It took 7 days, and many, many gallons of water but my charming bike and I made it accross the desert into Maritania. The trip was made possible by the tremendous generosity and helpfullness we encountered while pedaling under the blazing sun.
The first day we cycle northward out of Dakhla into a strong headwind and can only complete 50km with my poor tush suffering desperately from my BMX style seat. In the evening we find a cave in a small mountainside and sleep inside. The stars are spectacular and the desert sunset incredible.
Day two we cycle hard and make good distance camping out on the open dunes. The night is made memorable as I don my Moroccan Jallaba (think Obi Won Kenobi) and Martin strikes up a tune on his old Swedish bagpipe. What a pair we make.
On we ride, day 3, day 4, camping in the cool nights and covering our faces with scarves through the day. The sun in blistering, reflecting off the sand. Each day it seems good light shines on us. An old fisherman offers us freshly caught fish for dinner, a friend I met on a bus finds us on the road as she's passing and her driver gives us an incredible camel steak and even a red bull, a caravan stops for a smoke and we eat apples and lose half the day looking out at the strange landscape and my favourite comes as I am parched for fresh food, and thinking of nothing else. I turn a bend and see a van out in front, then an arm and at the end of the arm two beautiful oranges which come bumping and rolling along the road toward us. No orange has ever tasted so good. I wave frantic thanks to the man whose face I never even see.
Day 5 turns spectacular as we reach a long awaited hotel and get our first shower since leaving. The food is great and the place is clean. We stock up and head for the border. Day 6 night falls and we must camp near the border, nervous from reports of landmines we must stay near the road. Neither of us blow up so the next morning we cross into Mauritania.
The crossing is the icing on the cake as we leave the Moroccan post after a long wait and cross an eery unmarked 3km zone of no mans land. The wind seemed to whistle cautiously past and the quiet landscape tingles your neck. Finally we push our bikes over the rocky ground to the Mauritanian post and things are now very different. 3 rough men in an old shack stamp our passports and off we ride knowing we are now truly into Black Africa.
Our first encounter with a Mauritanian local comes after another 40km of hilly terrain when we come accross a man with a large group of camels. He is gesturing to us to come help him and his friend so we wander over to see what is up and what a surprise it is. A young camel has fallen into a well! This is so astounding in fact, because the well is only about the size of a manhole and the camel is huge. We have to pull it out he says and I am thinking there is no way. This is like animal rescue or something! Needless to say, the guy gets a grip on the camels lower lip and starts to heave with the poor creature screaming like its going to die and so we just grab on and start pulling by the neck. I was sure we would injure it somehow, but we just kept pulling and pulling and soon we had a grip on its legs and up it came. It must haved weighed about 150kg (350 lbs). Incredibly, we got it up on its feet and it seemed to be ok. Though I thought its mother was going to kill us. Handshakes and laughter all around with a few pats on the back for good measure and we were off carrying silly grins on our faces. A few days have past and still we can't get over the insanity of those few moments.
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Sahara by Bicycle
From Agadir I watched Emma leave on a bus back to the real world and realized once again I was alone. There are a lot of feelings which come to you during those moments. I sipped a mint tea and pondered my new position. I decided it was time to leave Morrocco and head south into the disputed territory of the Western Sahara and continue my trip south on what is known as the Western Sahara route. One of only 3 primary ways to cross the desert. This way leads along the Western shoreline on a long lonely road through the dusty landscape into Mauritania. I stepped on a bus in Agadir to begin the journey, and after 1600km of painfully boring and uncomfortable bus travel (there were a few hilights) I found myself half way across the desert in the town of Dakhla knowing that I could not allow myself to cross the Sahara by bus.
I sat and considered this dilemma at a little cafe eating a fried fish with my hands. Do I hitch the rest of the way? Try to buy my way on a car? What do I do? Well, as things usually go the decision was made for me as an interesting character rode up on his bike, loaded with supplies. "That guy looks interesting.", says I and sure enough he is. "Oh, I just biked here from Sweden.", he says, "My name is Martin".
One thing led to another, and today I scrambled around town, buying bits and parts of the many piece of junk bikes you can find here at the end of the earth (along with every cassette tape you never bought) and with the help of some handy Morroccon mechanics essentially built a bike. Though its stability is questionable, its charm is undeniable. It is now loaded with supplies, a couple of blankets, 12 litres of water and enough food for us to cycle the remaining 600km across the longest stretch of no-service road on the Western Sahara route! It should take us 5 or 6 days with us camping through the cold desert nights. If you feel the kid in me in this posting, its because I'm here, playing out in the backyard and happy as hell.
Wish me luck.
PS. Don't worry Mom, we'll stick to the road at the Mauritanian border, so don't worry about all the land mines.
I sat and considered this dilemma at a little cafe eating a fried fish with my hands. Do I hitch the rest of the way? Try to buy my way on a car? What do I do? Well, as things usually go the decision was made for me as an interesting character rode up on his bike, loaded with supplies. "That guy looks interesting.", says I and sure enough he is. "Oh, I just biked here from Sweden.", he says, "My name is Martin".
One thing led to another, and today I scrambled around town, buying bits and parts of the many piece of junk bikes you can find here at the end of the earth (along with every cassette tape you never bought) and with the help of some handy Morroccon mechanics essentially built a bike. Though its stability is questionable, its charm is undeniable. It is now loaded with supplies, a couple of blankets, 12 litres of water and enough food for us to cycle the remaining 600km across the longest stretch of no-service road on the Western Sahara route! It should take us 5 or 6 days with us camping through the cold desert nights. If you feel the kid in me in this posting, its because I'm here, playing out in the backyard and happy as hell.
Wish me luck.
PS. Don't worry Mom, we'll stick to the road at the Mauritanian border, so don't worry about all the land mines.
Friday, January 27, 2006
Toubkal
On Tuesday, less than two weeks after seeing the Pope, Emma and I attempted an ascent of Jbel Toubkal, the tallest mountain in the Atlas range and the highest in Northern Africa. Though normally a fairly smooth 2 day trek in the summer months we were warned a winter ascent may be difficult. This proved a remarkable understatement.
Perhaps an easier climb might have been a better choice for Emmas first mountain. We arrived late in the afternoon into the mountain village of Imlil looking up at the stunning snow capped peaks surrounding us. Arranged our gear, snow clothes, sleeping bags, crampons and ice picks and after a chilly night began our trek to the base camp refuge to spend a night at the treeline before the final ascent. Unfortunately we never made it.
Like a story book fable we advance, the trail, though snow covered is fairly good and my spirits are high. I chat freely with the guide and Emma though slipping seems fine. Soon however, we sight the mountain, clouded in a hazy mist and the trail grows steep and soft. Mules and local tribes men pass us on their way down, reports from above growing grimmer and grimmer. Flakes begin to fall as we slip up the icy slope and the wind begins to howl. I glance back at Emma now 20 feet behind, now 30 feet, trudging in poorly fitting boots, and I begin to feel the pressure of decision. We push on, 3 hours up now, we are going to slow, our guide glances at me with worried eyes, the wind and snow whip his scarf around his face and he looks back toward Emma. More steps up, 4 hours now, and the mountain erupts. An incredible force. The wind tearing at us, threatening to pull us off, the snow blinding, impossible to see, the trail becomes blurred as we reach a small hut. The last shelter before the refuge, still too far away. We stop, and as Emma struggles up, I know our trip is done. I step out onto the trail for one last look and the world dissolves around me, spectacular, dream-like, wondrous. I could not have planned this moment better. We return the long walk back to town, calmer with each step and Emma suggests a bus to the beach in Agadir. Why not? This way is blocked.
Perhaps an easier climb might have been a better choice for Emmas first mountain. We arrived late in the afternoon into the mountain village of Imlil looking up at the stunning snow capped peaks surrounding us. Arranged our gear, snow clothes, sleeping bags, crampons and ice picks and after a chilly night began our trek to the base camp refuge to spend a night at the treeline before the final ascent. Unfortunately we never made it.
Like a story book fable we advance, the trail, though snow covered is fairly good and my spirits are high. I chat freely with the guide and Emma though slipping seems fine. Soon however, we sight the mountain, clouded in a hazy mist and the trail grows steep and soft. Mules and local tribes men pass us on their way down, reports from above growing grimmer and grimmer. Flakes begin to fall as we slip up the icy slope and the wind begins to howl. I glance back at Emma now 20 feet behind, now 30 feet, trudging in poorly fitting boots, and I begin to feel the pressure of decision. We push on, 3 hours up now, we are going to slow, our guide glances at me with worried eyes, the wind and snow whip his scarf around his face and he looks back toward Emma. More steps up, 4 hours now, and the mountain erupts. An incredible force. The wind tearing at us, threatening to pull us off, the snow blinding, impossible to see, the trail becomes blurred as we reach a small hut. The last shelter before the refuge, still too far away. We stop, and as Emma struggles up, I know our trip is done. I step out onto the trail for one last look and the world dissolves around me, spectacular, dream-like, wondrous. I could not have planned this moment better. We return the long walk back to town, calmer with each step and Emma suggests a bus to the beach in Agadir. Why not? This way is blocked.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Afrika
From Rome, Emma and I travel to Barcelona by plane, spend the weekend partying and dancing it up with her friend Ange. We spend a day site seeing the Gaudi exhibits and buildings and travel up to Figures to see the Dali museum. A trip well worth it.
From Barcelona we catch an overnight train down to Algecires and Emma goes to Gibralter for a day. I miss out on a forgotten passport in the hotel and a nagging cold. So it is, 3 weeks after starting this part of my trip we arrive excitedly off our boat into Tangier, Morocco, Africa to begin the most interesting and challenging part of this journey. Immediately the excitement rises as we spend the evening walking around the Medina (old town), its fresh sites and sounds rewarding us. Today in Fes I have no timeline and a rough plan after Emma departs in a few days. I hope to start by crossing the Sahara by land and entering the heart of this intimidating continent.
We shall see how the wind blows...
From Barcelona we catch an overnight train down to Algecires and Emma goes to Gibralter for a day. I miss out on a forgotten passport in the hotel and a nagging cold. So it is, 3 weeks after starting this part of my trip we arrive excitedly off our boat into Tangier, Morocco, Africa to begin the most interesting and challenging part of this journey. Immediately the excitement rises as we spend the evening walking around the Medina (old town), its fresh sites and sounds rewarding us. Today in Fes I have no timeline and a rough plan after Emma departs in a few days. I hope to start by crossing the Sahara by land and entering the heart of this intimidating continent.
We shall see how the wind blows...
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
The Pope and the Con Man
In Rome we went to see the Pope. I would suggest that few things are more rewarding than this experience if you allow it to be. The fun began as I walked up to a Vatican guard blocking a side entrance and announced, "I would like to see the Pope." His eyebrows seemed to rise, widening his eyes as they did, a clear sign of surprise, concern and alertness. So I clarified, "I hear you can get tickets somewhere?"
The following day we arrived at 10:30 into the main auditorium with a thousand or so other tourists, pilgrams or locals and were treated to a display of love, affection, theatre and wonder as his holiness, glowing white, entered the room to the heart warming cheers of all and the sound of children singing from the audience. After an short sermon in an impressive 5 or 6 languages and the pledging of faith by song, cheer or waves by the various audience groups we all sang and he departed. While, I am not a Catholic, and while we have had many discussions since this experience, the sheer reverence, the love shown by the audience, their faith and desire for holy expression reduced me, along with men and women all around to tears of joy the likes of which I have never before experienced. You could only say, I wept.
After this tremendous experience, we walked into the Sistine chapel and nearly died of emotional overload. Emma and I were useless to any task the rest of the day and sat over pizza after pizza in animated discussion.
So where does the Con Man come in? The following day as we left the Colliseum on route to the airport we were stopped by a man in a car on the street asking for directions. Even as Emma approached the car my spider senses were tingling, but perhaps he was too smooth, perhaps I haven't been on guard for too long. Long story short, he asked for directions, said he was French from out of town, he was well dressed, in a blazer and sweater, he talked to us, asked Emma how tall she was, flattered she said, "five ten". He said, I'm a fashion representative for Versacci, here, I will give you some samples for free. It sure sounded good, but I furrowed my brow, he saw and reached out for me pulled me off balance as he shook my hand, pointed something out and asked Emma for some money. Just a few dollars for gas. "What?", thought I, trying to slow things down, organize my thoughts, another question another tug on my arm. He sure seems nice, uh oh, she has some money out now. "No. Wait, no, you aren't taking any money. Give him back the clothes. Thats ridiculous." I finally take charge, get my grip and frustrated we walk away. "I can't believe that guy," ,I say. "What a thief." "Ya", says Emma, "He even kept my money." I missed that moment, of course, I had been looking at the dashboard where he was pointing.
The following day we arrived at 10:30 into the main auditorium with a thousand or so other tourists, pilgrams or locals and were treated to a display of love, affection, theatre and wonder as his holiness, glowing white, entered the room to the heart warming cheers of all and the sound of children singing from the audience. After an short sermon in an impressive 5 or 6 languages and the pledging of faith by song, cheer or waves by the various audience groups we all sang and he departed. While, I am not a Catholic, and while we have had many discussions since this experience, the sheer reverence, the love shown by the audience, their faith and desire for holy expression reduced me, along with men and women all around to tears of joy the likes of which I have never before experienced. You could only say, I wept.
After this tremendous experience, we walked into the Sistine chapel and nearly died of emotional overload. Emma and I were useless to any task the rest of the day and sat over pizza after pizza in animated discussion.
So where does the Con Man come in? The following day as we left the Colliseum on route to the airport we were stopped by a man in a car on the street asking for directions. Even as Emma approached the car my spider senses were tingling, but perhaps he was too smooth, perhaps I haven't been on guard for too long. Long story short, he asked for directions, said he was French from out of town, he was well dressed, in a blazer and sweater, he talked to us, asked Emma how tall she was, flattered she said, "five ten". He said, I'm a fashion representative for Versacci, here, I will give you some samples for free. It sure sounded good, but I furrowed my brow, he saw and reached out for me pulled me off balance as he shook my hand, pointed something out and asked Emma for some money. Just a few dollars for gas. "What?", thought I, trying to slow things down, organize my thoughts, another question another tug on my arm. He sure seems nice, uh oh, she has some money out now. "No. Wait, no, you aren't taking any money. Give him back the clothes. Thats ridiculous." I finally take charge, get my grip and frustrated we walk away. "I can't believe that guy," ,I say. "What a thief." "Ya", says Emma, "He even kept my money." I missed that moment, of course, I had been looking at the dashboard where he was pointing.
Tuesday, January 10, 2006
Witch Burning
Turns out its still going on and not in the symbolic sense.
After a meetup in Milan I am now travelling with Emma Claire, my little sisters best buddy and Italy as been revealing itself to us bit by bit. Just north of Milan is a little town called Mezzago, which you probably can't find on a map and which happens to be the setting for a new play which Emma Claire will be starring in over the next couple of months. So it seems, we just had to visit. It was during this somewhat liesurely trip to the Italian countryside that I saw something which raised the hairs on the back of my neck and had me trying to jump off the bus to run back to the striking event. Looking out the window I saw a series of images, oh look, theres a big group of people, oh, it must be some kind of festval, hey they all seem to be cheering at something, what is that, hey, its a witch made of straw, and its on fire!! Not sure what that was all about... I never did make it off the bus.
From Mezzago to Firenze (Florence) and a sight of the most famous statue in the world, Michaelangelos David, a swing through Pisa for the leaning tower and into Rome. All I can say is, all my life I have been loving the food from here, now I just have twice the reason to enjoy.
After a meetup in Milan I am now travelling with Emma Claire, my little sisters best buddy and Italy as been revealing itself to us bit by bit. Just north of Milan is a little town called Mezzago, which you probably can't find on a map and which happens to be the setting for a new play which Emma Claire will be starring in over the next couple of months. So it seems, we just had to visit. It was during this somewhat liesurely trip to the Italian countryside that I saw something which raised the hairs on the back of my neck and had me trying to jump off the bus to run back to the striking event. Looking out the window I saw a series of images, oh look, theres a big group of people, oh, it must be some kind of festval, hey they all seem to be cheering at something, what is that, hey, its a witch made of straw, and its on fire!! Not sure what that was all about... I never did make it off the bus.
From Mezzago to Firenze (Florence) and a sight of the most famous statue in the world, Michaelangelos David, a swing through Pisa for the leaning tower and into Rome. All I can say is, all my life I have been loving the food from here, now I just have twice the reason to enjoy.
Thursday, January 05, 2006
Corto means Short
Ahh Venice, how many stories have been written about your windy little "streets". Well actually, I know how many cuz they are the only books available in English in every bookstore. I'd say about a 100.
I arrive in Venice from the boat at dawn, a beautifull sunrise over such an unusual city. Truly, it is rare I am so completely pleased at the differentness of a new city as here. Also, rarely have I walked into so many dead end streets. Anyone who's been to Venice will know what I am talking about.
In this winding village I decidedly completed more missions than any previous stretch of time so short. Mail was sent, banking done, phone calls made, new stuff bought, hair cut - speaking of which when you say Corto, it means you don't get to have any hair left when its all over. I now have the shortest hair I have had since I was in the crib.
By day three I began to have a good grasp of getting around, with only one short walk remaining from the hostel to the train station. Unfortunately, the city decided to reorganize itselfand nearly 2.5 hours later, including a rest stop with an Italian girl (my new found guide) I finally stumbled up to the train station and hopped on for Milan.
I love the food in Italy, actually, its what I always love to eat. Only now I can do it with an excuse.
I arrive in Venice from the boat at dawn, a beautifull sunrise over such an unusual city. Truly, it is rare I am so completely pleased at the differentness of a new city as here. Also, rarely have I walked into so many dead end streets. Anyone who's been to Venice will know what I am talking about.
In this winding village I decidedly completed more missions than any previous stretch of time so short. Mail was sent, banking done, phone calls made, new stuff bought, hair cut - speaking of which when you say Corto, it means you don't get to have any hair left when its all over. I now have the shortest hair I have had since I was in the crib.
By day three I began to have a good grasp of getting around, with only one short walk remaining from the hostel to the train station. Unfortunately, the city decided to reorganize itselfand nearly 2.5 hours later, including a rest stop with an Italian girl (my new found guide) I finally stumbled up to the train station and hopped on for Milan.
I love the food in Italy, actually, its what I always love to eat. Only now I can do it with an excuse.
Sunday, January 01, 2006
Happy New Year
Well, this year has been a good one. I have accomplished a lot and learned even more. Built some great friendships and some good memories. I had a lot to be thankfull for as I stood atop the roof of our hostel beneath the Acropolis ringing in the new year.
I would like to wish all my friends and family a tremendous Happy New Year and warm wishes for 2006 and thank you all for making it possible for me to be where I am today.
Thank you.
I would like to wish all my friends and family a tremendous Happy New Year and warm wishes for 2006 and thank you all for making it possible for me to be where I am today.
Thank you.
What about the Boxer Rebellion?
What? That was from the Ming Dynasty against northern China. You must be thinking of the Opium Wars...
Wednesday, December 28, 2005
ΕΞΟΔΟΣ
Don't write Greek in your blog posting. Turns out, it won't post.
Imagine a nice long post here about Prague, the Acropolis, Susan materializing from a big hole, Mousaka, GalactoBureka, Retsina, and being stranded on the remains of the largest explosion in recorded history which possibly wiped out the Minoan Empire in 1650 BC. (Santorini)
Ok, I will write a bit more. After my initial blunder out of Stockholm I have picked up pace and quickly fallen back into a travelling flow. I spent a great night in Prague, drinking mulled wine and walking the scenic streets with a group of Americans and a Canadian. Hopped my flight transfer and ended up in Athens in the middle of the night. The weather is cool, but its been sunny, and Greek life seems energetic. The sites are fantastic. Christmas was spend gorging on delicious food, and the funny thing about Greeks is, even if you try to stop eating they keep brinking you food for free. Well, at least on Christmas.
This time around I'm truly travelling light. I've switched to the small black backpack Ryan gave me on the day I left for Tokyo. Just a few things to carry and a terrific increase in freedom.
We've since taken the ferry to Santorini a scenic, but turbulent blip of land with an active Volcano in the center of an incredible caldera. Turns out you have to plan for the wind around here. The seas are too rough to leave today. So another day of improving my dawning understanding of the Greek Alphabet. Imagine my bliss today as I had a moment of epiphany as I read the sign above my hotel room door.
Imagine a nice long post here about Prague, the Acropolis, Susan materializing from a big hole, Mousaka, GalactoBureka, Retsina, and being stranded on the remains of the largest explosion in recorded history which possibly wiped out the Minoan Empire in 1650 BC. (Santorini)
Ok, I will write a bit more. After my initial blunder out of Stockholm I have picked up pace and quickly fallen back into a travelling flow. I spent a great night in Prague, drinking mulled wine and walking the scenic streets with a group of Americans and a Canadian. Hopped my flight transfer and ended up in Athens in the middle of the night. The weather is cool, but its been sunny, and Greek life seems energetic. The sites are fantastic. Christmas was spend gorging on delicious food, and the funny thing about Greeks is, even if you try to stop eating they keep brinking you food for free. Well, at least on Christmas.
This time around I'm truly travelling light. I've switched to the small black backpack Ryan gave me on the day I left for Tokyo. Just a few things to carry and a terrific increase in freedom.
We've since taken the ferry to Santorini a scenic, but turbulent blip of land with an active Volcano in the center of an incredible caldera. Turns out you have to plan for the wind around here. The seas are too rough to leave today. So another day of improving my dawning understanding of the Greek Alphabet. Imagine my bliss today as I had a moment of epiphany as I read the sign above my hotel room door.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Reactivated
Today I embark on the second part of my journey. After several months in Sweden and travelling about Scandinavia I left this morning for the airport to start another period of long and liquid travelling.
To commemorate the day, I missed my flight to Athens. So, it felt a fitting time to reactivate this blog. New postings will follow, I am now rebooked, but tonight will unexpectedly be spend in Prague. I could think of worse things to befall me.
A new adventure awaits.
To commemorate the day, I missed my flight to Athens. So, it felt a fitting time to reactivate this blog. New postings will follow, I am now rebooked, but tonight will unexpectedly be spend in Prague. I could think of worse things to befall me.
A new adventure awaits.
Monday, June 27, 2005
Recent Visits
Uppsala (Sweden)
Helsingborg (Sweden)
Copenhagen (Denmark)
Göteborg (Sweden)
Åland (Finland)
Umeå - Near the arctic circle at midsummer... why should it ever get dark?
It is 1 am. He stands alone on the shore of a glassy lake, a light blue sky overhead. The gentle dipping of the water the only sound as he surveys the far shore, a dark, coniferous green unbroken by human hands. A trancelike state takes hold and he flicks out another cast of his old fishing pole. He begins to reel, the rod dips, and he sets the hook. He lifts and reels, and stepping along the small sandy shore drags in a beautifull shiny being. He holds it up to his eyes, a strange sensation tickles his mind and he reaches out to caress the glossy body. Sharp spiky fins retract as the creature responds to the touch. Thoughts flow sublty below the concious plane, "Return with this catch... it would be good eating... they will be impressed... it's beautifull... so amazing... say nothing...". His eyes soften, he carefully removes the hook and gently, places her into the clean, cool, water. She wiggles and dashes off below the dark surface. He stands, smiles, and knows why he is here.
Helsingborg (Sweden)
Copenhagen (Denmark)
Göteborg (Sweden)
Åland (Finland)
Umeå - Near the arctic circle at midsummer... why should it ever get dark?
It is 1 am. He stands alone on the shore of a glassy lake, a light blue sky overhead. The gentle dipping of the water the only sound as he surveys the far shore, a dark, coniferous green unbroken by human hands. A trancelike state takes hold and he flicks out another cast of his old fishing pole. He begins to reel, the rod dips, and he sets the hook. He lifts and reels, and stepping along the small sandy shore drags in a beautifull shiny being. He holds it up to his eyes, a strange sensation tickles his mind and he reaches out to caress the glossy body. Sharp spiky fins retract as the creature responds to the touch. Thoughts flow sublty below the concious plane, "Return with this catch... it would be good eating... they will be impressed... it's beautifull... so amazing... say nothing...". His eyes soften, he carefully removes the hook and gently, places her into the clean, cool, water. She wiggles and dashes off below the dark surface. He stands, smiles, and knows why he is here.
Monday, May 16, 2005
A short story in a far away land.
After Cuyo, Josh travels to Palawan. A thin strip of land, undeveloped, split in half by an ugly, dirty town, Peurto Princesca. He feels good, refreshed, renewed, his spirit quenched after his days of solitude on Cuyo´s quiet beach. On the morning of his arrival he meets two German women and spends his next three evenings in their company. A fine dinner, two nights of drunken singing with the locals. He ships more things home from his pack. Lightening his load, mentally preparing for a long road ahead. He shops for better shoes, but can not find them. One day he visits an underground river and rides a boat into its mouth with a loud girl from Manilla. A rich Filipino, not very attractive, young and overbearing.
After much thinking, Josh abandons an idea to travel by boat to Borneo and arranges a flight to Kota Kinabalu. As he arrives he is struck by the number of tourists, there seem to be so many. After the Philipines, it is like falling into a bucket of fresh water, clean streets, modernity. Excitement rises and he draws a crowd of travellers to him, socializes, listens, talks. He meets several travellers searching for their path and feels that he has helped them on their way. A pleasant feeling.
Josh leaves the city and climbs a nearby mountain. He feels tremendous excitement as he ascends the staired pathway. He feels his energy is limitless. I am made for this he thinks. Though many other people are climbing and left before him he passes them and arrives at the base camp before all others. In the early morning the climbers leave again to complete the summit. Josh decides to leave last, he knows he´s a fast climber he will still make the sunrise. He starts to climb, and becomes clogged on the narrow trail behind some french students. He begins to worry, I want to make it before sunrise. So he passes them and begins to climb quickly. No rest seems needed, just push on. One step, two steps, he passes more people. Soon there are fewer lights ahead, he pushes on and passes more. I don´t want to miss the sunrise, he thinks. A more devious thought enters his mind, what would it be like to reach the top first? This thought is not on the surface, his desire to be humble, his repressive mind, pushes it down, but it is there. A far more diligent motivation. A tick, a mark of success. I am sure there are more people ahead he thinks, and justifies his driven march. The night is dark, no moon, he steps upon the rocky landscape. Past the treeline he drives onward, rocky, spectacular terrain. He walks in near darkness, his cheap headlamp providing little light. He pauses for one moment, looks up and the unmasked stars are breathtaking. He feels his heart pound, and feels more alive than possible. Looking back, a snaking trail of light, his followers, one seems close so he returns to his task with renewed vigour. In the final steps he allows the glory of his victory, the beauty of the mountain, and the love of his creator to flow into him and stands rapturously atop the rocky, frozen peak. The milky way aglow above, a storm of lightning below. A small piece feels guilty pride. Most else feels love and excitement.
After the mountain Josh travels by boat to Brunei and a mysterious illness affects him on the island of Labuan. A day and a half are lost in a murky, feverish haze. He leaves with wild, unreal memories of a pale, ugly room, cockroaches walking about as he dances atop his bed to the trance beats in his head.
In Brunei, he rests and recovers, very little energy. A short swim each day, a lot of food. It suits the place.
From Brunei Josh travels by bus and small plane into the Malaysian jungles at Guning Mulu and Bako national parks. He spends the next three weeks trekking where he sees snakes, monkeys, lizards, snails, orangutans, butterflies, beetles and bats. He walks and walks but notices his energy is never as high as on the mountain. Still, he feels good. He thinks a lot about life, and enjoys the company of fellow travellers. In the jungle he sees many patterns reflected. The jungle draws you in, he thinks, you can not stand in the jungle and not become part of it. It will involve you, whether you want to be involved or not. You can not see far in the jungle, you can not see why the trail turns this way or that. It is only when you climb upon a rise and rest that you can see the trail behind, and why it turned the way it did. You can look to the trail ahead and see where it might go. He climbs another mountain, smaller, and goes in some caves. He floats on some rivers and sees some large fish. Eventually he comes to an empty beach. Where he spends the day in quiet company and writes a poem. He now knows change is on the horizon.
A deadline pushes Josh to Singapore and he goes to meet his friend Brian. It is Brian´s birthday and he thinks, I want to share this birthday with him. This means a lot to Brian, and it will mark a difference in our friendship. They spend a few days together and enjoy the time, travelling to Kuala Lumpur. However, a turn is approaching and Josh leaves to walk alone again for a few days. He stops in Malaka on his way to an island on the east coast, and spends time with a French woman travelling with her 8 year old daughter. The pair are interesting, and he believes he may learn something about his own family from them. He never makes it to the island. Finally he returns to Singapore and catches a flight to Sweden. An old friend has contacted him to come start a business in Stockholm. It sounds interesting, and two books suggest it is the way to go. So he begins to think about work again, and what the future holds. As he rides the flight he tries to root his new ideals firmly in his mind. Tries to keep his tenuous hold on the present. It is very difficult.
Josh arrives in Europe, and transferring in Amsterdamn he feels the excitement of being back in western life. White skin everywhere, clean, independent, edges, empty, it feels like home. Stockholm´s streets seem forlorn and lonely, "Where are the people?" he thinks.
He meets his friend, who seems younger than he´d envisioned. Still, he seems kind, perhaps he is more grown up. They go to the small apartment he will now call home for some time and Josh meets his friend´s girlfriend. He gives her the gift he had brought, a silk scarf, purple with gold trim, from little india in Singapore. He had not bargained hard with the attractive indian girl, "Why build karma against my business?", he had thought. He takes his first hot shower and stands a long time under the water. I am "home", he feels. That evening Josh and his hosts attend a birthday party for an Iraqi girl with her family. The food is fantastic and he says, "Who would have thought I would travel all the way to Sweden to eat Iraqi food?". He feels very witty, it´s a good joke, he thinks, and the people laugh and seem to like him more.
The evening goes well as they visit the cities nightlife, Josh feels bold, confident, alive. The next day he writes some emails, and calls home for the first time in months. There is a party going on and he tells the joke about the Iraqi food to a group of listeners. His father asks him to tell the story about the knife fight in the Philipines and so he does.
In the days that follow Josh reminds himself he wants to be kind, and generous, to make new friends. He feels he is going to settle here for some time. So he compliments the people around him and is energetic and positive, one day he compliments a woman on her jacket and she feels that he is hitting on her. She does not feel the comment appropriate with her boyfriend present. He thinks back to some other strange reactions he has experienced and then Josh realizes he is still in a strange land.
"After travelling in Asia this seems so much like home I have forgetten where I am.", he thinks. Then he smiles to himself and knows he will adapt. It is really pretty funny. At least my intentions were good. The next day he writes some emails to his friends and family with a witty joke about the other, other side of the world.
After much thinking, Josh abandons an idea to travel by boat to Borneo and arranges a flight to Kota Kinabalu. As he arrives he is struck by the number of tourists, there seem to be so many. After the Philipines, it is like falling into a bucket of fresh water, clean streets, modernity. Excitement rises and he draws a crowd of travellers to him, socializes, listens, talks. He meets several travellers searching for their path and feels that he has helped them on their way. A pleasant feeling.
Josh leaves the city and climbs a nearby mountain. He feels tremendous excitement as he ascends the staired pathway. He feels his energy is limitless. I am made for this he thinks. Though many other people are climbing and left before him he passes them and arrives at the base camp before all others. In the early morning the climbers leave again to complete the summit. Josh decides to leave last, he knows he´s a fast climber he will still make the sunrise. He starts to climb, and becomes clogged on the narrow trail behind some french students. He begins to worry, I want to make it before sunrise. So he passes them and begins to climb quickly. No rest seems needed, just push on. One step, two steps, he passes more people. Soon there are fewer lights ahead, he pushes on and passes more. I don´t want to miss the sunrise, he thinks. A more devious thought enters his mind, what would it be like to reach the top first? This thought is not on the surface, his desire to be humble, his repressive mind, pushes it down, but it is there. A far more diligent motivation. A tick, a mark of success. I am sure there are more people ahead he thinks, and justifies his driven march. The night is dark, no moon, he steps upon the rocky landscape. Past the treeline he drives onward, rocky, spectacular terrain. He walks in near darkness, his cheap headlamp providing little light. He pauses for one moment, looks up and the unmasked stars are breathtaking. He feels his heart pound, and feels more alive than possible. Looking back, a snaking trail of light, his followers, one seems close so he returns to his task with renewed vigour. In the final steps he allows the glory of his victory, the beauty of the mountain, and the love of his creator to flow into him and stands rapturously atop the rocky, frozen peak. The milky way aglow above, a storm of lightning below. A small piece feels guilty pride. Most else feels love and excitement.
After the mountain Josh travels by boat to Brunei and a mysterious illness affects him on the island of Labuan. A day and a half are lost in a murky, feverish haze. He leaves with wild, unreal memories of a pale, ugly room, cockroaches walking about as he dances atop his bed to the trance beats in his head.
In Brunei, he rests and recovers, very little energy. A short swim each day, a lot of food. It suits the place.
From Brunei Josh travels by bus and small plane into the Malaysian jungles at Guning Mulu and Bako national parks. He spends the next three weeks trekking where he sees snakes, monkeys, lizards, snails, orangutans, butterflies, beetles and bats. He walks and walks but notices his energy is never as high as on the mountain. Still, he feels good. He thinks a lot about life, and enjoys the company of fellow travellers. In the jungle he sees many patterns reflected. The jungle draws you in, he thinks, you can not stand in the jungle and not become part of it. It will involve you, whether you want to be involved or not. You can not see far in the jungle, you can not see why the trail turns this way or that. It is only when you climb upon a rise and rest that you can see the trail behind, and why it turned the way it did. You can look to the trail ahead and see where it might go. He climbs another mountain, smaller, and goes in some caves. He floats on some rivers and sees some large fish. Eventually he comes to an empty beach. Where he spends the day in quiet company and writes a poem. He now knows change is on the horizon.
A deadline pushes Josh to Singapore and he goes to meet his friend Brian. It is Brian´s birthday and he thinks, I want to share this birthday with him. This means a lot to Brian, and it will mark a difference in our friendship. They spend a few days together and enjoy the time, travelling to Kuala Lumpur. However, a turn is approaching and Josh leaves to walk alone again for a few days. He stops in Malaka on his way to an island on the east coast, and spends time with a French woman travelling with her 8 year old daughter. The pair are interesting, and he believes he may learn something about his own family from them. He never makes it to the island. Finally he returns to Singapore and catches a flight to Sweden. An old friend has contacted him to come start a business in Stockholm. It sounds interesting, and two books suggest it is the way to go. So he begins to think about work again, and what the future holds. As he rides the flight he tries to root his new ideals firmly in his mind. Tries to keep his tenuous hold on the present. It is very difficult.
Josh arrives in Europe, and transferring in Amsterdamn he feels the excitement of being back in western life. White skin everywhere, clean, independent, edges, empty, it feels like home. Stockholm´s streets seem forlorn and lonely, "Where are the people?" he thinks.
He meets his friend, who seems younger than he´d envisioned. Still, he seems kind, perhaps he is more grown up. They go to the small apartment he will now call home for some time and Josh meets his friend´s girlfriend. He gives her the gift he had brought, a silk scarf, purple with gold trim, from little india in Singapore. He had not bargained hard with the attractive indian girl, "Why build karma against my business?", he had thought. He takes his first hot shower and stands a long time under the water. I am "home", he feels. That evening Josh and his hosts attend a birthday party for an Iraqi girl with her family. The food is fantastic and he says, "Who would have thought I would travel all the way to Sweden to eat Iraqi food?". He feels very witty, it´s a good joke, he thinks, and the people laugh and seem to like him more.
The evening goes well as they visit the cities nightlife, Josh feels bold, confident, alive. The next day he writes some emails, and calls home for the first time in months. There is a party going on and he tells the joke about the Iraqi food to a group of listeners. His father asks him to tell the story about the knife fight in the Philipines and so he does.
In the days that follow Josh reminds himself he wants to be kind, and generous, to make new friends. He feels he is going to settle here for some time. So he compliments the people around him and is energetic and positive, one day he compliments a woman on her jacket and she feels that he is hitting on her. She does not feel the comment appropriate with her boyfriend present. He thinks back to some other strange reactions he has experienced and then Josh realizes he is still in a strange land.
"After travelling in Asia this seems so much like home I have forgetten where I am.", he thinks. Then he smiles to himself and knows he will adapt. It is really pretty funny. At least my intentions were good. The next day he writes some emails to his friends and family with a witty joke about the other, other side of the world.
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Peace and Ponder
After the mornings excitement I choose to spend the day in the hands of my missionary friends. We visit a local church where it is the first day of a two day convention. The hosts of my companions are guest speakers and delivering there sermons in the morning. I thoroughly enjoy the proceedings and join them and the minister for lunch inside the church. In the afternoon we visit a poor area of town and collect a large group of kids, put them in their best clothes and bring them to the church for the evening's activities and dinner. The day, the speakers and the children stir my heart, as the kids fight to hold my hands on our walk through the streets of Iloilo. I am reminded of the words of Mother Teresa, "There is more need for love and appreciation in this world, than there is for food. "
I leave early the next morning on a boat bound for Cuyo island, a remote dot on the map, highly isolated and off the tourist trail. My idea, spend the weekend in quiet solitude, read the stack of books I'd bought in Iloilo and contemplate the stars. This is exactly what I do, finally finishing Moby Dick by Melville, along with The Princess and the Goblin (MacDonald), The Death of Ivan Ilynich (Tolstoy), The Bagavad Gita, The Da Vinci Code (Brown) and The Metamorphosis (Kafka). Amazingly, amidst all the artistic grandeur, I have time to visit the beautiful Cuyo islands with, a most "Fantastical" character, Mr. Karl Muerller. Traveling for almost 2 years this jolly German retiree can find the pleasure in any activity. Certainly a wonder to be around and a great teacher for the soul. His favorite saying, "It's Fantastical, Fantastical I tell you!".
Other than Karl and myself, the island hosts only two other westerners, a German and an Ozzie, both expats living with their Filipino wives and children. They prove interesting characters and short term friends during my stay at Nikki's Pension where the family seems to adopt me as one of their own.
My last evening on Cuyo the wind begins to howl and unable to sleep I venture out onto the silky beach. In the utter darkness, the recessing tide and on coming storm begin to tickle my mind and with chills floating up my spine I look to the sky for my familiar stars. Where was my good friend Orion? Taurus the Bull? Even the Big Dipper? Studying the strange horizon my heart jumps with joy. I see The Southern Cross, with a twinkle in his eye, peaking over the water, right where he belongs. Ninety degrees left of where I had watched the sun set hours earlier. I stare in happy revelry when suddenly, behind me, a huge dog barks, and leaping from my surreal state, I nearly piss my pants! Laughing, I return to the Pension to rest.
Back on the boat, for 15 more hours to Puerto Princesa, the storm builds, and packed in our open air bunks on the rickety Milagrosa-2, we are tossed and whirled on the ocean swells. With this thunderous backdrop I raise my volume to full and immerse myself in Yo-Yo Ma's "The Silk Road Journey" (thank you Cory) and marvel at my freedom to suddently live my life in a world filled with such creative beauty and character. As the seas calm, sleep finally comes to the gently rocking ship and its passengers, and we wake to the Island of Palawan, the Philippine's "Last Frontier".
I leave early the next morning on a boat bound for Cuyo island, a remote dot on the map, highly isolated and off the tourist trail. My idea, spend the weekend in quiet solitude, read the stack of books I'd bought in Iloilo and contemplate the stars. This is exactly what I do, finally finishing Moby Dick by Melville, along with The Princess and the Goblin (MacDonald), The Death of Ivan Ilynich (Tolstoy), The Bagavad Gita, The Da Vinci Code (Brown) and The Metamorphosis (Kafka). Amazingly, amidst all the artistic grandeur, I have time to visit the beautiful Cuyo islands with, a most "Fantastical" character, Mr. Karl Muerller. Traveling for almost 2 years this jolly German retiree can find the pleasure in any activity. Certainly a wonder to be around and a great teacher for the soul. His favorite saying, "It's Fantastical, Fantastical I tell you!".
Other than Karl and myself, the island hosts only two other westerners, a German and an Ozzie, both expats living with their Filipino wives and children. They prove interesting characters and short term friends during my stay at Nikki's Pension where the family seems to adopt me as one of their own.
My last evening on Cuyo the wind begins to howl and unable to sleep I venture out onto the silky beach. In the utter darkness, the recessing tide and on coming storm begin to tickle my mind and with chills floating up my spine I look to the sky for my familiar stars. Where was my good friend Orion? Taurus the Bull? Even the Big Dipper? Studying the strange horizon my heart jumps with joy. I see The Southern Cross, with a twinkle in his eye, peaking over the water, right where he belongs. Ninety degrees left of where I had watched the sun set hours earlier. I stare in happy revelry when suddenly, behind me, a huge dog barks, and leaping from my surreal state, I nearly piss my pants! Laughing, I return to the Pension to rest.
Back on the boat, for 15 more hours to Puerto Princesa, the storm builds, and packed in our open air bunks on the rickety Milagrosa-2, we are tossed and whirled on the ocean swells. With this thunderous backdrop I raise my volume to full and immerse myself in Yo-Yo Ma's "The Silk Road Journey" (thank you Cory) and marvel at my freedom to suddently live my life in a world filled with such creative beauty and character. As the seas calm, sleep finally comes to the gently rocking ship and its passengers, and we wake to the Island of Palawan, the Philippine's "Last Frontier".
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Wake Up Call
After Sagada, Brian and I along with the "Three Dutch Girls" (Chocolate, Margali and Susan) travel to Banaue where the girls are performing research into the local tourism industry to complete their studies in the Netherlands. Banaue is the home of what the Philippine tourism industry is touting as the 8th Wonder of the World. While few man made developments truly merit the term "wonder" the Rice Terraces of Banaue are certainly a candidate. In this wild, undeveloped country we take a three day trek into deep mountain villages where roads and electricity simply do not reach. The scenery in the region is fantastic and the rice terraces built over 2000 years ago are spectacular marvels of engineering, even rivaling the Great Pyramids of Egypt.
After this fine visit we return south to Manilla and reunit with our family of friends in Sampaloc for the birthday of nine year old niece Lizetta. The children are fantastic, the company grand and the food delicious. The evening proves an excellent goodbye to our great hosts in Manilla, JJ, John and Flor Javier.
From Manilla we jump a last minute plane to the sunny island of Borocay, the number one tourist destination in the Philippines during the number one time of year Holy Week (Easter) weekend. Despite all adamant assurances that we wouldn't be able to go because "Everything is booked" we prove once again the travelling fact that being physically present is far more important than booking in advance. Leaving after breakfast we catch a plane in an hour and are checked into our hotel before noon. We spend a week basking in western style hospitality, ruckous partying and fun in the sun.
On Monday, Brian and I sit to have a chat on what and where to go next. After some deliberation, we decide it is time to part ways for a while and pursue different paths and different goals. Tuesday morning we have breakfast, pack and after a hug I head for the boat and catch a bus to Liolio on the southern tip of the island of Panay. I check in late to the Family Pension and run into an old face from Sagada, now three weeks distant. Jeremy a Canadian from Victoria travelling the Philippines and a companion during our caving expeditions.
Morning comes and I wake early for breakfast and seeing Jeremy's companions, two young missionaries working in Iloilo decide to sit with them. I am sipping a quiet cup of coffee when perhaps the most startling experience of my trip befalls us. We hear a crash in the kitchen just footsteps behind us and suddenly a scream burst forth, turning we see a young Philippino (the man who'd checked me in) fly backwards out of the kitchen door with dishes crashing around him. He leaps up and runs headlong back into the kitchen where an obvious fight is underway. To the left of the door is a large window looking in and we can see the fight crashing back and forth, dishes flying, the screams of the women inside and a knife flashing. Suddently the grandma rushes out of the door screaming in terror as the security guard runs up pulling his gun. David and I leap from our seats and run to the kitchen and looking into the narrow interior see no course of action as a woman and the man who flew through the door are fighting in close company with a knife wielding maniac, both the maniac and the woman are covered in blood screaming histerically in Tagalog. Suddenly a host of police officers burst through the door and manage to subdue the crazed man, cuff him and taking the woman and flying man along depart the establishment leaving a bloody trail to the street. The entire process must have taken no more than two minutes. What an intense two minutes they were!
It turns out, the man, having been arrested earlier that morning had escaped the police as they stopped at a light outside our establishment. In a crazed state he had run into our hotel with the intent of doing himself in and grabbing a knife had taken a good wack at his own neck. The woman working in the narrow kitchen was trapped behind the counter and it was her son who had gone flying out the door when trying to grab the knife from the mans hand. At this point the man turned on the son's mother, thus he leapt back into the kitchen to save her life.
Let me assure you, there is nothing like a life or death struggle to wake you up in the morning, coffee holds nothing to it.
After this fine visit we return south to Manilla and reunit with our family of friends in Sampaloc for the birthday of nine year old niece Lizetta. The children are fantastic, the company grand and the food delicious. The evening proves an excellent goodbye to our great hosts in Manilla, JJ, John and Flor Javier.
From Manilla we jump a last minute plane to the sunny island of Borocay, the number one tourist destination in the Philippines during the number one time of year Holy Week (Easter) weekend. Despite all adamant assurances that we wouldn't be able to go because "Everything is booked" we prove once again the travelling fact that being physically present is far more important than booking in advance. Leaving after breakfast we catch a plane in an hour and are checked into our hotel before noon. We spend a week basking in western style hospitality, ruckous partying and fun in the sun.
On Monday, Brian and I sit to have a chat on what and where to go next. After some deliberation, we decide it is time to part ways for a while and pursue different paths and different goals. Tuesday morning we have breakfast, pack and after a hug I head for the boat and catch a bus to Liolio on the southern tip of the island of Panay. I check in late to the Family Pension and run into an old face from Sagada, now three weeks distant. Jeremy a Canadian from Victoria travelling the Philippines and a companion during our caving expeditions.
Morning comes and I wake early for breakfast and seeing Jeremy's companions, two young missionaries working in Iloilo decide to sit with them. I am sipping a quiet cup of coffee when perhaps the most startling experience of my trip befalls us. We hear a crash in the kitchen just footsteps behind us and suddenly a scream burst forth, turning we see a young Philippino (the man who'd checked me in) fly backwards out of the kitchen door with dishes crashing around him. He leaps up and runs headlong back into the kitchen where an obvious fight is underway. To the left of the door is a large window looking in and we can see the fight crashing back and forth, dishes flying, the screams of the women inside and a knife flashing. Suddently the grandma rushes out of the door screaming in terror as the security guard runs up pulling his gun. David and I leap from our seats and run to the kitchen and looking into the narrow interior see no course of action as a woman and the man who flew through the door are fighting in close company with a knife wielding maniac, both the maniac and the woman are covered in blood screaming histerically in Tagalog. Suddenly a host of police officers burst through the door and manage to subdue the crazed man, cuff him and taking the woman and flying man along depart the establishment leaving a bloody trail to the street. The entire process must have taken no more than two minutes. What an intense two minutes they were!
It turns out, the man, having been arrested earlier that morning had escaped the police as they stopped at a light outside our establishment. In a crazed state he had run into our hotel with the intent of doing himself in and grabbing a knife had taken a good wack at his own neck. The woman working in the narrow kitchen was trapped behind the counter and it was her son who had gone flying out the door when trying to grab the knife from the mans hand. At this point the man turned on the son's mother, thus he leapt back into the kitchen to save her life.
Let me assure you, there is nothing like a life or death struggle to wake you up in the morning, coffee holds nothing to it.
Friday, March 25, 2005
Sagada
March 8th, we spend a cacophonous seven hour period jostled relentlessly by the poor suspension of a Lizardo bus bound for Sagada on the cruel, unpaved roads of the Philippine Mountain province. Flexing our stiffened legs we find ourselves in a serene one lane village as the dying sun sets behind a haze of blue-grey smoke, slipping smoothly behind a western peak ablaze with an unattended fire. Peace reigns in the air, broken only by the populous calls of the local livestock, pigs, roosters and dogs. Pursuing our nightly quest to find suitable lodging we move into the cabinesqe Masferres Inn and discover a village wide curfew of 9pm is in loose effect. A difficult six hour time change from our usual evening terminus. Entering the delightful eatery The Yogurt House I decide to break my two day fast, initiated after the base episode of the past weeks in Manila, on a simple dish of fried rice. We retire early and awake refreshed to a crescendo of well voiced cocks announcing the mornings light.
What truly frames Sagada a meritorious objective is the combination of tranquil solitude fabricated by the unmistakably clean and cool mountain air, and the presence of a tantalizing web of dark, spidery caverns.
It's in these caverns, my heart thrumming with spring, that we dispense the bulk of our marvelous five day stay.
What truly frames Sagada a meritorious objective is the combination of tranquil solitude fabricated by the unmistakably clean and cool mountain air, and the presence of a tantalizing web of dark, spidery caverns.
It's in these caverns, my heart thrumming with spring, that we dispense the bulk of our marvelous five day stay.
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
Into the Current
The city of Manila is a jumble of activity, a thriving, bustling hub of energy which can neither be ignored nor easily left behind. Into this swirling tempest we fall and struggling to catch our breath find ourselves swept along in a modern, breakneck current.
After our first taste of Manila, we learn more about the web we've landed in. A twenty block region of Manila known as Malate littered with every trap, trip wire or explosive mine conceived to snag the unsuspecting tourist. In two days our taste for the town has expired and on Saturday Brian and I opt to spend the evening apart. I head down the street, select a good patio spot with a view and order up a beer. As always, all eyes are turned my way and not surprisingly a friendly voice is heard from the table next to me where two young Filipino men are sitting. I learn the speakers name, also Josh, and we strike up a conversation. To my surprise I'm treated to a delightful time as we sip our beers and the conversation slides from surface to submerged. The beer catches up and we decide to find some trouble. Our night ends at 7am and as fast friends we agree to meet again the next day.
Sunday, Josh arrives at the hotel and offers Brian and I the option of sleeping at his place. A dubious proposition under any circumstances, and certainly with two total strangers. Despite the obvious risks, the opportunity is great, and our guts say ok. We agree and catch a cab across town to Sampaloc. Thus we find ourselves with Josh and John, Filipino brothers, Josh working for a Global One call center, John studying Law at a nearby University and a new Manila is revealed to us. Josh suggests a "tour of class". In Filipino society like all society there are the haves and the have nots. In Manila those distinctions are very clear.
After our first taste of Manila, we learn more about the web we've landed in. A twenty block region of Manila known as Malate littered with every trap, trip wire or explosive mine conceived to snag the unsuspecting tourist. In two days our taste for the town has expired and on Saturday Brian and I opt to spend the evening apart. I head down the street, select a good patio spot with a view and order up a beer. As always, all eyes are turned my way and not surprisingly a friendly voice is heard from the table next to me where two young Filipino men are sitting. I learn the speakers name, also Josh, and we strike up a conversation. To my surprise I'm treated to a delightful time as we sip our beers and the conversation slides from surface to submerged. The beer catches up and we decide to find some trouble. Our night ends at 7am and as fast friends we agree to meet again the next day.
Sunday, Josh arrives at the hotel and offers Brian and I the option of sleeping at his place. A dubious proposition under any circumstances, and certainly with two total strangers. Despite the obvious risks, the opportunity is great, and our guts say ok. We agree and catch a cab across town to Sampaloc. Thus we find ourselves with Josh and John, Filipino brothers, Josh working for a Global One call center, John studying Law at a nearby University and a new Manila is revealed to us. Josh suggests a "tour of class". In Filipino society like all society there are the haves and the have nots. In Manila those distinctions are very clear.
We begin with class C (back in Malate) and its trouble and damn fun as always.
Monday we move up to class B in Quezon City and have a great night, not surprisingly we end up back in Class C (where we really belong) by the end of the drunken night.
Tuesday night, at our request, Josh takes us to his office. We are hoping for a tour of the facility, but after two hours of sitting in the lobby and introductions further and further up the chain of command we are graciously turned down. It seems corporate policy clearly excludes our drop in visit. Sitting in the lobby and feeling the corporate environment our conversation turns to work, and in short order we find our speech, mannerisms and mood quickly reverting to our former selves. Quicker and more abrupt, less tolerant and impatient. We start wondering why we are wasting our valuable time, like we have somewhere better to be! The anxiety is nearly intolerable and we try to shake it off as we leave the building.
Still buzzing from our near real world experience we arrive in Makati for our class A evening. This central district in Manila might as well be LoDo in Denver. We stroll past several martini bars, a couple of bars and stepping into a small club (Absinth)we are home. As always, we had planned a "couple of drinks". Soon we're carousing the bar, making new friends and join up with a crew of people heading to the next establishment (Z-Bar). It's not until the next day we learn we've spent our evening with a local celebrity who has since been a great friend to us. Class A turns out to be right up our alley, and we're invited to play some Ultimate Frisbee with the gang the following night.
By Thursday, we find ourselves in a complicated predicament. Josh and John and their sister Flor have been fantastic hosts. They have introduced us to a side of Manila we could never see on our own, cooked us great food each day and despite our obvious burden on them, have opened their home and hearts to us. Although they insist we stay longer, weigh in our growing restlessness, we inform them that it is time for us to go. Friday evening we take them to crab dinner and end up back in Malate again for what turns out to be the last straw in this crappy part of town. The evening ends as I make the mistake of pulling a bill out of my pocket on the street and twenty kids mob us, even jumping into our cab, and onto the hood and roof of the car. Flor apologizes to me the whole way home. Clearly, she has nothing to do with it.
Saturday, after a wild experience at the cock fights (see Brian's post), we move into a great hotel in Makati for a couple of air conditioned nights and Sunday play in our first overseas Ultimate tournament. A brutal, humbling experience as a random team of misfits is thrown together on our behalf and we get massacred 37-0 over 4 games. At least the after party is great.
The city is hard to resist. In less than two weeks in Manila, we regressed from the thoughtful, no where to be, slow paced backpackers we had become to our former, what do you do, time driven, lightning fast Denver lives. Even so far as to acquire a cell phone! Thus swings the pendulum I suppose. This morning, in response, we lightened our packs, turned off the phone, shipped a bunch of things home and hopped a long bus to Baguio. For now, we'll step back out of the current.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Big Fish
On Thursday, February 24th Brian and I make our way down to the Kaohsiung international airport and take our second plane ride of this trip. Despite internet searching, several phone calls and even a chat or two with some salty sailors we are unable to secure a boat to the Philippines and so resign ourselves to modern, instant transportation. Arriving in Manila we know immediately, we have come to a country which is an entirely different sort of animal. We step outside into a blistering, humid environment and a dozen people trying to "help" us out. We arrange a cab and ride into town amongst ridiculous traffic weaving past horse carts, buggy guys and brightly colored Jeepneys. We arrive at a hostel, the Malate Pensionne, where we secure a great private room for $11 and set up camp. Not surprisingly, just outside the little courtyard of the attached bar is a Starbucks (grande latte 110 peso, $2) and as we walk into the street realize we have landed in the heart of the Manila bar scene.
Skipping the coffee we hit a cafe for lunch and discover a bucket of six local beers (Sam Miguel) also costs $2. What a deal! Not surprisingly this begins a long night of lubrication. As we walk the streets, all eyes are upon us. With each step we are confronted by Rolex watches, begging children and astonishing sites of poverty. Before long we find ourselves exhausted and overwhelmed by the flow of requests and unfamiliar activity. We decide to rest a short time and return to the gated sanctuary of the hotel bar and courtyard, where a lush wall of greenery and soothing waterfall provide a perfect backdrop for relaxation. After a good warmup we are directed to a bar called L.A. Cafe, a good spot for foreigners. I walk into the street to take a look as Brian drops some gear off in the room and note the new complexion of the city. As night falls the city seems to rise, streets fill with people, lights brighten and music pumps from every door and window. As usual the kids grab my arm and as I try to untangle myself I am approached by four attractive girls, too anxious to meet me. Brian comes out, impressed by my quick work and I explain that they are offering massages... and as they put it "other services". I have not even left the threshold of the hotel.
We walk toward the bar and a small dirty boy runs beside me carrying two long stem roses. I look down as I walk and he begins to poke my side with his right arm, just a stump, missing the hand. He pokes and pokes, "Give me money... I can eat." I ask, "What happened to your arm?", "Bomb", he says and continues his jab. I look up to Brian walking a few feet in front and am stunned, before my next thought, he leaves and I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Well, at least I didn't have to worry about him putting his hand in my pocket!". Brian winces at the harsh joke, and we shakily chuckle on our way.
The doorman at a nearby Hyatt points us to the blue neon sign over the door of L.A. Cafe and we enter the bar in high spirits. "Hello and welcome my friends!", a host immediately grabs us and escorts us through the bar. On our way we survey the crowd, all eyes upon us, beautiful girls all around, a few scattered white men. Our host shuffles a table full of girls out of their seats (despite my weak protest) and sits us down. Within seconds we have a dozen new friends, a girl on my lap and one on each shoulder all wanting to know who we are and where we are from. Wow! Talk about some aggressive girls, even while we'd talk to one others would be bumping and poking us for attention...and beautiful. Not surprisingly, I lose my nerve within minutes.
With an ardent desire for understanding I leave my seat and wade through the crowd heading for the nearest white guy. T.J., a young G.I. with a red ball cap, is standing, unmolested, glaring round himself to gain space while his crew is buried amongst the girls. I ask the deal, and as suspected many are working, but surprisingly many are not. I meet the waitress and back into a corner where we chat. I ask her what it's all about and she says, "These girls, they just try to find their chance, their Big Fish.", she turns and looks me in the eye, "Like you."
Thus we have found the Philippines, everywhere we go we are watched, every move we make is followed. The experience has been rich with fun, with wonder and with anxiety.
Skipping the coffee we hit a cafe for lunch and discover a bucket of six local beers (Sam Miguel) also costs $2. What a deal! Not surprisingly this begins a long night of lubrication. As we walk the streets, all eyes are upon us. With each step we are confronted by Rolex watches, begging children and astonishing sites of poverty. Before long we find ourselves exhausted and overwhelmed by the flow of requests and unfamiliar activity. We decide to rest a short time and return to the gated sanctuary of the hotel bar and courtyard, where a lush wall of greenery and soothing waterfall provide a perfect backdrop for relaxation. After a good warmup we are directed to a bar called L.A. Cafe, a good spot for foreigners. I walk into the street to take a look as Brian drops some gear off in the room and note the new complexion of the city. As night falls the city seems to rise, streets fill with people, lights brighten and music pumps from every door and window. As usual the kids grab my arm and as I try to untangle myself I am approached by four attractive girls, too anxious to meet me. Brian comes out, impressed by my quick work and I explain that they are offering massages... and as they put it "other services". I have not even left the threshold of the hotel.
We walk toward the bar and a small dirty boy runs beside me carrying two long stem roses. I look down as I walk and he begins to poke my side with his right arm, just a stump, missing the hand. He pokes and pokes, "Give me money... I can eat." I ask, "What happened to your arm?", "Bomb", he says and continues his jab. I look up to Brian walking a few feet in front and am stunned, before my next thought, he leaves and I say the first thing that comes to mind, "Well, at least I didn't have to worry about him putting his hand in my pocket!". Brian winces at the harsh joke, and we shakily chuckle on our way.
The doorman at a nearby Hyatt points us to the blue neon sign over the door of L.A. Cafe and we enter the bar in high spirits. "Hello and welcome my friends!", a host immediately grabs us and escorts us through the bar. On our way we survey the crowd, all eyes upon us, beautiful girls all around, a few scattered white men. Our host shuffles a table full of girls out of their seats (despite my weak protest) and sits us down. Within seconds we have a dozen new friends, a girl on my lap and one on each shoulder all wanting to know who we are and where we are from. Wow! Talk about some aggressive girls, even while we'd talk to one others would be bumping and poking us for attention...and beautiful. Not surprisingly, I lose my nerve within minutes.
With an ardent desire for understanding I leave my seat and wade through the crowd heading for the nearest white guy. T.J., a young G.I. with a red ball cap, is standing, unmolested, glaring round himself to gain space while his crew is buried amongst the girls. I ask the deal, and as suspected many are working, but surprisingly many are not. I meet the waitress and back into a corner where we chat. I ask her what it's all about and she says, "These girls, they just try to find their chance, their Big Fish.", she turns and looks me in the eye, "Like you."
Thus we have found the Philippines, everywhere we go we are watched, every move we make is followed. The experience has been rich with fun, with wonder and with anxiety.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
Scoot
Kending, Taiwan on a winter Monday is a quiet place. This little tourist town lives for the weekend traveler. Saturday night the town bustles with lively vendors, random fireworks displays and thousands of Chinese visitors walking the night market. On Monday they are gone. We decide that this is the perfect time and place for us to cut our teeth on renting some scooters to explore the area. While Brian grew up on a dirtbike, I have never ridden a motorized bicycle of any sort so this was certain to be a new experience. But hey, I thought, how hard can it be? We walk down to the bike shop and negotiate a price of 700NT (about $22) for the bikes and after a two second description of the workings of the machine I hop on, hit the gas and cruise away, with Brian close on my heels. We've been instructed we need to get some gas and fortunately right in front of us is a station so we pull in and fill up. It is easy! We pull out from the station and head down the highway looking for a less busy road to test out our wheels. I spot one in front of me, turn on my blinker (man I'm good) and bank into the turn. To my surprise, I begin to lose my balance, and slipping, grab tightly onto the handlebars to keep from falling off. This grip hits the gas and sends me accelerating straight into the ditch! Realizing my impending doom I leap from the bike, fly off and land dashingly onto my feet! Nervously laughing, I turn to watch the bike crash onto the street smashing the left side mirror. Whew. Not the best moment I've had on this trip.
I manage to repair the mirror (mostly) and after a 1/2 hour of practice around an old graveyard I've actually got the hang of having the accelerator on the handlebar. We head off to explore the area, luxuriating in our new found freedom. The day proves a smashing success and after many hours of riding, we sit down to watch a beautiful sunset off the southern coast of Taiwan.
Tuesday, after our usual breakfast at 7-11 (milk tea and milk bread), we catch the bus to Kaohsiung which is to be our last stop after 10 days in Taiwan.
In the past few days I have come to realize that my appetite for "single serving friends" is rapidly diminishing. In each place we visit there are opportunities to meet and spend short periods of time with many different people. This is one of the joys of traveling. However, after a month of touring 3 different countries and many different cities, taking the time to form more significant friendships is beginning to feel necessary. This means staying somewhere for more than just a few days. We knew before we left the necessity of traveling fairly quickly while in more expensive countries. I look forward to slowing down further as we enter some less expensive, and warmer, parts of this continent.
I manage to repair the mirror (mostly) and after a 1/2 hour of practice around an old graveyard I've actually got the hang of having the accelerator on the handlebar. We head off to explore the area, luxuriating in our new found freedom. The day proves a smashing success and after many hours of riding, we sit down to watch a beautiful sunset off the southern coast of Taiwan.
Tuesday, after our usual breakfast at 7-11 (milk tea and milk bread), we catch the bus to Kaohsiung which is to be our last stop after 10 days in Taiwan.
In the past few days I have come to realize that my appetite for "single serving friends" is rapidly diminishing. In each place we visit there are opportunities to meet and spend short periods of time with many different people. This is one of the joys of traveling. However, after a month of touring 3 different countries and many different cities, taking the time to form more significant friendships is beginning to feel necessary. This means staying somewhere for more than just a few days. We knew before we left the necessity of traveling fairly quickly while in more expensive countries. I look forward to slowing down further as we enter some less expensive, and warmer, parts of this continent.
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