Chiang Mai, or Stuff White People Like: Thailand Edition

We came to the idea of visiting Chiang Mai rather at random, inspired by an article my mom saved me from a budget travel magazine. But everything we heard from fellow travelers seemed to confirm our hunch that we should go there, and just a few short hours after we had arrived in the northern capital we knew we couldn’t possibly have chosen better.

A riverside city of monks and markets, boho boutiques and divine vegetarian food, Chiang Mai seemed to combine the energy and excitement of Bangkok with the laid-back, beer-sipping relaxation of Khao Lak. We’d worked hard to give ourselves four full days there, and in truth we could have easily filled four more. We browsed night markets, ducked into art galleries, sampled curries, and sipped coffees.

And – though our cameras were already bursting with closeups of incense and long-range (rather stalker-esque) candids of monks – we couldn’t resist wandering through every temple we passed.

We made sure to mark out a full day for one of our trip’s “bucket list” items: a vegetarian cooking course at a delicious Thai restaurant. We racked our brains to select the nine dishes we most wanted to attempt, and felt like the hosts of a cooking show as we threw together pre-arranged ingredients into sour soups, curries, and Pad Thais.

The indescribable delectability of the feast we prepared that day will unfortunately be difficult to replicate in the United States. Not only because of the challenges involved in locating ingredients like kaffir lime leaves and galingale root, but also because our flavor will certainly suffer without a Thai chef eyeing our measurements and muttering, “No. Too much. Still too much. Okay good.” But the techniques we learned, and the flavors we sampled, were more than enough to make the day a highlight of the trip.

Our last day in Thailand found us actually rather sorry to leave. After so thoroughly enjoying ourselves in Chiang Mai, we would have been ready for a side trip to Cambodia or Vietnam, as we had originally planned before shortening our trip from six months to five. But one thing I’ve learned in traveling is that limited time and energy (and money) always force you into leaving some adventures for “next time.” And though it’s a project of mine to live in the present as much as possible on this trip, I don’t mind admitting that I look forward to a return visit to Chiang Mai.



Of Tourists, Temples, and Time Spent at Peace

Just a few hours after landing in Bangkok, Brianne and I were sitting in a tiki-style sidewalk restaurant, gulping down watermelon shakes and sweating uncontrollably. We had just met up with a group of Brianne’s Swiss friends, who were to be our traveling companions for the first week in Thailand. The six of us were catching up while surveying a parade of passing tourists ranging in dress code and sobriety level from “unfortunate” to “straight-up offensive.” These, Diel told us, were the sights of Khao San Road – or, as Brianne and I now call it, the gringo ghetto. We began to understand the impatience of the Thai servers and masseuses working in this purgatory of shirtless Westerners confused enough to think they were minutes from the beach.

My first impression of the city, unfortunately, was highly touched by this uncomfortable relationship between clueless vacationers and hardened locals, which often crops in the heavily touristed areas of Bangkok. Service with a smile, a taxi driver not trying to profit from our ignorance, a sightseer with the appropriate amount of skin covered: these things seemed frustratingly hard to come by.

But given a little time to adjust to the city’s sprawling layout (and stifling heat index), we began to discover the quiet moments hidden in Bangkok’s tucked-away places. Our long city walks brought us (with varying degrees of purposefulness) to artisan ice cream stores, delicious restaurants filled with genuine smiles, and even to Asia’s highest rooftop bar.

And wandering into the city’s countless temples, we found ourselves surrounded by a meditative buzz of prayer, incense, and song. Everywhere we looked there was an intersection of bright colors or a reflection of sun-brushed gold that begged, no demanded that we snap another photo.

Bangkok is, truly, a city that never sleeps. And sometimes I did wish the whizzing traffic, the bored hawkers, and the drunk tourists would put themselves to bed for just one night. But our peaceful moments, snatched from busy streets, showed us that Bangkok is still a city that knows how to pause and breathe.

And really we had very little to complain about. Because we were about to head south, where we would join the Swiss for a four-day stay in the beach town of Khao Lak.

Surely at this point my reader will cease to feel any pity for me as I sipped Chang lagers, spooned up spicy red curries, and took a nap to the tune of crashing waves. All I can say in my own defense is that days of beach picnics and long swims were full of great conversation and new friendships, which I did my best to lay in store for the more intense culture shock to come. With the Swiss wrapping up their month in Thailand, and with Brianne and I just getting started on our Asian adventure, four gorgeous days were more than enough to remind us all not to take for granted the chance to get outside the normal and everyday.

Happy New Year, Hong Kong

Ignorance is a state that yields mixed results for travelers. Sometimes, the reprecussions can be unpleasant, as in "who knew traveling in Chile was so expensive?" But at times, a certain sunny blankness of expectation can be just the clean canvas that invites unanticipated adventures.

Such was the case in Hong Kong. A simple Wikipedia search would have told me that Hong Kong is the world's most vertical city, and also has the highest rate of participation in public transportation. But despite the countless advantages available to us in this information age, Brianne and I arrived in Hong Kong without ever having cracked a guide book or run the simplest of internet searches. Luckily my more proactive aunt helped arrange a lunch date with a former coworker, Martin Tang, and we looked forward to the chance to ask for some insider's advice.

"What are your plans for Hong Kong?" he asked us. "Nada," we admitted. "Well then," he replied, "why don't you take my personal car and driver, make an itinerary with my assistant, and take a tour of Hong Kong island?" "Well..." we answered, "that's certainly better than anything we've come up with so far."

So thanks once again to the generosity of strangers, to my fabulous aunt, and to a rather incredible stroke of luck, we found our two days in Hong Kong packed with sights: kaleidoscope views of the city and harbor, chic sidewalk restaurants, surprisingly secluded beaches, and bustling urban temples. I've included a sample of our photography haul below:

View of Hong Kong harbor at night from the Peak

Across the harbor near our shoebox-sized hostel room

Street market near Soho

 

Repulse Bay



Incense burning outside a small temple in Stanley



After two busy days, our conclusion was: Hong Kong is pretty happening. As cosmopolitan and hip as London, it still has a flavor all its own and just the right energy to jump start our Asian adventure.

The Things You Carry With You

The process of packing for a long trip has something mythic and existential about it. You begin to feel that these clothes before you are not just a random assortment of quick-dry pants and non-cotton tops. Oh no. Not only have they been carefully selected for maximum utility across temperatures and dress codes, scrutinized for wrinkle-free packability, and weighed carefully on the scales of “added weight versus added happiness.” They will be the companions on every adventure, the splash of color (or more likely earth tones) in every photo. They will help set the mood and character of the days ahead.

And more imporant even than my rain jacket or pack towel are all the traveling companions I'm not even aware I've tucked in my backpack: preconceived notions, subconscious expectations and fears, hidden attachments to antoher time, place, or people - all of which will subtly alter the course of my experience. Perhaps a very accomplished guru would be able to cleanse her aura of all that extra baggage and walk forward with clear, open eyes. But yours truly has yet to find a way of not dragging it all along. The best I can do is try to be attentive, slow to form judgments, and eager to embrace the day rather than shape it to my own will.

As Brianne and I enter the second, arguably more culturally challenging Asia phase of the trip, an open mind and a present focus seem particularly important. I want to put my energy into inhabiting each beautiful, uncomfortable, tedious, heartbreaking moment. I'm taking for my mantra a Mary Oliver quote I often turn to: "Look, I want to love this world as if it's the last chance I have to be alive and know it." In what will perhaps be my last long wander for a great many years, I don't want to miss opportunities to be alive and be grateful for it.

So if you've made it this far, thank you for reading, and stay tuned for Hong Kong, Thailand, India, Nepal, and Dubai.

So Long, South America

With the sense of perspective gained from 30 hours of airport travel, I can now see how the end of my trip to South America serves as a microcosm for the experience as a whole: a large span of wandering improvisation, a healthy dose of adventure, and a touch of the unexpected. To start with the last, I am sorry to admit that my last weeks in South America included contracting a case of "don't eat the strawberries in a developing country, genius." Just when I was most ready to get out and savor the last days of mountains, warmth, and grammatically shaky Spanish, I found myself instead confined to our hostel bedroom, becoming intimately familiar with CSI spinoffs and past seasons of America's Next Top Model. However, I am happy to report that in that time I managed to (a) fill an REI.com shopping cart with gear I couldn't possibly afford, (b) compose a list of the best dance songs of 2011, and (c) get absolutely nothing of any importance accomplished.

It pleases me even more to say that after my recovery from Montezuma's Andean Cousin's Revenge, I was able to seize the day with a little bit more vigor and purpose. Brianne and I wrapped up our time at Seeds of Hope by teaching the children to make (somewhat freeform) friendship bracelets, and spent some time wandering Huaraz for last-minute alpaca purchases.

No, not that kind of alpaca purchase

Then we decided to say farewell to the Andes in true rustic style by attempting another day hike to Lake Churup, followed by a night at the Way Inn Lodge in the mountains. As has been true to form with our Peruvian treks, the climb to Lake Churup proved both beautiful and far more arduous than the phrase "day hike" seems to suggest. After taking a rural van packed with campasinos and papas to the "town" of Llupa, a herd of assorted farm animals led us past houses and fields to the Huascaran National Park. From there we huffed up a steep path, puffing for air at 14,000+ feet, and finally scrabbling to the finish by pulling ourselves up a rock face using steel cables. Needless to say, as the consistency of our legs approached that of overcooked noodles, we were a little humbled to find out that a 71-year-old man and his 65-year-old wife had done the hike the day before.

After that we spent a peaceful stay at the Way Inn, followed by our last overnight bus of South America, and concluding with a spell in Lima to re-acclimatize ourselves to sea-level oxygen and the presence of Starbucks.

The Way Inn Lodge

Plaza de Armas, Lima

Last sunset in South America

Now, back in Michigan for a three-week home-front leave, I find myself confronting the question of whether I got what I came for in South America. Unsurprisingly, the answer is a little of both. I got more than I expected, in mountain vistas and physical challenges, in sudden friendships and far too many heavy souvenirs. And also I got less than I expected: specifically, less unity of experience. In retrospect I realize how my time in New Zealand, during which four months was sufficient to canvas almost an entire country, contributed to my assumption that "going to South America" was even possible. As if visiting a few major cities and a handful of national parks was sufficient to have an impression of an entire continent. Whatever experience I'm actually taking home is quite a bit more fragmentary and elusive than that, and will take some time to catalog. When I think back on the past three months I see a scattering of bright moments, but so far cannot make out the connective, thematic lines that will eventually trace discrete experiences into a narrative constellation. But I look forward to the time to reflect, to the chance to miss alfahores and fresh mangoes, and to watching how the waves of memory smooth and round the past into something new.

Holding onto Huaraz

Our arrival in Huaraz, Peru not only began our longest stationary stint in South America, but also signalled the beginning of the end of our hispanophone adventures. The three weeks spent in this Andean trekking hotspot would be our last destination in the southern hemisphere, and our first (almost entirely) non-graduate-school-related travel experience of the trip. Despite the early onset of we're-almost-home syndrome, we wanted to make the last hurrah of South America count.

So...first things first, we wasted no time in confirming the existence of fine French press coffee in Huaraz. Cafe Andino - whose mismatched armchairs, tofu fajitas, and gorgeous mountain views put me in mind of Boulder, Colorado - quickly became a haven for us on rainy, homesick, or stressful days.



Stormy view of Huaraz from Cafe Andino

Next, we dove into our second volunteer experience of the trip: offering up our tutoring services to an organization called Seeds of Hope. As it turns out, the at-risk students Seeds supports would have been much better served had our intentions to learn Spanish progressed a little bit further. We had thought we might be giving English lessons or leading farm vocabulary games, but when presented with our first geography worksheet and asked to explain it to expectant middle-schoolers, we realized our linguistic (not to mention mathematical) preparation had been a little lacking. Give professora a second to remember how to find the lowest common denominator...and then give professora a moment to look up "common" and "denominator" in the English-Spanish dictionary. Luckily, our students are willing to teach as well, and between answering questions about my bicycle and what street Shakira lives on, tutoring has given us a chance to practice our basic conversation skills.


During this indescribably long day, we attempted an origami lesson. Approximately half the children mastered the paper crane in the first half hour and proceeded to produce, seemingly without fatigue, an alarmingly large flock of colored birds. The other half tacitly gave up on the "learning" part of the exercise and instead used an innocent-sounding "ayudame, profe" to recruit one of their gullible professors to manufacture cranes for them for the next two hours.

Finally, we enjoyed one of the best possible highlights of a long spell abroad: a visitor from home. My very own tocaya (name twin), Lauren Berka, used her Thanksgiving break from graduate school to come visit us in Huaraz and and thus gave us an excuse to treat ourselves to the best the city has to offer. In the series below (my apologies for the explosion of photos), you can see us sampling Andean brews, tackling the Laguna 69 trek, attempting a Peruvian Thanksgiving dinner, and wandering the mountains outside of town.

Laguna 69



Breaking my personal altitude record at 15,090 ft (plus two)



Approaching the Llanganuco Lakes

Thanksgiving dinner with Lauren and the other Seeds volunteers



The Cordrillera Blanca outside of Huaraz



It's always difficult to stave off the first tinges of itchy feet as you reach the end of a journey. But a visit from a good friend, gorgeous mountains, and a multitude of unknown Spanish verb tenses have helped anchor us in Huaraz. I hope that when I write to tell you how our trip wraps up, I will be able to say that I savoured my last tastes of Peru and South America.