nocturnal state. To others dreams are windows to the soul, revealing each persons deepest and sometimes darkest fears and intentions. Still to others, they are in fact prophetic. Whatever your belief I had a doozy of a dream on Christmas night. In fact, I might even go so far as to say it was the best dream I have ever, ever. Which in my book (or blog) automatically makes it worth a mention.

Often times I will forget the dreams I have or if I remember it will only be parts. But this time when I woke up in a slumberry bliss I was determined not to forget. So I stumbled to the dresser found the closest pen and paper and jotted down as much as I felt necessary to remember. Here's what I wrote (bear in mind I was asleep when I wrote it):
"Got to play with Suns in a game. Used small foamy ball. 1st rest-start of 4th quarter. Sat with Nash on the bench. Got paid for every stat (points, reb, etc.)."

Since I know we have some international readers I should maybe explain. The Suns are a professional basketball team in the United States. They have always been my favorite team, however recently they almost revolutionized basketball with a new fast paced style of play. Nash, is their leader. If you've ever watched basketball, it game of physical giants. Large, predominately black men who can jump higher than most can dream. Nash is the league's running 2-time, MVP(Most Valuable Player), but logic tells us he shouldn't be. He is a skinny, 6'3" white guy from Canada. He's a guy that someone like me would challenge to a game of b-ball on the streets, thinking I would really tear him up. But Nash is freak. And I am a huge Nash and Suns fan...almost to an unhealthy level. (Where for example when you are watching the last 4 minutes of a Suns-Mavs game in the airport and hear someone behind you cheer for the Mavs, you are filled with equal parts astonishment and hatred...)

In the dream, I was chosen to play with the Suns, but it was a real game. I don't remember who we were playing and I don't suppose it really matters. What does matter is that I played really good. For some reason, in the dream it was really impressive that I played (as did Nash) through three quarters before even getting a rest. Also worth mentioning was the fact that after every quarter the assistant coaches handed me a small piece of paper noting all of my stats and how much I was getting paid. I do remember at the end of the game and scoring 30 some odd points, I was going to get paid about $68,000. Not bad for a dream, eh?

I imagine "best" dreams often consist of super powers like flying or breathing under water, maybe of power like being a king, maybe of dating a supermodel, but not me. No, while you and other kids were dreaming of sugarplums on Christmas night, I was playing ball with the Suns, hangin with my boy Nash, and getting paid +$60,000. Merry Christmas to me.

And now my friends, it is 4:30 pm, and I have to get to Ritz Plaza where we are getting some passes to a "friends" apartment on the 36th (or thereabouts) floor, a block away from Times Square. Yeah, so um... Gotta run!

Happy New Year, everyone!

Born to Rock

2006-12-10T13:41:00.000-07:00

Life is about two things: opportunities and taking advantage of opportunities. So when your friend who is in a popular band asks if you would like to play a show with them there are two very clear options: Be a rock star OR Be a pansie. By now I hope that I have proven that I am no pansie, so I took the rock star option.

Now I should probably explain something. This is not the first band I have been in. No, in my college years my friends and I formed a band we called Guatemallan Rubbish. Guatemallan Rubbish was formed specifically for our university's Harvest Festival and talent show and to answer the question you are all asking: no. We didn't win the talent show. Nor did we place second or third. But to be honest, and forgive me if I still sound a little sensitive, I truly beleive the judges were absolutely nuts. I say that only because I still believe in the good of mankind, and if they weren't nuts then they were undoubtably paid off or even worse, had no taste at all. I think they were just crazy.

It might be argued that people think they sound better than they actually do. That may be true. It may have even been true on that particular night, however, if you are arguing that Guatemallan Rubbish did not deserve to win. I would argue that our following success would indicate otherwise. You see in the coming months, Guatemallan Rubbish was not only asked to open for one the hottest bands at the University, we were also invited (and accepted) to play for a live radio show one Friday evening for a Phoenix radio station.

Oh, yes, I forgot to mention one important fact concerning our band. When Guatemallan Rubbish was formed it was formed under one important pretense, that none of the members could play an instrument they knew how to play. This worked well for me at the time, because I don't know how to play a single instrument, which in turn meant I could play any instrument. And I did. Most often holding lead vocals, I also played trumpet, percussion, keyboard, the magical music machine, and many other insturments. A novel idea for Guatemallan Rubbish, but not for most bands.

Which brings me back to the recent proposition to play with my friends band, M77 (www.myspace.com/m77). In case you are wondering I haven't since the G.R. days picked up any instruments, not even keys the instrument I agreed to play for M77. The upshot is this, I would only be playing in one song (The Distance-Cake cover) and had a couple weeks to learn how to play. Let's go ahead and skip the practice stories, and my colored key method of playing and jump right to the night of the show.

Friday night. December 8. Boardwalk-Flagstaff, AZ. It was a cold night and the spitit of rock filled the crisp air. Even my breath seemed to come thundering out of my soul, rocking it's way visibly through the frozen atmosphere. Being a rock star generally takes years of hard work and heart break, but tonight was different. There was something in the air that insinuated greatness. Something was happening.

Like every great rock star, my night began in the wardrobe. The key to being is seeing and if the audience doesn't see a rock star, then you will never be one. (I learned that lesson in my last band.) Fortunately I had some international options from my recent travels. Pants: Blue jeans from London. Shirt: Mustard tee-shirt from Thailand; slightly small with the silouhette of a man with an afro. Coat: Brown suede-like sport coat from Rome. Capped with a hat Castro might have worn if he were a skater. And finally a pair of signature nerdy plastic lensed glasses.

I arrived fashionably late, missing a good part of the opening bands but early enough to ensure my ivory was still colored properly. It was. "The Distance" was the seventh song in the set. So I rested in the shadows at the back of the crowd as M77 progressively rocked the crowd one song at a time. Note by note my song approached. If any rock star, tells you they don't get nervous, they are lying, which to their credit may at times be to necessary uphold their desireable "don't care" attitude. Song six. I crawl out of the shaddows and meander my way to the side of the stage. Song six ends. The crowd's is screaming. The band is sweating. Then...

"Ladies and Gentlemen, have any of you ever heard of the band Cake?!" The crowd thunders back. "Well tonight, we have a special treat. One of the band members from Cake agreed to play a song with us..." As the crowd rumbles in anticipation, I take the stage, swaggering casually as if there was no audience at all to my keyboard. I remove my black gloves, pick up the keyboard the size of my arm and walk to the front of the stage staring through every eye in the audience. Holding my instument above my head, like Braveheart would his sword before entering into battle. And with that the music errupted.

The music starts pumping. I start jumping. The crowd follows suit. Up and down. Up and down. The floor bends slightly with every bounce. Then pulling my weapon down from the air, I drag it accross my body with the beat, as my part approached. The chorus hits and I look down at the keys to fulfill my duty...except they're not there. Well at least not some of them. Appearently in my freak out, as I drug the keys accross my midsection a number of them got caught on my pockets. I staired at the dismembered piece in disbelief. The music stopped. The lead singer came over, looked at the keyboard and it's owner trying to salvage the remaining twisted keys.

Corn (the lead) returns to his mic are screams, "SECOND VERSE!". The audience explodes and I return to my freak out. Only this time when the second chorus came I was ready. I passionately plinked my part. Screaming out the backup vocals to my Army of Rock! Eventually, to everyones disappointment the song ended. I tossed my keyboard on top of the bass player's amp and walked elusively off stage.

My part was done. Blood. Sweat. Keys. I left it all out there on the stage. When the set was done, I walked outside, oblivious to those around. Outside, one guy smoking with his friends notices me, "Great f*n show, man!" "Thanks, man." I say and pull him in for a distant hug. His girl responds, "Hey what about me?" "Alright, Alright." I respond and give here a hug too. Pause. I look at the other guy standing in the group, and give him a hug so he wouldn't have to ask. Turn and walk away.

"Hey Wait! Wait up!" I hear from behind. I turn to see the last guy running to catch up with me. "Hey man, I just found out you play for Cake!" "Yeah..." I respond. "Oh f* man, I love your music! You guys are awesome! F*! I wish I had a pen right now!" "Thanks, man. Hey, just keep buying cd's, ok?" I say. "Definitely..."he slurs. I turn and walk away.

Poem O Thanks

2006-11-22T22:46:00.000-07:00

In 1619, Cap'n John Woodlief brought a group of fresh colonists to a grassy knoll where he ordered them to get on their knees and give a little thanks for this big new world. He then declared a day to be set apart every year to do the same. Now in honor of the gracious captain, I too pause to reflect, remember and give thanks...

Poem O Thanks
~a tribute to the Cap'n~

I'm thankful for thanksgiving
So that I can give thanks.
I'm thankful for my parents
Except for all the spanks.

I'm thankful for my friends
Because they're super nice.
I'm thankful for the ladies
My muscles can entice.

I'm thankful for my coffee
At nine, at noon, and three.
I'm thankful for my scooter
Fast as fast as can be.

I'm thankful still for China
For tea and the Great Wall
And that they think I'm awesome
Because of basketball.

I am thankful for Thailand
For ladies and for boys
But not when mixed together
An odd and troubling ploy.

I'm thankful for India
For Budduh my camel
I'm thankful for his spirit,
Not thankful for his smell

I'm SO thankful for Europe
For French bread and for wine.
For hiking the Cinque Terra
And strolls along the Rhine.

I'm thankful too for Portland
And even all the rain.
I'm thankful for cute puppies
But not for flies, they're lame.

But most of all I'm thankful
For those who read this blog.
Well that and my really
Really big muscles.

The End.

*Now you say at least one thing you are thankful for.

Seeing Green

2006-11-16T19:20:00.000-07:00

It is often thought of Arizona to be a state of harsh unforgiving desert. And while it is true that there are vast areas of sun scorched land, there is in one section a mountain that has pushed itself some 12,500 feet into space. And there nestled among the unexpected pines is a small mountain town. It is a sleepy town, home to a sleepy people and one sleepy university.

This university was not known for much. There was one time in the early part of the 21st century that it got some attention for an anthrax study it had conducted after a national anthrax scare. But other than that, Flagstaff has managed to stay under just about every radar there is. Especially the sports radar. You see, when you are a university that few people know about, in a town that fewer people have heard about, it becomes increasingly difficult to recruit those hometown heroes necessary to compose a winning football team. And so year after year, the Northern Arizona Lumberjacks made do with mediocrity.

Well not long ago around the holiday of Halloween, there was a creature that crossed over from the netherworld for the first time in the known history of man. This green haired symbol of justice, wandered the crust of an injust earth searching to make things right. How this Green Awesome caught wind of the sports program at some obscure town in Northern Arizona, no one will ever know. But even more mysterious is the fact that our green winged heroe not only heard of the suffering sports situation, but that he was somehow able to arrange a reentrance from the burning underworld to visit what might be viewed as an unimportant football game.

There is however, a small group of armored college men who week after week suffered humiliating losses and needed nothing more than one simple one win. It's true that athletes are often babied and given unfair treatment because they can run, jump, or catch a little better the majority of us. But when you have invested hours and hours to an art, and never see the fruits of your labour blossom into a win, it can be quite demoralizing. So demoralizing in fact, to significantly trouble one particular seeker of truth and fairness.

So on a cold November night, much like every other football friday of the season, the team suited up and entered the dome just like they did every week. Though, this time something was different. There was a sweet air of hope. Was it that the Green Awesome struck a paralyzing fear into the oposing team? Was it that some supernatural transfer of power occurred from one frightening creature to a needy football team? Or was it that the Lumberjacks had sitting in the stands something they had maybe never had before. A true fan. A fan that would squak and scream and flap its hairy wings after ever play. And for the first time in a long time 11 collegiate males took to the turf and believed that maybe... just maybe they could win.

It might be said they weren't playing an Ohio State, or USC, no they were playing Weber State. But to anyone in the stands that night, there was no team that had a chance that night against this invincible Lumberjack team. It feels good to beat a team by a score of 42-17. Heck it feels good just to beat a team. But more important than any win, is that there is young man in a small town who once again believes. Believe in his team. Believes in himself. Believes in life.

The Change

2006-11-08T12:25:00.000-07:00

Inevitably, when a person takes a big trip, say encircling the world, he or she returns to a torrent of expectation. The first of the expectations is "why". This question is mostly founded on the assumption that a person travels for some distinguished reason. Self discovery. Spiritual awakening. Relaxation and escape. The last, relaxation and escape, generally demands a duration of 1-3 weeks and an exclusive or tropical destination. If the trip is over 3 weeks it fades into a trip of a deeper, more spiritual nature. In which case a world encompassing trip of 4 months necessitates a larger more meaningful response than a simple "I just wanted to see the world" purpose.

If you can get past the first superficial shorcomming, the second expectation is the "what". "What was your awakening?" "What did you discover?" "How did you change?" "Epiphanies! We need epiphanies!" There is an undercurrent of conjecture that a trip like this will bring with it the answers to life, both past, present and future. That you will return having seen the face of God and holding an epiphany of purpose.

And now, before I address these inevitable inquiries, I have a confession to make. When I decided to undertake this adventure, I did not leave with a pack full of expectations. I had no deep preconceived notions to prove or disprove regarding the cultures of the world. Nor did I leave expecting the sun to rise on my future and illuminate fate. And while I was not closed to the idea, I wasn't driven by some quest for spiritual awakening, self discovery, or the meaning of life. No, I'm sorry to say I'm a bit more simple than that. To be honest, I just wanted to see the world. Without pretense. Without expectation. Without the prerequisite of change: the world by me or me by the world. I was single, a day older every 24 hours, and saw a window of oportunity to take advantage of. So I did. Weak, perhaps, but honest.

The problem with a trip like this, at least for me, is that when you return from 4 months of 2 night stays, you are dripping with experiences, memories, observations, and you're not quite sure what happened. There is a sense, a bit surreal, that you have in fact changed. Something is different but it's not black and white. Before leaving you spent all your in the same gallery, with a certain painting. Then you return to that familiar place. Although now, even though you know it is the same piece, it seems bigger... or is it smaller? Mesmerized you position in the same spot, you sit at the same coffee shop, wander the same side street, staring at the same canvas. Maybe the colors that have changed. Maybe are they simply running through a different filter, eyes now seeing shades not formerly known, or at least understood. Whatever the case, something has changed, whether the canvas or the person viewing it. Parts of the picture more vibrant, others darker and less defined. But the interesting thing is it's the same picture. Different? definately. But I'm not exactly sure how.

The other interesting thing is just how quickly parts of the painting fade back to familiar. The memories turn into pictures. Snapshots. The feelings don't leave, but they do become more distant. A fire settling into embers. Still glowing. Still warm. Still pleasant, but no longer the dancing flames they once were. You never forget the flames. It's just not as easy to remember them.

The Green Awesome

2006-11-02T11:03:00.000-07:00

There is a creature that exists only in the netherworld. Floating to and fro just neath the surface, he scans the dark energy of those dreaming despicable acts of indecency. A beast of unforgiving power, his soul is cloaked with an inpenetrable and fortelling fur. Each hair working as a sensor of justice, discerning right from wrong, good from evil. Not only does each emerald strand serve a sensor of truth, but also upon determining even the slightest hint of iniquitousness each hair releases a chemical what when combined with the creature's acidic blood produces a power unimaginable. It is strong. It is green. It is awesome. It is THE GREEN AWESOME!

Halloween is oft recognized as the darkest night of the year. A night when evil creeps in the shadows and darkness flows through the streets like a river. For centuries this monstrosity of rectitude has circumambulated below this world's crust waiting, justly frustrated, burning to rectify the wrong. Burning for release. Well on October 31st, 2006, with the stars aligned to perfection and the moon neither full nor empty, the supernatural door 'tween this world and the next was nudged open. And in the dark swamps of the Amazon, a green creature crept into a different world. A world with which it was so familiar, but one it had never known.

Now driven and hungry for justice, The Green Awesome scanned this evil world, looking for others who were also fighters for truth. Who with The Green Awesome as Commander and Cheif would form an army of impariality. He found an unlikely bunch. Neither powerful nor attractive as himself, but good hearted and honest. They would do just fine.

Billy Bob Blue. Doctress Surprise. The Empire Great Building. Lady Liberty. Bonzai the Bird Ape. Double Wide. And The Mongul.

Unified in strength, the group of not-so-super heroes and their Awesome leader took to the streets and fought for justice. Understanding the importance of the situation, the group focused their energies and powers in one centralized place. The dancefloor. Hour after hour they danced for rectitude each displaying an honest show of grace, moving as if there were no tomorrow.

Then as the night drifted into morning and evil fled for oblivion, a green powerful beast flapped his hairy wings and soared victoriously back to the amazon where he once again crawled under the crust returning to the nether world. His job was done. He fought, he flapped, he danced all night. And then he returned.

It was a night unlike any other in the history of mankind. It was, you could say... awesome...

GREEN AWESOME

I'm Gonna Be A Grandfather!

2006-10-20T15:00:00.000-07:00

Well it's official, I am going to be a grandfather everyone, and I have to say I am even more excited than I imagined I would be! There are some skeptics who will argue, "Derek, in order for a person to become a grandparent they must first have a kid who must then also have at least one kid." To which I would reply: "A. "Kids" are what goats have. And B. It's true actually having grandchildren is a large part of being a grandparent; HOWEVER, an even more important part of grandfatherness is the having and telling stories." To which the skeptics would have no choice but bow thier pride in humble defeat.

So if we are weakly basing grandfather status on the simple and obvious physical aspects, then it's true I fall short. On the other hand, if we are more completely and not so superficially considering the grandparent figure as one with incredibly relevant and entertaining stories, then I may well be more of a grandfather than some of your own biological grandparents.

It might be the first time my round-the-world trip really sunk in. I had been back in the States for about a week and was visiting some recent Flagstafrican transplants on Vashon Island, just outside of Seattle. My friends, the Wilks, have three small children who were walking us down a beautiful green path to a park overlooking the Sound. At one point, my other friend (dc) who flew to Portland to drive back with me, was explaing to the young boy (5 yrs) how I had ridden an elephant. Which in turn opened up a disbelieving can of questions.

I explained how an elephant would rock back and forth as it walked. How it would scratch its leathery skin on the rough bark of tree trunks. How I would carry bananas to reward an eager trunk for being well behaved. I explained what it was like to pet a tiger, the ins and outs of camel riding, and what baby monkeys are like. Then at the peak of story time, I saw a different grandfather telling one of many cool stories to an amazed little redheaded grandson.

That's when I realized something big had just happened. Funny how it takes a five year old boy to make things snap into place, to realize just how larger than life an elephant is, or how crazy monkeys are, or how wirery the hair of a camel is. Sometimes all it takes is a 5 year old reminder to realize just how big and cool this amazing world is. And I'll tell you what else is cool, especially when you have grandparents as sweet as mine, is realizing that at the tender age of 29 you are in pretty much every way but one that you are a grandfather. I've heard it said before that being a grandparent is even better than being a parent, and while I've never actually been a parent, I gotta agree.

How Much You Wanna Bet?

2006-10-16T01:12:00.000-07:00

Two days ago I set a personal 5-month record for the most consecutive nights (5) in a single place. Exactly one week ago a little green honda with a red-headed driver climbed a hill, turned a corner, and at long last entered the city they left just under 5 months earlier. Flagstaff, Arizona. The crisp, sun touched mountain town I call home. Home. Now there's a term I haven't used in a while, except in a distant day dream. But now believe it or not here I am. And I have to tell you, it feels pretty good.

I was happy to find that in my time away, besides a couple new Starbucks, bridge and walkway, Flagstaff has stayed pretty well the same. The bicyclists, the hippies, the grungy riff-raff and studded-collar pets lingering on the edges of the town square. A comforting sight. When you've been working your way west for several months, averaging only two nights in a single place, the very thing you want most is normality. Even if that normality is an unbathed, earth friendly folk. It's nice.

As for me, I've spent the better part of the past week simply settling. Sleeping, unpacking, reintroducing myself to the cities coffee shops, digging through boxes I mailed home along the way, and giving slideshow presentations. Not to mention going though a mountain of mail, which leads me to this blog's story and a rich new mystery.

For anyone new to the blog, I'll need to refer you to a previous post entered on August 25, titled: "£100 Says 150 Million". It's a heart warming story of a young man losing a bet but winning a eccentric old friend. And now, the rest of the story. You know of the old man, you know the bet and that there are 91 million people in Mexico. You'll also remember the envelope filled with a mysterious promise of the future.

Here's a few things I didn't mention: 1. The older gentleman had a date that evening around 8pm. 2. The perceptive fellow was impressed enough with me to try to set me up with a date of my own by introducing me to a couple of random ladies as we walked to the bookstore. 3. After we settled our bets, and I signed my address to an intriguing envelope, he invited me to grab a drink before he met his date. My schedule just happened to be open so I agreed and he told me to meet him at a certain London intersection.

Well, I guess I shouldn't have assumed there would be a clear meeting spot at the intersection of two major streets in city like London at rush hour... because there wasn't. So after wandering from corner to corner for 45 minutes, I decided to proceed with my night and a show. I never saw the eccentric gentleman. Rather, I continued my travels throughout Europe and eventually returned home where one day as I dug through a mountain of mail I happened upon an envelope addressed to myself, with no return address and handwriting just like my own... Yes,the envelope!

However, instead of a fat wad of cash as one might foolishly hope, I found the following note penned on a flower covered card:

Hello Derek,
Love to you and your family. Sad, I didn't see you last night, too many people at the underground station. Your friend was very sad when I told them. Enjoy the beautiful country. He said you are very charming.
Love Dina

And now you know the rest of the story. Soooo... what do you think? Please feel free to share any ideas, because I definitely don't know what to make of it. In case you are wondering, no, the guy's name was not "Dina". Who exactly Dina is, I bet will remain a mystery. In fact, the note will probably forever remain a mystery as well. Now I not one for betting, but I can say I'm about 90% sure I will never see that £100 again. Any takers?

Lesson # 1

2006-09-29T22:04:00.000-07:00

Back and in tact-peeps.

I arrived back in Portland two nights ago at 8:30 pm. Greeted by two of the loveliest ladies you ever laid eyes on (Ma and Grandma) we climbed in the car and drove to the first and most authentic Mexican food stand we could find. It was no Ralibertos (an AZ fav.) but it was one fine welcome-home carne asada burrito. D-Lish for D-Light. Step 2, sleep. Not just sleep, but sleep on one of the biggest fluffiest beds I've seen in a VERY long time. D-Light for D-Lish.

And then comes the question: What are you bringing back from such a long, life changing trip?

Good question, and it's maybe a little bit early to be asking all these questions don't you think? I mean let's be realistic, four days ago I was in London, five I was in Paris. And now all of sudden I have to start answering all these questions? Man people, it is going to take a little bit of time for all this international dust to settle. BUT, I will mention a couple things.

One thing I brought back was a totally new look on life, or more specifically Costco (and/or Sam's Club, Price Club, etc). One of the first trips I made since being back was to Costco. I had no cash on me (of course)and someone said there was an atm in the nearby Costco. Which is cool cause I just came from the countries where most of the things sold in Costco was made. Of course more important than the all those quality products made by skilled children accross the world was the food. Ahhh the samples.

There might be a Costco somewhere else in the world, but I sure didn't see it. And that means it's been a some time since I wandered those long industrial aisles looking for tasty handouts. It was about this time that I realized I was a different person. There is a certain unwritten law when doing the Sam's Club/Costco sample run.

Commandment 1: When getting a free sample from the elder-hostel worker, one is obliged to appear interested. "Ohhh, well now what is this?!" or "Hmm, this looks wonderful! Do you sell these here?!" or "Oh my, that IS delicious! Only $7.95 for two trays? Where is this?" All questions we feel obliged to ask despite the fact that we could really care less.

Commandment 2: A person is only entitled to one sample per booth, per visit. This one's obvious, it's not a meal it's a sample, and while everybody thinks of it, no one with any conscience takes two samples.

Well there are a couple things you will realize when you travel the world:
Realization 1: One is not entitled to and should not show an interest in any item he or she does not intend to buy. Let's be honest, that is simply lying to some poor old lady who is pouring out her soul and trust to you. It's ok to chat, there are some really cool people dishing those handouts. However, if you are uninterested and have nothing to say, do not ask where they sell the item or show "surprise" at the value, simply say "thank you" and move on to the next.

Realization 2: One should not assume anything. This means if there is no clear signage stating that there is "Only One Per Customer", then maybe it is NOT one per customer. In fact, I think that if the food keeps coming, then you keep eating. Now don't get me wrong, another thing I learned is that Americans tend to overeat and eat when they're not hungry. But as long as you are not being glutenous, and they keep serving food, you keep eating. Actually, most cultures are offended if you don't eat the food they offer.

So there is a couple of things that dawned on me in the past day or two. I'm sure there will be some great epiphanies, and it would be nice to have a little bit of time to process. But I will do my best to, out of respect for all you faithful readers, answer your question. What am I bringing back? Yes I'm bringing back stories. I'm bringing life lessons and new perspectives. I'm bringing pictures back, music back, memories back. But if there were one thing, to sum every view, look and lesson...

I'm bringing sexy back.

Peace.

Not The End...The Beginning

2006-09-25T15:47:00.000-07:00

It hardly seems real. In the background, karaoke night at a london hostel. It's 11:45 pm the night before I fly back to the United States, land of the free and home of my very own bed, my friends and family. One month ago I was riding a camel in India. Two months ago I was ziplinning through the jungle canopy tops to my bed tree house. Three months ago I was riding elephants and gettin my swerve on a Thai dancefloor. Four months ago I was eating chicken feet and exploring the Great Wall.

And tomorrow, tomorrow I fly home. Wow. After a nice cup of Stumptown coffee in Portland, I will drive down to Grants Pass celebrate the birthday of the woman who birthed me (yes Mom, how could I forget?)and then drive back to my beloved Flagstaff. And to be honest, I'm ready.

After four months of traveling, living out of a back pack, sleeping on floors, couches, ant infested matresses, I'm ready. Don't get me wrong, I am a little mixed. I mean I met the city of my dreams (Paris-you sweet little thing). I had pastries, breads, cheese, wine, fruit shakes, creppes, even a scorpian (one story that never made the blog). I kyaked, treked, hiked, rode, and danced. But tomorrow I fly home and I rest. I sleep. For the first real time I stop and reflect. No more busses, no more trains or hostels. Rest.

Again don't get me wrong... even as I write this to the boo-ing crowds of London as an Oasis song song skips (not cool, especially when you are drunkenly singing your heart out!), this has been a trip of a life time (see blogs 1-51). China, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, India... India!, France, Spain, Italy, Switzerland, Holland, and London. Not bad, not bad at all. Buuuuut, neither is that comfy little bed of mine.

Also as one final note. Though I really don't know who has been reading this blog save the few of you who have written the comments along the way (and a BIG thanks to each one of you!). This is not the end of my blog, rather a new chapter. A chapter to reflect and post some pictures without it costing $6 an hour. Rather now it's your turn. Questions. Comments. Thoughts. Let me know what you want to hear. Pictures? I've taken thousands. Stories... Millions. Just let me know.

I gotta tell you, it feels good. Leaving in less than 12 hours!?! I can't wait to see every one of you. So long China. So long Koh Phi Phi. So long India. So long Paris...you sweet little thing. And hello America. HOWever, I still have 12 hours... and um it is Karaoke night in London... Soooooo, I hate to say good bye, but.

Love ya'll. I'll see you soon!

..."Ok, Ok! I'm comming!" Sorry guys I'm up, gotta go. Talk to you soon.
D

Music to the World: Part III

2006-09-20T12:48:00.000-07:00

Let's begin in a city whose streets are made of water. Where little Italian guys in striped shirts and wide brimmed hats sing to their passengers as they float through town. Ah Venice, unlike any other city I have seen. Even as I rode the train from Florence (from Pisa...from Cinque Terra) I wondered if I had made the right decision. Leaving a little Mediterranean paradise to start jamming in a bunch of sights. But it's hard to second guess yourself when you're eating pizza watching the gondollas go by. Venice, cool. However, I still had a lot to see, so the day after I arrived I scheduled my train out at midnight for Northern Italy, where I would introduce myself to the Alps.

That gave me one full day to wander the city, which though you can always use more, was enough. When I say "enough", I mean enough time to have another one of those life moments. I call them "life moments" because they are experiences when everything is right. I had one the first time I went to Boston and stumbled upon a little jazz cafe with perfect music, atmosphere, and nice glass of red. I had one in Thailand as I watched the sunset from a kyak of the coast of Koh Phi Phi. And now I have had one in Venice.

My train didn't leave until midnight so I had a little bit of time to kill. Fortunately, it's easy to get lost in the zig-zaggin alleys. It's about 9:00 at night, and I was wandering the streets that few people are on. Then in one alley I turn the corner and hear something like an angel calling. I walk into a small deserted plaza where a little church had its windows open. The angels began. Male and female, singing opera's greatest hits. La Bhoem, Madam Butterfly, etc. And there I sat on a cement step, blinking slowly, trying take in everything. The smell, the air, the occational wandering Italian, the perfect accoustics. Knowing that no picture would capture it I stored as much as I could away to memory.

When my little personal concert finished I floated over to the train station to wait for my overnight train to Aosta, Italy, where I would catch a tele-cabin through the Alps to France. It was a beautiful moment and one I would soon need to comfort myself.

As you well know, I have been fulfilling my musical duty by sharing my ipod magic with as many people as possible. Well being the servant I am I went ahead and did the ultimate service. I boarded an overnight train in Italy and by morning had donated my entire ipod, headphones, and accessories to some needy Italian. I know what you're thinking, "Are you serious? Giving your entire ipod away? What a servant?!?!" Well, my friends it's much easier to donate to someone when you are asleep and don't have to think about it. Yes. It was stolen. From the bag that sat under my feet on the oposing seat I slept on.

I try to stay positive. At least my little baby served me well. At least I got to share with some cool kids all over the world. Maybe the person needed it. Maybe he will now share with his many friends. I just hope the little scum bag got to listen to every one of those nearly 4,000 songs before he contracted that terminal infection and those dirty little ears of his fell off. Just gotta stay positive.

Really, though slightly pissed when I dwell on the subject, it truly could have been worse. It wasn't my passport. I still have my camera though I don't have a computer to post any for you at the moment. It was just an ipod... only an ipod that the greasy maggot took. And now you understand why that "life moment" was so vital which happened only hours before. For now the only music to calm my spirit was that in my head.

Once I finally arrived my destination, I found there were too many clouds and rain to do any telecabins and the weather wasn't supposed to change for a few days. So rather than waiting around twiddling my thumbs I hopped on a bus, then train, then train, then bus and found myself in Gryon, Switzerland at a little chateau in the Alps. I found a place called L'Abri which was founded by one of my favorite authors, Francis Schaeffer, for students to come to study, debate and work out all of life's difficult questions.

And in this place, still a bit pissed and tired, I once again changed my travel mode, deciding it was best to relax. For the past few days I have sipped tea and coffee, read books and settled the worlds problems with other students doing the same. The Alps are gorgeous, soft hills with jagged tops. Each quaint town has a church that echoes its bell through the valley every quarter, half and hour, and the sound of cow bells twinkle in the distance. Soooo... I'm felling better. Still need to see Amsterdam, Paris, and Oxford, and I have now less than a week to do it. We're in the last inning folks. I'm rounding the bases and coming home... soon, but not just yet.

Ciao Bella!

2006-09-15T03:27:00.000-07:00

How's this for a day:

9:00 am- Wake up in Cinque Terra. Have coffee and chocolate croissant on the Mediterranean.
10:30 am- Pack and go to train station.
1:45 pm- Arrive Pisa. Check Bag. Walk through town to tower. Take Picture. Walk back to station.
3:15 pm- Board train for Florence.
5:30 pm- Arrive Florence. Walk to Museum to see Michaelangelo's David statue. Assess line, cost, time. Skip museum. Get piece of pizza walk back to station.
6:49 pm- Board train for Venice.
10:00 pm- Arrive Venice. Look for hostel.

It's strange to think that just 24 hours ago I was in the Cinque Terra, where time stopped for 3 full days. Now I have once again donned "Agro-Tourist" hat and have kicked it into high gear. Not consistent I know, but that's the life of a Travelin D. You find a little piece of heaven, stop, soak, and then keep moving. I will be here in Venice for a day and plan to catch a night train to Geneva, Switzerland. And now that I've gotten you all worked up, let me slow it down again and tell you about Cinque Terra.

Cinque Terra, as the name implies (in Italian), are five towns. Perched on cliffs, over looking the Mediterranean Sea on the northern coast of Italy, it is easily one of the nicest places I have been in my travels. Recommended to me by a few friends that had been themselves, I had the hardest time imagining these five little towns that you hike between. It maybe pointless for me to attempt it myself, I'll try. One thing I will definitely do, however, is like my friend recommend that you, one day in your travels, find the time to visit this slice of paradise for yourself. Or if it's easier poor yourself a cold fruity drink and look at the pictures I've posted.

I stayed in the southern most town of Riomagiorre (I think-don't have the spelling). There is a train that runs between the five towns and as I've mentioned trails. Most people, including myself, hike the 5-hour trail one way, and take the train one way. I started at the northern most town of Montorosso (sp?) and worked my way down beginning with the hardest. Montorosso is the largest of the towns and the one I spent the least amount of time in. The trails between the towns are well paved and marked (thinking back to Bottle Beach in Thailand). For a long time they were the only means of getting from one town to another by land, which means they were important for trading.

Hiking the trails you proceed up and down the steep hills of Italy walking through the vineyards and olive groves, picking an occasional black berry for nourishment. You can plow through the trails, or you can stop at each little town for lunch, a gelato, or an extremely refreshing dip in the Med. I chose the latter.

Every town has it's own personality, and somehow despite the large number of tourists, seems to maintain a real local feel. Old Italians wander the streets, sit on THEIR benches, and spread the town gossip (I am assuming because though I don't speak Italian, I can understand that responsive head nod and "ahhhh" or "tsk, tsk" in any language. The kids also wander the streets, but are more often found jumping off cliffs or playing in the sea.

The first day I hiked the entire trail. The second day I went the opposite direction and took more time to explore each little town... and more time to swim. And now two days later I am sitting in Venice paying 6 Euro an hour for internet and still dreaming of the Cinque. Loved it. And if I still didn't want to go to Switzerland, Germany, Holland, and Paris and London again I'd go right back there today. Oh well, guess I'll have to save that for my next round the world trip.

Pure Provence

2006-09-09T16:25:00.000-07:00

Before you begin this entry there are a couple of requirements:

First put a copy of Carla Bruni's cd in the player adjusting the volume to a comfortable 4 or so. If you don't have Carla Bruni's cd, you should, and you won't regret it when you do. So do go get it.

What am I talking to a wall?! Stop reading and GO!

Welcome back. Now pour yourself a subtle drink of choice. If possible pull that uncomfortable computer chair out and slide in something a little more comfy. Bean bags, couch, whatever--this one's up to you. Finally, turn down the lights, tuck in the kids and light a couple candles.
...let's begin.

Everyone I have spoken with concerning Europe who had some knowledge of the continent and an opinion I could trust, they all, every one of them, sighed when at the mention of the Provence. Lavender fields. Country cottages. Hills clothed in time-tested vineyards.

Pastel paints. Sun touched yellows, oranges, and pinks coat the houses topped with the same uniformed salmon tiled roofs. Each window is fitted with colorful wooden or metal shutters that only stick out once you've realized their charm.

From the moment I began planning this trip, when I let my mind wander the many sights I would see and adventures I would see, my mind would always finish in the Provence. A beach. A small quaint hill. Local cheese, baguette, a bottle of not-cheap but inexpensive wine.

Today, I can die. Yes it's true, I have never married. No kids. Never cured any diseases. I've only had one real job. One real girlfriend. But, my friends, I have lived a full life. In just three days, I have lived a full life.

Spain was good. Sun, beach, churros, paella. But in the past three days I have sat on the steps of a French/Roman coliseum 2000 years old under the same stars that shone the very night it was built. I have watched the moon rise over a castle crouching over the Rhone, good enough for a Pope to call home. I have wandered the narrow, shutter lined, cobble stone allies of Arles and Avignon. I have walked the streets of Van Gough, deciding the only thing that could have mad ol' Crazy V crazy is the inability to process such a precious Provence.

And today... Today after a quick walk through the country of Monaco, I sat on a pebble-lined mediterranean beach, with a fresh baguette, a wheel of camembert cheese, and a bottle of Provencial wine. I sat with jazz playing in the distance and sail boats bobbing in the sea and I watched the day fade into night. Today, I lived...

Spanish Lesson

2006-09-07T14:22:00.000-07:00

I finally found my way back from the beach. And while sprawling on the beach or floating in the Mediteranean is nice, it doens't lend itself the most exciting blog entries. For example, before my "flashback" idea came to me my blog entry looked something like this:

Title: Sun & Surf
"Today in Barcelona I went to the beach. I also swam out to the bouy and back... Um.... The End."

Now it may be a bit presumptuous to think that by this point in my journey, 3 months after I first started, there are still many people reading this blog. Actually, come to think about it, it might be presumptuous to assume there ever were many people reading. I do know there are at least a few, however, and for fear of losing those precious few, I thought better of the idea of posting the aforementioned blog. Hence the music flashback. BUT, now I will catch you up. You know I was in Paris... mmmmm Paris, a city I instantly connected with and even after 5 days (the longest stop my entire trip) it was a difficult "goodbye".

I stepped back onto that familiar night train, sleeping sporadically to the border of France and Spain. At 7:30 am switched trains and headed to Madrid. Out the window were ghostly hills, hiddend by a morning mist the sun would soon burn off. As the rays overtook the smokey landscape, the mountain silhouettes became solid and revealed hills that couldn't decide whether to be bald or forested, so they compromised.

The rolling hills were decorated with a mix of tobacco, corn and sunflowers, both young and old. The young-stood proud and yellow; the old-hung their tired heads to hide their faces from the harsh sun. Every several miles sat a steeple from an old Spanish chaple, surrounded by a small village of brick building and tiled roofs. Each town telling of a more traditional time of tapas and tango.

The two towns I visited in Spain were Madrid and Barcelona (Bartheloneh-if your local). It's true I spent a fair amount of time toning up my albinish tan, yet I was in Spain long enough to learn a few valuable lessons:

Lesson #1: Siesta!--The Spanish way of life. I have to say I have never been to a country that takes off the entire MONTH of August. You think I'm exagerating but I'm not. More ambitious Spaniards will only take off 15 days. The first night I was ready for some Tapas(see below) so I went to the Tourist Info booth who responded, "Hmmm, tomorrow is September, you might have to wait for tomorrow because restaurants will open again then." "What?" "Spain is closed on August." Also important is the 1:00 to 4:00 pm siesta, necessary for the tiresome morning to regain strength for the evening hours. Sometimes just to be safe, take the rest of the afternoon off.

Lesson #2: Tapas. Buy a drink, get tapas. Tapas are an assortment of exotic appetizers. They have become so popular now that most places charge so you really got to dig to find the tapas-included joints (Joints meaning establishments... Sheese). But if you must order make sure you are clear you want the tapas portion not the entree or you might end up with an enormous plate of chorizo sausages and a lot of people looking at you.

Traveling Tip: When asking for a Tapas Bar, make sure your English is very clear. Otherwise, you may be in for an entirely different "Tapas" experience. Comprende?

Lesson #3: Spanish Beaches. Many beaches in Spain have no tan lines. Well, some tan lines but not many. Not even if you are 98 years old... or 29 and American. It's important to blend in. So for a couple of days "Travelin D" became "Topless D" and for at least 2 days the Spanish sands were especially bright.

Lesson #4: Espanol. Living in Arizona, I have been exposed to people speaking Spanish most of my life, and I was happy to find a surpising amount of the 2 years of High School Spanish coming back to me. But even if you don't speak Spanish, you might be surprised to find how many words are similar in Spanish and English. For example "Gaudi" in Spanish mean "Gaudy" in English. You see, simple.

And that's about it for now. Fortunately, I have found a place that doesn't charge for its internet so I should have another entry very soon. But for now, Monaco-here I come!

Music to the World Part II

2006-09-05T16:29:00.000-07:00

Oh man I knew there was something I was forgeting when I was cramming to finish that last blog entry. There was one other time that is worth sharing.

Flashback to Cambodia. I just finished visiting the ancient temples of Angkor Wat, and like the end of every great adventure boarded a bus for a good 10 hour bus ride. This bus ride was from Siam Reap to Bangkok and also had it's fair share of discomfort including a flat tire on a dusty, middle of nowhere road. And again like any great bus ride I pulled out my ipod.

One kid (16-18 years)who I guess was working, though I never quite figured out how, was accompanying us on the trip also without a seat. He spent the first few hours standing, and after our first stop decided maybe he would stand in the back of the bus where I was seated (cool kids always sit in the back of the bus). This was the second time I got to put my ipod and headphone spitter to work. I can't remember his name so I will refer to him as Bill... Bill standing next to me spoke great English, so in this case I didn't feel I was taking music to the world like the others.

Bill had already asked me if I liked the Pussy Doll Cats (known for the popular "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me" song). "Yeah! Ofcourse." said I, because who hasn't. "She's hot huh," Bill asks. "Totally." So anyway when I pulled out the "love", it's safe to say I had a pretty good idea what kind of music my be Bill music. So in this case I started with a little bit of G-love and Special Sauce. Always good, little bluesy hip-hop. But it wasn't enough so I moved to some Paul Okenfold and finally hit the nail on the head with some fresh Beastie Boys.

Bingo. Beasty Boys was just what Bill was looking for. So on this long uncomfortably and hot bus ride, where everyone was sleeping or trying to keep their mind of the heat and the dust, Bill was standing next to me trying best he could to contain the dance that was flowing through his veins. He tried, but didn't totally succeed. Little did I know that Bill was a practiced air-drummer, guitarist, and congo player. His legs were also in a constant state of movement, and Bill would also let out an occasional vocal burst (unknowingly) with his headphones resting snuggly in his unwashed ears.

Another victory for music. Rock on.

If You Could Give The World Music...

2006-09-04T13:09:00.000-07:00

The following "flashback" is presented to you by the Spanish sun and beach, whose power to soak an entire day, thereby preventing any real quality blogs to be written.

Flashback:
I have a very important question for you. If you were in a position to share music with the world for the first time, what would you share?

When I left for my trip, I had a big dilema ipod or no ipod. Already I pack like a girl (no offense) and have bag that weighs more than I do, and I´m no spring chicen. But like most cases I decided to go ahead and take it. And naturally when presented with the oportunity to buy some crappy Chinese sony headphone nock offs, who can resist? Aaaannd when you have an ipod and two pair of headphones it makes perfect sense to purchase headphone splitter...because you never know who you are going to be sitting next to.

It just so happens the first person I sat next to was an 7(or so) year old boy with broken English from Dubai. Flashback to Thailand. I was already delayed several hours to board the "quality" bus ride to meet my friend Christina in Phuket. The reason I was delayed was there weren´t enough people. Well throw in one little family of 7, 2 girls, an old guy and myself... and problem solved. So with all of our luggage taking up the front seat, the 11 of us squeezed into 9 seats for this 10 hour ride. I as I mentioned was placed in the row with the boy, his sister and the old man.

I pulled out my comfort to drown out the discomfort when I remembered, "Hey I´ve got enough ipod for two here." I ask the boy if he wants to listen and OF COURSE if it would be ok with his parents. And OF COURSE the answer to both was yes. With a system of: thubs up= "Stay, I like it"; thumbs down="Uh, no thanks and next song" we song by song worked our way through the trip. The favorites: G-love and Special Sauce, The White Stripes, and Modest Mouse. Ousted was Radiohead, and a number of not-rock-enough selections.

Flashforward to India. We are now entering a land much less touched by the world. A land swallowed by Himalayan mountains and a bus ride with 40 more people than seats. Once again pulling out my ipod to help with the pain. This time the person next to me is a boy maybe my age. It may be wrong to assume based on distance from civilation and apparent lifestyle that this young man had probably never seen an ipod or listened to a little music from the world. But I did and for a moment (5-10 hour moment) I was faced with the question what music do you share with someone who has never heard... well anything I had at least. Bear in mind the conservative culture is a consideration. So the decision: Frank Sinatra. Bob Marley. Coldplay(it was rainy). Jack Johnson. I even through in a couple highights from my friends band Telescope, just cause I could. (And if by chance my other friend, Corn(elius), is reading this I didn´t play M77 only because there wasn´t any on my ipod.

How did it go? Well he didn´t speak English, so I couldn´t ask. But I can say he slept like a baby, with a head full of tunes in a bus FULL of people. What did he think? I don´t know, but I´m pretty sure he was dreaming about heaven.

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

2006-08-29T10:11:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, love. It's a funny thing this "love". When I was a boy, a friend and I were out camping with a group of kids at Lake Powell. Both of us were giddy as young boys often are about a couple girls, and having never dabbled in such affairs before, we asked one of the chaparones we both looked up to that ever elusive question: What is love? The wise man smiled and replied, "All I can say is you will know when you find it..."

And then some 15 years later it sneaks up right behind you and pulls the rug out from under you. Every one of us has had "that" moment. Maybe it was in a grocery store. Maybe walking down the road. Maybe with a friend. OR maybe on a subway in some distant land when you glance across the way to make contact with those eyes that just happen to be glancing at the exact moment you are. And in a moment, in a split second something happens. Your heart jumps. Your mind blanks and a minute or two later you realize you are still holding your breath. It's the moment songs are written about, the reason novels are penned and the inspiration that has forced brush to canvas since the beginning of time... It's the moment that forever touched me days ago.

Funny you wait your whole life for 'it' then BAM it happens when you shake the pot a little bit and decide to take a trip around the world. It's strange how you can get 100 different looks and not think twice, but when that 'one' happens, it's different. For me, it happened my first day in mainland Europe. And this time I decided I was going to do something about it. "Hi, I'm Derek... (heh, sigh) And you are..." Paris. Her name is Paris and the rest is history. It's safe to say |am in love. But I'm not the only one. No actually everyone looks in love. In fact, it's hard not to be in (and with) Paris. The place has got romance and inspiration flowing through its streets for all to drink.

The first tip I can give to anyone visiting Paris is to befriends the locals. You remember that elephant trek in Thailand, the one with 9 girls and 1 other guy? Well it just so happens the other guy and one of the nine were this couple from Paris. Somehow by the end of that trek we had all become friends enough to exchange email addresses. So we did. Then they made the mistake of saying "Call if you come to Paris." So I did.

My first night in Paris, I met my Thailand friend Xavier who took me to his spot. There I sat, espresso in hand, with 6 or 8 of his friends at some streetside cafe on some quaint Parisian street. As they had their drinks, spoke their French, smoked their cigarettes and listened to street performers do work their magic I just sat back with a smile like a sponge in lake. The next day Xavier and Camille were moving to a different apartment and if there's one thing I've learned in my travels it's sights are sights but people are where life happens. So most of the day I helped move boxes into their new apartment and (bless their hearts) what happened to be my house for the next 4 nights.

The days following I got lost in the arms of my new love, wandering her romantic streets, armed with nothing more than a baguette, some cheese and my camera. The Eiffle tower, Arc de Triumphe, Europe's largest museum, even had a visit to Amele's cafe'. The city is rich. In money probably, but in life definately. It's easy to taste and breathe the same inspiration that moved people like say, um, Picasso, Monet, and on and on and on.

After the longest time I've spent in any one spot on my entire trip, I had the hardest time saying goodbye. Yes, I know, distance makes the heart grow fonder. And even though I'm in the land of tapas and flamenco, it doesn't make it any easier. But just between you and me I pulled the oldest trick in the book. The ol' "Woops I left my jacket" trick. Guess I'm gonna have to return.

That's just the way it is with love. Trust me, you'll know when it happens.

£100 Says 150 Million

2006-08-25T03:29:00.000-07:00

Alright kids, get out your pencils and put on your thinking caps cause it's POP QUIZ TIME!!!!

Today's questions: How many people live in Mexico?

Now I'm not really the gambling type. In fact, if ever you find me in a casino there a good chance I'll be somewhere over by the nickel slots or standing mesmerized in frozen excitment staring at all of the flashing lights. BUT, if I absolutely had to I would probably bet there were over 150 million people in Mexico. Sounds reasonable right? You figure Mexico City is one of the largest in the world (if not THE), and it's a pretty big country. So let's say somewhere over 150 million people. I'll come back to that.

It's interesting that so many people think I'm British. Guessing it's probably because people in London are quite fashionable, attractive people. So, you know... naturally, people might guess I too am from London. Well today, I'm waliking the streets of London, looking good like a Londoner should and this distinguished older gentleman approaches me and asks if I know where Buckingham Palace is. Of course I don't, so I tell him. "Are you not from here?" He asks. "No, America." "Oh, you look British." (Don't I know it!)

This gentleman is Australian with an English accent, very pleasant and well spoken. Neither of us knowing where we are going, decide to walk there together so we can continue talking. He's from Sydney, a dealer of antiques and has a fair amount of money (you can tell and he told me so). He also told me last night he won £4,000 (=$8,000) playing roulette. We talk a little about politics, this and that, then he asks how many people live in America. I tell him about 300 million. He's surprised there's not more. Asks how many people in Canada, I say about 30 million.

Then that gambling mind starts turning. "I would have bet £200 there was 500 million people in the United States. How many people are there in Mexico?" Now America I know. Canada-easy. But Mexico? I tell him I have no idea, and I don't. So he says, "Think of a number you are 90% sure there wouldn't be any less than. Say if there was a guy standing here right now wanting to bet £1,000 on the population of Mexico, what would you say is a good bet." Hmmm.... "Maybe, 150 million?" He tells me he has no idea, and we walk a little further.

Then it gets personal. He (cleary a perceptive man) tells me how much he likes me, what a good, sharp kid I am. Then he lays out the bet. 2 to 1 odds. If I win he pays me £200, if he wins I pay him £100. Here's the bet: less than 150 million people in Mexico or 150 million to 300 million people in Mexico. I get to pick which one I want and if it's over 300 million people nobody wins because we should both be ashamed we are so far off. Then we will find a book store in the near vicinity and check. As I said before, I'm not much for gambling, but if the bet is obvious then I'd say it's hardly gambling, right? And here's a guy who has already stated that he likes me and wants to give me a good chance to win some money, but it can't just be a "sympathy bet".

The guys trying to do me a favor, the odds are good, and really what's £100? I mean that's like a day's budget in London. So I go for it. And naturally I pick the 150-300 million people. Those readers who are much more educated than I am know at this point that I am not very educated at all! I tell him I need to stop at an atm before we check so I can get some money in the VERY unlikely event that I lose. "Don't be silly. How could you lose this?"

Well I did. No, there are not 150-300 million people in Mexico. We found the bookstore, locate a Mexico travel book and BOOM! Right there in big bold letters 91 million population. I was not even close. We were both a little surprised. And for a little redemption I looked up Canada which I hit right on the head with 30 million. So we go outside, find an atm and the old guy waits a short distance away. I am a little disappointed but had decided it was worth the price just to hang out with this cool old gentleman, and besides I wouldn't have bet it if I hadn't been willing to part with it. What? It's true.

Catching up with him I count out the £100. He laughs, "You're an honest young man. I could tell when I met you." He was quite impressed with my integrity, etc. Then he asks me to write my name and address on a envelope he was carrying and tells me that by losing I actually made more money than if I would have won. He puts my £100 in the envelope and an additional undisclosed amount in there with it. Then he says he will send the money and his business card, so we can continue to stay in touch. We shake hands, part ways, and it turns out to be another great day in London.

Now in the event there are some 3rd graders reading this blog right now, I think you should know there is a very valuable life lesson to this story:

"The only thing worth gambling for is friendship."

Class dismissed.

A Hug, a Kiss, and a Busride Inches from Death

2006-08-23T01:52:00.000-07:00

Alright before you go judgin' everybody for not blogging let me explain the last several days' schedule to you. Let's start with Budda the camel. We stayed the night in the desert then the next morning saddled up our pitiful camels and treked back to town. I just had time to take a shower, check email and eat, then I boarded a 20 hour train ride for Delhi. Arriving in Delhi long enough to get irritated (and it doesn't take long), I boarded another overnight train for Shimla.

It's Friday when I arrive to Shimla which sits in the beautiful mountains at about 7,000 feet elevation. Now I have a decision to make: From Shimla I can see one snow capped Himalayan mountain just peeking over a smaller range, whispering my name. My plane leaves for London on Monday, and the next bus for a town in the Himalayas (or at least nestled in a Himalayan valley)leaves the next day-Saturday. What I didn't realize was it takes at least 10 hours by bus to get anywhere in the mountains. You're a smart bunch, so you can probably figure out that would put me at my destination on Saturday evening, one day further from Delhi where my plane leaves on Monday. Option 2, settle with a distant glance of snow-caps, enjoy myself and relax.

Well I've come to accept the life montra: Live without regret. Thinking to myself, when will I be so close to the Himalayas again? I decide to go for it, even if I have to do the unthinkable and extend my time in India. 'Get busy livin', or get busy dying!'

In these few days there are quite a few stories to tell, but I don't have much time so I'll share what I can. There was nothing too eventful about the overnight trains. Really it was just a train ride, and a British girl talking almost the entire time about what she was going to do in the next 3 days...(!)After the second overnighter, I switched to a 'toy train' from Kalka to Shimla. Which was a very cool 5 hour train with more than 100 tunnels and 900 trestles and bridges. Finally, I arrived to Shimla mid-day and aware of the decision before me, decided to walk around town until I reached a conclusion. Enter Mr. Huggles.

Yes, it's a MR. And no Mr. Huggles is not really his name. I can't remember his name, so I have taken the liberty to assign a fitting nickname. So I'm walking down the road, breathing the fresh mountain air, wrestling my thoughts on what to do when this Indian guy comes up and introduces himself. He's maybe mid 20's and it starts off like most conversations: "Hi, where are you from?" "America." "America?" "America." And then it got a little weird: "You are my brother," exclaimed Mr. Huggles and pulls me in for a hug. Now one cultural lesson is that Indian guys are much more affectionate with each other than American guys. So without getting an "I like guys" vibe from Mr. Huggles, I go with it. "Ok, brothers," I say. "Where are you going?" He asks, and we keep walking. After about 3 more minutes, Mr. Huggles says again, "You are my brother, huh?" and you know what follows. Another hug.

Now instead of the "I like boys" vibe, I'm picking up an "I'm not all there" vibe. I think our friend maybe is slightly special. We keep walking, me a little more determined than he. Then Huggles, invites me to sit to talk. "Well, I really need to make a phone call." I say having decided I'm gonna go for the Himalaya run. "We are brothers, huh?" (oh, boy) Now remember, we are in India, which holds almost 1/6 of the worlds population. Needless to say there are plenty of people watching. "We are brothers!" Only this time instead of a mere hug, I get the hug and a kiss planted right my cheek! "Yep, brothers. Hey I really gotta go." And with a little resistance I seperate and get the _ out of there.

Calling my agent back home he assures me I can reschedule my flight to Thursday, I just need to call someone in India by tomorrow. Perfect. The next morning, I buy a bus ticket to Sangla, which is supposed to be one of the most beautiful valleys in the Himalayas. I throw my bags on top of the bus and climb onto one of the most cramped and uncomfortable busses I have ever seen. I said my montra was "Live without regret", but I forgot the most important part of that-LIVE! This bus ride was unbelievably beatuiful and sketchy. Majestic mountains demanded respect and intimidated everything except the angry river that carved it's way unforgivingly through the mountains heart. The ride started on a road that was barely 2 lanes and paved, with no guard rails. It ended with a 1/2 lane dirt road made partially out of the rocks from rock slides that clearly once covered the road.

I am not usually made nervous by switchbacks or canyons, but this was a new breed of road, and I was on a BUS with a driver that I assume had no respect for life based on his speed and driving style. In my row of 3 seats there was barely enough room for 1 but sat as many as 6 people, including one precious old Indian lady who found sleeping comfort in my shoulder. Despite a concerned 8 (of 10) hours, we arrived to Sangla at 6 pm, and even with no feeling my legs, the scene was breathtaking. Sangla is a small village in a narrow valley brushed with apple orchards. The walls of the mountains that surrounded it, held smaller villages with no clear means of access.

At this point I know I made the right decission, but still had one more phone call to make. When I contacted the airlines to change my ticket they informed me I would have to bring in my ticket to do so. In otherwords, I couldn't. So no sooner did I get to the Himalayas I had to leave. No problem because at 6 am, 12 hours after I arrived there was return 10 hour bus ride to Shimla where I could catch another overnight train to Delhi. So after about 30 hours of traveling, I had 12 hours to sleep, soak in the view, and get my butt back to Delhi. The ride back was just as hair-raising, the only difference being what looked like a couple of fresh slides we had to work bus around.

And now, not 48 hours later I am sitting in downtown London, spending more on internet than I did on a room in India, and it is worth every penny. From the moment I stepped off that plane I've been smiling and gilgling like a school girl. True I've been traveling for a few months, but most of that I would call an adventure more than a vacation. Now I think I am in the vacation part of my vacation. And it feels good!

How good? When I was 16, 3 months after getting my license, I rolled my car on the highway. I crawled out of the broken windshield with nothing more than a papercut-sized cut on my finger. And the next day, the birds chirped louder, the sun shined brighter, the colors and sounds of life were all more vibrant. Kind of like that.
Like I just crawled out of a car wreck (India) barely escaping with my life and entered a new and brighter world. A world with toilets and hot water. A world with espressos, cheese, and fresh baked bread. Clean sheets. Trash cans. And personal space! Can you imagine? There's personal space!

Yes, my friends, life is good. Real good.

Budda and Pussa

2006-08-17T05:02:00.000-07:00

I didn't let a migrane keep me from riding an elephant. And although there wasn't a 9 girl to 1 guy ratio on this camel safari, I wasn't about to let some old lady's feet keep me from riding camels with digestive problems.

We first piled into a jeep for an hour ride where we would meet our camels for the first time. Within minutes the cries of road side scarf vendors faded out and I struck up a conversation with our driver. "Well I'm from Arizona, but my family lives mostly in Oregon." The driver who also lived in Boston part time with an Indian antique store lit right up, "Oregon?! Ah I love Oregon." "Yeah me too!" I proclaimed, "It's so beautiful. The people are great." "Ahhh some of the best 'smoke' I've ever had...they grow it good up there," replied the driver and gazed happily at the road as he casually swerved around the dunes that had poured into it.

When we arrived the camels and drivers were waiting. Naturally the first thing you do is make a mental assessment of each camel. Pros. Cons. Which would be the strongest, fastest, best in a camel fight. In all which would be the best camel for a man like me. "You'll be on this one," said a sun weathered man with a faded red turban. This was the kind of guy that probably lived off of desert bones and scorpians...and could no doubt slice a man in two from 300 yards with his safari machette. But you guys should have seen this camel. He was clearly smaller than the other and had some mystery crusties smeared on his neck, and a tail that might have been cut off, or even fallen off a couple times before being resewn. But when your camel guide has poisonous spit, and you've got intestinal weakness, there's only one thing you can do.

So I climbed abord Budda the Camel. Every one was laughing and giggling, while I was sat wondering if my camel would even make it to his feet. He did and shortly we were headed into the desert. There about 9 tourists in our group and maybe 6 camel guides. Some of the tourists were allowed to hold their reigns, you already know I was not, and when asked at one point if I could trot with ol' Budda, the weathered warrior chuckled and assured me know, it wasn't a good idea. There was one positive though, Budda and I lead the group, with my guide holding the reigns as he walked ahead. I learned my guides name was Pussa which drew to mind an old Johnny Cash song "Boy Named Sue" and seemed to answer a lot of questions. I also learned shortly after treking that ol' Budda and I had a special connection. Every once in a while I would hear the other camels grunting behind and would turn to see all the other riders hiding their faces in thier scarves and turbans. Come to find out it wasn't the other camels that were grunting... it was ol Budda. Which suddenly shed a whole different light on his name as well.

The safari was one of the best things I've done. It might have been the serenity of the desert, sleeping on sand dunes under the open sky, with nastalgic memories of my own Arizona desert (never thought I have nastalgia for Phoenix). It might have been riding a camel that you knew was just thankful everyday for another breath. It might have been that there were no hands clinging, or voices crying for my money. I'm sure it was a little bit of everything. And every moment I was feeling a little better.

The next day we saddled up at day break and worked our way back to Jaisalmer. I showered up and last night caught an overnight train back to Delhi. Tonight, I catch an overnight train to Shimla which is almost at the base of the Himalayas. I fly to London on Monday, so I am running out of time, but I'm gonna get as close to those bad mothers as I can. And even though tomorrow I will be in the mountains I know deep inside there is a dessert, a camel driver and one day-to-day camel who will always hold a piece of my heart.

Keep fightin Budda...

Delhi Belly

2006-08-14T23:19:00.001-07:00

Here's a traveling tip for you: If taking a cooking course, use an instructor that doesn't cook with her feet.

In China there's Ghengis Wrong. There's the Thailand Throne, Laos Wow, and Cambodian Can. I've been fortunate enough to have avoided all of those, but now after 3 months of traveling I have finally encountered Raj's Revenge. And really I shouldn't assume it was my instructors feet that graced me with this resonating pain. It could have been any number of things, the silverware on the floor, the reused chai pot, it's hard to pin it down. I have a feeling this is going to raise some eyebrows back home, where one of my friends was still feeling the effects of Raj some three months after returning. Not to worry though I'm already feeling better...for the moment.

I have been in India now 7 nights, 3 of those have been spent on overnight busses, and tomorrow night I will add to that experience an overnight train. Currently I am in Jaisalmer in Western India. The main reason people visit Jaisalmer is for the Camel safaris. However, to get to here from Udaipur(the city I was in prior) a person must take an overnight bus to Jodphur(9 hours) then catch another bus to Jaisalmer (another 4-5 hours). I'm 98% positive that our driver was not the same one as the taxi driver who choefered me the first night in India, but there is still 2% that says, "but they drive exactly the same".

Perhaps it's to prepare the tourists for the camel ride which is not known to be a smooth, comfortable one, but the bus ride might rank as the worst one yet. And I've been on quite a few. Let me give you an idea. Ofcourse there are bumps, nay craters in the roads. Yes, you have to swerve to miss roadside pedestrians and then swerve again to avoid the head-on collisions with another bus doing the same. But I think what crowns this bus ride as the king of "Worst Bus Ride Ever" is the horn. When I say horn, you think, "Oh 10 hours of horn honking..." You are correct, but what you don't, nay can't understand is the horn.

These horns are not the standard air horn you might find on a bus. Somehow India has designed a way to incorporate a train whistle, ambulance siren, and the sounds of Pac Man into one powerful weapon. They also can change the patterns of the honking notes, tempo, etc. The one thing that never changes is the deffening force which I think is designed to alert the next town that the bus is 40 miles away.

Once to Jaisalmer, there are two places to stay, in the fort or outside. Naturally I wanted to be a part of the "in" crowd. So I found this great guest house in side the walls of the fort, with a view overlooking the city below. The town is desert and has some real style. It's the kind of India I had in my mind. It sits right at the base of these magnificent fort walls. Unfortunately, the only walls I got familiar with were those inside my own little fortress, which I hunkered down in for most of the day, taking only short breaks to rest and rehydrate.

Thankfully, I am feeling much better. Fortunate, because I saddle up my camel in about two hours, and I don't think they have restrooms on the camels. I only spend one night in the desert, then return to catch my overnight train to
Delhi then up to the Himalayan Mountains. Wish me luck.

Whelp, pardon the pun, but I gotta run.

Chai It Out

2006-08-13T01:04:00.000-07:00

One week and several chais later, I think I've started to acclimate. For three or four days things just didn't feel right. I knew I was in a most different place, but I just could not for the life of me get into a swing. Then I realized, "Wait a friggin second! I am in India! And I haven't had a chai tea yet!! Of course." So that very night I went to the rooftop cafe of my guest house and ordered a chai.

Now, finally the cultural storm has calmed slightly, and having spoken with several travelers I've probably been through the worst, especially in regards to the rickshaw vultures(everyone agrees Agra is the worst). Don't get me wrong, things are still nutzo, but I can breath a little bit.

The city I traveled to after Agra is called Pushkar, and is a holy city for Hindus. The Lonely Planet marks it as a city for travelers to relax and unwind. Even though I had only been in India two days I was ready. I've discovered something in my travels. I'm not sure it's a universal rule or specific to the traveler, but for me personally I never really connect with a place while on the beaten path. So even in this small town of relaxing, I decided the best thing to do would be to rent a bike for 50 cents a day and take to the country side.

The bike was a single speed cruiser, not really made for a rough, sandy country road, but do-able. I biked several kilometers along the base of a mountain ridge pausing only for a water break and the occasional tractor/truck to pass which had a system of alerting bikers by blaring Indian music which can be heard seriously for miles. To my left workers would be carving away at sections of the mountain for rocks (which the track-pimp mobiles would transport to town) and to the right grazing cattle and desert fields.

At the end of the ridge you top a little hill and discover a beautiful village, green, productive, and filled with squawks of wild peacocks. The children would pour out into the streets to ask for rupees and "school pens" or any other kind of handout you were willing to part with. They also unanimously ask you for "picture". Initially I thought this was their trick to obligate you to pay them a rupee, but after assuring them I wasn't handing out rupees, they still insisted on pictures. Then as soon as the camera came out, as if instinctually, every kid in the village came to the street, started jumping and screaming and asking/pleading me to take their picture. One particular kid convinced me it wasn't for money when after taking a picture, I turned the camera to show (NO Touching!) and as soon as this young boy saw himself smiling back, was simply overcome with happiness. The kind of smile and clapping you might expect from a person who just won the lottery.

Eventually after convincing the kids to let go of my bike, I worked my way back to town, where I dropped off my bike and hiked the mountain overlooking Pushkar for sunset. A lovely day that ended with dinner and chai on a rooftop cafe. Not just nice, but the first time I felt connected with this distinct land.

That night I traveled again by overnight bus to Udaipur. This time not with so many children but a fetaled Indian man who nestled up to my side--the sleepers were sold out so I took the not so relaxing or reclining chair seat. Udaipur is a much larger city next to a much larger lake, and very fitting for a Bond movie...say, uh, Octopussy (filmed here). I walked the city, explored the old city palace, and avoided the street vendors best I could. However, today's highlight was meeting a young boy on the street after school who invited me into his tiny house/apartment where I met his family who could speak a lick of english, and stared at each other over what else? Chai tea.

Today's event was cooking. Yep, another cooking class. Would you believe that I didn't even like curry before I left for my trip? Now I'm sitting with an old man and lady on the floor of their kitchen learning every kind of Indian dish I can. That and chai of course. When it was all said and done I had learned(I mean was shown) something like 13 dishes and a great technique of holding a bowl with your feet so you can mix with your hands.

Now in a few hours I'm off to the Jaisemer desert where I'll try my hand at camel trekking.

The Taj 'n All

2006-08-09T21:37:00.000-07:00

You know when you were a kid and you went on a family vacation and stayed in the first hotel with a pool? Remember that giddy feeling of excitement and trouble-rousin adrenalin that flowed through your veins? Now multiply that by one hundred children and place it on an overnight bus with our lone white guy. I'll get to that in a second.

Last I wrote I had just arrived to India and hadn't really been out much. Sure I had seen enough to know this was going to be a cultural kick to the face, but that can easily be determined from the guest house walk to the internet cafe. It is safe to say I have "gotten out" by this point. My first day I spent in cafes (internet and otherwise) trying to determine what my plan would be. My first step I decided was Taj Mahal, which is a 3 hour train ride from Delhi in a town called Agra.

Agra I learned is an abbreviation for Agra-vate, as in every tourist in sight. One of the first things I wrote was how thankful I was that in this new and different culture people spoke English. I take it all back. I now realize there was a lot of power in the dumb "I don't speaka yer language" routine. That doesn't work in India. Because they speaka your language and speaka to you all over town trying to sell you things. If you mix China with it's bargaining aggression, with the feel of Mexico, the energy of Rome, and loads of cows, let that simmer for a few thousand years, you might pull out something a little bit like India.

One fellow traveler advised I may not want to stay in Agra, just see the Taj and leave. Based on that token, I decided the first thing I would do when I arrived is see if there were some overnight travel options to my next destination. The people are veeeerry "helpful" especially the taxi drivers who are anxious to take you somewhere they are going to receive a commission. And despite the plainest, most clear English I could use, I ended up spending the entire morning and early afternoon going from place to place, rickshaw (sp?) to rickshaw, travel agent to bus station, until FINALLY I found a place that was selling overnight bus tickets.

By this point, having seen the Taj from the distance, I was not super excited for anything other than leaving the lovely Agra. Since my bus did not leave until 9 pm, I had a few hours to kill. First I beat through some street vendors to get to an old fort/mosk. It was nice. The fort was just ok but combined with a vendor-free oasis, overall it was nice. From there I was just one rickshaw and two thousand "No!'s" from the Taj Mahal.

As I mentioned, having seen it from afar, I was kind of prepared for a partial let down for this "Man-Made Wonder of the World". It was amazing.

The Taj was built as a memorial to a man's wife who died. As tradition has it the man's hair turned white overnight out of grief and construction on this wonder began within the year of his wife's passing. Let me tell you this guy must have REALLY loved this girl, not just because the Taj is serenely wonderful, but I also heard he had something like 500 concubines, so he must have thought this one was special. Oh and another fun fact is that he supposedly cut off the hands of all the workers who constructed the Taj so they would never replicate anything as beautiful. The monument is breathtaking, enormous, and made of marble that couldn't have been much cleaner at the time it was constructed. Within a few simple hours, I had almost forgotten the world I just came from. But within a few more hours I would remember.

I got to the bus after getting worked over from a rickshaw driver who increased the price suddenly because it was "night". The bus contained both sleeper cubbies and seats. Naturally, I'm kind of a high roller so I sported the sleeper. With no place for luggage I nestled into a 9 hour spoon session with my backpack. I thought it was tight quarters for me until I started to look around to find entire families packed into a single cubby. All in all I think there were just under 400 passengers on this bus. Alright that's probably an exaggeration, maybe 350. And everyone seemed to get a good laugh out of the lone white guy.

At 8 this morning I arrived to Pushkar and was greeted by the sight of monkeys procreating. Yeah, that Taj was somethin, but eventually we all have to go back to reality. This monkey-loving reality.

HELLO India!

2006-08-08T02:14:00.000-07:00

Dearly beloved. I would apologize for not having written in a few days, but I think I would make myself sick before I was done typing the apology. So I won't. And anyways it doesn't make much sense to use yours and my valuable time explaining that I either had a headache, didn't have access, or was feeling a little lazy (Which I also refuse to apologize for during MY vacation/adventure-Don't even get me started!) Look you guys, enough is ENOUGH. Let's just drop it and move on, ok? OK?! Ok.

Alright. I'm sorry... you might be right. I do feel better. Thanks guys.

So last night I arrived to India, and I have a feeling I'm going there will be some real solid entries in the next couple of week. That is of course when there is access, or whatever(stop it!). After a month in China, I was really ready for a good cultural change. Then after some 6+ weeks in S.E. Asia I started feeling a little antsy for a fresh cultural flavor. And now? Now, I think I may be in for the biggest culture shock yet.

Let's begin with the taxi. After being told I needed to confirm my next flight (to London) as soon as I landed, tracking all over the Delhi International Airport and fighting my way through the loads of oozy sporting guards and tourist hungry taxi drivers, I learned the office was closed. Next step was finding a guest house. It's about 9 pm at this point, maybe later, and while I have had some life lessons on my trip, I'll admit I'm still a bit cheap. So rather than getting a taxi by myself, I start asking people getting off the plane if they'd like to split a taxi into town.

Myself and a kind French couple climb into this World War II circa vehicle/taxi and buckle up what was easily the most exciting taxi ride of my life. Now I've been to China, Rome, and Chicago, and have never been a part of such an experience. Swerving, honking, brake-slamming, all to a chorus of French-American gasps. The ride slowed down once we got to town but did fade in excitement. Because now instead of riding the bumper of various cars we were riding the heels of hundreds of people...oh yeah, and cattle. Cattle everywhere, walking the streets mooing and pooping anywhere they please.

The upside is people speak English. And with this kind of cultural shuffle that is a Really nice upside. While it's no China, people still stare a LOT, and there are plenty of street hagglers. Today I haven't done much. I only have two weeks here and India is a very large country so after I swapped hotels (from the 1200 Rupee hotel the French had reservations at, to a 250 Rupee delight)I have spent the day interviewing a couple travelers for India travel tips. Normally in my travels I haven't had a thorough game plan opting rather to play it by ear. But this one? This one is a little different. I think this one I might pencil something out.

I'll begin tomorrow with the the world's greatest love monument ever built.

The Taj Mahal.

Tomb Raidin'

2006-08-03T06:18:00.000-07:00

In one of my recent treks I introduced the team to a little game I call "Match of the Week". The idea being you think of two characters or anything and discuss who would win and why in a fight to the death. It's designed to get some good conversations rolling which can come in handy on a 7 hour hike. Well on one of these treks, I was faced with the question, "In a fight to the death between the Great Wall of China, and the Pyramids in Egypt, who would win?" Having been to the Great Wall I still had to pick the Pyramids (Come on think about it, booby traps, built to line up astrologically, and potential alien involvement).

But after that gruesome battle was over, and Pyramid stood weathered but victorious over Great Wall. There in the shadows would sit another dark nemeses. One who also is weathered and almost positively has been involved in alien affairs throughout history. One who is called Angkor Wat!!!

I just spent two full days from sunrise to sundown exploring this dark treasure and probably still did not see half of it. And while standing on the GREAT Wall of China was pretty cool, walking through these jungle-digested ruins were AMAZING. The first day I went to the big ones. Beginning with the Angkor Wat at 4:45 am...well alright 5:00 am for sunrise. The size is the first thing that takes you back as you approach this marvel in the morning shadows. There really is something special about seeing it for the first time as the sun is rising, and Cambodia knows it because they really play it up. If you can say there is a drawback, it's that there are so many there to experience it at the same time you are. (Which reminds me, and makes me wonder what I was doing wrong when I worked for the Grand Canyon Railway and would tell the travel agents, "You MUST see the GC at sunrise." Then peel myself to meet the one or two others who believed me.) Well there are many "believers" at Angkor.

Despite our commitment the sun didn't actually rise, but it was still really special seeing it for the first time fresh in the morning. I tried it again the next day (today) and same...lame? Yes, but still well worth it. No, it's not worth three, if you are wondering. Then when you finish with Angkor 1.5 hours later, you walked back out to meet my tuk tuk driver that you have hired for $5-$10 to take you from ruin to ruin all day long. Each ruin is surprisingly different. From enormous stone faces carved to stare at passer-bys, to looming towers that overlook the Cambodian countryside, to the most intricate stone carvings blanketing an entire ruin, to my favorite ruins that look to have had a millenial battle with the redwood-sized trees that eventually overtook them. Each one AMAZING!

I tried to load a few pictures to give you the idea, but am having difficulties. Sorry, guys. In the morning I will be heading to Bangkok, where I should have some time to load a few of these bad boys up. So bear with me, ok.

In the meantime, here's a little something to keep you busy:
Kermit the Frog --VS-- Elmo
...and FIGHT!!!

Laos

2006-08-01T06:02:00.000-07:00

I really need to get you peeps up to speed. Since the gibbon experience I have been in three different countries and in a few days will be in another. I had never really planned on going to Laos. In fact, before I left I can't say I even knew where it was. But everytime I bumped into someone who had traveled all over Asia, they would mention Laos, their eyes would glaze over and they'd murmer something like, "Ahhhh, Laos...". That was enough for me. Now as of 2 days ago I am done with this wonderful country, so I'll try to sum it up for you.

Ahhhhh Laos... where to begin. After the gibbon experience I returned to Huay Xai (pronounced something like Hoy Say). Just about everyone takes the river as a form of transportation, and after my last bus ride that sounded all right to me. There are two options for river travel: 2-day slow boat or 6-hour fast boat. I know what your thinking "Let's see 6 hours ... 2 days(!). Hmmmm." Well when you see the passengers suiting up with helmuts for the 6 hour ride, you might reconsider your inclinations. Especially when it's been raining torrentially filling the river with bamboo logs and who knows what. So 2 day slow boat it is.

I was glad I showed up early so I could get the plastic chair rather than the wooden benches which looked like they could have been abandoned pews from the back row of a jungle church. They packed as many people as possible and still float on and headed down the river. Two days later, with one overnight stay in a riverside village, we arrived and Luang Prabang.

Luang Prabang, like the rest of Laos was beautiful and is a citie recently placed on Unesco's World Heritage list. One highlight was the night market. Everynight they close the main street and people come to lay out their mats and sell whatever homemade craft they could. All very cool stuff and unlike a Bangkok market looked to be very authentic. The other highlight was the 64 kilometer bike ride up to a beautiful mountain waterfall. As wonderful as the waterfall was, the ride there and back was just a good. Along the hilly road, bike through village after village, each having what looked like 10-100 residents. The landscape was beautiful. Goats and buffalo grazing on the sides of the road and farmers grooming the land with their ox and plows. Pretty special.

Two nights in Luang Prabang and then back on a bus to Vang Vieng. The scenery only gets more beautiful. Farming is everywhere as are the little communities to manage them. And the landscape is made of the same beautiful limestone mountains found on the Thai islands like Koh Phi Phi. Vang Vieng is known for it many caves that are strongly recommended to have a guide when exploring. People have been lost for days. Another highlight is the kayaking, white water rafting or a more relaxing tubing adventure. I went with the tubing.

I'm afraid I don't have any pics of the tubing, mostly because, well you're tubing. Here's how it works. You sign a waver saying you're not gonna sue anyone and will be careful. Then you catch a tuk-tuk up river with a group of people and hop in your tubes. All down the river there are a number of bars with roap swings and zip lines and crazy Laos guys screaming at you to paddle over for some drinks. Nearly every bar comes with a swing or zip to draw you in, and it's free if you buy a drink. Needless to say I'm not sure that would ever fly in the States, and I'd say most people probably don't lose their "sea legs" for several hours after they get back to town. Loads of fun, and I don't need to tell you I was a pro at the zip-lines.

Two nights in Vang Vieng and then I decided the best thing I could do with my limited time was catch an early morning bus to the capital Vientienne (200,000 pop), the another to the border, then and overnight train to Bangkok, and if I'm lucky a plane to Cambodia the morning I arrive. I was lucky, but I'll tell you more of Cambodia next time.

Laos with all of it's beauty and relaxing itinerary, probably sticks out to me the most for its people. Just walking down the streets you are met with the biggest smiles you've ever seen and every person, todler to ancient, makes it a point to say hello (in Laos of course). And for once, it's not because they want you to buy something (most have nothing to sell), but rather they are authentically pleasant people. Of all my travels, I've yet to feel more connected with a people. And I've never been more pleased to have ventured off the beaten path a bit and to see the people. The real people.

Zipadee Do Dah

2006-07-29T08:27:00.000-07:00

Now that you are familiar with Underpants Man let me tell you a little bit about his village. What was supposed to be a 7 hour hike wound up being just over 5 hours, and while it was pretty grueling, I lost my breath as much from the scenery as the hike. 5 hours of tromping in the mud lead to one of the most beautiful sights yet. It was one of those moments the camera simply could never capture.

The village was pure. Horses, buffalo, dogs, cats, chickens, pigs, and children all running wild-together. No thing seemed at odds with another, that is of course besides the farang (foreigners). Fortunately I was well prepared for the staring after my time in China. The land also seemed pure. In the fields grew corn, next to rice, next to bannana trees, etc. It really was a beautiful picture. Well worth the 5 hour trek.

We only stayed for a moment though because we still had another 1.5 hours hike to get to the tree huts. Then finally we were there. We were welcomed with some fresh cut pinapple and each treker given a harness. Currently there are a total of 4 operational tree houses. Each house can only be accessed by zip line. My tree house (3) was the furthest from the others and was 4-5 zips and a 20 minute walk from tree house 1.

The ziplines were fantastic. I'm still a little bit baffled at how they set up 400 meters of line accross a valley maybe 200 meters above the ground and forest canopy. Our first zips were in the dark. While zipping in the pitch with wind blowing through your hair and not know where you are going was very cool, I think the day light brought a whole new appreciation for it.

The tree houses were also a work of art. Every hut was fitted with a toilet and shower. Though users should beware that both drain directly onto the jungle floor and should not be used when there is a hut full of people have lunch on the other side of a curtain. You're gonna have to trust me on this one, because there's also no "sneaking" out of a tree house toilet. Another interesting thing is how loud the jungle is at night with a chorus of locusts, frogs and barking deer (I swear it was the deer). Throw in some ants around your bed and mice (or some type of tree critter) scurryin about all night, it's not the best sleep. However when you wake to Gibbons singing and an amazing view of the jungle, the lack of sleep is the last thing on your mind.

We stayed two nights, the second day was consumed by zipping and trecking, and on the third morning hiked back to the village. I never saw any gibbons, and I really don't think a spotting is very common. Our guide, Marion-who resembled Claudia Scheffer, said she had seen them a lot, but also seemed able to list them off. I still have to chalk this one up as an adventure of a lifetime.

Luckily it hadn't rained much since the hike in which meant once we got to the village, we would be trucked out. Before I tell you about the ride out, I want you to know how much I love you. For example, when the rest of the group is marching ahead to the truck, Derek is lagging behind to take pictures so that his friends and family back home can share in all his adventures. And then Derek has to run to catch the truck and then there are no seats so self-sacrificing Derek climbs on top with some bags of rice and 2 villagers.

True, it hasn't rained much in the past two days; however, the road was unbeleivable. So much so that the first 10 minutes of the trip I spent planning out in my mind just how I would discard my backpack, and jump or roll from the car when it rolled. Overly precatious? As it turns out no. No, the car did not actually roll, but it was on two wheels and I and a villager did have to jump as the truck started to tip. Whether it was the foresight, two days of zip line dismounting or simply my jungle cat reflexes, I don't know. In the end I was alright though, and even won the admiration of a few who saw me flying by in the window.

I know this is going to sound a little bit funny. But for moment... When I was flying through the air... Even if just for one second, I felt like I, myself was Underpants Man.

Long Live UM.

Adventures of Underpants Man

2006-07-28T07:32:00.000-07:00

It's called "The Gibbon Experience" because you stay in tree huts with hopes of spotting the once believed extinct gibbon monkey. But really I think they call it that because if they called it the "Underpants Man Experience" there would be an overwhelming and unmanageable response. I'll explain in a moment.

There is one small office, in a small border town of Laos, and the only true form of marketing is word of mouth. Really that's all they need. I heard of it from a guy from South Africa that I met my first week in Thailand. He warned me they fill up quick so you need to book at least a week in advance. But he said it was an amazing experience and now having done it myself, I have to agree. The goal of the organization is to build a system of tree houses and zip lines. Then the profits raised will be used to employ forest guards to protect the Bokeo Nature Reserve from poachers, many of which were once poachers themselves. Everybody wins.

Needless to say living in tree huts, flying on zip lines and watching monkeys in the wild sounded pretty good to me. Before my elephant trek in Thailand I sent an email asking to be put on. When I returned from my trek I had received an email informing they were full until the end of July. Unfortunately, I had already managed to really get myself pumped up for it. So The day my visa expired in Thailand I crossed the border to Laos and checked in at the office. Still full. "Do you ever have cancellations?" Not likely. Well I'm a world traveler. I mean I ride elephants and get lost in the jungle just for fun, so that just wasn't cutting it. The group left at 8 in the morning, I showed up at the office at 7. No luck-still full. OK! Ok, I get the point. I'll just have breakfast next door an be on my way. It's a stupid idea anyway. (These are just thoughts, I didn't actually tell anyone this.)

So I have breakfast and am watching everyone load up the truck while I wait for the rain to stop so I can tuck my tail and walk home. Then 15 minutes before they leave a girl tells me someone has not showed and I can go... if I want. Heck, yes I want! And my luck kept getting better. Since I was the last one the back of the truck was full which meant I had to squeeze into the front, and not sit in the rain... shucks. They warned of two things. First that the ride would be a rough 3 hours. And second, because of the rain we might have to hike in on another road to the trail making the 1.5 hour hike more like a 7 hour hike. Both were spot on.

I found myself at every turn saying to myself, "Not a chance. We will never get through that with a car. Time to walk." To my amazement, we made it. Now for the 7 hour hike and the introduction of "Underpants Man". Not 5 minutes into the projected 7 hour hike we come to strong flowing river with a downed tree across about 80% before disappearing into the water. A medium sized Laos man with a strange resemblance to Jackie Chan works to the front of the line and proceeds to declothe down to his sea blue briefs. Then pulling a machete out of his pack he walks to the edge of the river where I can only assume he is about to kill a crocodile for tonight's meal. To my knowledge he did not kill anything but crossed the river bean to hack a path through the jungle brush, for the others. In 10 minutes flat he had a fine trail worked out and came back stood waist deep in the flowing river and helped the humans cross.

Everyone began our hike leaving Undie Man behind, or so we thought. 2-3 hours later coming down the trail we were hiking up we were met by a majestic fellow sporting the same elastic uniform. Underpants Man somehow transported himself ahead of us. Frozen in amazement, he asked almost supernaturally if anyone needed water. 3 or 4 surrendered their water bottles to this briefed man who disappeared and 5 minutes later reappeared with each bottle filled. "It's rain water," proclaimed our hero in very broken english. After we hydrated and gained our composure, U-Man escorted his humble followers the rest of the trip to the village.

I realize I haven't told you at all about the tree huts or zip lines, but I hope you'll understand there is no easy way to summarize U-Man. And rather than trying to test everyone's time and patience I think it might be best to speak more in another entry (Sorry, Alison). And look at that just enough time to share one last Undie Man story.

U-Man spottings were more rare as time went on. However, one morning after a jungle trek and zip line adventure, we returned to our tree house(3). I got to the house, all hyped up from the zippin, pulled off my shoes and climbed up to the main area of the tree house. As sudden as lightning I heard someone proclaim something in Laos behind me. There standing behind me already in my house was Underpants Man, though it took me a second to recognize him in his civilian clothes. He must have seen I was shocked so he slowed his speech and repeated: "Leeeeech!" I looked down to my ankle to find a fat slug trying to make his way to my heart.

I ripped it off and no matter what I did could not stop the bleeding (see pic). Not to fear. Undie Man called for a cigarette, casually lit it and puffed a cool couple drags. Then he took the ash from the fag in his fingers and applied it to my lesion. In moments the bleeding stopped... With little need for words U-man extinguished the cig, closed his eyes and rested in the tree house bean bag like it were his own super human throne.

God bless you Underpants Man.

From Elephants to Ziplines

2006-07-24T03:21:00.000-07:00

First of all, a quick thanks to everyone who has dropped me a message or an email. I just got back from and exciting 5 days in the jungle. No, not because I got lost. That has only and will only happen once, thank you very much. Rather I have been on two different treks, and it sure is great to come back to a handful of messages and emails when you've been mostly talking to mice and skeeters over the past week.

I have way too many cool things to share in this email, but I'll try to hit some highlights and fill you in more later. I'll begin with the first trek:

Elephant Trekking in Chang Mai:
The morning after my last entry I got up, enjoyed a hot shower like never before, and went downstairs to sign up for the overnight elephant trek. Enter Ms. Thailand. No she's, or should I say he's not quite what you would expect. Since I am never quite sure whether to call a lady boy "he" or "she" I will compromise and call it they. They asked me what my name was. "Derek", I said. "Dehleh?", they said (Thai often have a hard time with "r"'s ). "Derek," I repeated. "Ah, I'm Ms.Thailand," they said extending their soft hand. "Excuse me?" (Derek sometimes has a hard time understanding lady boys.) "Ms. Thailand." "Ahh." I said, "Pleasure to meet you."

Halfway through Ms. Thailand's crash course on the Eletrek, I realized I couldn't look at them. Not because it was awkward but because my vision was going out. AKA-Migraine. Those of you who get them understand, but migraines can really suck, even to the point of puking. And the last thing you want to do is hurl on the 3 ton animal that has you on it's back. So I tried to explain, went and laid down and after about an hour decided, there was no way a freaking headache was going to keep me from riding an elephant, through the jungle. My decision was affirmed when I rushed down, pack in hand to find my group would be comprised of 9 girls and a total of 2 guys. Feeling better already.

The trek was awesome. When they say (not lady boys, just whoever "they" really is) 2 day-1 night Elephant Trek, what that really mean is about 1 hour riding an elephant. But I have to say, despite the downpour and it only being an hour, I was on a friggin elephant in the jungle. That's hard to beat. After the elephant we hiked 3 hours up a trail with one waterfall stop to swim, before arriving at an authentic village where we would be staying in someone's house...I mean hut. This was great too. No electricity. Dinner cooked on a fire. Candle light. And me sitting around with 9 girls and French guy with his guitar, made for a really fantastic night.

The next day after, very little sleep (partly due to the roosters crowing non-stop from 4 am on) we did another 3-4 hour trek to do some rafting on bamboo rafts constructed right in front of us. The rafting started off slow, but turned into raft wars and cliff jumping. A perfect way to wrap up another sweet adventure.

As is my never ending problem, I seemed to have written about 3 times what I planned. So I'm going to wait until the next entry to tell you about the "Gibbon Experience". I know, it's not fair. All this build up and then I just leave you hanging like seductive soap opera...or should I say leave you hanging like me on a zip line 4 hundred feet above ground on my way to my next adventure... Stay tuned to find out!

Or else just Google it and stop your whining!

Bus vs. Jungle

2006-07-18T08:12:00.000-07:00

Pop quiz, which is worse getting lost in the jungle at dusk or taking two back to back overnight 11+ hour bus rides? This is a harder question than you think. Had I actually stayed the night in the jungle then we might have a clear winner... MIGHT.

Since I had my fill of Koh Phangan with the full moon party and jungle adventure, I decided it was time to head myself north. First stop: Bangkok. Things work a little bit different in Thailand when you want to travel. I think it's because everyone wants a piece of the action and the only way to do that is to have each person, going to the same place, go to a different place. Step one you have to pick a travel agency. This is the easy part because there is at least one probably more on every block. The travel agency will then give you a ticket that you exchange for a sticker at the boat dock.

You'll start the trip together, everyone gets on the same boat off the island. When you reach the mainland, there is a mob of tuk-tuk drivers (motorcycle taxis) waiting. As soon as you grab your bag, you just have to start walking and the taxi drivers come to you. They will read your sticker and put you with a five others in a specific truck. Then the truck takes each person to a different destination, which is another travel agency. Out you get and wait until the next departure in which a taxi picks you up and takes you to a central location, where you see everyone you saw on the boat. Then everyone onto the bus.

My ultimate destination was Chang Mai. However this requires an overnight bus to Bagkok then another overnight bus to Chang Mai.

Overnight Bus 1: This one seemed to be ok, initially. Not real comfortable, and not very easy to sleep but the ac was cranking and they provided each seat a blanket, so that's good. No, actually it isn't. Because when I finally got to Bangkok, had my backpack on and started wandering I noticed I was especially itchy. I lift my shirt to find I had been struck with a localized case of the chicken pox. However, I have already had chicken pox, which leads me to believe that someone mixed up the stray dog's blanket with mine and gave me the blankie with fleas. That's the only thing I can come up with. I'm not sure if it's related but I also got a mystery rash on my legs and felt a bit nauseous all day.

Overnight Bus 2: This one was the opposite of bus 1. We started off really bad, but ended ok. I was the last pickup on this particular bus which means Derek goes to the back of the bus for the available seat...next to the drunk fellow. He seemed harmless enough because he was literally passed out. The first sign of life was Drunk Johny(DJ) shivering in a fetal position. I don't think he noticed every ac vent was open and pointed at him. I being the gentleman I am was more than happy to offer him my blanket. DJ worked extremely hard for the next couple of minutes to do or say something but was never quite able to find the... well any words really. Instead he leaned over into the space between us in the vomit position. Don't worry, thankfully nothing happened. In the end the only real issue was DJ's tendency to stretch and settle his legs deep within my personal bubble. There were a couple other highlights to this trip like the bus driver stopping the bus for about an hour in the streets of Bankok yelling at someone or something. I was a little distracted at the time so I never really found out what was going on there.

I am happy to say I am now in Chang Mai-Northern Thailand. Tomorrow I will give the jungle a second go, except this time on the back of an elephant. Still have about 50 bumps on the right side of my torso (which is sure to impress the ladies at the waterfall swim), and traces of a mystery rash. However, I have my own bed tonight, and decided to go ahead and spend extra $2.50 for room with a hot shower. Needless to say I won't be able to blog for a couple of days, but I might have a story or two when I get back Ele-treckin. Until then...

Lost in the Jungle

2006-07-15T07:28:00.000-07:00

Oh man, have I got an entry tonight. And please excuse any mispelling or gramatical error, you'll understand by the end of this that I'm a little bit tired. First let's get you up to speed. I am still on Koh Phangan (full moon island) however, last night I relocated to a quiet little beach next to an island that has a sand bar conecting it when the tide is low. Nice.

My number one objective in the move was to get away from so many people. After a Full Moon Party it's amazing how done with people you are. Today after breakfast and a tenderly stroll on the beach, I decided I would go do a little bit of exploring I was looking at a map and found the next decent city was only a few kilometers away and from there was a trail to Bottle Beach, which according to the little island brochure I had was well worth the trouble. There are only two ways to reach Bottle Beach, by water taxi (boat) or by hiking the 2ish hour hike through the jungle.

Because I am cheap, hate spending money like on a water taxi, and because a little jungle hike sounded pretty fun to me, I decided on the later. I stop and ask a couple of guys workin the water taxi area and they say "Oh no you don't want to walk that's like 4 hours of walking..." Yeah yeah, I know-"Take the Water Taxi!" Right? Thanks but no thanks I can do this on my own. I start to walk up a steep trail and gaze back to see a wall of rain coming accross the sea. Ok, let's do this later. I backtrack to the closet set of bungalos where I will have a cup of instant coffee and wait this out. Problem is I sit next to a couple lovely ladies from Italy who invite me to play Yahtzee. No, I don't know how to play, but I'm a quick learner.

The rain stops. I finish up my game and decide I'll go for Bottle Beach. It is now about 4:40 pm. I ask the guy working, and am glad I did because I learn the trail I was taking was the wrong one. And I'm off.

I don't know for sure, but I think it might be called bottle beach because as you walk the trail through the jungle you start seeing empty water bottles hangin on braches to mark the ever decreasing path. Oh I forgot to mention the one piece of advice Bungalo Guy told me: "You'll come to a spit in the path. Stay to the right because the other path leads to some abandoned bungalos, the other to Bottle Beach." Good to know.

I am walking throught this great jungle trail, where at certain parts you are required to hang on to vines so as not to lose your footing on the slopes. The trail is rather mountainous. Well just after an hour I come to, what else? Abandoned bungalos. No problem, should make for some good pics and then I'll find the other trail. I take pics (which I'll post later) and start back. It is now 6-ish. It is dark in Koh Phangan at 7.

And now my mind starts working. You see I don't ever remember a split, the sun's going down and it's much darker in the jungle sooner than outside of the jungle. My plan was to get to Bottle Beach and catch that water taxi back. I search for a bit, go down some wrong paths and come back. Now a decision. Do I go back to the abandoned bungalos on the water, and try to flag down one of those friggin water taxis or do I just double time it back on the trail, and forget Bottle Beach all together. Since I don't have any idea whether the water taxi's would see me much less stop I decide to head back.

Remember I'm over an hour down this trail and I've got just that before it starts really getting difficult to see. So I'm bookin along swinging from vine to vine when, "Wait a second. I don't see any bottles..." I cannot for the life of me (literally) figure out which way the trail is. So I do what any person would do when lost in the jungle. Pray. And pray fervently.

I head one direction aand literally get held by a vine. "Ok", I think "an answer to prayer." Stop, go a different direction. Again a vine holds me. Nice. Turn a different direction. And yes, again a vine grabs me. Except this time I think, "Ok this is stupid, I've already gone three directions and have been "stopped" each time. I need to just start moving." So I do. Ripping through the clinging vines and clinging to the ripping vines for my footing.

Then I see some bottles and start thanking the Lord with each bottle I pass. Back on track. But that doesn't last very long again I'm lost this time worse than before and now it's getting dark. Oh and did I mention it's begining to down pour again. At this point I'm mentally preparing myself for what looks like the night I'm going to spend in the jungle. Then survial mode kicks in. I have no idea where I am, but I do know that the ocean is north. My thoughts now are if I'm going to have to sleep in here I'm going to be near the ocean on some rock instead of in the jungle. But which way is North? Good question, but the one thing I do know is that water runs to the ocean. so I start heading where the water is going.

Let's wrap this up. Obviously I'm posting a blog, and they don't have internet in the jungle, so you know how this thing ends up. Eventually as I'm beating my way through the jungle I run into what looks slightly like a trail. Pause. Heat skips a beat. Continue. Bingo-bottle. The next 20 minutes was me praising the good Lord as I partially held my breath until I reached the top of the hill where I could see lights below.

Finally with just a hint of light in the sky I bumble back into the bungalo where I played Yahtzee and where I realized during my jungle stay I forgot to pay for my coffee. I paid for the coffee. Got a taxi to my bungalo still several miles away and felt the my body adjust as the adrenaline faded back to normality.

Honestly, I'm on an island so the reality is I couldn't have gotten TOO lost. I mean worst case scenario I sleep one night in the jungle and find my way back the following morning. Not so bad, I mean minus the cobra bites, millipieds, and spiders laying eggs in my ear. But other than that, no sweat.

Well, my friends, I'm going to bed. Ahhh that sounds nice doesn't it? Oh and I love you guys... you know sometimes we just don't say that enough... Man I love you guys... Ok, ok. Good night.

Full Moons and Underwater Rescue

2006-07-12T03:17:00.000-07:00

I'll go ahead and appologize that it's been a few days since my last entry. These past few days have been fairly busy including two underwater rescues, a 10 hour overnight ferry to the port of departure, and the famous full moon party.

Let's begin with the underwater rescues. I mentioned that I had decided to continue my diving in Koh Phi Phi. Initially I thought I would get my advanced diver certificate in Koh Tao, but once I got to P.P. it seemed to make more sense (despite a few extra bucks) to continue my diving there. Which means I needed to do 5 more dives including navigation, deep, and 3 of choice. The first dive was the deep dive, going down to 30 meters, doing some skills and finishing up with a swim around. By chance it was just my instructor and myself diving.

After a short boat ride to small beatiful island we suited up and dove down to 30m. No sooner had we reached the bottom when we spotted what looked like a huge cage with loads of tropical fish. Sweet huh? Yeah I thought so too, and then I realized by the frantic pissed off look of my instructor that in fact it was not sweet. Simple truth, divers hate fishermen and fishermen hate divers, and from what I understood (later) these fish were being caught illegally to be sold. My instructor tried cutting through the metal with her knife. Nothing. Then I realized there was an opening tied shut with some rope and after a little finageling we had the cage open and schools of imprisoned fish set free. Lesson one- Deep dive/Underwater rescue :Success.

The next rescue came on my final dive but did not envolve creatures of scale, rather one ignorant American diver. There are two basic things you need to remember when diving. 1.Breath-never hold your breath. And 2. Watch your air so you don't run out. Well breathing came naturally for me so didn't really have any problems there, however, the second one(I learned) can sneak right up on you.

My final dive I chose to do underwater photography (which by the way I suck at). But the thing is I'm not a guy that likes to focus on many things at one time. I've always felt you should put all your energy into one thing then move on to the next. In this case, the thing was photography, and what didn't get my attention was my air gages. When you are working so hard to a bunch of crappy undecernable pictures, you tend to use a lot of air. We approached the end of the dive and I look down to see I have one bar of air left. The problem is you have to decompress for a short amount of time at 5 m down so as not to get the bends. So in this rescue the fish was Derek and the cage was stupidity. Anyway, it may sound worse than it was. I shared the air of my instructor to decompress as we had learned previously and proceeded to the surface.

Both rescues were a first for my instructor. Needless to say she was more excited about one than the other. Other highlights included swimming with baracuda on a night dive, and the plankton (or whatever) that lights up at night when stired--very cool like a bunch of tiny stars sparkeling in the pitch black ocean.

Moving on. Next was the return to Phangnan Island (which I had already broken in with some sick dance moves) for the full moon party. But to get there I was scheduled for a 10 hour overnight ferry. I had done the ferry once before and any transportation you are expected to sleep on is ok with me. We board the boat, business as usual and set sail. The next morning we pull up to the dock where things are looking oddly familiar. Things tend to look familair when you are returning to the exact dock you left from some 10 hours earlier. I guess overnight our boat broke down and had to be taxied back to the dock. Several hours later, after a bus ride to a different town we left on a 3 hour ferry. This time we made it.

And now one final note on the full moon party. As soon as you arrive to Thailand you start hearing of people planning their trips for this party. I had been to the island before so had a pretty good idea of what to expect, or so I thought. I have never seen anything like it. Imagine 10-20,000 people dancing on a beach about 2-300 yards long until 7 in the morning when the sun rose. It was unbelievable. I met up Christina (my friend from Flagstaff), and then later she left with her Italian friend from Phuket, and I found some Spaniards (who are in some history books credited with the creation of dance) that I met the day before. I would tell you more about it but I've already written way too much, something I commited not to do in a previous blog. And besides that it was unbelievable, so why even talk about it? I mean if your not going to believe me anyway. Maybe when you're older and we've work through some of these trust issues we can talk about it more. But right now it's time for one young sir to go to bed.

Tsunomic Paradise

2006-07-08T08:49:00.000-07:00

"So did you see the tsunami?" I asked the guy selling me a coffee at Look Out Point. Koh Phi Phi(pronounced like the bodily function)is one of the places that was desimated by the Tsunami. Last night I arrived to Koh Phi Phi from Phuket. It is an island made of limestone mountains, coconut trees and turquoise water. The town is located entirely on a strip of beach that connects two mountainous islands. The Thai man had walked down from his home at the top of one of these mountains to town to work on the beach. He saw the water awkwardly receding, and knew enough to run.

"I told a guy (tourist) to 'run!', that there was a tsunami coming. He called me a liar and walked out on the beach to take a picture of some stranded beached fish." The guy went on to tell me that he ran for higher land and as he approached tripped as he saw the wave coming. When he got up he held on the water rushed waist deep by. "Did you ever see the guy you warned?" No.

You can't help but think every person here has some big story just like that. I also asked a girl at a dive shop who was diving at the time. She simply told me you can't really talk about it or then you start remembering and then you feel down all day. That's the sad part. The upside is this place is friggin amazing!

You'll remember from an earlier entry Marco Polo calling China's West Lake the most beautiful place on earth. That leaves me with one of three options. Either: A. Marco had never been to Koh Phi Phi, B. He was maybe trying opium for the first time, or C. Polo was full of crap! There is a good chance I have found the absolute most beautiful place on Earth.

It's stunning as you arrive on the boat and I haven't snapped out of it yet. By far today's highlight was renting a kayak for $2.50 and taking to the open sea in search for monkey beach. I did eventually find monkey beach which is supposed to be littered with monkeys but they and everyone else were nowhere to be found. Sad, yes, but not bad being the only person on a little tropical beach as the sun is setting.

I've also decided that it is important I do a little diving here as well so as not to have all of my diving experience in one place. Important to be well rounded, you see? That starts tomorrow at 8. There's a wreck somewhere around here and two days ago some divers spotted a whale shark. Either of which I would be just tickled to witness.

And if I'm lucky, I'll bump into some monkeys too along the way.

Swervin on the 4th of July

2006-07-04T22:41:00.000-07:00

You're probably not going to believe this, but Thailand doesn't celebrate the 4th of July. I know! I couldn't believe it either. But you know me, I'm a soldier, and I wasn't about to travel halfway around the world to not celebrate America's birthday. So if Thailand wasn't gonna bring some noise, then I was gonna bring some noise to Thailand.

It just happens that the closest island to Koh Toa where I was diving is Koh Phangan, famous mostly for it's full moon parties. I figured if there was going to be a 4th of July celebration then that was the spot. Boy was I right. I arrived just before noon, which gave me enough time to find a place to stay, do a little island exporing and spend the better half of the afternoon preparing myself for the big night by soakin it up in the surf.

The night began like this. I had a nice dinner right on the beach. Still not sure what was in store I took to the streets to scope the scene and before long bumped in to a couple Swedish girls that I had met previously on Koh Toa. We had already watched a big World Cup game on the other island and they talked me into staying up (2 am) to watch Italy play Germany. Since I didn't have to work the next day, I had all kinds of time. Got juiced up on coffee at 10:30 pm and by 11:30 pm the Swedes pansed out and went to bed.

That's cool for them, but not for me. If Paul Revere could stay awake the night the British invaded then I sure as heck could stay awake on the 4th of July on Koh Phangan! I was pleased to find the beach was lined with flame twirlers (no not lady boys, the guys that twirl sticks of fire), bumpin music and big projection screens getting ready to show the game. Each bar, club or restaurant had outdoor seating on the beach for watching flamers or football. Inside dance floors. I had a couple hours to kill so naturally I went inside.

So how was it? Well, good, but I think the more appropriate question was how was I? And I, my friends, was GREAT! I know, I know, everyone always thinks they have the best moves on the floor, and I'm no different. However, at the end of the night that concluded just as the sky was turning, one person commented "You did some good work out there tonight." And he said it right, work, because it wasn't easy bringing my A-game for something like 5 hours.

You can always tell a good performance by the morning after (or maybe in this case early afternoon-after), and I can safely say last night was a success. Even as I walked the streets every once in a while I would see a familiar face from the eve before, and on that face a big Thai smile. A smile that says "Man, that guys got some crazy moves" or when translated to Thai "Hey that's the idiot from last night!".

You know, as you travel you realize that America is not the "city on the hill" it once was to the rest of the world. But after last night...America is shining a little brighter.

Koh Toa is a Dive!

2006-07-03T09:42:00.000-07:00

And a rather good one at that! My friends, you can now refer to me as Dive Master D. Er, um, at least Open Water Certified D. Today I completed my 4-day dive traing to become a certified diver. Unfortunately, with my head still swimming my creative tank is just about empty. In fact, I was torn on whether I should post a rather boring entry or not to post at all. But since it has been a couple of days, I thought I'd better at least check in. You know if your tank is empty you don't just give up right? No, you take a deep breath and start for the surface, then you live to dive another day. And already I have begun to annoy myself, so I'm just going to get to it.

When I was a kid I had my share of interesting dreams. I think it's probably better for everyone that I don't share them, but I will share one. Many people dream of flying, but my super human dream was breathing underwater. In the dream I was able to press my lips together very tightly and filter the Oxegen out of the H20, allowing me to breath underwater. I mean it's not super human strength, or invisibility, but you gotta admit that is a pretty cool super human power. Well finally after 29 years I have made my dreams come true. Of course, I did have to change the procedure a little, but it all works the same in the end.

You would think after four days of dive training I would have loads of stories. Yeah, me too. But maybe what you wouldn't think is that half of the training is either in a classroom watching corny dive videos, or playing diver in the swimming pool. Which is why I had to make up some stupid story about a dream as a kid,(no I'm kidding the dream was real, and while not the most exciting story, trust me, it was better than describing the training videos. Which in dream terms would more fall into the bad -> nightmare category).

I have to tell you though swimming 60 feet under the surface with schools of fish swarming around you and 2 very large reef sharks swimming below is hard to top. Apparently you can go a good year without ever seeing a shark so it was a special treat. Probably not the smartest idea to flale around like mentally handicaped seal trying to get the attention of your diving buddies, but eventually I did get the attention of two other mates who spotted the shark. I also later saw the ever poisonous sea snake which wasn't quite as exciting but still pretty cool.

All in all an amazing experience. And now having typed and deleted three attempts at a clever closing. I am just going to say goodnight.

Beach Bungalo

2006-06-30T06:43:00.000-07:00

Yesterday was one of those that just started wrong. No I take it back, it started wonderfully and then an hour into it at about 8:53 am, it turned south. It began with a wonderful walk down a silent beach in the city of Hua Hin. I was still riding my monkey high, as I walked blissfully down the nearly deserted beach reflecting on the little furry critters and my speed demon scooter. Then I continued back to the guest house and found on that wonderful stupid scooter a ticket. There was not question what it was for as you could see my scooter was one of the few vehicles on that side of the road whereas most of the vehicles that were parked there the night before were on the other side now.

This is when I began to question my scooter in Thailand plan. Yes I was parked under a sign written in Thai, but I have more sense that. We'll call it scooter instinct. I ask our receptionist if it's ok to park there she says yes, but to move it tomorrow. "So I can leave it here through the morning and move it tomorrow morning?" I ask with precise intuition. "Yes" "Ok" Well, I think maybe Thai mornings are different than American mornings. Sure enough a parking ticket issued whilst I carelessly strolled the sandy stretch. Fortunately, my timing was good because as soon as I asked the receptionist to translate the ticket the copper showed up stated his case and offered me the favor of paying him $200 instead of going myself to the station and paying $400. A deal for both of us no doubt.

The end? No. That same morning just after checking email 1 block from the guest house, I was scooting the 40 yards back to the guest house only to be stopped by Copper #2 who happily gave me a ticket for driving with no helmut for that dangerous 40 yards. I thanked him for his "service", and made sure he knew that his town was making good money off of me, paid the $200 and fastened my helmut for the final 20 yards of my trip. Then I polished off the night staying in some nasty little guesthouse for $100 Bhat, as I mumbled myself to sleep with curses of Thailand.

Well you might be able to tell by the picture that Thaland has totally redeemed itself. Today I caught the 6 am Catamarand to the Island of Koh Toa. Walked up and down the strip of guest houses renting bungalos on the beach until I found one who for $225 USD 4 days of training and diving for me to be a certified diver and 4 nights free in a bungalo maybe 30 feet from the best beach I've seen yet. This afternoon I began my scuba training, which means watching a series of videos for the time being.

Now after a couple of strolls down the beach, petting a couple friendly strays and treating myself to a Mexican (barely) food platter for $5 USD. Tomorrow I will get the pool training to prepare me for some open water action. And tonight... all is well.

Nighty Night.

The Monkey Ranger

2006-06-28T05:27:00.000-07:00

Let's start with my last blog... the Lady Boys. The whole time I was typing that blog I thought to myself, "Man, I wish I had a good picture of a lady boy so everyone could see what I was talking about." I shouldn't have to explain the trouble with that however, I will. 1. You can't just take pictures without asking...well sometimes but you have to be really quick and stealthy (ie: Asian grandma's practicing Tai Chi in the park with swords). But in this case the risk was too great, even more than the sword-baring grannies. 2. Asking to take a picture of a lady-boy is also risky. Either they think you are making fun and can potentially snap. And don't forget they are still dudes so yes they can fight (no offence girls). OR even worse they think you are interested. So that leaves only one viable option: Take a cooking course where your teacher is a Lady Boy. PERFECT! So to view this picture click on the flickr picture box where you will find Micky the Lady-Boy Chef. The cooking class as you can imagine was quite fun and we were taught some 6 Thai dishes. All delicious if ever I can reproduce them.

I would tell you more about the cooking but I have a lot of catching up to do, so moving on. I also mentioned the Tiger Temple in my last post. Once again you can see a picture of a brave Derek cautiously stroking the ferocious beast. And I swear that is a roar not a yawn... What? It's a roar! You weren't there, ok? Tiger Temple day was pretty great. Of course petting a creature that a few days ago you personally watched hunt it's prey with frightening efficiency is fantastic. So is feeding the boars, cows, horses, and water buffaloes which we did at the Tiger Temple. But maybe the higlight of the day was renting a scooter for 150 B ($3.50 US-which was split with Christina, so really $1.75). Driving through the lush country side of Thailand racing the monsoons back to town.

This got me thinking and checking. Here's a travel tip for anyone considering a visit Thailand in the future. To buy a motorcycle/scooter here costs $1,000 for a brand new one, or $400 for a used. So think about it, buy it for $400, drive it for a month all over the country that you would be renting scoots anyway or buying bus tickets. Then when it's all over sell it for $300. Cake. That's free of charge. And no I'm not doing it, I've decided it's too late now. Moving on.

After our time touching tigers and cooking with a hermie, Christina and I traveled back to Bangkok. Decision time: Go north to do some elephant trecking then working my way down Laos, Cambodia and back to Bangkok. Or go south to the islands. My choice: South. I have been so looking forward to some beaches and coconuts that I just couldn't wait.

Ok I'm starting to ramble again to I'm going to jump right to the good stuff. We rented another scooter (see, I'm telling you just buy one!) and headed up the legendary Monkey Mountain. Ok, that's really my name for it and there may not be a legend behind it but as soon as you get to the top where the temple is an old lady comes up to sell you bananas. That's a good sign. Then come the monkeys. Instinctively they start swinging out of the woodwork to get a piece of this banana action. Now those of you who have been following from the begining know that I have already had a monkey experience. Turns out these are the same kind of monkeys. Except this time I have harnessed the monkey spirit and they can tell by my eyes I'm not to be messed with.

Problem is Christina, has not harnessed the spirit of monkey. She and I get off the scooter which is instantly covered with monkeys trying to tip it over or check themselves out in the mirrors. Fair enough, not my scooter so they can have their way with it, we will just walk up the steps to the temple. Well as we come to the base of the steps one white fanged beast climbs up the back of Christina. Ofcourse I calm, collected, and prepared with a stick, first warn Christina. She yells. I poke the monkey and the monkey runs away. And now Christina has also been christened with the spirit of monkey.

That was the initial excitement, which had Christina freaked for the remainder of our time. However there were many other highlights, such as me showing my paternal instincts to one darling ape. The ape in turn tried to show his gratitude by grooming my facial hair for bugs. Bless his little heart. An awesome day. And if that picture doesn't win the hearts of ladies all over this planet I don't know what will.

Next up? Ko Tao (Turtle Island) where I should be a certified diver in 3-4 days.

The Man Apple

2006-06-24T08:29:00.000-07:00

Watch out for the `Lady Boys` he kept telling me. When I was in San Francisco with Ben on my way to fly out of Portland we met a friend of Ben`s girlfriend`s friend and former roommate (follow?) who kept saying over and over watch out for the Lady Boys when you get to Thailand. I`ve been in Thailand for almost exactly 24 hours and they are EVERYWHERE. And I have to tell you if I didn`t have such an well traveled head on my shoulders I might really be freaking out. In fact I might just freak out anyway!

I`m sure someone reading this is going to tell me to have an `open mind` or to be a little more `culturally understanding`. Yeah yeah yeah, whatever. I don`t think I`m backin down from this one. You`re just walking through this wonderful market enjoying yourself, when a Thai girl smiles at you as you walk by her shop. You pause look at the little wooden elephant carving look back up and BOOM! (What THE?!?)there is this big ol`Man Apple sticking out of that same Thai girl`s throat.

I`ll admit it, I like girls, and I like liking girls. I know there are guys that like guys and girls girls, but let`s at least be honest with each other. I mean I think it`s fair that we know just who (or what) is smiling at who? Am I wrong? Don`t get me wrong, it hasn`t happened yet (at least that I know of) but what when you are walking down the street minding your own business and you think to yourself, "Now she`s an attractive....(screeeeech!) dude? Not cool. I get the heebies just thinking of it.

All I am proposing is some sort of system that says "Hi, I am a guy." Ok? Ok.

Other than that cultural confusion Thailand so far is great. It is true, the food is unmatched. Even a little Pad Thai in the mall for lunch will get you excited for dinner. It is certainly more warm and sweaty but not as bad as I was expecting. I spent one full day in Bangkok and just this afternoon took a bus to, um... well you wouldnt understand me if I did know how to spell it, but it`s where the bridge over River Kwae is. And in the next two days I plan to take my new Tiger excitement to "Tiger Temple" where the monks actually let you take pictures with the tigers!!! Then after that, I have a full day set aside for an authentic Thai cooking course, where by the end of the day I should have 6 solid dishes down Pad. Get it?...Like Pad Thai... the dish...

Oh man, I`m awesome.

Hello Thailand!

2006-06-22T20:07:00.000-07:00

This will be quick because I don't really have any stories yet for Thailand. I got in late last night. It is now morning and I haven't even left the guest house yet. Nothing too eventful coming over besides the lady behind me on the plane falling and grabbing my sleeping head in front of her because thinking it was the seat. Yah, well it wasn't. I was about to open up a can until I looked back and realized it was a little 50+ year old Chinese lady. So I just let that one slide.

The other thing I have noticed so far, besides the humidity and noticable cockroach population, is that the cabbies here are not afraid to ask for directions. Once again my cab drive got lost trying to find the hostel last night. Except this time instead of driving around for 45 minutes, stopping and then pointing to the curb, the cab driver actually stopped and asked a couple of guys standing on the street. To top it off I paid about half what I was told the cab would cost.

I also am happy to find that for the first time since entering China, I am able to access my blog and actually see some of your comments! Super stoked about that. As a reminder, China is not a "free-speech" country, so blogspot.com is banned from anyone using the internet in the country. Therefore, I could post but never see the site. This morning was the first I saw, and was pleased to find some people are actually reading it! And I'd like to give a big shout out to my peeps at AAA and all my homies back home. "Woot Woot!"

Alright team, I'm off to see the city, the wonderful city-Bangkok. I'll talk with you later.

One last thing, if ever you would like to contact me without having your message broadcasted to my many...MANY friends my email address is this: heydpt@hotmail.com. I am also on MSN Messenger, and Yahoo (screen name: jellowdaddy. I don't know it just sounded cool at the time.) But remember when it's 10 am there, it's midnight here. Peace. ~D

Chinese Fun Facts

2006-06-21T07:46:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow will complete my month in China. I still have a couple of stories that I think are blog worthy, but since tomorrow I fly to Thailand I thought it might be good to review some of the cultural differences I've experience in my time here. Many of you, have never been to China, just as I had never been to China before May 26. I would like to dedicate this entry to you so that in the event that you plan an around the world trip with a stop in China you will be well prepared.

I have compiled the following list of Chinese Fun Facts:

* Ebb n Flo. Chinese driving is on it's own system. In America we drive on the right hand side. In England, they drive on the left. In China, um, whatever. For example, In China you are allowed to drive on the left side of the road if someone is driving on the right in front of you. It doesn't matter if there are cars coming the opposite direction because they also can drive where ever they like. Bikes, scooters, and pedestrians all abide by the same rules. To be honest, I like it. It actually seems to work.

* In Hong Kong the Walk/Don't Walk are enhanced with the sound of a spastic cow bell sound.

* Pedestrians are allowed to walk in the middle of the road, just as bikers are allowed to swerve into the road at any moment.

* When you gotta go you gotta go. And as you know when you are a child you have much less control over when you gotta. So China has implimented the baby/toddler slot in the back of any pair of pants for children under the age of 5. Not only does this allow for instarelief, it also can be very cool and refreshing on a hot day.

* Drivers must be very careful to alert any moving vehicle, person, animal, or inanimate object at all times. The most effective recommendation is you use a long series of unending honking forever.

* Spitting. It is important to remember that in some countries it is a major offence to spit on a sidewalk or anywhere in public. China, however, understands that if there is something in your throat it needs to be out NOW. If you see someone and fear they may be choking or convulsing, please step back and count to 30. Generally (though not always) this is enough time for the person to have successfully cleared his/her throat onto the sidewalk. (Many close minded people will view this as 'disgusting', I on the other hand feel if you ever want to connect with a people you will need to embrace their traditions as well.)

* Spitting II. If when eating, a person finds a bone, gristle or any other undesirable item, that item should be spat directly onto the table.

* Neon. The best way to attract a person to your store is to cover the outside with neon lights that flash and move quickly.

* Staring. It is impolite not to stare.

* Every part of an animal is edible. Yes, that too.

* The Squatter. When in China you never have to use a toilet seat cover in a public restroom. That's because there are no toilets. (Actually, many of the nice hotels and local libraries do have toilets, just in case you are wondering.)

* Some languages require yelling.

* If you have had a disagreeable meal prior to taking an overnight sleeper train with a tall (and handsome) American, you are allowed to release that disagreement as loudly and often as you possible during the 12 hour train ride.

* Charades is NOT a universal language.

There are many more, but this should get you started. I will try to get a couple last China stories posted but tomorrow is my last day, and I trust Thailand will have a few stories of it's own.

By the way I did get to see the Great Wall, twice. One 'secret wall' and one restored wall. Both pretty amazing.

Good bye, lovely China. Good Bye.

One chicken please. Live, of course.

2006-06-20T02:03:00.000-07:00

First of all I'm sorry. If there is one thing I will not be sad to leave behind, it's the sketchy computers that speak only Chinese. Not long ago I finished one of the finest blogs yet, and after over one straight hour of e-brilliance I tried to review my entry when "blat" gone. Totally disappeared. Worse yet, I understand that by this point, the few friends that might have been following along have certainly given up now. Leaving probably only my mother, bless her heart, that will see this blog. Thanks mom, you were always there for me. Now mom (and if by slim chance there are other readers) let me catch you up to speed.

I believe in my last entry I was in Yangzhou with my friends Andy and Katrina. Well after I demonstrated my basketball dominance, I continued to Beijing-Home of the 2008 Olympics. Here I met up with another friend from AZ, Christina, spent a couple days, and then continued to visit my friends Blue and Gina in Harbin. Home of TIGER PARK!

I would like to warn anyone reading who might be weak of heart or stomach that you may want to stop reading right.....NOW. Ok, now that the pansies are gone, let me tell you about Tiger Park. I had heard from Gina previous to my trip that there was a park in China where you can buy a live chicken to feed to the Tigers. Gina, however, had never actually been to this park herself. So Day 1 in Haerbin, 5 anxious Americans travel to the outskirts of town to settle these rumours once and for all. We walk up to the ticket counter to find that right under the price of the tickets, there is menu, where one can order strip steaks, live chicken, live duck, all the way up to an entire live cow.

I suppose before I go any further, it is important to point out that the mission of Tiger Park is the study, breeding, and eventual release of Manchurian Tigers in an effort to keep these beautiful creatures from going extinct. You all know that I have a very humanitarian heart, and so I felt it was only right that I help contribute to the cause by purchasing a live chicken (and 2 strips of beef, since they were so cheap).

We all pile into a bus and drive bit by bit through the park, when finally our driver picks up her walkie talkie and mumbles something into it. Within 5 minutes an SUV that looked more like a 4x4 cage come driving into the field, opens a door and throws a live chicken onto its roof. The tigers circled the vehicle, as our brave cock stood deathly still on the roof, moving only its concerned head. I need not tell you how the story ends, except for one little cock it ended quickly as one of the tigers jumped up and with one swipe had dinner.

No we didn't see any sheep or cows, but I did learn that day in Tiger Park that ducks live longer than chickens. But not by much. There are a hundred stories to tell you about just in Tiger Park, including me feeding a real life Liger a long strip of meat. That too was intense, especially since Mr. Liger just about killed Mrs. Liger to get it.

Long live Tiger Park.

Take Me to the Airport.

2006-06-13T18:52:00.000-07:00

Flashback.

Ok, I have just arrived to Guilin from Yangshuo and need to get to the airport (for the flight that will eventually be canceled). I walk to the place that has shuttles to the airport where outside a guy in his cab starts yelling at me to come over.

I show Mr. Cabbie the chinese writing that is supposed to say airport and rub my fingers together. I'm not sure that's universal sign language for "how much" but it does the job. He says $20. I of course walk away. He starts yelling and I say $15. $15 makes sense because the shuttle is $20. Mr. Cabbie agrees and I get in.

First of all I point to the meter, which already has $10 on it and say 1-5(by say I mean writing in the air). He nods and turns the meter off. The ride is something like 20 minutes but finally I see a sign that says Airport in English so at least I know we're headed the right direction.

Then we pull up to the toll booth. Mr. Cabbie pulls up so that my window is next to the booth. Toll lady says something to him, he says something to me and points to the toll lady. Clearly he expects me to pay the $10 toll. So I play the "can't speak Chinese" card to ride this out until everyone is suffering. I show the lady the paper that says airport on it, she points down the road and then starts yelling at the cabbie. Finally I pay, but I am not happy.

Unfortunately, the lowest bill in my pocket is a $10. So as soon as we arrive I review in charades with Mr. Cabbie our agreement of $15. I give him the toll receipt-$10, and I give him a $10 bill. Now in my book that adds up to $20. He plays the "I don't speak English" card, and we start going back and forth each knowing exactly what the other is saying.

One Chinese fun fact is that the Chinese people are a curious folk. So when there is something out of the norm they are instantly attracted. Well white guy arguing with cabbie just happens to fit that bill. Before you know it, there are about 20 Chinese people gathered around. And now a game of group charades. I couldn't help but be a little bit nervous, considering I am lily white in a field of um... not-so-lily white, and sure 10 Yuan is $1.20 US, but there is a principle here.

We both take our cases to the masses. I act out my version (quite well if I do say so myself) and show the group of mainly cabbies my toll receipt. Everyone gathers round. One guy looks up at me and then slaps Mr. Cabbie in the back of the head. They start arguing lightly, and another cabbie waves me on as I am free to go.

Chalk that one up under "Lily White".

Gimme Da Rock!

2006-06-13T05:50:00.000-07:00

I can't explain it, but when you come to China there are a few things you just expect. Like for example, because I am American I am going to be better than everyone at basketball.

Well my friends, I am happy to say that after some 4 hours of basketball playing on the Yangzhou University Courts, I am still undefeated. You are probably asking yourself, "Derek, are you really that good at basketball?" Well, yes, I am. And in China, definitely. To be honest, I played pretty poorly, but when in size you match up like Dirk to Steve, you can't help but be decent. It also probably didn't help that the other American was on the same team

I do want to give some props to my Chinese balluhz. They were not bad and we did have some good close games. But like I originally said, there are somethings you just have to expect.

Booya.

2006-06-12T05:52:00.000-07:00

I realize now that my last post, while informative was also probably much too long. Therefore, I am really going to make an effort to keep the length of the blogs to a minimum and maybe post more oft. (I think I'm going to start using that word, if it is even a word at all. Oft. Mmm nice.)

Ok. It dawned on me there were a couple of interesting stories that I have journaled but not blogged. Because of my redefined blogging style I will address one of them here and maybe another later.

Let's backtrack to the "Chinese Family" I mentioned about a week ago but never ended up talking about. (That was the period of frustrating hostel computers.) Rather than staying a extra night in Yangshuo (the beautiful Chinese city of step mountain pillars and rivers) I decided I would go ahead an move on to Xiamen. I hop on the bus to Guilin where my flight leaves and get there by 4:00 pm.

Instead of telling you about my exciting 8 hour wait in the airport for a plane that "was rerouted". I'm going to skip right to the part where at say 12:30 am I am gathered around the boarding station with about 30 other Chinese people. I'd like to remind the reader that in China there aren't many people who speak English, and in the Guilin airport that night there might have been three but I have no idea who they were.

The only thing I did know is there were a lot of angry Chinese people and one sore thumb gathered around for an explanation of our now canceled flight (that I put together myself). I find an airport worker who speaks enough English to confirm my assumption, and then do what any foreigner would do. Follow the crowd. I could guess who was on my flight so I follow a group of them onto a bus, where I receive the usual busload stare down. The bus takes us to a four star Chinese hotel. Not as nice as American 4-stars but the rooms did have a toilet and some comp. paper slippers.

Fortunately one of the front desk agents spoke a bit of English to tell me there was breakfast tomorrow and that the front desk would call me when I needed to be in lobby for the plane. After a wonderful sleep I march myself right into that restaurant, see some familiar faces who I greet with the one of two Chinese words I know: Ni Hao. I assumed maybe they would invite the stranger to eat with them. They didn't. So I wandered around until the waitress sat me at my own table in the corner.

Back to the room. Nap. Back to the restaurant for lunch. This time I see some people in the elevator from my flight, and this time I walk right next to them as though one big family. We are sat accordingly. Over lunch they warm up a little bit (maybe just needed some fishhead is all) and I could tell we were making some good connection.

Eventually we all go back to the airport, but now people are pointing and fighting the ticket counter for me. Walking me through every little step. Until finally right before our plane arrives, I gather everyone (almost) together for a family picture. I know Chinese love to take pictures so I had a feeling it would be successful. And you can see for yourself it was.

One big happy family. By the way an added bonus to my new friends, two free meals and a free night in luxury, I also got a refund of 200 yuan. Yes that's 25 USD, but with my bargaining skills that can go a long way in China.

Go Time.

2006-06-11T19:35:00.001-07:00

I know I've only been in China a couple of weeks, but I've been here long enough to learn a few things. Like for example, sometimes people want more than to just "practice English". Well after the last experience I blogged about, I realized I needed to take a moment, reflect and prepare myself for my next adventure. More specifically-The Market.

There are a couple of markets that are highlighted as "must sees" in Shanghai. One in particular focuses on cheap designer knock offs, which just happens to be the kind of clothing I like. Since my general trust for the good of humanity had already been taken advantage of a few times, I was determined it was not going to happen today. Fortunately, my years of garage saling was finally going to pay off. Here are some basic rules, I came up with:

Rule #1: Never Say No.
I know what you are thinking, "Derek, have you not learned anything? No, is the one thing you must know!" Well, I understand where you are coming from but it just seems so negative. So instead my new philosophy is "let them tell you no". Here's how it works.

Everywhere you go you have some lady or man trying to sell you postcards, umbrellas, whatever, none of which you want. So as you walk down the street a lady comes up and says toothlessly, "Hallo, Hallo. Postcards 1 for 10 Yuan." Well rather than saying no twenty times to the same persistent question, I make a counter such as. "10 postcards for 1 Yuan". Now I may have to repeat myself once or twice to make sure they understood, because generally there is a blank stare. The blank stare is then followed up with either a laugh and walk away or look of disgust and walk away. But almost always-a walk away.

Rule #2: Offer Low...No Lower.
Everyone knows you never accept the asking price. But when you are new to China, you might still be a little hesitant to bargain. For example, an Irish buddy I was hanging out with who paid 220 Y for shorts that started at 250 Y. Poor thing. I had to pull him aside right away and explain you never buy the first thing you come across and always offer low. I mean ridiculously low. If they scoff you are on the right track.

Rule #3: Walk Away.
This is the most important lesson of all. After you've found something you are interested in and have made a disgustingly low offer, you will always be greeted with a "No way". If you've done really well you get a "Get out of my country". Perfect. Now turn and walk at least 5 steps. But you say, "What if you really want it? And anyway it's only $20 USD which is still a steal." Don't worry. Usually on step four, they say start screaming. "Wait! Wait!" If they don't start screaming you go to the next booth and try the same. Then if it doesn't work there, you return with a slightly higher price.

For example, I see a tee shirt I like, a nice Timberland knock off. "You like? I give you great price. Usually $180 Yuan, for you $150." (By the way all prices are entered into a hand calculator and shown to alleviate any confusion.) I then take the calculator clear the 150 and type in 20. Yes 2 0. Just as planned the scoff. If it's good English they'll tell you they can't buy at that price. They offer $130. Me-$30. Scoff. Turn and walk. "Ok Ok, no joking tell me your price. I give good deal." Fine. $40. "Ok how bout 90." Turn and walk. Now I want you to know that I was at least 2 booths away (twice!) with her grabbing my arm draggin me back. And yes I got my shirt for $40 Yuan ($5 USD).

Mission Accomplished.

"I just want to practice my Engrish"

2006-06-07T18:27:00.000-07:00

Hey everyone, I just got to Shanghai last night and I'm itchin to go check out the city which so far is better even than Hong Kong. However, I just found out that the web browser here at this hostel is completely in English so I couldn't pass on the chance. So this will be short but quick update:

If every anyone approaches you with the above phrase one should be weary. You might think I learned my lesson with the "English teacher/Chinese Art professor" that sold me one of his personal paintings in Guilin. I didn't. Alright so I'm a trusting person, jeeze.

Well last night after I just arrived to Shanghai, I hit the streets to find some dinner at the number one recommended restaurant by Lonely Planet (Travel Guide). "Hi, where from?... "Oh, can I walk with you to pratice my Engrish? I can help you find." Since I had been walking around in the rain for the past 40 minutes and this girl and her brother seemed to know where this restaurant, this might just be perfect. Ok, so the restaurant had been closed down and for the next 30 minutes we walked around looking for some other place. "Noodles? Oh you like this place." Ok. We all sit down and Ms. Engrish starts working her way down the menu for her and her brother. The waitress adds everything up and points to me. "You want me to pay for everyone?" "Of course."

Yeah, NOT OF COURSE! So we all leave before anything is prepared, and continue to walk for as I try to explain if she wants something she should maybe ask first. Eventually I buy us all a bowl of dumplings to share. I quickly paid before she had a chance to say "I'm still hungry" Which she did. And by the way I should let the reader know that this girl was in no way malnourished.

Ok blah, blah, blah and some walking when I put together the boy she is with is not her brother. And after a series of further questions like where are you staying, etc., I decide it's time to say good bye. And no you can't have my address, and no I don't have a phone number... In English: Good night. Ol' Shanghai livin up to it's shady past.

"Why, yes you can..."

2006-06-05T17:45:00.000-07:00

Well, it finally happened. I mean it only took 7 days, but it finally happened and then it happened twice in one day. Yesterday I was asked two different times if someone could take a picture of me. One of which you should be able to see here. (And no Mom, I didn't ask. Besides she's probably too young to be married.)

One thing you get used to is people staring at you. Now in the States that happens too, but here it's not just the ladies staring at me, it's everyone! When I say everyone, I mean of course everyone who sees you. I have almost seen a few accidents from a person riding by on his/her bike, and forgetting for a few moments that there is a road in front of them and that they are on a bike. People on busses are no different. Actually it's kind of fun to see a bus go buy and watch as this see of faces all move in unison to watch white guy on the side of the road. Many of the Chinese have this distant look which could easily be interpreted as "I don't like you". I have found, however, that a simple "Nee How" (spelled phonetically) will instantly change their composure. So it goes from "I hate you, leave my country" to "That's Awesome! The white guy speaks!" This is generally followed with a big grin and laughter.

Right now I am in Suzhou. I arrived here this morning at about 6:30 am by an 11 hour boat ride. The boat ride originated in Hangzhou which is one of the best places yet. Hangzhou is home of the famous West Lake and was tagged by ol' Marco Polo as being one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Now we all know Marco had a tendency of exagerating, but it really was beautiful. Hangzhou is also pretty famous for it's green tea. I'm not much of a green tea guy, but I did try some and not bad. You will often see chicke feet for sale on the side of the road (that's to eat), but yesterday was the first time I have seen grasshopper, crickets, and other 6 legged delicacies. I didn't try any yet as I had just eaten, but I've heard the catepillars are absolutely to die for.

Alright friends, I'm off to see what these "gardens" are everyone is talking about. Talk to you soon. ~D

2006-06-03T06:55:00.001-07:00

Before we pick-up where we left off I need to point out two things:
1. Hostel computers suck for posting blogs and pictures.
2. Just a reminder, I can't actually access my blog from China. I can post still which is why you are able to read these (when the Hostile (clever) computer works) but I cannot look at my website. So were it not for my dear mother's affirmation I wouldn't even know these are going through. In otherwords if anyone has posted any messages and is upset that I haven't responded, that's why. I haven't gotten them. And yes I know that presumes people are actually reading my blog.

Now let's continue. When I left off I had courageously defended myself and my American friends from a pack of crazy jungle beasts. Well before the night was over I was fortunate enough to witness a couple of Chinese girls modeling in our luxurious hostel for a group of about 5 photographers. Sweet, huh? I also met someone from China whose American name was apparently "Weenie", also sweet. Next day Yangshuo.

The New Yorkers and I decided to catch a boat down the Li River to Yangshuo. Rather than taking a 3 hour tour boat loaded with Chinese people and a Chinese tour guide, we decided to take a 2 hour speed boat ride, with just one Chinese driver. The speed boat we were told would cover 1/3 more river than the tour boat in the 2 hours. Well some 4.5 hours later we arrived to Yungshuo somehow after all of the tour boats. That might have had something to do with our guide stopping to have lunch at a riverside shack. Oh no, that's what I thought, "Lunch on the guide? Sure." No, rather he made the motion of taking a picture, pointed at us and disappeared for 45-minutes to an hour. Honestly though, it was hard to get upset when we passed through probably the most beautiful scenery I have ever seen.

This large river scattered with old Chinese fishermen and their birds (I'll explain in a second) and lined with some amazing otherworldly mountains was absolutely breathtaking. It was rainy and foggy (imagine that) which added a mysterious air. As for the fishermen, they fish with birds instead of fishing poles. As I understand it the fishermen put some type of leash on the birds and something around their necks to prevent the birds from swallowing the fish. When a bird sees a fish it dives into the water, catches the fish and then brings it back to the surface to his beloved owner. I'm not quite sure of all the details but you get the idea.

I think I made a mistake by going to Yangshuo, because it's hard to imagine any place cooler. It is described in Lonely Planet and the "backpacker's mecca". True Dat! As soon as we got off the boat (at like 2:00 pm!) we walked through the only road to town and about one mile of shoulder to shoulder vendors. The town felt like maybe the Aspen of southern China (never been to Aspen but if it's anything like Yanshuo it's gotta be beautiful). It was targeted specifically for the backpacker full of shops with Northface (I'm assuming fake), backpacks, and other designer specialties.

Another reason I think I ruined myself is today (day 8) when I payed 45 Yuen for my room I was a little bit irritated. $8 Yuen = $1 US Dollar. That is because when all is said and done I spent about $2.25 for a comfy little room in one of the most picturesque cities in the world. Kind of unbelievable. To make up for it I spent $2.50 on lunch at "Minnie Mao's"-yes, as in Disney and the homemade painting of a mouse on the sign.

I have a terrible tendancy to ramble so I'm just going to jump to today's highlight. When we finished eating it was about 3:30. So we hoped on some bikes for $1.25 a day price and started off for a water cave we heard good things about. It is pouring down rain and the 4 Americans are riding bikes (2 tandom) through rice fields and mountains. It's 5ish when we get to this water cave and approach the counter to buy tickets. $120 Y per person. We've learned by now not to settle, so we start haggling and really annoying this poor Chinese girl down to $80 and get on the bus. It's starting to get dark and their was some tension in the air, because the next thing we know we're on a dirt road driving through what looks like an abandoned Chinese prison. 2 of the New Yorkers, probably well familiar with the Bronx start freaking out. They were both fairly certain we were on our way to a terrible death in the rice fields. Myself and the other guy tried to tell them to wait it out, since the driver knew 0 english. You are clever enough to know that since I am blogging this we survived and made it to the Water Cave.

All of us put on hard hats and pile into a small skinny boat. Then entrance to this cave is a skinny hole in the mouth of a rock, you have to basically lay down to get in. However once you're about 5 minutes into the cave it opens up and you get out and walk through a maze of caverns and underwater rivers. We only did the half tour so we made it as far as the mud pool, took a quick dip and left 2 hours later. Needless to say it was pretty dark as we biked through the country side back to the city. Another one of those moments when you take a step back and think to yourself... "Is this really happening?"

Guilin, Yangshuo, and my new Chinese family

2006-06-01T08:10:00.000-07:00

Oh where to begin...where to begin. What is it like day 5 now? And it has been a couple (few) days since my last entry. Which means there are so many things I need to tell you about. Several times throughout each day I take a step back and think to myself, "This is really something. I need to journal this." And everynight I am exhausted and so my new Walmart spiral journal remains pure as a winter snow.

So over the next several paragraphs, I'm going to try to recall as many of the most interesting things as possible. I think the best way to do this is by day, and if I remember correctly the last time I journaled I had just arrived to Guilin, with 3 New Yorker's that I met on the bus. Ok, I'm going to back track just for a second for something I don't think I wrote about that day.

As you'll remember we took a 12 hour overnight bus to Guilin. After a day of visiting the Reed Flute cave (see pic), and the Solitary Beauty Peak, I had just about had it. (I explained the sore feet from Hong Kong) However, when you are hanging out with three other guys, who you just met, the last thing you want to do is sound like a pansie and bail out of an activity because your "feet are sore (?!)". So rather than sissying (yes it's a word) out I agreed to visit one last tourist attraction, the Seven Peaks Park. Ok sure we saw a Panda, and had the chance to take a picture snuggled up in a cage with an enourmous tiger (which I opted not to do only because I didn't want to spend the money-again not because I am a girl), but the best thing that happened was right at the end as the park was closing. Apparently the keepers expect you be prompt when the park is closing, because before any of us were out the released all the monkeys. Awesome right? Right. We are making our way out with monkeys flying over head, I think it's their dinner time, when one monkey drops right out of the tree onto the sidewalk in front of us. We all think it's funny and laugh and the cute little thing runs off. But then some 15 seconds later much larger monkey comes running towards us with his possie. This monkey runs right up to one of the other guys and I am watching not sure what's about to happen. Monkey is hootin and holerin with teeth bared and grabs my friends leg on the way by. SWEET! My friend is a little freaked, but I'm loving it, no harm done. Then the monkey turns around for round two, and I'm the next closest human.

Now what they don't tell you in the Lonley Planet Travel guide is how to defend against attacking monkeys in a public park. So I have in one hand an empty water bottle, which I am debating to use for noise or beating. The monkey runs up to me slapping the ground like a freak, the other guy closest to me has now taken off like white lightening, and I decide the best thing to do is just man up. I turn and face the monkey preparing mentally to how to kick this freak show while beatin it with a plastic water bottle, and keeping all parts of my body in tact. Just at that moment, in a timely manner, one of the park keeper starts blowing his whistle and yelling and the monkey runs away. This, I remind you, is day one in mainland China.

Well that took much longer than I expected. I think I will close this entry out and start another one. Because of the computer I am on I can't tell, but I think there is a picture of me with my "Chinese" family in this entry. I will explain that in the next entry... so tune in next time to find out just what happenen to our travelin friend to be surrounded by an entire of Chinese people none of which speak a lick of English!

To The Mainland

2006-05-29T06:36:00.000-07:00

Travel lesson #1: Never buy new shoes before a big trip. Everyone knows that, even me. So I bought my shoes two weeks before my departure...maybe more. What I didn't know is that Travel lesson #2 is very similar. That is never by new arch support insoles (sp?) right before a big trip. Naturally I like to see everything when I have the chance. Therefore, rather than catching the bus, like most tourists and locals, I want to walk as much as I. Great for experience, terrible for feet. I did luckily accomplish my goal of seeing as much of Hong Kong in a single day.

I took a 100 year old tram to Victoria Peak, which overlooks the city of Hong Kong. It has been raining basically non stop since I arrived (I thought 13 million chinese people was fun, imagine 13 million chinese people with umbrellas!). Fortunately it cleared up just enough to see the city of Hong Kong from the peak. I also enjoyed a 15 minute light show from the other side of harbor. All of the buildings on the island of Hong Kong light up to rythm and music at 8:00 pm everynight. Pretty sweet for a enormous sky line.

There is this little town in China called Yangshuo and it's neighbor of Guilin that in my 1.5 days in HK has gotten some good reviews. So after looking into it I realized there was a 7:00 pm bus ride from a border town in China (1 hour from HK). Perfect because on the upside, my feet could use a 10 hour overnight rest, even if it were on a bus. So before I know what I am doing I buy the bus ticket and have to get myself accross the border by afternoon.

Two good things: 1. I meet 3 guys from New York who had the same crazy idea. 2. As it turns out, some of the busses here in China are all sleepers. I didn't even know those existed. Of course the beds were not designed for anyone 6 ft, but the ride was pleasantly comfy and was actually more like 13 hours instead of 10.

The first city we stopped at was Guilin and it has definitely lived up to the hype. The landscape is covered with jagged hills and rivers. One other thing, there is very clear difference between HK where everything is in English and Chinese, and pretty much everyone speaks English and China where nothing is in English and very few speak it. The few that do are eager to start a conversation which is extremely friendly. After enough of these people approaching you to "practice English" you begin to realize they are sure eager to show you all the highlights of China, and I can only assume they make a decent living of of commissions for bringing in ignorant tourists. (Already I have purchased an "original" painting from a Chinese "art professor" who was thrilled to have me "sharing his art with America". I even took a picture with the guy! I'm sure none of that was true, but it sure tickled my fancy and now I need to figure just how to get this painting back to America.

Well I am beat and tomorrow is another big day as I'm scheduled to go down the river to Yangshuo. I've tried to load pictures but it keeps failing. I will try again when I find another computer. Till next time, Derek.

Sight, Sounds and Smells of Hong Kong

2006-05-26T21:21:00.000-07:00

I knew the 14 hour plane ride was going to be good when the 5 year old child was visibly (and vocally) irritated with me when I informed her that she was sprawled out in my seat. Really the ride wasn't so bad minus the fact that every hour and a half, right when you began to doze off, you were jolted awake from the heels of a 5 year old who I believe was only pretending to have nightmares.

Luckily the plane was only 1 hour late, bringing me into Hong Kong at 7:00 pm, May 26. I had been adequately informed that China is not very tourist friendly, so I was ready for anything. Fortunately I haven't had too many problems getting around. I have already explained how I value planning, so I felt it was important to have at least two nights booked at a hostel in Hong Kong for when I arrived. The rest I figured would work itself out.

By the time I got to the hostel on Hong Kong island, the city was still very much humming. All of the transportation is double-decker (trains, and busses) except the taxis which are all exactly the same car. Maybe it's because the Chinese are not accustomed to how much I was sweating when I arrived, but when I checked in the man running the hostel told me that he was happy to upgrade my room to a single with a private bathroom. It's probably rude to argue in China, so I graciously accepted his offer. The room is just big enough to fit a bed, and I finally got to experience the famous toilet shower combo (very convenient).

I wanted to do a little walking around despite my lack of rest. This is probably a good point to remind the reader that China is home to nearly 1/6 of the world's entire population, and after last night I am convinced that most of those people live on Hong Kong Island. The only thing that comes close to the amount of people I saw last night would be that of Rome on Easter weekend when the Pope is ill (last year's trip). I didn't do much exploring because I was tired, sweating (still) and anxious to try out the showerlette, but I did get a chance to try my first Chinese snack. Mystery meat, wrapped in noodle, and served on a stick. Mmm, not bad at all.

After a good nights rest I finally saw a Hong Kong at a much slower pace. Turns out the streets are relatively still at 7:00 am. The only thing open for breakfast was Starbucks or McDonalds, so egg-mcmuffin it was. The first thing I did was walk through Victoria Park which is a big beautiful park right in the city. The park was much busier than the streets, but mostly with elderly chinese people practicing their Tai Bo Chi. I didn't have the guts this early in the trip to start taking pictures of Chinese grandmothers working out, but if I do I'll post them on my Flicker.

Now it is just after noon, and I am headed to take a steep tram to the top of a mountain (Victoria Peak) which is supposed to have a great view of the city. After that it the walk of stars, which is China's Hollywood walk. After that...well, sheese you guys, I like to plan but let's not get carried away! Talk to you later.

Planning Perfectionist

2006-05-26T20:56:00.000-07:00

As you all know, one rule that I absolutely live by is Plan Ahead. So that is exactly what I did for this trip. In fact I was planning nearly up to the very last second. And to demonstrate my point here is a recap of the 10 hours prior to departure.
- 6:00 pm-Trip to REI to purchase supplies such as back pack for trip, pillow, bag locks, etc.
- 6:45 pm-Watch Suns break the hearts of the Dallas Mavericks/followed by dinner
- 9:55 pm-Drive to Circuit City to purchase batteries, tapes and memory cards for my camera/camcorder.
- 9:56 pm-Drive to Target because all electronic stores are closed at 9:00 pm in Portland. Target closes at 10:00.
-11:00 pm- Begin to pack for trip.
-12:30 am- Drive to Kinkos for necessary copies of passport, airline tickets, etc.
- 1:45 am- Drive to Walmart to purchase all supplies I forgot to purchase at Target earlier
- 3:00 am- Continue packing
- 4:45 am- Get some rest for big trip.
- 5:30 am- Get up for the big trip.
- 6:45 am- Email resume for job lead at Princess Cruises
- 7:00 am- Leave for airport.

As it turns out my planning worked out perfectly, because one theory I have on traveling internationally is to stay up all night before traveling so you will be tired enough to sleep for the duration of the 14 hour plane ride. Mission accomplished. Next stop Hong Kong.

*The only thing I didn't plan on doing was waking little baby Sammy of the friends I was staying with in Portland. As it turns out I went ahead and did it anyway several times. Bless Jeremy and Rebecca... they didn't say a word about it the next morning. Come to think of it they didn't say anything at all. Like not even goodbye.

Around the World in Over 80 Days

2006-05-19T11:15:00.000-07:00

Anyone who is reading this almost indefinitely knows my situation. For those of you who don't, I have recently left my postition with Grand Canyon Railway and in about six days I leave to travel around the world. Here is my itinerary:

May 25: Fly from Portland to Hong Kong (China)
June 22: Beijing to Bangkok (Thailand)
July 20: Bangkok to Delhi (India)
August 4: Delhi to London
September 7: London to Portland

I then plan to fly to Australia for a month or two after returning. That hasn't been booked yet because I don't know yet how much time I will need to shake any exotic viruses I may have caught in various parts of the world. At this point I am in San Francisco, working my way north. I am currently traveling with one of my roommates, Ben Lippard, and so far so good. We've found that between the Suns games on am radio, and watching $1 Walmart DVDs of historic cartoons, road trips can be rather enjoyable.

And we're off...

2006-05-19T10:31:00.000-07:00

Well my friends, this is my first "real" post. Thanks to my pal Dave Coe, I have had this site now for I think about a week, and I've have already discovered a few things about blogging.
Number one: the introduction. This is when I tell my friends (and anyone who I have given this address to is officially a friend) that I have a blog. This produces one of two reactions. The first set of people are those who know what blogging is and often times respond with a subtle "Oh you're one of those" smirks. So before we go any further I want to clear the air on some things. No I do not spend my weekends in chat rooms and meeting people on Myspace. In fact I only just recently set up a my space account, and only spend an average of 2-6 hours a night in chat rooms. (jk)
The second reaction that happens when I tell someone I have a blog, is one of blank concern. These are the people who have never heard of a "blog", and usually respond with a compassionate "hmmm" to accompany their concerned look, as though I've just informed them of a medical condition. The next thing that happens I've discovered is also a little awkward. Because if the persond doesn't know what a "blog" is, you then have to explain it "is simply a website all about me. Where you can go and read about who I am, what I am doing, my interests, and also read me journal about myself! Can you imagine?! A website entirely for me, about me and by me?!?! Here let me give you the address." You get the picture. There is a common theme in MY blog.
It dawned on me there may be an air of conceit in "blogging". So after a fair amount of though my justification is this: I don't have to send everyone these unsolicited mass email that do the same thing: talk about me. Instead now you have the power to read or not read according to your own interests. Everybody's happy. I get to keep talking about myself as though everyone is listening and you have the option to not listen without feeling bad about asking me not to send mass emails anymore, or annoyed at getting a mass email. So you see in reality this whole blog thing is as much about you as it is about me. You can thank me later.
Now that I've rambled for ever about absolutely nothing and started this off on a good foot. I am going to wrap it up and I think I'd better start another post to tell you exactly what my world traveling plans are for the next 4-6 months. I will talk to you (myself) then.
Cheers and welcome to my blog.

Scoot er Die

2006-05-03T15:00:00.000-07:00

Round Deux.