White Baboon

i guess i’ll start with the facts and figures… it’s my seventh day, about to do my 7th dive here (number 13 altogether), have doen 2 components of the advanced open water course, went down to 30 meters this morning, have 2 nights left before i have to get on the perama boat for about 8 hours back to bali and head straight for the airport for my 12am flight to perth.

i’ve always struggled with the concept of “real life” that i was raised with… the whole order of things that the western world generally drills into the brains of its youth. you go to school to achieve socialization and universal knowledge, then you go to university to achieve focus and discipline, then you get a good job to achieve wealth and purpose, and you get married and have children to achieve love and security… and in between you take some holidays to achieve small, battery charging periods of relaxation or you wait and work your ass off so that you can retire early and finally do the things and see the places that have tantalized you from the pages of magazines and the discovery channel throughout the prime of your life.

by the standards of my extended family unit, i am both a late bloomer and a black sheep. at twenty five, i intentionally shifted from a stable, promising career path to the bumpy, winding, dirty, overgrown road that writing as an occupation leads down, not knowing if the road will end at a breataking vista or a lava filled ravine, but fully aware that i must see it till its end. at thirty, i added traveling to the mix… and once i added a few drops, the color of the entire juice changed until i realized that travel had added the exact flavor and vitamins my diet had been lacking. and so travel became my gatorade, of sorts, for my hairy trek.

i have dived every single day since i have been here. in that, i have spent so, so much time focused on my breathing…(something that, as a twenty year pack a day smoker, i usually try not to think about), as when you’re underwater, your breath controls your position - allows you to stop and go at will, to hover and look at some creature or another. yesterday was the first time that i was comfortable enough on a dive to not be fixated on my equipment - and only had to think about my breath and reserve the rest of my energy for locating lionfish and scorpionfish and frogfish and cuttlefish. it was the best, most mellow dive (and longest - as my breathing was so controlled that my air lasted an hour), and i came up with a huge, shit eating grin on my face that i just couldn’t shake. after the dive, i laid on the top deck in the sunshine, smoking cigarettes with the other divers as we made our way back to the island… and i just kept thinking…”this IS my life. this is MY life. THIS is my life.” and i am so, so grateful for my life. for the courage in my choices. for my breath.

arrived yesterday to a place that might just be my personal heaven. the sun is shining, the water is crystal clear, my $6/night bungalow is the nicest place i’ve stayed so far (despite the fact that there is no fresh water, so salty skin will have to do)…there are no motorized vehicles (or paved roads for that matter), the food is beautiful, people friendly, joints aplenty, super chill hippie-traveller vibe.

ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. this is where it’s AT, the place i’ve been looking for. i probably wont leave here until the absolute last second that i must.

i now have eight dives, two sharks, three turtles, and thirty meters of visibility. i am on streak of creative outpouring, i wont go into details cuz i dont want to create any bad juju. the fact that’s it’s 4:20 all the time here most certainly helps… as does the prettiest water and best music -every bar (all huts on the beach) you walk past starting at 5pm is playing either ben harper or old, live zeppelin or paul simon or lee scratch perry - or jen sotham, as last night i was invited up to the stage at sama sama and had the accompaniment of about 6 islanders on various instruments - most of my close peeps know that i normally DO NOT like playing with bands.

i’ll get up in front of three hundred people with my lil ol guit-fiddle, but playing with other msuicians, no matter how good they are, usually just makes me tense. last night was, most definitely, one of the most enjoyable sets i’ve ever played. Their pitch and rhythm and melodies couldn’t have been more compliment to my energy.

if my days keep going such as they’ve been, i might never leave… nah, that’s not true. because as amazing as a place may be when you travel to it, the novelty is bound to wear off. this place is feeding some very specific of my needs very generously, but my needs spread out amongst pretty vast regions… and many of them would starve here.

i have been told by many, many people that i would fall madly in love with bali. after reading elizabeth gilbert’s ‘eat, pray, love,’ i became even more convinced that i had chosen right on the destination front and even narrowed it down to ubud and the gili islands, i figured on about a week in each. one of the most important things i have learned on this trip is that two weeks is a drop in the bucket… it is so, so little time, especially when each area of a country (or region, island, whatever) offers something totally different from the next. i mean, you can get a sense of where you don’t want to go fairly easily - as i knew kuta wasn’t for me in the same way that ko phengnan wasn’t for me.

i’m just not into hoardes of frat boyish tourists all bearing slight variations of the same tribal armband trying to pack as many hook ups, tan lines and hangovers as possible into their two week holidays… of course this is a massive generalization, and i am always open to finding exceptions to the rule…but discovering where you DO want to go is a whole other animal. while recommendations from friends, websites and authors certainly help, they can never really predict the kind of emotional impact each locale wil have on YOUR particular personality in YOUR specific frame of mind on YOUR budget with YOUR needs and wants. in that respect, travelling to a new place is like being a little kid with a chemistry set… add a dropper full of jungle, a large beaker of turquoise water, a splash of local art, a pinch of reggae.

although i think that ubud is art personified, and i have been REALLY indulging myself here with food, massage, shopping as well as getting jumped all over, hugged and shit on by the most entertaining and adorable monkeys (many pics to come) - the formula is lacking the brand of laid back that is unique to beaches, and so i will move on after only three days here to a place called nusa lombagen before shipping out to the gili’s. i think what it most boils down to for me, a least right now, is that when i am in a place like ubud, where there is SOOOOO much to see and do, i feel guilty just chilling out and doing nothing. on the beach, relaxing IS the focal point, thus freeing you from the need to see, see, do, run, go.

today is the perfect example of what i am talking about.

i had a really fun night last night with an english/aussie crew at a local trivia night and then cocktails and pool at another low key joint. i stayed out until 1am, which is kinda late for me these days, and had a few more than my two beer norm. also, aunt ruby dropped in for her monthly visit last night. so i woke up this morning crampy and crabby and foggy and yucky, and had scheduled a 10am departure with a driver to go see the besakih temple and mount batur (a volcano that erupted 4 times in the last century).

i REALLY didnt want to do anything but sleep and paint and eat… (in fact, what i really wished i had was a big screen tv with cable, a big plush couch and a pint of ben and jerry’s). but i went. and i am glad i did, as it was all beautiful and i would have kicked myself if i hadn’t.

HOWEVER, my already pretty foul mood was not helped along by the fact that these places, these huge tourist attractions were surrounded by the ‘youre white - and, OH, american, even better, you MUST be rich so gimme, gimme, gimme’ school of thought. don’t get me wrong, i completely understand that tourism feeds these people, literally, and that the amounts of money being asked of me are so little - if i were in my normal life, and realized i had accidentally dropped two bucks on the ground, i wouldn’t really care, IF i even noticed. BUT, trying to look a a breathtaking valley full of rice terraces and not being able to see it because you have four locals surrounding you holding jewelry boxes in front of your face and forcing sarongs into your hands really reduces my level of sympathy.

i’ve talked and written many times about the difference between travellers and tourists. and the thing is, even if you go about exploring the world with a genuine interest in the lesser seen side of a culture or the ability to navigate without tour guides or enough sense to seek out the true bargains - you are still going to want to see the “tourist attractions.” they are what the are because they are the most beautiful or intriguing or unique or represetntative things about a destination. but increased tourism to a ‘hot spot’ draws the hawkers, hikes the prices, lowers the authenticity of food in nearby restaurants, reduces the friendliness of the locals. i will not go into specifics about my day here, as you can think of your own “tourist trap but worth seeing” experieneces and just try to imagine that in the context of bali.

ok, i must be off to tea time. next time i write, there will be sand on my feet. until then…

am sitting in chumphon, thailand, awaiting my overnight train back to bangkok, where i have one day before heading over to bali. i’ve spent the last 10 days on an island called ko tao, getting certified as an open water scuba diver, trapzing knee deep through flooded dirt roads, listening to the lapping of waves while getting $6/hr massages, playing cards while slurping down curries, painting, working on my novel, staring at (and flirting with, a little) beautiful men, making friends with ali the thai pancake master (my very favorite character on the island who had a street cart outside of 7-11 and was sort of a crepe savant), watching fire spinners on the beach, swimming at the most beautiful place on the planet called freedom beach, rubbing tiger balm on my rapidly healing knee and falling madly in love with the islands huge population of stray dogs.

mama

one of my first nights in ko tao, melodie and i were making our way back to our bungalows and two BIG dogs were standing, growling with such violence, that we turned back and waited a while before heading home…the following night, blackie showed up on my porch to protect me, which he did every night thereafter. my friend, chris, thinks its hysterical that, as a writer, the best name i could think of for a black dog was ‘blackie,’ but i tried several other, more creative names and blackie was the only one he responded to. i befriended half of the dogs on the island, and spent as much (if not more) time with them as i did with people. as i was walking down the stone path to the other side of sairee village, i came across a mama dog and her three adorable puppies and i was compelled to buy some dog food - my daily visits to this little family became routine, as did purchasing dog food every day to give to all of my new friends, such as the boxer named bubba and the mastiff named toto.

lanterns on the beach

i wandered into a dive shop one day with a box of pedigree in my hand and the guiy behind the counter, this totally arrogant prick, told me that he’s been trying to discourage people from feeding the dogs, because he didnt want them “staying around” - i asked him what he meant… did he think that if the dogs weren’t fed they would maybe, i dunno, catch a ferry over to ko phegnan or something??? jerkoff!

i did my fifth and sixth dives yesterday. the fifth was to a place called chumphon pinnacle, which is a spot known for larger marine life including whale sharks. i was so excited, but sadly, the visibility was only about a meter…it was like swimming into nothingness, a little creepy. so there could have been a whale shark swimming a few feet away from me and i wouldn’t have known it - the only thing i saw during my 24 meter (72 feet) deep dive was the back of my dive master, kirin’s, flippers.

chillin at the cave

HOWEVER, i went down without any panic or any problems equalizing my ears, and during the followng dive at japanese gardens, where the vis was a bit better, i fell even more deeply in love with my newest addiction. at the end of the dive, i subtly slipped to the front of the boat and realeased some of my dad’s ashes into the waters around the reef… it’s weird, when cremains mix with water, they take on a form that almost looks like an actual ghost… it was a beautiful moment and i know it’s fuji’s perfect resting place.

of my 19 days in thailand, it had been raining for 17 of them… but it didn’e really lessen my amazing experience here - though it did convince me that i need to return during a better season sooner than later.

toto

travelling has this amazing power to heal, to teach and to give you insight into things about yourself, other people and the universe that are unacheivable when you stay put. one example (and mom, you’ll be quite happy about this one) is that before this trip, i believed that, despite my age, i was nowehere near ready to have children (if i wanted any at all). but, for some reason, i have been a child magnet on this trip - on two of my minivan rides, i have had random children crawl into my lap and fall asleep. and today, i was on a moving bus from the ferry and this japanese woman left her 3 year old and 18 month baby in the seat behind mine to go talk to someone in the front of the bus. the bus lurched forward and the baby rolled off the seat and smacked against the back of my seat, immediately started wailing.

fire

without so much as a thought, i jumped up and comforted him against my chest, furious that the mother (who still didnt return despite the fact that her baby was shrieking) could be so irresponsible. i realized how strong my motherly instinct is, and how badly i want children of my own.

also, i have been getting emails from editors i pitched ages ago, who are considering some of my articles. today, i learned that one of my essays will be included in 2008’s best women’s travel writing. i actually started crying when i opened the email - i suppose when you take life by the reigns, make things like traveling to far off lands happen for yourself, the universe sends you rewards, reminders that the path you’re on is right.

palm trees

gotta go catch my sleeper train now, take in some palaces and big buddhas on the fly before heading over to indonesia tomorrow night. am so, so sad to leave thailand, but so, so excited to keep unwrapping the gifts that land in my lap.

they say the universe works in mysterious ways, but i think if you make an effort to fine tune your cosmic detective skills, the clues are fairly easy to read - and following them to the ‘master plan’ (which usually bears little if any resemblance to YOUR plan) - sniffing out the fruit that the masterplan tree proffers andf then being able to recognize that fruit, even if it looks like a vegetable - saves you from any disappointment that could otherwise manifest when your trip veers off the map in your lonely planet (or in my case, stack of papers printed from the internet).my sole reason for visiting ko lanta was to attend time for lime cooking school - the idea of learning how to make tom yum with the andoman sea as my backdrop was enough to pull me from railay.

.. it was a long trek to lanta, and i booked a bungalow for 200 baht a night (about $6) thru a tour office in krabi at a resort called blue andoman… a long ass bus ride (half of which i had a sweet little girl named ruby sleeping in my lap) and two very slow ferries later, i arrived at the nearly empty, totally secluded resort famished and exhausted… the sea was too rocky to swim in, the enchiladas i ordered were total crap, and the first thing i saw upon entering my bungalow was a HUGE roach scurrying under my bed. after a much needed sleep, i awoke to a beautiful day and rented my very own hot pink motorbike. i scooted (at 20km/hr, on the shoulder of the road) up to time for lime, only to learn that they were closed for low season.

needless to say, i was crestfallen… junie, the owner, a californian who lived in norway for most of her life before relocating to lanta six years ago, saw the disappointment in my face and offered to A) bring me along to her favorite fusion restaurant on the island (red snapper - simply exquisite) and B) give me a free, private lesson on how to make curry paste from scratch. being someone who loves, loves, loves intimacy - it couldn’t have worked out better…the rest of my time on ko lanta was highlighted by a visit from a wild monkey while i sat on a lonely stretch of sand sketching - an awesome swim in the bath-warm sea with three thai children holding my hands, laughing hysterically and climbing up my neck when the waves came - a trek thru the jungle on the back of a 40 year old elephant named chow - getting a massage at sunset with the sound of lapping waves in the background - getting plugged in and playing a set for all the guests at my resort and, yes, the curry paste.thank you universe… keep the surprises coming!

after a crazy 15 hour bus ride, i arrived in krabi with two temporary partners in crime - thommo (an archaeologist from england) and hannah (a sweet lil 19 year old aussie girl), who had done the trek down from chang mai together…thommo convinced us to join him on railay beach and i am so, so happy that my travel sense had kicked in enough to say ‘fuck plans’ and just go… on the longtail boat that took us to railay, i slipped fully and completely into my travel head - which is like entering a whole other realm, one that can only be entered in a new culture, with new people by your side - sharing your meals, your wows, your beds…i was so, so anxious about this trip - even after i had arrived in bangkok (before that, i think i was in denial about leaving korea) - i felt like i needed to get a million things organized, figure it all out according to plan - but the fact that plans change is one of the best parets of travel.

.. but deciding between which of, like sixteen available and breathtaking islands to plant yourself on for the next 3-4 days - its a nobrainer - just find people who are chill and make wherever you go awesome.it is so, so mellow here, and the backdrop to the beaches are karst cliffs that make those in halong bay look like ant hills… after checking into our ridiculously beautiful resort (diamond cave on railay east - 900 baht total for two huge double beds and a pool that stares into a 70 meter high limestone wall), we headed across to the west, and i had a georgous piece of fish… had a swim with a sexy-ish dude from oz and then endured the rain with a j on our porch, where we were joined by lizzy, a funked-out, super sharp aussie gal.

last night was a blur of good conversation, reggae, a sweet wooden swing , a kick ass fire show by a 12 year old boy, a gnarly bathroom and a ton of laughter…one thing that’s so nice about traveling alone is that you can hook up with amazing people to hang with, and then unhook just as easily, without guilt or question - whether for 15 minutes to be antisocial in a corner (or on a swing) or to slide on into the next chamber of the realm - its all good, your own heart and gut are the only voices you need to listen to… they tend to steer you right in these instances.today, hannah and i did a 4 island boat tour to ko phi phi… yes, i saw THE beach and no, i DIDNT take even one photo of the beach that leo built - as i generally dont take photos of boatloads of tourists taking photos. it sure was pretty, though. did some amazing snorkling at lohsamah bay, and had a gorgeous lunch of the best tom yum soup thats ever touched my lips. am burnt as shit right now, both physically and mentally, but emotionally i am as relaxed as i’ve ever been. am gonna go sit on my porch and let the sound of the tropical rain do its magic…

We are at the end of the beginning. On the road for over fifty six days, our life is predictably unpredictable. Here’s how one day unfolded:

7:00 Michael’s watch alarm goes off.

7:25 We get up. High energy costs mean bedrooms are typically pretty cold, so unless there’s a room heater, I sleep in my clothes. No need to get dressed. I brush my teeth and hair and put the blankets back on the bed (we have long since stopped mourning the lack of sheets). It has rained quite frequently on our trip, so I retrieve my windbreaker and make sure my half-gloves are in the pockets—the kind that homeless people usually wear. It is Saturday. Last time I showered? Wednesday night.

7:45: Tejad asks us if we have everything. He does not live here. Fuat does. But we stayed with Tejad the night before we moved here and he slept over. And yesterday, another guy, Oz, gave us a tour of the mosque, explained why it was $130 to fill up a car with gas here and found us rain ponchos. Tejad is a tall, half-bearded 22-year old studying economics in Adana and is very inclined to laugh. He can recite the Denver Nuggets roster and until last night thought that they were named after McDonald’s famous chicken meal. He’s also a huge fan of the show How I Met Your Mother. We’d never heard of it yesterday, but by now have seen six episodes.

8:00: We are on a city bus to the train station. Tejad insisted on accompanying us there because we are helpless tourists.

8:30: At the station, we buy two tickets to Iskendar for about $10. It’s not much, but we wince as this is the first time we’ve paid for transportation since Day 14.

8:45: Tejad leaves us and Michael goes to get breakfast. Small cheese pastries and a cup of plain yogurt.

10:09: Pretending to read. A complete stranger gives her baby to six college-age kids on the train and they pass the baby around, cooing and giggling before handing him back.

10:15: Having bonded over the child, the kids begin to ask us questions by first huddling over a pen and newspaper then presenting us with sentences they have formed in English. They go something like this:Are you want US be in Iraq?You like Amedinijad?Rapport quickly develops as they giggle and practice their English. They are all cousins—Emre, Ibrahim, Inur, Fudya and Hussein—coming home for the weekend from University.You want come our house?

11:30: We are sitting on the floor in Fudya’s living room with eight Turkish kids eating spinach burek, cabbage, and potato soup. There is a lot of laughing and giddiness. THIS is traveling. Her home is in a small village—a walk, taxi and minibus ride from the train we got off in the middle of nowhere.

11:45: We are introduced to the ram they will slaughter next week for Korban Bayrami, the Muslim holiday.

12:15: We visit their football stadium, the village river, their parent’s orchard and more family members. Friends come by. Tea is served. There is a lot of cheek touching—the physical greeting here in Turkey. When Ibrahim see’s his grandfather, he kisses his hand.

3:30: Using our SIM card in their phone, we call our hosts in Antakya (friends of a couchsurfer in Antalya) and have the kids explain our schedule.

4:30: We are on sitting on $5 bus to Antakya, a bag of 25 oranges in hand as well as a free new pair of socks (you have no idea how exciting that is) and a warm fuzzy feeling, looking out the window at three of our hosts who will not leave the station until we have safely departed. A horror movie (American of course) is playing on the bus television. We are soon offered chocolate cookies and Coke by the bus attendant.

6:00: Standing in a very dark parking lot, only a barber’s lights in sight. We need a phone to call Sakine.

6:02: After two phone calls, a lot of confusion, a barber shop visit, hovering taxi drivers, we are riding in a small white car through a very dark Antakya. We do not know the driver. He will not speak to us.The whole thing would have been very sketchy, but only because why would a very grumpy guy with a broken hand and no gas in his car be willing to drive total strangers to meet another total stranger in another part of town unless he was getting something out of the deal? But the answer to that is “because that guy is Turkish.” And that’s why there is nothing sketchy about this at all.

6:30: We meet smiley, energetic Sakine and Jaylin, two of the three sisters who will host us for two nights (which turned into four) in this much more Middle Eastern city near the Syrian border which claims to be home to the very first church in the entire world. Peter and Paul apparently hung out here.

Night 56 will have to be another blog.

When you think of Turkey what comes to mind? Prison? Constantinople? East Meets West? The toilets? Well. . .it sure seems more like P-R-I-D-E.I’ve never seen so many flags at once. Even after 9/11.

Turkey flies their red and white with side-of-a-building-sized gestures and in the strangest spots. Everywhere. Which, to be honest, makes everywhere feel just a little bit more festive. As if you might run into a pageant, parade, or cotton candy stand around the next corner.Thing is, I’m trying to picture, say, New York like this. A flag at Macys. Dozens more from East side apartment balconies. Stars and stripes down the Empire State Building. Strung in tiny triangles from telephone poles in the village. In the back window of taxis along fifth avenue. It’s probably Old Navy’s attempt to make the flag a fashion statement and the lack of support for the current administration, but this vision seems both impossible and cheesy. And American gets so much shit for being patriotic—especially from the Brits! We’ve got nothing on Turkey!

But the flags are only a beginning. Turks actually “scurry” to find someone who speaks English for us. They walk us to where we want to go. Invite us back to their place for beers. Carry our bags. Pay for our tickets. Give us extra tea. They are the most hospitable people we’ve ever encountered and we get thefeeling it’s because they are proud. They want us to leave their country andspread the love. Who are we to say no?