Journal
Back in the Saddle
No, we have not disappeared into the South Pacific, and I do feel bad that we haven't posted since Moorea, leaving our faithful and concerned readers in the cold for so long. We landed in Los Angeles on January 7, and after a few days spent recuperating further up the coast of California--including a retoxification stint in San Francisco--we decided to drive back to New York from LA, in order to re-acquaint ourselves with our own country, and to put off the inevitable return for another stretch.
So, for the past two to three weeks we've been back on American soil, where internet cafes don't seem to exist. If only we had bought a laptop for this trip, we could have taken advantage of the free high-speed wireless internet services offered at cheap motels across the country--that is, assuming our laptop had not already been lost/stolen/waterlogged/crushed/crashed/etc. Just think: we could have been posting every night all along the trip, from every eight-hour bus ride, about every minute detail of our days. You could have hated us.
But all this doesn't matter now, because we're back in Brooklyn, having dragged an arctic high-pressure front across the country with us from as far as Arizona (also our coldest phase of the drive--suck it up, New Yorkers). At some point soon, I'll try to muster the strength to give a fuller account of the past 4000 miles of driving, along with maybe some sort of epilogue to the full trip--right now it's just too depressing... and we've got work to do! err, to look for.
posted by tom on Saturday, January 27, 2007
Slackjaws or Spendthrifts?
Tropical paradise. Fifteen dollar an hour internet. We posted photos. Enjoy.
Love,
Kerry and Tom
posted by kerry on Thursday, January 4, 2007
Counting Sheep in New Fleece-land
A couple of weeks ago, for the very first time on this trip, we decided to rent a car. Well, two actually--one for the South Island of New Zealand, where we are right now, and one for part of our return to the North Island. If this sounds like an extravagant and questionable splurge to you, then you're right. It is also, however, the least expensive mode of transportation we could find, barring hitchhiking, or buying a car. Yes, we could have bought a car I guess, and if we were staying longer, we probably would have, re-selling it when we finished, unless driving on the left led me into the wrong lane for the last of countless times.
While I'm obsessing over numbers, here is a run-down of a few other figures from our time in New Zealand so far, by order of magnitude.
Number of sheep we have seen: in the millions, possibly. Apparently the sheep to human (no political jokes here) ratio on the South Island is something like 15 to one. OK, OK--by this estimate, that means we would have to have seen at least 70,000 humans so far, which we haven't, but whatever--we've seen lots of sheep... not to mention cows, deer, and other varieties of mammals. Some photos are forthcoming for the livestock lovers, whenever I'm at a computer that doesn't explicitly forbid my connecting my camera.
Number of kilometers driven: in the thousands, I'd guess, since we're practically living in the car. More on that later. I can give a better estimate here when I get my credit card bill and divide the amount spent on gas by the exorbitant average cost per liter.
Number of photos taken: several hundred so far, approximately. Driving around the country offers us one long, continuous, stunning photo opportunity. Standing still does much the same, come to think of it. The only problem is that most of the best of these shots are scouted at about 120kph while winding through the hills of the Southern Alps on shoulder-less roads, wedged between double-trailer trucks, while crossing one-lane bridges, listening to Gershwin--which we've agreed is strangely suited to the experience--and so remain untaken.
Number of times we've heard "Rhapsody in Blue" (b/w "An American in Paris"): definitely in the double digits. Once we had been in the car for a day or so, we accepted the fact that radio reception on the South Island was just going to be spotty in places, with quality of programming measuring up in direct proportion. Our late model Nissan Pulsar was thoughtfully equipped with a cassette player, which meant that, where cassettes were even sold--which included the occasional gas station, one all-around music store, and one general store featuring magazines such as "More Pork", "Pig Hunter", and "Murder"--we had to wade through volumes of Christmas songs, Anne Murray and Cliff Richard cutouts, etc., in order to find anything so worth our five dollars as Gershwin. "The Very Best of Deep Purple" came in a distant second (and last), but at $12 couldn't be justified.
Number of degrees celsius outside, on average: single digits. Did I mention that they think it's summer here right now? We thought it would be, too, and took this as an excuse to leave our fleece items of earlier chapters behind... which brings us back to the title of this post. My cousin Mike and his wife Jenn, living in Wellington, were tremendously generous to us upon our arrival, which extended to lending us a variety of essentials for our time in the south: sleeping pads and bags, a nice little tent, and multiple layers of fleece. While we've heard the questionable (and oh-so-common, from Mumbai to here*) regular lines about how the weather this year is so much worse than usual, Mike told it to us straight, saying that the day we arrived in Wellington was basically the best weather that he'd seen there. He was still wearing fleece.
Armed with this information, I took two layers of the legendary material south with us, and have worn one--waking or sleeping--for the majority of the time here. Let's just leave it at that.
Number of chocolate shakes spilled in the rental car: one. That's all it takes.
And finally, number of penguins seen: zero, much to Kerry's dismay.
[*: my favorite "oh the unusual weather" comment so far was from a local woman yesterday in Kaikoura, who complained of how this cold, rough weather (we had hail) just didn't feel like Christmas.]
posted by tom on Sunday, December 24, 2006
More Asia Highlights: Cooking Class
The cooking class that Tom and I took in Luang Prabang, Laos, was such a fun and delectable experience. We had read a lot about the wonderful food at the restaurant--Tum Tum Cheng--and even more about the excellent classes offered by their chef, Chandra.
But what most impressed us, when we checked out the place for the first time, was the celebrity photo on the wall. Surprisingly, it wasn't a shot of Naked Chef, Jamie Oliver, who had visited the restaurant and raved about its classes. No, it was of that other culinary hero, that other name you often spot in Food & Wine, Saveur, or Gourmet. Yes, none other than Jim Belushi.
I assured myself that if Jim Belushi can handle a cooking class at the Tam Tam, then so could me and Tom, right?
It was a terrific day. It began, as most cooking classes in Southeast Asia do, with a guided trip to the market. This one is called the Pousy Market, and let's just say it's not the easiest place to visit when you are the unlucky recipent of the Acker-I have-such-a-weak-stomach-I-gag-when-cleaning-up-dog-pooh-and-when-anyone-says-the-word-menstruation gene. Unless you fancy bags of fresh pig's blood, trays of blood pudding (congealed blood), and freshly slaughtered animalia sitting in pools of blood for breakfast.
But, barring that, I found this visit lots of fun, and highly informative. We learned all about the mysterious (well, to me!) fruits, veggies, spices, and herbs that are used in Lao and other Southeast Asian cookery. So much variety and many lovely-smelling goodies! (My favorite new ingredient: Spicy wood.) I bombarded our guide with questions aplenty--but he answered all of them with aplomb. Patience and good humor too. Cheers Tum Tum.
Next, back at the restaurant, we were given some lessons about Lao cooking and eating traditions. And then we talked about sticky rice and steamed rice. There was indeed lots of rice talk. Then we chatted about Southeast Asian cuisine in general. Then we were shown how to chop and slice correctly. Then, alas, we chopped and sliced. Lots of things. Lemongrass. Onions and garlic. Galanga. And yes, spicy wood. Our instructor/chef pointed out how perfect Tom's slicing and chopping was. There's no question that Tom is a much better chopper and slicer than me. But I can't lie, I felt a bit pathetic when she kept on saying to me, "You're doing better. It's okay, really." Oh, my, now I have to be insecure about my chopping? Sheesh.
Ah, no matter--what was best about the chopping and preparing segment was that we got to eat freshly made rice cakes (made from sticky rice!) with berry jam. AND, even better than that--we gobbled up lots and lots of my new favorite thing--Mekong River seaweed. Lightly fried, topped with chopped lemongrass and peanuts. A simple, yet incredibly flavorful and addictive treat. And have I mentioned the rice wine yet?
Next, we moved on to the second-to-best segment--the preparation and cooking of our pre-selected dishes. We had chosen fresh (not fried) spring rolls, papaya salad, steamed fish in banana leaf, a stir-fried noodle dish, and chicken in lemongrass. We intentionally avoided things like sour fish soup and other complicated-looking recipes as 1) we are a bit lazy, and 2) we want to actually cook these dishes at home in Brooklyn.
Now, after all that chopping and slicing, we were surprised to find that it was all unnecessary--as our sous chefs had already chopped and prepared ALL the ingredients to be used in the meals beforehand. Whoa--we don't have a picture of the hundred or so bowls of ingredients, but I do have a shot of Tom stir-frying like a madman. I'm so proud!
Then, we took turns cooking dishes, we drank more rice wine, ate more delish seaweed (oh, food drunk!). It was wonderful. I'm not going to go into the humiliating banana leaf incident. Let's just say Tom nailed the banana leaf wrapping and stuffing segment, while the sous chefs had to call in reinforcements after they saw my pitiful-looking attempt. Ouch. But hey, more rice wine. Please?
Next, the best part: We eat. Yes, we ate. A LOT. The spring rolls were perfectly minty and all peanutty, yet light, goodness. The papaya salad was piquant and savory lusciousness. But the best of all was the fish. The fish was so moist and light and lemongrassy--the addition of the egg gave it an amazing souffle-like quality that is hard for me to describe.
Happy, happy, happy.
posted by kerry on Sunday, December 24, 2006
Highlights of Vietnam and Laos
There were a bunch of them, and I do feel the need to share some, as I have been less than disciplined about postings.
(Note for the confused: This posting has been sitting in the draft section of my email for about a month now. Vietnam was three countries ago! Oops. Better late than never?)
I'll start with jumping off the top of our boat (a Chinese junk!) in Halong Bay, Vietnam.
Okay, so Halong Bay is one of the most touristed sites in the Nam. Without a doubt. And throughout our travels in this country, I persisted in annoying Tom with my complaints about missing, dare I say it, "authenticity"; about the throngs of tourists; about the oversaturation of Western-oriented hotels and pseudo-euro/American backpacker culinary offerings. That said, we found it difficult to forego such Vietnam must-sees as Sapa and Halong Bay. As a matter of fact, because of our relatively limited time in the country (3 weeks--not so much), the highlights were all we actually had time to visit. Poor, poor us.
So, Halong Bay. Much to my initial chagrin, our research determined that the best way to tour the Bay and its caves was via a packaged tour. "Ewww" was how I can most eloquently express how I, we, felt about this. But, on that Friday morning in November, we put on our biggest smiles and "we like other people, really" expressions and boarded our packed minibus like the good sports we are, deep (very deep!) down.
Three hours later we arrived in the port city of Hualomphong, where we searched among what appeared to be hundreds of boats for our junk, the mighty Santa Maria, advertised as "the most beautiful boat in the bay." We'll see about that, I, ever the optimist, said to myself, as I checked out the 10,000 or so other sweating tourists surrounding our group. Because by this point I was perspiring prodigiously, and sighing about 7 times a minute, so dismayed and cynical was I about the whole bloody endeavor.
However, once our guide led us to the truly lovely Santa Maria (after crossing over three other boats); once we got a gander at our sparkling, and very affordable cabin; once we saw that there were actually only 10 other people on our boat and not a single loud (nor loutish), intoxicated backpacker in sight (I told you I was a travel snob); only then did I sigh one last time--but this time, with relief.
So off we chugged into the bay, the steady chatter of the crowds of tourists dissolving into the distance, giving way only to the gentle whoosh of the water and the occasional gust of a pleasant breeze. All around us limestone islands, many covered with jungly growth, rising regally from the morning mist.
It wasn't long before we felt far, far away from the world (or then again, perhaps I mean far, far INTO the world?). Henceforth the whole trip was spectacular. Wow--the water really IS that emerald green. And we loved our kind and engaging guide--we especially liked hearing him talk about politics. We met some great people--particularly Anando from India. We enjoyed the kayaking, exploring the stalag- and stalactite-filled caves (see Tom's post: Hanoi Socks), and just admiring all the loveliness all around us.
But by far my favorite part was jumping off the roofdeck of our junk at nighttime. Under the dappled light of a star-filled sky, Tom and I leapt, hand-in-hand, into the calm, black waters, breathing in the exhilarating cool and fresh air on the way down, splashing into the supersalty, chilly sea. It was gorgeous.
posted by kerry on Wednesday, December 13, 2006
Slow Boat to Sydney
This shouldn't be important. It's not representative of this trip; its not representative of what we (try to) spend most of our time doing, thinking about, or pursuing. It's not even significant as a novel topic for this journal. Nevertheless, I'm going to tell you (again) about our last few days of travel--emphasis on the plain meaning of that word.
It began in Muang Ngoi, Laos--a small village somewhat overpopulated by travellers but nevertheless a relaxing and fairly isolated visit for us for a few days. We took the boat from here to Nong Khiaw, and--enjoying the river as much as we were--attempted and failed to arrange another boat the rest of the route to Luang Prabang. No sooner had I persuaded the long-suffering bus ticket agent to change my (barely!) worn $20 bill as payment for tickets, then did a breathless Belgian (?--it sounds good) come running up the dusty road from the dock with news that he had secured two more (ten would be ideal, price-wise) riders potentially interested in the boat. Too invested in my narrowly won victory with the tickets I had just secured, we opted to stay on the pickup truck. A bus the next morning brought us south to Vientiane, the capital of Lao PDR. With a day of rest, we then took another bus over the border to Udon Thani, Thailand.
All of this has been a mere prelude for our big day of travel, an arrangement destined to remove us both mentally and emotionally (presumably physically, as well) from Asia. The following morning, we were up shortly before dawn, and on a plane from Udon Thani to Bangkok by 8 AM. It was also here that Kerry, literally armed with my tro-so--the two-stringed, bowed-gourd instrument I picked up in Cambodia for what was apparently an extortionate price of $14--was questioned for the first of several times this day about what sword-like object she was carrying in this flimsy flannel bag. We landed in Bangkok, weaponry intact (err, mostly, as I would discover much later), and perhaps too quickly set to addressing the few errands we had to fill up our eight-hour day in Bangkok's nice, new international airport. In short order, we determined that Air New Zealand did not have an office on the premises, there was no internet cafe that wouldn't have sunk us financially for the rest of our entire trip, and--relatedly--neither Vietnamese Dong nor Lao Kip is worth a thing to anybody outside of each country, respectively.
Several snacks and several hours later, after failing to count every single tile on the floor of the terminal, but successfully evading another interogation regarding the tro-so, we were on the plane to Singapore. The brief flight landed at 8 PM local time, giving us about 4 1/2 hours to fill before boarding our third flight for the day. We soon found a few chores to occupy our time. First, we had to change terminals. I think we are the first and only customers of Singapore's international airport to actually choose the walk-way option between terminals 1 and 2. Eliciting more than a couple bewildered looks along our 500M luggage-cart romp, it was nice for us to just be outside in the fresh air for a few minutes.
We got to Terminal 2 and found our check-in line, only to discover that somehow in our research we missed the fact that US citizens need a visa to visit Australia. After failing to bluff through this mistake at the counter, we were fortunately able to whip up what I think they called an "E-Visa" (?) over the internet, courtesy of the help desk, to the tune of $50 AU, each. We then found our way to our favorite sandwich stand in the Singapore airport, managing to evade the decency police along the way with the tro-so, though at the gate Kerry had to sweet talk her way through security (again) after forgetting to stash her Swiss Army knife in her checked luggage. We boarded and took off by 1 AM.
Sometime around 11 AM local time, we arrived in Sydney, discovering our next screw-up for this laziest leg of our trip. I should say that while our time in Australia is limited to four days, and while, yes, it did seem like a no-brainer destination after the months that preceded it, we didn't really intend to blow-off any planning whatsoever. It just happened that way. Anyway, we landed in Syndey, retrieved Kerry's knife, got through immigration, and realized we had neither the address nor the name of the hostel we had booked the previous day. Working out this minor glitch over a Krispy Kreme, we got on the train to Darlinghurst, arrived at the place, and checked in, where we discovered a couple of things about these handy American Express gift cards that we had yet to try: 1) they cannot be used for hotels or similiar establishments, 2) they cannot be used for airfare, gas, or basically any other travel expense, 3) they cannot be used outside of the United States. I think that there was some other significant point that I've forgotten, but a list of four doesn't come across as well anyway [editor's note: an email from Alicia just reminded me of rule #4: the AMEX gift card cannot be exchanged for cash, either]. Too tired to waste any more time on this, I put the bill on my Mastercard, took a nap, woke up, and took a shower, after which I realized that I had locked us out of our room. Downstairs, onto the street, and down the block two doors to the office in a towel, where I explain what little there is to say to the poor guy who two hours earlier had negotiated our AMEX fiasco.
Things got a lot better after all this--I promise. To close-out the 48-hour marathon, we had our first (sweet, sweet beef) burgers in months, a sizable sampling of the local lagers, and a night of live rock music at a recommended club (thanks, Greta!) which did not disappoint. The final act, Black Cab, included a stream-of-conscious spoken-word improv by former Stones tour manager (and Altamont organizer) Sam Cutler, and closed with a cover of the Stooges' "Loose".
posted by tom on Monday, December 11, 2006
Beard Today, Gone....
Do I really need to write anything here?
posted by kerry on Sunday, December 3, 2006
Giving Thanks in Sapa
Kerry's poor toes notwithstanding, we took the overnight train on Tuesday from Hanoi to Lao Cai, at the Chinese border, arriving at around 6:30 AM to shoehorn ourselves into the back seat of a minibus and toke carbon monoxide for the next hour or so. When we finally got to the town of Sapa itself, I "tucked into" (sorry--if I never read that "Lonely Planet"-approved phrase again it won't be long enough) my first bacon-and-egg sandwich since Prague, and took a quick nap.
We spent the rest of the afternoon acclimatizing not so much to the slightly higher altitude as to the vigorous sales-person-ship of the locals, hawking a multitude of indigo-dyed fabrics, bracelets, and assorted souvenirs. Though our collective guilt registered high enough to end up with a few small items, my shopping instinct was as dull as ever. If only they were selling cold drinks, or something else that would really tempt me!
We did take a nice walk around a local village, accompanied by two amiable and tenacious women of the Red Dao tribe, who came armed with a number of items for purchase. Upon returning to the town a couple of hour later, we met a trio of sassy girls who would continue to reappear like magic pixies whenever we went out during the rest of our stay, complimenting Kerry and taunting me to shave my beard, eventually selling us something, though at this point I can't remember what.
The next day--Thanksgiving--we hired a guide to walk us through the roads and paths of a few nearby villages, one of which would house us for the night at the "homestay" that we had already arranged. We have really enjoyed these experiences on other parts of our trip, and were looking forward to staying with a family again. As it turned out, we would not be alone. I'm still not sure if any actual family lived here, but we were two of maybe ten guests that night, snuggled among an equal number of mattresses on the overhanging loft of a large barn-like building.
Upon sussing out the situation, Kerry tried to quietly ask our guide if there was anywhere in the village we could stay that had fewer guests. Overheard by another guide, she was offered to option of sleeping in the hills with the bamboo if she "didn't like people", which simmered for a moment into a slightly tense situation as we pondered our decision, surrounded by a gaggle of smiling local H'mong women, armed with bags of indigo-dyed items for our pleasure and purchase. We ultimately accepted the situation, left our bags, and went off with a Swiss companion to find some quiet down by the river.
Once at the waterside, we sat on some rocks and slowly found ourselves surrounded by one after another of smiling local H'mong women, armed with bags of indigo-dyed items for our pleasure and purchase.
As the sun set, we were back at the farm, seated around a table with our fellow guests, enjoying a surprisingly good meal cooked up by the guides, who then joined us at the table for a digistif of local rice wine, which appeared out of nowhere, disguised in Aquafina bottles. It being a holiday and all, Kerry and I could hardly refuse the hospitality--I don't know what excuse the others had. Despite the trepidation of one German guest who questioned the exact distillation process involved in the manufacture of the firewater--out of fear of waking up blind--one shot led to another, and before we could say "cam on", we were in the midst of a rousing drinking game which required us to sing a song and pass a shot, which would end up down the gullet of whoever was unlucky enough to be holding the glass when the song ended. I lost three or fours times, once even by my own hand, er, mouth--my own chosen song, "three blind mice".
The smart-ass guide who suggested Kerry sleep in the woods turned out to be alright after all, and we were surprised to find our own sweet and thoughtful guide to be the booze-guzzling party girl leading the fray. The game devolved into repeated attempts to get the teatotalling Vietnamese "lady boy" guide to take a shot, and we were mercifully let off the hook to find an untainted bottle of water and get to bed in anticipation of the 7AM wake-up call.
posted by tom on Sunday, November 26, 2006
Hanoi Socks
We shuttled back to Hanoi yesterday afternoon, having spent the last night and two days on a junk in scenic Ha Long bay, along with approximately 10,000 other tourists. Despite my cynicism--or rather, my skepticism going into it--our time there was tranquil and enjoyable, once we got off the dock.
While in the bay, our boat stopped to visit a couple of naturally formed and colorfully lit caves, including the one pictured to the right--named the "secret cave" by the French explorers who claim discovery of it, after the rather unique rock formation in this shot. Our guide told us that some people like to think of it as an index finger, while others see it as a gun. I'm sure you can use your imagination to know what the French folks had in mind when choosing a name.
Anyway, we got back from the bay via bus late in the afternoon, itching to be able to choose our own menu after six meals of pre-determined food of varying quality and freshness. It's not a big deal, but when each subsequent dish looks like an old friend in a new costume, it tends to dull the appetite.
We set off in search of a highly-recommended restaurant, which we decided against upon further inspection, as the rain began to fall. We made it into "Pepperoni's" for--yes--pizza, as the growing downpour shut off all other options for us. It was actually decent in a Pizza Hut kind of way, which is more than we've come to expect from even "best in town" European food options. Wait, did I just put pizza into the "European food" category?
I forgot to mention the other mitigating factor in beating a hasty retreat to my "small beefy" pie order: Kerry's toes. Kerry's toes have become a recurring source of trouble in the past week or so. First it was the left large toe, pummelled from a walking accident into a rich hue of burgundy. Two days of R&R on the "Santa Maria" (our junk, property of Columbus boat tours) did little to soften the damage here, and in such condition, she crumpled a couple of the middle foot-fingers on the her right foot in the midst of our restaurant search. I can empathize--my struggles with flip flops documented way back in Turkey--but I'm still at a loss to explain this newfound obstacle.
After attempting to wait out the storm, we finally accepted the fact that we couldn't hang out in Pepperoni's all night, and more beer might dull the toe woes, while only increasing the risk of more. We headed out into the continuing rain, and found our path back blocked by flooding. The waters filled the streets right up above the sidewalks, where shopkeepers were doing their best to sweep the water away. We took a detour, coming back around a short distance from the flooding, and came upon another stretch of water which we would have to cross through if we wanted to get home. Kerry was already in flip flops; I sloshed through in socks and shoes.
We made it back and got Kerry back upstairs with seven toes in fine shape. I grabbed the camera to go back out and get some pictures of the flooding. Miraculously, it had receded completely in the street we used, after only maybe 10-15 minutes. Drenched, I figured I might as well go back to the first trouble area, which at least yielded the few shots in this post. This morning we awoke to clear skies and a room reeking of swampy shoes.
We're heading up to Sapa tonight on the overnight train, ostensibly to do a bit of hiking. We'll see how the toes look at high altitude.
posted by tom on Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Hoi An
I confess that I was skeptical about Hoi An. A town renowned for custom-making new clothing and copies of your own favorite pieces usually in less than 24 hours, it's on every tour group's itinerary. I imagined it as a giant shopping strip, swarming with touts and tourists, lacking any true charm.
While I wasn't off the mark about the shopping mall atmosphere, touts, and tourists, I was wrong about the charm. There's loads of it--if you look past the gargantuan pink buses packed with Japanese, Korean, American, and Spanish tourists. And ignore every local woman, girl, boy, aunt, uncle, and grandparent trying to lure you into their family clothing shops. 
There are just so many gorgeous, distinctly Hoi An buildings, all reflective of the town's heritage as a significant international port. Chinese Assembly Halls and pagodas, bursting with color, wonderful shapes, and some flamboyant mosaics; pastel-painted merchants' homes, with dark timbered beams inside, hung with lanterns, above altars filled with offerings to the ancestors of their inhabitants. (Not enough time to upload more photos!)
Under the spell of all this grace and beauty, I somehow succumbed to the great shopping beast that is Hoi An. Why not make friends with my inner consumer? I found a bouncy yet responsible seeming young designer, from whom I ordered two dresses--one an iridescent green (similar in hue to the skirt of my wedding get-up) mini cocktail dress with black and white embroidery, the other a black shift with embroidery on the bottom above a white panel. They both have an elegant Asian look--I think I'm going for the Hey Don't I Look Like I'm in a Wong Kar Wai Film, but I'm a little afraid the end result might be more Margaret Cho than Maggie Cheung! Too much good eatin'. After buying one more skirt, and some mini goodies for the family and some friends, by the end of the day I was overloaded with stuff. Consume, consume, consume. Is this really the new face of communism?
Anyway, I'm ultimately pretty happy with my purchases. We shipped our orders home, via sea. We'll just have to wait and see if they actually arrive.
Okay, speaking of eating, we thoroughly enjoyed the culinary offerings of Hoi An. The most incredible spring rolls ever--both fresh and fried; fish (snapper or tuna) steamed in a banana leaf with garlic, lime, lemongrass, and shallots; and, my favorite, delectable fried wontons, with sliced mango, shrimp, pineapple, eggplant, peppers, along with some mysterious herbs and tubers. Yum.
Last, it was Tom's birthday, and not only did the fab Greenfield Hotel staff bring him flowers (love it), they also bought him a cake and sang to him. And: some fellow guests serenaded him again later on. Also, we drank too much.
PS: We overheard one of those fellow travelers muttering, "37? Damn, now that's old." Yes, indeed, it is.
Happy Bday, Old Codger.
posted by kerry on Thursday, November 16, 2006
Uncle Ho-Ville
Here we are, sharing a cyclo in Ho Chi Minh City, with Huong, our driver with the excellent smile--and, yes, I look positively insane. Tom definitely married me for my brains, no? Or maybe it was my long legs. Better yet, my money. In fact, I'm sure it was my money.
My beloved and I arrived in HCMC/Saigon last week after a fairly easy ride via minibus from Phnom Penh. I emphasize "fairly," as our seats were in the very back of the bus, and there were some seriously big bumps along the road, which resulted in some seriously rough riding, resulting in some serious nausea. But we are young, we are strong, and we have very firm behinds...
While we were very sad to leave Cambodia, we were equally excited about Vietnam, and continue to be.
Quick thoughts on Ho Chi Minh City: fast, frenzied, lots of smiles, but lots of, I think, healthy surl (I realize this isn't a word, but you know what I mean), too. A sea of motos and cyclos. Absolutely crazy traffic. Quite clean, and mostly litter-free. Beautiful people--men and women, young and old. How is it that every single Vietnamese woman seems elegant?
The girls and women in their ao dai, the national dress (a contoured, full-length dress worn over loose-fitting trousers), faces covered by a cloth mask embroidered with some sort of cutesy decoration, riding their bicycles around town, is a gorgeous and quintessentially Vietnamese sight.
Colorful, exuberant street scenes. Stalls of intestines, jars of pickled everything, live snakes, orchids, starfruit, jackfruit, you-name-it fruit, gorgeous wood carvings, the ubiquitous yellow star and Ho and Che tees, conical hats, spare moto parts. Moto and cyclo drivers everywhere. Very, very go-go-go. Very, very...capitalist! The South Vietnamese seem to be some of the most entrepreneurially inclined folks I've ever encountered. It's astounding.
What else? Fabulous-looking street food--by my standards, at least: Grilled buttery corn, sweet potatoes, savory and sweet custardy things which I have yet to try, glutinous sesame treats, and rice rolls. There's also of course things like duck embryos, which I like the idea of trying, but alas, I'm not as courageous as I'd like to be. Also: baguettes with Laughing Cow and a pate (of dubious origins?) everywhere. Oh, the pho is absolutely delicious--steaming noodle soup, usually with beef, wonderful with lime and basil heaped on it. And Tom and I have been partaking in the beautiful flaky, buttery goodness of the Viet-French croissant. Vive la colonialists!
After checking into our friendly and sparkling hotel, we just walked around the neighborhood (we were smack dab in the backpacker district this time), hung out and drank some beer. I'm finding it increasingly difficult distinguishing one Southeast Asian beer from the next--Beer lao? Tiger? 333? Who can tell the difference? PS: We have yet to try the bia hoy, or "fresh beer," that the locals drink. We promise to do it and report back. PPS: Ditto for the snake wine (usually found in a jar filled with about 17 snakes and a chicken). I'll leave that one to Tom.
The next day we went straight to the market, but we immediately left after it became clear that neither of us had the attention span required for shopping, nor the patience for the persistent "you buy" "you look my shop" and my personal favorite: "you beautiful, where you from?" Okay, only one person used that line, but I think she really meant it. :)
Then we headed over to the Reunification Palace, where, in 1975, Communist tanks roared through the gates and reclaimed this symbol of the South Vietnamese (and US-backed) government. Here, we were given a tour of the rather swanky digs and war-planning rooms. The 1960s-era architecture and decor are really quite striking and mod--sort of a Communist Jetsons. But on a more serious note, it was an interesting tour in other ways as well--we were shown the presidential receiving room, banquet area and gaming room, and the heliport on the roof. But I think the most fascinating segment of the tour was the gray, submarinelike basement, complete with telecommunications center and war rooms.
More to Come...
posted by kerry on Tuesday, November 14, 2006
Riding in Phnom Penh
Amid the heavy history we spent so much time reading and learning about during our time in Cambodia, I thought I would try to recall a few of our lighter moments. As usual, they are transportation-oriented.
Our second day in Phom Penh, we decided we would have a leisurely spell of bicycle riding to counter-balance what was to be a trip out to Choeung Ek--better known as the killing fields--an area located about 15 km outside of the city center where the Khmer Rouge took prisoners to be executed en masse.
We started out early, with what was probably my personal worst breakfast on the entire trip. Kerry had little patience for my pouting, but I'm going to tell you about it anyway. Close your eyes and imagine if you will, scrambled eggs--within which the entire salt container had fallen, a misstep corrected by diluting the entire concoction with a full bottle of vegetable oil. On the side, two warm, soft pieces of white bread that tasted as if they had been briefly dropped onto and/or waved over a burning ball of newspaper. Wash it down with a frozen-solid bottle of Coke.
I don't know--the description doesn't really do it justice. There are certainly worse breakfasts to be had, but something about this one stood out as particularly dismal. Let's just say it sucked. I realize I am operating at the peak of spoiled petulance here, especially in light of the subject matter at hand. What can I say? I'm a jerk.
After fueling up so, we headed around the corner to find bikes to rent. This particular area of town has lines of bicycles covering the sidewalks. Inexplicably, we still couldn't seem to find anyone to rent to us, until we determined that all of these bikes were just for sale. Asking around a bit more, we eventually located a willing proprietor, who brought us to another storefront, where a pair of dilapated one-speed two-wheelers were pulled out from under a stairwell. After a quick, confidence-instilling repair on the brakes of my selection, we were off.
Armed with a map and the general instructions of everyone around, we maneuvered through the city traffic--a mass of motos, cyclos, trucks and cars, accompanied by the occasional fellow cyclist secretly laughing at the absurdity of our presence there on bikes. Few people seem to even walk around, preferring to catch a ride on the back of a moto, and bicycles, well... Anyway, in the thick of traffic, we quickly realized that we weren't going to stay safely off to the right, out of the fray. As Kerry observed about crossing the street, you basically throw out everything you've ever been taught about dealing with traffic. Don't look both ways; don't look at all. Move out in whatever direction you're headed, and don't look back--the throngs will work around you. The only rule is to never stop moving. [editor's note: writing this from Ho Chi Minh City, our adjustment to PP traffic seems almost quaint. Here, you saunter--almost sashay--in slow-motion across eight lanes while motos part around you like you're Moses.]
The pavement turned to orange dust. The orange dust turned to dark red mud, and the mud turned into a pothole-ridden expanse of foot-deep water. At this point, we were riding in the middle of the road, my front tire jerkily staring down the bumpers of trucks, my wheels half-sunk in the flooding from the previous night's rain. At one particularly difficult point, Kerry lost her flipflop in the mud, and somehow managed to stop in mid-traffic to retrieve it. Meanwhile, I'm basically pushing schoolgirls off their bikes around me in order to maintain forward motion, since most of the water riding is happening while teetering on the brink of stop-motion.
Some time later, we stop at a major intersection. We had dutifully heeded instructions to follow this road "all the way", and now this road was over, with no apparent directions onward. With the help of some friendly folks, we realize we've overshot the turn (what turn?) by 1-5 kilometers, depending on who you believe. We wheel around and pedal on, stopping for water and another directions update, before making it about two-thirds of the way back to where we started, and turning right. While the rain has mostly dried up on this stretch, we're thoroughly throttled for another 7km, and arrive at the gates of Choeung Ek more ready for a nap than prepared to take in the gravity of this particular place. Fortunately, we have beef jerky.
The grounds--a former orchard--are a peaceful stretch of shady grassland bordered by rice paddies. It is a signficant distance from the activity of the city and the roads, and the serenity of the location belies its barbaric legacy. A small number of signs detail some of the locations where mass graves were discovered, and a Buddhist stupa near the entrance honors the memory of the countless victims massacred here. Some five thousand skulls are integrated into the center of the stupa itself, while found bones are grouped into bundles at various places outside. Off in the distance, outside of the dykes set-up to contain the area, farmers are wading through water, and working the rice fields.
posted by tom on Saturday, November 11, 2006
Cambodia, We Hardly Knew Ya...
...but still, we are smitten.
Yes, it sounds very dramatic, but I am a drama queen, and I ain't gonna hide it (at least right now!): From the moment we arrived in Phnom Penh, both Tom and I felt an immediate affection for this country and the people who live here.
Was it the graceful frangipani-lined streets of the capital, seen from our perch in our pedicab, beneath a clear starful night sky, that first drew us in?
Or maybe it was the exquisite carvings and mysterious temples of Angkor? My favorites: Ta Prohm and Banteay Srei. The former all gnarled roots and sinews wrapped around ancient moss-covered laterite, the jungle slowly yet very steadily overtaking the temple; the latter, irresistible for its well preserved and deep, intricate carvings of dancing lady deities and other formidable Hindu gods.
Or was it simply the day-to-day interactions we had with some of the good people of Phnom Penh, Sihanoukville, Battambang, and Siem Reap? (Don't get us wrong, there were of course some
bad apples, but for the most part, our experience of the Cambodian people was wholly positive.) 
More than likely, it was some blend of all of the above. Yes, we had some moments of exhilaration, but what comes to mind are the small scenes--riding on the back of a moto through the countryside, the only colors the rich greens of the rice paddies, pink water lilies, gentle blue sky; women crouched close to the ground, selling their wares--grilled bananas, dried fish, coconuts; watching Tom play hide and seek with Lei, a rambunctious 2 and 1/2 year old we befriended in Sihanoukville.
Whatever it was, we will always remember, with fondness, lovely Cambodia.
posted by kerry on Sunday, November 5, 2006
Water All Around, Never Learned How to Swim
As if this journal isn't already a quivering bundle of confessions, I'm coming clean right now and telling you that I've been sitting at a computer for a solid eight hours for each of the last three days, and yet haven't posted a damn thing to this site the whole time. It breaks my heart, and still I can't believe it. Is that a song, too?
We've spent the last week or so here in Sihanoukville, on the southern coast of Cambodia. It--and you!--deserve a good long post with all the details... but not now. Sorry. I'm going to finish this lovely brownie, courtesy of the Starfish Project, for whom I'm doing some website work at the moment, and then I'm going to dive back into database design. Maybe when Kerry returns from whatever beautiful place she has chosen to enjoy her first precious hours free of me since May in, she'll be able to bring you some more details. For now, I'm merely writing to say that we have a surprisingly fast connection here, so at least I've uploaded a bunch more photos. Enjoy!
posted by tom on Saturday, November 4, 2006
Lazy Man's Post
Some Fun Fast Facts for the List-Oriented!
*Tom's current beard-to-face ratio: about 85% to 15%
*Number of babies of good friends born during our trip: 2
*Number of weddings we missed thus far: 1
*Number of engagements announced: just 1
*Number of sunrises seen: about 7
*Number of temples visited at Angkor: about 11
*Number of times Kerry almost lost it upon seeing a disgusting sex pat exploiting what appeared to be a 13-year-old girl: 1
*Number of times Kerry almost lost it upon seeing a disgusting sex pat with what appeared to be a 16-year-old girl: about 47
*Number of times Kerry mentions to Tom on a daily basis how infuriated she is by the spate of sex pats in Southeast Asia: 276 or so
*Some search terms that directed folks to Kerryandtom.com:
"Kerry horse's ass pics"
"blow me up Tom.com"
"sneakershoes"
"Kerala escort girl"
"apricot pandowdy (?)"
"dance party Mt. Abu"
"cavedwellers of Cappadoccia"
"homemade analgesic balm."
*Some of our favorite peeps met while traveling, in no particular order:
1) The wonderful family we have been staying with in Sihanoukville--at VannyBar--Van, Ny, Sokha, Sre Neang, Sre Ni, and baby Lei
2) Karla, the American physicist/yoga scholar, whom we met on the train in Mumbai and hung out with in Mt. Abu
3) Tom and Fran, the German trekkers we met in Leh, India
4) Seth, my wonderful moto driver in Battambang, Cambodia
5) Kim and Meng, our moto drivers in Sihanoukville, Cambodia
6) Yanna, another German friend, also met in Leh, India
7) The wonderful and hilarious monk, whose name escapes me, met at a gompa in Diskit, India
8) The barefoot Canadian, whom we met on the overnight train to Istanbul
9) The two Ladakhi families who put us up during our trek 
10) Louise, the lovely British do-gooder, whom we met and safari'd with in Kumily, India
11) Christian, our excellent guide and friend in Guru Humor, Romania
12) Savan, our Cambodian friend met in Siem Reap
13) Erica, Sophia, and Sarann (1 Swede and 2 Cambodians), lovely, lovely people employed at the Starfish Foundation
*Some of my least favorite people encountered while traveling:
1) Sex pats in Southeast Asia!
2) Overly aggressive and mean touts in Rajastan, India!
3) Competitive travelers!
4) Dirty old men!
5) Oh, Have I mentioned sex pats??
6) Anti-Americans. This is sort of serious, sort of a joke--because, frankly, there are lots and lots and lots and lots of anti-Americans out there. At least anti-American government. Almost everyone we meet is deeply troubled by what they see as the arrogance, naivete, greed, shortsightedness...etc...etc.. and general policies of our current administration (and justly so, I do believe). I cannot blame them at all for this. That said, of course, we are grateful for all the fabulous people we've met, fellow travelers and natives to the countries we've visited, who don't judge an entire people based on the doings of our government. (Even if we did elect this guy a SECOND TIME.) But I can make no excuses for the American sex pat. Or the British, Aussie, German, etc. sex pat. Okay, you get it. I HATE SEX PATS!
*Number of friends and family members I probably have pissed off because of #6 in the last category: about 11
*Some of our favorite performances seen while traveling:
1) The avant-garde music of some of the righteous former members of the Plastic People of the Universe, Prague, Czech Republic
2) The heartbreaking and hilarious and dramatic Kathakali, in Kerala, India
3) The Cambodian wedding music performed by street performers in Siem Reap, composed of landmine survivors
4) Romanian music videos--all of them!
5) The traditional dancing and singing of the kids of our homestay family in Ladakh--Padma and her brothers
6) The hip-hop dancing and singing of the kids of our homestay family in Ladakh--Padma and same brothers
*UNESCO World Heritage sites we have visited during this trip:
(there will be a bunch more in future...)
1) Bosnia and Herzegovina:
Old Bridge Area of the Old City of Mostar
2) Cambodia: Temples of Angkor
3) Croatia: Historical Complex of Split with the Palace of Diocletian
4) Croatia: Old City of Dubrovnik
5) Czech Republic: Historic Centre of Ceský Krumlov
6) Czech Republic: Historic Centre of Prague
7) Czech Repubic: Kutna Hora: Historical Town Centre with the Church of St Barbara and the Cathedral of Our Lady at Sedlec 
8) India: Taj Mahal
9) India: Agra Fort
10) India: Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus
11) Romania: Churches of Moldavia
12) Romania: Historic Center of Sighisoara
13) Romania: Villages of Fortified Churches
14) Turkey: Cappadoccia
15) Turkey: Historic Center of Istanbul
16) United Kingdom: New Lanark
17) United Kingdom: Westminster Abbey, etc
18) United Kingdom: Edinburgh--old and new town
More stats are sure to come when I have another lazy, unimaginative day...
posted by kerry on Wednesday, November 1, 2006
The Big Turnaround
After realizing that getting our Vietnam visas would require our staying in Bangkok at least a few more days, we decided against the northern route of Thailand/Laos/Veitnam, and opted for a cheap flight into Cambodia, initiating a counter-clockwise SE Asia path instead. Sorry, Buddhists, for this potential sacrilege.
With the brand new plan in mind, we packed up--burying my newly-purchased bootleg Laos guide book for another month--had a farewell pint of good beer at the Pickled Liver, paid our bill, and went to bed for a short nap. The next day started off something like this:
4:00--wake up, more-or-less,
4:30--get mildly shafted by our guest house's "estimated" cab fare voucher, paying the maximum "estimate" for a ride that turned out--at 90 mph--to take very little time so early in the morning,
4:50--arrive at the fancy new Bangkok International airport, as suggested, to buy our ticket for the day's flight,
5:00--sigh as ticket counter doesn't open on schedule,
5:25--realize getting in "the" line early has somehow penalized our position in the myriad of lines now developing,
5:50--overhear and deeply invest ourselves in an argument between the ticket seller and the poor guy in line in front of us, over how last night's ticket price quote has suddenly increased by 60%,
5:59--realize he's going to Burma, not Cambodia--oops,
6:00--get blatently skipped over for the next woman in line by the ticket seller who is now pissed at us,
6:10--finally buy ticket,
6:20--check in,
6:30--do security,
6:40--swallow sandwich whole,
6:50 board shuttle bus,
7:00--take-off.
By the time we finally arrived in Phnom Penh a short hour or so later, Thailand seemed like merely the previous night's strange and slightly disturbing Freudian dream involving too many middle-aged sex-pats. For Kerry, it remains so, as far as I can tell.
You'll have to look up "sex-pat" on your own. I'm sure it will provide a rewarding ride through Google.
As it turns out, the Vietnam visas do indeed come more easily in Phnom Penh. Same day service is even available, if you're willing to pay... generally, we're not. Likewise we went down to the embassy itself in order to avoid the service charge we assumed was added onto our guest house's visa acquisition offer. Once there, we found ourselves haggling with the security guard--yes, haggling--for a lower (that is to say "fair", or "published") price on the visas, finally abandoning the direct approach and letting the guest house do the leg work for us.
Funny--we didn't even have to fill out the application. Just give them a photo, and of course, the cash.
posted by tom on Friday, October 27, 2006
Suan Lum Bazaar
Okay, one of my most fave nights of the trip thus far was spent in Bangkok, with Lynn and Chris. Surely, their presence had a helluva lot to do with it--yay, friends!--but it was also just fun.
After exploring the enormous reclining Buddha and glittery temples of Wat Pho, we boarded a ferry down the Chao Phraya River. 
We disembarked at the posh Orient Hotel, where we tried--unsuccessfully--to have a drink at their legendary bar. Reasons for lack of success? Not only were some of us carrying backpacks (explicitly not allowed) but we were also all backpackers (even more explicitly not allowed) and three of us were wearing flip-flops (um, duh). Also, one of us looked like this:
Seriously, would you let this guy into your bar, or even your living room for that matter?
So, humbled and mildly embarrassed, yet outraged and emboldened too, we headed off to the Banyan Tree Hotel, which has an open-air bar on the roof deck. The bar, appropriately named Vertigo, sits about 60 stories high, and therefore has amazing views of this sultry and stylish city. While it's debatable whether or not our foursome was sultry that evening (we were certainly glistening with perspiration...), I don't think anyone of us would claim to have been at our most stylish. 
I'm sure it's no surprise to any of you that this place has a dress code. While their rules don't explicitly forbid the lowly backpack or backpacker, they do object to the poor little flip-flop. But, thankfully, the staff came to our rescue. Tom, Chris, and I were all given some snazzy dress shoes to wear inside their swank premises. Snazzy men's shoes. Yep, me, too. About a size 10 men's shoe to be precise. Oh, and they were white. Really, really white. This idea didn't so much offend as entertain us--the same can't be said of the, um, careful way they treated our precious flip-flops. They used what appeared to be very long tongs to handle those steaming suckers--I'm not sure, but I think the woman may have put on a surgical mask and gloves too. Okay, that last part wasn't true, but you get what I mean.
Anyway, here's a pic of our fahn-cy feet! Tom and Chris actually pulled off the look. Me? Not so much.
But no matter--the drinks were flowing and delicious (okay, not Lynn's, which she said tasted vaguely of dishwater), and the views were stunning. We were especially intrigued by the ferris wheel below.
So, off we went, at around ten at night, following the lights of the ferris wheel, which brought us to the Suan Lum Night Bazaar, a huge outdoor shopping mecca, overflowing with hundreds of stalls hawking pillowcases and silk bedcovers, wooden mobiles and windchimes, wacky and weird toilet paper dispensers, cool T-shirts, knick-knacks, and all sorts of clothing from cheap knock-offs to some adorable cutting-edge ware from Bangkok's youngest designers.
But at first we skipped all that and hit the ferris wheel--Yay! 
After that, we stumbled on a flume--of course, we had to hit that too--see pic from Tom's post "One Night in Bangkok".
After that we started to head home, when I found myself in front of what is probably the cutest dress boutique in the bazaar, or all of Thailand. Vintage 60s dresses from Singapore, lots of fun gingham, polka dot blouses with Peter Pan collars--and, weirdly, they all fit me. This never happens. Okay, so maybe they were a bit tight in the boob region, but close enough. But the best part of this is that were so startlingly cheap. All were less than 20 bucks. These are dresses the likes of which I'd pay between $75 and $200 for in NYC. This place was truly a find. I feel like this designer/storeowner is my sartorial soulmate--if only I were Asian, thinner, artsy, and could sew. Anyway, I bought two dresses and one blouse, and I will definitely be heading back there when we fly out from Bangkok.
All in all--a fun night.
posted by kerry on Tuesday, October 24, 2006
One Night in Bangkok...
...and my digestive tract had already forgiven me for six weeks in India. I don't know if it was the Thai food, the Guinness on tap, or the Cipro, but things felt different immediately. Bolstered by this newfound freedom, we spent a few days in the cosmopolitan urbania of Bangkok, exploring an intricate web of interconnected caves not unlike the underground cities of Cappadoccia, though built thousands of years later and filled by room after room of retail goods. Fascinating--you could get lost in these places for days. We traversed countless city blocks without ever coming out for fresh air, if only to stay out of the afternoon thunderstorms.
Our transition to Thailand from India--thoroughly buffered by a layover in the Singapore airport/mall/multiplex-cinema--marked such a distinct change that I can't even think clearly enough about India anymore to write the "closing arguments" post that I thought would somehow sum-up our time there. Maybe it will come back to me in a dream, or maybe I'll pay someone baksheesh and the post will miraculously appear on our website. In the meantime, our three weeks in Thailand have already come and gone, so hopefully this post will bring us up to date at least.
Better described by Kerry in her last post, Lynn and Chris (last names omitted to protect the innocent) showed up in Thailand a day after we arrived, fresh out of Vietnam and bearing gifts of beef jerky. They were gracious enough to let us basically tag along on their itinerary for a whirlwind week of kayaking, snorkelling, and a near-comic succession of dubious bus, ferry, and train rides. After a last game of "Oh Shit" in Chumphon (see Chris for proper pronunciation), Kerry and I boarded the third-class train to Hua Hin, unsuccessfully avoiding the local faux-pas of stepping over the sleeping bodies strewn across the floor of our designated car, and leaving our companions to wait on the platform for their four-hour delayed "special express train".
Our sleepless ride and 4 AM arrival could not have provided a better opening to our five-day stay in Hua Hin--courtesy of the Acker siblings. Considering my state at the time, I can't be sure, but I think the driver who picked us up at the train station was actually wearing a tuxedo. We managed to stay awake for the 30-minute ride to the Evason, where we were greeted with a cool drink and allowed to check-in obscenely early, receiving a smooth and silent electrical-buggy escort to our pool villa.
Waking a few short hours later, we groggily headed for the complimentary breakfast, which offered a bewildering array of foods from around the globe. I skipped the sushi and went straight for the bacon, pausing only long enough to change tables after a German couple unhappily informed us that we were in their seats. We established a plan to gorge ourselves enough each morning to be able to skip lunch. Other than that, for the next five days, we did nothing.
Ok, well, we did go into the town of Hua Hin for provisions, and made good use of our private "plunge" pool, as I think Kerry called it. Mostly, I was hoping that this break would provide us with some time to catch up on things like reading, writing, sudoku, and playing the guitar, most of which were accomplished. We also caught up on some movie watching, since our "butler" (a woman named "Amp"--nice) was on-call with a wide selection of DVDs at all hours. We somehow still managed to rent a couple of clunkers. Thanks again to all the Acker syndicate for making this happen!
Spoiled and well-rested, we boarded the 12-person shuttle plane back to Bangkok on Friday, where we spent the weekend before changing our plans 180 degrees and heading off for Phnom Penh, Cambodia.
posted by tom on Tuesday, October 24, 2006
Tom Forgot the Fishes!
How can we have done such a thing? We saw some gorgeous and crazy-butt colorful fishes when we went snorkeling with Lynn and Chris in Ko-Tao, in southern Thailand. 
This pic here shows some of them--okay, so angel fish (aren't they angel fish?) aren't so crazy-butt, but we don't have an underwater camera so this is the best we can do, so quit yer complainin' why don't ya. But seriously, aren't they purdy?
We loved snorkeling in lovely Ko-Tao. We did so in four different bays by the island, and each seemed to yield new and exciting underwater goodies. We even saw some LIVING coral (I emphasize this because the living ones were so brilliant it just made me so sad about the the dead ones). These beautiful purple, lemon, orange, and red guys were winking away at us when we got close. Poor little dickens...I wish there were more of you. I really do. :( I also wish we had a photo, but we don't. So instead, enjoy these. Isn't the white-backgrounded one fahn-cy?
PS--about Tom's animal post below, regarding the camels: I can't even begin to describe the wretchedness of my camel's breath. It was shocking. it was appalling. Someone should package that stuff and sell it for use in warfare.
PPS--regarding the elephants: I made the mistake of riding an elephant wearing a skirt. Well, the elephant wasn't wearing the skirt, I was. Anyway, all I can say is never, ever do it. It hurts, and my skirt smelled for weeks. Then again, if it were the elephant wearing the skirt, I can't imagine you'd experience any serious repercussions. Unless you have something against cross-dressing elephants, of course.
posted by kerry on Monday, October 16, 2006
Speaking of Lynn and Chris...
We just loved hanging out with them. We spent about 10 days with Ms. L and Sir C, and they were fun, chill, and understanding of our heightened sense of, um, economy. Also, they are gamers--so we got to enjoy a lot of cards, pool, darts, and even miniature golf. This is great, because Tom and I don't play that many games, as we are both Very. Sore. Losers. But really, thanks to them, our sense of gamesmanship (is that a word?) is back!
Anyway, that mini golf course on Ko Tao is one of the most difficult courses ever. Seriously! I'm talking hard. Granted, I haven't played the game in about 13 years, but I swear I know what I'm talking about. Okay, perhaps it's just one of the most difficult courses in Thailand. At least Ko-Tao...
Well, whatever. We also did some kayaking with L&C, around Krabi, to a place I believe is called Hong Island--right Lynn? This was great fun--lots of monkeys and whatnot. We spent a lot of time trying to take just the right photo and video for my monkey-loving brother, Chuck. Monkey shots to come...
We also braved a torrent of rain that day, even wading through some waist-high waters to see some caves. Though there were no leeches (weirdly, I do still have scars from my leech bites in India--what gives?), Chris did survive a near bat attack.
posted by kerry on Monday, October 16, 2006
Those Amazing Animals
I'm told that at least a few dear readers have been coming back to the site for more photos of livestock on a regular basis, so I figured I could tie together some loose threads under this heading. Everybody loves animals. First off:
Fleece:
This is an animal, right? Sorry for any pain or confusion I've instigated. I'm not going to mention the fleece again.
Camels:
Besides the thrill of thinking we might be able to see K-2 or China off in the distance, one of the major attractions of Northern India's Nubra Valley (for us) was to see the Bactrian camels, a double-humped species that can only be found in central Asia. Taking the high road through the snowy pass of Kardung-la with two new acquaintances, we were lucky enough to show up in the valley on the last day of the Ladakh festival, an occasion apparently celebrated with the the offer of a free camel ride. A free ten minute ride. We were hoping for a slightly longer trip across a small portion of desert in order to bring us to the next village, but the camels were tired, we were told. So, we accepted the ten minute free ride (all of us except for one travelling companion, for whom it was one hour or nothing!), and arranged to take a more substantial trip in the morning.
More or less on time the next day, we showed up at the camel depot, where I became reacquinted with my sweetheart from the previous afternoon, as did Kerry with her foul-breathed beast. After a brief moment of confusion when it seemed we might be sent off on our own into uncharted territory without a guide, we moved away at a mercifully slow pace, for a destination just short of the village of Diskit. Responding to a number of requests to gallop, go faster, or just do something different, our guide finally agreed to lead the small group into a brief trot, which he stopped almost immediately in reaction to the level of excitement and possibly panic coming from our three female riders. A pillar of masculinity, I suffered irreparable damage to my reproductive potential in stoic silence. Some fifty minutes later, I limped off poor Matilda with both legs in some strange state of suspended animation, took a couple parting shots of our caravan, and headed by jeep the remainder of the way to Diskit for yet another bowl of Maggi (read: Ramen) noodles.
Yaks:
I wish I had something more substantial to say about Yaks--doesn't everybody?--but a photo of Kerry with one of these furry friends is about all I can offer. I was going to try to make a story out of a brief comic encounter I had with one domesticated example I met who had got his head stuck in a bucket, but he turned out to be a Zo (sp?)--half cow/half yak--and a such doesn't warrant the effort. Note from Kerry: Lisa, this pic was taken expressly for you! See? Look at the yaks! I met a yak!
Elephants:
I'm not sure who was more excited about seeing elephants, Kerry or Sam Guerrero, co-star of our Romania and Turkey visits. While none of these majestic and near-blind mammoths were forthcoming in either of those countries, we told Sam that we would definitely be seeing elephants in India, and promised to send him a picture.
After sidestepping our first couple of opportunities in the state of Rajasthan, mostly for fear of the associated full-day rug shopping trip that might automatically accompany any offer for a brief elephant ride, we were excited and determined to see the jumbos in the wild once we got to the southern state of Kerala. Arriving at the Periyar Wildlife Reserve in Thekkady/Kumily, we were sure the full-day jeep safari would do the trick.
We awoke around 5 AM, got in a jeep with a few companions, and headed out for the "buffer zone", a less-well-trod area of the park that seemed a good bet for finding wildlife... and did we ever.
After a complimentary breakfast, we geared up in ponchos (it was raining, naturally), umbrellas, and large sacks tied around our long pants and inside our shoes, imaginatively named "socks". Our guide, clad in flipflops and shorts and carrying a large bag of salt, asked us our preference--jungle or grass walk. We opted for "jungle" and immediately were treated to the one form of wildlife we would encounter for most of the eight hour day: leeches.
I'm pretty sure the guide emptied that entire bag of salt on our shoes in the next four hours. I do have some photos which I won't post. Anyway, we returned to the main sight for lunch, peeled off our wet, muddy outer clothing, and prepared for "paddle boating", which sounded dubious on it's face, and certainly didn't seem to promise any elephants. Sensing our disappointment, our driver packed us into the jeep and literally drove right off the road into the jungle, running down palms, tropical shrubbery and underbrush with glee. A half hour later, nearly stranded at the top of a hill, he conceded defeat. The elephants had continued to elude us, though the ride was fun.
The next day brought clear skies and sunshine, so we decided to stay an extra day and take the leisurely tourist boat around the lake in the more well-trod area of the reserve. Being the weekend , the dock, parking lot, ticket area, and boats were all swarming with Indian tourists on day trips. The animals must have known it was Saturday, too, since they were out in numbers we'd only dreamed of the previous day. Where had they been hiding?
About five minutes in, the elephants sauntered out from around a corner--some walking, some drinking, a foursome menacing a pair of Hyenas at work on a carcass, and another away from the crowd with a young one. We also thought we spoted a veritable day-care center of elephant babies off to the side, but upon closer inspection they turned out to be boars.
We got our next elephant fix a few days later, outside of the city of Kochi. Here we actually took the ride pictured above, and got to feed and wash a few young-uns for a bit. It's been said before and I'll say it again: there's nothing quite like sticking your hand into the warm and squishy orifice of an elephant's mouth.
Monkeys:
Not to keep bringing everything back to my beard (another animal, for another post, I suppose), but lately it has been contributing to my continued association with some of our relatives in the animal kingdom. Our Thai kayak guide repeatedly referred to me as a "big monkey", which seemed like a strangely familiar joke, and Kerry has already pointed out that her affection for the beard has it's closest parallel with her feelings for the Acker family dog who, though Airedale, possesses a cunning and intelligence that is strongly reminiscent of primates. Speaking of the Ackers, Chuck will be jealous to know that we have spent much quality time with monkeys during our time in India, a trend we've continued in Thailand, where the monkeys have quite literally been eating out of our hands. I'm sorry to say that I don't have any photos of this, though the picture here presents a nice encounter between man and little-man that I captured on the same trip.
posted by tom on Monday, October 9, 2006
Fofokat
I was saving this photo for a different post, but a far more appropriate opportunity has recently been brought to my attention. I'm talking about this:
FOKAT
I don't know what to say. After one week, they already have more posts than we've managed over our entire trip. I'm touched, humbled, ashamed, and confused.
posted by tom on Monday, October 9, 2006
The Jews of Kochi
The above sidebar quote from our guide book has nothing to do with this post--I just thought it was a good title for a short story and wanted to use it as soon as possible, story be damned. We're in Kochi on the south-western coast of India, toward the tail end of our stay in the state of Kerala, and we've finally found a high-speed internet connection, so I'm uploading as many pictures as I can stand while it's raining. Enjoy!
posted by tom on Monday, September 25, 2006
Tom Finally Breaks Down and Buys a Fleece
I was kidding when I originally mentioned this entry, but now that the fleece story has come full-circle, it seemed like a good time to tell the whole boring thing.
There was no question when we were packing for this trip that heavy clothes were off the list. As it looked from afar, we would be in summer for all seven months--rainy perhaps, but still summer. As if I needed further convincing, nothing substantially warm was going to fit in my backpack, anyway.
While my space allowance hadn't changed, upon arriving in Leh we found ourselves reconsidering warm clothes. It seemed simple enough. There are maybe 1,000 shops in this town of 20,000 people that would have me buy a pashmina shawl; there had to be a number of more fitted options immediately available to keep out the cold as well. Hurrying along the brisk, sometimes wet streets as fast as the thin air would allow, I found myself casually eyeing coats, sweaters, and the like, sizing up the local fare. I figured I could find some sort of "cool", warm, interesting yet tastefully subdued, locally-made item that could serve as a jacket for me, without requiring the purchase of a matching digeridoo or the offical adoption of new religion. After tracking back and forth through the streets over two or three days, the reality of the options--and the cold--set in. I hesistantly walked away from some sort of cross between a sport jacket and a Chinese pea-coat with too-short sleeves, tried on but ultimately rejected a number of Tibetan-looking vest-things, and finally arrived at the dreaded fleece.
As some of you may know, I have an irrational aversion to fleece clothing. I won't try to explain it, just please don't buy me one as a gift. Especially because now I have... another. I didn't want to do it, but this is what it has come to. As some sort of pathetic attempt to distance myself from accepting it, I made it my mission to find the least fashionable fleece item I could, even if it meant a pullover, which I also tend to shy away from. Somewhere along the way, Kerry got on the fleece-wagon, too...
At this point, Kerry wants to make it clear that she is most certainly not on the fleece brigade, pointing out that our shared repulsion is one of the stronger ligaments of our relationship...
I don't know if she had her own demented anti-fashion head-game worked out too, but she did give me a run for my money. If we ever get a chance to post photos again without taking out the internet bandwidth of an entire block, perhaps you'll see our selections. Mine is an unlikely fecal color with patches of swamp green corduroy on the sleeves and back. Yes, it's a pullover. Kerry's is like a cross between a washed-out Mrs. Claus outfit and a giant Papaya suit from a Fruit of the Loom commercial. At least she wouldn't be mistaken for a yak once hunting season started, if yak were hunted.
We made a striking pair.
Outfitted as such, we struck out on our first trek in the mountain/desert landscape of Ladakh. We arranged to stay in families' homes along the way, and set off early one morning to start our hike with a visit to the Likkir monestary. Hours later, somehow off the beaten path, we found ourselves out of peanut cookies, short on beef jerky, and considering the possible outcomes of jettisoning our packs and carrying one another the remainder of the way to the first village. Fortunately, one final mirage turned into the town of Yangthang (take a bow, Jonathan), high on a plateau in the distance. After taking a break in the cowdung-filled shade, we climbed the last steep slope to town, and settled down, exhausted. Kerry still had residual altitude sickness to combat, while I still had the residual of a lifetime without aerobic exercise.
Before we could locate the family for our homestay, their ten-year old girl located us, and brought us (perhaps a bit quickly) over to the field where they were harvesting barley, for a cup or three of tea, followed by the same of Ladakhi (salty, buttered) tea. After this brief break, we followed Padma to her house, where we were presented with a very nice room of our own, and a much needed snack of tea and chapatti.
Prior to dinner, we were treated to a dance party involving all three children (...and us), a spirited card game, and more tea. I should point out that for the entire time in Ladakh, I was completely ravenous and eating like a Viking. Well, a vegetarian Viking, but still, consuming gluttonous amounts at each meal. This most appreciated (and delicious) meal was no different. We fell asleep very shortly thereafter.
In the morning we shared breakfast, took some photos, and got on the path to Hemis Shukpachan. On this day, we were obviously back on the proper trail, as it was peopled by a variety of other hikers--unlike the previous day's complete solitude. Part-way through the journey, we came across Tom and Fran, whom we had originally planned a longer trek with, before Kerry fell ill. Their route had been redirected across ours, as 1.5 meters of snow along the way had made their original path too treacherous. We had a good laugh over it and parted ways, as they were now headed where we started. Without too much fuss, we found our way to the next village and had a comparatively leisurely afternoon, picking apricots with the family's daughter, while learning to count in Ladakhi. Dinner once again yielded copious amounts of carbohydrates, and sleep soon followed.
The hike for the third day brought us to the village of Ang, for our last night's stay. We spent much of the rest of the day trying to make the baby laugh or say something other than (inexplicably) "da-da". With the meal here we shared our first cup(s) of ch'ang, a local "barley juice"--"not liquor!" as was insisted by the entertaining and good-natured ex-career soldier who housed us. Needless to say, sweet sleep soon followed the meal, yet again.
On the following morning, we hopped the bus back to Leh. I didn't wear the fleece once on the entire trek.
Our stay in Ladakh also included a trip up to the awe-inspiring Nubra Valley--including some fleece-wearing along the alleged highest motorable road (~18,500 feet) in the world--but this post is getting long and boring, so I'll skip right to the epilogue: The fleece's current resting place is in a closet of the Trident Hilton in Gurgaon, outside of Delhi, where my parents' generosity and collected Hilton points afforded us a two day stay of bewildering luxury. I'm just glad we got out of there without being arrested as imposters. Farewell, green fleece.
posted by tom on Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Ladakhi Barber
To make up for the sparse and brief recent posts, here's a good, long one:
On Wednesday, we flew from Delhi to Leh, home of the highest airport in the world (3505m). To the right is the view out our window, when it's clear. This region receives about four inches of rainfall per yer, and I'm pretty sure we got all of that in the last two days. Apparently, this has been India's rainiest monsoon season in years. There was flooding in the desert. Everywhere we go, people are marvelling--or moaning--over the rains. With any luck, we'll complete our visit here in the north before the snow starts, blocking off all routes of transportation out.
Books, signs, pamphlets, and people have all advised us to drink lots of water and to not exert ourselves for the first two or three days here, in order to adjust to the altitude. This enforced downtime, along with the weather, has given us time to contemplate finding some warmer clothes (see later chapter, "Tom finally breaks down and buys a fleece"). On top of that, we've both had some special experiences to fill our days. I'll leave it to Kerry to describe hers, but I will say that it involves rats, and rhymes with "hospital".
I think I came out with the better part of the deal. At the risk of alienating myself further from the predominantly Buddhist-hippy tourist culture here, I had decided it was time to get a haircut. We located what seemed to be the only place in town, which offered an unbeatable deal; only my home-cuts get cheaper. References--and whiskey--available on request.
Easing into the barber chair, I figured that no matter what I ended up looking like (there are some questionable options to be seen locally), my hair would have time to grow out before I let Kerry take another picture of me. I had more concern for the fate of my beard, for the sake of both Kerry and her brother Chuck, who both have grown unreasonably fond of it. Judging by the finely detailed facial hair of my razorsmith, I figured I might be returning to clean-shaving sooner than intended.
With some assistance from an English-speaking Ladakhi, we established a rough idea of the coif I was hoping for, and in a flash of mist, we were off. The cut proceeded as a normal scissors cut does, but it really got interesting when our man became concerned at the condition of my scalp. Blame it on psoriasis, dry air, foreign water, or whatever, the guy wasn't going to let me out of there without addressing the dandruff. He lay into the side of my head like a machine, rapidly scraping back and forth above my ears with a sharp comb as an unrelenting torrent of white cascaded to my bib. "Problem", he said more than once, in case I didn't understand.
Realizing that this tantalizing exercise was ultimately futile, he upped the ante with one, two, three, four... I lost count at the number of products used. Most involved smearing a healthy portion of a lard-lookalike into my hair, and vigorously lathering until a meringue set up. Then, back to the comb, and repeat with the next aromatic goo. This preparation gave way to the most intense head/neck/shoulder massage I've ever witnessed, let alone received. Kerry's photos of this man--eyes wild, leaning into my head as if trying to push it right off my shoulders with all his might--hardly do the experience justice.
I think he was waiting for me to surrender by releasing the tension in my jaw--my only instinctive attempt at resistance. Once I let go, the ride stopped. To finish, my head and face were dried with a towel smelling of motor oil, and I climbed off the chair, dazed but strangely satisfied. The whole event, including a hard part and a glistening beard, cost 150 rupees (about $3)--I didn't bother to haggle.
posted by tom on Sunday, September 3, 2006
Playing Catchup
Hi. So, yes, it's been about a month since I last posted, but I will spare you the long (and, surely, fascinating) list of reasons why I/we haven't done so, and instead will give you a brief, albeit entirely superficial, rundown of some highlights since we last communicated. Let's see. Where were we? I think it was...Turkey?
Oh yes. Cappodocia. Ahhh...Cappodocia. Cappodocia just may be one of the few things in this world that is deserving of the adjective "enchanting." Well, Cappadocia and young Natalie Wood. Oh, and of course, Bjork, and Nick Drake. And, yes! "Singin' in the Rain" (the film, not the song)--you can't possibly leave out "Singin' in the Rain." And, my red shoes. They are indeed enchanting. :)
But seriously, Cappadocia, with its underground villages (troglodytic living!), rock-cut churches, and so-called faery chimneys is pretty crazy. Pretty lunarlike. Pretty bizarre. Pretty superlative (pretty superlative?). Tom and I explored the area on scooter (getting wonderfully lost, I might add), tooling around Goreme, Urgup, and venturing underground into Kamakli, where we had an excellent 80-something year-old guide, who was filled with vim, vigor and spicy info about the inhabitants of these ancient cities. Okay, so I don't have time to go into the details, plus I forget most of the spicy info, but you just have to trust me on this one. Just one small note: I was relieved to learn that these cave dwellers--the Hittites--didn't live underground for centuries at a time (no sun? no vitamin D? Why didn't these people develop hunchbacks?), but during periods when they were under attack. Phew. Anyway, these were some seriously smart troglodytes. Here, for your viewing pleasure, are some Cappadocia pics: 
In Cap-land, we met up again with Bridget and Sam, our lovely guides in parts of Romania who became our lovely guides in parts of Turkey. With Bridget the Brave and Sam the Intrepid we hiked through the beautiful Ilhara Valley, where we followed a route alongside a gently meandering river, encountering some more mysterious and fascinating churches sculpted into the rock by persecuted Christians. The art inside the churches ranged from rudimentary and, well, really, pretty graceless to strikingly elaborate and intricate. Cappodocia held alot more fun stuff, but I've got no time to go into it, but there you have it. Oh, one other thing--Turkish men just looooved them some Tom. Just loved him. Is it the beard? They were also baffled by the existence of the pen he always kept tucked behind his left ear. This just completely confused them.
After we spent a couple of relaxing and easy days in Ankara--thanks largely to the generosity of Bridget, Sam, and Dan--Tom and I bussed it back to Istanbul (my second favorite city now--bumping down Barcelona and just following NYC). This city has seriously gotten under my skin. I don't want to go and on about why, so instead I will just put this out there: Anyone who wants to return sometime next year--for an eating and shopping and chilling trip--should definitely let me know. Everyone is invited. I'm totally serious.
Okay, so after Istanbul, we flew to London, right in the middle of the heightened terrorist alert--but we had absolutely no hassles at Heathrow. After tracking down a large cardboard box from a kind and accommodating music shop--Tom desperately needed one to keep safe his beloved guitar for our next flight to Mumbai--we chowed down on some burgers and chips and guzzled some tasty pints. Then we retired to the Best Western, our new favorite place (they are everywhere! they are cozy!)--courtesy of Lynn and Chris. We even managed to smuggle out some croissants from the free breakfast, which is always a good thing. Note to Best Western: Just kidding!
Which leads me to our flight to Mumbai the next day. We flew Virgin, now my new favorite airline. Okay, it didn't hurt that the plane was almost completely empty and we not only could chat with the kind and warm staff about places to visit in India but we could sprawl out just about anywhere on the plane. The entertainment options on our personal screens, too, were great: For TV options, we had Arrested Development, the Office, and some cheeky British comedies whose titles I forget. For movie options, we had Thank You for Not Smoking and a cute teen comedy....whose title I forget (she says ashamedly). And the food was pretty extraordinary for a flight. All this to say, after all the security concerns and fears about flying from one high-terror alert to another (Bombay, too, was on high alert), our journey was easy and cozy.
Next up: India.
posted by kerry on Sunday, September 3, 2006
Not So Fast
I take it back. The monsoon ain't over yet. Here is a typical day of ours in Mount Abu, a mountain town retreat supposedly above the fray of flooding and landslides.
Our trip up the mountain, once we passed through the ever-present bumper car game of cows, bikes, buses, rickshaws, and pedestrians in the town, was a harrowing scene of tumbled rocks and "very fast water", with only once pee break for Kerry, right after the monkeys heralded our arrival into the upper hills.
Two or three days later, once it was clear that the roads heading west were going to be of no use to us, we retreated to the northeast, stopping in the pilgrimage town of Pushkar for a couple of days, and "blessings".
posted by tom on Saturday, August 26, 2006
The Start of Something Big
After ten weeks, several blisters, two pairs, and one gruesome spill down maybe 15 steps, I think I've finally gotten the hang of walking in flip flops. I was going to write a series of Haiku about the whole experience, but thought better of it.
We flew into Mumbai Thursday morning, on what is supposed to be the tail end of monsoon season. So far the rain has been mercifully restrained. Nevertheless, this is the only place where I've ever seen anyone repairing the cheap umbrellas that tend to show up for sale in any city as soon as it starts to pour. A man had set up shop on the sidewalk with a selection of parted-out and salvaged umbrellas, and was in the middle of fixing one item for a waiting customer, right next to a shoe-shiner. I briefly considered the possibilty of taking up such a profession upon returning to New York.
Since Mubai is the center of India's movie industry, we convinced ourselves that we should take in one of Bollywood's finest while here. After consulting the ticket agent for a movie in English, negotiating a surprisingly confusing seat selection, passing through security to rival our recent Heathrow visit, and surrendering our camera to the uniformed agents, we found ourselves discussing the film with a local artist who was killing time before getting back to his opening down the street. He had no idea what the movie was either, but was pretty sure is was of American origin.
In plush, air-conditioned comfort, we watched "The Man", starring Samuel L. Jackson and Eugene Levy, complete with intermission.
posted by tom on Saturday, August 19, 2006
Ephesus
We visited the ancient city of Ephesus two days ago, which had a special meaning for me because I knew some guys in a metal band by that name back in school. I remember that they had a song--a theme song of sorts--called "The Widow of Ephesus". Unfortunately, after visiting the city, I still have no idea who she was or what her story involved. If I could just remember the words.
We arrived in nearby Selcuk mid-morning, after overnight trip number six, which has a story all its own. Despite our best attempts to refuse the help of throngs of men offering to escort us to the pension which we had already reserved (for a commision, no doubt), we still found ourselves following a man who appeared as a slightly less formal Mr. Rourke from Fantasy Island, led us on a winding path through a crowded covered market, and just as we were thoroughly lost, dropped us on the doorstep of the Artemis Guest House.
At the desk, the manager casually inquired about the details of our reservation while letting us get settled and offering us apple tea. It seemed strange that he would want us to go on his computer and print out our reservation confirmation, but you know, everyone has the own peculiar ways of running their businesses. Speaking of that, I visited the WC with an Artemis brochure in hand as Kerry logged-in to get our information. The story of the guest house appeared on the inside cover of their paperwork, explaining how they had recently moved locations, and how the old address is now occupied by a new business unscrupulously living off the fame of the original Artemis Guest House.
When I returned to Kerry, we were slowly beginning to get the whole story from the Manager. Apparently, we had booked a night with the Artemis Hotel, which appears as the Artemis Guest House on-line (.net). Our guide book lists the Artemis Guest House (.com) with the address of the Artemis Hotel, but with a description befitting the accomodations at the new address. To reduce confusion, the old Artemis Guest House, at the new address, also goes by the name "Jimmy's Place". The new Artemis Hotel, at the old Artemis Guest House address, is under different ownership, though the original Artemis folks suggest they are stealing business. Perhaps they are; after finally wrangling a fairly complete story out of this, we're just hoping that our cancelled reservation is honored.
After all of this, we were looking forward to a visit back in time to a simpler way of life, courtesy of the Romans, or the Ionians, or the Phrygians, or whomever else occupied the ancient city of Ephesus itself at whatever point in time. We had decided to splurge for the audio guides (oversized cell-phones with step by step information of the whole site) to suss out the history. Although we have used these silly-looking devices at a number of sites with much success, the audio guide tour at Ephesus was so chock full of facts as to border on the absurd. I patiently listened through the entire first entry, and looked up to realize Kerry was already out of sight. I realized that to get through the entire regimen, I would probably have to stand in one place and let continental drift slowly move me through the city, so I decided to skip ahead a bit, just to get finished before the sun set.
I promise to post a bunch of awe-inspiring photos of the ruins as soon as we get back on a high-speed connection.
posted by tom on Monday, August 7, 2006
Romanian Countryside
So I am sitting in a pitch-black internet cafe in Southern Bucovina, filled with chain-smoking 12-year-old gamers, who are screaming at one another, but I don't blame them, because I, too, want to scream given that I CAN'T SEE A FREAKING THING on this keyboard.
Okay, breathe deep now, Kerry, ahhhh.
Anyway, we are loving the Romanian countryside. The cows, the peace, the smells, the light afternoon rains. We have walked, hiked, rambled, ambled, and walked some more. We are fitter than ever. Look at us! Here we are after tackling (walking) the steep mountain that Bridget RAN up (See "Madonna and Child" posting).
We have visited several of the world-famous painted monasteries of Bucovina (don't worry, we didn't know much about them either until coming across them in our guidebooks), which are truly gorgeous and vibrant and astoundingly well preserved. Go to the gallery and check em out. 
A note: Tom and I are both very dismayed about something. We keep on finding ourselves wanting to learn more (ie, read more) about specific things (like recent Yugoslav history, types of trees, architecture, the Ottoman Empire), but we can neither locate the books, afford them, nor fit them into our backpacks. Don't you feel sorry for us??
Also, my new favorite thing is watching the Romanian folk music channel. Seriously, I love it. The singing is wild--the singers have this wide vibrato which is incomparable to anything I've ever heard. Also, the videos are fascinating--there's always some earnest-looking fellow sitting by a bowl of fruit, and someone inevitably ends up milking a cow. FYI.
Speaking of food, Tom and I have had some really tasty, farm-fresh breakfasts. Homemade blueberry preserves, fresh-baked bread, apricot pandowdy-like thingies...you might not understand how delicious all this tastes to us unless you, too, have survived on peanut butter and banana sandwiches for lunch and dinner EVERY DAY for four weeks like we have. (Again, it's very hard being us.) Trust us, yummy.
So, we have loved Romania...So many castles, creepy and fabulous medieval lore, haunting landscapes. Stories of bloody battles with the Ottomans; and of course, there's the scary reality of recent history.
Tomorrow: Back to Bucharest and then on to Turkey.
Bye!
posted by kerry on Thursday, July 27, 2006
TheTasks of Bucovina
We have spent the last several days in the Romanian countryside, walking many miles, visiting many monasteries, and trying to arrive at an acceptable definition of "agro-tourism"--or "aggro-tourism", as I like to call it, in hope that it represents Romania's answer to the greater Balkan genre of turbo-folk, which--despite a number of guide book mentions--remains a mystery to me. Unthwarted, we came up with our own attempt at this type of music on our 14km walk from Vama to the Moldovita monastery two days ago.
I should probably mention that we decided to hitch it back from Moldovita, on a beer delivery truck. The song goes like this:
Puteti sa notati? puteti sa novati?
Eu nu inteleg, eu nu inteleg!
(repeat 2x)
cum spuneti (insert english word here)
(repeat 8x)
Pronounce the last "t" in any word as "ts". For fun, the English variation is:
could you please write it down? Could you please write it down?
I don't understand, I don't understand!(2x)
How do you say (insert here)...(8x)
On a hot, dusty road in the middle of nowhere, it sounds better than it looks, and it probably doubled our effective Romanian vocabulary.
Despite my apparent ignorance on display here, there are a couple of things I feel comfortable enough in my understanding of to comment on. One is that if a country decides to update their currency, it seems most sensible to make the adjustment in multiples of 1000. Sadly, Romania has opted for a divisor of 10,000. This has resulted in a number of challenging transactions, even after we learned to count to 10.
In detail: Prior to 2005, approximately 3,000 Romanian Lei equalled one dollar; in today's market, it's slightly less, but I'm trying to keep this simple. As of early 2005, they began a transition to the new Lei, with a suggestion that the old stuff be phased out by June of 2006, and with the ultimatum that it be discontinued by 2007. The new Lei, otherwise known as RON (a term which has been used by exactly one merchant we've met so far), is roughly 3/1 with the dollar, which seems to make sense. However, it comes as no suprise that most everyone still counts on the old system, just dropping three zeros, so that 30,000 Lei equals one dollar.
So, if I want a bottle of water, I will be charged maybe "15". That's 15,000 old Lei, or approximately 50 cents, or 1.50 new Lei, which should be called RON. Does this make sense yet? Sometimes, the cashier will specifically say "(x) RON", as if to differentiate it from Lei--or perhaps Dollars, Euro, Pounds, etc.--but they'll actually be counting in Lei. Or vice versa. It a wonder that we haven't accidentally dropped a couple hundred dollars on lunch.
Don't get me started on the coins, or the projected conversion to the euro.
posted by tom on Thursday, July 27, 2006
Madonna and Child
We're currently spending a number of days in the Romanian countryside, away from internet connections and all the trouble they've been causing, but we wanted to make a quick mention of the tremendous generosity of Bridget and Sam (pictured here), who have accompanied us through part of our time in Romania. This photo was taken during a horse-and-buggy ride through the town of Poiana Brasov, after visiting one of Dracula's many castles, and before trekking up a mountain that nearly killed Tom. Needless to say, Bridget ran up this same route at about 6 AM that morning. An inspiration of fitness--and motherhood, and Romanian driving skills.
Ok, back to figuring out where we're staying tomorrow night.
-Another joint effort by Kerry and Tom
posted by tom on Monday, July 24, 2006
iPanic
I recognize the form of a parable starting to take shape. The finer points will have to wait, but I see it starting something like this:
A man and his wife went off on a long journey. Despite his better judgement and the protests of wiser folk, the man brought with them three material items that he felt he could not do without.
The first of these was lost. The second was broken. The third...
...will have to wait for now, but I can see it coming--though I'm not sure what exactly the moral of this story will be. What am I going on about here? It's the iPod. I brought my nice, fairly new--though not black, the hot color which had sold out when I finally dared to enter the melee that is the Apple store on Prince Street--60GB iPod along on our trip, with the selfish goal of having a wide variety of music to listen to whenever I might want, along with the slightly more generous intention of using it to archive digital photos taken along the way, in order to provide a back-up to memory sticks that might fill-up, disappear (...), or stop working. I could go on a bit about how Apple's iPod operating systems makes this so easy, allows us to view photos on the iPod, transfer them via USB, etc., though I won't, since my sentiment for the company is rather dark at the moment.
After storing some 800 photos of ours without problem, the iPod has stopped working. It will not start up without plugging into the wall, at which point an icon suggests that the battery's charge is dangerously low. No actual functions or menus are available. As this occurs, the body of the device becomes very hot, emanating from a point located at the northwest perimeter on the dial. I feel like I should explain that this did not seem to result from any questionable tech-y tightrope stunts, and happened on a day of moderate temperature, when the iPod was fully-charged and well-rested, having not seen very much action, relatively speaking. I'm not sure any of these details matter to you, me, or Apple, but as Kerry can attest, the whole of it made for a very pouty walk in the rain back up one of the steep slopes that surround the city of Sarajevo, as we returned to our room from the internet cafe.
The result--if not moral--of this short tale is that if you thought we were being stingy about how many photos we were posting (the trials of which is another post in itself), don't get your hopes up for some sort of quantum leap in this activity. Also--pending tech support--the few photos of the first 4 weeks of our trip that are already posted may sadly be all that you will ever see of it. At least I was able to post that nice one of the horse's ass, which should continue to come in handy as an avatar.
posted by tom on Monday, July 17, 2006
Flashback/Time Warp
NOTE!! This is old, but I'm posting it anyway. We are actually now in Bosnia (not Cesky Krumlov, Czech Republic). Are you sufficiently confused? ...
We have arrived in Cesky Krumlov, It's glaringly obvious that we are very much on the tourist loop, part of the masses descending on this stunning town nestled by the Vltava River. But because we have decided to stay in a medieval castle tower, it's all going to be okay. There are only 4 rooms here, so not only is the atmosphere full of character and whatnot (I'm a sucker for such things--c'mon, its a freaking castle), but we feel just removed enough from the throngs of students and package tours (I know! I'm a tourist too! But I admit it--I'm pretty much a travel snob). I still have this sore throat thing and I'm pretty sure my piercing cough is driving my beloved insane.
So I've been sick, like really sick. Our dear friend Phrancis, however, has made it all better, having prepared an astonishingly comprehensive homeopathic travel package for us. I've already used it a bunch. Whooda thunk that just a few potions and powders could have so many uses? Thus far, I have used something called White Flower Analgesic Balm to freshen up stale rooms (okay, that's generous--"stale" doesn't begin to convey the vinegary feet smell we dealt with in our hostel in Prague, which was a former prison by the way. Was it Vaclev Havel's stank-ass foot odor lingering around? Nor in another room that had a rather robust urine whiff to it) AND to help my very sore back. The powder (called "shuang Liao Houfeng San" something or other) has both soothed my sore throat and treated Tom's wee squito bites. God bless the Phrancis.
And speaking of blessings, can we please take a moment to comment on the spate of wonderful news we heard this week? None of the following were surprises, but we are thrilled about them and wish we could be there with all of the parties involved. (Well, maybe NOT actually during the deliveries.)
Sonya and Jonathan have had a baby boy! Welcome Elvin! We think you're adorable, and do we have a gal for you...
Lisa and Greg have just given birth to a gorgeous girl. Caroline, we can't wait to meet you. Aunt Bridget and I will be talking all about you in Romania, so your ears will be ringing for sure.
Linda and James are engaged. This news had me doing cartwheels in Croatia. Sooooooo happy.
I gush, therefore I am.
posted by kerry on Thursday, July 13, 2006
South by Southeast
Sit back, this one is going to take some time.
After spending a stretch of maybe 10 days in the Czech Republic, we realized we would have to move quickly down to the Adriatic coast if we wanted to stay on some sort of schedule with upcoming destinations. We located an affordable flight from Vienna to Split, Croatia, and figured that this would be a good option. The only snag is that the flight would be at 4 in the morning.
OK, Follow my logic.
The flight is at 4:20 AM. The airline requests that we check-in two hour before the flight. We are not about to pay for a room in the safest and most expensive city in Europe (hyperbole for sure, but you get the idea) only to check out at 1:30 AM. No, a much better idea is to take a minivan from Cesky Krumlov to Linz, take a train from Linz to Vienna, and fly out to Split after spending a full day and night in the city of Vienna--on the town. Sure, we might show up at the airport a bit earlier than expected, but we could always read or sleep in the terminal.
We arrive in Vienna in time for a late lunch of peanut butter and cheese on fresh bread. Then we head to the nearest internet portal to find out about how to get to the airport. This is where is gets fun. Yes, there is at least one international airport in Vienna, and no, SkyEurope does not have a terminal at any of them. Did I forget to mention that our flight had a connection in Bratislava? The "shuttle" from Vienna to Bratislava is a bus. But not a bus from the airport--a bus from the street, a street in the part of town where no station would have any business (literally) being. A street in this part of town in a town that has no public transportation after 12:30 AM.
There is no plan B, so we stuff our packs into a train station locker and head off with two objectives: to check out the bus stop, and to scout the rest of the town for alternative establishments to visit, so long as they are open until 3 or 4 AM. Finding the bus stop as disappointing as expected, we walk the mile or two back into the center of town, shake down a friendly waiter in a bland asian restaurant for cool local hot-spots, and make our way back to the train station (if you are lost by now, the train station is where we started) to rifle through the guide books in the convenience store for names of late night bars.
We retrieve our packs and head back into the center of town again, armed with a few addresses and fewer euro. Our crawl officially begins at around 10:30PM--in time to catch the last blast of the World Cup game at an Irish (?) bar, after which we promptly move inside (against the exiting hordes) to plant ourselves and nurse our drinks--we are doing this to save money, remember.
Around 2AM, it is last call at Flanagan's, but we have been given our next lead: Mary Monks, or just "The Monk", which turns out to be about a 15-minute walk to nowhere, as this bar that everyone says never closes is dark and dead. We come across another set of helpful alcoholics at a closing pub on our way back, who--after getting over their disbelief that the Monk is closed--point out only other option... though they really think we should go back to the Monk and check again.
"Gusto" looms in the distance like an oasis. While we were gently warned that the atmosphere isn't much--unless your a local street worker into Thai Karoake--we amble in a settle down at the bar for another drink. At this point the cards come out, and we spend the next hour and a half playing Gin with Guiliani, Bloomberg, and Hillary (cards courtesy of NY Press) while surrounded by a questionable gathering of Thai girls and Czech men out for a "good time".
I have lost track at this point whether our plan has left us in the red or black, but Thursday is just beginning, and we have not secured lodging in Split for the night yet. Shall I go on?
posted by tom on Tuesday, July 11, 2006
A Couple of Short Notes
We are staying in a small town in the south of the Czech Republic right now, called česky Krumov. Notice how I attempted to type an accented c in česky (that should read Cesky, and does when I type it). Now contrast this with my inability to use an apostrophe in this post. In any case, we spent the last couple of nights staying in the small castle-like structure pictured here, which was very nice, despite Kerry having walked into the bathroom on our Finnish neighbors twice--once for each of them. Desciptions of this town inevitably use the words fairy and tale, which I would put in quotes if I could figure what combination of alt, shift, control, and any other keys could produce such a character. Regardless, the town does live up to this description, and otherwise resembles a medieval mall, with throngs of visitors ploughing through the cobblestone streets, pouring in and out of countless shops.
We have not broken down and purchased any crystal yet, but we did spend an hour or so negotiating a transaction at the post office.
In closing, I have come to discover the one thing which I do not like about peanut butter--something I did not think was possible--which is the way it insists on settling into the fabric of my pants, despite my greatest efforts to remove it.
posted by tom on Tuesday, July 4, 2006
Sick Day
Kerry's cough trumpet turned into a full-fledged schnog-fest today, so we took it easy and spent way too much time at an internet cafe. In the meantime, here are some pictures of the city.
Though there are no associated photos, we have spent the last couple of days exploring Prague's historic Jewish quarter, along with the ghetto and prison at nearby Terezin. Horrifying.
-Kerry and Tom
PS: I'm sorry if these postscripts are getting annoying, but I felt compelled to point out that I just discovered another programmer's issue with this otherwise sublimely assembled website: there is no option for this kind of two-person post, which I will try to solve shortly.
--Just Tom
posted by kerry on Friday, June 30, 2006
Lizzy and David/Scotland
Beloved family, friends and strangers,
Helloooooo out there!
Okay, so. I have been delinquent. We have been on the road for about 2 and 1/2 weeks and this is my first attempt at a dispatch.
So, for my self-inflicted punishment (or, perhaps better said, YOUR punishment), I'm going to try to summarize some of the highlights of the trip thus far, and give you some other random musings for the helluvit.
First off, here are Lizzy and David, our lovely and amazingly gracious hosts in Scotland. We couldn't have asked for more generous hosts, or a more fitting way to begin our trip. Here's the thing: Lizzy and David were the first people I came across who made traveling around the world look possible for folks like me. I met them during a trip to Peru and Bolivia a couple of years ago, and immediately fell in love with both of them :) That is, I got on with them instantly. We had similar outlooks on travel, and I just adored them for their wit, warmth, and sense of fun (not to mention an ample dose of surliness!). I felt like I'd known them both forever. Anyway, I digress. What I mean to say here is that L&D showed me exactly what had to be done to prepare for such a trip--basically, save a humongous hunk of earnings for more than a year.
So, that's what Tom and I did--about two years ago, we went on The Big B (for budget, folks), as my friend the talented Lynn M. calls it. And here we are, finally, living the dream. And it all started with Lizzy and David.
So, where was I? Oh yes, L&D are GREAT. They cooked for us, gave us an incredibly comfy bed, lent us books, took us to some great country pubs, brought us to Lizzy's parents' farm (a converted schoolhouse on an island called Bute), introduced us to some delicious insider-y places to eat (like a truck in the middle of seemingly nowhere selling the most delicious bacon and egg sandwiches this side of the Atlantic--run, we found out, by the uncle of Dario Forchetti, Indy racecar driver and husband of Ashley Judd, for those of you who care about such things...like me...) and so on.
So, in sum, all of you should come visit Lizzy and David. Their address is...
Just kidding. Here are some pics from their adorable cottage and Lizzy's folks' farm. I just love that wee horse.
posted by kerry on Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Eyeless in Praha
Here is a photo of us at Prague Castle, where we "lost" our camera. Don't ask--really... unless you represent our insurance company, the Prague Police, or whatever black market ring has profited from the sale of our beloved, heavily-researched and lightly-used Canon S-80.
I spent about four hours moping around the Castle in the guise of tourist, pre-occupied with spying among the hundreds of digital photography enthusiasts in hope of finding our camera. After giving up, we spent the next spell of the sunny afternoon vainly winding our way through the colorful streets of the city looking for a camera shop. Eventually, we settled into an internet cafe to locate a place that didn't also sell marionettes, crystal, and lunch--thatis, one that might provide us with a replacement camera at less than 120% of list price. An hour later, with a pain in my stomach completely unrelated to the consumption of goulash, I handed my credit card to the clerk at Fototechnika to bring this sad chapter to an end. Hello, S-80 Junior.
I was thinking that maybe I should describe in some way what we have seen in Prague, and realized that I'm far behind in documenting our trip in that way. When this began a few short weeks ago, I had a vague notion of collecting and posting all the events that we would experience, in a brief and simple way, with that hope that--at some later date--this mass of information would take on a life of its own and radiate its own particular essence without any help from my attempts at insight. This is not going to happen. I can barely keep track of the money spent in a day. So, unless we start travelling with a laptop--which, given our recent experiences with what technology we are carrying, seems like a bad idea--you and I will have to make due with these sparsely posted, uninformative vignettes instead. OK?
tech PS: I just realized that I missed adjusting a setting on our new camera, so the first set of prague photos have vertical images on their sides. Sorry.
PPS: err, actually, that was a programmer's error. Sorry again, but note that it's fixed.
PPPS: Finally uploaded the photo of the horses ass to accompany this post--now more appropriate than ever.
posted by tom on Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Have Red Shoes, Will Travel
First off: a travel fashion note. I am positively giddy that I decided to bring along my cheery and comfy red sneakershoes. My hiking shoes work just fine, thank you very much, and my flip flops are quite cozy and durable too, but I am pretty happy that I have something fun and bright to wear out at night in cities. Check 'em out:
They are flexible, and the pair weighs less than 1 lb. Who cares that they don't match half of my wardrobe? A traveling girl needs to feel cute. So, damn the khaki snap-on shorts! Damn the outback hat! Bring on the red shoes.
posted by kerry on Wednesday, June 28, 2006
Embarking...
I guess I'll begin.
Last Monday, June 12, we finally arrived at JFK to begin this journey. Despite our best attempts at minimal packing, Aer Lingus insisted we check both of our backpacks because they exceeded the maximum weight for carry-on luggage (10kg). This minor blow to our collective pride was quickly eclipsed by news that our flight was delayed two hours--not the smoothest way to begin things, but perhaps a first hint of some less-than-efficient travel further down the road. With our ten-dollar courtesy food court vouchers, we headed past the check-in to settle down for a three hour wait, judiciously peppered with a few games of Galaga. When the surrogate North American Airlines (never heard of them) crew finally arrived, we boarded and settled into our seats (and into conversation with our well-intentioned yet chatty Irish neighbor, in Kerry's case), and eventually took off around midnight.
We passed through Shannon Airport, and made it to Dublin with a bit of time left to get through customs and make our transfer to Edinburgh. Sometime around 3 PM, we landed in Scotland, finding the customs desks deserted, and praised the minor miracle of our bags making the tight transfer along with us. Boarding the bus into town, I secretly started making mental notes of what materials I could jettison from my backpack as we trudged off to find something to eat. About a block later, we settled on a pub, dropped our bags, placed an order, and began to get acquainted with what would accompany us via any nearby television for the next five weeks: The World Cup.
Having slogged through a mediocre-to-miserable eight years or so of organized soccer growing up, I've convinced myself that I can become at least as good of a fan throughout the next, what, 50 games or so. Writing tonight from a Scottish household that flies Swedish flags in solidarity against the English team, it doesn't seem like it will be too difficult to absorb some of the football fervor surrounding us. But I digress.
We spent a night in Edinburgh at a very nice and spacious B&B. Liz, our host, prepared us a tasty and hearty breakfast, and kindled an interest in visiting Krakow, Poland, where some of her best employees have hailed from. We spent the day walking to, from, and through the city center, in surprisingly nice weather, so we're told.
OK, it's getting late (about 11PM--the sun just set). I'll continue this later.
posted by tom on Tuesday, June 20, 2006
Some Sort of Introduction
Hopefully, this post will be removed unceremoniously after some legit journal-ing appears. For now, I'm just testing this thing to see how it looks, to make sure it works, and to attempt to enter a photo in a post, such as this alligator Kerry and I saw in Florida in April.
Not part of our world trip, per se, but it's all I have right now. Enjoy.