lorenasha

[lorenasha]

NZed to The Great Wall

Close to 40 countries and God knows how many blog entries later it finally happened, my New Zealand notes were mysteriously deleted from my email drafts. Taking notes along the way is the only way I’ve been able to paint anything close to the picture that is a trip around the world. Rather than force you through some b.s. version of what I think I remember, I’ll mention the highlights of what I know I’ll never forget. Ah, NZed… Queenstown to be exact (and a little bit of Auckland too). In my opinion, the most beautiful place on earth. The air is so clean I literally choked as I stepped out of the airport. Is it that this air is so clean or that L.A.’s air is so dirty? Who knows, but I’ll take it. I haven’t smelled air this clean since the Swiss Alps! Ah, the Swiss Alps. I smile just thinking about that beautiful place.

As the inventor of extreme sports, I told myself that if I made it to New Zealand (the proverbial end of the earth) I would “no holds bar” do everything I could get my hands on. Luging, check. Skydiving, check. Zorbing, well let’s just say the track was closed due to a very unfortunate incident. Big fat goose egg and I’m ok with that. Not sure which Kiwi decided locking yourself in a plastic ball and plummeting downhill was and good idea, but it seems a track or barricade of some kind is in order, or at the very least no nearby cliffs of any kind.  Bunjee jumping, ummm, everything in me questioned if I should do this one. If not due to my severe neck injury from a head on collision when I was 16, then perhaps due to the fact that a cadaver Achilles tendon now makes up my left ACL. Just as I grew the cahonas to agree to take the plunge, AJ Hacket’s medical team decided I wasn’t clear to jump due to the fact my neck still goes out at least once a year. Probably a blessing in disguise and happy I told them. They said there is absolutely a ‘snapping effect’ that happens at the bottom. Definitely a blessing, although admittedly I was upset at the time. 

I wish I could recall more, perhaps a tidbit or two here and there. Being in New Zealand is like being inside one massive Bob Ross painting, or at least how I’d imagine it to be. Happy Trees is an understatement. We should all be so lucky to die and come back as a tree in New Zealand. They’ve clearly taken care of their land and cherish it’s natural beauty and resources in a way that again, I haven’t seen since Switzerland. I imagine this is what America looked like before…well before the white man came and fucked it all up. I mean yay democracy, but I think we could’ve done a much better job of protecting the land and it’s people. After travelling from deserts to wetlands and from rice patties to major metros, one thing I can say for sure is that not every land is lucky enough to be blessed with the vast natural resources of America. Sorry, my Central American and South American friends would say I’m no longer allowed to refer to America as America…they are Americans too. Ok, so the United States of America to be exact and I guess that makes me a United Statesean?

I’d be remiss not to mention their quarentine process. Toughest I saw anywhere and honestly I’m still not sure if I followed all of the rules. Does dried fruit count and how thoroughly should I have washed my shoes? What exactly qualifies as back country or farmland and to be honest, I have no idea what I’ve been exposed to during this trip. It was the only country where the quarantine process (and line!) was completely seperate from customs and immigration.  God knows they make you aware of the financial penalties, but incarceration with friendly Kiwis and epic views doesn't exactly strike me as a threat. Trying a Fergburger is must, assuming you’re prepared to wait in the line, and best save room for dessert because their bakery next door has the best hot cocoa in the world. I wish there was more, but even if my draft hadn't been deleted, quite honestly at this point I was tired, sick, and ready to make my way home.

New Zealand is a place I will definitely come back to, preferably when  I have more time. Boy did I underestimate the size of this country. I’d like to spend more time on the North island and get the local experience courtesy of my dear friends Emma and Ish. Met those two love birds in Guatemala and was seriously so dissapointed we were unable to meet up. Speaking of love, it was around this time I began to question my rushing through the end of this trip. Well I guess I had always questioned the decision, but this was the first time I was really doubting it. Xavier’s behavior had become suspicious, at best, and I suddenly found  myself questioning if I just sacrificed the 4th leg of this journey for the wrong man. People say go with your gut. Those same people say you won’t call it quits until you’re good and ready. Well I guess I wasn’t ready. I mean we had made it this far, or had we? If I could just make it to New York, I had hope our love would survive.

Pit stop, China. Beijing to be exact, well The Great Wall to be even more exact. There was no way I was spending over a year of my life and six figures on a trip that didn’t include the last and final World Wonder. A wonder it was and far more vast than can ever be described with words. The English language really is limiting, not that I would actually know how vast any other language is… (see earlier references regarding to my ineptitude with language). The coolest part of The Wall, other than the obvious, was luging back down. While I had gone luging in Queenstown, this was different. It was legit. Like something straight out of Cool Runnings. Such a rush and despite the little Chinese men yelling at me to slow down, I did not. Given I hadn’t died yet (and I can recall multiple times I was sure I had reached my end) I highly doubted I was going to die on this mountain. Hill? What qualifies a mountain as a mountain vs a hill? Anyway, seeing for myself how effective a wall like this can be, now makes me wonder if Donald Trump (sorry President Trump as he has since been elected) is really that crazy for suggesting an effective wall can be built between the U.S. and Mexico. Not stating my position on the wall or his election, but just saying, wouldn’t be the first time a massive wall was seen as a solution.

I thought I could bang this out with one more entry, but looks like China, to NYC, and back to Mexico (promised to finish this journey where it started) will need to follow in one finale of an entry. I will say I’ve been home now for almost 1 year. I took my business back and couldn’t be happier with the direction it’s heading. I’ve managed to maintain my chi, or this new level I’m vibrating on, and while everything around me is basically the same, I’m different, which makes everything around me different. I keep waiting for it to wear off, to fallback, or for me to lose sight of everything I’ve learned. My conclusion,  the lessons that come with a trip around the world are lessons that cannot be unlearned, forgotten, or destroyed.  Priorities realigned, my purpose redefined, and most importantly my core, my self, who I am when this material world fades, is in tact and improved in such a way that I can only hope and pray my light is brighter and my impact on this world is now greater.

[lorenasha]

G'day Mate - Southern Australia

It was bound to happen at some point, but on my way to Australia…geeze. I thought Australia was like our brother from another mother. Who would’ve thought Americans needed a visa?! Obviously not me. Their response, “well we need a visa to get into your country”. Touche’ mate, touche’. Thank God the airline had emergency visa filing services, although probably most beneficial when the Internet is working. Ahhh Bali, I’m going to miss being off the grid, but as of right now I need to get back on it ASAP. With maybe 10 minutes to spare, we were able to get my visa filed and what would’ve been free, now cost me $35 AUD. More of a blow to my ego than my pocketbook. At this moment I also realized that I made it this far without missing even one train, plane, bus, or boat. I assumed I’d miss at least a few along the way, but guess not. I guess I’m just that good…or that lucky, haha.

The truth is if I hadn’t already booked the remainder of my trip, I would’ve been just as happy to stay in Bali, well Ubud. The other truth is that I was tired and becoming careless. What started as a detailed process to insure safety when moving country to country, had now become half baked attempts at possibly changing locations. I had become not just tired and careless, but cocky too. I made it through what I considered to be the most dangerous parts of this trip and if I managed that, then Australia, New Zealand, China, not to mention America…those would be easy, right? But you see that’s just it, that’s exactly when it happens. When you let your guard down close to home or assume you’ve mastered a skill or trade. That’s when, “¡BAM!”, you get hit by that proverbial bus. 

Still walking despite getting hit by God only knows how many buses in my life, I was lucky enough to rekindle with former travel buddies once again. I mentioned Matt and Gabby in Thailand. We met while on an epic day trip - a day trip off roading while strapped to the roof of a jeep. It was gnarly, I mean proceed at your own risk for sure. No way a business like this would ever fly in the states. Plus we had the added bonus of getting the crazy drunken Thai man as our driver. Luckily managing the adrenaline from ducking branches to avoid decapitation was enough to take my mind off his ability or inability to drive the car. Cruising The Great Ocean Road with Matt and Gabby was fun too…and a lot less risky. 

This coast was breathtaking and actually reminded me a lot of Pacific Coast Highway North of Malibu heading up to Solvang.  We ended up stopping for lunch in Lorne, a small cliffside town that was devistated this past Christmas by a huge forest fire. Yet again another similarity between their coast and ours. Water, water everywhere, yet these damn fires keep lighting up our coasts. It was incredible to see what I imagined were once epically beautiful beach front homes, now nothing more than charred skeletons seemingly on the brink of total collapse. The odd part was that I found what was left of these 100 year old trees to be so beautiful. It was almost like the burns and bruises on their trunks and branches were no different than the scars and wrinkles we collect on our bodies as human beings. Yet here we both were, still standing.  

That night I wandered through downtown Melbourne for their annual White Night event. Not sure if ya’ll are familiar with projection mapping, but it’s basically bending and manipulating light, then projecting your creation onto…buildings, walls, trees, you name it. It’s like the drive in movie theater meets cutting edge art, then explodes onto any surface you can imagine. I’ve seen this artform show up in many ways, but to see an entire city transform was mind blowing. Heading towards the park and the instalation that was deemed the finale, I got to chatting with a local family. Within only a few blocks they decided I was crazy for walking around Melbourne by myself this late at night, let alone having gone all the way around the world solo. Luckily, people referring to me as crazy or dubbing this past year of my life as insane has lost all dramatic effect.

Now off to Sydney and who knew Australia was so big?!  Casually I strolled having budgeted more than enough time to warrant a stress free travel day, but wait, why isn’t my reservation number working…wrong airport. Whaaaat?!?! That was yet another first. Thank you Australia, for humbling me and forcing me to recognize that I am not that good. Luckily this happened so often that the airline actually offered an airport ticket transfer fee. Few! Although, does this technically count as missing a plane, train, bus, or boat? I’m going with, no. I mean I technically made it to my destination, on time, using the same ticket. Yeah, I’m ok with calling this my mulligan. Everyone tells me I shouldn’t be so hard on myself, well here you go. See, I do listen;)

Walking along Sydney Harbor it hit me, I was back in a 1st world country. Despite the vast differences between AUS and USA, this place feels like America but with accents. All the luxury and access that, after 7 months in 2nd and 3rd world countries, I forgot to miss. It felt the same way in western Europe after having made it through Central America. Funny how after experiencing so many 2nd, 3rd, and 4th world countries,  two 1st world countries that at one time seemed so different, now end up seeming so similar. One thing that felt very different, however, was my ability to relate to people. My regular coffee spot had a guy from Greece and another from Italy. I felt so cool being able to say hello, please, thank you, and good bye in their native tongues. It’s like hand delivering them a little package from their homeland and they just couldn’t get enough.  Parakaló & Prego!

At this point I was tired. The kind of tired I imagine parents and medical residents speak of. Sleeping no more than 3 to 4 hours per night, my body was clearly telling me it was over jumping time zones and continents. It wanted to go home and sleep on it’s own TempurPedic matress. I never imagined I’d be sitting in Sydney, Australia thinking about my matress back in Los Angeles, California. Yet again reality checks imagination/expectation. Flash forward and I’ve actually been back stateside now for four months. I find myself looking back wondering if I gave it my all or if I could’ve soaked it all in a little harder. Sitting in Hyde Park and sipping my espresso while staring at St. Mary’s Cathedral, however, I can assure you finding even one more drop to soak up would’ve been like squeezing blood from a stone. 

Still off to the Sydney Opera House I went. Getting all dolled up was fun, but the opera itself put me to sleep. Literally. My REM cycle was broken by bright lights at intermission and the older man next to me reassuring me it was a tougher one to sit through. Bored as hell, but in awe of the architecture that is this opera house, I convinced these two security guards to let me onto the sky deck to watch the rest of the Rob Thomas concert down below. An unforgettable way to see a concert for sure! I had to be at the Chinese Embassy early the next morning, so I promised my new friends just one night cap, then off to bed. Only problem, at 10:30pm on a weeknight this city is already asleep. Seriously, not one bar restaurant, or anything of the sort. Crazy that such a large city doesn’t cater more to a late night cocktail scene.

Now, for my final and biggest mistake this past year - forgetting to file my Chinese visa. Not only was this a $300 oversight in filing fees alone, but I had only one passport page left, where their government required two. #ProTip, the last page of your passport has small print that says you cannot use this page. Ok, so I have zero pages left in my passport. Gawd, how did I let this happen?! My flight to China was only 3 days away. The clerk suggested I pay the highest fee possible for a rush and he’d see what strings he could pull. A load of crap or not, the next day my passport magically showed up with that last page removed and two more pages put in, one of which included my Visa!!! Thank you travel gods, guardian angels, universe, or perhaps I should just thank the Chinese government, as I am now clear to enter/exit china as often as I’d like for the next 15 years:)

With this visa issue put to rest, I was determined to spend my last 48 hours in Sydney having fun. Luckily I met Sara at the Opera House a few nights prior. She offered to take my photo and suggested a few angles to really hit the harbour just right. Because of her I now stop and offer to take photos for tourists I meet in L.A. That little bit of kindest from a local goes a long way when you’re a tourist. I hopped on the subway and headed North towards the infamous Bondi Beach. By the way, Sydney has double decker underground subway cars. First I’ve seen and quite a sight. Arriving in Bondi Beach with Sara and I can see why it’s so renowned. It’s like a small little cove with a perfectly curved beach, plenty of restaurants, and beautiful people with beautiful accents running around everywhere. G'day mate indeed and a great trip down under.

[lorenasha]

Balance in Bali

Before leaving Vietnam the debate was on - Indonesia or the Philippines? I’m not sure why and can offer no solid explanation, but I went with Indonesia. So happy I did, although the Philippines is still on my list for sure. Interesting choice given I had just read an article claiming Bali isn’t what it seems or what is used to be. That it’s dirty, polluted, covered in tourists, and not the paradise most seek or expect upon arrival. I must assume those people hung out in Kuta Beach. I mean if Hard Rock Cafe, American malls, and everything from Starbucks to KFC is your idea of a good time overseas, you’d probably love it. I for one think that for those types of kicks you may as well stay home and save yourself the airfare. 

Stuck here for three days due to some Hindu religious holiday, I decided to make the best of it. I went to the beach, bought lame souvenirs, went to the Kuta theater, and partied with a bunch of 20 year olds. Not horrible, but no where near the authentic experience I desired either. I couldn’t wait to get out of the city and head to Ubud. Thank God I did too. My hotel was in the middle of a rice field on a family compound. For everyone that cracked jokes about me going all “Eat, Pray, Love” this past year, well turns out there’s something to that. That something happened in Ubud. Everything and I mean everything from the past 10 months, shoot make that the past 33 years, melted away. I finally found peace, balance, and serenity. As much as a movie is a movie and real life is real life, the magic of what Julia Roberts’ character found in Ubud was coming in loud and clear for me. I can only imagine what this place was like before the movie.

Case in point, Ketut. So we all remember the little Indonesian man Ketut and his prophecy for the soul seeking Liz Gilbert. Turns out Ketut is a real person. Well, there are actually hundreds of Ketuts in Bali. As I was taught by a local rice field worker on one of my many hikes, in Balinese culture the first born is named Wayan, the second Madé, the third Nyoman, and the fourth Ketut. The Indonesian people are famous for being dialed in spiritually, so I knew I wanted a reading while I was here. To my surprise, however, I was told not to go to Ketut. I was told that after the movie was released, he came down with a case of “blue eyes”. This is what Indonesians call greed. Who would’ve thought a Hollywood complex could reach all the way to Ubud, let alone affect a man like Ketut.

Heeding the advice of the locals, I opted for another healer whose wife also offered traditional Balinese cooking classes. The universe really does steer you in the direction you’re meant to go. The cooking class was incredible and my reading was beyond accurate. Whether you believe in this kind of stuff or not, there is always some nugget of value to be taken from meetings such as these. In this case my nugget included a deeper awareness of how I show up for others. Typically strong willed, a sharp tongue, and very little patience. I knew this about myself already, but hearing it from someone I had known for 5 minutes and spoken less than 5 words to, well that was really something. A grain of salt for sure, but that really good sea salt you’re willing to pay way over market for:)

Hiking the Rice Walk was pretty  incredible too. I stopped to talk to locals, take in the breathtaking views, and revel in the beauty of the local art. In a tiny village compound I met this New Yorker who had been living in Ubud for about a year or so. He showed me samples of the local art, which all-in cost him around $10 USD per piece including materials and labor. He went on to explain how he was selling them in NYC for close to $200 per piece. Now those are margins I could see myself moving around the world for. What a life! Travel the world, find unique art, then sell it back home for a 2000% mark up…yes please. Only downside, he was living in a bungalow with outdoor plumbing. Hmm…do I really have to think this one through? There’s always a catch. In Indonesia, only native born Indonesians can own land. I guess the rest of us end up renting bungalows with outdoor plumbing, haha.

Foreign business laws aside, living here and spending time with these people, well everything became so simple. So clear. So easy. These people were some of the nicest people I had met anywhere around the world. They had their priorities straight and for the first time allowed me to see so clearly the one thing all human beings have in common. While I’d been noticing this commonality for some time now, I wasn’t able to articulate it until Ubud. Deep down all that any human being really hopes for and desires in this life is to be loved and accepted. Whether you’re rich or poor, American or Indonesian, black or white, read and write in English or barely know how to read and write at all, the one motivation we all have (primal instincts of survival aside) is to be loved and accepted. Yet again, so simple.

While clarity and simplicity were seemingly taking over my life, there was just one area that clearly wasn’t serving me. This new romance had taken a turn for the worse and I couldn’t even tell you exactly what happened. While I’m sure it isn’t easy to sit at home waiting for your girlfriend  to return from an epic trip around the world, I would think it should still be easier than this. Now I’ve never claimed to be an expert at relationships, but I believe your significant other should enrich your life, make a good day better, encourage you, and offer never ending love and support. And if you’re not getting that, in fact, if what you’re getting is the exact opposite of that, when is enough enough? When do you finally say “this is bull shit” and pull the damn plug?! I would figure that answer out later, but for now I continued to let this situation cast shadows on what were easily some of the best days of my life.

How could they not be? Organic, raw, vegan restaurants everywhere. Yoga, meditation, and never ending hikes through beautiful rice terraces. When the goal of life is simplified to nurturing your mind, body, and soul, I am certain there isn’t much more anyone could ask for. Ubud has it all.  At this point I decided to cut Australia and NZ short and spend one full month in Ubud. To be honest I contemplated skipping the remaining countries all together and staying in Ubud until tax season rolled around, but somewhere between my power smoothie and pilates reality sunk in. I could not yet claim to have circumnavigated the globe or to have seen all 7 Wonders of the World. Two very serious goals I created before I left. At this point I couldn’t count the sacrifices I had made the previous 10 months, with nothing in mind but achieving these two goals. Leaving Ubud was probably the toughest departure I had since Peru, but just as I promised myself when I left L.A. that it wasn’t going anywhere, neither is Ubud. Thank God for that.

[lorenasha]

My Time in Nam (not like that)

Arriving in Hochiminh, or Saigon as I was later told it should be called unless you’re a communist, was more difficult than any airport I’ve ever been in. Not on account of their level of security, but simply based on the number of people. Little did I know Chinese New Year was just around the corner, hence the inability to walk more than a few steps at a time, let alone drag a suitcase behind you. There were also more boxes than luggage in baggage claim. What the heck were these guys importing and from where? I have to believe whatever it was would be resold for profit. I mean why else would anyone go through so much trouble - in some cases 10 or 15 boxes per person. Shoot, I’d probably be unkowingly buying that crap at a premium in no time, haha. Chúc mừng năm mới!

My plan in Vietnam was not to have one. After two months with travel companions, I was now adjusting back to traveling alone. Funny how that works. While I love the freedom that comes with solo travel, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel lonely. Perhaps even moreso now that the man I loved was literally on the other side of the world. I can’t remember the last time I spent every minute with someone for almost 2 months straight. Regardless I wasn’t worried. If there’s one thing I know for sure, I’ve become quite adaptable. While human beings by nature don’t like change, I now find myself craving change over monotonous repetition. It’ll be interesting to see how I do adjusting back to “normal” life. Having a job, going home to the same place every night, walking the same streets every day. Oh, and not living out of a backpack. Yay!

Still walking the streets of Saigon for now, I met Tri, a bartender at Liberty Citypoint Hotel (far too rich for my backpackers budget, but great for cocktails:). Tri’s father fought on the American side during the Vietnam War. After the Americans pulled out and Hochiminh City was established, fear forced his father to burn all paperwork proving his allegiance to the American side. Tri expressed that although he knew it was necessary at the time, it would now be impossible for him or his family to visit the U.S. Is this true? I know America is easily the hardest country to enter, even on a legitimate tourist visa, but do Vietnamese soldiers and their families really have to prove which side of the war they were on in order to enter?! I know time heals all wounds, but how much time?

Tri and I went on to discuss the new Saigon. He said that “down here in South Vietnam, we love Americans. We strive to be just like you guys as much as possible”. He said in North Vietnam, specifically Hanoi and outlying areas, the view of Americans is much different. They still hate us, blame us, and reject us and our lifestyle in any way possible. He went on to warn that when I visit the War Remnants Museum (formerly known as the American War Crimes Museum), be aware that there is a lot of propaganda and false information. The museum was created by the North, with the intention of making America’s role in the war look as horrific as possible. I’m told The World Bank considers Vietnam the 2nd most corrupt country in the world, 2nd only to India. If this is true, it’s no wonder a museum like this still exists, name change or not.

I must admit, walking through that museum was probably one of the hardest things I’ve done all year. Well, that and the Cu Chi Tunnels. It made me realize that’s it’s one thing to be open minded to other countries and cultures and it’s another to question your allegiance when it comes to war. Propaganda is putting it lightly and disrespect doesn’t seem to quite convey the light shed upon us in this museum. First of all, America was not the only country that joined this war. South Korea, Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines, and Thailand (just to name a few) were right there by our side.  Secondly, the war began before we entered and continued after we left. Third, friggin haters. I’d like to say it was a waste of time, but it wasn’t. If anything I walked out respecting our vets even more, which was a pretty high bar to begin with.

Walking through the Cu Chi tunnels was no better. Seeing the different traps and tunnels these Vietnamese farmers created…I can’t imagine. What hurt worse was this man from the U.K., who couldn’t wait to get after me once the tour guide announced where each of us was from (I was the only American). Snide remarks, digs at our country, belittling comments regarding the brave men and women who fought this war. God, get me the hell away from this guy. How rude, not to mention juvenile. Has he forgotten that the Brits managed to invade just about every country worth invading - or more importantly that he’s a middle aged man picking on a 33 year old young woman. I’m happy to report I kept it classy. I did not stoop to his level, but instead killed him with kindness. Dick! 

Not to go all American on you, but let’s see who you turn to the second your country is in trouble. The world can’t have it both ways. They can’t turn to us in their time of need, then criticize us for being world police. Furthermore and to end this point, if what we did was so bad, why are we so revered in the South. Why is it only the primitive Vietnamese in the North, tree hugging hippies, and uneducated, undermotivated communist that seem to take issue with our presence there. If communism was so great, everyone would be fighting and risking their lives to get into China, North Korea, and Vietnam, not America. As I ask every non-American that challenges me on this, “if you were given the opportunity to come to America tomorrow and reap the benefits of our capitalistic country, would you”? I have yet to find one person that says no.

God reading this back it sounds like my time in Nam was horrible, it wasn’t.  It’s actually probably one of my favorite countries so far. Saigon is such a developed city and the opportunity for success is everywhere, well if you’re a foreigner. If your Vietnamese, well that’s a hard life and a sad story. If your Vietnamese and speak English you’ve got a major leg up, if you’re educated maybe two legs, but still a harder life than most. Tri informed me that a GM of a major hotel or restaurant, if American, can easily earn six figures ($USD). Partner that with the ridiculously low overhead and talk about saving for your future! For reasons I will explain later, my options are wide open. The world is literally my oyster and I’m overwhelmed with the multitude of ideas and opportunities that have come my way. I could literally build a life anywhere. Now all I have to do is choose - Chocolate or Vanilla (nod to all my fellow Landmark grads;).

Back to reality and at this point I knew I needed to speed things up. Xavier was already getting impatient waiting for me and as disheartening as that was, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t eager to get home to him. The line between making this relationship a priority and not cheating myself out of the rest of my trip became real blurry, real quick. Over the next four days I managed to squeeze in a Vietnamese cooking class where I learned to make Pho and Bum Bo Hue (most Vietnamese don’t eat Pho, they eat Bum  Bo), a boat tour of the Meakong River complete with stop offs in the little villages along the way, and a front row seat to the famous water puppet show. Apparently Saigon won an award for the best water puppet show in the world. I fell in love with this place and although my pace had picked up quite a bit, I’m happy I decided to extend my stay through the New Year.

I’m not sure if my experience of Saigon was so incredible as a result of how alive this city comes during the week of Chinese New Year. It’s beyond extravagant and literally takes over the city, not just for one night, but for an entire week. Flower instalations lining the streets, beautiful lights everywhere, costumes, and of course an epic fireworks show. How lucky to have happened upon this city during what was clearly an important time of year in their culture. It undoubtedly helped that I was in such great company. I met Phong at a rooftop bar in Cambodia just a few weeks prior and he insisted I reach out to him once I arrived in Saigon. What a sweety. Having a friend in a foreign place seriously makes all the difference in this world. Whereas in the past I’d be “too busy” to entertain or be a tour guide for a day, at this point I can’t wait to pay it forward:)

[lorenasha]

Cambodia

Already on my 12 hour flight to Beijing and looking back on Cambodia there is only one thing that seems worth mentioning - The Floating Village. Easily one of the most incredible experiences of my entire year. While I’ve made a point to seek out poverty in almost every country I’ve visited, there was something so different and so beautiful about the poverty these people live in. Situated on the Tonle Sap Lake, these people are fisherman by trade and nomads by default. The lake floods every year, then completely dries out only a few months later. When that happens, these boat people are forced to move their entire village up river to an area where they can continue to float and fish. If you’re picturing a retiree sailing the ocean blue or a bunch of 20 somethings in the middle of yacht week, I can assure you it’s nothing like that.

The life they lead is so dangerous, that over the past few years over 350 kids have been orphaned when their parents failed to return from work. Dependant on selling the fish they catch daily, their parents brave conditions that unfortunately and too often result in their death. Luckily the entire village acts as one big family. There’s one floating convenient store, one floating carpenter, one floating bate shop…you get the idea. For those who weren’t lucky enough to corner a market or have a skill or service to offer, well their living conditions are unbelievable. One small raft consisting of no more than a few bamboo sticks, one more stick pitched in the middle, with a blue tarp secured on all sides serving as a roof. I couldn’t believe it, even as I stared right at it, I just couldn’t believe it. Still,  they poked their heads out to smile and wave. Seriously?! Makes you wonder what was so bad the last time you took your bad day out on someone else. 

They were just happy we were there, yes to spend money in their village, but can you blame them. We paid extra to take a smaller boat into the actual village. There Xavier fed the crocodiles a live fish affixed to the end of a long stick (so sad, yet so cool), a woman offered for us to hold a snake, that was currently wrapped around her infant son who was using it’s head as and pacifier (so gross), and we purchased rice and sardines for the local school (how could we not). This school housed 650 children ranging from infants to early teens. Half of these children were the orphans I mentioned earlier. The school was quite impressive, but even more remarkable was how these children leapt from platform to platform, chasing each other the way any other kids would in a school yard. The majority of these kids seemed happy, carefree, and no different from any other children. 

There was one little girl who was in the corner crying. I was so busy playing pick up sticks with two other little girls that, honestly, I didn’t even notice her. It wasn’t until I saw Xavier in the corner trying to comfort her that my heart broke. Seeing him interact with this little girl, the look of discomfort and pain on his face, I literally witnessed the moment this experience changed something in him. Having spent so much time around homelessness, I often forget what an experience like this can do to someone’s world - basically turn it upside-down and force you to question everything. I was relieved he had the reaction he did. I’m not sure I could be with anyone incapable of these feelings and believe me, there are plenty of those people out there. Selfish, materialistic, and incapable of sympathy let alone empathy. It’s one thing to throw money at the problem, hypothesize possible solutions, or even pray for the plight of those less fortunate, and it’s a completely other thing to actually let yourself feel their pain, to “get your hands dirty” and break bread with them the way you would your friends or family. I’m convinced the latter feeds their soul far more than any monetary gift ever could.

Now on to Angkor Wat and let me tell you, these Cambodians are straight hustlers. I mean they hustle, hustle hustle real hard. Even the kids. If only American kids knew the meaning of a hard days work the way these Cambodians did, perhaps we would become less of an entitled nation and start working our way back to the blood, sweat, and tears that built our great nation to begin with. That theme seems to ring true country to country and while I don’t prefer our children experience poverty the way some of these kids do, perhaps experiencing a little less wealth would do the trick…if that makes any sense? I know my kids will never reap the benefit of that which they did not sew. From allowance money for chores, to first jobs and college scholarships, despite my financial condition, my kids will know what it means to work for everything they have, everything they enjoy, everything they desire.

Now as far as this new love goes, well, let’s just say I’m taking it one day at a time. If you want to get to know someone quickly, travel with them. I’m not sure if it’s that he and I are so alike or so different. Regardless, boy did we dive in quickly. The good is so good, and the not so good…well was it just minor things that served as the perfect excuse for me to run (like I always I do) or were they legit concerns that I should consider when deciding to build a life with this person or not. I do not know. Only time will tell. In the meantime, I will enjoy what I can easily say is the most passionate relationship I have ever had. Gosh, I thought I brought the heat. Leave it up to the Latinos to kick it up a notch…or twelve. At the end of the day I have no idea what’s going to come of this, but I do know regardless I am happy to have found my ability to love again.

Last stop, a hotel bus to Phnom Penh. This shit was crazy. Thank God Xavier held me tight or this trip would’ve been one of the worst to date. I mean if I can fall asleep in his arms in the middle of a crazy bus ride through Cambodia, that has to say something about the comfort he brings me. Our only purpose was to visit The Killing Fields and check out Cambodia’s first IVF lab, built by Xavier’s mentor, Antonia. Incredible, both the fields and the lab. I mean as far as the fields go, there are no words. As you walk station to station and listen to audio detailing the horrific events that took place right beneath your feet, you can’t help but pause and pray for the souls that lost their lives, many of whom were women and young children. As far as the IVF lab, well not only was their success rate something that drew hopeful parents from all over the world, but seeing Xavier in his element was pretty impressive as well. Such a smart man and Antonia, an incredible woman. I have no doubt both of them will leave a mark on this world.

That evening Xavier and I ended up at the VIP table of the second in command for the country of Cambodia. I know, what are the odds. What’s crazier is that this man, the son of the current ruler, was a survivor of The Killing Fields himself. Still touched by our experience at the floating village, Xavier asked how we could help. This man proceeded to show us a full on power point that basically outlined the plight of the Cambodian people. The summation was basically that you can give them money, you can visit their villages, you can empathize with their pain, but until we educate and empower them to believe in themselves and believe that they deserve more than the broken lives left in the dust of the Pol Pot regime, nothing will change for Cambodia or it’s people. A young man, with big dreams and high hopes for his people. A true inspiration.

Now as much as we both would’ve loved to continue to live in this overseas fantasy of a life we created, it was time for Xavier to get back to reality. I mean the guy had already extended his trip twice, a third time would’ve been pure madness on both our parts. I’m not sure what to say except that saying good bye to him was harder than saying good bye to my life in the states when I first took off on this journey. This man and our life together had become more important than some trip around the world. Despite that fact, he encouraged me and we both agreed that I needed to finish. After all, I had come so close, too close, to quit now. His support meant everything to me and knowing that I had a man who loves me waiting for me on the other side, well let’s just say what would’ve been another 4 months turned into only 6 weeks real quick. I couldn’t get through these remaining countries fast enough, although I’m also happy to report that I was able to be present and enjoy each day that passed. As I’ve said before and I’ll say again a million times, love, love is all that really matters.

[lorenasha]

The Kingdom of Thailand - Part II

So New Years Eve at the Hyatt in Kamala Beach and let's just say this was a huge upgrade from the accommodations I've gotten used to over this past year. The hotel really spared no expense when it came to their NYE party either, so we decided to stay there. Fire dancers, fireworks that exploded literally right over our heads, delicious food, I mean we really couldn't have asked for anything more. That night Xavier and I had our first kiss and he told me he loved me. I knew then that I had to give this man my full attention. After all, it's so rare I find a man that can hold my interest, let alone openly express how he feels about me. He lives in NYC and I in LA, what was going to come of this afterwards and would we be able to survive while I finished my journey? Relationships are hard enough as it is, but a 30 day crash course while traveling abroad, then having to be apart for two months?! Geeze. This was going to be like the relationship olympics.

Relaxing at the pool, "hair of the dog" regarding our NYE hang overs, then dinner and dancing that night in Surin Beach, otherwise known as millionaires row. This is the life. Xavier and I lit one of those floating laterns, sending it off into the sky along with our wishes for the new year. I only later found out that these lanterns had been banned. Turns out they are a hazard, landing somewhere in the ocean and disturbing the natural habitat of their wildlife. Whoops! Still a romantic and wonderful experience nonetheless (sorry! I won't do it again). Afterwards, dancing and drinks at Catch, one of the most elite night clubs in Surin. It was like a scene out of Miami Beach, aka, not my scene. Still exhausted from the previous night, we got over this place real quick and headed home. Little did we know that Vanessa's pad thai would later give her food poisoning. Of all the places we've been and all the food we've eaten, who would have thought she'd get food poisoning on millionaires row. 

We took her to the doctor, got her meds, water, crackers, soup (all the essentials), and decided to extend our stay in Kamala one more night, as she was in no condition to travel. Our next trip would include two buses and a boat. Not easy for someone in perfect health, let alone someone who had been throwing up for two days straight. The day after we caught the local bus to the other side of Phuket for somewhere around $1. We were literally the only tourists on this bus. I've learned that you know you are doing something right when you are surrounded by locals. It was a really cool experience, riding for about an hour in this open air bus, stopping every few kilometers to pick up or drop off in some local village. Now this is the epitome of authentic and has become the type of experience I crave and the reason I continue to travel.

On the flip side of that coin is Ko Phi Phi. Not a fan. I mean borderline hated it. Not as much as I hated Dubai, but still I will never return.  It's like a college party, meets the tropics, meets the most obnoxious tourists in the world. With Vanessa still out for the count, Xavier and I decided to do a day trip and go cliff jumping. I'm convinced this is the only thing that saved me on this island. By the way, as I type this it's February 21st at 7pm and my tailbone still hurts. Turns out the key to a good cliff jump is form. If you're not pencil straight, your ass will hurt afterwards...and you'll be lucky if that's all that hurts. While my tailbone was undoubtedly bruised (oh, and I got stung by a jelly fish the moment I hit the water), Xavier's entire ass was black and blue. I mean literally both cheeks in their entirety, hahaha. Shockingly, still worth the rush and I'm sure he'd agree.

On to The Beach and by The Beach I mean THE Beach, as in Leonardo DiCaprio circa 2000. If you've seen the movie you'll understand what I'm about to say. If you havent, watch it now and oh yeah, spoiler alert! So at the end of the movie, this pristine beach paradise hidden from humanity gets bombarded with boatloads of stupid tourists, effectively ruining The Beach. Approaching this beach I was excited, no doubt, but the closer we got the more I realized that we were those stupid tourists at the end of the movie. Not only did you have to pay to actually get out of the boat and step foot onto the actual beach, but it was covered in tourists with selfie sticks. It couldn't have been less romantic. I was so turned off that I didn't even get out of the boat. Funny how the movies are able to create a world for us that no matter how far you travel, rarely exist in real life. I guess that's why they call it "movie magic".

On to Ko Lanta and this was by far one of my favorite islands. Very few tourists, a quiet little fishing town, this place was super chill. I could've stayed here a while. A quick stop in Krabi, then on to Ko Samui and whoops, I booked our hotel in the middle of club central. Although no where near as bad as Ko Phi Phi, this place was the home of expat bar owners and people raging all night. At this point our trio was struggling. Vanessa felt as though she was on our honeymoon and we were sick of hiding our love and affection. I don't know about you, but when I'm in the presence of love, it makes me feel love too. Regardless of my own personal circumstance, I know how special and rare love is. When one of my friends finds it, it's like I found it too. I mean I'm that happy for them. 

Finally and just in time, Xavier and I met Gabby and Matt. Seriously the sweetest, cutest couple ever. Xavier was enjoying his new bromance with Matt and Gabby and I couldn't have clicked any better. Perhaps the only thing better than this double date, was off roading through the jungle on the roof of a 4WD vehicle. Our driver, who we later discovered had been drinking, seemed fearless when it came to hauling ass through the windy roads. A mummified monk, a secret garden, and an epic cliffside sunset, this was probably one of my favorite day trips. It was so nice to spend quality time with another couple. I think it really allowed us to stop holding back and enjoy loving on each other without having to worry about how it was affecting other people. If misery loves company, then so does love.

Sad to say good bye, but on to Ko Pha Ngan. The best time to enjoy this island is when there is NOT a Full Moon Party. Not only had we heard so many horror stories of how idiotic people get at these parties, but we were exhausted from island hopping and needed some time to chill. Our beach front cabin was by far my favorite accommodation in Thailand (Yes Xavier, even more than the Hyatt;). Relaxed to the max, I unfortunately had promised Xavier we would see the snake show. If there is one thing on this planet that terrifies me, it's snakes. Oh the things we do for love. In all honesty, it was pretty cool. I mean after I stopped gagging and opened my eyes, I was able to see the very special relationship this man had cultivated with some of the world's deadliest snakes. Xavier was happy anyway, which made me happy too.

Last, but definitely not least was Ko Tao, the creme de la creme of Thai islands. We were literally in the middle of nowhere and it was perfection. Perhaps the only thing more incredible than the pristine beaches of Koh Tao, is the day trip we took to Ko Nang Yuan. Granted we were exhausted from buckets of vodka (literally they serve it in buckets) and staying up all night playing pool with the locals, but we were determine to power through. Snorkeling all day surrounded by millions of the most colorful fish I've ever seen, then ending the day walking, yes walking, between the three small islands that comprise Ko Nang Yuan, I am convinced there is no other place like this on earth. What a perfect way to end two weeks of island hopping through paradise. Now for one last question, where the heck is Bangkok and how do we get back there?

What felt like the longest boat ride ever to Chumphon, then an even longer bus ride north to Bangkok, we were on our way slowly but surely. God knows Xavier's inability to keep his hands off of me helped pass the time. I can't remember the last time I was this playful and this affectionate with a man. This guy makes me feel like a school girl again and I just can't get enough of his love. Thank God he extended his trip and would be joining me in Northern Thailand. We just weren't ready to say good bye. I mean really, what are the odds. Meeting in Belize, reuniting 10 months later half way around the world, then falling madly in love...this was like something out of a Jane Austen novel or at the very least the latest Hollywood chick flick. I kept waiting for reality to slap me across the face and bring me back down to earth, but as it turns out this was actually my reality.

Finally back in Bangkok and oddly enough, I was happier than I had been in any of the six islands we hopped. You can take the girl out of the city, but you can't take the city out of the girl. Xavier had planned a romantic date night at the Hyatt and per usual, we ended up on Facetime with his pops. There is something so special about getting to know the parents of the man you love. Good, bad, or indifferent, you end up learning and understanding things you otherwise never would.  The next morning we were off to Damnoen Saduak floating market. Easily one of the coolest things I experienced in Thailand. I really began to think about how lucky we are. Our first few dates took place in paradise and we experienced things together that most couples don't even dream of. What a way to start a life together!

Off to Chiang Mai and on the flight Vanessa told me she planned on skipping Cambodia and Vietnam and heading straight to Costa Rica. Her body clearly wasn't keeping up with the pace we were moving and as far as being travel buddies, well let's just say two people can be good friends and not be good travel buddies. It's not necessarily a good or bad thing, it just is what it is. While Xavier and I had our moments too, at the end of our day we were solid. He decided to extend his trip again and join me in Cambodia. Honestly, I couldn't wait to spend some quality time alone with him. As if I didn't know already, I'm certain now - love is the most important thing. When you think you may have a shot at true love, make the tough calls, give it your undivided attention, and eliminate anything that could get in the way of that love being realized.

Chiang Mai was pretty cool, but honestly Xavier and I just wanted to stay in and be with each other. You know you've got it bad when you could care less about what's going on outside of the private little world the two of you have created. Luckily Vanessa ended up meeting a gal from Cali and the next day we agreed to head up to Pai then go our seperate ways. Pai was cool I guess, but there was just something about it I didn't prefer. After spending two weeks in Ubud living in the middle of a rice paddy, hiking, meditating, doing yoga and eating clean, Pai seems like it's trying to achieve what you find in Ubud, yet doesn't even come close. Worth the long trip up the mountain...I don't know. I wouldn't make that trek again, although I'd doggy paddle around the world through shark infested waters to get back to Ubud.

Having had our fill of Thailand, it was time to head to Cambodia. I had no idea what to expect, but knew it was close and had been told not to skip it. Off on another adventure together, I went from traveling the world solo and being content never to return, to wanting nothing more than to settle down with the man I love and make a home for us. My how quickly things change. Xavier was now relocating to LA and neither of us knew if a few months was enough time to make these kinds of decisions. Both terrified, the one thing we did know and agree on is that we couldn't possibly be apart. Blind faith leading the way, I was finally taking the leap, being vulnerable, and opening myself up. The difference this time is that I wasn't out on that limb alone:)

[lorenasha]

The Kingdom of Thailand - Part I

Finally. Thailand. I can tell you that this is the one country I’ve been looking most forward to. Primarily due to the food, no doubt, but as it turns out they have so much more to offer than just incredible food. How they manage to combine sweet, salty, spicy, and savory in one dish has always kind of blown my mind, but after six weeks I’ve learned that there is so much more about this place to fall in love with. For starters, everyone waits politely in perfect lines for the skytrain (except foreigners) and the locals aren’t ruffled in the least when tourists push and shove. They are simply so polite and so reserved. The epitome of class. There isn’t even a Thai word for please, it’s all in your tone and how softly you speak. Possessing these qualities as a culture really makes every day life quite pleasant here. Of course like anything there are always exceptions to the rule, but for the most part these are some of the most respectful people I’ve ever met. 

Another admirable fact that is near impossible to believe is the current trash situation. I’m told that in response to Bangkok’s growing refuse disposal problem, the city removed all trash cans and requested that everyone throw it out via the residential system. This request alone seems kind of nuts, but what’s crazier is that the people listened. Not only do you see them toting their personal trash bags everywhere, but you’ll be hard pressed to find one piece of litter on the streets or walkways. Respect for themselves, each other, the city, and authority - I’ve never seen anything like it. In retrospect, Bangkok was the closest I came to living like a local. I think that’s one of the reasons I loved it. So much of this country has adapted to tourism, which really takes away from an authentic experience. I mean I get that I am a tourist too, but I like to think I’m the good kind. The kind that at least tries to learn the basics of their language, respect their customs and traditions, and embrace their way of life, rather than impose my own. 

While I find the other types of tourists insufferable, I have to remind myself that not everyone is built for travel. Not everyone is adaptable. That doesn’t make them bad people, it just makes them bad tourists. Enter Susan and David. World class travellers who, although they’ve retained their U.S. Citizenship, are far from the stereotypical American when it comes to travel. The two of them have been all over the world since they got married, had children in various countries, and after 10 years in Brunei were once again ready for change. They really get it and they see that I get it too, which was an incredible compliment coming from them. For the next couple of days we bar hopped, ate delicious food, and talked about this crazy world. They were happy, but made it clear that it wasn’t always easy. I could just tell that their love is what got them through it all. I’d imagine the only thing better than witnessing love like this in action, is finding it for yourself. 

Having said our good-byes, my entire first week in Bangkok was dedicated to my intensive Thai cooking course. Six hours a day for 7 days, over 40 dishes, and endless ingredients and techniques. This course made me fall in love with Thai food all over again. Not only do I have a deeper appreciation and understanding of Thai cuisine, but I’ve actually retained the lessons and have no doubts I could recreate these dishes at home. I walked in as a typical foreigner, praising tom yum, fresh spring rolls, and pad thai and walked out like a local with papaya salad, Thai basil chicken, and green curry soup at the top of my list. All “pet mak mak” of course - that means very very spicy. If you dont ask for spicy in Thai, you will not get spicy. You will get a strong medium at best. Thai people also know and love fried chicken. Didn’t see that one coming. Sorry to my Southern folks, but you may have some steep competition. 

The next week Vanessa arrived from L.A. Although the adjustment from traveling solo to traveling with someone who had never traveled was tough, we had fun. A week in Bangkok doing all the touristy things. We went from cruising the Chao Phraya River and eating scorpions on Kao San Rd., to the ladyboy shows at SOI Cowboy, and Nana plaza, with it’s four floors of whores (their words, not mine). The best street food I’ve ever eaten was in Bangkok, hands down. This doesn’t include the scorpions or the stomach bug I got from green curry soup at 4am. Still love green curry though - it’s just that good. The ladyboy shows on the other hand, eh. Let’s just say at least the strippers in America actually work for their money. These ladyboys were some of the laziest “entertainers” I’d ever seen. A novelty, at best.

The taxi drivers on the other hand, forget about it. There is a legit taxi mafia in Bangkok and my encounter with them was no picnic. The goal was to get to China Town, but according to our driver China Town was closed for street sweeping (true statement). “I know the best seafood in Bangkok…cheap too” he added. The moment we stepped foot into this restaurant my travelers intuition went off. Very few guests, all of whom were tourists, and the food - so expensive!!! Wait, let’s order a cheap appetizer while I google. What did we ever do without google? I mean seriously! Turns out this place is known as “The Pratunam Seafood Taxi Scam”. Taxi after tuk tuk continued to drop off unsuspecting tourists, give a little nod to the doorman, and scurry off down the alley. Some took one look at the menu and bailed, but then a family of five sat down. I couldn’t sit back and watch this go down. We paid our bill and I let the family in on the scam. They cancelled their order and left right behind us. As we walked out new victims walked in. I saved one family, but I couldn’t sit there all night. 

The moral of this story - there are shitty people everywhere and getting ripped off is part of travel. As much as it hurt my ego that we had been scammed, the reality is I figured it out and got us out of there relatively unscathed. I mean as far as scams go, it could’ve been way worse. In fact, I’ve been in worse situations while living in Detroit. It’s times like these that I really sit back and think about all of the little skills I’ve picked up over the years. Whether it’s how to hide your money and which ATMs to use, or where to stay and the safest/cheapest way to get from A to B. I may not have been working this past year, but boy is travel hard work - and hard lessons for that matter. I have no doubt growing up in Detroit, then moving to Chicago, New Jersey, New York, and L.A. on my own prepared me for this journey. Some of my most useful skills came from some of the worst experiences. 

On to Phuket and what better way to discover this island than on a scooter. Now I preface this story with a disclaimer that I’ve driven multiple scooters in multiple countries and never had a problem. What I haven’t done is drive with someone on the back of my bike. Close call after close call, I reminded Vanessa that I’m 5 feet tall and have had major knee surgery. I simply didn’t have the vertical strength to hold up her and the bike. “Feet down” I’d remind her every time we came to a stop. Our pink, Hello Kitty bike belonged to the owner of the rental company. She was kind enough to lend it to me given it was the only one small enough for my frame. The look on her face as we drove off was one of fear. Note to self, whatever I do, DO NOT wreck this girl’s bike!!! 

Some incredible seafood, multiple little villages, and an endless array of gorgeous look out points, we had one last stop before heading back to Kata Noi. As Vanessa got off the bike, well, I’m not even sure what happened. “Don’t mess up this bike” is all I could think. I pulled as hard as I could, using all my strength to prevent the bike from tipping over. I pulled so hard in fact, that I accidently gased it and down the hill l went. Holy crap…a car!!! Oh my God…a person!!! Then two or three more cars and at least five more people. I have no idea how I didn’t hit anything or anyone. I imagine watching it was more intense than the bottom of the ninth, all tied up, with bases loaded. Yikes! I’ve known that I have angels watching over me while on this journey, but I swear I had no intention of working them so hard. Thank you!!! We returned the bike without a single scratch.

Now after a week in Phuket, we were headed back up to Kamala Beach to meet Xavier for New Years Eve. In case you don’t recall, Xavier was the guy from New York who took care of me when I tore my calf muscle in Belize. He extended his trip, moved into my hotel, got me food,  water, doctors, medicine, whatever I needed. Looking back now, it’s probably the sweetest thing a man has ever done for me, especially given we had only met a few days prior. I told Vanessa that he and I were just friends and that I wasn’t sure which way it was going to go. We would either fall madly in love or drive each other completely crazy. Turns out we ended up falling in love while driving each other crazy, haha. I used to cringe every time someone told me that love will find me when I least expect it, to stop looking for it and let go of any ideals I have regarding who this person will be. As it turns out, they were right on all accounts. Once again Xavier extended his trip (twice) and the next four weeks would prove to be the month that changed everything.

[lorenasha]

Nepal

So much has changed since India. One month in Nepal, more than 6 weeks in Thailand, a week in Cambodia, and the beginning of a new year. God is good, the world is beautiful, and life really is like a box of chocolates. If someone would've told me 11 months ago that I would stop stressing about the brokerage, that material things would lose all meaning, and that having no place to call home would become my preferred way of life, there's no way I'd believe them. Yet here I am, nearing the end of what will forever be referred to as "The Best Year of My Life". I think I've got about 3 or 4 months left in me, then back to the good ol' U.S. of A to sort my thoughts about this world and my place in it. I'd be lying if I said the idea of going back didn't terrify me. Certainly partially due to the reverse culture shock I will undoubtedly experience, but moreso due to the realities I'll be forced to reckon with. 

Anyway, Nepal. Stepping out of the airport the first thing I noticed was the crisp air and the 15 minute time difference. I had no idea time zones could move in 15 minute increments.  I also didn’t know that this would be my last breath of fresh air for the next month. While the rest of the world is talking about Beijing, let me tell you that Kathmandu's air quality is no picnic either. It's so bad in fact, around the 3rd week I became incredibly ill with a throat and lung infection. A trip to the E.R., four different meds, and missing five days of school, this round was almost as bad as the Nicaraguan bug bite episode. I said almost. On the upside, Nepalese doctors are not quick to prescribe antibiotics. Unlike America, where the Z-pack is the answer to everything, my buffet of meds included not one antibiotic. They turn to homeopathic remedies first and to no surprise, they worked.

The current petrol shortage made for a unique experience as well. Apparently the issue started because Nepal decided to rewrite their constitution and refused to let India oversee. India, controlling the bulk of their border, then made it incredibly difficult to get anything into Nepal. Not just petrol, but food, medicine, raw materials...anything they could withhold to make the lives of the Nepali people more difficult. I have to admit this stung a bit, especially given I was still high from my personal experience in India. Gasoline was now being sold in 2 liter coke bottles on the black market, the supermarket shelves were clearly lacking, hospitals were in desperate need of basic medications, and everyone seemed to have a story regarding how the crisis was negatively impacting their lives. Just as I began to contemplate if being a U.S. citizen, born in India, but currently residing in Nepal could help to...I dont know, at the very least get some media attention, I was told not to worry and that the issue would soon be resolved. Few! Not sure I was actually ready to step up to that plate, but the thought was pretty romantic.

This crisis also made for a rather interesting cooking class. After the earthquake the Puri family lost their home and could only afford to rebuild in the middle of nowhere. A 20 minute cab ride later and I reached their new home, which took them less than 30 days to build, start to finish. I imagine this is primarily due to the size and simple construction. Sheet metal walls and roof, minimal plumbing, no electric, and a small farm outside which they lived off of. No gas for the stove, so we cooked over wood and fire. Very primal and more difficult than you might think. Between the smoke and keeping the fire going, the last thing on my mind was the ingredients and cook time. Surprisingly the food was incredible, only further proving that it's the quality of ingredients that make the meal, not the high end kitchen you cook it in. Inspiring family, unphased by what they don't have and beyond grateful for what they do.

While all of these things made for quite an interesting trip, teaching English was the primary reason for my visit. That age old saying "it's all about who you know", really showed up in Nepal. Back in 2012 I went to Costa Rica for a yoga and meditation retreat. There I met Felix, a former Buddhist monk who decided his life was best served loving and teaching others how to love and teach themselves. Three years later, hoping to cross paths with his incredible soul in his homeland of Nepal, he introduced me to Kirin, one of the owners of the international school I'd be teaching in. Kirin then set me up with his dear friends, the Llama family, who opened their beautiful home and hearts to me. Lucky doesn't even begin to describe how it felt to be welcomed into this close knit group of people. They treated me like family and just as I told them they now have family in America, I know I have family in Nepal.

Over the next several weeks the bulk of my time was spent at the school. I went from teaching counting and spelling in English, to discussing demographic migration as it relates to the Syrian refugee crisis. I instilled little things, like the importance of reading silently in class and raising their hand to speak one at a time. I was certain the 5th grade class was going to be the death of me, as they were the epitome of defiant in every way. Step one, make them sit boy girl boy girl. Step two, require that they write "I will not speak out of turn during class" over and over again until they get the message. God I hated doing that in school, but boy does it work. Interesting how even without a degree in teaching, simply for having gone through the U.S. Education system (not to mention obtaining stellar grades), I was able to have a real impact on how this school educates their children. Shout out to all of my teachers, especially Mrs. Valenti. I have no doubt they played a huge role in molding me into the woman I am today.

Rewind to the first day of school. I was nervous, anxious, and hoping these kids, grades K through 10, would accept me. Just before lunch...earthquake!!! These poor kids freaked out PTSD style. If I'm being 100% honest, I didn't even feel it. Thank you Cali:) We proceeded to have EQ after EQ, day after day. Each registering somewhere around 4 or 5 on the rictor scale. What we in Cali call a major quake, they call an after shock. Only once did I wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing, ready to run. I can only imagine the fight or flight response that hits the Nepali people after having gone through what they did last year. Of course I took a day to drive through the devistation. Absolutely unbelievable, but what's more incredible are the smiles that remain on these people's faces in spite of it all. What little they have, they are willing to give. The Nepali spirit is one that would change the world completely, if everyone managed to retain even a fraction of it.

[lorenasha]

My Homeland <3

Given how well I was doing in India so far, I began to think that perhaps I over dramatized what reuniting with my homeland would be like. Yes, India is a totally different world and yes, being surrounded by so much poverty is soul  shattering, but so far I couldn’t really identify with these people in the way I expected to. So far, I empathized with them no more or no less than I did the rest of the world’s poor. Perhaps I’ve been desensitized, which if it didn’t happen while working on Skid Row with my non-profit, it had to have happened over these last 8 months travelling, right? The condition of human beings around the world, the poor, is something I think everyone should be forced to see first hand at some point in their life. It changes you or at least it can if you allow it to.

Everything changed when I got to Kolkata. These people look like me, or I look like them I guess. In the northwestern parts of India the people didn’t look like me, but West Bengalis have very distinct features as compared to the rest of India. Before I even left the airport I was tearing up. I found myself looking long and hard at the faces of every person I passed, waiting for that movie moment when our eyes would meet and we would just know that we had to be related. Silly, I know, but this wasn’t a conscious effort on my part. It was involuntary, almost like a knee jerk reaction and one I wasn’t expecting to have.  During the taxi ride to my hotel it hit me. Hard. I suddenly realized I did care, I did want to know, and in almost that exact same moment I also realized I probably never will.

So many have asked if I planned to search for my birth parents when I got over here. There is literally no way. I was abandoned. Up until the moment I landed in Kolkata, I swear I’ve been ok with that, but suddenly I found myself clinging to some small hope that there is just a little of that movie magic left in my future. Suddenly I found myself wondering if my family lives in this house or frequents that market. Looking down the alleys wondering which one I was found in. I even caught myself looking at every poor person on the street, knowing full well I could find them there too. Suddenly I cared for nothing other than searching tirelessly until I found something familiar, someone I could relate to. Just one small piece to this puzzle and I’ll walk away happy, despite knowing the puzzle will never be completed.

As a child I convinced myself that my family died in one of the many bombings that took place in India in the 1990’s. I also told myself that my mother was Indian royalty and that she got pregnant by a travelling entrepreneur, forced to give me up versus shaming the family name. Well as it turns out, that’s my sister’s story (she’s also adopted). Her mother was Indian royalty and was forced to give her up after getting pregnant by a servant boy. She even got a letter from her mom explaining everything. I’ve never cared that my sister knew and I didn’t, but being here in Kolkata I couldn’t help but think how lucky she is. At least she knows that she came from love. At least she knows why she was given up. I, on the other hand, was most likely born into poverty and will never know the answer to my biggest question - “why?”.

At only 2 pounds, jaundice, and near death when they found me, it was clear my birth mother didn’t have any prenatal care. It took the hospital nearly 2 months to stabilize me. I’ve always known these facts about myself. Growing up I would ask my mom, “what if my birth mom had some crazy genetic disease that will cause me to drop dead when I’m 16”? My mother, a nurse, always had some reassuring comment that would convince me I am now healthy and have nothing to worry about. Truly not having any health history has caused me much heartache over the years. To this day I remain somewhat of a hypochondriac. While my mom always did the best she could, keeping me informed and answering all of my “what if” questions, one thing that escaped her was the story behind my birthday.

As it turns out my birthday is an estimate. I found out this very interesting piece of information on my 16th birthday. Still alive and clearly not having dropped dead from some crazy unknown disease, my mother went on to tell me that when I was brought to the hospital on September 20th, 1982, they estimated that I was 2 days old. Wait, what?! What if I was 3 days old or a week old? I remember thinking, God, I don’t even get an accurate birth date - this is total bull shit. I also remember thinking just a few moments later, that I was lucky to have a birthday at all - 16 of them at that. I’ve always come from a place of being grateful and knowing that I’m on borrowed time. Getting adopted and into such a wonderful family, well if nothing else goes my way ever again, I know I can rest assured that things went my way when it mattered most.

Less than 3 hours on the ground and after what seemed like an hour long taxi ride, I found the building. My orphanage. It looked old and worn, but honestly better than I expected. I banged on the steel gate and could see a man through the crack, tending to what looked like a garden. I pleaded with him to come to the gate so I could ask him some questions. My taxi driver even asked, but the guy wouldn’t budge. Next door was a church, so I thought maybe they could help. “Yeah, they left about 4 years ago and no one knows where they went”. So close, I mean literally within 10 feet, but apparently 4 years too late. I couldn’t help it, I started crying uncontrollably. Going into this I thought that if I found them, cool, if not, it’s what’s to be expected. The surprise of dissapointment was unbearable. 

The neighborhood quickly rallied around me asking my driver what was going on. Before I knew it we were being shuffled off to various places, each time obtaining a little more information. From what I gathered, they left quickly and no one knows why. During my research I learned that International Mission of Hope Society was no longer doing adoptions. They had become a shelter for unwed mothers. At a loss and with no more options in sight, finally I met Ram. Half Bengali and half Nepalese, this guy was my age and totally dialed in to all things charity in Kolkata. “Don’t cry, I’m 99% sure I can find the answers you’re looking for”. I gave him all the information I had, snapped some photos, took one long look at the building that was my first home, and with a feeling of defeat, got back in the cab. 

If we can’t find these guys, how am I ever going to give back to them. How am I ever going to look the woman in the eye that cared for me, let her know I’m ok, and thank her for choosing me. This full circle reunion that my heart so desperately wanted, didn’t look like it was going to happen after all. I’m not the type to ask for much, but this is something I asked for. This is something I really wanted. Ram assured me that even if we couldn’t find my orphanage, he knew of another one nearby. He suggested I meet with the priest, whose school and church was located right next door to my old building. At this moment, I still had hope that we’d find them and until I knew with 100% certainty that it wasn’t going to happen, I wasn’t willing to open up to anyone else about why I came here.

I decided to distract myself with a traditional Bengali market tour and cooking class. This market was easily the craziest one I’ve visited so far. Everything from flapping fishes to clucking chickens, overwhelming bursts of spices and the sound of a beating drum in background. My senses were overloaded and it was incredible. I was so numb and tuned out the previous few days, I imagine only a market this crazy could’ve snapped me out of my funk. Just as I began to relax and enjoy, my phone rang. It was Ram. “Loren, we think we’ve found them. They may be in this house on the other side of town. I’m sending someone to check it out before you and I head over there”. I burst into tears. Finally, a sign of hope.

We wrapped up our market tour and went back to Sharmila’s house to cook. Most of the cooking classes in Kolkata are held in the private homes of local Bengali women, which I much prefer. It was just me and a lovely couple from Denmark. Brigitte and Kyelt had one of those love stories that makes you want to hold out for nothing less. They had known each other since college, both married, had kids, and went on with their lives, not giving the other one another thought. It wasn’t until years later that they ran into each other on top of a mountain in Austria, both unhappily married and in the process of divorce. Still, love got away from them until another one and a half years later, when they ran into each other at a restaurant in Denmark. Needless to say, they fell in love and have been happily married ever since. The two are clearly made for each other and serve as a great reminder that true love knows nothing of time or convenience. It can only present us with the chance, which is ours for the taking when we’re ready. 

This hopefulness is just what I needed, as the news came that they were unable to find my orphanage. At this point I had prepared myself for this outcome and agreed to meet with Father Roque. I cringe every time I’m asked to sit down and tell someone my story. It’s not exactly the type of thing you want to relive. Still, I told Father what brought me to Kolkata and what I hoped to gain through giving back to a local orphanage. Not only did he introduce me to Sisters of Providence Orphanage, but he asked if I had time to come and speak to the students in his school. I was supposed to leave Tuesday and it was already Sunday. “I’m sorry, I just don’t think I’ll have time”. My heart was screaming at me to stay longer, but my head was reminding me that I already booked my plane to Nepal and that I had people in Nepal who were counting on me. 

It seems I find myself in this position quite often, knowing what I want, but putting it aside on account of what others need or expect. That night, per usual, I was enjoying a nice beer on the patio of my hotel with my new friends, Ben and Toni. Visiting Kolkata from Australia, they came to do mission work in an outlying village. Meeting on this patio and discussing our days became like a ritual of sorts. I bonded with them so quickly and was able to talk with them in a way I can’t even talk with some of my closest friends or family. “It sounds like you need to postpone your flight”, Toni said, so matter of fact. “In the grand scheme of life and when taking into account everything that’s led you to this point, you’d be doing yourself a disservice to leave before you are ready”.

The next day, I cancelled my flight to Nepal. It was liberating. I was finally getting this whole “live for me” mentality figured out. It’s one thing to start making the choices you want, but it’s a whole other thing making these choices guilt free. It’s a level of freedom I can’t say I’ve experienced before. I couldn’t wait to call Father Roque and tell him I’d be happy to come speak to the kids. I was also now able to spend Duwali with the girls from Sisters of Providence Orphanage. I was over the moon and the dissapointment from not having found what I came for was a distant memory. I fell in love with these girls. I seriously wanted to adopt them all, but there was one little girl in particular that I felt deeply drawn to.

This little girl looked just like my little sister when she was young. While I was 2 months old when I was adopted, my sister was 14 months and had been in multiple homes. To say that the next 18 years was an uphill battle would be the understatement of the century. They say that the first 12 months of a child’s life are infinitely important to their overall development. Well I shutter to think what the first 14 months of my sister’s life was like and I’m struck with sadness every time I recall her childhood. Being brought to the U.S. at an older age, my sister related to me more than she did our mother. That, partnered with the fact my mom was a single mom with a full blown career, much of my sister’s early years were spent with me. Be it getting her ready for school, preparing meals, doing homework, or getting us to and from school safely, I was the one person my sister actually tried to listen to. By the time she was 9 and I was 13, it became clear that I was no longer able to manage her and keep her safe. The next several years are blurry at best. My sister acting out constantly, my exhausted mother holding on for dear life, and me, just trying to stay out of the way and avoid confrontation.

Certainly these years, the toughest years for our family, are the reason we remain so close today. Even still, I can’t help but look back at our childhood and wonder how I could’ve done things better. It was this reflection that made me realize why, all these years later, I was standing in front of this little orphan girl in Kolkata with an overwhelming desire to adopt her. I wanted another chance. I wanted to right with her all the wrongs that I experienced with my sister. Certainly this is not an adequate reason to adopt a child. I asked Sister Maria if she was up for adoption anyway - “No, her mother is young, but still in the picture and I can’t see her signing over her rights”. Well that settles that I guess. Thank God. I’m pretty sure my family would die of shock if I came home with an 8 year old child. 

After asking Sister Maria what they needed and asking the girls what they wanted,  we were off to Grand Bazaar. Basically the Wal-Mart of India. There we were able to get everything they needed and more. Seven carts filled to the brim and a hoard of staff gathered at the register. I think they were just curious as to what the total would be and whether or not my card would go through. Haha. Delivering this stuff to the orphanage ended up giving me more joy than I could’ve imagined. To think, I was ready to throw in the towel and leave when things didn’t go as planned. Clearly the fact that these girls aren’t from my orphanage became meaningless. They were still just like me, not to mention incredibly deserving of this random act of kindness. 

The following afternoon my new friend Ronnie, who I met while he was working at my hotel,  took me to meet the kids who live under the bridge. These kids are often the ones whose parents teach them to come up to your car window and beg. Shunned by many in Kolkata, it became clear that these kids were just like everyone else. As soon as they saw Ronnie they knew it was time to learn.  They diligently pulled out a mat and sat down, wide eyed and eager to hear whatever Ronnie had to say. In just a few months, he had taught them their ABCs and counting in English. If nothing else you could see the positive impact it has on these kids, knowing that someone cares about them and believes they are worthy of time and attention. I couldn’t help but think about the Syrian refugees and how those children would love to live under this bridge if it meant they were safe.

The next day I was off to the school to speak to the kids about, well, I didn’t really know what. I guess whatever Father Roque had in mind and at this point in my life, I’m good with public speaking and making up speeches on the fly. “Just talk to them about yourself”, he said. What?! Pump the breaks. There’s got to be a topic far more interesting with all that’s going on in this world. “Just tell them your story, why you came back here, and what your life has been like”. Ugh. I could talk to a stadium of thousands about whatever without batting an eye, but rehashing my story over and over again with perfect strangers is pure torture. I quickly remembered that I’d never have to see these kids again and decided to just go for it.  Lay it all on the table. Even if one thing I say impacts one child,  I guess the discomfort would be well worth it. 

So I told these kids my story, stressing that I was from Kolkata just like them. Reassuring them that they can be anything they want to be, if they are willing to work hard enough for it. I told them that this was my first visit back since my adoption and shared the disappointment I felt when things didn’t go as planned. I let them know that at 33 I am still learning every day and that the lesson I learned through that dissapointment is that when life doesn’t turn out as you’d hoped, it is then that it’s most important to keep your eyes, mind, and heart open to new possibilities. Possibilities that God may see for us that end up doing far more for us than anything we could’ve come up with on our own. I told them how close I was to leaving, about the girls I met in the orphanage, and what an incredible, life changing experience it has been getting to know them.

I then talked about my life in the states and how for the longest time I worked myself sick, feeling the pressure to succeed after being granted the great fortune of adoption into the U.S. Telling them that every day I was pained with the thought of what the kid in the crib next to me may have done with these opportunities, thinking that he would’ve done more and knowing that if I didn’t succeed it was all for nothing. Having “succeeded” by American standards, I shared how I learned first hand that no amount of success, money, or things buys happiness and that since leaving all of that behind, I was the happiest I’d ever been. Driving home the point that God doesn’t keep track of how much money we have or how successful we are, but he does pay attention to how many lives we impact and the contribution we are to the world. 

Lastly I stressed the importance of respecting your elders and remembering where you come from. I asked them to think of how often we see people succeed and allow their power, money, or fame to go to their head. Typically we also see those same people lose everything, including their dignity, or if they do manage to sustain themselves, we see them vere so far off course they become unrecognizeable. Did they achieve all of this on their own? I don’t think so. No matter what happens, who you become, or what you achieve, stay humble I urged. You must always remember the people who molded you during these early years. Your parents and teachers, your pastor and community elders. Remember those people, understand you couldn’t’ve gotten where you’re going without them, and show gratitude for all that they have done for you. 

The school day was over and after having spoken to the staff as well, I was overwhelmed by the multitude of students and teachers that told me they were inspired by what I had to say. It’s funny how easy it is to positively impact another person’s life. In this case, speaking at the school didn’t cost me a dime. I only had to be willing to give them my time and speak openly and honestly with them. In the case of the orphanage, well of course that cost money, but I’d venture to guess that the impact of love and kindness shown to these girls will exist long after the last grain of rice is gone and they have all outgrown their new clothes. Commincating to another that they are of value, capable, and worthy of love and kindness will do more for them than all the money in the world.

I can honestly say that what I found in Kolkata was far more than I’d hoped for. I am proud to call this place my home and feel blessed to have had the opportunity to come back, 33 years later, and give to them some of what I’ve been fortunate enough to recieve. In searching tirelessly for what I wanted, I was finally able to find what I needed. I will never fully be able to articulate or thank Kolkata and it’s people for all that they have done for me. They healed wounds I didn’t know I had, they strengthened me in places I didn’t know I was weak, and they taught me to love in a way that I never knew I could. Funny how when leaving one of the poorest countries in this world, I ended walking away feeling like the richest woman on earth. Thank you Kolkata and thank you God, for giving me the opportunity to see myself and my people as you do.

[lorenasha]

The Golden Triangle Tour (Dehli, Jaipur, Agra)

Another quick flight and I had arrived in Delhi, which from the looks of the airport alone, is a far cry from Mumbai. It was probably one of the most impressive airports I’ve ever been in, resembling a cultural museum more than an airport.  This was so clearly a capital city - rigid, busy, and lacking the warmth I found so welcoming in Mumbai. Unfortunately I forgot to book my hotel and didn’t realize it until I pulled my phone out to tell the cabbie where to take me. Whoops! Thats actually the first time I’ve done that. Praying that my phone would work, I planted myself comfortably near an outlet and began to search. Funny thing, even though I have an International phone plan when changing certain countries or cities via flight, it’s taken my phone a while to figure out where I am. My mom says it has jet lag, haha. During those times,  rather than assume I’m in my previous country or city, the signal just goes out. Epic fail on the part of T-Mobile, as I’ve found it’s when changing locations that I’m the most vulnerable. Luckily, after restarting numerous times, it worked. 

A short cab ride later I was at the hotel, once again reminded that I wasn’t in Mumbai any more. This was a nice hotel, much more expensive than the one in Mumbai, yet their service left so much to be desired. Moving past this,  I asked them if they knew of a really good, authentic restaurant where I could have dinner.  "You should eat at our hotel restaurant ma'am". Such a big city response.  "No thanks, I’m really looking to go out for dinner, you know,  dine with the locals".  "Well ma'am, we really urge you to eat at our restaurant (insert longest pause ever), but you can choose from any of the hotels on this street, they all have very nice food".  Are these guys dense or am I just not asking my question right? “I don’t want to go to a hotel where I’m going to meet a bunch of other tourist.  Is that where you go to eat dinner on your free time?”  Sensing my frustration,  the bell boy chimes in and directs me to this little veg restaurant that was about 10 minute walk from the hotel.  Seriously, I can’t believe that was just that hard. Thank God I was persistent too, because not only was the food delicious, but there I met Jyoti and her niece Vaishnavi.

As I’ve seen now in many countries, busy local hotspots don’t hesitate to seat you next to complete strangers. An open seat means an open check. Smart and I wonder how much more money they make squeezing in that extra guest here and there. Jyoti and Vaishnavi were such a delight to talk to. I learned so much about them, including the fact that Vaishnavi wants to be a doctor. “Do you think you will study medicine outside of India?”, I asked, assuming she’d say yes. “No, my country needs so much help. I feel it’s my duty to stay here and help my people”. For 14 years old this young woman was an old soul for sure. She even at one point, when addressing the fact that I was adopted and raised Catholic, said “well man made religion anyway, in God’s eyes you are still the same person he created here in India”. Had this little girl read my blog? How is she, at 14 years old, hitting the nail so directly on the head where people 3x her age and 2x as educated can’t seem to figure it out. Absolutely incredible and mark my words, that young woman is going to amount to big things.

One thing I’ve picked up on real quick is this sort of bobble head motion Indians do. You ask them a question and in reply they bobble their head, saying nothing. “So wait, is that a yes or…”. For the record, it means yes. Another thing I just can’t get used to are these older women in saris bearing their entire midriff with no shame. Huge stomachs, back fat, sagging skin everywhere. It’s basically everything that women are taught to hide and be ashamed of in America, yet here these women were not only not ashamed, but proud and revered as beautiful by their culture. Can you imagine the response a middle aged women would get in America if she went out in a crop top and skirt with fat in all the aforementioned places. Not only would she get stares, but she’d probably end up in one of those fat shaming threads that people are so eager to forward, comment, and post for the world to see and share…because if other people do it too, you’re not that bad, right?! I’ve never understood why people feel the need to poke fun of others in this way. Clearly some deep rooted insecurity in themselves. When are people going to realize that in speaking il of someone else, they end up looking worse than the person they are trying to offend. 

After a full day tooling around this city, doing the typical tourist thing, I was…underwhelmed. I told my driver this wasn’t what I had in mind and I know he sensed my dissapointment, having gone from one temple to the next, to yet another arch, and I can’t even recall what else. Finally as night fell, he brought me to the monkey temple. Honestly, this one stop saved the day in Delhi. There were monkies literally everywhere. The locals actually seemed somewhat afraid of them or perhaps as part of some religious belief, they never got too close and never looked them in the eye. They didn’t scare me, in fact, they were coming right up to me, sweet and tame as ever. After getting my Henna done, I bought two dozen bananas and was thoroughly entertained feeding these monkies for the next few minutes. Down to my last few bananas when this small, dirty, malnourished boy came up to me with his hands out. At first I thought he wanted to join in the fun, but quickly realized he was hungry and waited patiently to see if I would give him my last banana. Oh my God, how could I be so thoughtless. Literally throwing away dozens of bananas to feed monkies, when there are human beings standing right next to me, clearly in desperate need of food. Yikes! I not only gave him that banana, but went and bought more, plus water, at which point he retreated into a corner with his even smaller sister and they feasted. Such a 1st world mistake on my part and a harsh lesson to learn.

Off to bed I had to get up early the next morning to head to Jaipur. Rather than risk or worry about how I was going to get where, I booked the 3 day golden triangle tour through my hotel, which gets me from Delhi to Jaipur, then on to Agra, and back up to Delhi. Almost 16 hours total drive time and worth every minute. “There are 3 things you need to drive in India” my driver warns, “first you need a good brake (slamming on his brakes), next you need a good horn (laying heavily on the horn), and last, you need good luck”, he concludes as he proceeds to laugh ferociously at his own joke. Nice pep talk right before I jump in the car with you for the next 3 days. By the way, how’s your luck? Once again, rather than pay attention to what he’s doing I focused on the sights during this first 6 hour leg of our journey. It’s incredible to see how these people live. Talk about rural and rustic living, not to mention authentic. We were so far from everything, nothing about these sights said tourism. Within a few hours I passed out, awakened only by the sounds of the city once we reached Jaipur.

It was incredible. Like a whole other world. Really it was the elephants that forced me to recall where I was. They were even painted in typical Indian design. Walking in the streets right next to our car, unphased by the modernization of a land that I’m sure long ago, belonged to them. My driver, aware of my facination with the elephants, offered to take me to Elephant Village. “If you like elephants, you’ll love Elephant Village”. I couldn’t wait. In my head I pictured a whole town run by elephants, meaning they were like the kings and queens of the village and everything revolved around them. Well, not exactly. Having already paid my entrance fee, one look at these guys and there was nothing royal about they way they were living. Chained, forced to stand for hours on end, this isn’t how I wanted to experience these beautiful creatures. I couldn’t help but think of my friend Michael from Germany, who schooled me on all that’s happening right now in the world of elephant rights. Suddenly I got the ickiest feeling, knowing that me coming here and having paid to spend time with these elephants was fueling the wrong side of this battle.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore”, I said in the smallest voice ever. Now with five men staring back at me, the pressure was on. “We already got him all ready to go, plus he needs to walk around, it’s not good for him to stand like this for too long”, the owner rebutted before I even lodged my complaint. Even with that icky feeling in my gut, I climbed up, the old fashion way along his trunk. They say an elephant never forgets, so I spent time, both my hands firmly planted on his head, hoping he could feel the love and sorrow I felt for him, being tied up like this. “Please, just around this main square, then I have to get down”. As we walked around elephant village one thing became clearer than the disheartened life of my elephant. These families, their children, the people of Elephant Village were living in some pretty poor conditions themselves. These elephants were their livelihood and their only source of income. It’s a concept as old as man really and while I’m all for the humane treatment of animals and the push towards animal rights, I have to believe that domestication to the extent it improves the quality and value of human life should get factored in there somewhere too. I guess the key is getting these developing countries up to speed with what the rest of the world deems humane. An uphill battle, no doubt, given the conditions they live in themselves are less than humane.

Short and sweet, thank God, and I vow never to ride another elephant ever again. A quick bite and we were off. Once again, repeating until I’m blue in the face that I had no interest in seeing monuments and temples, I told my driver I wanted to experience a day in the life. First stop, the textile manufacturer, where I learned to weave carpet and block print cloth. I even block printed my own little elephant. Then to a local street market that’s like the Wal-Mart of street markets. Need a new sari, that’s 3 doors down on your right, looking for fresh fruits and veggies, they are everywhere, take your pick. How about someone to press your clothes, well this gal will do it and with an old-school charcoal iron too. A day in this life is one I’m not sure I could handle for long. Legit hard work, every day, and for very little pay. Really made me appreciate the impact a solid education has on the outcome of your life, not to mention going into business in a developed country, versus a developing one.

Finally on to Agra or as I recall it, my 6th Wonder of the World - The Taj Mahal. After yet another 6 hour drive, we got there just in time to see the sunset along the back side from across the river. Absolutely stunning and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t capture the way the light sparkled off of the perfectly carved stone and marble. With just a few minutes until sundown, gobs of tourists lined up, cramming into the very small area that is dead center and just opposite the Taj. While I, well versed in sunsets, realized early on that the only way to get the Taj and the sunset in the same photo was to head as far east as the path will let me go. Sure enough, on the perfect angle I was able to capture both, along with some field workers wrapping up what looked like a hard days work. With only a minute or two to spare, suddenly the boatload of tourists realized they were at the wrong angle, took one look at me up on this ledge, and came running. I’m outta here!

The next day I was actually going to visit the Taj. Some of you may know that the Taj Mahal was built out of love, one king to his beloved wife. A lesser known fact is that the King originally planned on building himself a black Taj across the river, with a huge bridge connecting the two, but he ran out of money building her’s. The process of building this structure took so long in fact, that his wife passed away before it was finished. He vowed to complete it, which he did and they rest peacefully, side by side. Now before all of you begin to think that you couldn’t imagine a love like this, one quick and perhaps even lesser known fact. There is what’s referred to as Baby Taj on the way to Taj Mahal, a miniature duplicate of this famous structure built for none other than…you guessed it, the King’s mistress. Seriously, what a way to wreck what could’ve been an epic love story. I’m sorry, but can’t buy me love.

Now off to bed, I couldn’t help but wonder what the modern day declaration of a man’s love would look like. Fidelity. Haha, but seriously. I wonder if men can actually be faithful and happy or does the existence of one ultimately destroy the existence of the other. I for one, know with absolute certainty that I would rather be single forever, versus risk ending up with some unevolved penis of a man. Yes true, back in the day communal families, multiple wives, blah blah, but isn’t the whole idea that we’ve evolved past that? As much as most men out there would like to imagine himself as a king with his harem, let’s be honest, most men barely know how to keep one woman happy, let alone an entire harem. This isn’t to say I snub my nose at those who choose to live polygamous or polyamorous life styles in modern day. If that works for you and deep in your heart you’re happy, go for it. I’m just saying that I think love, true love, the kind that only comes through maybe once in a lifetime if your lucky, has far more to offer and reaches deeper into your soul than you’d ever be able to reach on your own - or with a harem for that matter.

[lorenasha]

"This is India" (Mumbai)

The flight from UAE to Mumbai was saturated with the smell of body odor and Indian spices. I'm not sure if my tolerance for the smell of b.o. is getting better or if it is wrecking my sense of smell forever. Indians have got to be the one group of people who manage to do b.o. better than the Europeans...and that's hard to do. I'm hoping over the next few weeks I'm able to look past these stereotypical annoyances and really learn to love and appreciate these people. My people. Surely if I can learn to accept them as they are, odors and all, the path to accepting myself as one of them will become easier. With that mentality in check, I felt ready. I hadn't even left the airport yet and I was getting more stares than I knew what to do with. No food on my face, my zipper was up, no toilet paper stuck to my shoe. Just smile. My best guess, they were wondering where I come from and if I was one of them. I've always had fun playing the "guess where I'm from" game, but in India it became a whole other level of entertainment. Between my accent and my outfits, these guys didn't know what to do with me.

The drive home from the airport was beyond insane. So crazy in fact I retract any previous statements about the driving in other countries. While those countries were no picnic at the time, experiencing India made those commutes look like a walk in the park. Definitely the sheer number of people plays a big role. Not only do you have cars, trucks, buses, and motorcycles, but you have rickshaws, bicycles, and pedestrians literally everywhere. So many pedestrians. Your best bet is to pay no mind to what your driver is doing. Instead I rolled down my window and tried to take in all the smells and sounds that not even the perfect picture or video can capture. The horn honking is costant, so much so you'd think they believe it has the power to move traffic. The smell of the street food is mouthwatering. The spices are so robust, you can almost taste the delicious food with one deep breath. While everything is dirty and dusty, the saris force brilliant, beautiful colors into an otherwise drab backdrop. With every yelp, oh my God, and sigh of relief, my driver reminded me "this is India".

Over an hour later I finally made it to my hotel, which was only about 10 km from the airport by the way. Nautious, hungry, and thoroughly exhausted, a bit of anxiety set in regarding my living quarters. I've relaxed a lot in the sense of how "high-end" things need to be to be deemed an acceptable place to rest my head. The one area where I just can't seem to lower my standards is the bathroom. No hot water and no actual shower, just a faucet with a few buckets underneath. What the heck was I expected to do with these? I guess I'm not showering for the next two days. The room itself was nice, minus the oddest chemical smell, clearly from whatever cleaning products they use. I guess in India the smell of cleaning supplies should be welcomed. It's not like I planned on spending a lot of time in here anyway. Despite these grievances one thing was clear, the hospitality of the Indian people is undeniable. They somehow manage to make you feel right at home. Completely forgetting how uncomfortable and out of my element I actually was, before I knew it I was relaxed and enjoying myself.

Just a few doors down from my hotel was a little restaurant I deemed some of the best Indian food I've ever had. Sidebar, India has singlehandedly turned me back into a vegetarian...or at least I'm definitely a vegetarian in India. Known for it's spicy veg cuisine, I was sure I had found a diamond in the rough. Turns out it's like the Chipotle of Indian food, which is hilarious given how many people in various countries have asked me if I like Chipotle. "Yeah, it's good for fast food" I say. A look of shock every time when they realize I don't eat there on a daily basis, haha. Still some of the best Indian food I've ever had. Spicy enough to make me sweat and partnered with an ice cold beer. I was happy. It was also nice to drink beer in public without getting side eyed. There are plenty of Indians who don't drink, but they don't judge you for drinking either. Besides, they can't really expect me to eat food that spicy without a beer to wash it down. At some point no amount of water dilutes the spice, only beer can do that. Over the next few days it seemed near impossible to get a bad meal. Granted I avoided street food like the plague, having been warned by locals that with the changing seasons comes questionable food.

With the food situation well under control, the next thing to figure out was how to get around. In my opinion the best way is hiring a driver for the day. Rather cheap, maybe $20 or $30 for 8 hours and ridiculously convenient. Although all my drivers were English speaking, none of them seemed to understand when I told them I didn't want to do the typical tourist routes, stopping at the various monuments and temples. "Just go straight", I said, "I'll tell you when to turn". Over the next few hours, literally taking a left or a right whenever a street or area looked interesting, clicking away at various markets and locals going about their day, now THIS is what I'm talking about. I've come to learn that this is really the best way to experience a land and it's people. While paying respect and learning the history and significance of certain monuments is important, I guarantee you'll get way more out of just submersing yourself directly. Besides, as cliche as it may sound, you can read about that stuff online rather than waste precious time abroad. After some of the craziest stops and numerous u-turns my driver finally understood what I was after.

"Let me show you some things", he insisted. Finally I was gaining access to places you can't find on the Internet or Trip Advisor. First we went to The Slum, as in Slum Dog Millionaire, the largest slum in all of Asia. "You mean India", I said. "No, Asia" he confirmed. What?! This area of makeshift homes extends as far as the eye can see and consists of no more than sticks, mud, and either a plastic or metal sheet to serve as a roof. Little children sat naked in the streets, content to play with whatever they could find around them.  The parents still working to tidy and clean what little they had, clearly taking pride in making their shack into a home. This is exactly how I pictured India in my head. Scenes like this in movies would bring me to tears and upset me to the point I couldn't watch, yet here I was face to face with it and not one tear to shed. They weren't crying, so why should I? Perhaps I'd be inclined to cry with them, but not for them. Those are just pity tears and if there's one thing these people don't need, it's pity. Still, I couldn't help but be reminded that if it weren't for the grace of God, this could've been my life.

Next stop was an area known as "washing laundry". A 300 year old commercial and communal system for hand washing and hang drying laundry. From the outside it looked like pure chaos. Spanning multiple city blocks, with men coming in and out towing rickshaw style flatbeds packed with laundry, this place was like it's own little metropolis. Talk about a hard days work and how incredible that this system has been maintained and passed down through multiple generations. On to the Skid Row of Mumbai, one whole street lined with giant culdrins and a small staff dedicated to cooking proper meals for those less fortunate. Of course my first question was where the food comes from. "The rich pay for everything", my driver said, as if he couldn't understand how I didn't already assume that. Wow! A country where the rich don't need to be told or taxed. They donate and "redistribute their wealth" of their own free will. Imagine that?! Surely being considered rich in India looks far different than being considered rich in many other parts of the world. I couldn't  help but wonder what the world would look like if every "rich" person did this.

While shopping for souvenirs for my family, the Swastikas became impossible to ignore. "Are these what I think they are?", telling myself there is no way. "Yes, the Nazis ruined it for everyone", the shopkeeper joked. I couldn't help but laugh, although clearly not a laughing matter. Who would've thought the Nazis managed to piss off the Indians in this way. At least they chose to stand firm with their ancient prayer symbol, unwilling to change hundreds of years of tradition on account of one psychopath and his idiot followers. Perhaps time will allow the world to reassociate this symbol as it was originally intended, but I'm sorry India, I really don't think so. It's odd to me, how men like Adolf Hitler remain famous, some would even argue more famous than men like Gandhi. Is it that we actually choose to permanently etch these horrible men into history, thus allowing their legacy to live on. Wouldn't it be better if they remained nameless cowards, forgotten and lost for all of eternity. Be it school shootings, marathon bombings, terrorist groups, or evil dictators, what these people want is to be known. They want their place in history. Why do we play into that desperate search for fame. I really don't think Gandhi was looking for fame, as most people who deserve to be remembered rarely are.

My last stop was the Gandhi museum, which I initially wanted to skip for fear of wasting time wandering aimlessly through artifacts and write ups. As soon as I learned it was actually his former home, complete with a humble shoebox style display capturing his entire life, I was in. The biggest thing that impacted me while staring at these incredibly detailed displays, was the gaps in his accomplishments. In some cases, literally 20 or 30 year gaps before he did something that was deemed notable. Does this mean that in between he was up to nothing...I doubt it. Rather he continued down his path, unaware and having no concern for what the world would later deem a notable accomplishment. For me, Gandhi is the epitome of what it means to fight with peace. Not just peace, but knowledge. We've all heard that knowledge is power, so why don't we use it more often. With so many countries and their people hell bent on war and destruction, how is it that we so quickly forgot all that Gandhi was able to accomplish with peace. While I will never understand why one would choose violence over peace, Gandhi reminds us that "it is better to be violent, if there is violence in our hearts, than to put on the cloak of nonviolence to cover impotence". I guess the question becomes, how do we rid people of violence in their hearts? My best guess, love. Love can do that.

[lorenasha]

Buh-bye, Dubai.

I thought I'd love this city on account of its world renowned architecture and cutting edge urban development. Not so much, not a fan. Yes, the real estate is astoundingly beautiful and unlike anything you could ever dream of, but that's about it. For a brand new city, literally built from nothing over the last 10 years, you'd think there would be more to do. Malls, malls, and more malls. Granted these malls come equipped with aquariums, ski slopes, and bowling alleys, not to mention some of the most beautifully designed interiors I've ever seen, but that's about it. This place is like one big tourist trap. Appalling levels of excess are everywhere and the cost of goods makes you feel like a dumb tourist playing into the trap they've created. You know you're smarter than that, but they leave you no choice. I can think of a million other ways to spend my hard earned cash and paying close to $200 to go to the top of the Burj Kalifa or ski down a bunny slope inside of a mall is not one of them. 

This place is stuck somewhere between Las Vegas and Saudi Arabia. I get the feeling they are confused on who they are trying to be. On the one hand, they are trying to set themselves up to be the next big business hub of the world, still building even though their city vacancy rates are at an all time high. On the other hand, they expect you to abide by the traditions of a Muslim life style, ignoring the sexy ads for clothing and liquor, covering yourself up, and obtaining a license to purchase and drink alcohol in your own home. Given how much time (and money) you spend in their malls, you'd think you'd be able to grab a drink after a long day of shopping. Nope! Only at the top notch 5 star hotels and once again, you're going to pay a premium for that. How does this place expect to cater to and attract international business, when they are clearly still set in their own ways, not to mention blatantly ok with ripping you off? Compromise is key in business and it's not considered compromise when the other party has to pay for it. No deal.

Sorry Dubai, I know you're new to the world, but what you're selling isn't worth what you're charging and I'm not buying. Only a few days in and I couldn't wait to get the heck out of there. Too bad I was stuck waiting on the status of my Indian Visa, but thank God for my new Indian friends. Bunty is a client and family friend, who I met at my cousin Kelley's baby shower. I reached out to him with questions regarding my Indian Visa application and before I knew it, he was setting me up with friends of his in Dubai. If there's one thing I've learned in the short time I've known Bunty, once you're in, you're family, and anyone he considers family will treat you just the same. Exactly what I needed after 2 weeks in the Middle East, literally on guard at all times. Amit and Anish took me under their wings, were beyond hospitable, and even offered a place for me to stay. Such sweet guys and I can honestly say that if it weren't for them, Dubai would've been a total bust.

Speaking of Indians, did you know that Dubai's population is primarily East Indian, then Pakistani, then Filipino? Not what you'd expect in a Middle Eastern city and yet another reason to call into question some of the old fashion Muslim beliefs they are enforcing. Amit and Anish are originally from India, but are in Dubai working on the launch of the next big thing in mobile phones, Obi Worldphone. Having partnered with the former C.E.O. of Apple, their primary focus is bringing state of the art smartphone technology to the masses. By masses, I mean Africa, Southeast Asia, Central America, and any other region of the globe currently disconnected as a result of their economic status. Talk about connecting the world and looking out for the little guys! Their model seeks to turn more units at a much lower price point without compromising quality, versus turning fewer units at a much higher price point and thus becoming unattainable to the masses. The ROI remains strong for the investors and the people who would've otherwise been detached from the world and all the capabilities that come with owning a smart phone, now get a leg up in life. Incredibly inspiring mission and vision and one you can't help but stand behind.

Just a few days later, with my Indian Visa approved, I was off to Mumbai. "Just have fun", Anish kept telling me. While that was the plan, I couldn't help but wonder what these next few weeks would bring. It was like the culmination of my life story and I wasn't sure if I was ready. I felt ready, but you can never really know until you're in it. I knew I was scared. Not only regarding my personal safety, being a single female (Indian female) travelling alone, but also regarding what seeing my roots first hand would do to me emotionally. I've spent my whole life rejecting anything Indian. It wasn't until my 30's I realized that through this rejection, I was also rejecting myself. While America is often referred to as the "melting pot" of the world, from what I see many of the minorities who survive, do so as a result of finding a way to blend in to the overwhelmingly white culture. Again, I'm not trying to speak negatively about my country, the country I love and owe everything to. I am simply trying to convey what it's like growing up a minority in America. With that said, there is still no other place I'd rather call home.

[lorenasha]

The Quietest House in a Noisy Neighborhood. (Jordan)

Who knows how many plane rides later, the flight to Jordan was the first that not only included smoking in flight, but blatant use of cell phones during take off and landing. Talk about traveling back in time. The seats even came with those little ash trays in the arm rests. Once I got past that, I noticed two men a few rows back on the opposite side, who seemed incredibly agitated. They kept taking random photos of the plane's interior, peering down the aisle towards the cockpit, and nervously shifting back and forth in their seats. They seemed a little old to have first flight gitters, but I guess you never know. I kept one eye on them anyway, while coming up with a plan just in case. A ballpoint pen would've been my best option, just FYI. I'd like to think in the heat of the moment I'd do whatever I could to stop madmen from doing whatever it is madmen do while highjacking a plane. I think in those moments your body probably just reacts. There is no thought process, no willingness or unwillingness to engage. You either do or you don't and if you're lucky enough, you think about it later.

Safely on the ground, but still wondering about the intentions of those men, I had to shift my focus to finding what looked like an honest and legit cab driver. You see I already asked information what the max could be to get me from the airport to The Dead Sea. Even if they're off by a few bucks, at least I had a ballpark. Before I could even scan the room a man by the name of Magid approached me and asked where I was headed. I usually blow off the ones that approach me and choose the person I think is best, but Magid was different. The moment I looked up at him, I saw kind eyes, a huge smile, and heard something in the back of my mind say, "he is here for you". A little taken back, I told him I needed to run to the restroom. If he was still there when I got out, then I would go with him. Call it traveler's intuition, divine intervention, or pure dumb luck, but Magid ended up staying by my side for the next 4 days. My driver and my tour guide, my translator and my bodyguard, and now, my dear dear friend.

A quick trip to the ATM and having added Jordanian Dinar to my currency exchange app, I was blown away. 1JD is equal to 1.40 USD. I just couldn't believe how weak the dollar is here. It was the worst I'd seen since London and actually, the JD is neck and neck with the British Pound. I don't get it. It's like some kind of paradox or parellel universe. There is no evidence of wealth here. Definitely nothing like London. If anything, I'd say primarily lower middle class...real blue collar type folks. Perhaps it's that they're all rich and choose to live humbly (Very VERY humbly) or perhaps their currency somehow avoided the decline that the rest of the world couldn't escape. It's not like the exchange is countered by incredibly cheap prices. Aside from Magid getting the locals discount on things like food, this country was expensive. I'd suggest it has to do with prices being set and geared towards tourism, but that doesn't explain how they convinced the FX markets to bite. Are Jordanian Dinar even traded?  A mystery for now and something to research later.

Regardless of the cost, I'd say this country is worth it. I once heard Jordan described as the quietest house in a noisy neighborhood. You can literally see Jerusalem, Jericho, and Bethlehem to the West, just across the Jordan river. Syria to the North, Iraq to the East, and Saudi to the South, the "neighborhood" is undeniable, as is the peace and quiet you find here in Jordan. Magid said the Israeli border was just a few kilometers away, but it'd take me at least 4 hours to get through. Although I have grown rather large balls while on this trip, they're not that big yet, hahaha. I will say that if ever I chose to visit these neighbors, Magid would be the guy I'd take with me. Not only is he fluent in 5 languages and clearly up to speed with the surrounding cultures, customs, and conflicts, but he's been doing this over 20 years and has never had a bad day. Now that's a man with God on his side. "There is only one God", he said. "I am Muslim, you are Christian, they are Jew, but we are all the same. We will all answer to the same God." There's one train leaving the station and Magid and I are on it. Whose coming with us?! Tickets are free:)

Speaking of free, my hotel in The Dead Sea came complete with a private beach and mud for days. Typically you have to pay to float in the sea and that doesn't include the mud, but not only could I float as often and for as long as I'd like, there were even hotel staff to help me thoroughly apply the mud. #ProTip, don't shave just prior to jumping in salt water. I mean I knew it was going to be salty, but this was literally like pouring salt into an open wound. The water is so salty and so thick, it's actually more like salt and oil, with a dash of water. It throws your body up no matter which way you turn and I swear, you wouldn't be able to sink if you tried. I imagine this is similar to what zero gravity must feel like, although don't you dare flip or get this crap anywhere near your face. Worth the risk, because the sensation is like nothing I've ever felt. In just a few hours I was able to more than make up for a lifetime of being unable to float, or more accurately, a lifetime of sinking like a rock...straight to the bottom...every time.

The following morning, cured of my achy muscles and with skin softer than a baby's butt, Magid and I set out on the 3 hour journey South to Petra. This guy, I swear. Randomly breaking out in Arabic song and dance, stopping at all these random spots that no tour company  would bother to show you, and telling me one crazy story after the other from his 20+ years of driving people all over the Middle East. We'd literally go from blasting Arabic rap songs to discussing  the nuances of religion and war. In fact, two of my favorite songs happened to be between a Palestinian and a Jordanian rapper.  Unlike the epic battle between Biggie Smalls and Tupac, which boasted nothing but violence and hatred towards each other, these two guys rapped back and forth praising the other's country, basically saying that they love each other and telling their people that Palestine and Jordan are one. There were even audio clips of their Presidents speaking about these two nations coming together. I could see Magid's demeanor change every time it got to this part. Shoot, I felt the significance and I have no idea what this war must've been like.

Before I knew it we had arrived in Wadi Musa. I couldn't wait to channel my inner Indiana Jones and explore Petra for myself. To no surprise it wasn't like the movie, but my God, I totally get why it's one of the world wonders. How the heck they managed to carve these structures and how long it must've taken them, I can't even imagine. Walking the narrow path through the canyon and seeing an entire city literally created from nothing...you couldn't help but be reminded of what human beings are capable of.  What's funny is that the Treasury building, which is the building made famous by the movie, isn't even the building revered by the Bedouins. Rather the monastary is treated like the Holy Grail, which is a huge hike up to the tops of these cliffs. It's easily 2 or 3 times the size of the treasury and simply mind blowing. Even standing right in front of it I didn't truly comprehend the scale until I spotted two tiny little men at the very top of the tallest tower. 

The Bedouins are interesting people. The men look like Jonny Depp, circa Pirates of the Caribbean. Despite the bulk of these cave dwellers vacating Petra in the early 80s, I'm told there are still over 50 families living there today. While Petra was once the biggest trading hub in the Middle East, today it is clear they rely primarily on our tourist dollars for survival. Barter and trade is in their blood and with children as young as 3 and 4 years old, unaccompanied, selling rocks and whatever else they can find on the side of the road, it seems their way of life will continue for at least a few more generations to come. Everything from secret tours and short cuts to taxis in the form of donkeys and camels, you name it, it was offered to me. I even had a guy offer to bring me to the top of the canyon to witness an animal sacrifice. Holy crap! You couldn't pay me to watch that, let alone convince me it was worth "only 5 dinar". After almost 6 hours in this desert canyon, I was set...for life. While you may be thinking it was the heat and the hike that kicked my butt, it wasn't. It was the Bedouins, although I'm sure the former didn't help either. I literally didn't have even one more "no thank you" left in me. Kudos to them though, not only are they scrappy, but their English is impeccable. Hands down the best I've heard in a long while. 

Absolutely exhausted, food, shower, and nap. In that order. That evening Magid and I drove around, taking in the sights, and chit chatting about my day. The next thing I knew we randomly stopped at the Jordanian version of a bachelor party and had joined hands with a circle of at least 50 men doing their traditional premarital dance. The best way a can describe it is a very manly version of The Rockets. Probably one of the most authentic moments on this trip, thankfully etched into my memory forever. On the road again headed North, we stopped for coffee and a bit of shopping at the Dead Sea Factory. This place creates the hundreds of products made from the salt and mud of the Dead Sea. Pennies on the dollar compared to what we pay retail or in spas. I was honestly contemplating if there was anything in my backpack that I was willing to leave behind in order to make room for more products. As I told Magid, there is money to be made here and I think he and I can pull it off. He didn't seem all that interested. Maybe they are all secretly rich?! :) So sad to say good bye to this man and his country, but as my life has become a running series of good byes, I've learned to appreciate the time shared and leave the door open on my way out.

[lorenasha]

Walk Like an Egyptian

All my life I imagined that arriving in Egypt would be like traveling back in time, or at least as close as I’ll ever get to it. With one quick flight, I’d teleport back to ancient times. An area of the globe that magically escaped modernization and managed to stay exactly as it was in 2000 BC. The moment I stepped out of the airport, reality slapped me across the face in the form of sand. Stop day dreaming Loren, look alive! One swift gust of wind and you better duck and cover. Sand. Everywhere. Everywhere it’s not supposed to be. In this case, a small price to pay, as I have no doubt this place will easily be a highlight of my life for many years to come. I was also told I came at the perfect time. Temps recently dropped to the high 20s, versus upwards of 45°C (well over 100°F). Not sure how keen I’d be to ride a camel through the Sahara desert in those conditions. Even if I could briefly handle it, I don’t think I’d feel right doing that to the poor camel.

The traffic in Cairo is insane, probably the worst I’ve seen anywhere. Yes, even worse than L.A. I’m not sure if it’s on account of the amount of people, the lack of roads, or the fact that traffic laws are treated as a light suggestion. If you can imagine yourself on a 10 lane freeway that suddenly, within less than a hundred feet, turns into 2 or 3 lanes, that’s what it’s like. MERGE! Ask any local and they will tell you, other than the traffic, Egypt is the perfect place to live. Now I’m not 100% sold on that statement, yet, but the Egyptian pride is admirable if nothing else. These people love their country and they want us to love it too. I can’t tell you how many locals voiced their sorrow around the decline in tourism and the extent to which it is hurting their families. The more I hear this and the more I experience the difference in who these people really are, versus how their countries are portrayed, the harder I find it to imagine walking in their shoes. Yet another group of people who feel wrongfully judged by the rest of the world. 

Honestly, the city looks dirty and incredibly run down, but it’s not. Well, not as much as it seems anyway. I couldn’t help but imagine what it’d be like to power wash the whole place. It won’t help, my cabbie said, the sand will just blow in again and if everything is wet, well we’d have a real mess. These buildings that look severely neglected and deferred, are actually just covered in sand. In fact, many of them comprise some of the wealthiest parts of Cairo. Wealth that, even when taking into account the exchange rate on the Egyptian pound, is more than enough to live a lavish lifestyle. The not so wealthy parts, well they look like what I imagine would be left behind in the aftermath of bombing. Buildings with the entire roof and top floors literally falling down, if not gone completely…and people still living there! The craziest part is that in between what’s left of these structures, lies pristine mosques and incredible churches. At least even the poorest of the poor have a beautiful place to pray.

Finally crossing over the Nile and it looked like any other river. Not sure what I was expecting. Blocks of limestone and marble floating on ancient cedar boats, complete with a Pharoah draped in gold and maybe he’s even holding a scroll made of papyrus. Too much to ask? :) Stopping for a moment on the bridge to gaze at this river was still pretty powerful. Not only taking into account the sheer length and the many borders it crosses, but also how much history has floated down this river. This body of water was, and in many ways still is, a life source and a sign of vitality for the Egyptians. Sounds oddly familiar when you look at the current water shortage in parts of the U.S., the extent to which we still rely on boats worldwide, despite the invention of planes and trains, or even the current push towards making sure every human being on earth has access to clean, drinkable water. So many innovations have been made, yet the commodity in and of itself has remained the same. I find that so interesting.

It’s moments like these that make me stop and remind myself that I’m really here. I’m really doing this. I must admit, it was getting to the point that no matter where I was, everything was “kif kif” (that’s “same same” in Arabic, which I totally found out by chance, HAHA!). Nothing like The Pyramids of Giza to wake you up and remind you not just that you’re alive, but that you’re actually living! I haven’t felt this deeply moved and awe struck ever (no, not even in Machupicchu). I would pay 100x what this day trip cost me to experience it again for the first time. Walking through an ancient pyramid, riding a camel through the Sahara, and being within feet of The Great Sphinx. Absolutely a priceless piece of history, theirs and mine. Sidebar, the Sphinx is actually a lot smaller than I imagined. Incredibly mind blowing, don’t get me wrong, but just smaller than I expected it to be. I think it’s because most of the photos we see put it in front, with the three pyramids in back. You don’t realize until you’re here just how far apart these monuments are (a one hour camel ride to be exact:)

The only bad part about Egypt was how short I made my trip. “Get in and get out”, that was my motto. Created out of fear, no doubt. If all things I fear turn out to be as great as Egypt, then FDR was right and we don’t have anything to fear, but fear itself. On the way back to the airport my driver asked, “did you enjoy your time here in Egypt?”. Yes, of course I did! “You really did, I mean you really loved it here”? Yes, yes, my most enthusiastic YES!!! “Then do me one favor”…here we go, what’s he going to ask me for? Money? A review of his cab company on Trip Advisor? What, what could it be? “Tell your friends, your family, and everyone you know how great our country is. Tell them to come visit, that it is safe, and that the Egyptian people will welcome them with open arms”. Seriously. My heart broke right then and there. It broke for him and his country, it broke for everyone who was ever misunderstood, and it broke for us. The people on the outside looking in, who have become products of what “they” want us to believe, what “they” want us to fear. “I promise. I will tell everyone. I promise”.

[lorenasha]

It's Istanbul, not Constantinople.

24 hrs in Istanbul and the call to prayer  has become the theme song for our visit. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve forgotten it was Sunday and totally missed mass. No such excuse could possibly exist here. The call to prayer is so loud, you can hear it from a mosque miles away. At one point I even witnessed the Blue Mosque alternating with Ayasophia, going back and forth like a duet. It was beautiful. Another beautiful thing was that I clearly wouldn’t have to worry about my mom getting a seat on the metro or bus. Barely one foot in the door and these men are jumping out of their seats telling her to sit. A common theme with not only their elders, but women and children as well. I don’t mean to keep poking at Italians, but my mom was pushed, shoved, and forced to stand more times than I’d like to recall in Italy. The Turkish people on the other hand, while perhaps old fashion in some ways the modern world can no longer understand or support, are also old fashion in ways that sadly the modern world seems to have forgotten.

A solid nights sleep and it was time to get mom to the airport. I’ve never seen an airport that scans you and all your bags the moment you walk in the door. One at a time people are cruising through the checkpoint. Mom made it through with her fake knees, then it was my turn. “Lady, please open your bag”. This is not happening. Keep cool, Loren and take control of the situation. I unzipped my bag as the young security guard strapped on a pair of white plastic gloves. “Oh, my liquids, is that what your looking for?” I pulled them out and laid them down while explaining this will be a checked bag, not a carry on. “No, we saw something in this area”, pointing deep into one side of the bag. Thank God it was packed so tightly he seemed overwhelmed at the idea of having to dig through it. “Oh, I know what you want to see”, I said smiling and batting my eyes. I dug deep, around my taser, and pulled out my mini hair straightener while giggling like a stupid girl. “Oh, haha, you have very beautiful hair lady”. Thanks man, now let me get the hell out of here so I can go throw up.

Saying good bye to my mom was rough. Way rougher than leaving her in New York after the funeral. I don’t know why. We were both in tears and for a moment I prayed that this not be the last time I see her. Once I checked into my new hotel in Sultanahmet, I laid in bed and cried until I fell asleep. My mom and I have parted ways plenty of times before, but for some reason it hurt more this time. If I’m being honest, part of me was scared. I was now entering what many would consider to be the most dangerous part of my trip and I was alone. God forbid anything happens to me, not account of me, but on account of what it would do to my mother. Enter the best Facebook message I’ve ever received. Colleen and I went to high school together and apparently she saw that I was in Istanbul and offered to meet up. Talk about a Godsend. Her message couldn’t have come at a better time. I have no doubt it was divine intervention that inspired her to reach out to me.

Colleen and her husband Paul had been living in Istanbul for 9 months. We met for dinner near my hotel that night and honestly, it felt like I had known these two forever. While I have “known” Colleen for 17 years, I never really knew her. Yes, we went to the same high school, but before Istanbul I can probably count on two hands how many words we said to each other. This leads me to my one regret in life, if I believed in regrets that is. In a class of just over 200 girls, it wasn’t until I started running into people long after high school that I learned how my group of “friends” was viewed. I’ve heard “The Popular Group” and gag almost every time, but more accurately I’ve heard “The Bitch Click”. If you’ve seen the movie Mean Girls, you know exactly what I’m talking about. It took me years to recover from just how mean those girls were. No wonder our friendships faded and I began to distance myself come Junior year. Why did I put all my eggs in their basket? I missed out on the opportunity to get to know all the other incredible women we went to high school with. 

Better late than never is definitely the case when it comes to Colleen. Over the next few days we met for dinner, drinks, and she let me borrow her husband, who no exaggeration, showed me literally everything worth seeing Istanbul. We went to the Egyptian bazzar, the spice bazzar, and the grand bazaar. We went to the Asian side, Taksim square, and even squeezed in a traditional Turkish breakfast. Yum! These two have clearly adopted the Turkish ways regarding hospitality. At this point I can’t imagine what my time in Istanbul would’ve been like without them. They made my trip and I cannot wait for the day I get to return the favor. Something tells me that day will come sooner versus later. Colleen was bit by the travel bug right out of college and has 41 stamps on her passport! Super impressive, but you would never know unless you ask, because she is so humble about it. Her husband Paul and I are neck and neck, although at 28 stamps now I think I have him beat by 5 or 6;) I’m pretty sure these two will meet me somewhere and I cannot wait.

Speaking of world travel, there was only one time I heard Colleen whip out her “I’ve been to 41 countries” card. Enter, The Meat Meat. “What’s the difference between these burgers?” I asked our waiter. He went on to explain…ok, bacon cheeseburger it is! Now, I’m not really sure how to describe what actually arrived at our table. At a loss for words Paul dubbed it The Meat Meat. It was strips of beef, that almost looked cured, or perhaps like really thick cuts of pastrami, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. That’s it. No actual burger, as in a burger patty. We went on to question this guy for quite a while, referencing his previous descriptions. We really wanted it to make sense. The guy insisted that people make burgers differently depending on where you go. Exhausted, Colleen whipped out her “look, I’ve been to 41 countries and have had all kinds of burgers, but you know the one thing they all had in common…the burger!”. Hahaha:))) Just as we were ready to give up, out of the corner of her eye I see Colleen point to the man sitting next to us who had ordered the pub special burger. Guess what, it had a burger. Friggin hilarious and we laughed about it all the way to the metro.

There are quite a few things of note that Turkey does differently. In need of my 2nd Hep A booster before heading to India, I was scrambling trying to figure out how to get it done. Finally I found a pharmacy that said they could get it within 2 hrs. Paul and I showed up exactly 2 hours later, no vaccine. “Turkish time” they tell us and offered us some Turkish tea while we waited. Giving someone Turkish tea is like shaking their hand and saying hello. It’s offered everywhere and at one point, totally cracked out, I told Paul not to let me have any more tea. Another 30 minutes later a guy comes speeding through on a motorcycle with what looked like a mini fridge for food delivery. It was my vaccine! Hot off the press, or I guess I should say cold. Check! Finally we could get on with our day and Paul could get back to petting all the stray cats. For fellow animal lovers, you’ll love this. Paul explained that there are a ton of stray cats and dogs everywhere in Istanbul, but he also pointed out that they are tagged and the government provides food and water dishes all over the city to make sure they eat. I haven’t seen a city that cares for it’s strays like this before.

The next day I had my traditional Turkish cooking class. We walked through the market, sampled all kinds of incredible fruits, meats, and veggies, and even stopped by a medicinal shop to learn how their multitude of spices are utilized for homeopathic healing. Right up my alley, although some of the stuff was terrifying, even for me. Snake oil was one, which I guess they use to help grow their hair. Not sure that one works, because by the way, I kept seeing all these men with bandages around their head. I assumed motorcycle accidents. Nope. Hair implants. Why the world’s middle eastern men are flocking to Istanbul for hair implants, I do not know, but it’s hilarious to see once you know. To think I gave my seat up on the metro assuming this guy had suffered a head injury, haha. Anyway, the class was great and if nothing else, I’ve found a new love for philo dough and will never make my homemade hummus the same way again.

Last, but not least, a Turkish bath. An interesting concept, which once you understand how special it is to these people, you go from uneasy to honored. Not to give it all away, because you really do need to experience it for yourself, but the short answer is yes, you are naked and someone else bathes you. Shocked at first I realized that if these Muslim women, for whom covering their bodies means everything, can do it, so can I. I’ll tell you what, I was not only super clean afterwards, but so relaxed I actually passed out at 7:30pm and didn’t wake up until 9:30am the next morning. Epic fail, because my lovely friend André from Munich was in town and we were supposed to have dinner. While in Munich André told me that if two people’s paths cross twice, it’s meant to be. My last night in Instanbul and I was determined to cross pathes again, even if just for a quick hug. Funny how great it was to see a familair face, that not so long ago was unfamiliar. These relationships I’m creating around the word are so important to me. These people see me and appreciate me for who I am. They are teaching me openness and acceptance, not only of others, but of myself. At last, my eyes are open, my mind is free, and my heart is ready.

[lorenasha]

Mama Mia <3

I arrived in Rome to learn that my hotel overbooked and I had been upgraded to a penthouse suite in a tower, an actual ancient Roman tower. Absolutely incredible luck! I just wish it happened when my mom was here so she could’ve experienced it too. My hotel also suggested I check out Piccolo restaurant near the Trevi fountain. A teeny little place down an obscure side street that I never would’ve found had it not been for the reccomendation. The food was incredible, but more importantly I met Natalia. Travelling alone and originally from Argentina, she was now living in Austria working as an aerial silk artist. The two of us were so alike and honestly, the bulk of our conversation was about dating, men, and managing/not comprising our careers. Before we knew it the restaurant was closed and the owner, Carlo, was headed to our table with all kinds of lemon cello, grapa, and amaretto. We stayed for a while to drink and exchange stories with him and his staff. These guys were so kind and really more like a family, not coworkers. They even walked us home. There was something so cool about walking through Rome in the early morning hours. The streets are literally empty and the historic monuments that by day are covered in tourists, have not a soul in sight.

The following day I had a pasta making course, which I was really excited about. Who would’ve thought making fresh pasta was so easy, as far as ingredients go anyway. As far as managing the dough and actually making the pasta, I imagine this is where most people fail or give up. A pasta roller is probably key. I’m not even sure my grandma could’ve rolled the dough out that perfectly and she had mad skills. The second hurdle is time. The steps themselves are easy, but I imagine making hundreds of gnocchi, ravioli, and tortellini time after time would get old. Still worth it in my opinion and as our chef mentioned, it’s a date night trick many of these Italian girls use to win the heart of their date. Can’t wait to test that theory out, although I’m not sure if it would be as successful on non-Italian men? Perhaps…men do love to eat and God knows the ones I’ve dated were always hungry, hahaha.

Three homemade pasta dishes later, I ended up passing out for hours. Waking up from my food coma and believe it or not, hungry again, my hotel reccomended a local dive bar just a few doors down in Vatican. Go figure, it was an American country bar. While living in the states I can’t say I particularly loved country. I didn’t hate it, but wouldn’t exactly seek it out either. In this case, however, I literally felt like I had been transported back to the states. I’ve never loved country more and I must admit, in that moment the idea of settling in some small town with a hot cowboy looked incredibly attractive. It also made me feel American pride in a way I never have before. Next thing I knew, the bartender had me creating the play list and the locals were eager for me to teach them how Americans play darts. Such a fun group and after a few rounds it became clear they were enjoying practicing their English with me. Wait a minute, what about my Italian? New rule, whoever has the most points at any given time gets to choose which language we speak. Needless to say my Italian got a lot of practice that night:)

The next day on very little sleep, I was off to the airport to pick up my mom!!! I even made a sign that said “mom” and lined up with all the other professional airport transfers. The flight attendants and pilots seemed to get a kick out of it anyway. I’ve been quite nervous about my mom traveling…on so many levels. Endurance, safety, medical needs, and even whether or not she would enjoy all the ups and downs and ins and outs that come with traveling through foreign lands. This was her first trip overseas after all. What I quickly learned is that my mom’s idea of travel and what she was hoping to get out of her time abroad was far different than what I thought. She didn’t care about seeing and doing everything or going everywhere. She was content to slowly take our time, enjoy the details of wherever we were, and focus on the quality time we have together. For her first trip overseas, my mom somehow already knew what had taken me months to figure out. It’s not where you are or what you are doing, but who you are with. #wisdom

Even with her being content, we ended up hitting all the major spots. Is a fountain still considered a fountain when it has no water? The Trevi was dissapointing to say the least, but oddly enough Fendi was commissioned for the reconstruction. Not sure if they are being granted any sort of creative freedom or if they simply paid to have their name on the glass during rennovation. Smart advertising regardless, as hundreds still gathered every day unaware there was no water. Despite that fact, we were still encouraged to throw coins in. One coin means you’ll return to Italy and two means you’ll get married. While the idea of throwing coins into an empty fountain seemed pointless, it wasn’t until I was told that the Red Cross comes by to collect the coins that I knew I had no interest. Pennies on the dollar go to their actual mission and helping those in need. The remainder goes to overhead such as exorbitant salaries, fancy life styles, and schmoozing for more donations. Sadly this is the case with many of the well known worldwide nonprofits and while I’m not saying don’t give, I am saying do the research and know where your money is going before you walk away with that warm fuzzy feeling from having helped those in need.

Along with famous historical landmarks, I wanted my mom to experience as many methods of transportation as possible. Of course there was the plane, a bus, the tram, various metros, many many trains, boats (including everything from a water taxi to a cruise ship), a cable car, a tuk tuk, you name it, we did it. The one method I just couldn’t get her on board with was a donkey. C'mon mom;)!!! Eh, you win some you lose some.  Street food was another and it’s funny, because of all the fine dining and fancy pants places we went to, the street food was not only deemed the best, but cheap too. We were both surprised at how hard it was to find good food, especially in Rome. I guess like anywhere, there are going to be a handful of really good authentic restaurants surrounded by crap. Unfortunately we had more misses than hits, but perhaps that made us appreciate the hits even more.

The biggest hit in Italy was in Assisi, hands down. I’m not a huge fan of carbonara, but this dish was so good we actually went back for more the next day. It wasn’t the same:( Different chef maybe? Perhaps we built it up in our heads or were just that hungry the night before. Regardless, Assisi was incredible and holds a very special place in our hearts. My mom’s sister, my Aunt Mary, who I mentioned passed away a few months ago, was a Franciscan sister. She visited Assisi to see first hand the roots of her order. For us, knowing we were walking the same streets as not only my Aunt Mary, but Saint Francis and Saint Clare, was really something special. My aunt became a Franciscan sister when she was only 18 years old. She dedicated her entire life to this order and had without a doubt fufilled her life’s purpose through their work. Her presence was undeniable and it was deeply moving for both of us to feel so close to her again.

From the Vatican and Rome, to Assisi, Siena, Florence, and Venice, 10 days later we were ready to board our ship and head to Greece. I know I’ve mentioned this before, but just in case you forgot, my opinions are simply that, opinions, and reflective only of my experiences. I in no way try to stereotype or generalize (although I do think stereotypes exist for a reason), and certainly have no intention of offending anyone. That said, Italians (for the most part) are just plain rude. Now of course we met some very nice people here and there…they were easy to find on account of how rare they were. I couldn’t help but wonder if it’s just the tone of their language and their culture or if in fact the bulk of them are just jerks. I blame it on them smoking like chimneys and pounding espresso all day and if they’re not doing that, they’re dealing with people all day who are. Again, I don’t want to generalize, we met some very nice people, mostly in the tourist areas where they are paid to be nice to you, but I guess my conclusion remains that Italy is not a place I would rush back to or a place where I feel good about spending my money. Everyone should see it once, because it is magnificent, but there are so many other places, with kinder people, much more deserving of our ever so coveted tourist dollars.

Now all aboard and after 5 cities in 10 days, we couldn’t wait to sit on a ship, cruise through the Aegean, and do absolutely nothing. Neither of us had been on a cruise in over 20 years and this time we sprung for the balcony and unlimited beverage package:) Drinks and deep tissue massages at sea, souvenir shopping in Corfu, live jam sessions in the wine bar, and hiking up the cliffside in Santorini…life was good! Next stop was Mykonos and my mom and I both agree this was by far our favorite. We did nothing all day, but lounge by the beach. Mom was passed out and in the distance I saw a local woman toting a bag of beautiful bohemian style cover ups. I saw it. The one. The one I would get if she made it past these three people to my left and still had it in hand. Oh no! The beautiful Swiss gal next to me is trying on my cover up. Put it back. Put it back. (Telepathy at its finest) Yay! She put it back and of course, I snatched it right up. The next thing I knew Switzerland wasn’t so neutral anymore. Suddenly this woman was at my beach chair telling me she was debating and changed her mind. She wanted it. I’m sorry lady, but you put it back. It’s like when you hang something back up at a retail store, the second your hand leaves that hanger it’s free game.

She conceded and the second she did I felt horrible. I woke my mom up to tell her what happened and that I felt badly. She said, “then give it to her”. Man, why do I always find myself on the losing end of these battles. I suppose because they are trivial matters and a “W” or an “L” at the end of these games means absolutely nothing at all. Well my new friend felt the same way and while we both sat there and insisted the other one have it, I ended up keeping it and inviting her for a drink instead. I guess we’ll call this one a tie. She and her best friend were vacationing with their two daughters. My mom and I thoroughly enjoyed getting to know them, but what’s more important is the example we set for their two little girls. Kids are always watching and like always, we speak loudest through our actions. A few glasses of wine later, this little sucker ended up being one expensive cover up, hahahaha:)))

Back to the boat and who knew cruising through Greece could be so exhausting. Thank God we had acupuncture appointments that night. My first ever.  It was cool and I totally believe in all that it stands for, but, like most things worth doing, maintenance is key and it has to be a priority in your life or its never going to work. The next morning mom and I were beyond exhausted.  We both considered skipping Olympia, but that seemed like a crime.  We sucked it up and I can’t say it was worth it.  The short amount of time we had partnered with the snails pace we were moving at, didn’t really allow us to do the things you go to Olympia to do. “Ma, you wanna head back early and go to the spa? ”…“yup” she said, without any hesitation. Moving at a retiree’s pace is quite nice by the way. A deep tissue massage, sauna, steam room, and jacuzzi sounded so much better than seeing an Olympic flame or hiking a mountain (sorry!).

Last day at sea while hauling ass back to Venice, reality set in. This 3 weeks with my mom was nearly over. I couldn’t believe how fast it went and who knows if she and I will ever be able to do this again. Did I appreciate her while she was here as much as I could and more importantly, does she know how much I appreciate her? Did I take her for granted? Did she enjoy herself and did I do as I should to make sure this was a trip of a lifetime for her? Holy crap. I’m about to be alone again. I’m convinced traveling alone for a year would be much easier if I just left and never looked back. That’s not to say I’d want it that way, it’s simply to stress how hard it is going from being surrounded by people you love to being surrounded by total strangers. Our last night in Italy and my mom leaned over in tears, “Lore, please don’t go to the Middle East”. Ugh. What’s a loving and respectful daughter to do? On the one hand I completely understand where she’s coming from and would never want to cause my mother undue stress. On the other hand, this year is supposed to be about living for me and I can’t imagine going all the way around the world and not seeing the pyramids and Petra. “Let me sleep on it Ma. Let’s talk about it in the morning”. Needless to say neither of us slept that night. I was up all night Googleing (the bomb in Ankara had just gone off, which wasn’t helping my case) and mom was up all night tossing and turning. With maybe 2 or 3 hours sleep, we were headed to Istanbul and I had a solution.

Mom may only have 24 hours in Turkey, but during that time I will show her how the media has become the best storytellers of all time. Touched down and off to the Grand Bazaar, then to the Blue Mosque, dinner at a famous little diner with delicious Turkish food, and a few photo ops. Along the way we both learned the meaning of Turkish hospitality. My God, these people are easily some of the nicest people I have ever met, going out of their way to help us, making sure we were enjoying ourselves and knew exactly where we were going. Crisis averted. Mom saw so clearly the brilliance of the middle east. Most importantly, she saw how the media blew this bombing out of proportion and how a bomb going off 4.5 hours away in Ankara, was no different than the shootings that happened miles away in the U.S. There are good and bad people everywhere, but these people in the middle east, well they get a bad rap. If I were them, I’d feel cheated and deeply misunderstood. My eyes are open and what I see is absolutely beautiful.

[lorenasha]

The Boot (part due)

I think I've started this entry a million times with the intention of finishing it. I'm so far behind I can't even begin to think about what's missing. I guess that's what happens when you finally let go and really allow yourself to live in the moment. We've been at sea for 3 days now and I must say, not having cell service during this time has possibly been one of the best thing to happen to me so far on this journey. It's just before midnight and I'm on the rooftop deck of my cruise ship, sipping an amazing glass of pinot noir, knowing that by morning we'll be in Santorini. Mom's in bed and I guarantee I am the only single person on this ship, not to mention part of the small minority that's under the age of 50 (a minority that's married with kids, by the way). I've decided this is the universe's way of forcing me to turn my attention from men, to more pressing things, like this blog and figuring out what the hell I'm going to do with my life when this trip around the world is over.

Anyway, after Naples...I think that's where we left off. The train from Naples to Sorrento was quick and only slightly painful. One thing I just can't get used to is kids and/or young adults not giving up their seat to an elder. I can count on one hand how many times my doing so inspired others to do the same, but more importantly, I can't count how many times it didn't. The silver lining (if you REALLY want to see it) is that its not just Americans that are losing all sense of manners and respect for their elders, it's youth in general. Needless to say I haven't sat much, but I like to think my actions are having some small, miniscule effect on not only how elderly are treated on public transport, but how they view today's youth. God knows it's hard on me at 32, so I can only imagine what it'd be like at 60, 70, or 80 years old.

Arriving in Sorrento made the train ride well worth it. My first stop was Inn Bufalita, a teeny little restaurant that was awarded the distinction of having the best Buffala mozzarella in the world. Not Sorrento, not Italy, or even the EU, but the entire world. I can tell you with 100% certainty that they deserve that accreditation. Legit Buffala mozzarella its actually firm and chewy, yet liquid just pours out as you cut into it. I've never had anything like it. There are a few Italian bakeries I can think of that come close, but just like my theory on pizza from Napoli, the trump card is undoubedtly the fresh local ingredients, which we will never be able to get our hands on. The place was so good I actually went back for dinner and brought two new friends I met from Orange County.

Natalie and her boyfriend Marc met recently on OK Cupid. I couldn't help but think of my cousin Melissa and her husband George, who also met on that same site and have been happily together for many years now. After just a few weeks, Marc and Natalie went to Costa Rica together and here they were now, 8 months later in Italy. Two peas in a pod and yet another example of how sometimes online dating gets it right. Apparently Natalie overheard me talking to a shopkeeper and recognized my SoCal accent. While I know my family has been making fun of me for years regarding this alleged accent, I've never been called out by a native before. Ten years in L.A. and I guess I'd be silly to think my speech hasn't changed. Michigan meets a surfer in the valley? I don't know. Regardless, in this case I was grateful, because the three of us really hit it off. After dinner we went for drinks and spent hours exchanging stories about our lives. Not canned summaries of the things you typically want people to know, but real stories about hard life lessons we've learned over the years. After all, if our failures and struggles are our greatest teachers, why not be real and share those lessons with one another.

The next day I was off to Capri. A short boat ride along the coast and approaching Capri was like something out of a movie. Off one boat and on to the next, my plan was to sail completely around the island. By doing so, not only are you able to visit the Blue Grotto and pass through Lover's Arch, but you get a rare glimpse at the homes of Georgio Armani, Sofia Loren, and believe it or not the Gerber family, who had the largest home on the highest cliff. From the exterior this home appeared to be nothing special, but apparently it is the former home of Mussolini. Who knew baby food paid so well?! When passing under Lover's Arch, it is tradition to kiss your lover, french kiss the captain said, not Italian. Well, what's an Italian kiss I asked? All day, he said, without any hesitation:) You know what, I believe him. Back at the docks and I made friends with two doctors from where else, Southern California. We took the cable car to the center of town and by chance ended up dining at Villa Verde, a famous restaurant whose walls are filled with celebrity photos dating back to well before I was born.

While Capri was lovely, I was headed back to Sorrento to catch the bus to Amalfi. I'm not really sure what to say, except that this bus ride now tops the list of dangerous things I've done while traveling. I can't tell you how many times we slammed on our breaks, then proceeded to Austin Powers our way around cliffside corners. Not only did I almost throw up, but towards the end of this 2 hour journey I was fighting back tears. Just as I finally convinced myself there was nothing to fear, around the bend in Positano was a massive car fire. This man and his baby were on the side of the road and apparently, he swerved to avoid collision which resulted in him crashing into the side of the mountain. I'm told this is quite common. His car was completely engulfed in flames and the entire side of the mountain had caught on fire too. We could feel the heat from the flames as our bus passed and I guess putting these fires out isn't easy, as the road was closed for the next 3 days. 

While I cannot say I wasn't impressed by the Amalfi coast, I was, I guess more accurately I was expecting something more. I first blame living in Southern California for 10 years because my God, our landscape and weather is just unbelievable. I without a doubt appreciate California more, now that I've seen quite a bit of what this world has to offer.  Secondly, I blame travelling for so long.  So many people say,  wow,  you're traveling for a year,  you're so lucky.  Lucky indeed, but the downside is after a while it takes way more to blow your mind. Plus in an odd, impossible to explain kind of way, the world (and it's people for that matter) really isn't as different as it seems. Surely if I was on a 10 day getaway escaping the painstaking repetition that is so commonly called "life", the coastal landscapes of Southern Italy would've had a much greater impact. I'm not saying I'd prefer it that way or that one way is better than the other, I'm just saying, it'd be different.

One thing I imagine remains the same is how difficult it is to carry your luggage up the stairs. These coastal cities rest on vertical cliffs, nothing is labeled or numbered, and the stairs consist of uneven stone, slippery smooth from years of people walking on them. Beautiful views once you make it to the top, but man do you work for those views. As the day turned into the night before my birthday, I met a couple from San Fran and another from Detroit. A former Olympic bobsled racer, an international art dealer, a teacher from my Alma mater (University of Detroit Mercy, go Trojans!), and a retired Ford Auto exec. Conversation between this group took off quickly to say the least, not to mention where it went after many many cocktails. Long before the stroke of midnight we were well into celebrating my 33rd. I can honestly say that if it weren't for this group, ringing in my birthday would've been quite lonely...by myself in a foreign land away from friends and family.

The next morning on my actual birthday, surprisingly not hung over, I decided to head to Positano. Honestly, I find Positano to be far more impressive than Amalfi. I was also told to check out Ravello, but once again, just didn't have time. While the bus to Positano would've cost about a dollar, not only was the road still closed from the car fire, but I would pay 100x that to avoid taking a bus again anywhere along those cliffs. On the ferry I met two co-workers from NYC. Adrian and Lexi realized they both had a love for travel and had been taking trips together ever since. We chilled by the docks, drank beer, and watched the boats go in and out for hours. It was during this time Lexi shared with me that a trip to Petra in Jordan was absolutely possible. She had actually lived there for 3 months and loved every minute of it. I must say this was a relief to hear, because I just can't imagine going all the way around the world and seeing only 6 of the 7 Wonders. 

One more night in Amalfi and it was back to Sorrento to catch the bus to Pompei. I would've been ok skipping Pompei, but getting from Amalfi to Rome in one shot is a bit much. While I did not hike Vesuvius or check out the ruins, I did happen upon an annual street fair, eat at a traditional Roman meal, and climb the church tower overlooking the city. Perfect little layover after a grueling week in the boot. I made it back to Naples in record time and booked the later train to Rome, so I could sneak in one more pizza Margherita.  Well worth the delay, but honestly I couldn't wait to get to Rome. Not on account of the vast history, ancient ruins, or even the fact that it is easily the most visited place in Italy. Nope, I was excited because Rome is where I was meeting my mom!!! There have been so many times I've stopped and said, man, I wish my mom could see this, and now she will. Rome to Assisi, on to Siena and Florence, then off to Venice where we board our ship and set sail across the Aegean stopping in Corfu, Santorini, Mykonos, and Olympia. Buckle up Mama, this is going to be the trip of our lifetime:)