Borneo: Land of monkeys and scuba junkies

I looked out the window as the plane made its final decent into Kuala Lumpur. On the horizon stood a modern metropolis surrounded by hills in the distance and a well planned out suburb in the foreground. As the ground grew closer and closer I could make out the contemporary model cars traveling in a steady and orderly stream on the arteries that comprised a network of multi-laned highways. The recognizable brands of hotels and traffic lights completed the picture of a bustling modern first-world city. I breathed a sigh of relief eager for a reprieve from the third-world conditions I'd been living in since August. Kuala Lumpur delivered.

I grabbed my dusty beaten backpack from the baggage carousel, breezed through immigration and after an hour-long bus ride I followed the other Westerners to a hotel in Chinatown. My head touched the pillow and I was out, gone in a 10-hour coma, the kind of sleep that only comes about from complete and total exhaustion.

I arose the next morning, washed up and walked out the front door into the busy streets of KL to explore my new urban surroundings. As the blocks of the city passed me by I found a subway station and decided to press on. 1.40 Malaysian Ringetts and 20 minutes later I arrived at the Surya Mall in the basement of the famed Petronas Twin-Towers. The feeling was overwhelming, I almost cried upon seeing a Banana Republic, Starbucks, Chili's and the kinds of upscale boutiques you would only find at the finest shopping malls in America (Cartier, Versace...)

I was taken back by the emotional response I had, simply from the reintroduction of the simple things I had always taken for granted. It felt like I was freed from a twenty-year prison sentence. Noticing the permanent dirt on my pants and feeling the incessant itch on my cheeks as the only indication informing me that I had a full beard, I watched well-groomed trendy people pass by. I thought to myself,"I must look like a hobo, and I probably smell like one too."

I headed straight for Starbucks and ordered a tall soy latte then I took a seat and just sat there for an hour, breathing. I spent the entire day in elation floating on air through this four story marble and glass cathedral. It was the most beautiful temple I'd visited in months, a temple devoted to commerce and Western ideals, it was the closest taste to home I've had.

I went to Chili's for lunch and gorged myself on fajitas and a Budweiser long-neck. Six months ago it was shit beer, but after eating rice and curry and dead goat and drinking bottled water, it was nothing short of ambrosia. To be honest, I would have paid $100 for that little taste of home.

Next I headed to the cinema to see Max Payne, a crappy Marky Mark Wahlberg flick. And while the film did suck, I was eternally grateful to be able to experience watching it. Over the next 6 hours I visited the national aquarium (in the mall) and ventured up to the observation deck of the Petronas Twin-Towers

After 9 hours of feasting on pedestrian Western familiarity I exhaled and headed back down to the subway station to return to Chinatown for some KFC and some HBO before resting for the night.

Over the following two days I explored KL, taking in the sites, meeting the locals and learning the basics of Malaysian culture, history and language. I had just over 48 hours to kill before heading to Kota Kinabalu, Borneo to meet Andrea, my first visitor from the States.

I touched down in KK and met Andrea an hour later at International Arrivals. We took a taxi to our hotel, dropped our bags and grabbed a late evening beer at the bar next door.

"Wow! you've lost a lot of weight.", she commented as I poured two glasses of Indonesian beer, "You're shoulders have disappeared!" I hadn't noticed (according to the carnival scale at the video arcade a few days later, I am down ~18 lbs from when I left...Oh and as a Cancer, I will find love with an Aquarius this month) We spent the next hour or so catching up and planning the following days of our trip.

We spent 2 days in KK then hopped a bus through endless palm oil plantations to Sipilok, to visit the Orang-utan (I know, I thought it was Orangutang too!) rehabilitation center. And while I was slightly tired of seeing rainforests and jungles and wildlife I thoroughly enjoyed my stay with these silly orange furry little people.

They almost remind me of the Muppets the way they perform to the delight of their onlooking human cousins. Actually, they reminded me of Ryan, my 18 month old nephew.

From Sipilok, Andrea and I headed for a 2-day jungle river safari. It was kinda like the Jungle Cruise ride a Disney World except without the wise ass pimply-faced "guide" pretending to shoot animatronic hippos in the water with his cap gun. We spent hours watching brilliantly colored birds and Macaque and Proboscis Monkeys, the one's with the funny big noses.

Only the males have large noses, it's a sign of sexual maturity and attracts females for mating. The Proboscis male with the largest nose in the group will mate with up to 25 female. I get the short end of the stick again, In the human world, my large nose communicates that I probably celebrate Hannukah and have a nagging mother that peppers her whiny Brooklyn accented English with tid-bits of Yiddish. Oye gevalt!

With our visit to the jungle complete Andrea and I headed to Sipadan, a tiny island off the coast, to dive one of the world's top 5 dive sites.

Now every junkie remembers the unattainable high of their first fix. Mine was in 1992, Cozumel, Mexico. While my friends were enjoying our Junior year homecoming, an event that generated stories still reminisced upon at Fourth of July parties to this day, I was slipping into the crystal blue waters of the Caribbean enjoying what I have since described at the best 45 minutes I've ever spent on Earth. In the 17 years since I've been chasing that dragon. And while I've thoroughly enjoyed the sport of scuba diving, I've never been able to replicate that feeling I experienced in the waters off of the Yucatan Peninsula. That is not until the moment I rolled backward off the side of the boat into the warm azure water off of Sipidan Island, Borneo. In a moment that feeling of, "I never want to return to the surface" I felt all those years ago came rushing back. We hovered over a vibrant city of vivid corals, teeming with the most exotic fish as we hung in mid flight over a wall which dropped into the bottomless cobalt blue abyss.
(Oh yeah, everyone feel free to thank the good people at Olympus for making a wonderful "shock proof/water proof" camera. If their products lived up to their claims, I'd have pictures to show you. Lucky for me the thing was under warranty and they fixed it for free. Now if the terms only included time travel so I could have had the damn thing when I needed it. Son of a bitch!!... Hey at least I'm not bitter)

As we floated along with the warm tropical current through the crystal clear water we were greeted by graceful green turtles, flying effortlessly around us and regal white-tip reef sharks. Five minutes into the dive I looked down at my watch to see that in reality, 45 minutes had passed. I'd lost myself in paradise. Over 4 days I made 13 dives only coming up to eat and sleep.

Alas our time in Sipadan had come to an end and we hopped a short flight back to Kota Kinabalu. We spent our final 2 days wandering around the city, mostly at the Centre Point Mall where we took in some movies, sampled local street food and did some shopping and people watching.

On our final day I realized, "I have no idea where I am going next." So after some thoughtful deliberation, research and a coin flip I decided to go to Laos. I purchased a cheapo ticket on-line, spent a horrible night sleeping in the airport and a day later I landed in Vientiane, Laos where I sit now writing this blog entry.

Last week my friend Rae decided to come out into the world to meet up with me too. She'll be coming to Bangkok for the first 2 weeks of December with Travis and Kelly, two of my acquaintances. Now I just have to find my way to Bangkok by November 29th and decide what to do between now and then. I'm just as curious as you are to see how November unfolds for me.

Lastly to everyone in the US, on behalf of the citizens of the rest of the world who I've spoken to along my travels, go vote!

Res-Erection Part 2

I returned to Kathmandu feeling revived and with a recharged wanderlust. As the taxi drove me through the crowded, noisy polluted streets I realized that I do much better in calm quite and serene places like the beaches of Mozambique and Bhutan . So I decided not to hang around Kathmandu for too long and headed for Pokhara. Pokhara is a small town nestled in a valley on the shores of a mountain lake at the footsteps of the Annapurna range of the Himalaya.

As I climbed down from the bus I was greeted by a mob of touts who are paid by guesthouses to bring tourists from the bus park. I having arranged my accommodations prior to my arrival was looking for someone from the Shanti Guesthouse. As I looked around I was getting hassled on every side, touts were telling me Shanti was booked or the driver won't be coming, anything to lure me into their car to collect the commission on my head. Through the crowd I saw a Nepali shaking his head and looking at me with an expression that communicated, "I'm sorry for the behavior of my countrymen. These guys are clowns"

I glanced back shrugging my shoulders with an expression that communicated,"What can ya do?"

He walked over and introduced himself, "I'm Deep"
"Is that short for Deepak Chopra"
He laughed, "No, Deependra"
"Hey Deep, I'm Chris"

I sat at a table drinking a coke and shooting the shit with Deep as I waited for someone from Shanti Guesthouse. The tout before was right, nobody was coming to get me. I knew Deep was touting for someone and I asked about his guesthouse. From what he explained it was worth checking out so I hopped on the back of his motorbike and we headed for Pushpa Guesthouse.

Interested in continuing our conversation, I invited Deep for a beer on the lake. He accepted and we spent the next hour talking. I asked him questions about his culture and lifestyle. Deep explained that an Australian benefactor he met as a child sent him to school for 8 years where he learned English. But the guy died before Deep could finish his final 4 years. Now at 28 years old, he has a wife, Agina (rhymes with you know what. The smile on my face during our introduction was not due to my pleasure for meeting her) a 6-year old boy, Ashish and a 9-year old daughter, Anu. They are subsistence farmers who grow almost all of their meals. Deep works for Pushpa touting potential guests for about 50 US Dollars a month, his family lives paycheck to paycheck and is unable to save money. He also told me that he is a year and a half behind in tuition payments for his kids' school.

To me his situation sounds dire, I don't know how I would be able to cope. But to Deep it's life and he takes it in stride, with patience and grace and he remains honest. I admire him for it.

That evening we wound up going for dinner and then to his friends' club and continued our discussions. I asked, "So the Desain festival ends on Thursday right? Isn't that the big day, everything in Nepal will be closed?"

Deep went on to explain that Desain is the most important festival of the year where they celebrate the goddess Durga's triumph over evil. On the last day families get together and start the day with a goat sacrifice to Durga, then they prepare the meat for a feast. The whole family comes together and can feed from the goat for 4-5 days. Desain is like Christmas, Thanksgiving and the Super Bowl all in one. I asked how he and his family would be celebrating and he told me that they wouldn't be, they couldn't afford a goat. I felt such sympathy for the guy, I considered buying him a goat. But I decided not to intervene.

Deep offered to show me around town the next day so I took him up on his offer. At 8 o'clock the following morning I hopped on the back of the motorcycle to cruise the streets of Pokhara. We stopped in the center of town where hundreds of locals were congregated, shopping for the festival. In a sectioned off area there were pens of goats where people were negotiating with herders over price. Looking over at Deep I could see the sadness in his face.

"How much is a goat?", I asked.
Deep asked a herder, it was 8,000 rupees.
(My internal dialogue) "8,000 rupees! Back in the day the big shield in The Legend of Zelda only cost 90 rupees, inflation is a bitch." http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hyrule

Then thoughts started percolating:

• OK, it's like $100, I can afford it.
• Deep is a victim of circumstance. If he lived where I live and had my fortune he wouldn't be in this situation. It's not fair.
  
• It must be terrible to have to tell your children, "Sorry kids, maybe next year."
• What will I really be buying for my $100? What kind of experience will follow?
• Screw it, let's find out.

"Hey Deep!" I said, "Let's buy a goat!"

I can't describe the look on the guy's face, it reminded me of how lottery winners look upon being delivered the news. Deep grabbed me and started hugging me as he went off on nonsequiturs trying to express his happiness, gratitude, relief and disbelief all at the same time. He called his father, yelling in Nepalese into his cellphone.

"My dad is coming, he is so happy, thank you, thank you so much from my heart. You don't understand, thank you."

Five minutes later I met his father, Babaram. The man was weeping as he greeted me. He grabbed my hands and put them together between his then he bowed touching his forehead to my hands. I returned the gesture with a man-hug and the man nearly squeezed the life out of me.

Deep and I sent Babaram to negotiate the purchase of a good goat. Sold! for 7,500 rupees. As I lead my newest acquisition down the street by the horns I thought, "How are we going to get him home?"

Ten minutes later I was riding on the back of Deep's motorcycle with goat ass in my left hand, goat horns in my right and goat torso in my lap.

As we buzzed through the streets all of the locals were looking at me smiling and waving or giving a thumbs up. I arrived at Deep's 10 minutes later with a sore right forearm and a goat piss covered left leg. As we made our way to the front door I asked Deep if the family was aware of our purchase. He said they had no idea we had a goat. So... I decided to get Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes on their ass, toting a goat rather than a giant check. I whipped out my camera and shot this video.


The whole family showed up. Deep's mother, father, son, daughter, his sisters their husbands and their kids. We tied up the goat and as the children teased it I enjoyed a cup of tea with the family. I was invited back for a traditional dinner of dhal bhat (rice and lentils, the stuff is awesome) that night, and to celebrate the last day of Desain with the family the following day.

Deep picked me up at 6 o'clock the following morning and we showed up at Babaram's home in the near by village where I met Deep's grandmothers and some of the local village people (no need for obvious joke here). His sisters made tea and we sat on the clay floor outside sipping it as Baburam brought out the goat.

Fifteen minutes later a man walked up carrying a large curved blade. I knew right away who he was and what he was there to do. I looked over and watched the goat chewing on grass knowing what was about to happen. I felt nervous, nauseous and a bit guilty. But then I thought, "I eat meat, this is where my food comes from." I almost felt as if it were imperative for me to witness the slaughter as a means to teach me a healthy respect for my food, and not to take it for granted. Secondly, this is a centuries old Nepali tradition, isn't experiencing something like this one of the reasons I came in the first place?

They lead the goat to the center of the yard, Deep held the rope connected to the horns and Baburam held the back legs. Knifeman said a prayer and showered the goat with rice and spices and then took his stance on the goat's side. He sized up the neck a few times and then with two hands on the handle he hoisted the blade high over his head and with one swift downward motion, the deed was done.

WARNING: THE FOLLOWING VIDEO IS REALLY GRAPHIC SHOWING THE BEHEADING OF THE GOAT. I DID NOT POST IT FOR SHOCK VALUE OR AS A GROSS OUT. I AM POSTING IT TO ENABLE YOU THE VIEWER TO SEE THE EVENT THROUGH MY EYES. PLEASE PROCEED AT YOUR OWN CAUTION. IF YOU PUKE ON YOUR KEYBOARD I TAKE NO RESPONSIBILITY AND I AM NOT PAYING FOR THERAPY IF YOU ARE HAUNTED BY NIGHTMARES.

Yeah...imagine seeing this live and from 5 feet away.

"HOLY SHIT! I screamed in my head, then they started collecting the goat's blood in a shiney metal bowl.

WARNING THIS VIDEO IS PRETTY GRAPHIC TOO, LOOKS LIKE A SNUFF FILM

It took me all of my restraint to keep my composure and to hold down the rising chunks. The kids on the other hand were laughing and enjoying. Did you notice that at the end of the video you see 6-year old Ashish playing with the severed goat's head? What the F? Any kid I know would be crying in hysterics right now. It goes to show how our upbringing shapes our social mores.

Over the next 2 hours I helped to skin and prepare the goat. Afterward the men butchered it (I've got tons of nasty photos I can show you later) while the women cooked it. That afternoon, we sat on the ground and ate goat the traditional Nepalese way, with our hands. I didn't have much of an appetite, but I wanted to experience Dasain as a participant rather than as an observer.

That night I returned to Deep's home for dhal bhat and more goat. And in the morning I came back to join the extended family to give and receive tika.

Now, I'm sitting writing this draft at a cafe in Kathmandu, biding my time until tomorrow when I'll head to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia for a few days before meeting up with my friend Andrea for a few weeks in Borneo.

As my time on the subcontinent comes to a close I'm reflecting on my experiences. It was a challenge at times but I got so much from it, I'm going to miss the places, I've grown comfortable here. I'm sure it will take me years to fully digest what I've experienced in India, Nepal and Bhutan. Well onward ho! To Southeast Asia, get me to the beach!

It may be a few weeks before you hear from me again. If you think backpacking around the world by yourself is a vacation, you are dead wrong, it is hard work. So, as odd as this may sound to you, I am taking a vacation for the next 2 weeks in Borneo and I won't be working on the blog. See you on the other side of Borneo, wherever it is I wind up next.

Res-Erection Part 1

Today is one of the holiest day's of the year. While it is Yom Kippur, I am referring to the last day Dasain a 15 day Nepali festival which celebrates the victory of the goddess Durga over the forces of evil. While the entire nation of Nepal shuts down, its citizenry are a bound. The streets of Pokhara are well trodden by Nepalese families, they are off to visit friends and extended family to "give tika" a blessing, for the upcoming year. The tika is the red mark you often see on the foreheads of Hindu's, who compose the majority of Nepal's population.

Earlier this morning I arrived at the home of Deep (short for Deependra) Pahari and his extended family, to give and receive tika. The Pahari's are my newly adopted Nepali family. The story starts a week and a half ago...

Asia had gotten to me and my enthusiasm for adventure was slowly replaced with misery. Between the challenges of India and the relentless commotion of Kathmandu, I was frazzled, road weary and in a serious need of a mental health break. The universe answered my calling in the form of a week in Bhutan.


Freed from the constant challenges of navigating the cities of sub-continental Asia and free from gravity, I again sailed through the air. As we flew past Mount Everest I thought, "Hey, it does look like the Paramount logo." I imagined stars flying in from the bottom left to form a semi-circle over the mountain. Then I took time to reflect and examine the cause of my misery. Blogosphere, I have to be honest, after 3 months of traveling the world, the romance and excitement subside and what you are left with is life. And life has not been easy as of late.

I sat at 35,000 feet contemplating, "I don't know if I can do this anymore. I think it may be time to leave and head for Thailand. What was it about Mozambique that made it so enjoyable? I want to go home, just for a day or two. I'd kill for a TGI Friday's Pecan Crusted Chicken Salad right now. I just want 40 minutes in MY car driving down the Garden State Parkway on the right side of the road and on the left side of the car. I am tired of everything."

The plane landed 30 minutes later and as I stepped out I immediately noticed, Bhutan was different. The airport was beautiful, the buildings shared a common architecture and were adorned with beautiful, intricate filigree.

I wish my house was half as nice as the bathroom at customs. I walked through the door where I was greeted by Kinley and Dshering my guide and my driver and we headed from the airport in Paro to Thimphu.

Bhutan is the last of the Himalayan Buddhist Kingdoms. Surviving over the past several hundred years in self imposed isolation, the culture remains intact and largely unchanged. It remains unspoiled and clean and emanates a primordial purity that you can feel, the experience is spiritual.

The citizens wear traditional tunics called Koe, and live by the same codes their ancestors have adhered to for centuries. The government is a monarchy which was recently augmented to include a democratically elected legislative branch and a third branch composed of the nations chief Buddhist monks. And, the king measures the success of Bhutan not by gross national product (GNP) but by gross national happiness (GNH) which is built on four pillars:

1) The promotion of equitable and sustainable socio-economic development
2) Preservation and promotion of Bhutan's cultural values
3) Conservation of the natural environment
4) Establishment of good governance

All of Bhutan's policies and laws are based on these precepts which results in interesting laws. For instance, the sale of tobacco is illegal in Bhutan. And in the Phobjika valley, winter home for the endangered Black Neck Crane, there is no electric wiring as it poses a hazard to the birds. Rather than stringing wire though the habitat, the King elected to provide the residents of Phobjika with solar panels. All of Bhutan's people, including Kinley and Dshering are calm and demure. They are happy, saintly with endless patience. I wouldn't think of upsetting them (if I could) or even uttering a dirty word in their presence.

As we drove on toward Thimphu we passed through the quiet desolation of the Himalayan foothills. We traversed bucolic green canyons, along side pristine crystal streams and under deep blue skies. The color blue you can only see at the highest of altitudes. Along our way we rode in silence as we crossed rivers and mountain passes where Buddhist prayer flags flapped in the wind and prayer wheels marked our way. You know like from the Golden Child when Eddie Murphy does the whole I-I-I-a-I-I-I-I want the knife...Pleeeeeeease thing.

Kinley explained that these are of Mahayana Buddhist liturgy and they function to wash away the sins and protect from evil those who pass their influence. This is why they are hung near rivers and mountains.

As the first day came to a close I was at peace, I had found Shangri-la. The next morning we drove on. A few hours into our silent voyage (I was stuck to the window like a Garfield doll watching the mountains go by) Kinley asked, "Can we put on radio?" I was in my new found calm and curious to hear Bhutanese music so I answered with an emphatic, "Yes! Please do!" As the radio squelched on, the tune became clear.

"Un-ch Un-un-ch Un-un-un-un-ch... Whatcha gonna do wit all dat junk, all dat junk inside yo trunk?
"I'm ah git git git git you drunk git you love drunk off my humps..."

Hold up! The Black Eyed Peas?!?! My jaw was on the floor . The following tracks included 50 Cent, The Pussycat Dolls and P. Diddy. I wondered did these guys, these saints, understood the lyrics they were singing (or trying to) "You can find me at the club bottle full of bub, look mommy I got the X if you into takin drugs, I'm into havin sex I ain't into making love..." Buddha is rolling in his Nirvana! It's crazy to see what parts of American culture get woven into that of Bhutan. I laughed out loud, what a curious juxtaposition.

Folks the laughs didn't stop here. As we pulled up to our first stop of the day, a traditional Bhutanese home, Kinley pointed up at the door frame. "Penis" he said. Sure enough there was a 2-foot carved wooden schlong hanging above the door.

Without skipping a beat I said, "Yeah, but why is it so small?"

Kinley looked at me, confused with his head cocked to the side, the way your dog looks at you while he ponders the secrets of the universe. And then the light bulb went on over his head and he laughed.
He then said, "Penis keep away evil spirits."
To which I replied, "Maybe in Bhutan, in my experience I've noticed the polar opposite." Kinley resumed his cocked head confused expression.

Over the next 3 days we drove along roads connecting temples, monasteries and dzongs and we passed countless homes each adorned with big paintings of penises.

I was giggling like Bevis the whole way.

At the end of my week in Bhutan, I returned to Kathmandu feeling refreshed with a renewed enthusiasm. Along with my travels, the reading of Gandhi and Ayn Rand opened my eyes to the fact that India and Nepal operate in their own reality, not mine. My misery was a product of me not accepting this and trying to mold their realities into my constructs (whoa pretty deep) I decided to surrender, to stop fighting Nepal and let it happen. I've been elated since.

"Hey! What the hell man? What about your adopted Nepali family?"


To be continued...

High from Nepal

First an administrative note: If you would like to be added to the email distribution list that informs when I've posted a new entry, please send me a comment saying so with your email address. I will delete the comment so the world doesn't see your email address. Now back to our previously scheduled program...

When we last left off I was sitting in a little internet cafe/convenience store / barber shop in India waiting out my last days. Having seen all I care to see in Pushkar I decided to hop a train to Jodpur. I figured what's one more city, one more fort and one more "the most extravagant maharajah's palace in all of India". And what's more hassle from rip-off artists, more having Indians shoving their kids in front of me to take pictures, signing more autographs (can you imagine going home and bragging to your friends that you actually met a white guy? Like on TV and in the movies?)

I had my own paparazzi in India. My excursion to Jodpur played out as expected. I saw the fort and the palace and they were beautiful. I signed some autographs and decided to have some fun with the locals. Now when they asked, "Are you a WWE wrestler?' I would do my best (or worst) Hulk Hogan. "Yeah Brother! (Flex the double biceps pose) Whatcha gonna do when the 24" pythons get a hold of you! (Now kiss each biceps and flex again)" The Indians loved this.

It was my last day and I was alone with time to kill before my 7:00 evening train to Delhi. So I decided to find a decent restaurant, ordered some korma and biryani and sat reading Gandhi's autobiography. Good stuff. As the waiter served my food a man approached me, he introduced himself as Sham (rhymes with palm not ham...stay tuned) Sham invited me to join he and his wife Bindu for lunch as she enjoyed speaking with tourists and it was their 2nd wedding anniversary. What the hell I've got 4 hours to kill.

So after 30 minutes of excruciating small talk mediated by Sham (I guess culturally his wife was not supposed to talk directly to another man, plus her English was about as good as my driver Raj's) He invited me to their family home to celebrate their anniversary with the whole family.

SHAM: "Please, I'd like to invite you to our home for a traditional Rajasthani dinner. Please come meet my family. Talk with my uncle."

ME: "OK" ( I was a bit hesitant but then again I've spit giraffe shit, had my ear pierced by some rastas in a jungle and survived a terrorist plot. What the hell?) "But, I have to catch the 7:00 train back to Delhi, my hotel is directly across the street from the station"

SHAM: "No problem, I take you to my home, you eat, then I take you to your hotel so you can pick up your bags. I'll have you to the station at 6:30'

ME: "Sounds cool to me"

I figured I'd take a rickshaw but Sham insisted on driving me. I thought how kind, the only reason I accepted his offer was because I assumed he drove a car. Ten minutes later I was whizzing through the mayhem that is Indian city traffic (see my previous post) on a motorcycle wedged between Sham and Bindu. We arrived at the family's home where I was greeted by Sham's uncle, aunt, nieces, nephews and daughter.

Feeling empty handed I asked if I could bring some dessert, so Sham took me for a ride to grab some Indian treats. But, not before hitting the liquor store. "Don't tell Uncle I drink beer", said Sham as we shared our first 8% alcohol 650ml beer (in separate cups of course). Soon after he said, "I want you to give uncle 1000 rupees (~$23) as a gift and I'll give you 1000 rupees later.

Ah-cha! Ah-cha! the other foot had fallen. And I'm thinking "Seriously, do I have 'Asshole' written across my forehead in Hindi?" Then I realized that my bag with all of my stuff are at his house and I don't know where I am. Then Sham started getting a little belligerent and I came to the realization ,"Oh shit! this guy is drunk! What do I do?" I explained that I don't have 1000 rupees and that my ATM card was in my luggage back at the hotel (BS it was in my money belt hidden under my pants). Sham was now visibly pissed. However, being twice his size and starting to get steamed at his gumption and the situation at large, I stepped up to him. With his face starring me in the chest I looked down into his eyes while exhaling through my nostrils into his face. I grabbed him by the shoulders, giving them a "friendly massage" (I bet I broke every blood vessel in his trapezius muscles) I explained "My good friend, let's go back home. Uncle is expecting us." Then I smiled as I starred into his soul. At this point I believe Sham realized that he pissed off Hulk Hogan and the 24" pythons were about to unleash the fury on him.

So we hopped back on the bike and headed home. En route we hit a cow.

"Holy shit Sham! you hit the holy cow! Your going to hell man!", I exclaimed. Good thing we weren't going to fast, it was more of a love tap. I laughed to myself imagining he was thinking, "I've just slapped the gods in the face." while I was thinking, "Hmm, T-bone". I don't know what it is about my journey and my encounters with large mammals. First the charging elephant, than hitting the whale with the boat and now this.

We made it back to the house where the women had prepared a lovely dinner, they even packed me a doggy bag. Now considered a friend they asked to exchange addresses. So I jotted down and gave them Sapienza's address and hugged everyone good-bye. Sham took me to my hotel and I gave him 200 rupees, enough to cover the beer and food, then ran to catch my train.

That was it! India had taken all I could give. After a day in Delhi, I caught a cab to the airport. When I arrived at Indira Gandhi Airport I walked through the front door backward. Facing outward with both hands raised in the air I saluted the best way a boy from Jersey knows how.

A few hours later as I sailed through the clouds I reflected on my short time spent on the sub-continent. I was spent, I wanted to go home, to a clean home with no cows in the street or people dropping a deuce on the side of the road. Then I looked out the window to see the peaks of the Himalaya poking thousands of feet through the clouds. Instantly all the soul sludge evaporated and was replaced the same sense of awe I experienced upon seeing the cliffs meeting the blue ocean in Cape Town.

We landed in Kathmandu and I found exactly what I was looking for. The people were warm and friendly. And while the shop keepers still hounded me, they accepted "no thank you" as an answer. Nobody stares at me in wonderment nor takes my picture. The streets are clean as are the guest houses and all of the shitting occurs in toilets, where it belongs. I think I have found Nirvana.

I've been staying in the Thamel section of Kathmandu, a vibrant bizarre, a jumble of tourists and locals dotted with centuries old temples and pagodas. The streets buzz with vivid colors, a cacophony of sounds and the rich aromas of spice and incense. And while I enlikened occasional smells of India to the porta-potty in the parking lot of a Giant Stadium tailgate, Kathmandu smells more like the inside of Giant Stadium during a Phish concert. It smells like weed here, often. While the valley sits at 4,500 feet. I get the impression that the elevation isn't the only thing that qualifies this city as high. I also get the impression that my name translated in Nepalese is "Hash" because as I walk the streets, everyone walks by me, looks at me as says "Hash? Hash?"

Following a few days of kicking around Kathmandu I decided to head south to the low-lying jungles of Chitwan National Park. It's been months since I left Africa and I was in the mood for a wildlife expedition.

The bus left Kathmandu at 7am and for the following 7 hours we rode along steep cliffs over looking the Karayuni River. The view was magnificent and sometimes terrifying as vehicles routinely overtook one another around blind turns. The sky was clear and blue and the walls of the river valley were almost iridescent green, this is the end of monsoon season. A few hours into the journeyI looked out the window as we were stopped in traffic. It was here that I came to the stunning realization, "Oh my God, this entire valley is covered in marijuana plants" (Hey B-head, I think I found your Shangri-la) Epiphany! Now I understand the Kathmandu tourist culture, this put my earlier observations into perspective.

We pulled into Savrahar, a village of the indigenous Tharu people where I stayed in a local guest house they made of mud. The following morning I headed out into the jungle with my guides Shiva and Ram, and Mae another traveler from China. Unlike Africa where I spent my time on a truck driving through manicured roads with certified guides who carried CB radios and rifles. We hiked through virgin tropical jungle in 90 degree heat through 25 foot tall grass.

Ram and Shiva walked the whole thing in flip flops armed only with bamboo sticks they fashioned into walking sticks to fend off Bengal Tigers, Sloth Bears and Rhinos (I figured, hey they grew up here, they know what they're doing). As we walked throughout the day we stopped periodically to take a drink of water, admire the incredible views of the Himalaya rising 7000 meters in the distance

and to pull leaches off of our bodies. We stopped for lunch after 5 hours, then pressed on into sunset. That evening we spent the night in another Tharu village. After covering 18Km, sleep came with no problem.

The following morning we hiked on through the village and caught a bus. The four of us climbed onto the roof to enjoy the view. Over the next 40 minutes we rode through villages and talked. I was heading back to Savrahar for an afternoon elephant-back safari, but I learned that there would be a transit strike the next day so I had to catch the next bus to Kathmandu or risk getting stuck in the jungle.

While I could've easily spent the next week chilling with Ram, Shiva and their family, I needed to get back. See I was lucky enough to be granted a visa to visit Bhutan, the last of the untouched Himalayan Buddhist Kingdoms. According to the books, only around five thousand tourists a year are allowed in. I applied when I landed in Nepal and I was chosen. I'll be taking a five-day excursion to Bhutan tomorrow afterward I'll return to Nepal to visit Mt. Everest and trek through the Himalaya so stay tuned.

Welcome to India, Hooooo-Leeeeee-COW!!!!

Duality... Love:Hate, Rich:Poor, Give:Take.

At the same time, India is the greatest and the worst place in the world. In the week and a half since my arrival it's been a roller coaster. The pendulum swings at a moments notice and no matter what side it lands on the results are always overwhelming. Regardless of any advice given prior to arrival, nothing can truly prepare one for their first time in India, you just have to jump in.

Here in India the people are warm and friendly and religion is extremely important to them and pervades everything. But on the flip side a few people have what we in the west would consider an integrity issue. For instance, upon my arrival while checking in to my Delhi hotel, I asked for an internet cafe. With the warmest congeniality my host offered a free computer and had me walked across the street to "the office". There Mr. Javid (rhymes with Dickweed not David) offered me tea (exactly what I want in sweltering 90 degree heat) and pleasant conversation. Coincidently, "the office" happened to be a travel agency and after a bait and switcheroo I was out $650 and off on a 9-day excursion through Rajasthan in 4-star accommodations with my own personal driver, Raj. I was livid 1) This was ~3X my budget 2) How did "I" get taken. 3) I just cultivated an amazing gypsy backpacker lifestyle, following serendipity to where ever she would take me. But now Mr. Javid absconded with my money and my Bohemian ideology leaving me a Philistine tourist. I got buffaloed.

So full of rage and feeling violated I set out with Raj for our first stop, Jaipur.

"So, Raj are you originally from Delhi?"
"Yes, Delhi"
"Cool, cool. So how long have you been driving?"
"Yes drive"
"So what's your view on the designated hitter rule in the American League (that's a baseball reference ladies)"
"Yes? You American?"
(Internal voice) "F'ing great! 9 days with a driver who doesn't speak English"

But with his limited English and through out what ended up being a 5 day trip (I got more than half my money back. Ask me about it later, great story) Raj kept saying "You my brother" while touching his hand to his heart than to mine. Truth be told for the following 5 days he was nothing less than family. His boss, Mr Dickweed achem sorry I mean Javid is a crooked business man who got his in the end, but Raj is a wonderful human being, he still calls every day to make sure I am safe and fine.

The road to Jaipur is unlike the dirt roads of Mozambique. India has very modern infrastructure, the highway has 3-4 lanes, it's well maintained and looks kinda like I-95. Folks, this is where any comparison to any American highway ends. Driving on this road is like visiting a carnival freak show while tripping on acid.

Anything that can be driven, is here: cars, trucks(which like everything else here are ornately adorned in vibrant colors), motorcycles carrying whole families. I saw what looked like the vehicle the Beverly Hillbillies drive packed with people, bicycles, tractors, ride-on lawn mowers, pedestrians, an Arab riding a camel.


Yeah, I know what you're thinking. I chuckled too, to myself as Raj wouldn't get the reference nor does he know the English word jockey.

The menagerie of vehicles only provides a basic level of depth, now add or better stated subtract any semblance of traffic laws (vehicles regularly drive into oncoming traffic, drive at 50mph on the bumper of cars in front, weave through rickshaws, cows and pedestrians, and overtake anything blindly) and you start to get the picture. I only packed 3 pairs of underwear so in the interest of keeping the pair I had on clean, I closed my eyes and surrendered to a cacophony of horn blowing.

An hour into the drive Raj slams the breaks as we hit a traffic jam. "Huh huh, cow. Take picture."



An hour later we stopped to stretch our legs at the halfway point. As I got out of the car in rural India everyone stopped and stared. It was like a space ship had landed and "Gasp!" a large man with pale skin got out. Some people had a look of disgust on their face, most just a look of wonderment. This was my introduction to life amongst the Indian people as a 6'1, 200lb white guy. There at the rest stop and everywhere since I travel with an entourage of awe struck brown disciples. But unlike Mr. Javid, they have no hidden agenda, they are warm and friendly. They just want to talk, invite me in their home for tea, introduce me to their family. The common conversation, "You are big, big muscles, are you in the army? Are you a WWF wrestler(I am huge by Rajasthani standards). "What is your good name kind sir? Why are you not married (Mom? Have you been talking with India recently?)"
Then the other side of the coin, here white skin also means "He's rich let's get his money." Again most Indian citizens want friendly conversation. But rickshaw drivers, shop owners and their boys on the street form a syndicate of money sucking con-artistry that keeps you on constant alert and leaves you exhausted at the end of the day. Example, let's grab a taxi:

Me: Shanti Hotel, how much?
Driver: 500 rupees
Me: 500! No, no too much 100
Driver: 450
I walk away
Driver: 200
Me: Deal
And we're off. To Shanti Hotel you'd assume? Uh-uh..
Driver: Shanti Hotel is closed, I take you to a good hotel (This is complete bull, he gets commission)
Me: (lying) I already paid, have reservation (Why do we find it necessary to speak broken English back to broken English speakers?)
5 minutes in to the drive...
Driver: Agra is famous for marble, I take you to marble shop
Me: (internal voice) Do I have asshole written in Hindi across my forehead? (external voice) No! Shanti or no pay!

The first 5 times I fell for it. In addition when you get to the marble shop, or garment shop, the shop keeper is sooooo hospitable, serving me free beer (16 oz at 8% alc) to loosen my judgement. So if my gifts seem odd, please forgive me. Anybody want a rhinestone encrusted beer helmet with pom-poms attached to the brim?

Like the people, The rural towns and cities are in juxtaposition. Indian architecture is the most beautiful I've seen. Pictures of the Taj Mahal can't begin to do it justice, I enliken seeing it to the first time I saw Niagara falls or the Grand Canyon.

But turn your head 180 degrees and you'll see some of the most tragic things. Emaciated people starving on the street, impoverished children begging, people missing limbs or crippled with polio. I saw; a baby crawling in the road alone, a dog eating a dead pig in a busy Jaipur intersection, people taking a crap on the side of the road like, "Hey, it ain't no thing, I'll just pop a squat right here. Hey man what's up?"

Again, as the pendulum swings back, the streets are alive and so vibrant. The women are dressed in the most vivid saris, it's an amazing spectacle.

Then there are the smells, I close my eyes and invite the most fragrant incense, the exotic spices wafting in from the roadside cooking. Ten steps further and it smells like a carcass rotting in a Giants Stadium parking lot port-a-potty. Ten more steps, incense again. The local people think nothing of it, it is life to them. They go about their rhythm unfazed by any of this, and with tolerance to everyone and everything (accept the occasional huge white guy from Planet America).

Their tolerance is a product of their faith and strong devotion to religion and spirituality, regardless of belief. I visited a Hindu temple that had sculptures of Christ and Moses in it last week. The spirituality is the single greatest thing about India. It is all pervading and would make any visitor want to sit crossed-legged in lotus position chanting the sacred mantra, "Om, Om, Om."

The mix of religions has shaped this amazing culture, the art (I picked up this painting in Jaipur, a beautiful depiction of the Indian Romeo and Juliet-like love story of Krishna and Ratha)

the music, the dancing, the food and the people.

In my short time here, India has given me so much. I've seen; amazing temples and forts, my first in-theater Bollywood hit (Singh is King. 2 thumbs up), I ate wonderful food and met wonderful people. I've seen Delhi, Jaipur, Agra, Pushkar and in a few days, I'll hit Jodpur.

But in the end, for as much as India has given me, it has taken just a little bit more; the incessant hassle of touts, the constant entourage of mesmerized locals who don't understand that earphones in my ears means leave me alone, having to ignore the most heart breaking sights of sick and hungry children begging for food, fighting tooth and nail and not trusting anyone or anything any time money can possibly be exchanged, the over all squaller and the nasty NA-HA-HAS-T accommodations. Lastly, as many of you know earlier in the week, I came within 30 minutes of attending a terror attack in Connaught Place Delhi. Luckily my confrontation and experience with Mr. Javid soured me to the area and had me seek accomodations a mile away in the backpacker Paharanj area.

I'm taking all of these things as a message from the universe. As a solo traveler it's extremely taxing and lonely. While I wouldn't trade my time in India for anything, I've decided to cut it short to just over 2 weeks, but I look forward to returning in the future to see more. I'll be heading to a more peaceful, easy going and beautiful Nepal next week. Next up Sherpas up close and personal.

Let's go away for a while you and I to a strange and distant land. Where they speak no word of truth but we don't understand anyway.

Sometime about 2 weeks ago...
It's 4:50am, I awaken in the dark 10 minutes before my alarm beeps as once again my bladder wins the immutable war of the wills. In a daze I turn to look at my alarm clock when once again I realize I'm not in my bed, and my Hoboken apartment is a million miles away and a billion years ago. This morning at this time and place I am in Maputo, Mozambique. It's another group dorm, in another hostile.

I struggle in a minute-long battle with the mosquito netting which surrounds my bed (I really have to pee man!), and emerge from my cocoon like a newly minted butterfly as I stretch my arms. I'm sore. Hopping down from the top bunk, my feet hit the cold concrete floor and I take the day's first steps on my continuing journey. Today I am heading to Inhambane and Tofo, small beach towns a few hours up the coast. But first the dash to the outdoor toilet, I REALLY HAVE TO PEE MAN!

1:00pm It's a balmy 80 degrees on the back of the chappa (the word the locals use for the dilapidated over crammed minivan I find myself in) and my back and legs are burning as we enter hour five of our drive. I'm starting to feel like this is as authentic as it gets.

My neighbors are; a young teenage boy to my right who has brought the art of BO to a level my nose has never known, a woman breast feeding an infant while clipping her nails in front of me, and a chicken. Two months ago I would've never believed I'd be riding like a local through rural Mozambique. THIS IS AFRICA! Finally!

As the distance from Maputo grows the scenery becomes more tropical, more rural and beautiful. Villages dot our route and every time the chappa stops to pack more in, locals come from the road side to pedal their goods. Being a little hungry and curious to join the fray, I tried to negotiate for some oranges with a woman carrying a bucket full.

I held up 10 Meticals (24 to 1 against the USD) in one hand and 1 finger on the other. Understanding that we agreed upon the purchase of a single orange, I was floored when the lady poured the entire bucket (30 in total) into a bag and handed it over. Laughing, I offered oranges to everyone in the chappa and as we peeled our fruit we headed deeper into tropical, rural Africa.

At 6:00pm I'm in Tofo, bellied up to the bar with a new national beer to try (Laurentina) and new friends. My Mozambique experience is well underway...

"So why did you choose Tofo?"

Great question, I chose Tofo because it boasts great diving, it's the only place on the planet where Whale Sharks and Manta Rays can be seen all year with regularity. While cage diving with Great White Sharks is exciting (see post: "Swimming with Great White Trash"), swimming along side a Whale Shark is magical. I jumped into the water, looked ahead and this was staring me in the face.

The Whale Shark is the largest fish in the world measuring up to 30 feet. They're docile, harmless, toothless filter feeders and don't pose a threat to people. It's amazing how calm and big these fish are. I spent some time gliding through the water with this guy. Check the video, (As always I filmed myself in at the end of the clip to prove I was really there (not so much for you my viewing audience as much as for me)

Swimming with the Whale Sharks isn't all the waters off Mozambique have to offer. I had an amazing dive with some Manta Rays and got up close and personal with dolphins and hump back whales. We actually hit a humpback whale with our inflatable Zodiac boat, it was nuts. OK, so we're cruising along coming back from a dive and Wham! I looked down over my shoulder into the water and there was a blow hole staring back at me. I thought,"Shit! I read Moby Dick, this isn't going to end well." Fortunately the boat is light and inflatable and the whale weighs 40 tons. If anything, we gave him a good welcomed back scratchin' (the props did not hit him).

I seemed to have acquired a knack for going too fast and pissing off large mammals (See Elephant video in post:"Bushwacked")

Oh yeah, I added local villagers to this list too. One day a buddy of mine and I found a guy renting out quad bikes, so we decided to tour the local village. Our "guide" led us down what we now know is the children's school walking path. In seconds the village women came swarming like an angry horde of hornets. They were pissed, yelling at me in god knows what language. All I could do was shrug my shoulders, say, "sorry" and point at our guide. As I pulled away I saw our guide getting assaulted, the women were whacking him with hand bags and screaming at him. I felt bad ditching the guy, but come on, he deserved it and it was hilarious to watch over my shoulder.

Then, out comes an older guy in his late 60's with a grey beard wearing slacks, a t shirt and a baseball hat. Behold the Chief of the village! The chief reprimanded the guide who apologized and handed the Chief 10 Meticals. I thought, "Great, the Chief can go buy a bag of oranges". Everything was copasetic and we returned to our ride as I sang some Marley, "One love, one heart, let's join together and feel alright".

The village looks like they pulled it right out of my TV. It's an ecosystem of people, coconut trees, thatched huts, a well (no running water) nut trees, citrus groves and the ocean packed with prawns, fish and lobsters. It's like living in a supermarket, in the tropics.



The local people are the happiest, friendliest, smiley-est people I've met. They live simple lives and they are enchanting. One day I was walking/hitching into Inhambane to the only ATM (A day I refer to as "The day we went to the ATM" A story for another time), I passed a class of 7 year olds just dismissed for lunch. They came running over in their little uniforms, so excited to see us. All they wanted was to give us five or shake our hands. They go even crazier with delight when you take their picture (always ask first).

Over the next 8 days I got to know some of the locals. They are merchants or artists who work at the market or locals I've met along the way. There was Erajma the rasta and Horris and Anod and Babu and a bunch more. Some of my favorites were the kids. There is a clan of 12-15 year old boys who make and sell bracelets. They had great names like Johnny Cash, Joe Banana, Mr. Price (which is the name of a discount store in Africa) and they were amazing salesmen, better than 80% of the salespeople I've met. If I were a district sales manager, I'd hire my entire staff from this place. Ten times a day they would make their pitch, "Buy a bracelet." To which I'd reply,"Nah nah nah boys. You're barking up the wrong tree, I don't need a necklace or bracelet, I'm too manly for jewelry. You've gotta create a need, work on your openings. Plan your work and work your plan!" Thank you BP

So on the last day before we hopped a chappa to Swaziland we spent the last afternoon at the market.

Once again I got hit up by the bracelet mafia. This time one boy, "Rasta" asked if I had anything to trade.

RASTA: OK OK, no money. My friend, do you have any thing you can trade to me?
ME: Not really, I'm traveling light.
RASTA: Do you have a torch (flashlight) you can trade? I need one for school.

Turns out these kids work the market during daylight and go to school in the evening, in the dark, there's no electricity. Now I see why the chief was so upset we quad biked on the path. I can see him now, sitting in his hut, shaking his head as he eats his bag of oranges. Anywho, I had a pocket flash light and there was no way I wasn't going to give it to this kid.

ME: I'll tell you what Rasta. I do have a torch which I might trade if the Price is Right (ha ha, he has no idea were that's from). My friend, this is a mag-light. It is the finest torch America has to offer. I'll trade it to you, but it won't be cheap.
RASTA: I give you 1 necklace and 2 bracelets.
ME: Tsk! I don't know, this is a good torch. Tell you what, I'll give you my blue bandana too. This is the same kind Snoop Dogg wears (as I sing to him "I keep a blue flag hanging out my backside. But only on the left side yeah that's the Crip side." while I throw gang signs).

And the negotiation goes on...

So I am now a proud owner of 2 necklaces and 3 bracelets. And here is Rasta making them for me shortly after I tied my bandana around his head.


I'm haven't taken Rasta's jewelry off yet...and I am still manly.

About 20 minutes later a local sculptor and friend of mine offers to carve me a traditional ebony ear piercing. I figured I'll take it, maybe I'll re-pierce my ear, it's been 13 years. Ahh, I'll just hold onto it or give as a gift. He tells me to return in an hour. Dinner and 4 drinks later, it is now night and everyone had packed up their stall leaving the market dark and desolate. Walking past with my friends Dan and Fiona (aka "The Irish") we saw one stand with a light on. I walked up and said, "I am looking for a wood carver, I think his name is Horris, He is making me an earring."
"Oh yes, you are Chris?" says the guy next to the shack, "Come, come with me".

I parted from the Irish and descended into the back allies. It was reminiscent of the scene in Bloodsport when the Asian guide takes Jean-Claude Van Dam to the Kumite for the first time (Google it). I am scared, where the hell is he taking me? I'm getting jumped, I know it, shit! We came up to a lighted wall-less, thatched roofed hut. Inside was a crew including my man working on the earring. All of the regulars were there kicking back from a day's work, drinking beer or whiskey, bullshitting and having a good time.


A woman was cooking on an open fire while the guys worked on their carvings or paintings for the next day. In my head I hear "I remember when we used to sit, in a government yard in Trenchtown..." Holy crap! I really am living in a Bob Marley song.

So the earring is done and Arno asks if it fits. To which I reply,"Well I don't know my ears closed up years ago. I'm not going...uhh...."
He interrupts, "I can do this no problem"
And the crowd is going rowdy, the Irish came back to join and they shrug "why not?" So I figure hell yeah. How could I turn this down? I am in the middle of the jungle in Mozambique having an amazing time hanging out with my new local friends. When the hell does this actually happen to anyone? I'd be nuts not to. Maybe I 'm just drunk, whatever F-it! Let's go! And the crowd is on their feet. A guy pours me half a glass of whiskey... Down the hatch... And...


here I am with 1) a traditional African ear piercing, which was made for me, by the artist with whom I am drinking and hanging out with and 2) necklaces made for me in exchange for a safely lighted path to school. DUDE! QUIT YOUR FREAKIN JOB AND TRAVEL! THIS TRIP JUST CONTINUES TO GET BETTER AND CRAZIER AND MORE AMAZING. I'VE LIVED MORE IN THE PAST TWO WEEKS THAN I HAVE IN THE PAST 5 YEARS.

Sorry about that folks. Hech-hem What was I saying? Oh yeah so we hung out with our local friends for another 40 minutes and parted ways with an invite to go play ping-pong. Sadly, The Irish and I had a 4am chappa to catch to Swaziland so we had to pass.

"Fox? Why did you go to Swaziland?"

To see the Umhlanga of course! Also known as the Reed dance. Once a year or so the King of Swaziland picks a new wife from a group of >40,000 Swazi virgins. During the 5th day, they all dance for him, topless in a huge traditional ceremony.


It was pretty cool, there were thousands of ornately dressed women dancing, singing and chanting in time with precision. Definitely a spectacle to see.

So from there I stayed at a hostile where there was no electricity as a brush fire was consuming the whole countryside and flames were shooting 20 feet in the air at the wall of our yard and I thought we were going to die, then I got me a 42 hour Dutch girlfriend who I met walking out of the reed festival. I traveled on with her to Nelspruit South Africa. She went off to Kruger and I headed back to Johannesburg where I now sit back at Iris' pad, typing this entry for the past 5 hours.

I am jumping a plane to Delhi India in a few hours thus ending my time here in Africa. I am really sad to leave, I'll miss this place and I can't wait to return. It's been almost 2 and a half months and I really feel comfortable here. I get the language, have a favorite food, know my way around town. I even have some friends here.

I'm learning that the greatest value of travel comes in the growth one experiences from consistently being challenged. Challenges like: language barriers, converting currencies, the damn metric system, foreign cell phones, canceled flights and buses, Where am I sleeping tonight?, Where am I eating?, How am I getting to Swaziland? It's a day trip just to go to the ATM. Everything I have fits in a 55L backpack. There's no TV or internet...

Dealing with the frightening and annoying constantly, changes a person. And as you learn to get over it and start letting go, the most amazing things unfold right in front of your eyes.

Bushwacked

Sorry for the long silence folks, I was in the bush for the past 5 weeks and couldn't get to a computer. You wouldn't believe how rough it was. I had no phone, no lights, no internet, not a single luxury. It was kinda like Robinson Crusoe. But now I’m back in civilization in Jo’burg. My time in the bush was amazing and...“SHUT UP AND SHOW US PICTURES!”

OK ALREADY SHEESH!!! So I spent the last 5 weeks at Karongwe Game Reserve at the foot of the Drakensberg Mountains

I spent my time tracking animals like Lions

Leopards, "Say Cheese Mr. Leopard!"

and Giraffes


While it was an awesome experience, it came with some challenges. The first of which was keeping my sanity in the living conditions. I've learned why piling a bunch people into a house to live on top of each other for 24 hours a day is a prime strategy for reality TV, because it's a ratings generating recipe for insanity.

Ingredients:

• 18 people
• Assorted 21-24 year olds, a dash of drama queens (male and female), a pinch of peer pressure and a few late twenties, thirty and forty somethings

• Plenty of alcohol
• Lack of sleep
• Melodrama

Preparation:

Add all of the ingredients into a simple concrete dorm
Remove all distractions like TV, internet, exercise and privacy
Enclose in an electrified fence
Let simmer for 5 weeks...

DING! One crazy man, foaming at the mouth coming right up. I almost succumbed to the pressure but I was able to stave off insanity.

My father used to tell me that there is a price to pay for everything. If so, the price was well worth what I received in return. In addition to tracking the animals I also got to:

Watch leopard surgery (I don't think it will make it to the Discovery Channel, but cool nonetheless)

Put a scorpion on my face

And visit Kruger National park for a few days. I had the pleasure of driving a small bus with 9 others through the park. The highlight of the trip was facing off against a bull elephant. Now I know I said I got charged by an elephant in my last post, but it could have been better said that I was on the back of a truck when it got charged. This time I was in the driver's seat.

It went like this... Kruger closes at 6PM and if you don't get out before they fine you. So it was ~5:45 and we were cutting it close. I was tearing ass down a dirt road like Bo Duke going much faster that the speed limit, when we came around a turn. And boom right in front of us was this...

Ah ha! taste life, Fox 1 elephant 0. If you listen closely you can hear me nearly crap my pants, "What do I do? What do I do?"and my friend Yoel in the passenger seat answering "uhhhhhh" with shrugging shoulders (thanks for the assist man). But I got out alive, I figure elephants may be fast but they can't cut on a dime, so as he came toward us I blew past him and let him take his aggression out on the poor saps behind us. Replay the video watch as the elephant heads toward the white car behind us at the end (I hope they made it out alive).

I've started noticing duality returning to my life. Seven weeks ago everything was awe inspiring and my head was in the clouds. Now there is balance, for each amazing experience there's been a not so amazing one (i.e. the crazy dorm). One of the other challenges I faced, believe it or not was boredom. I know, even in exotic wild Africa you're not immune to it. Here's an example:

Every morning I'd wake up at 5AM to hop on the back of a truck and look for animals. I'd get back to base four hours later, take a three hour break and then do it again at 3PM. It was incredible at the beginning, what a rush. Week 1 was like this:
7AM on the back of the truck

ME: Wow a lion! Look at that! I’ll record the GPS coordinates, can you get a picture of me with him in the background. AWESOME!!!

However the magic eventually puttered out and by week 5 the experience was more like this:
Again, It’s 7AM on the back of the truck

ME: …Yeah the elephant’s name was Stampy…that was a good one, but my favorite episode is when Homer starts his own snow plowing company, and makes the TV commercial. Remember the song?...

FROM THE CAB OF THE TRUCK: Lion… 3 o’clock.

ME: Huh? You wanna record the GPS or should I? What was I saying? Oh yeah. (singing) Mr Plow that’s the name, that name again is Mr.Plow.

Luckily for me, boredom is never too difficult to overcome, there are plenty of ways to entertain yourself and break through the monotony of the routine.

I grew a mustache (and no I am not naked):

But after 2 weeks I could no longer handle the itchiness and uncomfortability that accompanied "The" handlebar. Merit goes to the real men who can tame and conquer this beast that makes your upper lip sweat and the corners of your mouth itch. Here's to you Tom Selek, Gene Shallot, Ron Jeremy and Uncle Sol.

And of course there were books to read and great conversations to have with my new friends. Lastly there are some things that never get old and never get boring. Did you know that zebras' bellies swell from the amount of gas they produce? Plus they are easily spooked. This combines for hilarious results. Often when pulling up to a herd of zebras they would take off like a shot farting the whole way to the horizon! Almost like they've kicked in the afterburners.

So in closing, I'll leave you with some lessons from the bush:

1) Watch where you step

2) Going to some place exotic can be amazing. But like anything else if you let it become routine, boredom will set in. I believe the converse is true. Follow me here; if I can get bored of things in wild Africa like I can at home, then perhaps with a little planning I can make home more amazing too. I traveled a zillion miles to see wild Africa yet I've never driven to Maine.

3) Zebras running off farting is hilarious!

Well I'm back in Johannesburg now staying with my friends Iris and Mutsa. I'm planning to head to Mozambique this week for some rest and relaxation on the beach and snorkeling and diving. Mozambique is famous for its whale shark and manta ray diving. Onward ho!

Musth stash

In his acclaimed novel Walden, Thoreau calls for us to return to nature and advises us to “Simplify, simplify” as a means to cleanse our lives. I’ve had this book on my list for years and only started reading it this week. Maybe it found its way to me at this junction in time as part of some cosmic design. Maybe it’s kismet, or perhaps it’s just dumb luck and random coincidence. Whatever the case may be, it couldn’t have come to me at a more appropriate time. Allow me to explain:

Ten days ago my bus pulled up to the GVI base in Karongwe Game Reserve, the place I’ll call home until mid-August. We pulled up to the bunkhouse just as the sun set, and my fellow expedition members and I concluded that this would be no vacation. For starters the place was dark as the small solar panel out front was no longer of use in the early African evening. And, the generator out back can only provide enough electricity for our necessities like the refrigerator and the computer from which I am typing to you (it’s supposed to be used to enter data from the expedition, but if we finish our work early we can shoot off an email or two.) Not to worry though, we all have headlamps to light our way to the bathroom and to ensure that we spot pests like snakes, mice or whatever other nuisance crawled into the house. During the last expedition, someone forgot to close a door and a hyena walked in, not good.

We all sleep in one dorm in bunk beds, which I can tell horrified the sorority girl who sleeps in the bunk below me (As a chivalrous guy, I offered to take the top bunk). As long as I have my earplugs and eye mask I am good to go. The only thing that concerned me is the fear of ripping one in my sleep, but then I thought, “Who are they gonna tell?”

The place is rather Spartan, a simple concrete structure that looks kinda like a prison in some sense. It’s low tech, we wash clothes by hand and have to get hot water from the side of the house to do our dishes in a tub. We operate like a quasi hippie commune complete with a division of labor and smelly people. Peoples’ belongings are strewn about and we share most everything. It’s actually quite nice.

The daily routine can be quite gruelling at times. The day starts before sun up at ~5AM but there can be quite a bit of down time too. To pass the time and entertain myself, I persuaded the seven other guys to join me in a moustache pact. Basically we all agreed to grow them over the next 5 weeks and not shave, the more ridiculous the better. As I type to you I’m rockin a James Hetfield style handlebar complete with soul patch. One of the women said, “You look like a pedophile or a porn star.” To which I replied, “Or?” While I do look like a moron, I was trumped earlier today by Stuart, who grew muttonchops connecting to his moustache (Crap!).

I wish I could post pictures, but the infrastructure here in the bush is limited and I am lucky to be able to get this post out at all.

Now for the business part, here’s what I am doing out here on a game reserve in Africa. The first few days were dedicated to training, it felt good to get back into an academic curriculum. Plus, I am now able to tell the difference between 7 different varieties of antelope by species, age and sex. And, I can identify a good 10 species of animal by their poop and tracks.

The experience has been amazing, I go on 1-2 game drives a day lasting approximately 4 hours a drive. It is our duty to track animals to identify their location, if and what they have eaten and observe their behavior. Inputting these data in to databases allows the Reserve Manager to identify trends, determine the best way to manage the reserve and publish papers to help other reserves optimize their populations.

While it is difficult to articulate, I can best describe the experience, as “It’s everything you’d dream wild Africa to be.” This week alone; I’ve been charged by a bull elephant in musth (it’s like being in heat for dudes), I’ve saw a black mane lion carrying a Kudu to his family then eat it. I’ve seen baby everything; lions, hyenas, giraffes, cheetahs, zebras, elephants. There’ve been crocodiles, impala, kudu, civets, bush babies, leopards, etc. We have a leopard, Shiloweni, who lost his canine teeth while trying to chew his way out of a farmer’s trap. They are making him implants and we’ve been told that we will sit in on the surgery. As a bonus, the Discovery Channel will be on hand filming a documentary. Cool!

Beyond the game drives the animals and living like a flower child of the sixties, I’ve had some other great experiences too. I won the giraffe poop spiting contest (for all of you who have told me to eat shit…actually I only spat it). I volunteered to have scorpion put on my face and I held a tarantula (I HATE SPIDERS!!!) I figured I didn’t quit my job, give up a sweet Hoboken pad and fly 18,000 miles away to play it safe. I’ve taken up a philosophy of taste life (and giraffe shit) I figure, when will I get these opportunities again?

I do have to say Thoreau seems to be right. Life is simpler, my soul feels cleaner. Now if I only read the damn book 2 months ago I could have gone to New Hampshire and saved myself butt-loads of money. I’ll be back with another post in a few weeks, hopefully with some pics. I’ve got tons of awesome shots.

WILDLIFE!...reserve

So I never did make it to East London as I mentioned in my previous post. Due to some crazy bus schedules and high fuel prices I wound up back in Cape Town, back at Paul's. It wasn't a total loss though as I helped Paul maintain - as he calls it - his "stasis of post-collegiate hedonism." Let me explain; Paul will be 42 next month, he doesn't work, he mainly does what he wants to do on his schedule. God I admire him for it.

Now allow me to illustrate: The scene is last Saturday July 5th, 4:00 PM. I am sitting on the couch reading my book and in enters Paul.

PAUL: Hey Chris, was Lawrence of Arabia raped in prison?
CHRIS: I don't know, I never saw the movie.
PAUL: No, I mean the actual guy. He spent time in a Turkish prison, don't guys get raped in Turkish prisons.
CHRIS: (inner monologue, "Lawrence of Arabia was a real guy?") I'm not sure, I believe rape is a service provided in all prisons regardless of if they are Turkish or not. Why do you ask?
PAUL: Dave's party is a costume party and the theme is famous traitors and revolutionaries. I have this sweet costume I bought when I was in Turkey so I'm going as Lawrence of Arabia.
CHRIS: When is the party (thinking it was next week)?
PAUL: At 5 tonight.
CHRIS: Am I invited? And who's Dave?
PAUL: Yeah come along. Dave is the British guy from the other night.
CHRIS: Oh yeah, he's a cool guy. What am I supposed to wear? (thanks for the advanced notice)
PAUL: Oh, the guy who owned my flat before me in 2001 was in the navy or some shit, he left a bag full of uniforms and shit in the attic.

Paul walks out for a moment, returns with a ladder then ascends through the attic hatch. Thirty seconds later a big duffel bag falls from the ceiling and hits the floor with a resounding thud accompanied by a cloud of dust. Like when the Wile E. Coyote hits the desert floor. I'm thinking, "There is no way in hell I'm putting anything in that crusty bag on, there's gotta be some toxic mold or ebola in it (this is Africa)"

But after looking through the bag and closely sniffing the garments for deadly pathogens (great way to detect them by the way) I found the perfect ticket. Along with a cheesy drawn on mustache and that little bottom chin hair thing that douche bags grow in, I was ready to rock. Here we are heading to the party.


Now I have no idea what type of uniform I was wearing; FARC rebel, neo-nazi, a member of the South African Village People, but I need the answer to the question, "Who are you supposed to be." Scanning the hilarious part of my brain that houses my wit I came up with, "I'm a deserter from the Salvation Army." Lucky for me the Salvation Army is an International organization so no translation or explanations were necessary. Everyone understood clearly that I'm a putz with a corny sense of humor.

Dave's party started at 5, and quickly filled with tons of people. By 4:30 in the morning, I was DJing, a water fight had been going strong until someone broke out the garden hose in the living room and Paul was nowhere to be found.


In the next 20 minutes he reappeared having been on the upstairs balcony "meditating" as he proclaimed to be doing. I imagine the mantra he repeated was something close to "Blaaaaachhhh!" As we headed out I made plans to rent a car and visit wine country with Anthony (pronounced On-Toe-Knee), a French guy who is a friend of Paul's friend's friend (making him a friend of a friend's, friend's, friend of mine).

The next morning I woke up and I knew instantly that I would not be going wine tasting, nor renting a car. Then again it wasn't morning either, more like late afternoon. So I took the day to reflect. I thought how arbitrary is it that I just dropped in on these peoples' lives. If I never left the US all of this would have gone on with out me. I thought of the nuances I've incorporated into my diet and language. Do you know that they call traffic lights robots here? I saw a sign a few day earlier that said "Robot 100M ahead" I thought, "Awesome!" as I expected to see C3PO thumbing a ride up ahead... what a let down. Then I thought, my head is pounding, I need to curtail the partying, it's been non-stop since I left, I think I may be dying.

So with Sunday as a recovery day I decided to head to near by Stellenbosch on Monday with Anthony for some mild wine tasting and to get out of Paul's apartment. We had a map with a nice country route plotted along with a place to stop for lunch. While it was rainy, the landscape was beautiful.



We took turns driving and almost running angry fist shaking locals off the road. Who drives on the left side of the road? Over the 4 hours we only stopped at one winery, to be honest I was not in the drinking mood and there was something odd about going wine tasting with another dude.



It would have made for the perfect afternoon with a female companion (there's a bunch of guest houses and B&B's in the area), but Anthony, or Tony as I defaulted to, being from Jersey, was just fine. I enjoyed a nice ride through the country, driving a car for the first time in weeks and my conversation with Anthony. He is a laser welder that makes precision parts for Formula 1 race cars and jet planes.

We got back to Cape Town and headed to the water front for another cafe and some coffee. The next morning (Tuesday) I packed my stuff, headed to the airport and flew to Johannesburg or Jo'burg as the cool kids call it here.

I'm staying with Iris with whom I've been friends with since 6th grade. I'd post a picture but I haven't taken one yet and she is in the shower right now and probably wouldn't appreciate the intrusion. While she went to work yesterday I went to the Apartheid museum. I highly recommend you visit if you are ever in the Jo'burg area. It was sad and somber but informative and uplifting. It really helped to put much of my South African experience into context.

In closing, Thanks to Kelly the web chick back at Quest for teaching me how to track my blog. My last entry with the shark vid was wildly popular. In fact, the blog as a whole is attracting way more people than I know. If you were expecting some wild kingdom shots in this post rather than my musings into my; decent into alcoholism, hedonism and veiled homophobia I apologize.

I am heading into the bush tomorrow to embark on my 5 week volunteer project to track top level predators (lions, leopards, hyenas and wild dogs), so the next post should have some sweet pics and videos like the last one.