Long Journey Home

They wouldn't all fit. They hadn't given me enough space. When entering the US from a trip abroad there is a question on the immigration form that asks which foreign countries you have visited since you left the United States. To be honest, I'd been looking forward to this question for weeks. I squished and scrunched the names, stacking them on top of one another and cascaded them down the margin until all nineteen countries were represented. When I happily handed it to the customs official I expected some commotion, some suspicion or even an interrogation. That's what I wanted. But I'm apparently not the international man of mystery I thought I was, because the official stamped my passport and began telling me how great her trip to New Zealand was (I didn't go to New Zealand) and then asked for the next person in line. I was back in the United States of America.

Although it was a soft transition. Miami carries a significantly higher level of diversity than say, Salt Lake City. So as I joyfully and unhesitatingly drank from sinks and water fountains I still asked for directions in Spanish and received answers in Portuguese. I spent a day in Miami, staying at a hostel on South Beach. Unfortunately, it was rainy so I didn't get the postcard-perfect Miami experience. But I got a glimpse.

After being a backpacker abroad it was interesting to be one in my home country. Fewer people approach me when I'm lost, but more people are willing to help when I ask for it. If it weren't for the bus drivers of the Miami Public Transportation System I never would have found the beach or gotten back to the airport on time. Each time I got on the wrong bus, the driver gave me detailed directions to get me on the right track.

My next stop was Massachusetts where I met my dad and went to my sister's college graduation. I wondered what it would be like seeing my dad again, how he'd changed, how I'd changed. But when I came through those doors and saw he was the only person in the terminal, and it took him three minutes to figure out how to take a picture with his camera before rushing up and giving me a bear hug I realized he's still the same dad as when I left.

We spent the next few days visiting my sister and her boyfriend, getting lost each time we left the hotel and seeing some local sights in the area. I've been to New England before, but I was still blown away by how many trees there were! Trees everywhere! The euphoric feeling of being around so much green was regulated by the claustrophobic feeling they gave me. That's probably why we got lost so much, we couldn't see where we were going. The graduation ceremony was great. There is a lot of tradition involved, the campus is beautiful and the speakers were great. It was a much more pleasant experience than my graduation which was at night, freezing cold and the alumni speakers all awkwardly asked those in attendance to send money to the university.

My next destination was New York City! I took the bus into Manhattan and had the opportunity to spend a couple days with my friend Jewells before flying out to Oklahoma. This was also a different experience than what I was used to. This was the first time I was staying in NYC. To see the city as a visitor and to see it as a citizen are somewhat different experiences. There was no rush to see the sites, no getting up early or calling ahead. We made our own schedule and adjusted it accordingly. My first thoughts were how livable the city is. It reminded me of the Cosby's, and Jewells corrected me saying the Cosby's front step was filmed one street over! The people are also much more courteous than I'd expected. They were downright nice people! People who talk to you in line at the deli or offer their seats to others on the subway. Maybe Crocodile Dundee was right when he said, "Imagine seven million people all wanting to live together. Yeah, New York must be the friendliest place on earth."

We ate mediterranean food at midnight in Washington Square Park, had a picnic on the Staten Island Ferry as we passed by Lady Liberty, ate the best dumplings in Chinatown and had a barbecue in the backyard. Don't get me wrong, we didn't eat the entire time I was there. I refused to leave Manhattan without seeing a Broadway play. A friend of mine recommended we see In the Heights, a new musical set in Washington Heights. Somehow, despite showing up late and missing the discounted ticket lottery, we nabbed seats in the 7th row at 60% off. The show is A-MA-ZING!! There are about thirty songs or so and I was near tears after the opening number! Not because it was a sad show or anything like that, but there's something heartbreaking about seeing something so beautiful, so much raw talent on display just a few feet in front of me. It was an overload for the senses and Jewells and I kept looking at each other after each song with wide eyes and open jaws. If you live in New York, if you're going to New York you must see this production. It is spectacular, the casting was great, the plot is good-it takes place in Washington Heights and it's a latin community so there were great snippets of Spanish and the music was fantastic.



A lot of the subject matter hit home. For example, the girl whose father sells his business so she can finish college and said the only payment he desires is to hear her name followed by "Bachelor of Arts." This after going to my sister's graduation was very moving. Then a few people think of nothing but escaping the barrio and never coming back and at the end discover they are home. That hit me too since I'm undecided as to what or where home is to me. We couldn't stop raving about it to everyone we talked to. Such a good show!

Oklahoma was next. I'd been looking forward to going to the lake with the Mayhew's for months. I had high expectations and I'm happy to say they were all met. We had a blast setting lines for monster catfish, tearing across the lake on a jetski at sixty miles an hour, catching bluegill off the dock, jumping off the cliffs, cooking s'mores on Skunk Island and anchoring the boat in the middle of the lake and having a swim. It was a trip and lifestyle I wasn't in a hurry to leave. And I wrote this little poem as a tribute:

Tan toes, everybody knows
Come from an imbalance of work and pleasure.
You can have your employment, I'ma stick to my enjoyment
and maintain this life of leisure!

Colombi-ahhhhhh... Part II: The Caribbean

Seven months had passed since I'd been on a beach-I mean a nice beach. The cold water, shadeless and windy beaches of Peru don't count. I had been looking forward to the Caribbean for a long, long time. After one last 18-hour bus ride, I was there, in Cartagena, at midnight on a Friday night. Locals and foreigners both sing it's praises and it's difficult to talk about Colombian tourism without mentioning Cartagena

.

I was taken aback when, upon arriving-at midnight on a Friday night-the streets near my hostel were littered with garbage, drunks and the all-to-common salesmen that are found in Caribbean tourist towns. Was I lost? Where's the beautiful Cartagena everyone told me about? Fortunately, I found it the next day as I walked around the walls of the old city, down by the pier and in and out of the narrow cobblestone streets and under the clock tower at the main plaza. I found it again over a plate of fresh seafood and a glass of coconut lemonade. And again walking alongside huge iguanas in the central park. Each day presented another view of this popular city.

There are several day trips from Cartagena that are a lot of fun. The Islas de Rosario is one such trip which departs from the pier in the morning and include a slow boat ride out past the bay where the entire skyline of Cartagena is seen to a chain of small islands. One particular island has an impressive aquarium with a knowledgeable staff and beautiful animals. After visiting the aquarium we went to a nice white sand beach for a fried fish lunch and a dip in the water before starting the return journey back to the city.

One of the more unique experiences I've had was at the Volcan de Tutumo. This is a volcano about three stories high filled with creamy, lukewarm, saline mud. It's so salty in fact you can float effortlessly on the surface. To be honest it's impossible to sink! I've never been to the Dead Sea (yet!) but I imagine its very similiar. The depth of the volcano is said to be over 400 feet, however we all laid on the surface or stood vertically, perfectly and effortlessly suspended in the mud at chest level. Once you get over the weirdness of the experience, it's nice to cover your skin in the mud and relax. After an hour, you walk down the volcano to a nearby lake where everyone washes off, gets back on the bus and heads to the beach were another fish lunch is waiting for us. It's a fun experience I definitely recommend to others.

I was anxious to see what was under the water and spent a few days SCUBA diving in the national park of Tayrona. For a couple days I lived on the beach diving in the morning and afternoons while sleeping in a hammock at night. The Caribbean to me means sharks, unfortunately I didn't see any on my dives but I had a good time underwater and was happy to discover I could still dive after about eight months above water. On our excursion there was a group of dive students getting certified. I went under with them on two occasions and spent some time observing them under water. It had been just over a year since I earned my certification in Australia and I knew I struggled then with some of the skills they were struggling with now. It was fun to be the one to encourage new divers just like many people encouraged me on dive boats around southeast Asia. A lot can change in a year, and my SCUBA skills are proof.

Around this time I could see my time growing shorter and was eager to have another snake encounter before I left the continent. After my dive trip I continued east to the other side of the park and hiked over the mountains to the beach. The hike was fantastic. It wasn't too hot or humid like the rainforest in Bolivia and the activity of hiking was exhilarating. No snakes were found but I came across a different jewel of the rainforest; poison dart frogs. In my experience, dart frogs are common in the forests of Nicaragua, Costa Rica, Panama and Colombia. They are active during the day and eye-poppingly beautiful.

This one surprised me on the trail and gave me a good chase before I caught it. With the frog in one hand I retrieved my camera from my backpack with the other. I took a few photos and watched as he hopped away into the leaf litter. The excitement of the catch made me thirsty and I unscrewed my water bottle with the same hand I held the frog. When I took a drink some of the toxin must have washed from the bottle into my mouth because it tasted a little different, then began to get warmer and my tongue started going numb! I washed the bottle in a nearby stream and spit out what I could and the sensation faded. Never a dull moment huh!

The beach in the park is mostly unspoiled and uncrowded and unsuitable for swimming. I stayed for a few days walking along the beach, sleeping in hammocks, eating coconuts and mango and chatting with a few people along the way.

From Parque Tayrona I went directly to Barranquilla where I would fly out the following week. Many people questioned my desire to go to Barranquilla saying there was nothing special about it. It's not a tourist town, its not as pretty as Cartagena and therefore it's not special. On the other hand a select few told me it was even better than Cartagena because it wasn't a tourist town. After spending the weekend there I can tell you now, it's one of my favorite places in Colombia. It definitely isn't a tourist town, precisely why I like it. This is life for the majority of Colombians. Nobody is touting crappy souvenirs or day trips to the beach. This is what normal life feels like. I like normal life.

Add to that the fact I stayed with couchsurfers, Khris, Mickey and Jennifer the entire time I was there and saw even further into what a normal life is like, and made some great friends and had a lot of fun! Khris' family has a car which made seeing the city much easier and saved time. It was also a luxury I hadn't experienced-riding in a private vehicle-since I was in Argentina. Staying with Mickey and Jennifer exposed more luxuries I enjoyed; xbox, internet and local friends to hang out with. I had a great time eating, going to the movies, playing video games and playing pool with all of them. The most important thing of all was probably that I didn't spend my last days in South America alone. When I arrived in Buenos Aires I had a friend there to greet me and when I left Colombia, I had friends waving goodbye. Time with those friends, from Argentina to Colombia, is what I enjoyed the most.

Colombia:Part I, The Interior

I have wanted to go to Colombia for a long time. First, back in high school when it was considered one of the most dangerous places on earth. My mythology teacher told our class stories of traveling through the country with her husband after they got married. They were in three automobile accidents, their bus tipped over once and they were shot at. Sound like a honeymoon to you?

That is the Colombia of yesterday, a far cry of what you see today. The people and government have tried hard-and succeeded-in changing the country's reputation from a kidnapping and drug smuggling paradise to a peaceful and diverse destination. So much in fact that today the Department of Tourism for Colombia has a slogan that says, "Colombia. The only risk is wanting to stay."

I arrived in Bogota and stayed with a friend of mine, Melissa. Melissa and I had never met face-to-face before but we've known each other for several years through a mutual friend of ours whom I went to school with, Aida. Remember the opening scene in Mr. and Mrs. Smith where the characters played by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie meet in Bogota at a colonial-style hotel ridden with bullet holes, surrounded by palms and it's about 100 degrees outside and explosions are going off in the distance? Colombians hate that movie. The city has an elevation near 8,000 feet in the Andes Mountains and temps rarely exceed 70 degrees, there are very few examples of colonial architecture or palm trees and the city has never been under heavy fighting like was shown in the movie. I don't blame Hollywood though, I mean who wants to see Angelinain a parka?

For four days Melissa and I cruised around Bogota seeing the sights like the Salt Cathedral, going shopping (I needed to boost my wardrobe) and surfing her internet for free (a luxury I hadn't enjoyed for months.) We also went to a birthday party for one of her friends and I was introduced to vallenato, a type of folk music that's very popular on the Caribbean coast. Its accompanied by an accordion and guacharaca, a ridged stick that is played by scraping a wire fork over the ridges to keep the rhythm.

From Bogota I went to Medellin. I could live in Medellin. The weather is described as "eternal spring" and fluctuates very little throughout the year. (Wyoming readers: "spring" is a pleasant season between winter and summer characterized by warm temperatures, new growth, emergence and renewal. It doesn't exist where you live!) Previous generations might associate Medellin with Pablo Escobar, whereas current generations associate it with Latin pop sensation, Juanes!

I don't know exactly what it is about the city but I got the feeling as soon as I arrived, that I liked it. Maybe its the weather, or the cleanliness of the streets, the convenience of the metro rail, the beauty of the valley or the attractiveness of its people. I'm sure its a combination of all these variables and more, the truth is I liked Medellin instantly!

My couchsurfing host was Veronica. What can I say about her? She's one of the best hosts I've had and she shaped my experience in Medellin into something I could not have experienced on my own. We walked through downtown visiting the botanical gardens, the planetarium and a couple parks. We were going dancing with her friends that evening. The famous Colombian author, Gabriel Garcia Marquez says, five Colombians in a room inevitable turns into a party. There is a lot of truth to that. As we waited for everyone to arrive a party spontaneously began on the sidewalk! A couple drinks, some plastic chairs, a barbecue grill and a stereo brought people together and before you know it I was receiving some vallenato dancing lessons right there on the sidewalk! Before long we went to a street lined with clubs blaring salsa, merengue, vallenato and reggaeton music and danced into the early morning.

The next day we went to town for the Labor Day Parade. Or at least, what I thought was going to be a parade. Veronica called it a march and when I asked if they would throw candy she said no, but they would probably throw explosives! That's when I learned a new Spanish word: lacrimogeno, or tear gas in English. About ninety-five percent of the marchers are normal, peaceful workers marching for recognition, representation or protesting labor rights. The other five percent are made up of the anarchists and communists. A select few actually believe in a cause and desire revolution. For the most part though, they are mostly young people who want to break stuff (Why else would the two groups march together? They should be polar opposites.)

We shadowed this group as they marched through town, spray-painting revolutionary slogans on store fronts, throwing rocks and paintballs at buildings and lighting explosives in sidestreets. The riot police soon showed up and walked alongside them acting as a small, and sometimes futile barrier, between the businesses and the marchers. You could physically feel the tension rising the further we walked and I was confident I was going to see some tear gas. See some tear gas, I wasn't thinking I was going to get shot with it! As soon as we arrived at a wide boulevard the police finally lost their patience. Veronica and I were in between the police and the hooligans (not a good place to be) when they stared running. I turned to look and saw smoke rising from gas canisters in the street and police shooting more into the crowd. I didn't look back again! I grabbed Veronica and turned to run when I was shot in the back. I ripped off the scarf I was wearing and gave it to Veronica and covered my face with my shirt to try to breathe. Tear gas makes it nearly impossible to see or breathe, both of which are very necessary when you're trying to run away from something. The entire morning I was excited to have this experience, but as we were running and my face was burning, and I couldn't open my eyes, I had snot hanging out of my nose and I wanted to puke up my lungs I decided, 'Okay, that's enough! I don't want this experience anymore!' Then just as we thought it was safe to slow down, the armored truck drove through and shot us with a water cannon which prompted us to run further.

Once you get away from the gas, your lungs feel better and your eyes begin to clear up, but your face continues to burn. Fortunately, my trusty sidekick new the antidote and bought some milk to wash our faces in. It quickly took the burning away and we gave it to anyone who needed it. At that moment, when we were standing in the street, soaking wet from the water cannon, our eyes teary and bloodshot, still trying to catch our breath and milk running down our faces, I gave Veronica a big hug thanking her for this experience and we began to laugh!

We were back with the other ninety-five percent in the march within fifteen minutes, eating a popsicle and listening to music like nothing happened. It was going to be another beautiful day in Medellin.

Preface

Such a strange feeling today-this evening-my last on the European continent. I'll wake tomorrow before the sun and board a plane to cross "the pond," to the New World, to my goal destination-to South America. Things are seemingly happening quickly, all at once, but I feel like I'm in slow motion. I planned out my remaining three months and bought tickets to Connecticut departing from Colombia. This seems like a big step-one of the final steps-to cross the Atlantic and arrive in the same timezone as my countrymen-albeit a different hemishpere. I feel like I'd be better prepared for a sea journey where days, sometimes weeks seperate departure from arrival. Enough time to let go of Europe, to reflect and think of the things I've experienced and learned and to detatch from it slowly in a neutral environment like the open sea, which speaks no common language, waves no flag or shares a universal climate or ethnicity. Then finally, to look towards the horizon of the setting sun, to find the patch of green and prepare for it, study it while I'm still a ways off from its shores. Then perhaps I'd be eager-with proper preparedness-to step onto the sand ready for whatever may come.

Let go

"We're going to have to let you go."

That's what you want to hear from a policeman when you've been caught red-handed, or from your parents on prom night when that gorgeous girl finally accepted your invitation, or from a fisherman after you-a beautiful rainbow trout-were caught by his favorite dry fly and getting dangerously close to a future in a frying pan. It's not what you want to hear from you boss, in the middle of a global financial crisis, five thousand miles from home, when what you're being "let go" from is what many would consider at most, to be a dream job and at the least, a pretty sweet gig to occupy your time before going onto the next adventure. It gets no better when that next adventure needs to be determined within the next four days at which time you're made to leave your home, food and friends for.... well, it doesn't matter where you go, you just can't stay here.

You can imagine my sense of nervousness as I pieced together places to stay for days at a time, only days in advance. I stayed up later, I slept in longer, started reading more, thinking more, worrying more. Not that it was necessarily necessary. I was taken care of. A good friend who lives near where I worked said I could stay the whole week if I needed it. I would have been completely lost without him. Thank you Zola. Before long, as the news spread across the creek, my friend in Wales offered to share his dorm room for a few days while I figured out where I was going next. Thanks Jonny.

To fill you in, I'd been helping out with a holiday company in the French Alps. A usual day was spent with breakfast and a morning prayer meeting and then usually cleaning rooms and making beds until lunch at which time we had a few hours to go hit the ski slopes before coming back to the chalet to prepare for dinner. I quickly became a star player in the after-dinner dishwashing and could usually be found there or in the kitchen while dinner was being served to the guests. My co-workers were a young bunch from England who were full of energy-too much energy sometimes-but easy to get along with and people who I hope to keep in touch with in the future. Thanks guys, you know who you are.

I had hoped to move to Paris with Olivier when he got an apartment, however everyone is looking for an apartment these days and he ended up sharing a house with some others. I could come for a visit but staying for a long period of time or looking for work would be out of the question. Olivier tried his hardest to make something work for me, but in the end, some things just don't turn out the way you thought they would. (Terimah kasih banyak Olivier!) When you pray for guidance you shouldn't be upset when doors begin to close in your face. Some are closed before you walk into the room, others are closed after you've been pushed out of them. But sometimes, the easiest way to make a decision is to decide what I don't want to do, or what I can't do. Then it's easier to focus on what is possible. Guidance.

In Singapore I remember writing in my journal that I was anxious to get to Latin America. I wasn't concerned with Europe and was in fact willing to bypass it altogether in order to be eating gallo pinto and listening to reggaeton all the sooner. However, I was still holding on to Europe. I was holding onto working, holding onto another ski season and holding onto another continent, another language and another year abroad. The longer I stayed in France, the further I'd have to wait to get to South America. Perhaps the doors have properly closed, perhaps it's time to move on, perhaps it's my time to let go of some of my small desires in order to fulfill my larger ones. So this is me, let go, and letting go.

C'est la belle vie

December 12, 2008
Paris, France

One must record their first impressions of France. You really shouldn't let the glasses of wine and the increasing exhaustion of travel and transit force you to sleep and blur the experience. And here I write:

My first thought-despite it feeling colder here than in London-was where are all the pretty people? I felt like they all stayed in London. Parisians are homely and fair-some are outright ugly to be honest. Hair is matted and disheveled, eyeliner is applied too thickly and most ensembles are seemingly, loosely and quickly thrown together.

The metro isn't as nice either. It stinks for one, and there is an absence of escalators and personnel around. The turn stalls are a pain and the trains are old. I would say of every city rail system I've been on this year-Paris comes up last in terms of cleanliness and modernity. That's saying something considering I've been to Manila.

Of course it's not all bad, I just needed to get the negative out so I could embellish the positive. I found the pretty people in shopping malls wearing designer clothes and smelling better than laundry fresh out of the drier. Then again when I met Olivier's friends and later in the week when we went out dancing.

Paris is quiet. It's surprising how quiet it is near a main street or just around the corner from a common landmark busy with visitors. Parisians have been quite friendly today as Olivier and I walked around lost most of the day stopping random people for directions. Perhaps because conversations were conducted by Olivier in French, but I'm not letting that arguably arbitrary fact sway my feelings that we were met with very friendly people today. Helpful people and some quite jovial.

The reputation for a love of food is duly deserved. Food literally lines the sides of some narrow, cobblestone streets we walked down today. Seafood, fruit and vegetables, even spices are prominently displayed enticing even the un-hungry to stop and browse a while.

I helped a Guatemalan girl carry her luggage to Gare du Nord this morning when I got of the bus. Then I met Olivier near Chatelet and we stashed our luggage at his old workplace and walked around the city past the Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame and a couple other cathedrals. I bought a phone and SIM straight away so that's out of the way.

I was exhausted by 7:00pm when we met Oliv's beautiful girlfriend Elod back where our bags were. I was staying (am staying) at Olivier's friend's house, Rafael. He cooked dinner for us tonight. Seared duck, with fried potatoes served with a blue cheese sauce and a fruity white wine for accompaniment. This will forever be my first dinner in Paris-and what a welcome it was!

It's gearing up to be a great weekend!

First Impressions: London

All my regrets from purchasing a wool jacket in Vietnam and carrying it with me quite uselessly for two months through equatorial Asia quickly vanished near baggage claim at Heathrow Airport. It was cold! It was even colder outside the airport and on the train-er, sorry, the tube. Here's a quick lesson in London lingo; what's the difference between the tube, train, metro, subway, underground and overground? If you can tell me I'd be happy to know. The obvious answer is that the tube, subway and underground are all the same thing since they are under the ground... except that sometimes they aren't, in fact sometimes they are elevated similar to a skyrail. And then there's added confusion that the overground is often underground! The tube/underground is not called a train even though it is a train. The overground is considered a train. Can you understand my confusion when I arrived? I'm happy to announce after two weeks, London transportation and I are good friends.

England is an interesting country in its antiquity. Everything is so old! I walked by a small church near Old London Road in Kingston which was consecrated in the eleventh century and has been under the ownership of the same school since the sixteenth century! Colombus had just 'discovered' my country at that time and here this church was already five hundred years old, yet it still stands to this day. This particular church isn't unique in London either. There are several standing examples of the history of the area. Beachcombers can be seen along the banks of the Thames River browsing among the discarded tires and broken bottles for artifacts and remnants of centuries past.

Despite the cold-which isn't the dry, windy, Wyoming type but a damp, quiet coldness-the city remains colorful. The grass and various evergreens are still green and there are flowers that still bloom. Single and double-decker buses are common and reflect a brighter, more monotonous red than the brick building neighborhoods they drive through. There is a certain familiarity to the city I've likely gained from watching television and movies. I would say it's somewhat similar to the feeling I had in Los Angeles. Although in Los Angeles I felt like everything was fake, make believe on a giant movie set. Whereas in London after walking past the London Eye and seeing Big Ben for the first time it hit me that I'm really in England!

The biggest shock was of course the price of everything. From the airport to Ben's house I'd already spent what was my daily budget in Southeast Asia on the underground and a couple phone calls. This was going to take some getting used to. Fortunately-depending on your point of view-the pound has fallen significantly in the last year and my dollars are going a little further than they would have before. Thankfully I'm staying with Ben's family and are at the mercy of their wonderful hospitality. After a couple days I came to the realization I'd have to find a job quick or go back to Wyoming. Physically it'd be easier to go back to Rock Springs, but I decided I'm not finished yet. My world tour isn't about to be over that quickly!

Indonesia Revisited

The decision to return to Indonesia was becoming more and more appealing. A part of me had seriously questioned whether to leave Indonesia back in May, or postpone my outbound ticket and spend some more time in Java and neighboring Sulawesi. In the end, I took my friend Alison's advice and left. Six months later, there I was, full circle through Southeast Asia only a ferry ride from Sumatra, my Indonesian horizon.

I was surprised at how nostalgic I became when I arrived. Even the currency I'd exchanged into Rupiah brought back a comfortable familiarity. Hearing the language again was like hearing a favorite song on the radio. My tongue said words that I knew I'd said before, months earlier, but couldn't remember the meaning. My sentences would finish automatically, and then I'd ask the meaning of what I'd just said. Indonesian food isn't anything to brag about but I found myself salivating over the thought of my favorite local foods and couldn't wait to try them again.

In Dumai, where I arrived on the ferry, an English teacher found me waiting at the bus station's office. He said he heard there was a westerner in town and wanted to offer me free accommodation in return for English conversation with his students. Who told him I was in town? I'd just arrived less than ten minutes ago! So went the rest of my Sumatran experience. Especially on weekends, tourist traps were just that, traps set by adolescent English language students hunting for English speakers to practice with. The practice consisted of poorly worded questions that their teacher obviously advised they ask such as, "Do you agree with the economic crisis in America?" "Do you prefer Indonesia or America?" I couldn't believe that any twelve year-old was interested in the answers of their prepared questions (they weren't) so I changed the subject and instead asked them about where they came from, what was their favorite music or football team. Afterwards they all huddled around to get a picture of the tourist. The danger of speaking with one group of students is it gives the other groups a chance to move in where you repeat the same cycle of unanswerable questions-"Excuse me sir. What's the difference between America?"-then pictures and signatures while another group prepares to advance. There aren't many tourists in this part of the world so students would wait outside my guesthouse waiting for me to leave in the mornings. And to think some people are afraid to come here for fear of being attacked by radical Islamic terrorists. Forget about the terrorists, but keep a keen eye out for the English students!
Poor weather kept me from staying long at either Bukittinggi or Padang and I found myself on the island of Samosir in Lake Toba. It is said to be the largest island inside an island (that being Sumatra.) The lake is a crater lake and green hills surround the entire thing. Not much happens on the island so it's a nice place to relax, eat, explore waterfalls, take a swim or play chess-all of which I did my fair share of. The owner of my guesthouse and I played a minimum of five games of chess a day. I beat him once, drew twice and lost every game otherwise. After a week of staying and eating at the guesthouse he offered a challenge; one game of chess, I win and I leave without paying my bill, he wins and I have to stay another day. He won, I paid but still left that afternoon.

After a series of ferry, taxi and bus rides that lasted all night into the next morning I arrived in Pulau Weh, an island off the coast of Banda Aceh at the tip of Sumatra. Pulau Weh is gorgeous! I scored a wooden bungalow with a palm thatch roof and a hammock that's actually over the ocean. And not just any ocean, beautiful, calm, warm, blue-hued ocean full of colorful fish! The area I stayed was quite cozy. If anyone arrived we all knew about it. A surprising concentration of Americans arrived but also Germans, Belgians, French, Dutch, Chinese, Italians, Koreans and Malaysians.
Most of my days consisted of, or at least included snorkeling or scuba diving. The snorkeling was amazing. Beforehand I'd only seen a lionfish on two occasions in the Philippines. I saw seventeen of them here in an hour of snorkeling. Around dusk some beautiful blue fusiliers could be found schooling around some coral heads just in front of my bungalow. If classical music could be seen, visualized, it would take the form of these schooling fishes. That's how I'd describe it.

It was this spectacle I was on my way to witness when I thought the quest for a sea snake was over. Literally right in front on my bungalow, two meters from where I knelt to rinse the spit out of my mask was a snake, banded in black and white! It was searching for food in the cracks and holes around. As I watched it I began to have doubts. After all it just didn't act completely snakelike to me. Something was off. I was right, I found a picture of one in the dive shop's book on marine life. It was a harlequin snake eel. Not reptilian at all. I didn't have to wait long though. A few days later on my last day I found one and this time had no doubt as to what it was. A banded sea krait, potentially deadly but very placid. It took no notice of me as I watched it poke its head into cracks and under coral looking for small fish. I pushed my lungs to the limit as I dove down a few meters to where it was, and gently held it while still allowing it to hunt. As much as I was enjoying myself I was freezing from being in the water for nearly two hours and had to get out.

The diving was also nice although sometimes I felt like the snorkeling was better. A bit unfair to say probably as you don't have much to think about when you're snorkeling whereas I was concerned with my buoyancy, air consumption and decompression limits while I was diving. I dove six times over the course of two weeks, including once at night. I hadn't been too taken with diving previously. It's different, and interesting but I wasn't sure if the cost was worth the reward. Here in Indonesia I better realized what diving was-which is simply breathing underwater-and what it isn't-it's not a breathtaking experience every dive where you constantly see sharks, whales, turtles, etc.-and I think now that I realize this, I've become not only a better diver, but I appreciate diving more. I'll be excited to go again sometime. I'm sure it'll be even more enjoyable with old friends and my ultimate goal would be to dive with my dad who was certified nearly thirty years ago. [So here's a formal request to my father: When are we going diving together Dad?]

Indonesia remains my favorite Southeast Asian country and a place I hope dearly I'll get to return to someday. Before boarding my flight (which only cost $40!) to Malaysia I had one last straight-razor shave in a barber shop and went around town sampling my favorite foods one last time. It was then, while I was on the back of a motorbike receiving smiles from girls in headscarves, waves and salutations from businessmen and curious friendly glances in traffic that I confirmed it; I love this place! The landscape of Indonesia is beautiful and diverse, the people are friendly, the language is a joy and the climate is pleasant. I like how sandals are quickly kicked off before entering a home or shop, how Indonesians touch their hearts after shaking hands, the faint smell of cloves in the air and the sound of a pop star singing a love song on the radio in a language I almost speak.

Indonesia coming soon!

Just wanted to say I followed your suggestion according to the poll (even before it was finished actually) and spent the last month in Sumatra. For now I'll tell you that it was amazing and Indonesia is spectacular. More to come...

Cambodia

As I sit here in Siem Reap, this morning's tour of Angkor Wat fresh in my mind, I can't believe I'm about to leave this country as quickly as tomorrow. That's the exact opposite feeling I had when I arrived a week ago in Phnom Phen and wanted to leave as soon as possible. It had been a relatively pleasant bus ride from Saigon, I finished reading Hemingway's The Old Man and the Sea, and the puker on the bus-there's always one-wasn't sitting close enough to me to matter. Still, after nine countries in nine months I get a little nervous and excited crossing borders. Especially borders to countries I've never been to. It was simple enough and we arrived in Phnom Phen at night. I was dropped off at the backpacker part of town, which seems to always be the most seedy part. After checking out the local accommodation options, I was nostalgic for the comforts I had in Vietnam. There was a small riot in the street during my first night. Apparently someone through a bottle at someone else, that started a Khmer (Cambodian) versus Westerner and then Khmer vs Khmer brawl which started with fists and evolved to include bottles, knives and a broken guitar handle before it was all broken up and exhausted. I didn't see much as I'm not one to consort with such violence, and the throngs of anxious-looking tourists running my way told me I was just fine where I was. I waited to see the blood splattered on the street the next day. Strangely enough, a few girls ran into the bar where I was watching the Liverpool vs Manchester United game (those are two huge European soccer teams for all you back home) and one of them was a girl I'd met nearly 3 months earlier at a rooftop pool party in Manila! What a reunion. We met up later and had a chat and we ran into each other yet again a couple days later in Siem Reap.

It rained a lot while I was in Phnom Phen so I took advantage of the free DVDs at my hotel and watched a couple I hadn't seen yet, before writing in my journal and reading some more. I was fortunate enough to find a church to go to on Sunday. The speaker was the daughter of Bob Pierce who is the founder of both Samaritan's Purse and World Vision. The latter being the largest Christian based relief organization in the world. She was a crier and not the least bit ashamed of it. She recounted her father's past and some events that prompted him to start World Vision. Before the service I was a little bummed that I hadn't heard from some friends whom I'd been emailing and was planning on meeting with. I knew something would work out and it did. After the service I asked the two girls who sat next to me what they did and it turned out they work with the very people I was trying to meet! Before long we were all having lunch and I had a place to stay should I need one. Which I did one night before coming to Siem Reap. It was nice to get out of the backpacker area and see a more normal part of the city.

The city is actually a lot further along than I'd expected. It's full of casinos and has all the comforts of home if you're willing to pay for them. I was happy to see peanut butter and jelly in the convenience store and instantly started a three day long PBJ diet. My mother would be proud.

On the way to Siem Reap I finished George Orwell's Animal Farm, I remember reading it in high school, but it makes much more sense now. At one bathroom stop during the trip were an assortment of fruits and exotic foods. I found a bowl full of tarantulas, another with brightly colored grasshoppers and a lady carrying around a pan of skinned frogs too. I had tried some water beetles back in Phnom Phen and so decided to opt out of trying anything new and had some grilled bananas instead.

I woke up this morning at 4:40 am and my motorbike driver was waiting out front. We arrived at Angkor Wat before the sun showed up and I'd hoped for a clear morning. It was too cloudy for much color to arrive in the sky behind the temple, but I was happy it wasn't raining yet. As a whole, Angkor is huge, the largest religious building in the world so they say. However, now it's really just a bunch of temples within a fairly close proximity to each other. I recognized the temples as the backdrop to some movies, Laura Croft: Tomb Raider and Mortal Kombat two of the most familiar. Hey, I never said they were good movies! You know that temple you see in National Geographic in the jungle with all the tree roots covering the walls? Yeah, I saw that one today too. I've seen too many temples within the last six months to get too excited, but still, this is Angkor Wat, one of the seven man-made wonders of the world. I don't want to sound uncultured but I did notice I showed more fascination with a giant millipede and later with a trail of ants than I did with the temples themselves. Still, they make for good pictures!

I'm planning my return to Bangkok tomorrow on the bus. It's supposed to be a bumpy, miserable ride and getting stuck in the mud isn't uncommon. Let's hope I won't have to push. This entry puts you currently up to date with my life. After Bangkok I'm going down to the south of Thailand to hopefully do some rockclimbing in Krabi and chill out for awhile on the beach in Phuket. Then it's off to Malaysia. I'm not sure what I'll do in Malaysia but I can't imagine leaving this part of the world without some good snake stories so I may try to find a python or two. Perhaps easier said than done. A few people have asked when I'm coming home or where I'm off to next. It's good to be missed, but if all goes to plan I won't be home for quite awhile yet. I fly to London in November. I'm looking for work somewhere in Europe. I have a desire to learn French while I'm there so, preferably in a Francophone area and, finances permitting, I'd like to stay for around a year. Then, since Latin America was the whole reason I went on this trip I can't imagine staying any less than a year there. But I'm getting ahead of myself. First let's see about this bus trip tomorrow.