I seem to be a bit behind in blog updates, my apologies. I've been a little busy. Here's the very (very very) brief version. I promise more details and pictures as soon as I can.
Pooja and I parted ways in Hanoi, Vietnam. I flew to Singapore to meet up with three other friends : Max, Joby, and Mallory. We spent two nights and one day in Singapore, then flew to Malaysian Borneo. There, we climbed Mt. Kinabalu, which is the highest peak in SE Asia, in a day. Some of us may have made it all the way to the summit, and others of us may have felt like the past year we've spent in flat places like Ohio, Florida, and South Carolina did nothing to prepare us for uphill toils at altitude. However, it makes for a pretty sweet story. And there are lots of birds and interesting plants in the Borneo jungle, which made the whole experience slightly more tolerable. After Kinabalu we spent a few days on Banggi Island, off the northern coast, relaxing on the beach and swimming around looking at coral and vibrant blue starfish.
From Borneo we flew to Kathmandu, Nepal. A 6hr bus ride brought us to the town of Pokhara, where we are currently. This morning we went paragliding off one of the mountains just outside town. I won't try to describe that experience in a few words, because it's not possible. Fantastic and breathtaking sorta sums it up. The rest of the day was spent procuring permits and supplies, and tomorrow we head out for about 9 days of trekking around the Annapurna region, heading to a place called Poon Hill and possibly Annapurna Base Camp. I expect it will be awesome, and that I will probably take way more pictures of the mountains than I will ever want to go back and look through.
I still can't quite believe I'm actually in Nepal, just as I couldn't quite believe I was actually in Borneo ( Good thing I have the passport stamps to prove it, or I would think it was all just a dream). These are places that I've read about in National Geographic and seen in wildlife and nature programs, not places that I ever thought I'd actually go myself one day. I knew they were real places, but they were so far away from Ohio that I almost didn't really think they were real. And now I'm here.
Every day truly is a new adventure, and I cannot wait to see what tomorrow brings.
"Whatever tomorrow brings I'll be there, with open arms and open eyes, yeah." That song played on the radio as I drove away from Merritt Island NWR in March, and it helps me to remember that no matter how wonderful (or awful) the past, we must always look forward, because if you're too busy looking behind you'll miss all the beauty and wonder in front of you. And, in my case, you'll probably then run into a tree or trip on a rock, and be forcefully reminded that life is in the present. Every bruise and scratch just reminds us that we're human though, right?
Every tomorrow is full of promise, the promise of life.
Sent from my Kindle Fire
Monday, October 15, 2012
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Da Lat to Nha Trang, Vietnam
Vietnam is a fertile rock upon which I think just about anything could grow.
We are on a twisty mountain road from the mountain town of Da Lat, heading back to Nha Trang. Spectacular views of jungle-covered mountains, far as the eye can see. The road cuts through steep rock slides, with waterfalls gushing, pouring, seeping down under the road. Clouds of steam rise up here and there in the rain-dampened trees. Rolling hills, sharp mountain peaks, blended together everywhere, forever. The soil on the valley paths is a vibrant orange-red, the color of clean rust, of a corroded metal pipe that is always damp, seeping water. Water is never far off here, in the rain, the clouds, the waterfalls, in all the green plant life growing in the earth.
There aren't quite worlds to describe the beauty out the window in the view, or how calm I feel sitting here in my slightly cramped bunk on an overnight bus making its way down through the mountains. Pooja sleeps in the berth next to me. We slow and jostle through short bits of road where the water has washed out the pavement, through construction areas. Mostly the road is smooth, winding, but the way is easy. Or it is for me, sitting here watching out the window, waiting, thinking, writing. I cannot think of any place I could be right now but here. This is where I am, and this is an amazing, life-shaping experience. I'm glad I came. I like it here. That phrase is sewn on to a bag I have at home, 'I like it here.' It should be true no matter where you go-- I like it here.
We are on a twisty mountain road from the mountain town of Da Lat, heading back to Nha Trang. Spectacular views of jungle-covered mountains, far as the eye can see. The road cuts through steep rock slides, with waterfalls gushing, pouring, seeping down under the road. Clouds of steam rise up here and there in the rain-dampened trees. Rolling hills, sharp mountain peaks, blended together everywhere, forever. The soil on the valley paths is a vibrant orange-red, the color of clean rust, of a corroded metal pipe that is always damp, seeping water. Water is never far off here, in the rain, the clouds, the waterfalls, in all the green plant life growing in the earth.
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| Nice and comfy in my bus berth bed. |
There aren't quite worlds to describe the beauty out the window in the view, or how calm I feel sitting here in my slightly cramped bunk on an overnight bus making its way down through the mountains. Pooja sleeps in the berth next to me. We slow and jostle through short bits of road where the water has washed out the pavement, through construction areas. Mostly the road is smooth, winding, but the way is easy. Or it is for me, sitting here watching out the window, waiting, thinking, writing. I cannot think of any place I could be right now but here. This is where I am, and this is an amazing, life-shaping experience. I'm glad I came. I like it here. That phrase is sewn on to a bag I have at home, 'I like it here.' It should be true no matter where you go-- I like it here.
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| It's always best to let sleeping Pooja's lie. |
A Night In Hue, Vietnam
We went for dinner at a fancy vegetarian restaurant by the river, set back enough that we couldn't actually see the water. We sat outdoors, as everything in Vietnam is open air. All around was metal curlicue trellis work, plants grown over everything, with strings of lights around the edges. A romantic setting, perfect for making eyes at your lover (or, in my case, your vegan Indian friend) over a steaming plate of tofu. Just don't order the hotpot or you may lose your eyebrows-- the flame underneath is strong enough to roast an entire tofurkey. A hotpot is a pot that is hot (if you couldn't guess) filled with broth, noodles, suspicious-looking green plant parts that taste bitter and kind of make you gag, mushrooms, okra, tomatoes, tofu, and probably a few other vegetarian things I'm forgetting. I learned that in India okra is called "lady fingers." There must be women with pretty strange-looking fingers in India.
After our dinner splurge (143,000 dong) and the usual after-dinner life conversation, it began to rain. We wanted to wait it out, as it was pouring down, but the staff were making closing-time preparations, so we braved the drops to make our way back to our hotel. We walked, dodging bicycles and motorbikes, passing street vendors and customers sitting at tiny plastic tables on the sidewalk, stepping in puddles, trying to read the street names and not get hit by a bus, hoping the rain doesn't come pouring down harder until we made it back to the hotel.
Walking along a wet street after it has just rained at night is a magical feeling, because everything, even the trash in the gutter, seems cleaned and glossy and there is potential just waiting in every puddle. Walking down a street in Hue after dinner, after the rain, being passed by rain-ponchoed motorbike drivers, passing food vendors selling what is definitely not tofu chicken body parts, I can't imagine being anywhere else. This moment is brilliant-- the lights from shops reflecting in the million tiny pavement puddles, the sounds of wheels splashing through, the smell of rain in the city-- not dirty, not offensive, just the smell of rain on pavement and plastic.
This is Vietnam.
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After our dinner splurge (143,000 dong) and the usual after-dinner life conversation, it began to rain. We wanted to wait it out, as it was pouring down, but the staff were making closing-time preparations, so we braved the drops to make our way back to our hotel. We walked, dodging bicycles and motorbikes, passing street vendors and customers sitting at tiny plastic tables on the sidewalk, stepping in puddles, trying to read the street names and not get hit by a bus, hoping the rain doesn't come pouring down harder until we made it back to the hotel.
Walking along a wet street after it has just rained at night is a magical feeling, because everything, even the trash in the gutter, seems cleaned and glossy and there is potential just waiting in every puddle. Walking down a street in Hue after dinner, after the rain, being passed by rain-ponchoed motorbike drivers, passing food vendors selling what is definitely not tofu chicken body parts, I can't imagine being anywhere else. This moment is brilliant-- the lights from shops reflecting in the million tiny pavement puddles, the sounds of wheels splashing through, the smell of rain in the city-- not dirty, not offensive, just the smell of rain on pavement and plastic.
This is Vietnam.
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