India Ink

Making Peace With the Sea

I don't do well under water. I've said here before: while I'm always happy to jump out of an airplane, bungee, or fly an ultralight,  if you throw me in the deep end of a pool, I will die.  I've never been able to master the art of regulating my breathing underwater.  As soon as my face is covered and I can't breathe normally, I panic. Even a snorkle mask makes me gag; I made yet another attempt at snorkling on this trip, without much success. (My guide told me I'm an "obligate nose breather." Whatever that means; isn't that what everybody's noses are for??)

I've always wanted to have the underwater experience, and have been jealous of people who can dive or snorkle easily.

On this Aruba birthday adventure, I finally found a way to get my head underwater without the terror part: the Sea Trek helmet walk.

Instead of snorkeling gear or a dive tank, you wear a giant helmet with an air line attached in the back. Strangely enough, the helmet is open at the bottom (you can stick your hand in and scratch your nose if you needed to), but the air bubble never gets filled with water.  Basic physics, I'm told, but amazing to me nevertheless. I got the full colorful-fish-swimming in-my-face-experience, without worrying about where my air was coming from.

The helmet is quite heavy and confining, so if you have any claustrophobic tendencies, this might not be for you. The only discomfort I felt was from pressure building up in my ears during the 20 ft. descent. At one point I thought I might have to abort the descent because my ear was hurting a lot, but then it seemed to equilibrate itself and was fine for the rest of the time I was on the ocean floor.

This is the way to view Caribbean marine life: drinking a toast to my birthday adventure at the Underwater Cafe.

Check out these videos of our group, taken by our scuba-diving guides.  I'm at 28-35 seconds.

 

Below, I'm at 41-47 seconds.

Iceland: Lava Caving

I imagine this must be what the moon looks like. Iceland's volcanic history is everywhere. The first 10 miles or so of the bus trip from the airport into Reykjavik (the capital city), I might as well have been on the moon; I saw nothing but rocks like these:

Lava rocks (the reflection was from the bus window)

Lava caves dot the West Iceland highlands. Our group checked out this one, called Vidgelmir, believed to be the largest in the world. The cave is about a mile long, but only a short distance of that is open to the public.

Descending into the lava cave. It was a fairly short descent, but very slippery and rocky, and being the oldest member of our group, I was definitely showing my age on the climb back up!

View from inside the lava cave, looking toward the entrance. This type of lava cave is known as a lava tube, and is formed by slow-moving lava forming a crust above continuously-flowing lava. Traces of human habitation dating back to the Viking Age have been found in this cave.

Closeup of the lava rock texture just outside the cave.

The rugged volcanic landscape, near Pingvellir National Park

Fire And Ice

Iceland is not just about ice, but also about heat. Dotting the polar landscape of lava and snow-covered mountains are steaming geothermal hot springs. Some are bubbling mud, but others are crystal clear and beckon hikers for a dip.

Hot spring winding its way through Olkelduhals valley

Hikers walking through lava fields toward a steaming hot spring at Misty Valley, Olkelduhals, Iceland

Ice crystals form from steam settling on the grass and rocks surrounding the hot spring

Me enjoying a dip in a hot spring at Olkelduhals, Iceland.
The hardest part was getting out of my 5 layers of winter gear, into a swim suit (and back).
Outside temperature: 32°F (0°C)
Wind chill: -10°F
Water temperature: 97-99°F (38°C)!

Reporting Live from Ground Zero Iceland!

Today, I FINALLY got a glimpse of that magnificent volcano that's been wreaking havoc around the world. Our tour guide was able to drive up closer than I thought we could--we were probably within about a mile or so of the site. Of course, for me, even closer would have been better, but the search-and-rescue guys stationed at this checkpoint wouldn't let us go any further. 

Sorry for all the disruptions, Europe, but from where I'm sitting, it's absolutely SPECTACULAR!

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Eyjafjallajokull glacier volcanic eruption, Iceland, April 17, 2010

Me with the search and rescue boys stationed at this checkpoint

Proof that I was really there!

An Icelandic Birthday

"So you were concerned that the volcano wasn’t erupting anymore before you left….what did you do?  It must have been something to really upset it J"

Geez -- I was just keeping my fingers crossed that it would burp once or twice, enough for me to get a few good shots. I swear. I never intended to empty the British (and Polish and Irish) skies..."

It must be that I'm extra powerful because it's my birthday? ;o)

Since I still can't get close to the volcano (the roads are still closed), I spent my birthday riding a handsome Icelandic horse under a rainbow sky, followed by a dip in one of the geothermal hot springs that Iceland is famous for.

On my horse at Eldhestar, Hveragerdi, Iceland
I'm all suited up because it was pretty cold and wet!

When the sun came out, the full-arch rainbow was spectacular

Rainbow riders

Coming Up: Live From Times Square!

It's been said that there are two kinds of people: those who think that anyone who wants to spend New Year's Eve on Times Square is crazy, and those who want to do it at least once in their lifetime. Guess which category I fall into?  ;o)

When my job brought me to New York City earlier this year, I was hoping this would be my chance to cross that item off my wish list. I was very disappointed when my assignment ended well before December 31, and I no longer had the luxury of an apartment just minutes from Times Square.

But I haven't given up on my dream yet. With the help of a friend and colleague who very generously offered me a place to stay (thanks Christine!), I will be ringing in the new decade at the crossroads of America after all. New Year's Eve will find me stationed on Times Square, along with a chaotic mob of a gazillion other people.

Yeah, I know. I'm crazy. We've established that already.

I plan on getting there bright and early, to snag a choice viewing spot and make the long wait worthwhile. Being the high-tech person that I am (ha!), I'll attempt to do some live blogging from my recently-acquired iPhone, at least for as long as my battery holds out (and assuming it doesn't get confiscated by the tight security). I might even post some live pictures, perhaps even a video if I'm really inspired and my fingers haven't fallen off from frostbite.

So watch for me on the telly--along with J.Lo, Ryan Seacrest, Dick Clark, and Daughtry--when the spiffy new crystal ball drops, and the crowd goes wild...

Note: If I get the video thingy working, it will require QuickTime to view, so you might want to download it free here.

Go Fish

Photographing the ice fishermen of New York inspired me to revisit all the other fishermen I've photographed over the years. How many ways are there to catch a fish? Let me count the ways...

 
Indian fishermen hauling in their catch from a fishing boat on the Bay of Bengal in Chennai, India

Woman pulling a prawn fishing net in the Sunderbans Delta, India

 
Stick fishing in Sri Lanka

 
A lone fisherman on Dal Lake in Kashmir, India brings up his early-morning catch

 
Chinese fishing net in Cochin, Kerala, India

 
Nets along the Brahmaputra river, Assam, India

Net fishing along Senggigi Beach, Lombok, Indonesia

Ice fishing on Irondequoit Bay, Rochester New York

Reeling it in, in Austin, Texas

 
For those who prefer to stay dry while catching their fish: fishing off the Santa Cruz pier, California

No fancy fishing equipment for this boy in Alleppey, Kerala, India

 
Double take: They looked almost real, but both the fisherman and the boy were statues in a park in
Hyderabad, India

 
And that's me with the only fish I've ever caught: On a fishing boat off Kawau Island, New Zealand, beginner's luck got me this 24-pound kingfish.

Mule Power

Less than an hour ago, I was riding a jackass deep in the bowels of Grand Canyon. (Hey! I said I was riding a jackass, not I was a riding jackass...) ;o)

And you dear readers, get to see it in almost real time. Ah, the joy of WiFi hot spots, which can now be found even in the Grand Canyon!

Our sturdy animals looked like horses, but they were actually mules. FYI, a mule is the offspring of a mother horse and a jackass father. (That's not a judgement, it's just the genetics I'm talking about!) The 12-mile journey from the rim of the canyon down (and back up) took us about 7 hours. And oh, my aching butt and knees!

But the views? Spectacular.

My mule's name was Sissy, which was OK by me. If I'm going to teeter on the edge of a canyon (these animals prefer to walk on the side closer to the cliff edge, I swear it's just to torture the tourists), I would rather not do it on a mule named Rambo or Bruiser or Killer. So Sissy was just fine by me.

Me saddled up on Sissy

That's me, with the Colorado river below, which runs at the bottom of the canyon

My mule's eye view

Getting hosed down to take the edge off the 110 degree temperature inside the canyon

Our mule train

Ice Follies

Just outside Quebec City, Canada, there is an extraordinary place called Hotel De Glace -- Ice Hotel.  It's a real hotel, made almost completely out of ice and snow. And yes, you can actually spend the night there. Being so close to Quebec when I was in Vermont last week, I couldn't resist a visit. Well OK, it wasn't THAT close--about a five hour drive from Burlington--but my sister Donna gamely agreed to join me for an impromptu road trip.

The complex is built with 5,000 tons of ice and 15,000 tons of snow.

Inside, everything--walls, pillars, tables, seats -- is carved from ice and snow.

Benches, chairs, and beds are covered with deerskin for warm seating.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

Even the chandeliers are made of ice.

There are fireplaces scattered throughout (above), with real fire. But the fire is well-insulated (for obvious reasons) and is meant more for ambiance than for warmth.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

Donna relaxes on an ice bar.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

When you take pictures without flash, the ice comes out in various shades of blues and pinks (above). I wondered if the colors reflected the temperature or thickness of the ice?

There is also a chapel, where supposedly a number of weddings have taken place. Gives new meaning to "getting cold feet" on your wedding day...

Your favorite alcoholic beverage is available at thefull service bar, also made of ice.

 
Donna and I trying out the Maple Liquor drink, served in a recyclable glass made of--what else?--ice.

The hotel has 36 private rooms and suites, each with a different artistic theme.

This was one of two beds in our suite. Beds are made of a thick slab of ice, covered with a plank of wood, and topped off with a styrofoam mattress. Some of the bedrooms come with fireplaces, but those cost an extra $150.00 USD per night, so I opted out of that.

Photo by Donna Kruszewska

That's me (above) snuggling in for the night. The thick ice walls keep the temperature inside at about 25°F / -4°C. The nordic sleeping bag is included in the price, and is definitely needed! The only part of my body that got a little chilly was the top of my head, so I ended up sleeping with my hat on. And yes, I did make it through the whole night. Getting out of that cozy sleeping bag in the morning was the most difficult part of the experience.

If things get too chilly for you, there is a spa nearby, with outdoor hot tubs (above)and a sauna. I spent an hour here, watching the spectacular total eclipse of the moon from a hot tub. Getting out of the tub was excruciating -- the outside temperature dipped down to 0°F / -17°C that night. They give you strict instructions to dry off every part of your body (including your hair) before getting into your sleeping bag, so you don't turn into a human icicle.

This spectacular place is available from January through April only. In April, the whole thing melts down, to be rebuilt again the following year. This was the most impressive addition yet to my Sleeping Around series!

Misbehavin' With The Tourist Lady

Aah, but it gets better. I thought I left the drunken mobs behind at the Delhi railway station. Not so. More drama was in store for me as my whistlestop tour of northern India continued.

At the Kaziranga National Park in Assam (a state in the northeastern corner of India), I make arrangements with the lodge where I am staying to take a cruise in a small motorboat (below) down the Brahmaputra river to see river dolphins.

Two fellows from the lodge drive me to the launch site in a jeep. We get out of the jeep and make our way to board the motorboat, when a gang of young men intercepts us and begins a heated discussion with my two guys. At first, I don't think much of it. As often happens in India, I don't understand what they are saying, so I tune out. I notice only when voices start to get louder and louder. The next minute, they are swinging punches at each other! Two guys in particular are being very rowdy, shoving around the two guys who are with me, trying to push them down a small cliff, posturing, yelling at them. Others in the group are pulling sticks off nearby trees and thrashing them around as weapons. It's clear that the whole gang has had a bit too much to drink.

I'm standing in the middle of this melee and although they haven't targeted me yet, I start to worry about getting caught in the crossfire. I quietly inch my way back to the safety of the jeep -- such as it is, since the jeep is wide open -- and debate my next move. Should I intervene? Should I help kick some butt? My two guys are skinny fellows, and there is no way they are going to win a fight against these burly, alcohol-powered lunatics. Should I run for shelter into the tiny Shiva temple that stands nearby? Surely no one would hurt me inside a temple...

I still have no clue what they are all yelling about. After a few minutes, the ringleader makes his way to my jeep and starts yelling and posturing at me. "Why are you so angry?" I ask. "What is the problem?" He says something about "going down the river," but his English is very limited, so I understand little of it. I know that the Brahmaputra river is considered sacred by Hindus, and since I keep hearing the word "Hindu," I'm wondering if maybe he's offended that a foreigner was planning on cruising the river.

But it turns out his intention is nowhere near that noble. His gang of rowdy mates was having a picnic party (along with a busload of other revelers), and had decided they wanted to cruise down the river. The only motorboat available was the boat owned and operated by the lodge that I was staying at. It was not a public boat, but they decided they wanted the boat and had tried to bribe the boat operator to take them for a ride. The boat operator refused to take them because of their drunken behavior. This infuriated them further, and I'm guessing they were probably accusing the boat operator of preferential treatment for agreeing to take me but not them. They decided that if they couldn't go, I couldn't go either.

The fight dragged on for what seemed like forever. At some point, one of my guys managed to put a call in to the lodge, which immediately sent a car with two female staff to extract me out of the war zone and whisk me back to the lodge. They also tipped off the police, who must have arrived a few minutes after I left.

Safely back at the lodge, I decide to climb a little hill where a spectacular sunset is in progress. When I make my way back down a few minutes later, I find an entire battalion of armed men waiting for me in front of the lodge. Not one, not two, but at least 25-30 cops, all with various weapons by their side. Seated in front is a man who is introduced to me as the superintendent of police. He invites me to sit down next to him.

"The townspeople are very ashamed of how these troublemakers have treated you.  Misbehaving in front of a tourist lady -- that is very, very bad. We welcome and respect visitors in this town. We don't treat them like this. These people are not from here, they are from a neighboring town. We have booked them and they will spend the night in jail. But first, with your permission, I want to bring them out here for a public apology."

Three cops escort the two ringleaders out of the police van and order them to kneel in front of me. It is clear that police lathi sticks have beaten the bravado out of them. (Police in India are not shy about using their sticks to maintain order...) They limp as they walk up, and visibly wince when they kneel down. They are no longer shouting or poking their fingers into my face. Their eyes are down as they kneel in front of me. "Apologize to the lady," Mr. Superintendent orders.

Ye gads. What do I do with them?? The travel guidebooks don't tell you what is the proper etiquette for something like this!! I feel like the pope, being asked to absolve his errant flock. I have no idea what I'm supposed to say to them, so I blurt out something lame: "Why are you so mean to the tourists? We just want to get to know your country...You shouldn't be drinking like this, it just gets you in trouble." They make a quiet apology under the watchful eye of the cops. I nod my head to indicate I accept their apology.  By this time, I am almost feeling sorry for the jackasses.  I'm quite certain that when they decided to pick a fight with two scrawny guys and an old white lady, they had no clue it would incur the wrath of an entire police battalion.

The superintendent gives them a little lecture, and orders them back into the van. The lodge owner promises me that I'll get my dolphin cruise tomorrow. Not without police protection, I tell him.

One thing's for sure: around here, they take their tourist protection commitment very seriously! 

That's me on the dolphin cruise the following day, with the two lodge employees who "rescued" me.

A Funny Thing Happened On The Road To Enlightenment

So, how were your holidays? Mine were good.

Except for one little incident, where a train that I was riding in on my way to Bodh Gaya (where, it is said, Buddha achieved his enlightenment) was attacked by an out-of-control mob, a gang of youths who were en route to a rally in Delhi. (I think the rally was to protest the formation of a ship channel between Sri Lanka and India? Something about there being a natural bridge there already, built by their god Ram. Not sure if I understand the whole issue, but that's what it sounded like, from the bits and pieces I was hearing from other passengers).

About an hour into the overnight journey, at a stop at a small station, a testosterone-poisoned gang of young men in the sleeper compartment next to ours decided they weren't happy with that compartment and decided to take over the AC 3-tier compartment next to it. (Not sure why they wanted that compartment, the only difference was air-conditioning, and this was one of the coldest nights ever in this area, so there wasn't exactly a need for air conditioning. Or perhaps they couldn't get enough tickets, because thousands of them were headed for the rally?)

They started by pounding on the windows and demanding to be let in.  At first, I had no idea what was happening, there was just a lot of running around and yelling in Hindi; I thought it was just some solitary drunk causing a ruckus, so I pulled the covers over my head and tried to sleep. But then I heard glass shattering as they started throwing rocks and breaking the windows and door glass.  I think they must have cut the power, because all the lights went out.  A couple of male passengers in our compartment sort of "took charge" and recruited all the other menfolk in our compartment to push them out and barricade the door.  We thought we got rid of them once the train started again, but they started up again at the next station stop, and the one after that. Someone got the power restored after a couple hours, but were told to keep quiet and keep the lights off.

We traveled in this way for the rest of the night. Indians put their ubiquitous cell phones to good use by making repeated calls to the police stations of the towns we were passing through. When that brought no response from anyone, they started calling the media, who met us with cameras and microphones when we finally limped into the Delhi station at dawn.

All's well now, and I spent the last day of 2007 watching pilgrims meditate under Buddha's famous enlightenment tree.

Other than that little incident, my holidays were uneventful! ;o)

Africa: Cheetahs

A cheetah family at the Masai Mara in Kenya.

The dark "tearmark" lines from their eyes are a quick way to differentiate cheetahs from leopards. Their spots are also different.

Africa: Black and White Whimsy

Things learned on safari: it's impossible to look at a zebra butt without grinning.

 

Zebras have the lovely habit of turning their butts to you when you're looking at them. (I guess I would want to do that too, if someone was always staring at me...)  Those big butts, with their psychedelic black-and-white stripes, were always good for a chuckle.  Even after seeing hundreds of these creatures in both Kenya and Tanzania, those wild stripes always held my attention.

 

Africa: Zebra Crossing

On an African safari, the animals don't wait for zebra crossings...

 

Zebras - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Elephants - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Giraffes - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Guineafowl - Serengeti, Tanzania

 

Hyena - Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania

 

Wildebeest - Masai Mara, Kenya

 

Baboons - Lake Nakuru, Kenya

Africa Top Five: #2 - got blood?

#2 of the Africa Top 5 Most Memorable Moments is a sharp contrast to the beauty and serenity of the courting flamingos. But in its exoticness, it's hard to beat!

The Masai (or Maasai) are a warrior tribe living in Kenya and Tanzania. They live in mud huts and spend most of their time grazing cattle. Their wealth is measured in cows; the more cows you own, the richer you are. They subsist almost entirely on the meat, milk, and blood from their cattle, drinking blood directly from their cows and goats. Our guide arranged for us to watch the blood-drinking ritual. 

Five or six Maasai men wrangle a cow and hold it in place. The blood will be taken from the jugular vein of the neck, so a tourniquet is tied above this vein.

One of the warriors then shoots a very sharp-tipped arrow directly into the jugular vein (above). It was kind of like the way a phlebotomist would insert a needle into a human's arm to do a blood draw.

When the arrow is pulled out, blood gushes out of the vein and is collected in a bucket. It looked like they got at least a gallon of blood from this animal.

When they were done, they smeared a bit of cow dung over the wound to stop the flow, and the cow was released. Just like with a human blood donation, this cow will not be bled again for the next 4-6 weeks.

When they offered us a sip, how could I resist? Yes, three or four of us tourists joined them in the blood-drinking.

Photos of me taken by Ian

I know I'm looking kind of bug-eyed in these photos, but it actually wasn't that bad. It was very thin and bland. It tasted just like human blood. (Not that I'm in the habit of drinking human blood. But if you've ever cut your lip or had a tooth bleed, you know the taste). There was actually very little taste as I was drinking it, but for several minutes afterwards I had strong blood aftertaste.

If you saw Survivor Africa a couple seasons ago, you might recall that this was one of the challenges on that show. So this was good practice for when I get on Survivor...

The blood-drinking was followed by some milk porridge (above), with fresh milk straight from a cow being boiled together with (I think?) some cornmeal. It tasted a little better than the blood, but it was very hot, so I didn't drink too much of it. Sometimes, the Masai mix the milk and the blood together to make a blood milkshake.

OK. Go ahead. Bring on the EEEEWWWWWWW THAT'S DISGUSTING I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID THAT comments.... 

I have lots more to say about the Masai, in future entries. Such as why they are a feminist's nightmare...

TOP FIVE AFRICAN MOMENTS
#1-Flamingos   /  #2-got blood?  /  #3-Fresh Kill   /  #4-Wildebeest Migration    / #5-Leopard 

Return To The Backwaters

Having a visitor from Rochester (Mary, below) gave me an excuse to repeat one of my favorite Kerala experiences: an overnight houseboat tour along the Alleppey backwaters. (To read about my original houseboat experience, go here.)

Mary (at right) and I, sitting on a Chinese fishing net.

Our home for 24 hours

The captain indulged me in my request to drive the boat (under his watchful eye, fortunately...)
Photo by Mary Abraham

Just Me and the Mountains

"I had always assumed you were with a hiking party of many people, and not just your guide and porter. I was waiting to see pictures of them all!" --Dale

Several people have asked me about this, so here's the scoop. I had originally intended to do this hike with a group, and I signed up with a tour agency that was offering a group tour. But because of the turmoil in Nepal, no one else signed up for the tour, so it was cancelled. Then, another company, called 3 Sisters caught my eye. The reason they caught my eye (aside from the fact that I have 3 sisters myself!) was because they were the only agency in Nepal which hired female guides and porters. This company (it really is run by 3 sisters), is doing some wonderful work there. The trekking industry in Nepal is very much male-dominated, so giving women the same opportunity is no small thing, and I wanted to support them in their work. They too offered a group trek, an all-women's trek, and they already had enough people for the trek to go, so I signed up with them. Then the situation in Nepal deteriorated even further, and several of the trekkers backed out, and that group was cancelled too. 3 Sisters offered to arrange a solo trek for me, with my own guide and a porter, and I decided to go with that. (By "solo trek" I mean a private trek, without a group. I wasn't actually trekking "solo," since my guide and porter were always with me.)

My guide and porter wait for me to catch up

I'm very happy that I did! Trekking by myself allowed me to do the trek at my own speed and comfort. I'm pretty sure that I qualified for the Slowest Person Up The Mountain award. Given enough time, I could make it up any mountain. But it was definitely at a plodding pace, that looked something like this:      Climb 5 minutes.      Rest 2 minutes.      Climb 10 minutes.      Rest 5 minutes. Had I been with a group, I would have felt compelled to try to keep up with the others, and been miserable doing it. Traveling solo, I didn't have to worry about keeping up with anyone. I rested when I felt like it. Anyone who was behind me, I stopped and let them pass. My guide and porter walked a few minutes ahead of me, stopping periodically for me to catch up (at left). (They wanted to walk behind me -- I guess that's what they are told to do, in case anything happens to me--but I didn't like having anyone on my tail, so I insisted that they walk in front).

Another thing that I loved about trekking solo is the total flexibility to do what I want. It's very doubtful that, had I gone with a group, I would have had the chance to spend a night at the luxury hotel at 13,000 feet. That would have required an excruciating Decision By Committee; half of the group would have vetoed the unplanned two-hour detour, and the other half would have objected to the cost of the hotel. So we would have ended up nowhere!

Instead, I was free to make last minute changes to my itinerary without having to persuade/defend/argue about it with anyone. Aaah, freedom!

Me and the mountains

Surprisingly, there were lots of other trekkers on the trails -- much more than I was expecting, given that tourism had declined so drastically in Nepal. There were dozens of groups with people of all ages. This Scottish group (at right) was doing a fund-raising event for an autism group. One of the fellows did the climb in his kilt, with Scottish flag flying high! I only saw him early on in the trek, when it was still warm. I wonder whether he was still sporting his kilt once he got to the snowline!

This young woman found the time (and the breath!) to play her flute along the trail.

A trekking group makes its way through the snow.

Himalayas: She'll Be Comin' Round The Mountain

From an airplane, the mountain passes look deceptively simple - graceful ribbons winding their way around the mountain.

This kind of gradual uphill trail was my favorite kind; I could walk for hours without getting too tired, stopping only when I wanted to admire the rhododendrons, rather than because I was out of breath.

But most of the trail wasn't quite that easy. Sometimes, we climbed straight up up up for hours, til it seemed like even Mt. Everest couldn't be any higher than this!

Trail conditions were ever-changing. Sometimes, we walked through valleys and forests with wide, smooth trails. Then it would abruptly change to a very rocky slope.

There were also running streams to cross, sloshy mud, and snow-covered steps.

Once we got into snow territory, the trail got very icy. I took several spills on this one (no, I don't have a picture of that!), as did my guide (upper right).

The morning after the big snowstorm, bridges like this one were completely snow-covered.

And sometimes, in the snowy whiteout conditions, you couldn't make out any trail at all!

Himalayas: Cross That Bridge

If you have even a touch of acrophobia, trekking the Himalayas is probably not for you. We had to cross a dozen or so of these long, swaying suspension bridges.

I was a little hesitant about their sturdiness...

...but it was reassuring to see an entire yak caravan make it safely to the other side.

What's really annoying is crossing paths with rowdy trekkers who think it's clever to deliberately sway the bridge up and down while crossing it. :o(

In addition to the suspension bridges, there were a number of smaller makeshift bridges.

Andaman Islands: Busing It

I've traveled in India by car, autorickshaw, ferry, boat, motorcycle, elephant, camel, and taxi, but I haven't had a real bus experience. Last weekend's trip to the Andaman Islands gave me the opportunity to do that. The buses I see on Chennai roads don't exactly inspire confidence. They are packed to the brim, with men hanging out the open doors and sometimes the rear and roof as well. Many buses have permanent tilts to the left; I keep waiting for one to just topple over one of these days. And from what I hear, it's a perfect environment for men to indulge in eve-teasing. So although I did want to experience bus-riding in India at least once, I had in mind a short trip in the safety of my own city. I got much more than that. After spending some seven hours on a bus journey, I can vouch that bus travel in India is everything it's cracked up to be!

Bus travel in Chennai

After arriving in Port Blair (the capital of the Andaman Islands) by plane, I try to arrange for a car and driver to take me to Baratang, one of the other, less touristy, islands. But it turns out that travel in the Andamans is heavily restricted, especially for foreigners, and private cars are not allowed on this island. That leaves me with the public bus as my only alternative.

My journey starts off with the requisite bus drunk. He strikes up a conversation with me the minute I board the bus.

"You are from which country?" "I am from U.S., New York." "New York, yes. I want to go to America. Will you help me go to America?" "No, I'm sorry, I can't help you." "I am asking you as a beggar. Can you refuse a beggar?" "Yes sir, I can. I'm sorry, I can't help you." [After a few more minutes of conversation... errr... monologue] "America is a dog." [At least, I think that's what he was saying] "Bush, he is not a man. He is a bureaucrat." Although I am sorely tempted to agree with him, I don't want to encourage him, so I bite my tongue. After a few minutes of this banter, he pulls out a couple packets of snacks, which he offers to me as a gift. And then we're back to square one: "I want to come to America. Will you help me?"

I want to come to America...

Once I board the bus, I find that there are no seats available. I am directed to sit in the "cabin," which is a small enclosed area where the bus driver sits. In a pinch, it can seat at least 7-8 other people. Squeezed in next to me on my left is a sweet elderly woman. We are driving through a national forest reserve area, so the ride is full of twists, turns, and bumps, which she doesn't seem very comfortable with. She spends most of the journey gripping my arm; I can't tell whether it's from fear of the crazed driving, or simply because there is nowhere else for her to plant her arm.

About an hour into the three-hour trip, the bus suddenly stops. All attempts at starting it are futile, so everyone piles out onto the street. The women proceed to make themselves comfortable, sitting in a little circle on the side of the road, as if this kind of thing happens daily. Which it probably does. The menfolk take turns peering into, under, and over the bus. Our armed escort paces and supervises. (We are traveling through a "tribal" area which is heavily restricted, so from what I gather, every bus is required to have an armed guard on board). There is a lot of animated chatter going on, none of which I understand, so I have no clue what's wrong with the bus.

Our armed escort supervises repairs

I amuse myself by walking back and forth, looking for things on the side of the road to take pictures of. The drunk who wants to come to America shadows me, inquiring repeatedly, "Are you OK, m'am? Are you ok?" Yes, I'm OK sir, but you, obviously, are not...

After an hour or so of poking around and heated discussion, the guys pack up their tools and everyone files back onto the bus. Only problem is, those of us who were in the "cabin" are directed to find room elsewhere on the bus. Seems that the only way they can keep the bus moving is for someone to manually pump something (water? diesel?) through a funnel and plastic tube system onto the engine, through a large hole in the floor of the cabin. So the entire cabin is now taken over by two guys, their makeshift pumping station, and the overpowering smell of diesel fuel. For the next two hours, they take turns funneling, and manage to keep the bus moving.

The seven of us cabin passengers try to get ourselves assimilated into the rest of the bus, which essentially means standing for the next two hours. I squeeze in sideways into a tiny space between the open bus door and the cabin enclosure. Instead of the sweet old lady on my left, I now find myself next to our armed escort. He is standing on the step below me, with his Kalashnikov rifle propped up against him. (OK, I don't actually know that it's a Kalashnikov, I wouldn't know a Kalashnikov if I saw one, I've just always liked that word, and to me, rifle = Kalashnikov. You can judge for yourself in the picture above.) The rifle is propped up next to him at the perfect angle, such that if a bump in the road were to accidentally discharge it, the bullet would make a beeline for my brain. I eye him and the rifle nervously for the next two hours. Every time we go "bump" I reflexly try to squeeze further into my little slot between the door and the cabin, trying to stay out of potential firing range. Mr. Kalashnikov seems oblivious to my nervousness.

Somehow, the trio of bus driver and his two diesel-funneling assistants get us back into town without any further incident. I can now proudly say that I've had the true India bus experience.

Mt. Everest: In Training

Last year at my birthday-time, I had a short list of things I was considering for birthday celebrations. I didn't end up doing any of the things on the list, because an even better opportunity came up to do some volunteer work in Sri Lanka, rebuilding homes that had been destroyed in the tsunami.

This year, I've gone back to the #1 item on my list - Trekking in Nepal. I've just signed up to do this two-week hike through the Himalayas, up to Everest Base Camp. Wooo hooo! (In my next life, when I'm independently wealthy, I hope to actually climb Mt. Everest).

Yes, I'm very aware of the travel warnings for Nepal. It's true that the country has seen some unrest in recent years. But it's also true that the Maoist rebels at the center of the conflict are not targeting tourists. Their beef is with their own king, whom they are trying to depose. No tourist has ever been attacked or injured by the Maoists. At most, they extort "protection money" from tourists. So I'm willing to take the risk, in exchange for a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to see the magnificent Mt. Everest.

The trek is listed as "moderate to difficult" so I'm going to have to do some serious training for the next 5 weeks. I've already started daily workouts on the treadmill, cranked up to the highest incline possible, which I'm sure doesn't come anywhere close to the incline we'll be climbing. We'll be going up to 18,000 feet, so altitude sickness is a bigger concern for me than terrorists. I wish there was some way to train for altitude!

Anyone who would like to join me - come on down!

Desert Safari

On my last trip back to the U.S., I had a brief stopover in Dubai (United Arab Emirates), where I did an evening desert safari, also known as "dune bashing." It was a wild ride - very bumpy - bumpier than a roller coaster -- and scarier too, because it always felt like the sand dunes were going to collapse as we drove over and along the crests of the dunes. (They never did though!) We stopped at the top of the highest dune to watch the sunset. The pictures here are of the cars in front of, and in back of, our car.

Stinkyfruit Revisited

Well I didn't have the nerve to try it when I first saw it in Singapore - but I got another chance in Vietnam. This time, I did try durian, the fruit that "looks like a hedgehog, smells like compost." (And the eating of which has been described as "eating custard in a sewer"). It's as nasty as they say it is! Actually, the smell didn't bother me as much as the weird aftertaste -- like having musty socks in my mouth for hours afterwards. Ick! I took a few bites and gave the rest to the tour guide, who took it home to his mother - who loves the stuff.

That's enough experimenting with eating compost for me...

Parasailing Over The Arabian Sea

Walking along Sinquerim Beach in Goa on Christmas Day, I spotted some parasailers, and knew (in spite of big sister Donna's vehement protests!) that I couldn't pass up the opportunity to try it. For those who are not familiar with the sport, parasailing is when you are attached to a parachute-like canopy and towed behind a boat.

The type of parasailing that was being done here is known as beach parasailing, because you take off and land right on the beach. This is slightly different from the winchboat parasailing that I've tried previously in Florida, where you take off and land on the boat that pulls you along.

	A clean landing!
	My tandem partner was a fellow tourist from England.

All photos by Donna

Me and the Pachyderms

When I saw this elephant on the grounds of the palace in Mysore we were visiting this weekend - well, you know of course that I had to give this try.

It wasn't the most graceful of mounts (or dismounts, for that matter)- it took four guys to hoist me on top of this fella! The ride was not too different from riding horseback -- only without a saddle and much higher off the ground. My next goal is to take this ride by myself, without a guide.

Photos by Clare

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TalkBack

"What a tease you are! I want to see all 337 photos." --Clare's Joanne
Hi Clare's Joanne! Welcome to the blog-
Regarding the photos - all will be revealed to you slooooooooowly.... ;o)

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"You may have thought about the comment but you didn't give away your secrets!! You sure there's only one of you??. . . What's a Wegmans? I think I missed something." --Sharon

Well....I'm not sure I know my secret.....but how about this: I don't drink(much), smoke, eat meat, do drugs or do relationships? Somewhere in there must lie the key to my stamina, no?

Wegmans is a giant grocery store in Rochester. I think what Dale was saying was that while I was off riding elephants and cavorting with baby monks, the highlight of her weekend was an excursion to the grocery store - correct, Dale?