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[hoganandmaryjo]

Granada & Maro, Spain

We left Barcelona on a train headed for Granada, where we would spend a few days before taking a regional bus to our final destination, Maro, a tiny beach town on the Andalusian coast. We were looking forward to taking in the Moorish architecture and free tapas (where the tradition remains intact).

Having been on the road for almost four months, we knew how we wanted to spend our time and we relished our days in Granada. They were spent hiking, painting, writing, reading, napping, and were punctuated by sitting in public squares drinking wine and eating free tapas. Being there felt easy and relaxed; no pressure to go out and see the sights if we didn’t feel like it. Granada is a steep city, and we once again found ourselves walking up and down quaint cobblestone pathways snaking through the hills to get to and from the market or cafes.  

Although it is probably the greatest draw to the city, the Alhambra was not our favorite part about visiting Granada. After so much travel, seeing so many different kinds of beautiful architecture, palaces, and tombs, we were a little underwhelmed by it. (We did not get tickets into the most famous and intricate part of the Alhambra, so that likely played a part.)

What we loved most about Granada - and should not come as a surprise so far in to our travels - was a beautiful all-day hike we did from the small town of Beas de Granada to Granada itself. The route traces the historical path that traders took to reach the Alhambra, then the heart of the Moorish empire in the region. Walking along a ridge, we were able to see why the temperature is cooler in Granada than in Barcelona: the city is surrounded by snow-capped mountains, and is much higher than the coast, although very close. We had a picnic overlooking long-abandoned terraces, and rested under gnarly olive trees surrounded by blooming yellow and purple flowers. It was peaceful and beautiful.

Granada is one of remaining cities in Spain that still serves free tapas with your drink order, a custom we fully appreciated. We spent afternoons and evenings sipping wine, beer, or vermouth (on the rocks, with lemon) with the bread, cheese, jamon, sliders, tacos, or whatever else was served up alongside the drinks. The tapas changed with every round, and in every tavern. Honestly we didn’t eat a full meal the whole time we were there, it was so easy to get carried away ordering another round to see what we would get next. Although the weather was cooler than we expected, forcing us to get our jackets out one last time, we enjoyed a few days exploring Granada before heading to our final destination. We were worried that our plan to have a week on the beach would be foiled by strange weather. Without any way to plan it more than we already had, we dragged our bags over the rough cobbles to the bus station, boarded the bus, and were on our way.

Our plan was to live the last week of this long trip as if it were a vacation within the vacation. We were going to sleep in, lay on the beach, and try and process the transition coming our way, back to life and a whole new slew of changes and adventures. Maro is a tiny beach town, in between larger tourist destinations on the Andalucian coast. The town is perched on a cliff overlooking the Mediterranean, made up of small whitewashed houses. There is a store. There is a small town square that held dances and markets. There are a few restaurants, which were sometimes open and sometimes closed, and there is not much else. It was perfect.

We found the local beach, a 15 minute walk straight downhill from our Airbnb, tucked in a small horseshoe in between cliffs and ancient Moorish watchtowers. We spent our days watching the waves come in. We brought picnics and beer, books, painting, and chairs. The water was cold, but we jumped in to cool off, and even tried to snorkel a little among the rocks (it did not come close to comparing to the snorkeling in Indonesia).

Beyond the time at the beach, we spent an afternoon touring a nearby cave, one of the biggest tourist destinations in the area. Our Airbnb was so close that we walked, passing big tourist busses and a small choo-choo-like tourist “train” that shuttles people back and forth between the caves and a nearby bigger town. The cave itself is enormous and fascinating. It is made up of multiple cavernous chambers stretching for many kilometers, some big enough that the town holds an annual ballet and music performance inside, complete with folding chairs for the audience. (Talk about acoustics.) When re-discovered in the late 1950s, the cave contained bones and paintings from the Neolithic era (40,000 years ago), some of the oldest ever found.

The Andalucian coast is rocky and rough, with small towns sprinkled along the winding coastal road. On the other side of the road the hills rise sharply and the landscape becomes forested with an amazing mix of pines, cactus, succulents, fragrant shrubs, and wildflowers. The beaches are made up of rough sand, tucked at the bottom of stream valleys that tumble down the hillsides. In some cases, the streams have not cut a deep enough channel and end with waterfalls pouring into the Mediterranean Sea. Every day was warm, windy, and ended with a beautiful sunset. It’s very similar to another landscape close to our hearts: Northern California. It was ironic to end such a whirlwind trip in a setting that reminded us so much of the place we would be returning.

With the end of our trip fast approaching we tried hard to stay in the present. It was easy to fall into planning for the next thing, forgetting about the beautiful and peaceful few days we had left before closing this chapter in our lives. We were both ready to start our next journey - a move across the country to New York City. This had always been a part of our plan, and we were anxious to begin the next step in our careers and discover a new city. We welcomed the content feeling of time well spent on our journey, and were both happy with the amount of time we had together to explore. It was both a short and long four months on the road - gone in an instant but rich with so many memories when we looked back on it. The trip gave us what we were looking for: adventure, a break, lifelong memories, and new connection to each other and the world. Now it was time to go.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Barcelona, Spain

We rode a fast and comfortable train south along the French coast towards the border, crossing into Spain as we traveled underneath the Pyrenees mountain range. It was a beautiful journey with marshes and long coastlines stretching out the windows - and also flamingos, which were surprising to see standing around next to the tracks.

We were both excited to be in Spain and Barcelona, in particular. It was the last country on our long journey, and we had been looking forward to it for a long time. Barcelona is a big city, and we hopped on the subway once we arrived to make it across town to our rented room in the Poble Sec neighborhood. With the majority of the trip behind us and thousands of miles under our belt, we wanted to savor the last weeks of our time off, and Spain seemed like the ideal place to do so. The good weather we enjoyed in southern France followed us to Barcelona, it was hot during the day and the perfect temperature to sit outside at the many sidewalk cafes late into the night.

One of the things we looked most forward to in visiting Spain was being somewhat able to understand and communicate in the language. With high school-level Spanish, we were thankfully able to ask for things and understand what someone was saying when they were talking to us. Hogan dove in, doing most of the talking, and dusted off words he had no idea were hidden in his memory. It was a relief to understand even a sliver of what was said, and a far cry from our experiences in other countries we visited.

Spain is known for its tapas, and while the culture of free tapas with each beverage does not exist anymore in Barcelona, we were still excited for the food. We found our favorites in a place called El Jardi (The Garden) located in the old Hospital de la Santa Creu, built in 1400. Interestingly enough, one of the last patients admitted to the hospital before it shut down in 1926 was Antoni Gaudi, who died there. The building now houses a library, and El Jardi is tucked away from the busy street life in the former hospital gardens and serves simple but really satisfying plates of food. The avocado with cream and olives was a standout, with a sort of salty, sweet aftertaste. And, the pan con tomate was the best we had. We also loved the jamon, or ham, that is served straight up, on a plate, and eaten with bread and sometimes cheese.

We went in search of fantastic paella, and visited an arrozeria in the Eixample neighborhood to try theirs since the rice is such an important part of the dish. At the restaurant, we went for the paella con mariscos, which only has seafood in it. It came out still bubbling in the shallow paella pan, with lobsters, shrimp, mussels, clams, and squid decorating the top. Eating this is like eating pistachios - you have to work for it - and by the end of the meal the table was littered with shells and claws from the unlucky sea creatures. The paella was great, and true to the theme of the restaurant the rice was almost the best part - perfectly cooked. In Spain, wine is cheap, and you really can’t have a meal without at least one glass. We washed our big lunch down with a few glasses of Spanish cava and vino tinto.

We fell into the habit of the later Spanish schedule pretty easily, taking siestas during the day and staying up late at night. Lunch is usually around 2:00 p.m. and dinner around 10:00 p.m. or later. Tapas and drinks fall in between at all times of the day. In one case, as we left the house around 10:30 one morning, we passed a sidewalk cafe where a woman was enjoying an espresso and a croissant. At the table next to her was a man having a glass of red wine. While we were comfortable with the napping and late nights, we couldn’t quite figure out the schedule that stores, restaurants, and bars were on. There did not seem to be a pattern, necessarily, and we often felt like we’d finally got it only to find restaurants and bars closed when we thought they would for sure be open. We will have to go back to really figure it out.

Barcelona is also known for the extravagant architecture of Antoni Gaudi, and we knew that we had to see it while we were there. The most famous, and certainly the largest, is the Sagrada Familia, a still unfinished Roman Catholic basilica that towers over Barcelona. Gaudi worked on the building’s design and construction for over 40 years and at the time of his death in 1926 less than one quarter of the construction was complete. The first time we saw it was from a hill across the city, and it rose up from the surroundings at an incredible vertical angle. Large cranes surround it, working to complete the job started over 130 years ago.

There is so much happening with this building it’s hard to know where to start. On the outside, it’s better to imagine it as a large sculpture rather than a church. Gaudi flipped the traditional style of church design by putting all the religious imagery on the outside of the building, instead of inside the church. That means that the outside of the building is entirely made up of elaborate sculptures telling the story of Christ. Each facade is in a different style - in fact the whole building is a mashup of styles, colors, and forms that somehow all works together, a testament to its timelessness.

The outside is beautiful, but the inside is breathtaking. After the visual cacophony of the sculptural facades, the interior is calming. Gaudi modeled the interior after a forest, and the columns holding up the whole structure arch and branch over your head before meeting the ceiling. The columns are made of different types of stone depending on how much weight they have to carry. It’s an amazing and organic structure. But the most amazing part is the stained glass windows, huge ones, that overpower you with bold colors. True to the concept, there are no figures or representations of people in these windows, only patterns and shades of colors that transition from greens and blues on one side to deep reds and yellows on the other. Gaudi didn’t design the stained glass windows, but they illuminate his architectural work in a beautiful way.

After our big hike in the Himalayas, we were excited to find ways to incorporate hiking into the rest of our trip. The best destination for hiking near Barcelona is Montserrat, a rocky and jagged mountain range about an hour outside the city, home to a famous Benedictine abbey. Many visitors take the gondola or another train up to the top after the regional train from Barcelona, but we opted to hike the 1,200 meter (about 4,000 feet) climb instead. The scenery is stunning with scrubby bushes and red rocks - it felt a little like Arizona. The hike was wonderful, and the destination wasn’t too shabby either. Currently home to about 80 monks, the abbey was built in the 11th century. The big draw is one of the world’s black Madonnas, which visitors flock to and line up to touch through a glass case. It was beautiful, and the basilica that was essentially built around the figure doesn’t hold back on decoration. It was honestly surprising to see such an ornamental place up at the top of the mountain. We agreed, though, that getting out in nature to stretch our legs and see a different part of the country was the best part of our day trip.

Barcelona is an amazing city, and it’s high on the list of places that need a return visit. We felt like we just had begun to scratch the surface before we had to leave for Granada. We were starting to count down the days of our trip and knew that would only continue as we grew closer to our final time in Spain.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Avignon & Cassis, France

As soon as we crossed the border between Switzerland and France, the landscape changed. As we rode the train from Geneva to Lyon, and then on to Avignon, we left the left the coziness of the grey mountains and entered a landscape made of limestone, marked by rough vertical bluffs and large, lazy rivers that meandered through the hills. Each hill had a small castle or old stone structure topping it, all surrounded by vegetation that grew sparser and more mediterranean as we reached the south of France. The city of Avignon, where we were meeting Evelyn and Bill, Hogan’s mom and stepdad, has a continuous history of human settlement beginning in neolithic times roughly 4,000 years ago and including Phoenicians, Romans, Visigoths and Ostrogoths, the Franks, many kingdoms, and was home to nine Popes beginning in the 14th century. After our long train journey, made even longer due to the rail strike in France, we arrived and walked around the edge of the medieval city to meet Evelyn and Bill in a spacious flat near a main entrance to the old city.

It was a surprise treat to meet Evelyn and Bill on this trip. We had discussed the possibility before leaving California, but it wasn’t until a little over a month before that they had confirmed and bought their tickets. They flew into France early, spending some time vacationing together before meeting us for a little less than a week. Bill was celebrating the beginning of his retirement after a lifetime of hard work, and this was one of the longest vacations they had both taken in a while. Evelyn had been following our trip closely, and it was special to share some of it together.

Southern France is a cycling mecca, so we knew we wanted to ride while we were there. Evelyn rented us four nice road bikes for our days in Avignon, and we headed out on two separate days to explore the countryside. Hogan led the group through the narrow cobblestone streets of the old town and beyond, along paved paths beside vineyards, dirt trails next to the Rhone River, and busier streets connecting cities. We tested the bikes out on a shorter ride through the outskirts of Avignon, passing old castles and ancient ruins on the way, and after some trial and error learned the best way to navigate back through the medieval city center to our apartment. There are many destinations around Avignon that are tailor-made for a day of riding, but the total distances of these rides, at around 45 kilometers, were a little more than what Evelyn and Bill were comfortable doing. We all discussed the options after our first ride but in the end it was clear we had to try for the longer distance. How often, after all, do you find yourself in the south of France in beautiful weather on road bikes?

We rode to the Pont du Gard, a monumental Roman aqueduct that spans an emerald green river about 20 kilometers outside of Avignon. It’s a stunning piece of engineering and was part of a system built in the first century AD that moved water more than 50 kilometers from a natural spring to the Roman colony of Nimes. We parked our bikes and walked across the span, admiring the workmanship and knowledge required to build something so lasting (it was in use for 500 years before it failed). It is hard to comprehend how long it had loomed over the river valley and the feat of engineering needed to create it nearly two millennia ago. The area is a destination for locals and tourists alike, who spend the day laying in the sun on the banks of the river and swimming in the cool water. After hours of riding in the heat that sounded wonderful, but we had to keep moving to make it back to Avignon before dark. We picnicked under the shade of a tree overlooking the scene - a very temporary piece of greenery compared to the Pont du Gard. We rode back along the same route, whisked quickly along by a welcome tailwind the whole way. Evelyn and Bill rose to the occasion, completing the day without any problems. We celebrated our ride back at the apartment, especially Bill who took a very well deserved nap while we made dinner.

From the 1300s to 1790, Avignon was home to nine Popes. We were surprised to learn that the Vatican wasn’t always where the leader of the Catholic Church lived. Avignon has restored the former Papal Palace, and we were excited to go see it on our last morning in the city. Hogan and MaryJo went solo while Evelyn and Bill got ready to go to our next stop in France. We got a free interactive tablet and audioguide tour with our tickets, and it was incredibly well done, guiding us through the buildings and showing what various rooms looked like back in the 1300s using augmented reality. The palace was huge, made of grey stone, and despite the heat outside, it was cool as we wandered through the vast rooms. The compound had been expanded upon many times over the years, and is very complicated. We saw large halls, chapels with tall vaulted ceilings, the treasury room with hidden spaces underground where they kept the important documents and money, and the Pope’s own chamber. The former kitchen was particularly impressive - it was a simple room that extended two stories upwards to a small opening at the top, making the whole structure a chimney. All the food was cooked in the center around an enormous fire, and the smoke went out the top of the ceiling. While the whole palace wasn’t particularly religious feeling, it was powerful to see frescos on the walls and intact original decorations on wooden ceilings dating back to the early 1300s. Like everything we have seen that is that old, it is very hard to imagine how it continues to exist for centuries.

After our tour of the Papal Palace we piled into Evelyn and Bills rental car and hit the road towards the Mediterranean and our next destination: the small port town of Cassis. Hogan dusted off his driving skills and guided the vehicle through beautiful countryside and down narrow lanes to the rocky coast towards Cassis, which is located on a steep hillside that rises quickly from the water. Our flat was minutes from the port, and after filling the small space with our bags we strolled along the waterfront past the fishing boats and on to the beach. The town was busy with tourists buying ice cream and boarding boats to visit the famous calanques (which are like small fjords) in the national park surrounding it. It is a beautiful place, almost entirely made out of a local tan-colored limestone that if you look closely, is marked with the pattern of ancient sea shells. We settled into a sidewalk cafe overlooking the water to plan our next steps.

We had spent a good amount of time in Avignon going restaurants only to discover they were closed. Determined not to repeat this experience, MaryJo booked a table for four at a newer seafood restaurant for the evening called Angelina. The four of us strolled in for our reservation prepared to order the bouillabaisse, the famous Provencal fish stew originating from this area. The waiter looked at us quizzically, since it turns out you need to order the stew 24 hours in advance so they can get freshly caught fish. Things are done differently in France. We had a delicious and fun meal nonetheless - salted whole fish with Cassis white wine - seated in an open courtyard underneath a potted olive tree. Two nights later we returned, having ordered the bouillabaisse well in advance this time. It was a feast of many different kinds of fish, which they showed us before and after cooking for our approval. None of us could finish our portions.

Like almost everywhere in France, Cassis is known for its wine. In particular, the Cassis AOC produces 75-80 percent dry white wine, which is unique when compared to the area around it, known mostly for rose. (AOC stands for appellation d'origine contrôlée, or protected designation of origin, which certifies wines, cheeses and other French products are from where they say they’re from and upheld to a certain standard specific to that area.) It is also unique in that there are only 12 operating Cassis domains, or wineries, under this AOC. Though every bar and restaurant in the small town was serving Cassis wines, we wanted to go try some at the wineries ourselves and booked a tour with a winery right on the coast, Clos Sainte Magdeleine. Before even arriving at the winery, we learned that wine tasting there is much different than the enormous tourism industry of California’s Napa and Sonoma regions. Other than the one place we were able to book a tour, the domains held weird hours, and despite our attempts to call, make online reservations, or even just show up at the front gate, they simply aren’t open for tasting in the same way we are used to. Nonetheless, the tour at Clos Sainte Magdeleine was fantastic, with a knowledgeable guide and a beautiful setting. We learned that although the AOC highly regulates the production, irrigation, taste, etc. of the wine, they do not regulate what vessel the wine is stored in before bottling. This domain used a combination of stainless steel and, surprisingly, egg-shaped concrete vats, not the oak barrels we expected from France. In a small-world experience, we also learned that their biggest U.S. importer, Kermit Lynch, is based just down the street from where Bill and Evelyn live in Berkeley. We all took some bottles to go, happy that our determination to visit the domain paid off.

Our trip to Cassis wouldn’t be complete with our own visit to the calanques and on our last day we got up early, put on our swimsuits, and got into kayaks. We launched from a small rocky cove just south of Cassis in five boats: Hogan and MaryJo in one, Evelyn and Bill in another, and our guide and his brother each in their own individual kayaks. As we left the enclosed water and rounded a rocky outcropping into the Mediterranean, the water stayed smooth and glassy as far as we could see. We asked the guide if this was normal and he laughed - we had gotten lucky - a very clear and calm morning, perfect for kayaking. Our half-day trip took us north past Cassis and into three different calanques that each were subtly different. Though you can walk to each calanque and look out at the sea, we felt good to be on the water instead, taking in the limestone cliffs rising from the water close up. Even more interesting was the view we had peering down the cliffs, through the clear water to the sandy sea floor. The limestone is sharp and rough, and naturally forms long ledges that slope into the water, the stone slowly breaking into large rectangular boulders over time. Between bouts of paddling, we rested in the clear waters and watched small fish swim through the seagrass below. Later, we stopped and swam (even though the water was pretty cold) at a secluded beach where the even taller cliffs attracted rock climbers, who hung on to ropes around us. The waters got busier as the day went on, mostly with larger motor boats filled with other tourists, and we paddled back to shore tired but feeling rejuvenated after the day out at sea.

Our short visit to France was well worth it, but we were excited as we boarded an early train to Barcelona the next morning. It had been a busy five days with Evelyn and Bill, and we were happy to be returning to our own schedule as we began the final few weeks of this long trip. We would see family again soon enough. After visiting nine countries, Spain would be our last stop.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Switzerland

Our arrival in Switzerland marked a turning point in our tour, which was apparent immediately for a couple of reasons. First: arriving in Europe after months of traveling in Asia was a remarkable difference in lifestyle, level of infrastructure, and cleanliness of streets and drinking water. This was a relief, although the sense of adventure we felt exploring lesser-developed countries wasn’t there. Second was one of our reasons for visiting Switzerland: family. For the first time in months, we would be traveling with other people.

Hogan’s stepmom and brother, Margrit and Lukas, flew from San Francisco to meet us in Switzerland. Margrit is originally from there, and Lukas is fluent in Swiss-German (the local dialect of the northeast region where we were) and has visited the extended family, the Haeberlins, many times. Hogan has been there four times before, but had not been to visit since he was 16 years old, half of his life ago. A big part of the reason to travel to Switzerland was to experience the country with MaryJo because the time he spent there as a kid left such an impression on him. We were all looking forward to catching up and exploring the country together.

The family welcomed us with open arms, and an astounding amount of generosity. We were greeted first by Margrit’s brother, Ruedi, with four different kinds of chocolate and a freshly baked apple tart - prepared while we napped away our exhaustion from Abu Dhabi. Later that evening, we toasted with champagne and had fire-roasted bratwurst at Margrit’s sister Verena’s house with most of the rest of her siblings. We arrived around Easter, and were treated to an hours-long feast with the whole family on Easter Monday at a quaint but fancy country restaurant up the Rhine River from our apartment. The apartment was another act of generosity from a close friend of Margrit’s, who allowed the four of us to move in while she went to stay with her mother for the week. She left the apartment fully stocked with enough food for all of us, complete with chocolate rabbits and Easter eggs dyed in patterns with sprigs of herbs. This amount of giving is disarming, and we struggled to try and express our gratitude or give back in a meaningful way to our hosts. Suddenly, our practice of providing guests at our old apartment in San Francisco with a bed, towels, and fresh sheets, and maybe a home-cooked meal seemed woefully inadequate. During our time in Switzerland we were treated so well it characterized our whole stay in the country. The Swiss really know how to host.

  We were taken a little by surprise that traveling with others would be so different than traveling as a pair. We were suddenly thrust into the lives of the whole family, and spent all day with Margrit and Lukas - a welcome change, but a far cry from the flexibility and style of travel we’d established together over the past months. Before Margrit and Lukas even arrived, we were on the receiving end of an April Fools joke played between Ruedi and Verena, as if to signify that things wouldn’t be so easy. Apparently a long-time prankster, the Haeberlins’ grandfather once pulled an April Fools joke on the five Haeberlin kids by telling them a supersonic plane with flapping wings was landing at the Zurich airport. They, of course, all rushed to the airport to see this machine, which never came. Let’s just say that Ruedi was told something similar but with the added twist that that plane also held Margrit and Lukas, who we were supposed to pick up at the airport later the same day. Ruedi, Hogan and MaryJo arrived at the airport ready to get them early, waiting in the arrivals lounge for them to show up. After a while, once the truth came out, we had to cut our losses and head to Zurich for a very nice lunch, complete with chocolate mousse, or shoggimousse as a consolation for our time lost (and paid for by the prank-puller).

A visit to Switzerland would not be complete without some time spent in the Alps, and after doing some research we chose to visit the small mountain village of Gimmelwald in the Bern Oberlands region. Gimmelwald, unlike many other places in Switzerland, has managed to avoid the impact of large ski resort development by classifying itself as a high risk zone for avalanches. Because of this, the town is small and still made up mostly of farmhouses, precariously situated on a very steep slope on the upper ledge of a glacial valley. The only way to get up there is by gondola, which rises rapidly from the valley floor on its suspended cables. The four of us moved into our homestay, and quickly took over the kitchen where we made full breakfasts and dinners, to the surprise of the other guests. Lukas, MaryJo and Hogan explored the hilly area right away and found that many of the farmhouses run “honesty shops” where you can pick up fresh eggs, milk, and a local kind of alpine cheese by leaving a few coins in the fridge where they were kept unattended.

Being in the mountains was a truly Swiss experience, and we spent most of our time in the outdoors. It was the end of their winter season, and we caught the tail end of sledding in the Alps. After taking the gondola one town further up the mountain and then riding up a steep funicular, we held tight to our borrowed wooden sleds and hoped to bomb down the manicured ski slopes. However, our sled ride was a little slower than imagined: The warm temperatures made the snow slushy and heavy, and our sleds dragged under our weight. We had fun anyway in the high country, and all went off-trail with our sleds, picking up speed where we could and taking shortcuts on untouched snow. MaryJo and Hogan laughed around the corners and narrowly avoided some slushy mishaps, but Margrit, who grew up in Switzerland, out sledded us all. We ended the day soaking wet.

The towns in Switzerland are all connected by wanderwegs, which are pedestrian-only routes that wind through residential areas, the countryside, and even make connections in the mountain towns. From Gimmelwald, we set off for a walk with the goal of reaching an unusual group of waterfalls that over time have cut their way inside a mountain. The walk was much longer than we realized, and after leaving Gimmelwald in the early morning we reached the falls around 2:30 p.m. Acting as the drain for three glaciers from the surrounding mountain peaks, the Trummelbachfalles are the only falls inside a mountain accessible to humans. The water moves at an astounding force of 20,000 liters per second. It is so concentrated that the waterfall has cut through the mountainside like a knife - so precisely that in many areas the rock above is only inches apart. Through determination and dynamite the Swiss added staircases, tunnels, and an underground funicular to the seven subterranean cascades in the early 1900s. The hot and sunny weather did not reach inside the mountains, and the cold glacial spray chilled us. It was an intense experience, and we were overpowered by the immense sound thundering against the rocks as we went further into the dark mountain.

That was certainly not the only day we found ourselves out all day walking, much of our time in Switzerland was spent hitting the wanderwegs. On a particularly Swiss-inspired day, after our visit to the mountains, the four of us packed our bags full of bratwurst, bread and mustard, and walked into the forested hills above the town we were staying in. We stopped at the top of the hill to cook bratwurst in a small fire pit with a grill suspended over it, using wood we gathered from the forest to light a fire. This is a very common activity in Switzerland, but seemed quaint and convenient to MaryJo who hadn’t seen anything like it before. After a delicious lunch, we trundled down the steep hillside through deep, slippery leaves exposed by the recent snowmelt. Margrit and Lukas sped down the hillside while Hogan and MaryJo took it slower, taking in the experience of walking through the Swiss-German forest.

For most of our time in Switzerland we were staying in Margrit’s hometown of Schaffhausen, a small city on the Rhine River near the German border, about half an hour from Zurich. It is a beautiful, hilly city, with a castle perched high overlooking the winding streets and a huge waterfall just 20 minutes outside the center of town. Margrit showed us around, memories from her life there flooding back at every corner. Hogan remembered the streets and buildings from visits as a child. We ran into many of Margrit’s friends as we strolled through town, stopping to have beers together or just chat; it’s that kind of place.

We also spent a good amount of time a few kilometers up the river in a place called Stein am Rhein, where two of Margrit’s siblings, Ruedi and Verena, currently live. Stein am Rhein is a  small medieval village, perfectly preserved down to the storybook frescos on the walls of the buildings in the main square. It attracts bus loads of tourists who stream through the city walls each morning. We got a personal tour of the town’s old monastery from Margrit’s sister Verena, who conveniently leads historical tours and had so much knowledge to share about the 15th century building and the original paintings decorating the walls within. Also in Stein am Rhein, we took in the view of the whole area while lunching with the family at the Fallenberg, an old half timber vineyard keeper’s house at the edge of the woods that overlooks the grapes and the town below. Ruedi has rented this building for nearly 30 years, and for Hogan it brought back childhood memories of staying there during his visits before. As a kid, the Fallenberg and Stein am Rhein seemed so unreal - just like a postcard - and the charm remained in our most recent visit.

We ended up traveling between the two places by as many different means as we could: car, train, bike, foot, and boat. Hogan, MaryJo, and Lukas borrowed bikes from another generous friend of Margrit’s and headed out to make the journey there and back one day. We biked through finely wooded forest, along the river, and through farms before reaching the old city walls of Stein am Rhein. It was comfortable and easy riding, and we were happy to be on nice bikes, weaving through the trees. MaryJo’s lime green folding commuter bike was a surprising stand-out for its smooth ride, despite us being in the countryside. Many other cyclists we saw, decked out in full gear, gave our odd trio funny looks as we raced over the rolling hills on mismatched bikes in our street clothes.

The last method used to travel between the two towns was by boat, an elaborate plan cooked up by Margrit’s eldest brother Peter, who is an avid rower. Understanding that Hogan used to row quite a bit, and Lukas had learned how recently, Peter transported his vintage wooden two person boat to Schaffhausen so the three of them could make the journey by water (two rowing at a time, while one steered). MaryJo and Margrit followed the wanderwegs for hours up the river, meeting the rowing crew for lunch and finally in Stein am Rhein. The route went against the current, and in some cases the walkers were definitely moving faster. However, the rowers persisted and arrived after about four hours and plenty of fresh blisters (hello, old friends). The river was beautiful and the rowing smooth - it was a special treat for Hogan and Lukas to row together for the first time, and the brothers fell into rhythm easily.

An unexpected bonus of traveling in Switzerland in early April was watching the arrival of spring. Coming from San Francisco where the two seasons are foggy or less foggy, it was unusual to experience, and we noticed it all around us. At first, after our arrival from India, we unpacked our jackets and scarves to bundle up. It was the tail end of a long winter, cold and blustery, and the trees were bare with frost on the ground in the cold mornings. After a few days of warm sun, the grass grew and hints of green buds appeared on the trees. People around us soaked in the outdoors at last, sitting outside at cafes and along the banks of the river. On our many long walks, we saw purple violets, daffodils and small white flowers poke through the ground in a triumphant return from the cold days before. By the end of our few weeks there, the weather was practically summary, and we were hot during the days as we hiked or biked around. Growing up in Wisconsin, a true four-season state, MaryJo was reminded of the feeling you get when you’ve finally made it through winter, and could see it play out in the people around her who were enjoying the arrival of the warm season. It was a stroke of luck for us to arrive right in time to watch spring unfurl.

At the risk of sounding obvious, everything in Switzerland is so Swiss. Our diets changed radically from Asia as we consumed cream, cheese, and butter in obscene quantities. At the end of each meal, chocolate appears - ending a meal without it is just wrong. The land is so well cared for and organized, and is a beautiful tapestry of farmland, forest, towns and villages. The trains slice through the landscape, arriving at each station precisely on time. At the larger stations all trains arrive around the half hour, so your connection is never longer than 10-15 minutes. Being tourists, we really enjoyed the accessibility of history in Switzerland. Castles, monasteries, and old city walls are integrated into the newer buildings tastefully. More often than not, they are free of charge and in immaculate condition - along with bathrooms and an old fountain to fill up your bottle. We relished the ability to pass in and out of these pieces of history easily, contrary to our experiences in other parts of the world.

We thoroughly enjoyed spending what seemed like a good, long time with Margrit and Lukas, and the extended family. It was a welcome chance to be with Margrit in her home country, speaking her own language and catching up with family and friends. We had our own translator in Lukas, and it was fun to see him effortlessly switch between English and Swiss-German. For MaryJo, it was special to meet Margrit’s family and feel even further connected and welcomed.

After 12 days together, Margrit and Lukas took off back to the Bay Area where we’d meet again in a few short weeks. But first, we spent a relaxing three days exploring the city of Lucerne on our own. It is a very picturesque place in the heart of Switzerland, with a big lake in the middle and mountain peaks surrounding it. Most notably during our time there, however, was the full day we spent at the spa, basking in the saunas, whirlpools and salt lounge. A much needed day of rest before moving on to meet Hogan’s mom and stepdad for a week in France.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Abu Dhabi, UAE

The trip from India to Switzerland covered a large part of the globe, and we wanted to take the opportunity to have a true long layover, free of our checked luggage, to explore another city. Luckily, there are many interesting places along the route which also serve as hubs for major airlines. We found good flights on Etihad, which is the other airline based out of the United Arab Emirates, besides the obvious. They are based in Abu Dhabi, the capital of the UAE, and that is where we were headed for the day.

The persian gulf is somewhere that had existed only in the outskirts of our imaginations, although Hogan had done some work in the area. Nonetheless, it was very exciting to be visiting a landscape and climate so foreign from what we know, and foreign still, from the places we had just been. Descending into Abu Dhabi we saw brilliant aquamarine blue water snaking through golden sand desert, lined in some areas by swaths of mangroves along the banks. It is unlike any desert in the United States, or anything we had seen before. We both took our sunglasses off to see the colors in real life, to make sure it wasn’t a product of the filters.

After we landed and managed to store most of our carry on luggage, including oddities from India and Nepal that caught the eye of the UAE airport security, we walked out of the airport into seriously oppressive heat towards the taxis. Contrary to most everywhere we had been before, and what we had seen, Abu Dhabi is a new city and we were going to see new things. First stop? The new Louvre, a piece of starchitecture set in the water along, you guessed it, a new island. (Starchitecture, for those who don’t know, is a flashy building designed by a famous Starchitect.)

After we got out of the cab and walked through the freshly manicured entryway, we realized that we were at a museum purporting to be a second Louvre, and wondered if we should go in or not. Somehow this hadn’t occurred to us yet since we had come with only the architecture in mind. We bought tickets and, in another moment of traveling surreality, found ourselves face to face with relics from the dawn of time: hand axes from the paleolithic era and one of the first representations of the human figure ever found, from the 7th century B.C, which confusingly enough had two heads. All this before we could hit up the cafe.

The architecture itself did not disappoint. The museum is made up of a dozen structures, connected by a maze of hallways, each making up the individual exhibits. There are outdoor areas connecting the various buildings, all of which is designed to feel as if you’re floating on the brilliant blue water that surrounds the outside. Floating over the whole compound is an enormous saucer-shaped roof made up of a triple-layered overlapping triangular aluminum lattice. This lets in rays of light that pierce down through the air and leave a dappled pattern on the floor, otherwise known as “god rays.” Because of the light filtering through the roof, the outdoor areas of the museum were awesome, and with the shade it offered and the wind gently blowing through, it was perfectly suited for the dry, hot climate. 

The inside of the museum was very confusing however, and we had a hard time trying to shortcut the predetermined route through the exhibits so we could get a coffee -- kind of like Ikea, once you’re on the path, you can’t deviate. Oddly enough, and serendipitous for our trip, the exhibits were themed around commonalities between cultures and made the point by displaying similar relics from separate ancient societies side by side. Having traveled through so many different places so recently, the comparisons felt right. Humans are generally alike, and that’s reflected in the things we leave behind. The photo below is of sarcophagus from two different cultures: ancient Egypt and Ancient Greece.

Our 14 hour layover would not be complete without a visit to the Grand Mosque, one of the most famous buildings in UAE. It was completed in 2007, and offered a juxtaposition against the centuries-old buildings we had visited in India just days before. It was more beautiful than we expected. Despite being new, the building is reminiscent of ancient palaces, but with modern details. The building is all white, with over eighty onion-shaped domes and a large central courtyard enclosed by hundreds of pillars designed as gold-topped palm trees. We both forgot momentarily about the heat and the crowds as we started to take in all that we were seeing around us. Similar to the Taj Mahal, another bright white spectacle, it was breathtaking.

A friend of ours, who had lived in Abu Dhabi, said the mosque was worth visiting “especially once you realize it is designed to be paradise.” We noticed the floral decorations and golden palm-topped colonnades immediately, but after a while it became obvious that what we were seeing was not only a paradise, but an architectural garden. Paradise is, of course, outside. The whole building is alive with plants, inside and out. Stone flowers climb the walls and create geometric mosaics as far as you can see. Oversized leaves creep underneath your feet, and mother of pearl vines wrap the columns inside the main hall.

The entire building is over the top. It cost half a billion dollars to build and includes stone, jewels, crystals, and ceramics from all over the world. One of the most amazing parts of the mosque is that it is home to the world’s largest rug. Hand-woven and in a single piece, it covers over 60,000 square feet and weighs 35 tons. It lays below three enormous and jeweled chandeliers in a massive room that holds up to 40,000 worshipers at a time. It was a welcome feeling under our feet after walking barefoot over the hard marble to get inside. 

When visiting the mosque, men and women have to wear appropriate attire and no shoes. For men, that means no shorts. Women have to be covered from head to toe, including hair, wrists and ankles. At the entrance, anyone that does not pass the dress code is given clothing to adhere. Easy for Hogan, he was wearing pants. Although MaryJo tried to wear the right things, she was handed a beige cloak and used her own purple scarf to wrap around her head. Thousands of people visit the mosque each day, and they had enough beige, blue, and black abayas to go around. For MaryJo, it was not unlike wearing a choir robe and very, very hot in the desert heat. While very much wanting to respect the place she was visiting, she couldn’t help but feel a twinge of indignation standing next to Hogan who was still dressed in his street clothes.

After we made our way out of the mosque, we hailed another cab and went to check out the hotel culture in Abu Dhabi. Hotels are the only establishments that can serve alcohol, which we were in need of before our redeye later that evening and a long day of immersive culture exposure. There are a lot to choose from, but we picked the Shangri-la for the simple reason that it overlooked the water and faced both the mosque and the sunset. Cocktails in hand, we toasted to a successful day and relaxed as the sun set over the desert. We both slept the whole flight to Zurich later that night.

[hoganandmaryjo]

India

We arrived in Delhi in the evening after a short flight from Kathmandu, excited to be in India, but apprehensive of the various horrors you hear about: stomach sickness, aggressive touting, extreme poverty. We chose our hotel based on the neighborhood, which was far from the touristy city center. The neighborhood, South Extension, is an older and more residential part of the city. We found the hotel in a maze of narrow streets filled with what we had learned to expect: cows, pedicabs, street vendors, mopeds, and more. We liked the neighborhood, felt comfortable walking around, and were happy with our choice to avoid the scene in central Delhi.

The next morning we left the neighborhood in a tuk tuk to see the sights and get used to the new country we were in. Our first stop was Humayun’s Tomb, an ancient complex in southern Delhi, which was a great introduction to our upcoming days in India. A quiet respite in the middle of the city, the architecture was monumental. We had to climb steep steps to get up to the main area where the tomb was located, and the platform overlooked expansive gardens with symmetrical, grid like stone channels extending out from the main building. Humayun’s Tomb is a precursor to the Taj Mahal, and many monuments after it, and we tried to remember the patterns and details we saw in the stone construction and layout. After the peace of Humayun's Tomb we traveled via tuk tuk to the center of the city to see the radial boulevards and India Gate, a monument to the Indian soldiers who served in World War I. After that quick stop we traveled to the Red Fort in the middle of Delhi’s old town. It was hectic and crowded getting in, and we were hot and tired at that point in the late afternoon. We spent a short amount of time there despite, again, the massive size of the complex. The Red Fort introduced us to an experience we would have throughout our time there: selfies with Indian tourists. We were approached by countless young Indian men wanting selfies with us to show to their friends and family. It’s a really odd experience, making you feel both like a celebrity and also like a circus attraction.

We left the following day for a whirlwind tour of the Golden Triangle. We would stop in three places before returning to Delhi: Agra (home of the Taj Mahal), Ranthambore National Park, and the “Pink City” of Jaipur. We hired a car and driver -- a new experience for us. It was a little like being on the outside looking in, rather than feeling like part of a place that we had while riding the buses in Nepal and Vietnam. In our car we passed every kind of transportation imaginable: camel, bus, train, homemade car, tractor, etc. We watched people and towns pass by from the comfort of the sedan. Although we were on a well traveled route, people still stared at us through the windows as we drove through crowded city centers, inching around vegetable stands and sugar cane juicers. We were never fully comfortable with being driven around, but the air conditioning was a lifesaver (it was about 100 degrees F every day). We read and listened to music between cities, stopping at roadside restaurants to have lunch.

First, we traveled to Agra to visit the Taj Mahal, the famous tomb completed in 1648. After checking in at our hotel and a quick rest we steeled ourselves for the crush of touters and guides who were waiting for tourists near the gate. We heard from many people, our driver included, that the Taj Mahal was the worst of it. Knowing this, the idea of going inside exhausted us. However, it was a welcome surprise when it turned out to be much easier and more relaxed than we expected.

The Taj Mahal is huge. Much bigger than we expected. It is an apparition in the distance that slowly forms into a real building as you walk through the red sandstone gates and into the expansive gardens. The all white marble building looks magical, compared to some of the other equally intricate tombs in the area which use a mix of white marble and red sandstone. As we walked towards the building we paused many times to look at the details of the stylized stone inlay calligraphy that surrounds the two story main entry, and the patterns of stonework that create fine textures on the oversized dome. How big must each stone be? The whole building sits on a raised platform, accessed by hidden stairways and with four large minarets on the corners. We guessed that from end to end, the platform must be as long as our block in San Francisco. (After looking it up later, we were wrong, but not by much.)

After snapping out of our initial shock, we walked towards the entry to the building relatively quickly in order to make it back outside for sunset. We walked up the hidden stairway to the platform, and using our pricey tourist ticket, skipped to the front of the long line that wrapped around the building. Pressed body to body, we held on to each other and shuffled in the doorway towards the central tomb. The interior may contain the same elegant beauty that the exterior does, but it is hard to appreciate with all the mayhem. People snapped photos and threw coins towards the elaborate grave markers of the queen and king, ignoring the shrill whistles blown by the security guards. After making our way around the octagonal route, we were happy to be back outside in the fresh air.

The white stone building really stands out at dusk; long shadows highlight the stonework and the five domes are illuminated with orange light which changes moment to moment as the sun goes down. We found a secluded corner in the garden and sat mesmerized for a long time. In the morning before we left for our next stop, we went to the roof of the hotel to get one more glimpse of it in the morning sun. We watched gangs of monkeys scamper across the rooftops of Agra in the foreground while the Taj Mahal presided in the backdrop in a heavy morning sky, thick with haze.

Back in the car it was a long drive to our next stop, Ranthambore park, home to a large Bengal tiger reserve. We added this stop to the traditional Golden Triangle because we wanted to have some nature mixed into what we had assumed would be a hectic few days in India. However, because of the Bengal tigers there’s no hiking in the park, so we booked a jeep safari for the following morning. In keeping with our nature theme, we checked in to our “hotel” for the next two nights: a big, white tent set among trees, which was nicer than many hotels we had stayed in on our trip so far. It had its own bathroom and shower, a huge king-size bed, air conditioning, and a foyer we could sit in to relax. We loved it, as well as the large lawn nearby where we could cool off in the evening hours.

The following morning, we woke up early for our safari. As we waited for the jeep to arrive, the hotel staff told us that a tiger had just been spotted 300 meters away from the hotel! Apparently, this happens often enough that they were not alarmed. We missed seeing that tiger, but were hopeful as we got into the jeep. The park was huge and we bounced around in our six-person open top jeep for about an hour before we actually entered the protected area. After getting into the park, we crisscrossed dirt paths and stopped by watering holes waiting for tigers to show up. There were plenty of antelope, peacocks, spotted deer, and some monkeys but no tigers. Tigers, like cats, can be hard to find when you’re looking for them. The landscape was beautiful though, and we actually both enjoyed the experience despite the drought of Bengals.

After the safari, we relaxed in our expansive tent before going back to the park in the afternoon to check out Ranthambore Fort, which gives the park its name and sits on top of a plateau overlooking the region. The fort had been continuously occupied from about year 1200 until the 1970s, changing hands in sieges and successions of kingdoms. We passed through four large stone gateways as we followed the path that wound up the cliff to the top. We avoided the packs of monkeys scampering around as we explore the plateau: a large complex with temples, reservoirs, ruins of palaces, and remnants of small streets and homes of the people who lived there. From the top we could look out over the park and see herds of animals grazing near the lakes and the sentry towers at the crests of the hills on the perimeter. It was the kind of place that just feels right - like the seat of power overlooking its land - and we could see why it had been in such demand for over 700 years. On the way down, we noticed many series of windows built into the defensive walls, each trained on a different point on the entry ramp that we had walked up hours earlier. It seemed unbelievable that anyone could attack the fort successfully.

Our next stop, Jaipur, was entirely different and just as surprising. We arrived in Jaipur on March 27th, Hogan’s birthday! MaryJo had found a special place to stay in the city for the occasion, an old palace in the heart of Jaipur that had been turned into a hotel. We pulled up to an expansive while building with blue trim and many courtyards that seemed to go on forever. After touring the garden, complete with tropical birds and peacocks, we climbed three flights of marble stairs around an enclosed courtyard to our room. The hotel, Diggi Palace, retains its charm and elegance without being sterile - the quirky choice of paintings on the wall and funny architectural leftovers from its original use give it a deep sense of place. As we caught up with the vibe around us (read: enjoying gin and tonics in the gardens) the hotel delivered a couple birthday surprises: chocolate cake on the house and flowers sent by Hogan’s mom. It was wonderful to be in an oasis in the middle of a busy city in India, celebrating over drinks and dinner while the peacocks strutted around the gardens.

Jaipur is called the Pink City because in 1853 the Maharaja painted all of the buildings pink, a color of hospitality, to welcome the Prince of Wales and Queen Victoria. The city center maintains the color scheme to this day, although honestly, we thought it looked orange. Jaipur has a rich history as the capital of the region, and many buildings remain intact centuries after they were built. Probably the most grand is the Amber (pronounced Amer) Fort, a massive palace and fortress complex overlooking all of Jaipur and the surrounding area. The most stunning attraction for most is a room completely tiled in different sizes and shapes of mirrors, making the whole thing sparkle in geometric patterns. We wandered away from the crowds through small wooden doorways and corridors leading further into the complex. We were interested in the hidden parts of the castle, like an old pulley system designed to carry and store water in the top floors of the palace or an underground cavern that stored monsoon rains for the summer months. After exploring the central part of the complex, we walked through a deserted underground tunnel system leading to a defensive fort on the top of an adjacent hill, and could see the stone walls snaking along the hillsides for miles in all directions.

Jaipur is also home to the Jantar Mantar, which is a fascinating combination of astrology, mathematics, and architecture. Built in a large courtyard in 1735, Jantar Mantar contains many structures built to measure, locate, and quantify astrological signs and planets. The purpose of each structure builds on the others. The simplest are sundials and stone objects designed to measure and quantify the location of the sun in the summer or winter sky. Larger structures use this knowledge to determine more complex things, such as the first location on the horizon of each astrological sign, or the projected vectors of the planets across the sky. The precision of these stone monuments is astounding, and a quick glance at the inscriptions in the curving marble will give you the local time to an accuracy of two seconds.

We were so worried about getting a stomach sickness in India that it caught us both by surprise that we had colds almost the whole time we were there. Luckily, that was the extent of it and we made it through our time there without any major illness. The places that we visited, although very much on the well worn tourist track, all surpassed our expectations with their beauty and vibrancy, each in a different way. We left India exhausted but happy we had carved out the time and made the effort to visit, even if it was short. Despite our exhaustion, we geared up for a few long days of travel on our way to Zurich, which included a 14 hour excursion in Abu Dhabi.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Nepal

After a long day of flying and a late night arrival to Kathmandu, we had just one full day to get ready for our 11 day trek around the Annapurna circuit in the Himalayas. Since we had just decided a few days prior in Hong Kong that we would be going, we were not necessarily prepared for a trek that would take us up and over Thorong La Pass, which tops out at 17,769 feet. Neither of us had even been to such a high elevation, and we knew it would not only be hard on our breathing, but also pretty cold up there. We chose to use a guide to help us with all the necessary permits, buses, lodging, and safety that we needed to get everything together very quickly. Our guide, Thakur Dharel, came to us as a recommendation from friends and was a big part of our trip in Nepal until the very end.

After meeting Thakur at breakfast less than 10 hours after we landed, we walked together into the heart of the touristy area in Kathmandu, Thamel, to finalize the trip and gear up. We heard from some people that Kathmandu is a noisy, dusty and hectic city like any other - one you stay in for as little time as possible. After our experiences in Vietnamese cities we were worried about incessant hawking, maniac scooter drivers, and general confusion. Kathmandu is dusty, yes, and there are some scooters and hawking but compared to other cities we had been through it was a breeze. The prayer flags and electrical wires that criss cross the narrow streets in Thamel give the impression of walking in a large hallway. Store owners throw water on the street to keep the dust down, and pedicabs circle slowly in the car free areas of the neighborhood (car free: another nice surprise). This was a good start to our journey, and a positive first impression of Nepal that would hold true.

We needed to get some gear: hats, gloves, scarves, headlamps, etc. Kathmandu is home base for many starting their treks, and a great place to pick up cheap knock-off gear. (The quality of the knock-offs is another story, with some of it falling apart after just 11 days on the trail.) We bought quickly with no time to spare, bartering halfheartedly with the various sellers. After trying and failing to cram our new gear into our day packs, we went out and bought cheap “North Face” backpacks to live out of for the week. Beyond getting gear, we spent the day getting to know our guide, Thakur. The rapid fire Facebook messages that Thakur had greeted us with days before had us worried about a level of energy we couldn’t match for 11 days, but in person that wasn’t the case, and we all got along quite well from the start. After a long day of running around we had some Nepalese dumplings, momos, for dinner and went to bed ready for our trip.

After arriving at the bus station (a large potholed lot), we started our journey on a cramped local bus, winding through the dusty Kathmandu Valley. There were a handful of other tourists on the bus, but locals got on and off for the 7-8 hour ride. In a similar setup to the local bus in Vietnam, the driver helmed the bus, responsible for keeping us from careening off the edge of the road and navigating expertly over large rocks or around cows, and a young guy in a pirate-like bandana collected the money and hollered out the open door to announce where the bus was going. We also stopped to pick up several large bags filled with cauliflower along the way, which were tied to the roof. It is always more interesting riding the local bus because it gives a sense of what the region is really like and how people, produce, and goods move from place to place.

The bus ride took us to Bhulbhule, a small village where we started our trek. We decided to stretch our legs a bit and walk 40 minutes to the next village, Ngadi, to spend the first night. Although you can camp, most hiking the Annapurna circuit choose to stay in what are locally called teahouses. They are actually small hotel/restaurants, typically run by families, and all competing for your business. With the amount of availability we encountered, it was hard to believe during high season they would all be full. One of the best parts about having our guide with us was that we did not have to inquire, haggle, or deal with finding accommodations while we trekked. We often got extra food or drinks because of Thakur. We stayed in a simple metal and linoleum on bare earth structure in Ngadi, organized around a central grass open area with flowering hedges. We had a great night talking with the other trekkers at the teahouse, weighing the pros and cons of this or that and comparing itineraries. Needless to say, we were very excited to be off the bus and in the open and warm (for the moment) mountain air.

If you start the Annapurna circuit where we did (many take private jeeps farther a couple days to start), it gives you a few days to ramp up to the mountains as you walk through increasingly steep and ruddy terrain. A few days of walking also helps the body get ready for the sudden shock of high altitude that comes later. We walked with Thakur on the rough dirt jeep path past little teahouses all advertising free wifi and cheap accommodation, and weather beaten Buddhist  monuments. We always slowed down to spin the prayer wheels. Thakur, although Hindi, encouraged it saying it is good to have extra luck. The mountains loomed in the distance, obscured by dark clouds in the afternoon, as we wound our way up the tightening river valley. We saw many waterfalls (joking to each other that we made the right choice in abandoning Cao Bang in Vietnam), and were occasionally passed by jeeps full of Nepalis hanging out the windows and standing in the truck bed singing at the top of their lungs as they bounced around the corners of the rock faces. As you may expect, we asked Thakur what on earth was going on. His answer: picnic, maybe. We are determined to have better picnics.

On the last day in this terrain, as we climbed towards another thundering waterfall, Thakur stopped and pointed upwards towards a large group of white-headed monkeys as they scrambled up a vertical rock face, pausing to see if they had evaded our obvious attack. Small stones fell down as the monkeys hands and feet absorbed the hillside and soon we had a hard time telling what was monkey and what was not.

At night or during lunch we ate dal bhat, which is ubiquitous in Nepal. Ordering dal bhat means you will not leave the table hungry - it is tradition with this dish to refill the guests’ plates until they are satisfied. Dal bhat is a plate of food that comes with rice, dal soup, vegetable curry, and usually sauteed greens at lower elevations, along with some pickled or preserved things. At the end of our long days, Thakur made sure that we paired our dal bhat with local rice wine, raksi, in order to keep us healthy and warm. Often comparing it to an extra blanket or an elevation cure-all (at the right amounts), Thakur shared raksi poured from old beer bottles with us as we compared the dal bhat we had for dinner to the one we had for lunch.

Along the way, we were shown such hospitality. Memorably, as the only guests for one evening and because Thakur has been going to this particular teahouse for years, we were invited into the kitchen of our teahouse in Danaque to keep warm and watch the action. Our Nepali hosts laughed as they poured raksi and rehydrated dry buffalo meat for snacks that was stored above the massive cast iron wood stove in the center of the kitchen. We watched as they rolled out the dough for veggie momos and our apple turnover dessert (there are lots of apples growing in this region), while making potato curry over the stove. The lights flickered with the poor electricity and the kitchen filled with smoke as the hot fire heated our food and ourselves. It was special to share a night with the family and watch everything being created from scratch, and to feel like we weren’t just guests, but friends invited inside.

After a certain day the mountains were suddenly much closer and enormous rock faces blanketed with snow loomed above our heads as we hiked. We started to hike shorter distances each day, although the elevation we climbed grew. Short days helped us get used to the thinning air, and each afternoon we found ourselves higher on the earth than we had ever been before. As the trees thinned out and were replaced by low shrubs, the river valleys faded away and clouds became our close neighbors as they spilled over the mountains.

We felt good as we climbed. Our bodies adapted to the new heights during the day, and we covered up to protect against the raw sun. During the afternoons we slept or tried in vain to get rid of the headaches that came with the territory. Thakur paid close attention to where our headaches were. As long as they stayed in the front of our heads it was ok, and we kept climbing. Despite this, our packs felt light as we wore more of our clothes, and we were in good spirits. At this elevation we had entered yak country, which meant we could buy yak cheese as on-trail snacks to replace the flattened Snickers bars we had been eating. The cheese changed from town to town but was a nice treat, especially once we started to spot the shaggy yaks on the side of the trail or wandering in groups on thin paths on the side of the mountains.

Since we had been feeling good, we climbed up one more dizzying set of threaded switchbacks to spend our final night before the pass at Thorong-la High Camp at 16,080 feet. High Camp is a cluster of low stone and wooden buildings set right on a ledge overlooking the upper end of a glacial fed river valley. Flocks of crows swooped below us as we reached the buildings. We dropped our bags and headed into the warmth and camaraderie of the High Camp mess hall, where double pane windows let in the strong mountain light and did a surprisingly good job of making a cozy atmosphere. Here we met a group of Swiss trekkers over lunch of garlic soup and dal bhat who remained our friends for the next few days. We discussed the impending snow storm, which had been brewing over the past few days in the air and in people’s imaginations and was supposed to begin sometime the next day, hopefully after we made the pass. Thakur assured us that snow without wind is alright, and he would know. Thakur had made this trek over 30 times.

We went to bed early as the temperature dropped, after many warnings that “people don’t sleep at High Camp,” to attempt to get some rest before our 3:50 a.m. alarm the next morning. It’s amazing how affected our breathing was, especially during the night. Hogan gasped for air in his sleep after drifting off, and MaryJo spent much of the night awake with a pounding headache. It was also very cold in the room, but we were almost too warm under our many blankets. It was a fitful and long night. By about midnight, light flurries had started to fall outside.

We woke up in the dark, donned headlamps, and quickly packed our bags. Leaving the room, we found High Camp blanketed in snow with more falling as we visited the iced-over bathrooms and walked over frozen puddles towards the mess hall. Everyone’s moods had changed with the weather, and trekkers paced circles as we all drank hot tea and downed porridge and eggs. Groups of people formed asking the same questions: Are you going? Is it safe? What do the guides say? We assured everyone we spoke to that yes, we are going for it, and yes, our guide agrees. Not wanting to lose sight of the group in the dark, everyone started to move from the mess hall en masse. We happened to be one of the first out of the door and suddenly found ourselves at the head of a long line of dark bodies queuing up at the trailhead.

It was here that our choice to have a guide was vindicated. Most attempting the pass did not have one. We said many times to ourselves that you don’t need to have a guide until you do. Walking out of the mess hall at 5:00 a.m. in the dark when it was snowing was definitely one of those times. We don’t think anyone else would have attempted the pass that morning if not for the few guides who led the way.

Thakur and another guide waited until everyone was lined up behind them before starting out. The snow was fresh, soft, and slippery under our feet as we began in a line along a tight ledge which disappeared below into darkness. Fortunately, those first few kilometers were the scariest. After slowly pressing through the headlamp-illuminated snow for about an hour, the sky began to brighten with dawn and the snowfall let up. We were able to see the mountains behind us and the trail markers climbing up in front of us. As the parting grey clouds caught in the surrounding peaks we pressed upwards, and now with better visibility friends found each other and were able to hike together. Thakur ran around in the snow with a big smile on his face as the weather passed and glimpses of clear sky began to appear on the horizon in front of us.

The sun rose and found us with a long way to go before reaching the top, so we kept going. The guides led us up the mountainside passing from marker to marker and we stopped frequently to rest and gulp cold air. We replaced our headlamps with sunglasses as the light reflected off the bright snow. All around us mountains emerged from the darkness, and at long last as the ground curved away from us we spotted the Thorong-la pass in the distance. Laughing and greeting everyone who made the final steps behind us, we felt joyful and relieved to reach the end of the long climb. We took pictures and rested in a small low tea house nestled in the snow. The interior was covered by flags of the nationalities who had made it to the top, and the person making the tea had come up with the group and somehow slipped ahead of us in the darkness to prepare the hot water (what a day job!). We had coconut cookies and tea and rubbed our heads which ached from the altitude, cold, lack of sleep, or all three together. Feeling strong and lucky, we had reached the top of our trek: 17,769 feet in elevation.

After the big climb, we had a bigger descent ahead of us, about 5,000 feet, most of which is done all at once. No time to delay at the top - it was very cold and more dark clouds started to form - we hit the trail, following Thakur. It is no wonder that people travel the circuit counterclockwise, going up the other way would be torture. We followed switchback after switchback down the side of the mountain, sliding over the fresh snow and steadying ourselves with our poles. Our lingering headaches came and went and we tried to stay focused on the trail in front of us and our footing. Finally, after hours, we came to our lunch spot, a very welcome plate of dal bhat and some chatting with the Swiss group.

After lunch we headed out into the expansive Mustang region, which is on the dry side of the mountain range. We walked through prickly bushes and low yak-herders huts and watched flocks of sheep being driven high up in the surrounding slopes. Happy to be full and getting warmer, we chatted on the trail and asked Thakur lots of questions about the area. After a few hours we reached Muktinath, the home of a significant temple shared by both the Hindu and Buddhist religion. Holy men dressed in orange greeted us and we walked past flowing water up to the 181 fountains which make this temple famous. Having been up for nearly 12 hours already, though, we didn’t take much in and enjoyed sitting on a bench facing people enjoying the temple, which we observed with monosyllabic remarks. We finally got to our nearby hotel and savored being in a warm room with a big blanket. After some invigorating cold showers and down time, we spent the evening reminiscing about the pass over beers with the Swiss and our guides.

Our walk wasn’t over, even though we may have been ready for it to be. We had one more day, traveling from Muktinath to Jomson, where we would take a tiny plane the following day. It had snowed again overnight, and we walked out of it as we dropped down into the valley even further. Our day was long. We were tired, sore, and it was really windy. Despite the dust and wind, the desert scenery was stunning with wide, snaking river valleys and contorted rock walls towering above. Dwarfed by the landscape, we moved slowly along the valley floor until we reached Jomson, where we enjoyed local apple brandy with Thakur on our final night in the mountains.

Our early morning flight took off from the very small Jomson airport. The plane fit about 16 people and took 20 minutes to reach Pokhara, flying low around the Annapurna mountain range that we had just hiked. Pokhara greeted us with sun, warm weather, green trees, and a whole day to relax by the beautiful lake in the middle of the city. We shopped, caught up on postcards, and had expensive canned Guinness in the one Irish pub for St. Patrick’s Day (we even got green bindis upon arrival - it was not your typical Irish pub). It was surreal to be there just days from the icy and desolate Thorong-la pass, but our bodies reminded us of what we had just done: stairs were tough and we required noodle soup and tea. We traveled to Kathmandu the next day on a tourist bus, quite different from the local one that we had taken at the start of this journey (not nearly as interesting). After a long day we reached Kathmandu and checked into a nice hotel with a sauna to finish our time in Nepal. Thakur helped us until the end, even with some last minute shipping of gifts back home as we tried in vain to get help at the Kathmandu Post Office (pro tip: don’t use the Kathmandu Post Office).

As our time in Kathmandu came to a close, we were looking forward to our next stop: India. Unfortunately, a visa mishap made us hold those plans for a few extra days. The silver lining, of course, was spending those couple days in Kathmandu catching up on things and resting which we both needed. Nepal proved to be an amazing and hospitable place and we both want to come back. We wish we had more time to spend exploring and trekking in this amazing landscape. It won’t be the last time we find ourselves in the Himalayas.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Hong Kong & Shenzhen

We arrived around noon after our Vietnamese journey at the expansive Hong Kong airport happy to be in an international city. People spoke countless languages around us as we boarded small trams, walked up and down stairs, and waited in rope lines before exiting immigration. Our first task in Hong Kong was to get MaryJo a Chinese visa for our side trip to visit Hogan’s project in Shenzhen, a short ferry ride from Hong Kong. After finding that the markup for a visa at the airport counter was more than double what we had expected, we had to rush into the city to visit the Chinese visa office before it closed at 4:00 p.m. and do it ourselves. Our long day was not over yet. Slightly woozy from hunger we ran around the terminal and picked up sandwiches, eating under the “no food” sign on the train from the airport to downtown.

One train transfer and 15 minutes of walking later, Hogan tripped over the doorway as we found the visa office, about 30 minutes before the final applications for the day would be accepted. MaryJo got started filling out the paperwork while Hogan made copies and printed various documents and photos that were required to complete the application. We were one of the last applications to be accepted that day, and not having enough cash to pay for it on the spot, we had to come back the next morning. Whatever, we were very happy to head to our Airbnb, finally arriving around 6:00 p.m. after leaving Hoi An on the train a solid two days before.

Hong Kong is beautiful and bustling; it sits on the water and goes up, up, up from there to Victoria Peak, which overlooks the whole city. In many ways it feels like San Francisco because it is dense, hilly, and on the water, with a spectacular food scene. The similarities stop there. Hong Kong is steeper, more tropical, and much larger than San Francisco, with high rises dotting every inch of the grid and winding streets that increase with the slopes. The sidewalks are made of stairs emerging from every corner, and are interlaced with small alleys reaching back into the buildings and large escalators built over the streets. Hong Kong is a city for the sure-footed. We walked up and down countless stairs as we traversed the city, riding the public escalators when we could for a break. Walking around in Hong Kong often takes you in and out of buildings and you will quickly find yourself two stories above on a pedestrian overpass looking down on a bustling street scene. The best way to navigate is to follow the crowd.

Even though we were only in Hong Kong about a week, we did a lot. Riding the peak tram up to Victoria Peak was a highlight. The peak tram was built in 1888, and takes passengers up to the top of the city on cables, at a nearly 45 degree angle. On the way up, it feels like you are riding a rollercoaster, slowing inching higher and higher, past residential towers and dense forest to the point where you’d drop off and the ride would start (fortunately, the tram doesn’t do the dropping part). Once at the top, we walked for about an hour around the historic Lugard road that circles the peak with amazing views of Hong Kong, Kowloon, and the surrounding islands. We were lucky to have a clear day and could see the whole city and Victoria Harbor below. Another day, we rushed to the waterfront at dusk to catch the daily city-wide light show, where all the buildings begin flashing their lights and lasers to music that is broadcast along the public promenade. With Hogan having been there for work many times, it felt familiar, and it was fun for MaryJo to go to all of his favorite spots and experience them together.

Much of our time out in the city was spent going to and from some of Hong Kong’s best known food. The dim sum in Hong Kong is excellent, and we especially liked the bbq pork buns at Dim Sum Square, which are sweet, salty and spicy all at the same time, in a delicate spongy bun lightly fried with a sugary finish. The egg tarts and pineapple buns (not pineapple-flavored, a sweet hamburger bun with a huge pad of butter in the center) are a classic, and we tried versions of them in various places and found our favorite at Hawaii Bakery in Wan Chai, which we paired with coffee tea (exactly what it sounds like). We went to Mak’s Noodle twice for the brisket noodle soup (third and fourth time for Hogan, keep it coming), which comes in a small bowl with some spring onions casually thrown on top. Wanting food that felt like home, we went to a Neapolitan pizzeria for wine and a margherita pie. A surprising favorite of MaryJo’s was the pork congee that we had for lunch before heading over to Shenzhen for the night. The congee was steaming and rich with shredded pork hiding at the bottom of the thick rice soup.

After a few days in Hong Kong, and once we had successfully received MaryJo’s Chinese visa after three visits to the visa office, we boarded a ferry to visit Shenzhen and see Hogan’s project, One Shenzhen Bay. Having visited this project a few times before, Hogan was very excited to see the progress that had been made since the last trip, and to share some built work with MaryJo. The project is very large, made up of three city blocks and eight towers that rise from the mixed use core, the largest of which is 80 stories high and easily visible as we arrived at the ferry port. We arrived late on Friday and saw some sights (and ate some noodles) in Shenzhen before getting up the next day to walk over to the project. It was a highlight of this trip to be able to visit it together. For MaryJo, seeing Hogan’s designs in physical form for the first time was thrilling. With the slower rate of construction in the U.S., it will be years before many of the projects he’s worked on there are completed, which made seeing this project in China so special. We walked through courtyards, rooftop gardens, streetscapes, spaces for children to play, all designed by Hogan and his colleagues. The design of the enormous plaza was led by Hogan, and it is clean and expansive while still offering intimate space to sit or shop. You could see all of the hard work that has gone into making the space look and feel right, and you could see Hogan’s hand in it all. Seeing Hogan standing in something he’d designed was perhaps the best view of the trip so far.

After this quick Chinese interlude we boarded the ferry back to Hong Kong to wrap up our time there with a few more nights before heading to our next destination of Nepal. There was plenty of planning and logistics to work out for our next journey and we sat in cafes or parks and poured over maps as we decided how long and how far to trek in the Himalayas. Gliding on the modern train towards the airport as we began another long travel day, we both felt that Hong Kong was a city one could truly live in.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Danang & Hoi An, Vietnam

After all kinds of different transportation, we arrived in Danang late at night. Vietnam’s fourth largest city, Danang is a solid beach vacation spot but doesn’t boast the same historical sites and draw for tourists as other more well-known cities. That didn’t matter, we were ready for the sun and warmth that greeted us the following morning. What a quick difference in our moods! We had just two days in Danang, and we planned to soak up every minute of its beach resort vibe.

Our Airbnb in Danang was just two blocks from the beaches and the owner let us use his bikes to ride along the beach front promenade. We adapted to our new beachy lifestyle without a beat. We spent a full day lying on the beach drinking from a young coconut, moseyed around the few bars and restaurants that were open during Tet, drank Saigon style coffee, and caught up on sleep.

Central Vietnam has its place both in recent and ancient history. A mountain range meets the coast just north of Danang, forming the natural divide between the North and South. The clean and peaceful beaches of Danang were once overrun by American troops. North of Danang, the city of Hue is home to the Imperial City, which is the historic capital of the short-lived Vietnamese Empire, and also the location of bloody battles during the Tet Offensive of the Vietnam War. Further south, the town of Hoi An was a trading outpost from the 15th to 19th century before the river silted over, which had the unexpected effect of preserving the character of the town as trade moved north.

We took a day trip by train north to visit the Imperial City in Hue. The train hugs the coastline along the mountain range between Danang and Hue, passing pristine beaches and waterfalls that cascade past the train windows from the peak. Train attendees walk the aisles selling surprisingly good food. On the return journey we tried a mysterious banana leaf package and found steaming gelatinous rice and pork inside. After arriving in Hue a few hours later we walked towards the Imperial City, placed in a strategic spot on the Perfume River. It is a huge complex. We read there were initial attempts to avoid it during the Vietnam War, but it was heavily damaged and many of the structures are lost. We walked around for hours in a maze of pathways and gardens, colonnades and beautifully restored buildings. We thought about what it might have been like to live there during the Vietnamese empire, and also what it might have been like to both protect and fight within the walls during the war. iThe heaviness of the place was palpable, and as we exited we passed a row of American planes and tanks: trophies from the war.

Later, we traveled south from Hue and continued through Danang to Hoi An. Our place in Hoi An was equidistant to the town and the beach, and we had read that bikes were common to rent. Arriving late at night, our host recommended we try the Red Dragon for dinner, which is an upscale restaurant serving amazing versions of Vietnamese food decidedly different than the kind you may find on the street. After a good meal and long sleep, we were looking forward to biking around and exploring the old town.

Compared to the wintery and sleepy experiences in the North, Hoi An was a shock. Denser and more touristy than the Old Quarter in Hanoi, we parked our bikes and walked around slow walking families and lines of old people half asleep riding in pedi-cabs. Hoi An is known for its tailoring and there were hundreds of shops advertising custom suits or shirts - so many so that we got turned off by the idea of picking something up and ended up leaving Hoi An with only a handful of knick knacks.  

If you look above the souvenir shops and custom tailors, the architecture in Hoi An is beautiful. It really is so well preserved that it reminded us of a fake Disney-esque town. It’s almost too well proportioned and aged in just the right way. The moss on the old tile roofs is even and the paint is peeling from the buildings just right. Even the years have pulled the buildings at just the right angle towards the ground to be that much more picturesque. Everything is painted a rich yellow and the sun beat down on us as we explored streets and alleys, some not wide enough for two people to pass. After a few hours of this we emerged tired and anxious to get back to relaxing, so we made for the beach to get some afternoon reading in. We headed back to town for dinner and some bia hoi, which had eluded us since we left Hanoi. Dinner was delicious but overpriced, and we learned from a bystander that the bia hoi brewery had shut down for Tet and there wasn’t any available for a couple days afterwards. Unsure that this is how beer works, disheartened by our overpriced food, and tired of people peddling goods at us, we avoided the old town for a couple days.

A few days of pure relaxation went a long way. We went for a long jog through the rice fields and lay on the beach for hours. We got massages and sat in a beautiful cafe at the edge of a road while we caught up on emails and planning. We gave in to the temptation and returned to the Red Dragon. With the reasoning that an expensive night out is the cheapest in Vietnam, we had the wine, the dessert, and generally enjoyed ourselves.

Feeling refreshed, we tackled the old town the following day to see museums, old houses, and temples. A single ticket gets you entry into five places, so we bounced around town eating mango cakes (confusingly filled with peanuts, not mango, but still good) and banh mis in between our history lessons. The Hoi An museum had exhibits on the ancient trade and archeological history of the area, the role of Hoi An during various periods of history, and more. We visited well-kept merchant houses built in a “joined” style so one facade was towards the water and one towards the street. Most of these homes are still maintained by the families and have old artifacts like dishes and furniture that have been handed down. We went in temples that had coiled incense hanging from the ceiling, apparently taking a whole month to burn.

The food in Hoi An did not disappoint. There are quite a few dishes that are specific to the Hoi An region, historically due to the water source there which many told us about. One of the dishes we loved the most was Cao Lau, a noodle-based dish with sliced pork, a little broth in the bottom of the dish, crunchy lard chips on top, along with fresh herbs and lettuce. The noodles are made using regional water and are much more substantial and toothy than the rice noodles in the north. Exactly how they are made is supposedly a local secret - at least we were unable to find out.

After what seemed like a long five days in Hoi An, we were ready to go. It was time to get to the next leg of our trip: a short stint in Hong Kong before flying to Nepal. Itching to do some overland travel, we booked a 16 hour overnight journey on Vietnam Rail from Danang to Hanoi where we would fly out the following day. The train ride was excellent, and exceeded our expectations. We had a cabin to ourselves with bunks, a little shared table and lamp, and all the views we wanted out the window as we barreled north. We were able to catch up on reading, emails, and downloaded episodes on Netflix. We even got a little sleep!

After a 4:00 a.m. wake up on the train and a short cab ride to the airport, we were on our way to Hong Kong.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Ba Be National Park & Cat Ba Island, Vietnam

After 10 days in the busy city we were feeling restless and decided to head north to see the countryside, and with any luck, catch a glimpse of the sun. Northern Vietnam is supposed to be beautiful, so we decided to brave the cold temperatures that blanketed the whole region to do some exploring. Over the next few days we realized why so many choose to travel Vietnam by motorcycle - it is much easier to see the country on your own schedule.

We took a tourist bus from Hanoi to Ba Be National Park, a lake and surrounding countryside about five hours north. The bus stopped here and there, for errands or to pick up people standing on the side of the road, or for tea and green bean cakes. We booked a homestay right on the lakeside, and after the bus ride and a small boat transfer we were dropped off in a sleepy village on a misty lake in the mountains. The scenery was gorgeous with jutting, sharp mountains draped with trees and vegetation surrounding the calm lake.

The vibe of Ba Be was “off-season” and a little eerie with so few tourists around. There were just four of us at the homestay that night even though the place could hold fifty or so. Besides us, there was one other tourist we met earlier on the bus, along with one Irish expat English teacher from Hanoi who had rented a motorcycle for the Tet holiday to explore the North. Karaoke blared from nearby houses as the staff tried to entertain themselves during the winter, which added a mediocre soundtrack to what otherwise would have been a pretty peaceful scene.

A surprising highlight of Ba Be was the caves. We made fast friends with the other two tourists - Roger and Graham - and explored two enormous caves in a group. One we reached almost by accident, after finding a path leading into the forest from a road in the village, and the other we reached by boat. Both were huge, with rivers flowing through them from deep in the earth. Huge, fat stalactites hung from the top, and we walked up and down the stairs that had been built into the walls while clapping and whistling to hear our echoes. We were practically alone - the benefit of going in off season. The distorted roofs of the caves were contrasted by the smooth water and underground beaches below, and in some parts, sounds of thousands of bats filtered down from the darkness. We walked underneath with some trepidation.

Ba Be is home to many ethnic minorities, who live in the mountains in small steep villages connected by a rough trail. From our homestay, we hiked a couple miles east to reach one and see people working, farming, and riding their mopeds on the steepest, rockiest paths imaginable. The hike was a welcome relief from the homestay and the cold, and we worked up a sweat climbing up to the village. We walked in a valley past buffalo and rice fields, water wheels turning in the river, kids on bikes and women wearing traditional, colorful clothing (in one case, a hooked machete attached to her back in a leather holster). From our point of view it was a window into another time, with the addition of mopeds. The views from the village were expansive. We stopped on the path for a snack of hot tea and cookies before turning back to reach the homestay before dark.

Did we mention how cold it was? Ba Be is a summer town, and the homestay is not built for warmth. Thin walls, outdoor hallways and common spaces kept us chilly and in layers. The grey misty mountains, while beautiful, made us dream of a fireplace or at least a warm cafe. (MaryJo enjoyed a hairdryer one night - truly a luxury!) 

Despite the cold, we conspired to make change with our fellow travelers and got excited about seeing more of the North. Graham was heading to Cao Bang on his rented bike - a gateway to an amazing waterfall on the border with China. We, along with Roger, arranged to take a bus to Cao Bang to see it for ourselves, weather be damned! At least that was the intention when we agreed to take a local bus that left at 5:30 a.m., traveling south for two hours before transferring to a bus heading in the correct direction: northeast.

A couple factors constrained our trip. First of all, it was Tet, or Vietnamese New Year. The largest holiday of the year, most people take two weeks off and head home to be with family and relax. The dispersal from greater Hanoi is apparently one of the largest annual human migrations in the world. Tet had been affecting our trip since we got to Vietnam, but was much more obvious in the more rural North and as it got closer to the 16th of February - the Lunar New Year, the day of the largest celebration. Shops were closed, bus routes were truncated and combined. The country was winding down, people were preparing traditional holiday food (we had some good candied tomatoes on the side of the road) and taking a break from their daily lives. The second constraint should have been obvious with a little planning. It’s hard to travel east when valleys run north-south. Maybe there would have been a bus running directly to Cao Bang during a normal time of the year, but it’s hard to guess. During Tet there certainly wasn’t. And when we boarded the mini-bus at 5:30 a.m., we learned that our two-hour diversion south was actually four hours, putting us only an hour outside Hanoi where we had started.

We slid into our seats on the bus in the dark, stacking our baggage in the row behind us. The bus already had a few other people on it, and was helmed by a driver and a woman in a yellow jacket and a pink beret who opened and closed the door and handled the money. The best way to describe this experience is by imagining the exact opposite of rural America. Instead of wide open spaces, endless roads, gigantic farms, and private transportation, this packed little bus wove a lifeline between houses, markets, people, farms, and villages. Both of us, but Hogan in particular, watched with astonishment the organic way in which the bus stopped for passengers and goods, and the wide variety of things that were loaded on and off of the bus. That, and the slide guitar-style Vietnamese pop music playing on the radio as the sun rose over the countryside, made this an unforgettable overland journey. By the time the bus dropped us at the depot four hours south of our starting point, we shared the vehicle with countless people and families getting on and off, packages, sacks of rice and grain, mail, vegetables, leaky coolers carrying who knows what, one man who was sick out the window, and a very large live pig in a bag that sounded like it knew what was coming.

During our four hour journey, we had a change of heart. We only had a short amount of time left in Vietnam, and didn’t want to spend it traveling up and down the valleys because of altered bus schedules during Tet. That, and we didn’t want to spend it being cold. We decided to go south to Cat Ba Island, just outside of the famous Halong Bay. It would surely be warmer there, and maybe a little livelier and sunny as well.

Almost no one on the bus spoke English, but with the help of the guy sitting behind us (not the puking man) and Google Translate, we were able to communicate that we wanted to go further South to Hanoi instead of North to Cao Bang. “Hanoi,” the woman with the beret smiled after she figured out what we wanted. The whole bus smiled and chattered - maybe poking fun at us, maybe not - after it was settled where we were going. We were, after all, now a tight-knit group of travelers having endured the bumps and pig squeals along the way.

Turns out, it is very easy to change your mind. Upon arrival at a bus station, we realized we could probably get straight to Halong Bay instead of going through Hanoi as we had just agreed to on the bus. One more negotiation via Google Translate and we were on our way to Cat Ba in a more direct route! Another six hour bus ride (a bigger, nicer bus), and we were dumped in a sleepy, touristy port neighborhood, ready to get to Cat Ba Island the next day on the public ferry. On the second bus we cancelled our homestays in the North and booked a new one on the South. Our new homestay was run by Mr. Lan, who welcomed us into the modern looking building with great enthusiasm. He invited us to dinner with him and the other guests - one American man living in Shanghai with his Brazilian wife, and a Hungarian man recovering from an accident on Mr. Lan’s motorcycle. Dinner was delicious - traditional holiday food - and plenty of homemade rice wine on the house. We stumbled up to our room hours later after long conversations with Mr. Lan and guests. Truly a surreal end to a long day.

At Mr. Lan’s advice, we picked up a simple breakfast at a bakery next door, one of the only places open, and pulled our bags the quarter mile to the ferry terminal where we would take the boat to Cat Ba Island. The Cat Ba ferry is a very large boat that can hold cars and motorbikes. While we ate our morning buns and drank ferry terminal coffee, more experienced travelers showed up on their mopeds or motorcycles, pulling in right next to the turnstiles past our cafe seating and waiting on their bikes to board. The ferry has a permanent ramp that displaces water when in motion, and slides up onto the concrete ramp when docking. It seems like it puts a lot of drag on the boat but then again, what’s the hurry?

It was still grey with poor visibility in Cat Ba, but as we approached Ha Long bay the immense limestone islands iconic to the region came into view. These were the same kinds of limestone mountains we saw in Ba Be, this time with a higher water level. The ferry wove through the vertical islands and we snapped photos and enjoyed the ride. At the terminus we shared a taxi across the island to the main town and checked into our hotel right on the main drag along the water, taking notice of the two story television screen across the street.

Cat Ba is a touristy place and there were many signs advertising “pizza” or “french fries.” The food wasn’t as good as Hanoi and the prices were higher (in Vietnam this means paying $4 for a meal vs $2), but we were outraged nonetheless and determined to avoid it. Enter the Doner Kebab, which we ate no less than five times during the four days we were there. This all purpose sandwich (made of fresh scrambled eggs, spit-roasted pork, and shredded carrots and onions topped with hot sauce, fish sauce, and mayonnaise) was being sold out of a couple different carts on the street along the main strip. We found the best one and stuck to it, paying $2 for two sandwiches.

Beyond the kebabs, we continued our pursuit of strong Vietnamese coffee. We found some nutty, hot, fresh coffee with condensed milk at a roadside restaurant. It was one of the best cups of coffee we had. So much so, we scooted back for seconds on our last day on the island.  

We spent the Lunar New Year on the island, and everyone was out celebrating. Plastic chairs were set up in front of the big TV screen and stage for dancers, drummers, and a variety show on TV to kick the night off. The evening revelry ended at midnight with a fireworks show - right outside our hotel window.

We enjoyed exploring the island and its surrounding waters, too. One day we rented a scooter - finally! - and Hogan drove us around the island to hike in the National Park. A steep hike up, we got more views of the landscape and a nice workout. We also took a boat tour to explore Lan Ha Bay, which has the same geography as Halong Bay without the same amount of boat traffic and tourists. We spent the day on a boat with 20-30 other people. First stop was Monkey Island, which is home to monkeys who have learned big boats of tourists with food come to the island every morning. The monkeys were aggressive (we were warned of bites), and we watched from afar while they fought amongst themselves and competed for food from the less cautious people. Next stop was kayaking through the limestone karsts, which we really enjoyed despite our skepticism at getting in kayaks initially (it was grey and we weren’t dressed for it). We raced the other kayakers and Hogan steered us through a low cave into an open, secluded bowl of water. Lots of trash and dirty water while we kayaked, but it was still enjoyable. Lastly, the boat took us to the floating village right outside of Cat Ba mainland, where fisherman live in floating houses with dogs barking at the captured live fish. On our own time, we visited Cannon Fort, a defensive compound from the American war where the rusty guns were manned by fake Vietnamese soldiers for effect, and we could walk through the reinforced trenches that faced the bay. Another peculiar reminder of our countries’ shared history.

The clouds broke one evening and we caught a glimpse of a sunset, reminding us why we had fled south in the first place. Cat Ba was certainly warmer than Ba Be, but was blanketed by the same grey gloom which seeped into every experience. The weather began affecting our moods: we were restless. It appeared that the entirety of Northern Vietnam was covered in clouds so dense that light was diffused to a glow even during the middle of the day. A few days in Cat Ba were all we needed to see the sights, and we decided to press on in search of better weather to finish our time in Vietnam. We quickly booked a series of buses, boats, and flights, and traveled back to Hanoi en route to Central Vietnam. A quick stop for beers and sweet potato fries, and we were on our way. 

[hoganandmaryjo]

Hanoi, Vietnam

After the quiet island life of Bunaken island, Hanoi was a shock to the senses. Our flight arrived during daylight, and we immediately witnessed the slow churn of movement that spreads through the city, completely taking over every street from building face to building face. A steady stream of scooters, motorcycles, cars, buses, and everything in between steadily weaves around pedestrians, street vendors, clothing racks, open air wet and dry markets, charcoal grills, and anything else you may want to buy, sell, carry, or discard. The traffic is made up mostly of scooters, honking and moving in masses through intersections. The horns and small engines make a tremendous amount of noise, and we wondered how the city must have been before the scooter replaced the bicycle. The streets are a maze to navigate, not only in direction but in making sure you’re walking on stable ground as well. Even if it’s stable, you have to make sure you’re not walking in the liquids tossed from restaurants, or worse, the liquids flowing off the butcher blocks from the wet markets. There is a reason that everyone takes their shoes off before entering buildings, even in many stores.

After walking to the back of a cafe, taking the elevator to the eighth floor, and walking up one more set of stairs, we left our shoes at the door of the small flat we rented for our 10 days in Hanoi. Inside, we wore the slippers that we took from a hotel in Singapore (which was key not only because of the dirty streets but also because it was cold!). Up high above the bustle of our neighborhood, we relaxed in bed or on the porch overlooking the green and red rooftops of the city. We missed having a kitchen in Indonesia, and it was a reassuring pleasure to buy eggs, bread, and vegetables in the market below to make breakfast or the occasional dinner at home. Hogan missed cooking, and MaryJo missed eating Hogan’s cooking. Cooking in the apartment was purely for fun though, since the food in Hanoi is cheap and delicious - roughly $2-4 per meal.

The apartment was a refuge. We could cook, do our own laundry, sit on the balcony, and just be. To be honest, after long days out in the city and nearing a month into our trip we spent some nights taking advantage of the Netflix account that came with the apartment. Sean Astin, why didn’t you keep running?

The food in Hanoi is amazing, and we ate our way through the neighborhoods. The best food we had was all found on the sidewalk, where we sat on comically small stools and hunched over plastic tables over our bowls or plates of food. Since there were no menus (that we could read anyway), they typically just brought their specialty or pointed at dishes on other people’s tables, and we would shake or usually nod our heads in reply. We ate spicy clams, beef pho with savory dipping doughnuts, pigs feet soup (amazing), bahn mi pates, cold beef noodle salad, barbequed pork, and more. A highlight was a place right next to our apartment serving banh cuon, which is a traditional breakfast dish. It’s prepared at first like a crepe, by spreading a thin layer of rice batter over a hot surface that is then filled with seasoned ground pork. This is rolled up and chopped into bite size segments and served with barbequed pork, fried shallots, sweet and savory dipping soup, herbs, and chilis. We had this for breakfast many times.

Rob, our host, explained to us that the Vietnamese drink a lot of beer, and he wasn’t wrong. Beer culture is all about bia hoi - fresh beer. Served in open air beer halls (more tiny plastic stools and tables), the beer flows all day until it is gone. It’s extremely light and drinkable, costing about 50 cents a glass. It is easy to have many in one sitting, and in fact, is expected. These beer halls are open all day and are usually busy. Men sit and drink beer, eat peanuts, smoke, and cheers one another (a lot) for hours at a time. (You don’t see Vietnamese women drinking.) We wound up a at quite a few of these halls, watching the traffic go by or talking over our past and future travel plans. The bia hoi is the same beer and price everywhere in Hanoi, and it was nice to know what we were getting when we walked in. One of the first nights in Hanoi we walked past Rob sitting with a group of Vietnamese men having a beer. As soon as we stopped to say hello, small stools and more beers appeared, and we sat down for what we thought was one drink - but turned into a night of clinking glasses, more rounds, and a crash course in speaking Vietnamese. At the end of the night one of the men quietly got up and went inside to pay the bill for all eight of us - and left without saying a word.

The weather in Hanoi was chilly. Ranging from 50-70 degrees F, it felt similar to the Bay Area, and we were comfortable in our light down jackets. We expected the cooler temperature, but what we did not expect was the lack of sun, which wore on us after awhile. It was hazy and overcast almost every day while we were there, making the chilly days seem colder. The sun came out one afternoon, and we spent that time enjoying the warmth with beers and spiced peanuts from our balcony. The chilly weather inspired us to take advantage of Hanoi’s outrageously cheap knockoff clothing market, so we stocked up on jackets for later in our trip (Nepal) and just for fun, too.

Cold and grey weather also helped us enjoy the coffee in Hanoi because it is rich and rejuvenating. Most coffee is served sweet or with condensed milk, which you stir into the coffee at the table. We enjoyed the egg coffees, combining coffee with egg custard on top - adding a little more than caffeine to keep you going. We stopped in many cafes around the city - a lot of them had pre-brewed coffee that would be put in the microwave to order - but the good ones serve coffee with a little metal filter still dripping at the table. Apparently some places will serve bitter-flavored black corn drink instead of real coffee. Maybe we had some of that too, but we didn’t notice. Other times, we found interesting cocktails to keep us busy.

Hanoi is the capital city of Vietnam, and we visited some cultural institutions while we were there, including Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum and complex and the Women’s Museum of Vietnam - two starkly different pictures of Vietnamese history. Ho Chi Minh’s mausoleum is an imposing six or eight story Soviet-inspired tomb, surrounded by Vietnamese soldiers marching in all white uniforms in huge parade grounds that dwarf the line of visitors being ushered into the building.  We were required to leave our bags with security before being directed to walk in a line (two across, hands by your side) through a predetermined route towards the structure where Ho Chi Minh’s body is preserved. Oddly, the route doesn’t follow the main axis or pattern of the whole complex, but instead sort of snakes around the side and approaches the main structure from a weird angle. As a landscape architect, Hogan was confused. After entering the building on a red carpet and walking up several flights of stairs, we were quickly escorted into the square-shaped room where the body is kept in the center, in a lighted glass case. Still in our somber two-by-two lines, guards ushered us along the outside of the room. We were whisked through, with no time to stop and get a really good look; we just crained our necks to peek at the body. It was surprising, especially since Ho Chi Minh’s presence carries so much weight in Vietnam, to move so quickly through the room. If you stopped at all, even a second, the guards motioned for you to keep going. Maybe they don’t want anyone to get a really good look at him. It has been decades since his death, after all.

The Women’s History Museum was four stories cataloging different aspects of women’s places in history and the ways in which women of varying ethnic groups live and work. Unlike other museums we visited in Vietnam, this one did a fairly good job of explaining the exhibits. The most striking floor was the one dedicated to women’s roles in war - specifically World War II and the Vietnam War (called the American War by the Vietnamese). There was an photographic exhibit that showed that, after 1976, the women who had lost family members were honored with a national award for their losses. Very impactful. Also on that floor were artifacts and descriptions showing the huge way in which women fought to defend Northern Vietnam and the Communist party during the war. We were interested to get an idea of how the war is portrayed from the Vietnamese standpoint - a perspective we certainly haven’t heard before.

We also visited the Temple of Literature, which houses the Imperial Academy of Vietnam. The temple was built in 1070, and the complex has expanded since then. In the third courtyard, there were rows of stone turtles carrying large plaques on their back, with the names of those successful at the royal exams carved into each one. These were erected in 1484 as a kind of encouragement for current students of the Academy. It’s good luck to rub the turtles heads, but now there is a fence around them preventing visitors from doing so - perhaps they were getting too shiny.

Overall, we felt like we had the luxury of time in Hanoi and could spend our days doing what we wanted. We were able to walk around the city leisurely and stumbled upon many places we wouldn’t have otherwise seen. We saw a huge Catholic church, built in 1886 by the French in the likeness of Notre Dame. One of the most magical things we stumbled into was a market for Tet/Chinese New Year. The street was lit up with red and gold, each vendor selling dog-themed items for the year of the dog, red envelopes used to give money on New Year’s Day, sparkling lanterns to hang in your house. It was beautiful and bustling, you could sense the excitement for the upcoming celebrations. There were some blocks where the sidewalk was filled with men getting haircuts, sitting in chairs in robes, facing mirrors that were hung on trees or telephone poles. Most streets had small fires in containers or loose on the ground - it seems like a lot of trash is burned. Hanoi was a great city to explore. With the number of side streets, small shops, street vendors, and the complication of the language barrier, we just began to scratch the surface.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Bunaken Island, Sulawesi

Bunaken National Park is a protected collection of five islands and the waters that surround them off the northern tip of Sulawesi, Indonesia - well known for rich diving and snorkeling. Bunaken island is the main island, just a short boat ride from the port city of Manado on the mainland. Bunaken is only about three square miles with three small villages on it and there are no roads. Small paths made of grey brick offered smooth ways for villagers to get from point A to point B, mainly by scooter. (To us, the island would be a perfect place for a bike. Why were there no bikes?) Even with the occasional scooter passing you, the island was calm and slow, especially in the tropical heat (80-90 degrees F every day). A welcome change of pace.

We had left Southern Indonesia looking for better beaches and drier weather. Our cross country gamble paid off in Bunaken - this was the vacation we were looking for. Getting there from Manado was part of the fun, too. We stayed one night in Manado, since the public boat only left once a day, after our flight landed. Taking the public ferry was the best option, why pay four times the price for a private boat? To our skeptical surprise, the hotel staff told us that the boat captain would come by the hotel to see if there were any passengers. At around 12:00 pm he was there, chain smoking cigarettes in the back room for about an hour before getting up to escort us personally across the city towards the docks, carefully wheeling MaryJo’s bag through the streets, which seemed a lot like the back way to get to the ferry. Somehow, this wasn’t a scam.

The public ferry is a large wooden boat, filled with people, their children, their groceries, bananas hanging from the roof, and maybe 50 water cooler sized jugs of water in the middle. We put our bags on the side and sat down for the hour long journey. The public ferry is captained by a man who cannot see where he is going - he relied only on cues from a deckhand standing on the front, and the occasional shout from veteran passengers to steer the boat out of the harbor, across the channel, and to the island. Despite all this, the steady rocking of the boat combined with the heavy gasoline fumes put MaryJo - and most everyone else on the boat - right to sleep, while Hogan tried to read his book.

After the captain expertly backed the boat to the beach, we walked on a plank onto the sand with our bags and strolled through the tiny village towards our homestay on the east side of the island. The paths on Bunaken island are beautiful - the prevailing color scheme is rainbow - and all the bamboo picket fences are painted to match. The village has a mosque and a bright peach-colored Christian church, which included stained glass windows showing Jesus captaining a boat over tropical fish and coral reefs. We walked under mango trees, coconut palms, and past roosters and piglets until we found our turn in the jungle and dropped our bags in the small hut just steps away from open beach and mangrove forest.   

The homestay was simple - a group of small cabins and a main building for meals. While we were there, people came and went, and we enjoyed getting to know everyone. The cabins were rustic in way that required us to lay low and spend our days snorkeling and reading. The electricity worked, but usually only at night.

There was no shortage of sun, beach, fish, and more fish. We snorkeled everyday and saw more kinds of fish than we could imagine and dozens of sea turtles. Giant puffer fish would swim and hide from us as we swam towards the reef from our beach. We sat on the beach and watched as translucent crabs decided that the tide was in fact going out, before digging themselves little holes to spend the night in the beach. Our hosts made fresh fish every day for lunch, and sometimes again for dinner. Time was moving slowly.

It was nice to learn about all kinds of travels from the others staying in our homestay - some only doing overland travel, a couple on month 10 of traveling in Asia, an older guy who went out birding everyday but never saw much. There was a “bar” at the edge of the village that overlooked the main pier where everyone on the island gathered, including many staying at the same place as us. The guy that ran the place, Ope (Oh-pay), has a kind face and is the type of person who was a little involved with everything on the island. Ope told us that if we didn’t like the scooters that were for rent down the street, we could rent his. Ope had a good boat and would take us to see the best snorkeling spots. Ope had an extra mask you could borrow for snorkeling. That one broke? Ope borrowed another one from his friend for you to try. Need a ride to the airport - Ope has you covered (sorta). We found ourselves there often in the afternoons and evenings to enjoy Cokes or Bintangs, including to try and catch a glimpse of the super blood blue moon (unfortunately it was cloudy).

A week had passed, and we did more snorkeling that we had ever expected when we set out on this trip. We both devoured our books. We slept. We went for walks, and even a jog (which got some looks from the guys fishing at the pier - it was probably 90 degrees, we probably looked crazy). We talked to other travelers. It was peaceful, restorative, and exactly what we were looking for.

Leaving the island turned out to be even more fun than getting there, since we asked Ope for his help. Our plan didn’t make sense, Ope said, and he had a suggestion involving his uncle and a friend with a car that would work better and save us money. This new plan was a straight shot to the airport, without going through the port city we departed from. Another traveler needed to go the airport on the same day, so we hauled our bags down to the bar, and proceeded to load them on a boat which just barely fit three bags and three people. The boat was comically small. MaryJo held onto the bags stacked in the front of the boat as we bounced across the water towards what ended up being a rocky undeveloped part of the coast. Because of low tide, we carried our bags over our heads as we waded through the final stretch of water towards a dirt road that appeared out of the jungle. We said goodbye to the boat captain and thanked him for avoiding the big waves as we found our driver who took us on the second leg of our trip to the airport, this one much more conventional.  

[hoganandmaryjo]

Labuan Bajo, Flores

We walked across the tarmac to our small prop plane that would take us to Labuan Bajo, a fishing village and gateway to Komodo National Park, and were surprised to find that we were two of maybe 13 people on the flight. As we flew over tiny islands, puffy clouds, and endless ocean it felt like our adventure was really beginning.

We met some friends in the airport before we took off: Leon and Isabelle, from the Netherlands.  After our flight we agreed to meet up later in the day for dinner and drinks, where we shared the research MaryJo had done into the options for tours of Komodo National Park. Luckily, they were interested, and after some follow up discussion the next day at lunch we signed up last minute for a three day trip leaving the next day! Komodo National Park is made up of a few islands about four hours by wooden boat from Labuan Bajo, and the tours stopped here and there for snorkeling or diving. This tour stood out from the others by having a ‘home base’ on an island roughly in the middle, where they had some thatched huts and a kitchen set up for us to stay. We parted after lunch excited to get on the water and see the dragons.

Labuan Bajo is a small town on a hillside with a nice natural port protected by some small islands off the coast. The harbor is full of two story wooden boats, which are all probably very busy during the high season (luckily for us, most stayed moored the whole time we were there), along with large and small fishing vessels. A huge Pelni ferry, which connects islands all across Indonesia, stopped for half a day while we were in town and unloaded cars, people, and cargo into the port before slowly maneuvering back out to sea.

On the north side of town is where the fresh fish is sold daily - and clearly where the best dinner would be found. We walked up and down looking for the freshest catch and bargaining with the fisherman. To be fair, it all looked pretty equal, and we chose our stand because of the attitude of the fisherman. Jeffrey, our fisherman and chef, showed us the red gills and clear eyes of the two red groupers we picked out before filleting them whole and putting them directly over an open fire. After about five minutes he pulled them off and brushed them with clear and dark liquids (soy sauce and oil?) before returning them to the fire for a few more minutes. It was crispy and delicious. It wasn’t the last time we would eat Jeffrey’s fish.

The next morning we were picked up in a tricked out mini-bus, lifting our bags on the roof and ducking our heads to sit on benches facing each other in the back. The rest of our tour-mates were there, including our new friends, and we drove a few minutes to the pier where our boat was waiting. The boat was about 50 feet long by 20 feet wide at most, with the cabins on the main deck in the center. At the bow was a table with long benches, and at the stern was the kitchen, where the crew spent most of their time. There was a railing around the bottom deck and lines strung up to dry your clothes. The upper deck, accessible by a ladder in the bow, was painted blue and outfitted with four lounge chairs and some strangely formal furniture, the kind you might expect to be in the waiting area for a Chinese restaurant. Nothing was bolted down.  Behind that was the helm, enclosed with a bed in it, and finally behind that at the stern was the diving and snorkeling equipment. There was a little dinghy tied up behind the boat that we towed around and used to get to and from islands or around snorkeling sites during the trip, although whether or not that thing is seaworthy is still up for debate.

Our three days were spent getting in and out of the water to snorkel, looking out at the blues of the Flores Sea, walking among the dangerous and ancient Komodo dragons, and putting on sunscreen. There were six other people on the tour besides us and three guides: Arthur, Paul and Rio. The six other tourists consisted of our new Dutch friends, a young marine biologist from Denmark, an Icelandic woman traveling the world for her fiftieth birthday, and two British women on a short holiday. It was a good group, and we played the role of the Americans well. It was nice and comfortable to be among other tourists doing things that were unabashedly touristy.

Our guides were excellent. In Indonesia, safety isn’t always the primary concern, but we never felt unsafe on the boat or in the water snorkeling, even when currents were strong. (The dinghy was another story, but it did its job and kept afloat.)

The snorkeling was almost better than seeing the Komodo dragons, which was a surprise to us. We saw sea turtles, reef sharks, countless colorful fish, beautiful forests of coral, and enormous manta rays. It felt like you were swimming inside of a fish tank. Yellow, blue, green, pink, orange purple - all colors of fish surrounded you. The water was clear. Unfortunately, although we were in a National Park, there is trash everywhere in Indonesia, especially the water. There isn’t a good way to dispose of trash, especially plastic, and it ends up in the water. We saw so many flip flops and Crocs, plastic bottles and yogurt containers. One of the British women even saw a stuffed crocodile floating along.

Komodo dragons live on five islands in the region, apparently remnants of a time when Indonesia was connected by land to Australia. We visited two of those islands on this trip. The dragons are extremely dangerous - if you’re attacked and bitten by one and don’t get medical treatment quick enough, you die. The bacteria in their mouths is actually what kills you, not necessarily the bite itself. On the two islands we visited - Komodo island and Rinca island - we were required to have rangers for protection. One to lead the pack and one to bring up the rear. They carry long sticks with two prongs at the end. Supposedly these are used if a dragon gets too close, although after seeing the dragons compared to the sticks, we were skeptical.

We visited both islands around lunch time, which meant the Komodos were fairly lethargic in the hot sun and thank god for that, since they look like killers. Their skin is thick and prehistoric, and they sway their head and tails back and forth when they walk while constantly sticking their forked tongues out to smell (up to five miles away!). Up close, their feet look like old models from a godzilla movie. Overall, they were amazing to see and especially surprising to see giant lizards like this in the wild. As we walked through an open plain off Rinca island, a Komodo dragon approached a water buffalo that was being harassed by a pack of wild long-tail monkeys - what a weird scene.

We spent two nights on this trip, one on the boat anchored out of the current on the south side of a small island surrounded by mangroves, and one on another island where they had build some small thatched huts and a kitchen. We reached the island by taking the small dinghy in, racing the surf as we tried to shield our bags from getting wet. On the island we were greeted by a very enthusiastic puppy which spent its time digging in the beach for crabs. Each time we stood back on solid ground, the swaying of the boat stayed with us for a couple hours. The last day on the boat (had it only been three?) we all felt at home and comfortable with the group and the crew. It was a great experience. We stopped in Labuan Bajo for one night - going to Jeffrey’s fish stand for dinner - before jumping back on a plane to continue our island hopping.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Ubud, Bali

From Singapore we arrived in Ubud, Bali. A short plane ride followed by about an hour in a car, which wove in and out of the lane, around motor bikes, other drivers, dogs, parked trucks, etc., etc. It’s initially shocking (especially after Singapore) to see the busy streets of Bali. After spending a week there, we got used to the hectic nature of the streets. It’s orderly in its own way. Luckily the streets in Bali are very small and crossing them was never an issue. On the way to Ubud we passed mile after mile of half built structures, small shops selling cokes and bags of seaweed flavored chips, scooter repair shops, and jungle.

The homestay we had for the week was total paradise (thanks to Marlena for the recommendation!). Run by a very kind, generous Balinese woman named Putu, the room was big, clean and had a spectacular porch that looked out onto a jungle of green trees and ferns. We spent a lot of time on that porch, especially when it rained. It’s common in Indonesia to have breakfast included in your stay and Putu makes everything herself; she’s an excellent cook. We grew fond of jaffles in the morning, which are pieces of toasted and pressed bread with eggs, cheese, tomato or whatever else you want in the middle. Kind of like a Pop Tart crossed with a Hot Pocket. It’s also a very funny word to say. Jaffle.

Bali is centered around the Hindi religion. The temples are hard to describe. They are carefully maintained, but at the same time the caretakers allow moss grows on all the stones. There are many, everywhere, and all slightly different. There is no line between daily life and temple and the bluriness extends to the patterns of development. Sometimes it’s hard to tell where a temple ends and other buildings begin, or what is a temple and what isn’t. There are temples for family, for community, and for state. All the statues and some important trees wear robes, to “keep them happy” and out of respect, as one guide explained to us. It’s a stark difference to churches in the U.S., which seem somewhat sterile or untouchable by comparison.

In addition to the temples and statues wearing robes, people put out offerings every day, sometimes more than once a day. Typically right away in the morning, they put them out in front of their store, home or on the dashboard of their car or scooter. The sidewalks are lined with them. The offerings are to whichever god they want to help from that day. Store owners put out their offering to the god of money for good business. Drivers put one on their dashboards to the god of the street. (There is even a god of junctions, which was depicted in a large statute at - where else - a junction.) The offerings are small but beautiful. Made from woven palm leaves into little square or star-shaped boxes, they are filled with pink and orange flowers, incense, and often some food - fruit or little crackers. They are beautiful and make the streets look joyful and full of color and smokey scent.

It rains a lot in Bali during this time of year, and it rained quite a bit while we were there. It rains so much that water is everywhere - directed in and out of rice terraces and small culverts, through pipes, next to stairs, underneath roads, down drains and into open storm sewers. Many of the sidewalks are simply lids over open concrete storm sewers that run along the streets. If you don’t watch your feet you’ll step into one of the large openings between the concrete or tile covers. Despite all this attention to directing water, when it rained we waded through water up to our shins in some places along the sidewalks. Shoes were pointless. We did buy umbrellas, though, and were happy to have them.

Most of our time in Ubud was spent relaxing, but we did summit the volcano one morning.  Mount Batur (not to be confused with Mount Agung, which is actually erupting right now), is about one hour away from Ubud by car. In order to give ourselves enough time to get to the base and hike up to the summit in time for the sunrise we set our alarms for 2:30 in the morning.  The drive up was dark and in the night the dogs of Bali turn the streets into their playground.  Luckily, they respond well to horns and we sped along as they trotted out of the way. As we drove higher and the vegetation thinned out, heavy fog took its place with spatters of rain on the windshield, a foreboding sign since it was not even 4:00 a.m. yet. Mount Batur is a mountain within a mountain, located in a large caldera with a lake next to it. Once we arrived at 4:30 or so we met our guide, a small chainsmoking local with holes in his shoes, which he explained to us later, were gifts from some of his previous trekkers. We are fast hikers and declined many of his offers for rest or water as we clambered over rocks and gravel in the dark. Reaching the summit an hour early we were not surprised to find more fog - and more dogs - but were happy for a large cup of coffee and bananna sandwiches as we waited in the dark for the sunrise as other trekkers came up to the top. The guides hung out and smoked cigarrettes, and we tried to imagine their lives during the busy season where this is a daily job.

By the time the sun rose at 6:15, we had long finished our sandwiches and coffee and pocketed the candy bars provided for a snack later. We could only see fog though, so the guide took us to look closer at the steaming center of the volcano. We took a path leading downwards and realized the fog on this side of the slope was hot and not fog at all, but steam coming from the ground. We learned that when you blow the heat from a cigarrette towards one of these vents, it creates a huge engulfing cloud of steam which is a bit like a sauna. “Magic!” the guide told us with a smile.

We decended along the rim of the upper caldera, which was steep and rocky. Both red and black lava flows lined the path, and the guide told us more about the different years the volcano had erupted. Apparently, different years yeild different lava - either red or black. The last time the volcano erupted was 2000. 

On either side of us was fog - one side was the steep dropoff of the volcano’s outer edge, and the other side was the steep dropoff into the center of the volcano. We paid close attention to where we put our feet and were both happy to have proper hiking boots. Many of the other tourists we saw were not wearing hiking boots or even running shoes - it would be a tough climb down for them. Our guide told us about one group of people from Singapore who were so unable to climb down that they asked him to carry them! He carried a group of about 14 people, one at a time, on his back down the mountain. Crazy.  As we reached the other side of the mountain the fog began to break apart and we caught beautiful shrouded views of the lake and countryside below.  If you looked hard enough you could see the previous lava flows snaking through the fields.

Back on terra firma, Ubud is famous for its Monkey Forest, a small area in the middle of town where Longtail Monkeys live. For some reason, which we couldn’t figure out, the monkeys stay there and don’t really venture out. They are so used to tourists coming in and feeding them bananas and corn that they are not afraid of people at all. They are also extremely smart and can open your backpack or take stuff from your hand or pockets. You are warned upon entry to secure your belongings and if you have food, they will find it. We stuffed our phones, jewelry, wallets into Hogan’s rolltop velcro backpack and went in. Some people wanted the monkeys to climb on them, so they held out bananas and took pictures with a monkey on their heads. We were not interested in this and walked wide paths around the monkeys that were sitting along the walkways. However, something shiny must have caught a monkey’s eye because while we were stopped, leaning on a wooden railing, one jumped onto Hogan’s back! You aren’t supposed to yell or do anything jarring if this happens, so MaryJo acted calm while watching the monkey find Hogan’s felt tip pen and pencil that were in the outside pocket. He then leapt off and is presumably writing away somewhere in the forest. We had to walk through the monkey forest again after stopping at the store, so we hustled through with a backpack full of bananas without incident. Go figure.

Ubud is a touristy town and we were confused why anyone would want pizza, which is what many restaurants were offering. We found a favorite restaurant and went three times. Warung Biah Biah serves traditional Balinese food and nice tall Bintangs and there was enough to try something different every time. While we ate facing the street, various scooters dropped by with deliveries: fresh basil, vegetables, and banana leaves.

While we were in Ubud we kept an eye out for rings. Our brand new wedding rings, including MaryJo’s family diamonds, are safe at home during this trip, and we had been hoping to find “travel wedding rings” for the journey. We found the first one in a small shop off a side street in Ubud. This ring slipped right onto Hogan’s finger and we bought it for roughly the price of a burrito (no avocado) back home. MaryJo’s ring we found in a shop on the way back from a waterfall hike, again the ring slipped right on and complemented the pattern of the first. It was more expensive, at roughly the cost of two burritos with avocado. We’re very happy with our travel rings!

On the way off the island to our next stop, Labuan Bajo, we stopped at a health clinic in Denpasar to get the second of three rabies vaccinations that we should have gotten well in advance of this trip. It was pouring rain in crowded and hectic Denpasar, and the health clinic at first glance didn’t inspire a lot of confidence, but we made it out alright and were happy to be dropped off at the airport where we had coffee and noodles while waiting to board the ninety minute flight to the island of Flores.

[hoganandmaryjo]

Singapore

After years of discussion, months of planning, weeks of packing, and hours (and hours) of flying we finally were on our journey in Singapore! Arriving to the airport felt strangely familiar, as any airport is. We stumbled off our flight and after easily passing through customs and grabbing our bags sat down for a breakfast of coffee (Kopi in Singapore), soft boiled eggs, and coconut jelly toast (kaya toast). The coffee was thick and strong, made by pouring hot water filled with grounds through a fabric filter directly into our cup. We realized why most people seem to add lots of cream and sugar - it was intense and bitter. We grew to like it, to every local’s disbelief that we didn’t want to add sugar.

Singapore is a very organized, orderly city. After easily finding and buying tickets for public transit, we walked the final 15 minutes to our small hotel in the Tiong Bahru neighborhood. It was raining lightly and would continue for the next three days.

Singapore is billed as the Garden City for good reason - located right on the equator, the city is very lush without being overgrown. One of the first things we noticed were the beautiful Rain Trees that line the streets, often their branches are pockmarked by large birds nest ferns, which give everyday life the hint of being in a jungle. The Rain Trees were elegant and tropical, with broad open branches that reached over the wide streets.

We did lots of sightseeing - by subway, bus, foot and cable car. Despite being a large city, the traffic never seemed as nightmarish as it is back home. Streets are designed to keep cars and buses flowing, often at the expense of pedestrians, and it was nearly impossible in some places to cross the street! We learned to choose our subway exits carefully and always take the pedestrian overpasses.

One of our favorite sights was the southern ridges - nine kilometers of paths and sky-high boardwalks that connect a string of parks along a line of hills southwest of the city center. Well worth the price of a cable car ticket up. Singapore is a vertical city, and we visited the world’s highest microbrewery, had cocktails on the 58th floor of the Marina Bay Sands (google it) and visited the supertrees at Gardens by the Bay.

A Singaporean told us that locals love “queueing up,” and not to miss out we waited 30 minutes for chicken from the world’s only food stall to earn a Michelin star. We also loved the $1 pork buns sold just down the street from our hotel and kept them in our backpacks for a quick snack as we toured around the city. (We were devastated when the shop was closed on Monday before we left for the airport.) We had laksa, a local spicy chicken and shrimp coconut soup. The fried soy sauce chicken from the appropriately-named restaurant Chicken and Beer was MaryJo’s favorite. Paired with a cold Tiger, of course.

Singapore was a surprising and comfortable start to our trip, easing us into the culture and climate of Southeast Asia. After a few days we rolled our bags back onto the train for the next leg of our trip: Bali.

Editor’s Note from MaryJo:

One of the first things I noticed when we arrived was how clean not only the city is, but how clean people’s shoes are. Everyone’s shoes were immaculate despite the rain. My shoes, on the other hand, were muddy within the first day. How do they do it?

[hoganandmaryjo]

Leaving San Francisco

Leaving our jobs on December 15 for our trip starting on January 10 seemed like plenty of time to prepare, but we quickly realized it was going to be much more work than we expected. Since we had decided to move to New York after our trip, we planned to move out of our apartment on January 1. For two weeks, we got up every day to tackle another room or another set of drawers where we had stashed things for the past five years. It was tedious. Packing for four months away was hard enough, but we also needed to move out of our apartment at the same time for our eventual cross-country move. Every day was a decision about what to keep and what to donate or give away. We packed boxes, ready to make the journey across the country when we return from our travels abroad. We turned our apartment into piles of stuff: stuff to move, stuff to pack for traveling, winter stuff for a quick trip to Wisconsin, stuff to sell, stuff to donate, stuff to discard. Slowly, we cataloged and organized every corner of our lives.

Finally, the time came to start moving our boxes out. Light traffic was the silver lining of moving over the holidays, and we made many trips back and forth to our small storage unit in Berkeley using Hogan’s trusty car and a borrowed pick up truck. Friends and family pitched in, and we repaid them with good wine and promises of burritos. Things were going well.

In the midst of this it was Christmas, and we had a few days of respite with Hogan’s family in Berkeley. We focused on seeing friends and family in the Bay Area before taking a short trip to Wisconsin to visit MaryJo’s family. The biting cold greeted us as soon as we walked off the plane, and Hogan realized he had packed his winter coat already (though MaryJo’s family was prepared for this). Some quiet time was restorative, especially for MaryJo who caught the flu as we ran through Chicago O’Hare to catch our connection.

We came back to San Francisco just in time for our final party in the backyard. Friends came to wish us well over tamales, tacos and wine -- for one last celebration at the Hive. We bounced around the party and enjoyed time with everyone who came. To close out the night, we took the party to a San Francisco classic - The Tonga Room, a tiki bar complete with floating stage and indoor thunderstorms - for drinks and dancing.

We had three more days before our flight out of the country, and spent that time in Berkeley focused on the final touches of packing our bags that would come with us on our trip. Barack the cat kept us company, especially interested in the many bags we brought with us. One last final push and we locked our storage unit for the last time. Now we began living out of our bags for real.

On January 10 we took the train to the airport and began the tour with a 17 hour non-stop flight to Singapore.