Beginning of the Indo

March 13, 2013 by B + B in SE Asia, Indonesia

We're in Indonesia with less than three weeks to go before we head home for the first time in nine months! We have so many emotions running through us right now that we're trying to slow down and use our time here to relax, reflect and prepare minds, bodies and spirits for re-entry.

But, old habits die hard. After a few quiet days in Bali (which is where we fly out of on March 14th), we got the itch to do some exploring. So we hopped a 4-hour ferry to Lombok, a neighboring island with a deserted Southern coastline.

We set up in Kuta, which shares a name but nothing else with Bali's famous party beach. It was just what we needed - beautiful, quiet, untouched and, outside of a few surfers and a friend of ours from back in Vietnam, all ours. We stayed with a local family for $8 a night, ate for about $2 a meal and found it pretty easy to settle into island life.

Brendan has been getting more and more comfortable shuttling us around on a scooter, so every morning we jumped on the bike in search of a new beach. We had no schedule and no agenda, with nothing to stop us from our pursuing our lazy adventures. Except of course for the rain (February is rainy season in Indonesia), which had plans of its own.

For the most part, we've been getting afternoon showers, short-lived and somewhat predictable. But, as we've learned over the last nine months, it's the unexpected moments that are most memorable.

After an incredible meal at Ashtari Cafe, we set out one morning with Marina (a friend we met on a trek in Vietnam, then met up with again several times in Vietnam and Cambodia) in search of a beach called Mawi, on the Southwestern tip of the island. The scenery was so beautiful on the way there that we kept stopping to take pictures. At one of our photo opps, women working in the rice fields started waving their arms at us. We immediately thought they were offended by the photos, but as they came near, we noticed they were using the palm-down, digging motion which actually means "come here" in a lot of SE Asian countries.

We sat down with them right then and there on the side of the road for a coffee break. We sipped extremely strong powdered coffee while they tried on every piece of clothing of ours they could get without taking the shirts off our backs (although one actually asked for that as well). They laughed as they passed around sunglasses, hats and headbands before returning everything and sending us on our way, amped up from the unexpected experience and the caffeine.

The extra energy came in handy when the road to Mawi suddenly became nothing more than a muddy path. I had to get off the bike and walk so Brendan could maneuver first our and then Marina's bike over the sketchiest parts. Then, we ditched the bikes altogether and decided to just walk the rest of the way. Marina broke her flip flop and I fell down completely, covering my entire backside with mud while Brendan and some locals looked on and laughed. When we finally made it to the beach, a huge storm blew in and left us stranded with about 13 locals in a bamboo hut by the water, thirty minutes from our bikes and another hour's ride from civilization. The wind was blowing so hard, the rain was coming into the wall-less hut sideways, soaking us but (silver lining) washing off a little of the mud on my clothes. We bonded with the villagers until the storm subsided, at which point they walked out with us. The man in charge placed his arm lovingly around Brendan while Marina and I followed with the women and children.

We didn't get much of a head start before the rain started up again. We pulled off to the side of the road, and we're immediately invited to seek shelter under another bamboo hut in the yard of someone's house. We were served fresh corn on the cob and talked about the weather with the dozen or so older men in the hut. When the downpour let up, we said goodbye, thinking we were leaving our hosts to their evening, only to have everyone follow us out. All the men there were also simply hiding from the rain, accepting and extending the generosity from the actual homeowners to us.

We finally made it home, unscathed and entertained by our misadventures. It was not the day we had planned, but was one of the best on the island and reminded us, yet again, that people are what make places so special.

Mr. All Night and the Path to Enlightenment

March 06, 2013 by B + B in Burma, SE Asia

It didn't take us long to realize that religion plays a huge role in Burma. It is a country of pilgrims and pagodas, and most of the sights worth seeing are sacred. Looking back on our first week, it seems like we were on our own pilgrimage in South Burma and we have the sore legs to prove it.

Flying into Yangon the first thing you notice is the famous gilded stupa of Schwedagon Pagoda. It rises up out of the flat skyline, providing a stark contrast to the gray city around it. It's beautiful at every time of day. At sunrise and sunset, the tower turns red in the changing light. During the day, the sun catches it's smooth surface and reflects like a beacon for tourists and worshipers. And at night, even when the rest of the city is without power, spotlights shine on the 330 foot tower, making it glow.

We visited Schwedagon in the late afternoon, climbing the first of our many steps in Burma to the top to walk clockwise, in the Buddhist tradition, around the main pagoda. Along the way we stopped at alters marked for our birth "days", Friday for Brendan and Wednesday for me, to light a candle given to us by a palm reader we had visited earlier that week. Astrology and fortune telling are a big part of people's lives in Burma and work hand-in-hand with Burmese Buddhist practices. So, one day while we were wondering the city, we sat down under a tree and had our palms read. Not surprisingly, Brendan's social/communication line was long and strong, my learning/leadership line was looking good and our prosperity/fortune lines were both extremely weak. Luckily, lighting the candles he provided (at extra cost, of course) on our birthday alters should correct course, so even though our bank accounts are still dwindling, we're feeling good about the future.

We settled into a good spot to watch to sunset, hoping to catch a glimpse of the 76 carat diamond refracting the fading light and were blown away by Schwedagon's beauty and spirituality.

But the real religious experience in Yangon for us was the incredible mix of cultures represented in the city - Burmese, Indian, Bangladeshi, Chinese, Muslim, Hindu, Christian, Buddhist. Walking down the street, it was easy to imagine ourselves in half a dozen different countries. We were surrounded by different features, languages, dress, and, most importantly, food. We ate mohinga, a traditional Burmese breakfast dish of noodles, fish sauce and banana stems that sounds weird but tastes delicious. We slurped Chinese chicken soup with homemade wontons. We snacked on Indian samosa salad, lassi and dosa. And we discovered the best tea in the world - a mixture of tea, spices, cream and condensed milk that we are determined to replicate. Tea houses are everywhere in Burma, from actual storefronts to pop up cafes on the street and I think we went to every single one for tea and chipati.

From Yangon, our pilgrimage took us to one of the most sacred sites in Burma: Golden Rock. To see it as an outsider is a contradictory experience. It is the most pilgrimaged site in the country. In fact, in almost every home we visited in Burma, there were photos of the family at Golden Rock. And we were told by many others that is the first place they would visit if "they could go anywhere in the world." In reality, it's a rock that somewhat seems to be balancing on the edge of a mountain covered in gold leaf, sacred because of its precarious position and the legend that strands of Buddha's hair are enclosed inside. It sounded strange enough for us to see for ourselves.

Getting to Golden Rock was a bit of a process (even more since we took the night train from Yangon which put us into town before sunrise). At 6am, we piled into the back of a pick up truck with about 45 pilgrims and one other tourist, and drove up a steep mountain pass completely at the mercy of the truck driver, and finally let out at the bottom of a smaller road. From here, it was a 45-minute walk up to the Golden Rock, unless you paid $10 for four Burmese to schlep you up the path like Cleopatra. Brendan was very tempted, but in the end we forged ahead on our own two feet. At the top, we saw the rock, which to us outsiders was pretty much just that. Plus, the government has built hotels, shops and restaurants around the Golden Rock site, so it has a very Disney-land like feel. But we have to admit that the view was incredible. It was the first strange religious site we'd seen, but certainly not the last.

The very next day in Mawlamein, we had our second encounter. The small sea-side town in Southern Burma is known for two things: a quiet, coastal getaway from Yangon and the largest reclining Buddha figure in the world. Yes, please. After seeing the reclining Buddha in Bangkok, covered in gold and ornately designed, we were prepared to be awed. Instead, we were a bit shocked when we pulled up and saw a four-story tall crumbling-concrete reclining Buddha that would look at home in cold-war era Russia. Or, as a villain's lair from Austin Powers. The truth is that it was just built hastily with poor quality materials in 2007. It's actually hollow so you can walk inside, but you have to share the space with a wax museum of graphic, violent scenes from we don't know where. A little creeped out, we left to catch our breath and sunset at a beautiful viewpoint above the town.

Ready to leave the giant Buddha behind us, we headed to Hpa'an by way of a scenic river ferry ride the next morning, unaware that the path to enlightenment was about to get real. There are a number of sites in Hpa'an worth visiting, mostly sacred caves scattered around town. Since we'd seen our fair share of caves in Laos, we opted for the "hike" up to Mt. Zwegabin monastery instead. This was one of those instances in our trip where a little research outside of the Lonely Planet could have gone a long way. The "hike" consisted of nearly 4,000 stone stairs, up the exposed face of the mountain. Since we came unprepared, we started climbing around 10am, late enough to put us in the heat of the day on the way up and down. To make matters worse, Brendan was just starting to feel a stomach bug and didn't have much in his stomach for sustenance. I swear, if the pilgrims we passed on the way up had not been so friendly and supportive, we might have turned back.

But everyone smiled and offered kind words, even though most of them were in worse shape than us. There were women who looked 50 to 60 years old walking in bare feet and carrying baskets of offerings all the way up. There were men dressed in their "Sunday best" under the heat of the sun. But you could tell just from looking at them that the journey was very much a part of the destination. That the struggle made the reward more complete somehow. It was the first time in Burma we truly understood the spirit of the pilgrims. And we felt blessed to be with them.

Finally at the top, we didn't have much time to reflect or recover before we were surrounded by locals asking to take photos of or with us. It had happened a few times since we'd arrived, but after that day, there must be sweaty pictures of us all over Burma. The monastery offered free lunch to visitors, so we sat with a Belgium couple and refueled before the even more grueling hike back down the 4,000 steps. For the next two days, we could barely walk.

Luckily, we had some entertainment in the form of Mr. All Night and his friends. We had met Mr. All Night (whose name is not actually "All Night" but sounds so much like it we laughed out loud the first time he said it and it stuck) a few days before when we played volleyball with a group of local men. They had invited us back for more games and beers, but since our bodies were so destroyed, we cheered from the sidelines and tried to drink double to make up for it. Mr. All Night, his brothers and his friends turned out to be some of our favorite people in Burma. They kept us laughing (painfully, I might add) for the whole night before we wobbled back to our guesthouse.

We took a few days off from the pilgrimage to recover and get our minds, bodies and spirits ready for the next sacred stop, the land of 2,000 temples: Bagan.

How to Cross the Street in Hanoi & Saigon

January 17, 2013 by B + B in SE Asia, Vietnam

The traffic in Vietnam's two largest cities, Hanoi and Saigon, is so hectic that most hotels and guesthouses actually provide instructions to foreign visitors on how to cross the street. The chaos is a combination of factors - the non-existence of lanes, the lack of rules (or perhaps enforcement) on speed, direction, passing, turning and traffic signals, and the fact that everyone on the road, with few exceptions, is driving a scooter. Thousands and thousands of scooters bob and weave around each other in all different directions, dodging street vendors, the occasional taxi, rickshaws (cyclos) and pedestrians. There are cross walks and "walk now" signs, but they seem to be for show only - both the cars and the people do what they want. So, if what you want is to cross the street, they offer this friendly advice:

Find locals and attach yourself to them, literally. Shadow them across the street at an uncomfortably close distance.
If no locals are around, it's up to you. Take a deep breath. Be brave.
Choose a crossing point - one spot is as good (a.k.a. bad) as the next, so just go for it.
Never look more than 5 feet in front of you, and never look behind. Immediacy is survival.
Walk slowly and at a steady pace. Resist the very strong urge to run and/or close your eyes.
Once you've made it to the other side, look before you celebrate... the sidewalk is also a road. And it's likely that there's a scooter coming your way.

The two cities bookended our time in Vietnam, starting with the capitol, Hanoi, and ending with Saigon, officially renamed Ho Chi Minh City to honor the much loved "Uncle Ho" after the war. They love him so much, in fact, that despite his wishes to be cremated, they had his body preserved and put on display for all to see. Once a year, he goes to Russia for a little work and then returns to Hanoi for the thousands of pilgrims and tourists who visit daily. We saw him the week he was back from his annual touch up and he was looking good.

Tradition meets modern, a common mix in Vietnam.

Aisles of pickled goodies at the Chinatown Market in Saigon.

Taking a much needed break from the chaos of Saigon.

Both cities can be overwhelming... Getting into Hanoi was an eye-opener, like "this is what an Asian city is." Bangkok has traffic, but there is a rhythm about it. It's settled into itself. It makes sense. Hanoi and Saigon do not. But, we liked both cities. The small cobblestone streets of Hanoi's old town have a certain charm, every street named after the thing it sells. Shoe street has nothing but shoes. Leather Street, nothing but leather. Silver street is full of shiny jewelry and trinkets. And so on. In Saigon, the streets are wider and the stores less segregated, but the energy is palpable and constant. The buzz, food and people watching made it one of our favorite places in Vietnam.

Street concert in Hanoi, scooter-room only.

Once you get over your fear of the scooters possibly running over you, it is incredible to sit back and watch a whole world unfold around you on two wheels. People do everything on their scooters. We saw a woman breast feeding, couples showing affection, friends having conversations across lanes of traffic while in motion. We saw entire families of four or five on one scooter. We saw people eating and drinking and sleeping. And we could not believe the things that these scooters hauled - trucks' worth of wooden planks, pigs, produce, boxes, crates, etc. All in the madness of traffic. If they made a reality show about life on scooters, we'd watch it.

We're slightly terrified to imagine a Chinese or Indian city, but for now, Hanoi and Saigon, with all of their non-stop energy and army of scooters is our picture of crazy Asia.

Monkeying Around in Laos

December 27, 2012 by B + B in Laos, SE Asia

The border crossing at Chiang Khong / Huay Xia was so easy it almost felt like we did something wrong. Apparently, a lot of people get scammed into hiring people to "help" them across, but we hadn't done enough research to even know that was a possibility, so we just wandered around the dock until we saw something that resembled passport control, got our exit stamps, hung out by the river until a boatman offered us a ride across the Mekong and then stumbled up the Laos side and upon the only official looking counter in site. $30, two photos and a stamp later, we were officially Laos tourists.

Coming into Laos, we didn't really know what to expect. We had heard mixed reviews from other travelers - some loved it, some said we'd be begging to be back in Thailand. Feedback tended to boil down to two simple observations - infrastructure and communication are crap but the land and people are beautiful. Not too bad. Plus, we were up for a little adventure. We decided to keep it simple, stick to a somewhat limited geography and get out in nature as much as possible.

It worked. By our second day in-country, we were trekking through the jungle, flying over the canopy of the tallest trees in Laos and sleeping in a treehouse 90 ft above the ground that you could only get into or out of via zip line. We spent three days in Bokeo Nature Reserve living out our childhood "Swiss Family Robinson" fantasies, left mostly to our own devises in the jungle with harnesses, carabiners and full reign of the zip lines. But it wasn't all play... We had to work for it! The hiking was serious - long, steep, muddy and sweaty. Our guide, Neu, kept taking us off trail, so we were literally bushwhacking through the jungle. It worked out well for us because we got a trek and a zip line experience for the price of one! The only problem was that there were creepy crawlies, mainly leeches that were very attracted to Brendan. Everyone in our group had one or two over the three days, but they seemed to specifically target Brendan - at one point, he had six on his foot at one time.

Neu, our Ninja guide, with a pot of Tea for the treehouse.

We got really lucky and ended up in a treehouse with great people, five Dutch and two other Americans (some of the few we've met along the way). We all agreed to make the most of our days, so we were up at dawn and in at dark or even after, which meant night zip lining! We were a treehouse family for the three days, with Nue, our jungle mama zipping in food and tea three times a day and indulging us in our never ending desire to zip and search for the elusive Gibbon, the reason we were all there in the first place.

The Gibbon is a monkey thought to be extinct in Laos until about 10 years ago, when scientists rediscovered the species in the Bokeo area. Since then, the Gibbon Experience has been using eco-tourism to help protect the natural jungle in Northwest Laos and repopulate the Gibbon. The zip lining and treehouse apartments are supposed to give you the full experience of living in the canopy, just like the Gibbons who often never touch the ground in their lifetime. They live in families and every morning, the male sings to his mate and children to keep the family close.

And, the very last day after hearing the Gibbons whale-like cries every morning, we finally got our first glimpse of a family high in the trees. After learning more about the very human-like Gibbons and spending time in their world, we're glad someone like the Gibbon Experience is around to help them out.