Planning Ahead

In reference to Jeff’s last post about the luxury of thinking about tomorrow, I have been doing lots of thinking about my own future. The whole idea of this world tour was to break away from a twenty-year routine that was taking its toll on our relationships, health and sanity. Extensive travel would give us the opportunity to reflect and hopefully provide some insight as to what our next steps in life would be. Being away from our normally grueling lives would give us the headspace we would need to come home and create a more balanced existence for ourselves.

Four years ago we bought a piece of property I lovingly call, “The Farm.” It is a place an hour outside of the Twin Cities Metro area that once was the homestead of a Swedish Immigrant family who arrived in these rolling hills the late 1800s. Originally, the property was a 150-acre parcel with enough fields for hay, food crops and grazing. It sits above a heavily wooded ravine providing shelter for deer, wild turkey and all variety of woodland animals; the trees were there for the taking for lumber and heat. The Quist family built a big dairy barn, a granary, chicken coop, and dug a well for their home, a lovely three bedroom white lap-sided shelter for a growing family. They were successful farmers who, until 1986, lived and farmed the property.

In 1986, Joel and Dora Quist, descendants of the original Swedish homesteaders, could no longer manage to live here and so decided to sell. The fields were gobbled up by nearby conventional farmers who every year hope to add acreage for mechanized corn and soybean crops, and 15 acres, including the house, outbuildings, and wooded ravine was surveyed off to be included in the sale of the homestead property. As Joel and Dora were very tidy farmers, the property sold quickly to a young couple looking for just enough land to have horses. That young couple raised a daughter on this property, had some horses and eventually, moved on. That’s when we stumbled on this little slice of heaven.

By 2013 when we bought the farm, it was in a shambles needing some TLC to bring it back to life, but that’s how Jeff and I like our properties. By the time we bought this place, we had already renovated three of our own homes that others told us they would consider “tear downs!” We have found that we like junky properties with good bones because they sell cheap and we can completely gut them without feeling like we are wasting anyone else’s hard work and bad taste. We gut and rebuild them exactly the way we want. We’re big on maintaining the home’s historical integrity, so tend towards simple, neutral and classic. Our formula seems to work as selling each of our previous properties has never taken more than a few days.

I should note here, for those of you who don’t know us, these extensive home renovation projects took place while also holding down regular full-time jobs and raising our son, Max. People call us ambitious. In retrospect, I now see that teaching never gave me enough opportunity to enjoy the creative, hands-on results of projects like this. I think renovation and rehab are my drugs of choice – I get such enormous satisfaction and joy from the finished product. I actually HATE all the mess and physical pain of renovation, but when it is done and clean and beautiful…there is nothing like it! The check received at the closing table is pretty nice, too!

However, the farm was a property we knew we would keep. This one would be our country home – a place to escape from the rigors of city life and provide a creative outlet. This place would give years of building projects – a new barn, sugar shack for maple syruping, a summer kitchen in the granary, an outdoor pizza oven, a guesthouse or two and gardens everywhere. We began renovations in the house – removing all the old carpeting, rustic pine woodwork, and broken windows and doors. We added a new kitchen using all recycled cabinets from other old properties and painted everything in a simple farmhouse style. About a week into working on this property, I found myself looking out the windows over the rolling hills and valleys and felt a deep sense of peace. Another week later I was smitten and a trip back to the Cities felt burdensome. Each moment in the city that I was away from the farm I felt a pull. That feeling of only wanting to be at the farm grew and grew and grew.

I began to fantasize about starting a farm business so I could stay permanently at the farm. The second summer we were here I grew a gigantic garden with enough veg to feed fifty families, I began to explore options for starting a CSA. Friends came to visit and I served them “Farm Lunch” from the bounty of the garden, we had big parties on the weekends and small gatherings during the week. Jeff invited his bike crew out for some 80-mile fast rides around Lake Pepin and I fed them when they returned. I found that this place is not only healing for me but healing for others. Lots of people love our farm and I love hosting them.

Before leaving for our world tour, I fretted about what to do with the farmhouse – my pride and joy. I reluctantly decided to rent it to friends and family for a nominal fee – just charging enough money to keep the bills paid on the place while we’re away. I built a website to promote it and reservations started pouring in. Nearly every weekend since we left, the farm has had visitors, many of whom have reported falling in love with it just like I have! Our farm neighbor down the road says he thinks I’ve found my calling as the owner of a farm stay rental!

I have known since shortly after buying this property that I want to live on the farm permanently and turn it into some sort of business. I want to host guests either as day visitors who come to learn about permaculture gardens, buy vegetables or eat lunch. I want to provide guesthouses for those needing to get away from the city. I want to share this space with others because when somebody says, “This place is so beautiful! Thank you for sharing it with us!” I feel such enormous satisfaction and pride – I feel like I have a purpose in life.

Every day while traveling, my mind goes to the farm. That pull that I felt when returning to Minneapolis from the farm only increased while on our world tour. Every guest house we stay in gets compared to the farm, all the farms we saw in Europe gave me ideas for mine, I studied tree planting and pruning, orchards and vineyards all with the idea to bring what I was learning home. And, when travel was boring or hard, all I wanted was to return to my farm.

Yes, travel is hard and I suffer the first-world problem of travel being boring. Travel involves enormous amounts of decision-making – the kind of decision-making that allows no time to ponder. Do I go right or left…I need to know now! To avoid the stress of all the instant decisions needed, planning time is required before venturing out, so reading reviews, articles and maps should be considered fun. It turns out, I don’t much care to put myself in the position where I have to make on-the-spot decisions that affect others and I HATE reading about travel! When planning where to go on the next leg of our trip I would find myself veering back into the internet land of farms, permaculture gardening and guesthouses. Traveling the world has made me realize more clearly that I just don’t like traveling all that much. Jeff calls me a homebody – a label perfectly suited to me. I love my home, I love the life I am creating there and I want to go back.

So, traveling indeed has given me perspective and insight, but not about next steps when I return to the States. Instead, traveling made me realize that I am really not happy anywhere other than at “The Farm.” I knew that before leaving, but it is clear to me now that I need to be on the farm because all I want to do is develop my business. Traveling is taking me away from moving in that direction. I realized that I left behind an unfinished project that has a very strong pull. Travel is lovely for someone needing to slow down, but for me, my mind is churning – full of ideas and planning next steps for the farm. Being away from my project, and in the stressful, slow world of travel is stopping dead a creative flow that needs an outlet.

Last summer I put in half a garden because we were leaving in September so I didn’t plant many late season veggies. All summer I was sad because I had half a garden. This year, I would also have half a garden as the trip wouldn’t bring us home until May meaning I wouldn’t have been able to start my own seeds for tomatoes, peppers and all the flowers I love to start early. If you are well-versed in the use of grammar and tenses, you likely know what I am leading up to – I just can’t be away from the farm for another minute! I can’t bear that Spring is right around the corner and I won’t be able to start seeds and get garden plans underway. Projects at the farm are pulling me away from any desire to travel the world, so I have decided to come home. Max and Jeff are quite content with their adventures – hiking, rafting, exploring and surfing, but this homebody needs to be done. Five months on the road was enough to feel well-rested and clarified!

For those of you with farm reservations, don’t worry. I will continue to rent the farmhouse on the weekends through Jeff and Max’s return in May. Your staying at the farm gives me the opportunity to catch up with friends and family. I guess in a way, I will complete my world tour in the U.S.

Travel over a long period of time is very enlightening, but I am glad to be heading home.

 

Kuta Lombok Looking for Paradise

Today we left Gili Air and traveled to Kuta Lombok. A gray cloud hung over us as a morning family argument sent anger seething through all of our veins and then it literally started to rain. The walk from our hotel to the boat dock was about a ¾ mile trek through muddy streets and thatched roofs dripping in just the place a person needs to step off to make room for a passing Cidomo (horse-drawn cart). We purchased boat tickets yesterday and were told to simply show them at the ticket office. When we arrived and presented our tickets, the man at the counter informed us that what we purchased was only for the bus ride once we landed in Lombok. That ticket was not for the boat ride. Momentarily frustrated, we let it go and purchased passage for the boat meant to hold half as many people. Seat space was a premium, but I was offered a position next to a very tiny, very ancient man in his sarong, Muslim buttoned shirt and flat hat called a Peci. He looked regal and very important and he slid over so I would have room on the bench. I was very thankful, worried that as a woman I shouldn’t be sitting so close and really, and really just wanted to stare at his ancient beauty! I kept making excuses to look out to the right in order to catch a glimpse of this elder in traditional garb. We did not touch until the boat landed on Lombok and to my surprise, he quite brusquely pushed me aside so he could exit before me.

It was still drizzly when we arrived on Lombok and the volcanic black sand stuck to my feet and sprayed up against my calves with every flap of my rubber flip flops. We trudged through muddy streets as people constantly yelled, “transportation” or stopped us to ask where we were going. Jeff kept telling everyone who wanted our business that we were looking for the Bunga Bunga Cafe. Funny name = me laughing! This was the place the ticket man told us we would find our shuttle bus. And the men kept pointing us down the road in the direction we walked indicating with flapping hands, further, further. In my mind, I heard Spanish “Alli no mas!” Meaning just right there, but really, Dude, you got a long way to go!

We kept walking through the mud and drizzle, past the bus stop where we found the Bunga Bunga Cafe, a couple of fowl on a fence, and a man who was waiting to transport us to Kuta Lombok…sort of. The ticket purchase misunderstanding from earlier left us feeling a little distrusting, so when we didn’t leave from the Bunga Bunga right away, I started to suspect that something was amiss. This is no mystery novel, so I’ll tell you right off, we were fine, but it sure seemed weird. About twenty minutes after we arrived, a bunch of tourists got dropped off, we were all smashed into a little van and driven through one of the most amazing jungles with giant elephant ear palms, monster tall trees that reached well above the forest canopy and monkeys everywhere alongside the road where they knew that car=human=food. The locals call them “police” who make random roadside stops looking for contraband…well, food, really! We didn’t know we would be switching vans in Mataram, and we didn’t know that tiny Lombok was host to such a huge city – a little over 400,000 people on an island that holds 3.1 million! I guess driving through the jungle roads left us to believe we were in the middle of seclusion.

Between Mataram and Kuta the land is flat and gives way to traditional farming. We saw beautiful green rice fields and small vegetable plots near homes. The most startling thing was the preponderance of mosque construction. GIANT new, elaborate mosques were under construction as often gas stations in Albania. On the mosques that already exist, it was comforting to see the huge speakers coming from the highest roofs of each so the call to prayer could be proclaimed across the land. Indonesia is, after all, the largest Muslim population in the world. Our host pointed out immediately upon arrival that our rooms were soundproofed making the five a day prayer summons much more muffled. However, we could expect to hear the sound of some native black cat-like critter who hangs out on the roof! Considering our place on Gili was open air and likely within a block of the mosque, we will appreciate the reprieve. Don’t go thinking that I am opposed to the religion, that is not my beef. I’m just a little sensitive to 3:47 am wake up calls. I admire a people so strong and committed to their faith that they want to scream it from bullhorns the way we do when a tornado is lurking nearby.

Our guest suites in Kuta are sumptuous, fully air-conditioned with spectacular gardens and pool. Our host, a Kiwi turned Aussie cum Indo Expat is very gracious with little else to do but manage his construction crew and cater to our every need. After 8 days of extreme physical discomfort, this is a welcome change.

Outside the guesthouse, the streets of Kuta Lombok are the same muddy mess that we saw elsewhere today, but the difference is that this place is REALLY rustic. This little town rattles my memory banks and harkens images of La Esperanza in Honduras. This was the biggest town near my village when I was in the Peace Corps that I had to travel through to get out, and it was an armpit. It held the major market for all villages within a four-hour walk and that means stink. Food stink, trash stink, bus stink. After all the Kuta Lombok articles we read, we were expecting a cute little touristy surfers paradise perhaps like Montanita in Ecuador or if we were lucky, Tulum in Mexico. I didn’t expect to get thrown back into a mucky little town on the verge of western development. The pictures and reviews make it look quite chic. What sets it apart from La Esperanza twenty-five years ago is that there is development and foreign cash. Tourists make their way here for the supposed great surfing, so restaurants, hotels and convenience stores exist. We didn’t see any western style development anywhere when we were in Honduras except in the Capitol and San Pedro Sula in the north. This is the true meaning of dichotomy.

After we got situated in our guesthouse, we took a walk to the village and beach. What beach, we asked?  Past dirty little piles of garbage everywhere we finally found the beach where 15-20 fishing boats were anchored across the sand, an equal number moored on the sand, and a baker’s dozen pack of dogs roamed under the anchor ropes and through the trash. There is not a single place for a swim, or to sit. There’s not a beach bar, restaurant or hangout to be found! The surfers break is visible from the shore, but definitely involves passage on a boat to reach. Kuta Lombok sure looks different on travel websites and reviews. Indonesia conjures images of paradise, and we are just not finding that.

Indonesia has me pretty happy in the food department, however, and today I did enjoy another new culinary delight. The dish I ordered was referred to a “Vegetable Tumpeng.” It came with red rice layered with yellow turmeric rice sitting in a majestic cone-shape in the middle of my plate surrounded by four other items: a salad, fried tempeh, a vegetable coconut curry and two fried vegetable patties. I asked for it spicy and finally got what I have been looking for after weeks of mild food – some homemade hot sauces that were delish. One seemed to be a very spicy puree of roasted eggplant and hot chiles, and the other a roasted puree of peppers and tomato – both delicious, and both wiped clean by the time we were done!

 

Dropped flowers after rain in Gili Air

 

It’s funny how gray clouds are used to teach lessons in life, because, although my lunch was delicious, in hindsight Gili Air was really cute! Hot, smoky and physically uncomfortable, but cute. The boys have yet to explore the surfing situation here in Kuta, but Max found that there are some beaches about a half hour away that might be promising. I think they will rent scooters and hire an instructor for a day or two while I get back to work on the Don Humphrey manuscript.

Even though Lombok is a shock to us all, I am physically happy again. The guest house is beautiful with huge floor to ceiling windows letting in very nice light. A patio with big palms hanging overhead, a hot water shower, and a sealed space that will prevent smoke, mosquitos or muezzin calls to prayer to enter!

I’m Burning for You – Indonesia

The brush fire today outside our open-air bungalow. The roof is open just above the walls in order to let heat out. Unfortunately, it allows smoke in.

Fire is such a sensitive issue for a wood-burning-pizza-loving kind of person like me. When we had the pizza oven I always insisted on a large crowd to share a burn as the energy used to build such a hot fire seemed excessive and greedy if used only to feed a few. I was also conscientious of the weather on pizza party days hoping for high pressure that would allow our smoke to escape the city well above neighbor’s open windows or guest’s nostrils and lungs. Occasionally, I would be left feeling irresponsible if low pressure pushed the smoke earthbound.

Fire once held such allure for me. As a kid, we cooked on a wood cook stove for many years. I loved helping my mom pry up the cast iron hob to fill the firebox with wood, feel the heat of the flames warm the top then marvel that a fresh loaf of bread or a pot of soup made from hard lentils, carrots and onions could be achieved all with the help of fire.

I remember the long cold nights when we tapped maple trees and boiled the sap for days over an outdoor fire. I would sit at the fire’s edge poking and prodding logs with a big stick just to watch the embers glow; to see how fire could collect itself quietly into red hot coals tinged with white then suddenly burst angry and fierce into blue-orange flames.

Camping in my early years not only meant fire and food, but gave my imagination license to cast myself as a character on one of my most cherished children’s books. I was thrilled to learn that my favorite campfire culinary treat was called “Hobo Dinner.” I was mesmerized and held in reverential respect when I saw that fire alone could translate hard potatoes, carrots and onions into delicious nourishment. As a fan of The Boxcar Children, I loved imagining myself living the simple life and making do with “found” items. Scrounging for sustenance captured my little girl imagination, and with a master gardener as a father, I knew how simple it would be to sneak into late evening gardens and steal away with a few potatoes, carrots and onions to cook over open flames. Just like the boxcar children, I knew I could survive without a house or parents! Of course, I’d need to stock up on foil and carry a little supply of salt to really make it work! Fire captured my heart and imagination.

As we all know, things that once were dear can become irritants. Now, I am jaded with regards to flame, and fire no longer holds its allure. I know what power it holds, and I have come to understand that it is a relentless punisher if its rules are not followed. I now understand that what lies beyond its blue-orange licking flames and luscious warmth is not the magic I saw as a child. What I didn’t know then is that if fire is abused, it will punish fiercely. Fire lives an independent life not meant to share space with its cousins, and humans have forsaken this implicit rule of the flame.

You see, fire must be conserved; used communally and sparingly, and only when absolutely necessary.

Since we arrived in SouthEast Asia, we bear witness to the wrath of fire. Fires burn across the land, across our eyes, across our lungs and into every fibre of our being. Fire is used to scar the earth; to remove foliage from another year’s planting, fire is used to prepare breakfast and dinner, and fire is used to feed the tourists. The use of fire over a small area of land is excessive. Every family stokes a wood stove, every family burns their yard waste and garbage, every restaurant grills meats and fish and every farmer employs slash and burn. And for this, the land will become unlivable for animals and humans alike. Smoke hangs so thick that eyes and lungs burn while the brain beats a rhythm as if asking to open the door and let it escape the fumes. Just like lungs screaming to the brain to take a breath, a brain filled with smoke chants, “Go home!” while flashing images of fresh air from the Wisconsin hilltops and moisture laden air from smoke-free valleys. The residues and waste of fire fills the sky across this lower continent, infiltrating every nook and cranny and making it nearly impossible to breathe.

Let’s put this into perspective for those of you from Minneapolis. We are staying on an island the size of Lake Harriet with a similarly sized three-mile walk around the perimeter. This island has 55 official restaurants all of which serve Saytay or some sort of grilled meat to the guests staying in over 50 hotels or guesthouses. Each home of the 1,800 local inhabitants cooks breakfast and dinner over their kitchen fire and much of the garbage and brush from trees gets burned daily.

Gili Air in a perpetual state of haze from fires.

As humans feel the sting of fire’s waste, so too, does the earth. Huge tracts of land lay barren completely deforested by large populations living nearby. Animals that once had habitat are homeless and starving, and erosion is so rampant that sides of mountains slide into rivers leaving them clogged with silt and unable to sustain aquatic life. Combined with toxic particulates from factories and millions of motorbikes in the north, acid rain collects in the smoke and smog making worse the affront to respiratory and environmental health.

It is the rare occurrence in the U.S. when every neighbor in a high-density area is BBQing at exactly the same time while burning yard waste or garbage (including plastic) and filling the air with smoke, but that is the daily reality in Southeast Asia. Meat lovers might think they would enjoy the aroma, the call to dinner, the rich smell of smoke promising something savory and delicious, but after days of the acrid relentless smell, the charm wears off and illness sets in. Perhaps it’s only respiratory irritation, perhaps pounding headaches, or for some, life-threatening asthma. In the U.S we live in a big country with wide open spaces, so fire does not punish unless Memorial Day is particularly warm, but in places like Laos and Indonesia we can both see and feel the wrath of flame in the fragility of our bodies and in this earth upon which we live.

We all share the same air and it’s pollutants. I do not mean to be hypocritical in pointing out my discomfort in breathing Southeast Asian air as I know that many of my practices, unfortunately, contribute to environmental degradation as well. I merely wish to point out that fire burning en masse is very uncomfortable to be around if one is susceptible to respiratory issues or headaches. I have found myself reflective regarding my own use of fire and its impact on others.

Perhaps this is the purpose of travel? To give us perpective in order to rethink our policies and practices.

One of the many burning garbage piles around the island.

Karma in Cambodia

It’s an exciting time to travel to Cambodia and visit its ancient cities. Recently discovered under the jungle is a huge metro area that researchers believe is larger than Phnom Phen, Cambodia’s capital of just over 2 million people. When uncovered, this ancient Khmer city will have been part of the largest empire on earth in the 12th century. Before the modern archeological scanning method, using lasers and helicopters, researchers wondered where all the people who worshiped at the temples around Tonle Sap Lake lived. Not only did they discover the existence of a huge city, but they know that this culture had advanced water systems including canals and dams, and are hopeful that through excavation, they will be able to understand the collapse of the area. Now archeologists from all over the world, and the bank accounts of friendly governments are pouring in support and resources to continue archaeological research and excavation. 

But, I am not going to write about Angkor Wat or any of the ancient cities in the Siem Reap area, because lots of bloggers before me have already done a great job with that tale. There’s It’s A Creekmore World who share some temple history in digestible bits, great tips from Everywhere Once and Lonely Planet has all the deets. I’m going to write about the tourists.

Besides enjoying the temples and excavations, I find people watching entirely alluring. I can’t keep my eyes, interest and sometimes disgust cast aside. I suppose this is where I might leave a disclaimer – a warning of sorts. If you tend away from criticizing our fellow human, you might want to stop reading now, because while the ruins were fascinating, tourists and their odd behaviors were much more intriguing for a lover of all things social! And the fact that it is hotter than hell here makes me a little testy. Beware!

The first thing that caught my attention was the en masse posing and selfie action. In my family, we tend to be a little shy about bringing out a camera in public at all, let alone using it to take pictures of ourselves, so I am always shocked by tourists and their very blatant photographic endeavors of self-admiration. But, selfies and selfie sticks are the rage here on the Banana Pancake Trail, so I’ve tried to join the fun a bit to Max’s great chagrin! Here’s what I came up with.

The tourist dance move that really got my goat was when we were walking up narrow steps into the temples and somebody would stop to take a photo leaving the one hundred plus people behind them unable to move forward. To encourage even more animosity, the stopping place always involved a bit of shade leaving those of us waiting behind left to simmer in the scalding hot sun. So self-centered and unaware it seems to me.

I get that photographers really want to make sure their picture is just right, but I stand in firm belief that they should be as unobtrusive as possible. The lady on the left was asking some tourists resting in the shade if they could move so she could take a shot from that spot! The guy on the right was shooing people out of his view and asking them to stop while he took A LOOONG series of images. Just a little audacious, no?

The most spectacularly fun and not irritating people watching of the day was a guy on horseback who I saw just as we entered the main gate at Angkor Wat. When you enter the site, there is a very long raised stone causeway that leads to the temple. On both sides of the walkway are grounds – grass fields with ponds and trees dotting the humungous area.

Notice the ladies in matching white shirts and brightly patterned pants? The reverent outfit can be purchased at the temple gate. Hundreds of people wore the same costume meant to cover exposed skin.

Off to my right was this tourist on horseback being led by a man walking holding the reigns across the Angkor Wat plain. I couldn’t keep my eyes on the archeology, I just couldn’t pull away from the vision and nearly tripped a few times in the process. The more I watched him and took it all in, the stranger it became. Perched atop a horse (that seemed a bit small for his stature), he held his phone up in video pose watching the ruins approach him through the screen of the camera. Sadly I failed to get a photo but loved watching in disbelief. I pointed him out to Max who in his teenage glory replied, “Cringe.” I know what happens when one assumes, but still, I would think the average adult would be far too embarrassed to ever imagine that sitting atop a small horse to be led across a large yard with thousands of watchers could somehow be fun. Perhaps he was filming his own version of “Tomb Raider” and rather than filming the ruins he approached, he was actually filming himself. If he were a little kid or holding his 2-year-old we would have thought it cute. But he was at least 50 and alone. And, yes, he had both legs and could walk. I stand accused; judgemental, indeed!

Catching a lot of looks was the lady in lotus pose and sacred hand position on one of the Buddha platforms at Bayon Temple with her white skirts spread around her like a flashing light in the dark of night. Not accustomed to witnessing such a gesture to the temple dieties, I was certainly curious as were others.

Temple fashion was also fun to observe. As there is supposedly a bit of a visitor dress code for modesty and reverence, many of the temple guests made hasty changes to their wardrobe upon arrival. Fearing his shorts may be a bit less than sacrosanct, the man below donned a sarong in an attempt to respectfully cover himself above the knees. Another man, didn’t think his excessive show of leg would at all insult the gods and was quite content to cover his tank top with wild chevron. Also popular were brightly colored pantaloons sold by street vendors outside the temples with bold images if Siam elephants and tigers. It seemed odd that so many women wore the same pants until I saw the vendors, but it didn’t really catch my attention until I saw men also wearing the britches. The Zubaz craze had found its way to Cambodia! Sorry, no clandestine photo available of that image, but you remember the hideous look. Sorry, gentlemen of Zubaz appeal, I know your argument is that they are comfortable, but the look is terrible. Truth be told.

Incongruous is this attempt to be pious while all over the temples, ancient carvings and stone sculptures show naked midriffs, phallic icons ejaculating light rays and a huge “free the nipple” campaign over 800 years old! Oh, now look who’s being sacrilegious!

 

 

 

 

This wise guy was in charge of watching over those who disobeyed the sanctity of the posted rules. Ironic that “Do Not Climb” signs were everywhere, yet climb they did…all in the name of the perfect photo. I would think that karma may show that action has a consequence, and either in this life or the next it will catch up with them. I may be a convert to Buddhism after all these temples – eternally damned for criticism of temple visitors and likely to be reborn as one of the Ta Phom bats condemned to watch over the tourists into my every afterlife.

Besides the standard manner of traveling via tuk-tuk through the vast areas of these ancient city-states and temples, we saw helicopters giving tours overhead, lots of folks on bikes and this – a hot air balloon hovering above the great temple at Angkor Wat. This place attracts some of the world’s wealthiest people as well as young backpackers, so hotels, restaurants, and mode of transport run the gamut of the financial ladder. The per capita income for Cambodians is just a little over $1,000 per year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s easy to criticize other tourists because there is some unwritten rule about us not talking to each other. Perhaps we all want to feel that we are the only ones, the special ones. But, the Cambodians are friendly and can often be heard yelling out a big, “Hello!” as they pass. As kids left school today, they rode by on their bikes shouting greetings and I scored this cute picture! No backpack, no homework, just free for the day!

Of course, like all of our visits to historical sites, we tend to fly on the fast track. I could have learned a lot more about the ruins if we had hired a tour guide, but it was much too fun staring at the oddities of the visitors, and I wouldn’t want to be singled out or spotted. As a traveler right now, I really struggle with the feeling that I/we are imposing too much of ourselves on the world, and prefer to tread as lightly as possible. I want to be able to quietly sneak in, take a peek and leave. Carrying this attitude I suppose, makes the “loudness” of others easy to critique.

The ruins and different temples were fascinating. We loved each of them for their own distinctions. It will be exciting for the world to watch over the next couple of generations the excavation and preservation of the colossal cities of worshippers found on the mountain beneath Mount Kulen called Mehendraparvata. I suspect the annual income of Cambodians to rise as tourism will continue to bring strange oddities with pockets full of money to the area. I just hope they come with good manners and quiet ways. But who am I to say what’s right!
    

 

Loving Laos

 

This morning we left the smoggy streets of Vientiane after a restless night’s sleep in a raggy hotel full of black mold and stained sheets. Jeff’s comment after the morning shower was, “We’ve stayed in worse.” This is true, but years of being away from the grit and grime, and spoiling ourselves with modern luxury, made staying in this kind of hotel harder now than in our more youthful past. Our room was as big as a king-size bed, windowless and with a cold shower that sprayed over the entire bathroom – no separate wall for shower space. Our last night in Thailand was quite the opposite experience staying in a uber contemporary new hotel for about $17, half the price of the mess in Vientiane, Laos.  Getting out of the city is good, and now we travel along switchbacks through the mountains to the north watching farmers plow the rice fields and kids carry bundles of firewood.

Cows here are the size of deer, children ride three or four deep on motor scooters and lots of people gather at the markets along the roadsides. Passing through the area that hosts one of the Lao hydroelectric dams and reservoir, we see vast fish markets alongside the road. Rumor has it Laos has the goal to be “the battery” for all of Southeast Asia with big plans to continue development of hydroelectric. Of course, that has environmentalists up in arms over degradation and problems related to such massive damming of the Mekong River system. Just a few weeks ago one of the dams that supplies energy to Vietnam broke indefinitely. Their desire to be the battery for this area is on track, but needs fine-tuning.

I can’t help but think of all my Hmong students and their families especially now that we are entering the northern mountainous parts of Laos and the mighty Mekong River Valley. Here we see perfectly planted gardens, bamboo thatched houses up on stilts and slash and burn agriculture. Children squat in huddles playing next to the fields while the adults work. Everywhere are little rest huts with napping dads or young girls chatting. I imagine Chee Nou and Gao here – and their ancestors before the war. It feels like a happy place to be. I can tell that life is hard, but carefree.

Streams and rivers run everywhere through the area, and as the sun rises higher, I see the occasional bather in the stream. The land above the valley is rugged dotted with spires and cliffs of limestone and driftless ridges planted heavily with banana, bamboo, and palm.

Many of the homes along the highway double as a market shop selling everything from cooking pots and bamboo baskets to food supplies like eggs and oil. Often there is an eatery as well with a table or two for guests.

Here chickens and birds are kept in large bamboo cages that are half-sphere shaped allowing the animal some room to peck the ground and for the farmer to move them easily from place to place. A few goats amble about and dogs lay hot on the side of the road.

If the houses aren’t thatched bamboo or wood, they are made of bricks or cement. Many of the mountain sides along the road are being mined with little cement fabricating shops. I’ve seen large culvert pipes and cinder blocks. If homes are made of block, they finish smooth with flat cement, paint and most have glass windows, electricity and satellite dishes. Some are ornately decorated with pillars on the porch and window trim. Houses like these have tile roofs rather than corrugated metal.

Bright yellow warning signs along the highway on the 12 percent grade switch back descent into Luang Prabang read, “HSARP CURVE” then they get it right and the sign says, “SHARP CURVE,” but a little while later there is uncertainty about the English spelling for that phrase, and they try, “CHARP CURVE!”

This is a place that reminds me of both my Ecuador and Honduras experiences. People here live off the land on little plots where they grow vegetables and a bit of rice. Today everybody is harvesting a grass from the wild – I’m not sure what it is, but I jokingly referred to it as “wild rice.” Perhaps it’s some sort of rogue rice in season after the main harvest? It is the dry season now – dusty with very few paddies flooded – mostly brown in the fields.

We arrived in the funky little town of Luang Prabang around 5:00 pm. Jeff booked us in a very Frenchy colonial feeling building with balcony and shuttered windows – very sweet. There are two rivers, the Mekong and Nam Khan that surround this town, and our guest house lies just above the Nam Khan with rooftop views. This laid back town is very popular with travelers from all over the world.

Shortly after we arrived last night, a low-pressure system moved into the area bringing with it a plume of smoke presumably from the slash and burn fires that smoulder across the country this time of year and the evening cooking fires throughout the city. About 15 minutes after our arrival, I watched from our hotel balcony as smoke poured into the valley and got stuck with low pressure and unmoving air. The air is thick with the smell of wood smoke, and my migraine once again triggered as it was in Chiang Mai, Thailand just a few days earlier. Southeast Asia just may kill me. Migraines indicate that I appear to be a canary in a coal mine for any air-borne pollutants. Later when we fly to Hanoi, from the airplane above, I can see the blanket of clouds that arrives each evening and holds the smog to the earth as if punishing the humans for being such fools.

Our second day in Luang Prabang took us to the famous Kuang Si Waterfall where photography is all that and then some. It is a spectacularly beautiful place with black bears and azure waters…and a lot of tourists.

The world today has only 5 Communist countries remaining: China, Cuba, Laos, North Korea and Vietnam – we will have visited two of those – Laos and Vietnam. Listening to the Lao Karaoke at the bar outside our room, I am glad they have a 12 midnight curfew! Here is Laos, the internet is slow, food is slow, and drivers are slow – if not for smog – a lovely, peaceful world!

Thailand in Photos

Thailand has been good to us. We’ve always enjoyed the tropics – warm weather, beaches, fresh food, and Thailand fits the bill. We were also fortunate enough to have family here to visit – a cousin who speaks Thai – and to show us around. Travel through an “insiders” perspective is so much more rewarding.

We landed in Bangkok where we jet lagged for a couple of days and Jeff and Max rested with colds. Then we flew to Krabi and traveled to the island of Koh Lanta for a two-week beach hang where we “recovered” from the confined space of motorhome travel around Europe. Health restored, we headed back to Bangkok for a day then off to one of Thailand’s ancient cities, Ayutthaya. Here we explored the city and enjoyed our roof-top hotel room and some cooler air than we had experienced on Koh Lanta. The next day we traveled by train north across the country to Chiang Mai. Here we met up with my cousin, Christina and took a big hike up the mountain to Wat Phra That Doi Suthep. Christina told us that you can’t say you’ve been to Chiang Mai without a visit to this temple! So, we can say we were here, tired legs and all!

We have seen cats all along our trip.

Lotus flower – from the dark murky mud to pure beauty.

Serenity Buddha

Lotus seed is edible as a crunchy snack or in soups.

A little lane with Thai homes.

Collecting rubber sap.

Eating breakfast before work.

A beach on Koh Lanta – great for body surfing!

Max riding a Scoopi.

Rubber comes out white and feels like a soft foam.

Elephant as royal symbol of Thailand

One of the tables at Earl’s in Ayutthaya.

The ancient city of Ayutthya, Thailand.

Calling the Earth to Witness

Let sleeping dogs lie.

Green tea ice cream and a little bike ride!

Plum trees filled the ancient city.

A table set like this got added to my “Honey Do” list!

Double Sag Swag!

Ancient ruins once covered in stucco and ornately carved. Little of that remains.

White lotus to greet the morning.

Train Station at Ayutthaya

Max “Double Bagged!”

Panorama Tricks – Max X 2

Goodies at the market – no idea what this is…bettlenut and stuff for the temple?

Jeff and Christina at the coffee shop

Learning to be narcissistic taking selfies

Christina can take a mean selfie!

Moses and Max both tall and skinny!

Trying to get a picture of the cute boys behind us for Christina!

Greeters at the temple

Part of travel fun is photography with smart phones!

Max and his cousin once removed, Christina!

Ancient buddhas

After six miles straight up, this was a refreshing treat!

Tiled dragons guarding the temple stairs

I’ve got 100 steps to go and a pounding migraine!

We made it to the top!

Rode a “Red Truck” down the mountain and Jeff and Max hung off the back. Cool!

Tourists for a day: Sarah, Christina, Max, Jeff and Moses.

This cheery spirit can make 100 more steps seem easy-peasy!

And, back down we go.

The Chiang Mai smog gave me a migraine, sad to say. But a wonderful city!

After hearing of our hike, the restaurant cook made us double sized portions! We ate it all – Thai food is SO delicious!

 

Thai Girls – Western Guys

Donald Trump and Melania have Jeff and I playing a game. It doesn’t have a name, but we use a 1-3 rating system. When traveling the world, one spends a lot of time watching other people. Of course, we are drawn to the sweet “eye candy” treats provided by the contours and lines of the world’s BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE, but often a mismatched couple leaves us flabbergasted. So the game involves a decision about couples: are they evenly distributed in terms of looks or skewed. I should note to our gay friends that we only play this game with opposite sex couples – no offense. So, if the woman and the man are well matched, they receive a 2. If the woman’s beauty far outweighs that of the man (as in the case of Donald and Melania), the couple scores a 3 (sideways breasts). On the opposite end of the spectrum, if the man is far more handsome than the women, the couple receives a 1 (penis). The BIG question when traveling the world is “Why is she or he with him or her?” I know, very judgy. But, interesting to think about, eh?

Since we arrived in Thailand, Jeff and I have been blown away by the number of Thai women with European men. Many of these couples look to be about the same age, but quite a few of the couples consist of an older man with a much younger woman. Part of being blown away, I suppose is due to the fact that the European/Caucasian physical presence is so noticeable as we kinda “stick out” here. Some of the Thai women with the men are beauties, but most are average looking. In Bangkok we saw a few couples that would garner a 2 with a beautiful woman and handsome man, but many of the couples have been skewed meaning we’ve been left to wonder what they see in each other. So, we beg the question: Why are so many Thai women with foreigners? I got curious, started reading about the topic, then…

I got mad.

I found a couple of blogs written by European expat men regarding their ideas about Thai women that left my head spinning with emotions ranging from anger, pity, spite, disgust and sadness. One of the bloggers, Thailand Redcat, does a great job covering the topic of Thai girls – how to find them, where to find them, how to arrange for a “Happy Ending” massage, etc. His blog is really comprehensive and well-geared for the guy  –  both straight or gay – who knows what he wants out of Thailand. In addition to the information about finding the girls (or ladyboys, if you like), and arranging for services, he also posts travel information about hotels, clubs and other tourist-needed info!

Do you notice my use of the word “girls” when talking about this guy’s work? Thailand Redcat chooses to refer to Thai women as “girls,” so I am using his semantics to discuss the topic. I find that really irritating and demeaning. But, then again, at what point do girls start referring to themselves as women? Maybe somebody who is 25, not yet married can be called a “girl?” Perhaps I’m just quibbling over semantics?

Or am I? When we were in Bangkok, Jeff commented several times on how so many people looked young. At Terminal 21 – a mall – he felt that he was “in a sea of 13-year-olds.” To us, perhaps after traveling with retired Austrian and German campervan crusaders, the presence of youth is just striking. Or, perhaps the size of Thai people really causes us larger folks to erroneously assess their age as much younger. Regardless, the use of the word “girl” in the context of sexual favors seems a bit odd.

When I stumbled across Thailand Redcat’s piece called, “Why Thai Girls Make Better Girlfriends Than Western Women” (Notice the title  – Thais are ‘girls’ and foreign females are ‘women’) I really got mad. His main tenets are that Thai girls don’t complain and don’t want to be the boss – they are forever optimistic and sunny. He argues they are “ten times” prettier than western women, have better bodies and nicer skin. Another assessment is that Thai girls make better housewives. I bet you can imagine the number of comments to that blog post! His article got the ire of both Thai women and “western” women for sure, but an overwhelming number of the responses were from men who either agreed with Thailand Redcat or who wanted to spew hateful words about the Thai women who dumped them. In the comment stream, these men call Thai women “lying whores,” “deceptive,” “angry and violent,” “lazy,” “deceitful,” and “manipulative.” There’s more – it gets worse. Not only has he caused offense to his European sisters, but his followers, through the comments thread, have now offended the Thai sweeties he writes about.

I get it, for men to seek beautiful women is a primal sexual drive – not something the intellectual, thinking brain can entirely control. The same can be said about women – we seek a strong partner who can protect. I suppose the natural push/pull for reproduction can partially explain the behavior we witness in Thailand. Some Thai women are sexually appealing to western men, and larger western men may experience a primal draw from petite Thai women who perceive size and stature to mean protection.

But, sometimes these partnerships are not made of Beauty and her Strong Prince, but rather a beautiful young woman who hooked up with an old geezer. Obviously, the male chooses beauty, but Beauty chooses financial stability as protection. I get the idea that direct payment for services might be the motivating factor, but are there other reasons Thai women seek out foreign men? Well, that led me to another article explaining that Thai men, although not upheld by the law, can take second wives. Many Thai women like the western attitude towards relationships as being monogamous. Of course, the western man who can afford to pay her family a dowry and maybe even a “wife salary” to help support the extended family is a highly prized economic asset. Very often, it seems, these relationships have commerce as their backbone, but romance and love apparently also play a part.

So why don’t we see it the other way around? Why aren’t Thai men with western women? Well, just like our friend over at Thailand Redcat, Jang from Spirit of Thailand tells us that Thai men find foreign women to be quite unattractive and too independent. According to Jang, culturally, Thai men are shy and accustomed to their women being quiet and agreeable. Thailand is a patriarchy where women are taught deference towards men. According to ThaiLoveLines, Thai women “make good wives or partners” because of this cultural attitude, but western women don’t pay their respects to the male ego in the same way.

I know, I know. I am viewing this situation through my cultural lens. Perhaps I am supposed to know that these relationships benefit many and are not created from a place of domination. I am supposed to understand that Thai women gain status from their relationships with foreigners and are happy to be the wife, the minor wife or the 3rd kept only as a concubine, even referred to as a “sex slave” in some articles. I am supposed to know that views about sex in Thailand do not come packaged in “Prude” covered stigmas of piety, shyness or contempt. But for some reason, my western shades keep slipping down over my eyes.

I have a cousin who has lived in Thailand for awhile now and speaks Thai. I thought I would ask her for some insight. Here are her thoughts:

At first I was partially appalled at how many foreign men are here drooling over Thai (many aren’t actually Thai ethnically but rather hill tribe women) women. Through studies, relationships, and more time here I have a broader picture now and am quite a bit more understanding of the larger forces at play. Here are some bullet-point factors that help me understand the phenomenon of specifically foreign men married to Thai women:

• In Thai culture, people are trained from a young age to be considerate and good caregivers. Thai people, men and women alike, are so extra thoughtful of others and always willing to go the extra mile to help. This is attractive for westerners because they can be cared for well.
• The set-up generally works well: Men don’t want to be alone. Women want security.
• Usually the foreign men have lived their lives and perhaps their wife has already died. The climate is good for old bones and muscles. Access to healthcare is easy and better than most people’s home countries.
• For a Thai person, marrying a foreigner is a huge way to get out of socio-economic holes. Marrying a foreign man means financial stability.
• A Thai adult doesn’t just take care of themselves but also their parents and, when needed, extended family. To marry a foreigner can mean security for a family, not just the individual.
• It also works well that the women foreigners find attractive are the ones Thai men don’t .
• Thai people LOVE half Thai-half white kids. The whiter the skin the better. When parents can give this to their kids it is a good thing.
• Thai men are known to be cheaters. Ask any Thai woman and they’ll label Thai men as cheaters.
• Thai people are very open about sexual needs. As far as foreign men with Thai women simply for sex, this is kind of just a normal thing.
• But, sometimes foreign/Thai relationships cause resentment.

For example:

My fourth month in Thailand I visited my roommate’s hometown and stayed with her mom and step-dad, an old, fat, British man. They had been together since my friend was young (we were both in college then), yet I spoke more Thai than he did. I had looked forward to my vacation in her hometown because I was going to be immersed in culture and language, but most of my time was spent with this old man, listening to him complain about “them” and all “their culture” things. He was bitter. He felt used for his money. But he stayed in the arrangement. And I think that is what it is for many couples, an arrangement. This happens in western relationships as well, but the arrangement isn’t always as apparent to the public as it is here. Many of my friends from work are married to foreigners and their relationships look a lot different than this first foreign-Thai couple I met. For one, my friends married men their age. There has also been a mutual learning of language and culture.

Of course, there is another category of foreign man – Thai woman relations which is mainly for sex during a short time visit. I don’t know much from the foreign men’s perspective, but, from a Thai/hill tribe perspective, sometimes sex work is the work that will pay. There are various places for sex here in Thailand based on price ranges and clientele which range from small drive-in garages for local customers to nicer brothels or bar workers for richer men. Escort services are popular here, as anywhere, though I’ve read that escort services are more popular for rich foreign and local men in Cambodia and Vietnam.

During your time here it might be helpful to know that there are three words in Thai that simply summarize cultural values: fun, comfort, and convenience. While Thai people are extremely respectful – this is a very high-context culture meaning that motions, expressions, actions, colors, words, etc. carry lots of meaning. The context is very important for interactions, and.these values still ring through.

Now, after being in Thailand for a couple of weeks, I have met two Thai women who are married to foreign men and their relationships are wonderful. They have businesses together, children together and obvious respect for each other. Learning about this issue has given me a far better appreciation for the arrangements we make in life so that we may be happy and comfortable. And, I’ve learned my lesson to stay away from blog posts titled, “Why Thai Girls Make Better Girlfriends than Western Women.”

 

 

 

 

Canary Islands – Geography Quiz – Where in the World?

I’d heard of the Canary Islands, but if asked where in the world they are located, I wouldn’t have had a clue. I would not have known that these beautiful islands are off the west coast of Africa but belong to Spain. I don’t think this would have been a place ever to catch my radar were it not for cold and rainy weather making France seem a little less than desirable for travel the end of November. In search of warmth, sun and sand, we landed in Tenerife for a five-day getaway. A trip to the Canary Islands for Europeans is a bit like our vacations to Mexico although the Canary Islands are VERY affordable – cheap even. But the experience is not.

When we arrived at the airport we were bombarded with signs and pamphlets for tourist hot-spots, but the one that caught our attention was Siam Park – Trip Advisor proclaimed number one in Europe and second best water park in the world. A must see, must do for Max and Camille. According to the kids, this park had an impressive wave pool with surfable white capped rollers, a lazy river that took the rider through an aquarium where sharks and other big fish could think about eating the kids for dinner and the place was exceptionally beautiful. Camille was impressed by the plants, landscaping and the view from the side of the mountain. When describing it, she recalled how in the U.S. our water parks are just sort of “plopped” down whereas the Siam is nestled into the side of the mountain as if it had always been there.

While the kids played at the water park, Jeff rented a mountain bike and set off in an uphill trajectory that would last nearly five hours. He returned to our condo, Ona Sueno Azul, wiped out, for sure! He was excited to ride here as apparently many of the European professional bikers build muscle and lung capacity by biking up the steep hills up towards the giant El Teide Volcano at 5,000 to 7,000 feet. It sounds like these guys sleep in the thin air to acclimate. The weather in Tenerife is sunny and pleasant, but cloud cover near the summit at 10,000 feet provides rain water for the island. On this island you can sun and swim bikini clad and don a winter parka on top of the volcano all in one day.

Our visit to the top of El Teide brought back memories of Iceland. Traveling from sea level we passed through banana and papaya farms first, then entered scrub land with prickly pear and sagebrush. Another thousand feet up and we were in the lava flows and alpine layer where dry fallen pine needles over lava flow made the earth look burnt orange. Above the pines the finer lava flows gave way to black boulders and “mountains” of lava and weird rock formations. It’s an area that is desolate and other worldly like a Hollywood set for an extraterrestrial science fiction flick. Each of these distinct altitude zones gave way to unique flora and fauna, and left me wondering how humans could manage to survive let alone thrive in a place like this – beautiful as it is, but seemingly desolate.

To get to the top of El Teide we rented a car for the 50 kilometer trek that Jeff had biked the day before then took the cable car to the summit. We were told that it would be cold at the top, but did not realize that cold would mean below zero temps and even colder wind chills. We left Paris with shorts, t-shirts and sweatshirts – we needed snowmobile suits at the top! Being the minimalist traveler, I had only a pair of black sandals, thin easy-dry pants and a summer linen sweater. Within two minutes of reaching the top of the volcano, clouds came flying over heads on the heels of 40 mph winds, I was shaking violently and my toes began to turn blue! We took a few photos and came directly back down excited that the car would be hot from the sun beating down on it!

One of the reasons we love going to Mexico is because we enjoy their sense of hospitality. There is a kindness and easy-going nature about Mexican people that we appreciate. While Europeans have been mostly pleasant and kind, Americans in the Canary Islands are a novelty, so hospitality towards us extended past kindness to grand gestures of generosity. In the restaurant, Bombay Babu, the Pakistani owner was so excited to have Americans in his place that we were given a free bottle of wine! The food was EXCEPTIONAL, so each day in the Canaries, all we wanted to eat was Bombay Babu. We forced ourselves to try a couple of other restaurants, but went back to the generous hospitality our last night where we were showered again with free drinks and an appetizer. Overall, food here is unbelievable – the best of each world cuisine to make every traveling palate happy. This was the first place that had so many restaurant options that being vegetarian was easy and enjoyable for us. In most places being veg means we can’t enjoy the traditional food – in the Canary Islands typical food is fish.

Most of the food we ordered mild, but requested an Aloo with maximum heat – we like it hot, but this might have topped our heat tolerance levels. Jeff needed to take a few “cool down” breaks between bites! I think if this had been a buffet, Jeff would not have won!

 

 

 

 

Spain & Motorhome Camping

Arriving in Spain means falling into her warmth and enjoying her fabulous food! She folds you into her bosom to feast on Tit Cheese, Paella, and for meat-eaters – her famous jamon. Spain favors flavor over beauty – vegetables in stunning deep colors with flaws and bumps and bruises to show they have been well loved  – and will do the same for you.

It was great fun to travel across the millions of acres of olive groves towards the sea and reminisce about how much Spain looks like the American Southwest. Of course, we wondered why there are no olives in our land like this, and it turns out it is too hot there.

Spain a huge country, nearly as big as Texas, so once we began to follow the coast, we also began to worry that the draw of the beach might cause us to run out of time to get back to Paris for a rendez vous with a friend. Alas, Spain is not as far south as Texas, so despite the bright sun, it is brisk and sometimes downright cold in November. We actually found frost on the windows in Salamanca and a reading of 30 degrees! In a motorhome that makes for cold mornings! As a traveler just a wee tired of tourists, Spain is the place to be in November  – you can have the whole place to yourself! But, looking for a little more heat, we think to Southeast Asia in December and brace ourselves for Northern France the end of November.

 

Below is one of our campsites right on the beach. In these places we find many Germans, Austrians, French, Dutch and others from the north escaping the cold in their motorhomes, but we are also surprised to learn that these sites have semi-permanent trailers as well. In fact, we have seen this all over Europe. Sometimes the camping parks even have tiny cabins for rent. People have small campers with porches, astroturf “lawns” and potted plants – getaways much the same as the “Cabin up North” in Minnesota. However, folks in Europe seem to be more comfortable with lot sizes MUCH smaller than we would like for our cabins and cottages. The smallest most of us would tolerate would be two acres with at least one unobstructed sight line to the water, but these campers sit on sites that are perhaps 20 x 20 feet if that! The nice thing, the campground provides the bathrooms and take care of cleaning them – one task I can do without!

We have tended to stay two or three days in places we like, but searching out the next campsite takes time. In the beginning of our trip we used an app through a website called, “Camper Contact” that served us well until we entered the “off season.” Camper Contact provides maps with campsites, information about the site and even reviews from previous guests. When we have internet, it’s a pretty handy tool. For some reason, the further south we have gone in Europe, and the later in the season, the less campsites available through Camper Contact. Fortunately, we had also purchased the “Camping Card ASCI” that came with actual paper books with maps and campsite listings of certified campsites that offer discounts during the offseason. Either way, we spend between Euro 17-Euro 30 for a night in one of these places.

When in Granada we knew we couldn’t miss the Alhambra with it’s ornately carved plaster, spectacular gardens and views of the Granada Valley around. We have been so lucky on this trip managing to command sun each day we tour…even if it is a little brisk in the mornings.

Look above Max’s head for the crown! Our little prince stands below it.

The Alhambra provided a bit of family bonding time after a few homesick days.

“Jeff, smile. Make it look like you’re really happy!” Aren’t the walls spectacular? Maybe when I have a little time, I’ll do this to the walls in our house, perhaps a bathrooms somewhere, and make mosaic rock paths like those I admired at the Alhambra! 

The day we visited the Alhambra was election day in the United States and heavy thoughts rumbled through our minds as we toured the once Islamic palace. We wondered if our fellow countrymen would vote for a man who allowed the fearful and racist a voice. As we left the Alhambra, this graffiti caught my attention – seemed somehow an omen or symbolic of the man who we would vote into power.

Hiking Cinque Terre, Italy – A Guide for Beginners

Isn’t that view breathtaking? This view has been described by Lonely Planet as, “some of the most dramatic coastal scenery on the planet.” 

It is true that most tourists spend time reading guide books, reviews and informational articles or websites about the places they will or have visited. As a traveler, I tend to spend more of my reading time on the backside of a visit finding that it helps make sense of what I have seen or experienced. When I read about something before I see it, for some reason the information doesn’t really “stick.” So, if you’re like me, heed this warning, DON’T GO HIKING IN CINQUE TERRE because what you might think is a class one or two hike is more like class three or four – five being straight-up-a-sheer-cliff-rock-climbing!

I’m such a dolt – such a sucker!  Words like, “its charm is the lack of visible corporate development” make me dropsy with gooey feelings and the rebel in me is convinced I will love it. Everything I read about Cinque Terre before going there had words that pulled me in… “charming, dramatic, romantic…” Here’s how Lonely Planet intros Cinque Terre…

“Set amid some of the most dramatic coastal scenery on the planet, these five ingeniously constructed fishing villages can bolster the most jaded of spirits. A Unesco World Heritage site since 1997, Cinque Terre isn’t the undiscovered Eden it once was but, frankly, who cares? Sinuous paths traverse seemingly impregnable cliffsides, while a 19th-century railway line cut through a series of coastal tunnels ferries the footsore from village to village. Thankfully cars were banned over a decade ago.”

Read more: http://www.lonelyplanet.com/italy/cinque-terre/introduction#ixzz4OphvdK3T

I’m most certainly a jaded spirit and drawn to anything sinuous and “ingeniously constructed,” so after reading these bits and pieces, I was convinced our family would LOVE Cinque Terre. We’d be hiking along the coast and get to see more of that ROMANTIC Italy! What could be better? Running a marathon, being drawn and quartered or burned at the stake, perhaps?

Our trip to Cinque Terre made me realize my English must not be as strong as I thought it was. What about “rugged, steep, seemingly impregnable cliffsides, ascent of 368 steps…yadda, yadda, blah don’t I understand? Why don’t I know what “ferries the footsore from village to village” REALLY means?

This charming hike must be Italy’s biggest joke on tourists! They beckon us to visit with their charming farms terraced into rugged rocky terrain, they convince us that we will love a romantic hike through their backdoors and gardens where we can marvel at the Italian ability to build straight up, and promise us a variety of vistas unheard of in most of the world. All the while we are sucking for breath, the Italians are laughing their butts off while sipping Grappa! I can just hear them, “Look at those stupid tourists walking those paths! We don’t even walk up there! And, they paid for this torture as well! Ha, ha , ha, ha, ha!!!”

Let me set the record straight for any tourist even thinking about visiting Cinque Terre. Let me try to be a bit more clear than the guide books.

1. If you hike it, prepare to feel like you are dying – heart pounding will not stop the entire trail, your lungs will feel like they will explode and the feel of nausea may last for days after the “hike.”
2. So, because of number one, if you are not in EXTREME SOLID physical shape, don’t even think about walking the trail. If you drink two glasses of wine a day, forget about it and buy a train ticket to each of the villages. If you smoke, go straight to the wine bar and wait for your family members. You will hear rescue helicopters all day on the trail if you go.
3. Plan on sweat. There is NO WAY you can walk this trail and not sweat profusely within the first one hundred steps UP. Don’t be fooled by the maps – trails on paper look flat! These trails go first up, then down, then up…through 5 villages.
4. Speaking of steps up – there are THOUSANDS of them. You will go up a rocky path that ascends hundreds of “steps” then go down a similar number and repeat for as many villages as you want to see. (A NOTE about “STEPS” – they are not steps in the conventional sense. These steps are made of rocks and some of the rise/run dimensions are the height of a healthy son of a basketball player.)
5. Plan to wear pants that stretch. This kind of hiking/step walking requires your knees to be able to touch your nose. If you can hold any of the yoga “Warrior” positions for five or six hours, you will love this hike!
6. The hike WILL take 6 hours. If you are a fast walker, you might think you will do this hike in a third of the time, but you won’t.
7. Get a good picture of what 6 hours really means. Picture 6 hours in your day – think about brushing your teeth in the morning and then on to lunch. Then think about all you get done during that HUGE amount of time. Now imagine feeling the way I describe in point NUMBER 1 above for that long. If you think you can do it, 99% of you are kidding yourself. You can’t.
8. Note that the trail passes through terraced vineyards with shriveled dried grapes on the vines – a huge CLUE that not even the Italians traverse these trails. No, they are not a raisin producing area.
9. Because you will sweat so much, you must plan to carry a heavy pack with water. Don’t think you can be the cool minimalist packer on this trip. You may even want to consider hiring a sherpa or good mule to carry your water supply.
10. If you don’t completely dehydrate yourself, you might need a bathroom, but they are non-existent on the trail. That is not the same for fellow tourists, so plan to pee in company.
11. Finally, if you are fool enough to think you can make this hike, know that the trains stop in each town, so you can plan your exit strategy.

Beautiful and stunning, yes. A marvel of agricultural architecture, most definitely. A romantic hike – certainly not! This hike is HARD.

As you can imagine, I did not make it through this hike. We camped north of Cinque Terre, up the hill from Deiva Marina, then took the train to the most southern village (Riomaggiore) with the intention of walking the trail through all five of the towns. At the last town, Monterosso, we would take the train back to Deiva Marina.

I wore jeans and packed three apples, one for each of us, thinking it all perfect and sufficient. I have to pee a lot, and don’t like carrying anything too heavy, so water didn’t make the cut. Jeff never said anything about packing anything, so what to bring was my decision. There was no discussion. I don’t think the thought to bring anything occurred to Max as he had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. He’s along for the ride with little vested interest, typically. All he wants to do in Europe is ride a bullet train.

When we left in the morning it was cold, so in addition to jeans, I wore a t-shirt, lightweight fleece and down puff coat. Max had a sweatshirt and Jeff had his flannel over a t-shirt, but fortunately, they both wore shorts.

By the time we got forty steps up and out of Riomaggiore, we were all drenched. The sun was now nearly overhead and the torturous exercise brought on sweat and nausea. I had all my layers tied around my waist, and the skinny jeans no longer the comfortable easy-wear clothing item I love. With sweat, the jean fabric became stuck to my skin and completely inelastic. Every step up required me to use an arm to help lift a leg. In the few places where there were handrails, I used those to pull myself up. Those of you who know skinny jeans and have ample butts like me also know that if the jean leg goes up, the ass cover will surely go down. If it weren’t for the coat tied around my waist, all the travelers behind me would have known that I wear thong underwear with little pink flowers! Basically, the jeans prevented my legs from being able to stretch high enough to reach most of the steps naturally.

For some reason, since trails on maps are flat, I think I thought that once we reached the top, the trail would continue on some upper ridge above the towns. As we continued the endless hike up out of Riomaggiore, I tried to convince myself that it would be better once we reached the top. I figured this was the tough part, we’d have a few slight ups and downs then descend at the last village.

When the pain got nearly unbearable, I started to look to Jeff for reassurance. It was then that I wanted to sit back down with the guide books, I wanted to know EXACTLY how far to the “top,” and I wanted to know precisely what to expect on the rest of the trail. Every question I asked came back with one of his positive reassuring ideas, “It’s just around that next wall.” Or “We’re almost there.” Or “I think it’s just a little further.”  I should note that the “steps” up this first hill usually go straight up, but occasionally take a sharp turn to the left or the right leaving the hiker looking up to falsely believe that in twenty more steps they will reach the top. Over and over, we would see another steep climb up that appeared to end in a flat path. But when we got to the top, just around the corner was another steep set of steps going up twenty, thirty, forty at a time. This hike is a psychological brain (excuse my English) fuck.

After suffering a few of these illusions, I began to realize that hiking Cinque Terre is the best trick played on tourists ever! I figure Italians must be so tired of tourists mobbing their every charming nook and cranny that this is their way of getting back at us. Promote the hike as charming, build a national park around it, charge a fee, then sit back and watch them suffer. I suspect the aperitivo is a daily activity on all of the Cinque Terre balconies where Italians gather over olives and a bottle of wine to watch the late afternoon tortured tourists struggle through the terraced hills. The real kicker is that when you get to the “top” and look out over the terraces, you will see the little motorized carts they use to transport themselves through the vineyards!

Once we got to the actual top of the first hill, I realized that my interpretation of the maps was utterly incorrect and all hope dashed. Rather than proceeding along some sort of flat upper ridge of the hillsides, the now easy to see trail led straight down to Manarolo, the next village, and right back up the hill opposite our vista. This would be six hours of grueling up and down in tight pants that wouldn’t give, without water or hope. Mr. Positive led the way directly to the train station, bought me a ticket, kissed me and said, “I love you.”

I went back to Deiva Marina barely able to walk and Max and Jeff completed the hike. Nearly six hours later over our own aperitivo we talked about the brutality of the Sentiero Azzurro (“Azure Trail”) and laughed about how the section from Riomaggiore to Manarola is called the Via dell’Amore (“Love Walk”). Ha!