Pet Peeve of the Month: The Inappropriately-Dressed Tourist

I am not the perfect tourist. No one is. But when I visit a new country, I do my best to read up about it ahead of time - both to get a feel for the trials and tribulations that made it what it is today, and to make sure that I am not going to do something so socially inconsiderate that I will grossly offend the locals. In countries such as Thailand and Bali (as well as many others), it is close to impossible to cover all your bases. The cultures in both such countries are so intricate and complex that you are bound to make one mistake or another. In Bali, for example, standing with your hands on your hips is a sign of aggression. It also happens to be a fairly comfortable way to stand when you're waiting around, so I caught myself more than once hastily dropping my hands to my sides when I saw someone eyeing me warily.

However, there is a huge difference between crossing your arms in ignorance or patting a Thai child on the head (though the latter is far worse an offense) and walking around in blissful disregard of the local culture. In my months gallivanting through South East Asia, there have been many times where a group of tourists is walking around town in their bikini top and a short skirt or bathing topless on the beach. When in Ko Lanta, Thailand, we saw a woman riding around on a motorbike wearing just a bikini - past Muslim women wearing a full burka, who shook their heads in collective disappointment.

When I am somewhere beachy in Asia, I tend to wear a dress over my bathing suit, but - because it is a halter and fairly low-cut - I also wrap a sarong around my shoulders when I am off the beach itself. That way, I manage to cover up in a way that I think is respectable, and no one gives me leering or angry looks as I walk around. Everybody wins. In Bali, the Gilis or Thailand, dressing inappropriately won't likely result in any overt chastising from the (usually shy) locals, but that does not mean it is the right thing to do. I am currently on Gili Trawangan, and it is inescapably Muslim: the mosque bleats out morning prayers starting at 5am, and most of the local women (other than those from Bali, who are Hindu) have their heads covered. So why, then, would it be OK to run around playing racquetball topless on the beach, or walk through the village or past the mosque wearing just a bikini?

This morning as I was walking to the beach with my dress plus sarong combo, the lovely woman who runs the warung (small shop) next to my hotel stopped me in the street. "Thank you", she said. "For what?", I replied, more than a bit confused. "For respect", she responded, gesturing at the sarong that I had draped over me. "Most of you do not respect how we live. So thank you". After this brief exchange, I was inspired to turn to the interwebs to write a mini-rant; after all, the inappropriately-dressed tourist has been hackle-raising to me for quite some time, but clearly I wasn't the only one bothered by it.

-Jodi

Highlights from my Night in the Jakarta Airport

Getting to Bali on the cheap - or anywhere on the cheap for that matter - usually involves a fairly horrific departure or arrival time, some serious caffeine and (depending on the trustworthiness of the company) beer. My trip from Manila to Bali's Denpasar Airport was no exception.

9:10pm - Departure. I have an exit row to myself, and so does the guy across the way. His name is Duncan and he ends up being the sole reason I stay awake at the Jakarta airport while waiting for my AM flight to Bali. Given that the other option was to sleep in the airport on a bench, which was my initial plan, I am fairly grateful for his company.

11:35pm - Flight lands in Jakarta. Thankfully, the immigration officer does not ask me for proof of onward travel, since I have none. I do, however, have a made-up story about traveling overland to Malaysian Borneo. Luckily I do not need to resort to telling immigration about it. The immigration officer gives me my visa and then, pausing to look at my passport photo of me with very, very short hair (I donated it all to charity), tells me that he prefers my hair long and I should "consider that" next time I go to get it cut. Fair enough.

11:40pm - Drunk Chinese man directly behind me in line keeps breathing drunken Mandarin phrases down my neck and giggling like a maniac. Classy.

12am - Duncan, who is from Adelaide but has lived several years in Sydney, Brasil, Columbia and a slew of other random places around the world in his (I am guessing here) 50-odd years and I cannot find the luggage carousel with our luggage on it. We spy our bags carelessly thrown on the floor in the middle of the baggage claim area. The baggage claim guy is annoyed that he had to wait with our bags until we arrived; I explained that the visa officer was educating me on the intricacies of flattering hairstyles. Confused, he shoves me bag at me and stalks off.

12:05am - Duncan and I figure we might as well get a drink before I move to Terminal 3 to set up camp. We find out that not only is Terminal 3 closed for the night, but Terminal 2 has only one cafe open. Bad news: Terminal 2 is dingy, dirty and full of creepy looking people lurking about. Good news: the cafe has beer.

12:15am - Duncan casually mentions that he has no flight booked to Denpasar just yet. I tell him I am on the 6:40am flight to Bali and that, were we able to stay alive and awake during the night, he can try and book a ticket on the same flight once at Terminal 3. If we can get to Terminal 3, that is. Overhearing this conversation, the waiter beckons to his friend and suddenly there are 4 new people trying to convince Duncan to book a flight through their random travel agencies.

1:00am - A few beers later, we are slowly falling asleep. All but 1 of the flight agents have left. We decide to switch to coffee.

1:30am - Duncan yells at me for yawning.

2am - A Russian businessman in a suit sits down and is swarmed by the flight agent and the waiter. Duncan and I use this opportunity to switch back to beer.

2:30am - We start negotating a price to get to Terminal 3. The waiter finds a driver and we are quoted 70,000 IDR. 7$ to go around the corner. We cannot walk there because there are 2 highways also around the corner, but we sure as hell aren't going to pay 7$ either.

3am - We find a metered cab and ask to go to Terminal 3. He agrees. We put in all our bags, get in the cab and - he doesn't turn on the meter. We argue. He shakes his head. He thought we said downtown Jakarta, not Terminal 3. Right. We get out and take our bags.

3:10am - We find a random man outside Terminal 2 with a car and ask him to take us to Terminal 3 for 20,000 IDR. He agrees, excep that when we get into the Terminal 3 parking area, he tries to get 4,000 IDR more out of us just to drop us off at the door. We ask him to stop the car and get out, walking the last bit ourselves to the mirth of the police guarding the terminal.

3:12am - Arriving at Terminal 3 we are not so shocked to see that it is still closed, despite being told in Terminal 2 that it opened at 3am.

3:15am - Duncan convinces the Arrivals police to take our big bags and let us into the Arrivals hall to wait, instead of waiting on the ground inside. We make a beeline to the 24 hour convenience store. Duncan gets more beer and sneaks a cigarette in the stock room behind the store; I sip my instant coffee and wonder if I have ever felt this tired before.

3:30am - A family arrives at the 24 hour store. Bored with my yawning, Duncan pounces upon them to find out where they are from and where they are going.

3:32am - The family flees the 24 hour store.

3:45am - The Air Asia office opens. Duncan buys a ticket on my flight while I sit, half-asleep, on the waiting bench. Thanks to Duncan, this is the only bench-camping-out that I have to do.

4am - Finally, the Departures hall opens. We pick up our bags and traipse over to the check in counter.

After a long night of no sleep, I slept the entire way on the flight to Bali, and then again the whole afternoon following my arrival. Joanna is here now, and we are staying at a lovely place called Flashbacks in Sanur, a quiet town away from the Kuta nightlife. Thus far, the Balinese live up to their reputation of being extremely friendly and permenantly cheerful. However, Sanur - and the rest of Bali's south peninsula - are extremely built up. After months on El Nido, McDonalds', Crocs stores and more tourists than locals definitely leave a bad taste in my mouth. We will move on from here to Ubud and onwards to Lovina, hopefully escaping some of the crowds. From there, we hit the Gili Islands and then I will move on to Lombok as Joanna heads home.

More to come shortly!

-Jodi

Getting Sick on the Road

Michael Hodson is another former lawyer travelling around the world, though he is doing it all overland - the brave soul that he is. Given all the random ailments I have accumulated in my months on the road, he asked me to blog about getting sick while travelling.

You can read my post on his blog here.

-Jodi

A Conversation with My Cab Driver in Manila

I just spent an unsuccessful afternoon at the Indonesian Embassy trying to convince them to process my visa with the requirements for Canadian nationals, despite the fact that I am in Manila. I kept waving my Canadian passport around aimlessly; they kept saying "You are in Manila. You will be treated as a Filipino national." I gave up.

A typhoon is currently barreling toward Samar and Leyte, and the preliminary storms have already begun to drench Manila in terrifically strong rain. I waited at least 30 minutes for a cab, only to have it stolen by a wizened old lady who swept in out of nowhere and jumped in the front seat, flashing me a toothless grin as the cab sped off. I took the next cab and five minutes in the following dialogue occurred:

Cabbie: Ma'am. You will pay 50 pesos extra because we will be stuck in traffic.

Me: No, I will pay the metered fare. That's how it works.

Cabbie: No, you will pay 50 pesos extra because TRAFFIC.

Me: No, I will call the taxi commission and report that you are trying to scam a nice girl like me.

Cabbie: [Thinking]

Cabbie: Ok, no extra charge and then no calling taxi commission?

Me: Ok.

Cabbie: You look like a nice white girl but you are not nice.

Me: I've heard that before.

___

Ah Manila. It's almost time for me to leave the Philippines. That this country and its unique take on life, food and rum left an indelible impression on me is fairly obvious by my blog entries and my perma-smile; I'm leaving but also wracking my brain as to when I can come back again soon.

I fly to Jakarta this weekend, then camp out at the airport overnight (lovely) and take a 6:30am flight (also lovely) to Bali to meet up with my UK twin Joanna. Both lawyers, both turning 30 and both 5 ft tall and looking 16 years old, we met in Thailand and vowed to meet up again soon. Happily, that time has arrived! Though she only gets 2 weeks off from work, I am sure we will find plenty to jam-pack her holiday with fun.

I'll be updating Facebook as I go but likely light on the posting until Jo leaves in early July.

-Jodi

Top 40 Things I Will Miss about El Nido

1. Mangos, as many times a day as possible.
2. The kids yelling balut (sounding more like "Bah-luuuuuuut!") as the sun sets into the sea, and watching everyone run out to buy some.
3. The El Nido air siren at night.
4. Bartender Boyet's delicious buko (coconut) shakes.
5. The children screaming and waving hello every time I leave the house.
6. Chloe, the neighbour's dog, and her very specific howl when she gets upset about anything and everything.
7. RenRen, the assistant chef, asking me if I have "a sick".
8. The insanity of the local disco - take away the ladyboys, prostitutes and 16 year old boys and you'd be left with....us tourists.
9. The reggae bands playing at Balay Tubay, the local (and only) live music bar.
10. Tanduay!
11. The lovely Lanie's swearing – the polite way: "jesusmaryjoseph!"
12. Fresh squid at a great price.
13. The head chef Inting's spicy, delicious banana heart curry.
14. The Lobster Lady's live, cheap lobsters.
15. Yummy Angel Burger's egg & ham sandwiches – for under a dollar.
16. Finding all of the neighbour's animals asleep under my bed. Not exaggerating, either.
17. Marber's restaurant, specifically their grilled squid and french fries.
18. The view of the Bacuit Bay.
19. Eating meals with The Alternative staff.
20. Kei yelling "CHICHA!"
21. Looking out for the cargo ferry on Friday nights.
22. Never knowing just when it is going to rain, and then inevitably getting caught in the middle of the downpour, soaking wet.
23. Chocolate cookies from Midtown Bakery.
24. Pan de coco from Midtown Bakery.
25. Ok, ANYTHING from Midtown Bakery.
26. Marathon games of Uno as the rain pounded the water outside.
27. Cloud 9 bars!
28. Becky's wonderful laugh.
29. Banana-Q: small plantains fried in sugar and coated in sesame seeds. Delicious and not nutritious.
30. Alexa's ferocious hugs.
31. The dark outline of the eerie cliffs at night.
32. Lying in the wooden 'nests' at The Alternative and looking up at the stars.
33. The high pitched, distinctive "Sa'an Alexa?" ("Where's Alexa") from the neighbour's little girl at 6am. She had a voice that could shatter glass.
34. Afternoon swims in the Bacuit Bay
35. Island hopping as part of my job.
36. Rice, lobster, crab and fish for breakfast - because it's cheap.
37. Perlie's luminous smile.
38. Waiting for the power to go on, only to have it go off again 2 hours later.
39. A different, beautiful sunset every single night.
40. The Alternative.

Pictures of my 2 months working in El Nido are here.

-Jodi

Atienza Cargo Ferry from El Nido to Coron: Not for the Faint of Heart

On June 21st, I took the Atienza cargo ferry from El Nido to Coron Town. I took this ferry the last time I left El Nido, and while it was full of random cargo and lots of people, it wasn't a disaster. This time, however, it was far less pleasant.

Cast of Characters:

1) The Captains. I wish I were kidding, but I am not.
2) The paradise I left behind.



3) The dried fish that made the boat smell oh-so-delicious as they were dumped into the cargo hold.
4) The tanks of live fish in what used to be the first floor sleepers - because of how much cargo was aboard, we were all crammed onto the top deck instead.



5) The passengers, stacked atop each other like....
6) Water buffalo. There were 41 of them aboard this ship, in addition to the other cargo (fish, dried fish, many many cabinets and mirrors) and the roosters.



7) More water buffalo outside, being hosed down perpetually. They came from Liminacong and were bound for Manila. They weren't aloud to smoke, either.
8) And finally, the REALLY unlucky water buffalo that were housed in the sub-cargo hold, squished in with the dried fish.



8) Katrien, Julie and me: in la merde together. And the boat really did smell just like crap - with all the buffaloes defecating below, and the dried fish smell wafting up to our cots, it was quite an olfactory adventure.
9) Sunrise as we approached Busuanga.



The boat was actually scheduled to leave on Friday, June 19th at midnight. And by "scheduled" I mean "not at all set in stone" because - as I learnt the hard way - Atienza's schedules are not fixed. All of El Nido knew there were a swath of tourists on the cargo boat and every single one of them thought it was hilarious that we were pulling our hair out trying to figure out when it would get here. When the agent for Atienza tells you "it will get here when it gets here" you know you are in trouble.

The boat docked in El Nido on Friday afternoon, bound for Liminacong. It would then pick up more cargo and unload the cargo from Manila, finally turning around to pick up new cargo and passengers in El Nido. Seeing as how the boat was already in the harbour, I asked the agent when it was scheduled to come back. He didn't know. The guards at the pier didn't know. The terminal agent in the ferry terminal didn't know. So I finally asked the security guards if I could speak to the captain himself, a request that was met with dumbfounded silence. They finally agreed, and off I went, with the entire harbour in tow. On the way to the ferry, coast guards called out to have my visit their boat instead because "ours goes FASTER, Ma'am!". I asked them for a ride to Coron but they didn't oblige. The ferry terminal guard presented me to the captain and, once he got over the fact that I was standing in his quarters asking for a timeline, he said they would be back by midnight tomorrow to pick us up. We would thus be only 24 hours late, which meant that most of us could make our flights to Manila.

Except that we weren't. The boat finally came back on June 21st at noon, and only left at 1pm, meaning we only got to Coron at 11pm the next day. Unlike the last trip, this boat was full of carabao (water buffalo) - 41 of them. Some were sick, and the smell was overpoweringly awful. The boat was also full of dried fish, and it had no fans. It was therefore unbearably hot, pungent and a fairly disgusting ride. That's what paying 950 pesos to Coron will get you.

The lesson: if you're going to take the cargo ferry (less than 1/2 the price of the 2,200 banca boat) to Coron, bring along the following:
- earplugs.
- a sleep sheet to put on your sticky vinyl cot.
- something that smells good that you can randomly sniff to help the buffalo poo and dried fish smell dissipate.
- clothes to use as a pillow when draped over your pack.
- water.
- a bag of candies to share with the kids aboard....and with the captains.
- snacks, especially if you don't like fried sardines for breakfast, lunch or dinner.
- patience - lots of it.

-Jodi

Do Solo Female Travelers Have it Easier Than Guys?

I say no. Dave, from The Longest Way Home, says yes.

Travelblogs.com has posted an article about our thoughts. You can check it out here.

-Jodi

Top 10 Philippine Quirks

I walk around this country and often think of ways to express my love for it on this blog. It is hard to accurately synthesize what makes every day here a lesson in hilarity or, as a friend aptly noted a 'carnival of lunacy' in so many ways. With the patience of the unemployed, every day in the Philippines brings me something new to savour, and a new oddity to encounter. From relearning what air sirens mean, to watching a staunchly catholic country celebrate Miss Ladyboy Philippines 2009 to being swept along in the swirling current of daily life in a small town, this enigmatic country is full of contradictions and they are a pleasure to explore. I often think of my temperament when I was working in NY and - less a factor of my job and more the fact that I was living in a big city where time was money - efficiency was the name of the game. Efficiency in the Philippines is often a laughable concept, be it the meticulousness of the Yummy Angel Burger lady as she slowly puts my egg & ham sandwich together or the undeniably rocky transportation routes (direct never, ever means direct). However, since I have all the time in the world, I take pleasure in these small but significant changes, knowing full well that they would likely get under my skin were they to occur at home. Some of these small quirks and funny moments need to be shared. Among them:

1. Motorbike disbelief. I have rented a motorbike on every island I have visited (with the exception of Negros Occidental) and every single time the locals are truly flabbergasted that I am a white woman riding by myself. Even if we are in a group of other tourists, the fact that I am on my own bike and not on the back of a man's bike just blows their minds. Extra shock factor: driving the bike with a guy on the back. Unthinkable.

When renting the motorcycle, the following cycle of awesomeness ensues every single time:

Me: Hi, I'd like to rent a moto for the day, please. (Or, because Tagalog doesn't actually have words like "the" or "a" built into most sentences - "Moto, me. thank you").
Them: Hi, where are you from?
Me: Canada. I'd like a moto?
Them (slowly): Ma'am? A moto for you and.......? (trails off confusedly)
Me (with emphasis): Just for me, thanks. I am only one.
Them: And you...know how to ride these (gesturing in panic at his motorbikes)?
Me: Yes, I have ridden many times alone. I do not need lessons. I will be careful.
Them: Ok, but then I now show you how to turn on a motorbike, ok? I will teach you.
Me: Thank you, but I already know how. Let me show you.
(I take the keys, drive around the corner and back and flash a smile)
Them: Ma'am? Why are you so brave?

Add to this infinite loop of dialogue the fact that jaws drop repeatedly when I drive by people at the side of the road, or stop in a town to buy supplies.


Me, my moto and a random cow near El Nido:

2. Roosters. I know I went into the whole rooster-mania in my Welcome to the Philippines post, but it merits a mention because I still find humour in the roosterism, despite already being here for several months. Buses, cars, vans, planes, restaurants - you name it, and there is a rooster waiting patiently to crow your ear off. People here are astounded when I have a restless night sleep because of the karaoke bar next door or the dogs barking down the street. Why? Because they all sleep like logs since they grew up surrounded by screaming fowl with messed up circadian rhythms. I keep taking pictures of roosters in public places - the locals find this confusing, since roosters are everywhere - and my mirth shows no signs of abating. I can't stand the cockfighting, but the omnipresence of roosters makes me smile.

"Don't-take-my-picture" guy and his rooster on a bus to Sipalay:

3. Underhanded Plays on Words. Speaking of roosters, the Philippines is brimming with opportunities for sly vulgarity. Receipts for juices read "ass juice" instead of assorted, and people will order just that ("Hi, 12 ass juices, please"). One of El Nido's general merchandise stores is called the F. U. Store, which has spawned a ghastly amount of immaturity from yours truly (Me: What store sells wine again? Them: The FU Store. Me: The what? Them: FU! FU! I will show you FU. Rinse. Repeat.) There is the current polemic surrounding the potential Constitutional Assembly amendment to the constitution - abbreviated, of course, as Con-Ass. And, in a class unto themselves there are the roosters. While they are "manok" in Tagalog, people generally just call them cocks. So you can imagine that, for a dirty group of Western tourists, it is impossible to ignore the magnitude of possibilities that a country full of roosters would manifest. From the seemingly innocuous ("Wow, that's huge cock you've got there") to the flattery ("You truly have a great looking cock") this country provides endless options for those with 14-year old sensibilities. Yes, I happen to be one of those people.

4. Tanduay Rum. I should add that this is not a moment, but many threads of drunken conversation and kareoke, woven together into a bright, colourful tapestry. That's not to say that I've been drinking my way through the Philippines; to the contrary, traveling alone means that I am extremely conservative about my alcohol consumption, for obvious reasons. But Tanduay - a Pinoy rum that originated in the sugar cane fields of Panay in and whose name translates into tandugay, meaning 'low-lying land' in old Tagalog - is the perfect ice breaker for any situation. A table of strangers quickly becomes a table of friends over a bottle of Tanduay and what was a quiet evening turns into a karaoke sing-off and an onslaught of eager questions about Canada. A litre of Tanduay is cheaper than a litre of water, so to say that the Philippines is awash in tawny rum wouldn't be an exaggeration.

El Nido's "FU Store"; Tanduay in all its golden glory:

5. The sheer magnitude of children screaming after at you when you walk/drive/bike by. Not only do they all clamour at the side of the road, screaming hello or "hello friend!", they won't stop screaming until you answer them. Responding means the cycle continues, with them chasing your bike/car/you down the street and giggling the whole way. The children here are both plentiful and painfully cute, so it is impossible not to walk around with a big smile on your face when confronted with such disarming friendliness. In El Nido, there is no dearth of toddlers about and now that they know me (and my name) I have a pied-piperesque trail of smiles and hellos wherever I go. Of course, the fact that I often buy them cookies at the bakery certainly adds to their desire to shadow my every move about town.

Me and (from left) Alexa, Laura-Jane and Laura-Jane's strangely un-named baby sister:

6. Sample sizes of everything. I happen to love the travel size aisle at the pharmacy, and I happen to know I am not alone in my affection for tiny toiletries (I am talking to you, Cheryl). Imagine my joy, then, upon visiting a Pinoy supermarket for the first time: everything is in a small size. Everything. My brother doesn't need to resort to imagining my happiness, since he was with me in Tagbilaran, calling after me in alarm as I bolted from aisle to aisle exclaiming "ALL small sizes! ALL!" and giggling like an idiot. From shampoos, to baby powders, to soaps, to cigarettes (sold in twos or fours), this entire country is built to stock up on travel essentials if you are backpacking around. It is important to note that these sample sizes exist due to the unfortunate reality that most Filipinos cannot afford the full container, let alone the jumbo/family sizes you would encounter in North America. In El Nido, sample sizes of everything hang from the rafters in each of the corner stores and supermarkets. From the corner store at the end of Serena street:

7. Power Ballads. This country? Obsessed with 80s power ballads and those particularly slow, terrifyingly sad songs of the 90s. Songs I have heard more times than I can count: Total Eclipse of the Heart, Everything I Do, I Do it for You, Hello, Memories (from Cats), Bed of Roses, Hero and - straddling the 70s and 80s - anything by Air Supply. These are blasted, at full volume, on jeepneys, public buses, in the tricycles, on the street. While you want to cut your ears off for the first month, eventually the sheer persistence of these ballads works through the hard, stubborn core of your resistance and you find yourself shamefully singing along, every single time.

8. "It's ok." It's hard to believe that two simple words can cause such a rash of confusion. "It's ok" here means everything from "yes" to "no" to "don't even think about it" – with absolutely no way of knowing which one is intended in a particular situation. From asking someone if they want something (response:"It's ok!") to asking if you can go somewhere ("It's ok!") to asking whether anyone was hurt when the tricycle bashed into the pile of mangoes across the way ("It's ok!") you would think that you'd be able to discern the appropriate sentiment given the context – but you absolutely cannot. To make matters more fun, most people don't just say "It's ok" once, they repeat it 3 or 4 times ("it'sokit'sokit'sok"), often enough that even the myna birds have learned to mimic the expression perfectly. After almost 4 months in the Philippines, I've been saying "it's ok" myself at least a few times a day.

9. Whispering. Or, more precisely, the fact that no one here knows how to whisper. At night, on boats or buses, in hotels or restaurants – regardless of where you are or how tired you might be, no one cares. In fact, they will speak at the top of their voices and then remain entirely confused when you stumble out of your room and groggily ask them to keep it down. "Keep it....down?" is the usual answer. Yes, down. Your voice. QUIET. But it's all to no avail. As I've said above, in a culture that grows up with roosters crowing at all hours of the night and dogs fighting outside the window, the concept of peace and quiet is entirely foreign. Everything becomes white noise to the Filipinos, and such a talent for muting out the sharp noises of the night is hard to come by in most tourists. I am very jealous.

10. Eden Cheese. Sold by Kraft (of course) and wrapped in foil and a bright blue rectangular package that resembles cream cheese bricks back home, Eden Cheese is made of enough synthetics and random preservatives that it is practically indestructible. You can leave it out in the sun for hours, try and melt it for a sandwich, shred it in the hopes that it won't taste like processed cardboard – but it is totally futile. Unrefrigerated, infrangible, unbelievable: Eden cheese is like the Rasputin of Pinoy foods, and deserves its own paragraph because in many islands and towns it is the only cheese you can buy. El Nido is one such town, and at 42 pesos (under $1) per block, it's omnipresent. I've learnt to appreciate Eden Cheese's total and blatant unwillingness to be like other cheeses, but I can't say I enjoy the taste of soggy, sticky plastic.

* * *

I'm gearing up to leave El Nido in a few days, and plan on doing one more post about this wonderful place before posting a very late entry on Northern Luzon, including the rice terraces of Banaue and Batad and the caves and good eats in Sagada.

-Jodi

Lobster Feast

One of the great things about living in El Nido is the abundance of fresh, delicious seafood, at a price point that makes most tourists salivate. A whole grilled fish is usually the cheapest thing on the menu here (from 120-260 pesos/$2.50-$3.35), and is usually stuffed with herbs, tomatoes and onions. Every morning, the ladies from the village pass by with a wooden pole slung over their shoulders and dozens of plastic bags filled with fresh fish balanced precariously on each end. What we serve at The Alternative depends on who knocks on our door that morning, a practice I find extremely satisfying. At night, the solitary lights from the squid fishing boats dot the horizon and squid a la plancha - juicy and tender with a squirt of kalamansi and nothing else - remains one of my favorite dishes here. To make matters even better, Philippine lobster (rock lobster or spiny lobster) is both plentiful and out-of-the-sea fresh, if you know where to find it. Luckily for me, I had a friend who did.

Katrien, a graceful Belgian woman who has lived in El Nido with her boyfriend Javier for the last few months stumbled upon a Lobster Lady who happened to have several kilos of live lobster in her banca boat. Having spent the last ten days with Rob, an environmental scientist from Holland who spent several months living in Palawan to help start a sustainable lobster farm but had never eaten lobster before, Katrien and I were dead set on finding him some crustacean deliciousness, stat. Katrien told the Lobster Lady to scour the town for me or a tall Dutchman named Rob, and she dutifully did just that, finally running into us at the fruit stand down the street from The Alternative. The Lobster Lady was a sight to behold: she was at least a head shorter than me and likely half my body weight, with shoulder-length gray hair and only 2 teeth. She brought us to her banca boat and we departed with a net full of 8 squirming, angry lobsters.

The lobster came in at just over 2 kilos, and we asked the staff at The Alternative if we could pay them a pseudo "corkage fee" to steam them. We also ordered a platter of garlic fried rice, bought a 1.5L jug of Carlo Rossi red wine and bought some Cloud 9 chocolate bars for dessert.

Me in the kitchen with the chefs, Norms and Inting; steaming our lobsters for dinner:




One of the two big plates of lobster; our international group saying 'cheers' to the dinner of champions (from the guy in the Orange shirt, going clockwise: Rob (Dutch), David (Swiss), Javier (Argentine), Katrien (Belgian), me (Canadian) and John (Welsh):



If the pictures are any indication, it was one hell of a meal, and coming in at $7.50 each including wine, dessert and side dishes, it was well worth it. While Rob, John and David have moved on to their next destinations, the remaining 3 of us are looking out for the Lobster Lady around town, excited to repeat our lobster feast.

-Jodi

Palawan Paradise Part II: El Nido

I currently work and live in a town where air sirens go off every night to tell the errant children that they need to go to bed. Twice a night, actually – the first siren is a warning, the second a 'get to bed now'. I love watching the tourists' faces as they register that the loud wailing is, in fact, an air siren. First confusion, then alarm – and then I get to tell them that we are not, in fact, going to war, nor are we being warned of an incoming tsunami: it's just curfew for the kids. The air siren (and the inevitable bewilderment that it evokes) is one of my constant joys in El Nido, and it perfectly encapsulates what I love about the attitude in this place: something equally fearful and haunting transformed into a source of laughter and light.

I've now been in the Philippines for almost 3 months, and for a country that wasn't on my initial itinerary, that is quite a long time. It is also longer than I've spent anywhere else on this trip. Despite an almost comical urge to justify staying, to others and to myself, there is no one dominant thing that keeps me here. I am, however, drawn to the composite of Filipino paradoxes – of which there are many – and somewhere in the heart of my inertia lies a desire to understand and experience them firsthand. One such oddity is obvious to any traveller who sets foot in the country: despite the fact that all of the signs in the Philippines are in English, very few people speak it fluently enough for you to actually arrive at your destination. And thus, you know what you need to do or where you need to go, but cannot for the life of you get there - because everyone is giving you a winning smile and nodding enthusiastically and gesturing vaguely...but not really understanding a word you say. There are exceptions to this rule, of course. Bigger cities such as Manila and Dumaguete are usually reliable for even the most panicked orientation needs and the tourist offices peppered erratically throughout the country will (mostly) point you in the right direction. And then there are those Filipinos who - usually through marriage to a Westerner – have both a nuanced, complex English vocabulary and a healthy dose of sarcasm. One of those special people is Becky, manager of El Nido's The Alternative Restaurant & Bar, and she is the reason I ended up living here for the next few months.

The entrance to The Alternative, from Serena St; View from the bottom of the hotel (taken as I ran away from the waves):

I initially stumbled upon The Alternative after my horrendous boat ride from Port Barton. Waterlogged, I left my bags with fellow travellers and began traipsing up and down the beach in search for accommodation within what I thought was a reasonable budget. While there are a slew of hotels, resorts and B&Bs to choose from in El Nido, most cater to vacationing couples from Manila or foreign honeymooners, and rolled their eyes at me dramatically when I said I was “only one”. Finally, after combing the length of the beach, I walked into the Alternative – which the Lonely Planet falsely said was a restaurant and not a hotel. They just so happened to have a spare room for 250 pesos (5$), which I ended up sharing with Kaja, a willowy Slovenian that I met in Port Barton. Exhausted, I put my bags down and wandered around the premises, and it quickly dawned on me that I might never leave.

The Alternative has 2 floors, with the kitchen, reception and 4 rooms with private baths downstairs and 3 rooms with a shared bath upstairs. Also upstairs? The most inviting bar/restaurant area I have seen on my travels. The floors, rafters and furniture are built from dark wood, with handcrafted wooden benches and tables strewn artfully (and feng shui-ily) about. Adjoining the main dining area is a bar topped with a conical nipa roof and - the best part of it all – next to the bar are wooden pathways leading out to 4 wooden 'nests' that rise up from the powdery sand below. At night, long after the restaurant had closed and the staff was asleep, I would tiptoe out of my room and into one of the nests, reeling at the stars splashed across the dark sky and the faint shadow of the cliffs looming beside me.

Me, blogging from the restaurant; one of the 4 'nests' that help make The Alternative so special:



Time in El Nido tends to stay still. I initially planned on spending four days here, but one day bled into the next and I ended up leaving two weeks later, with a firm promise to come back for another few months. Becky is mostly to blame for my return; her infectious laugh and genuine thirst for life beyond El Nido meant that my hours talking with her were some of my best ones here. Outside time chatting with Becky and her family, my days were a hazy blur of island tours, late nights at Balay Tubay (the local live-music bar) and consuming my body weight in squid. I ate so many mangos that I started to dream about swimming in a sea of mango juice. I was invited out to Becky's private beach on Kudugnon island and spent a few nights camping out in the open air, my mattress surrounded by chickens, roosters, puppies and a friendly cat named Mikang. Nights on the island were another chance to chat with Becky and her family – brother Levi and son Kei – which is how she initially asked me to come back to The Alternative. Would I be willing to stay and eat for free in exchange for redoing their menu and writing their website? Incidentally, The Alternative also has some of the best food in town, with a focus on spicy main courses, vegetables braised in coconut cream and a dish – Banana Heart Curry – that remains my favourite meal in the Philippines. It was one of the easiest decisions I've ever made.

One of the roosters on Becky's beach in Kudugnon; View from my mattress:



To explain why I love it here necessarily requires some detail about the odd hiccups that make El Nido such a wonderful place to stay. For starters, it is very hard to get here. Choices are a flight to Busuanga, followed by a long ferry ride, or a flight to Puerto Princessa, followed by a long bus ride over muddy, unpaved roads – usually resulting in your bus getting stuck and a bulldozer barrelling over to yank you out of the dark red clay. You can fly direct, but at close to 7,000 pesos, most backpackers don't. In addition, El Nido has its share of flamboyant characters, interpersonal drama and interesting ex-pats. The dozens of hotels and restaurants, each built close to the ground and low to preserve the integrity of the view, each house their share of fascinating people, local gossip and good food. And the town is more friendly than any other I've encountered in the Philippines. I get a rousing “Hello Jodi!” from everyone the minute I step out the door. Add to this foundation a roving band of local dogs and chickens, a rotating set of backpackers who also fall in love with this place and a newfound appreciation for the slower, quieter things in life and you can understand why I would come back.

Of course, the view doesn't hurt.

In the end, my return to El Nido has been as laid back as my initial exploration. I do the books for The Alternative in the morning, running through the expenses and income for the prior day. I help out in the restaurant when there are new guests – and as most have been French, I've been able to practice mine too. Afternoons are a decadent mix of writing, playing with Alexa (the resident 4-year old), swimming and chatting with the neighbours. Evenings involve working at the restaurant and getting things ready for the next day. I eat most of my meals with the family and staff of The Alternative, perched outside on the wooden tables or around the bench near the kitchen. The staff here – and their symbiotic, flowing existence with one another – makes my time in El Nido even more worthwhile. Most of the staff worked for a posh resort on a surrounding island, until it was bought out and driven into bankruptcy. As a result, they have a rapport that feels like family, and banter pleasantly throughout the day while they go about their jobs. I've met some other ex-pats who have opened restaurants or dive shops here, and we often head back to Balay Tubay – or just hang out with a bottle of Carlo Rossi (the only wine you can buy here) and some candles and chat the night away. The people at Midtown Bakery have finally understood that my bi-weekly 2 dozen cookie purchase isn't actually all for me, but for the staff at The Alternative. And the sweet burger girl at Yummy Angel Burger has stopped asking me how long I plan on staying here.

The wonderful staff of The Alternative:

The pictures I've taken and used for this post will change considerably as typhoon season approaches. Yesterday we had one of the strongest storms I have ever seen, with the windows flailing about helplessly and water flooding the restaurant and dripping down to the deck below. Today brought no respite – thunderstorms raged angrily from dawn till dusk, and only now (at 9:45pm) has the rain abated briefly. I plan on taking 'El Nido Dripping Wet' pictures too, and I promised my brother a video of the typhoon winds – so long as I don't blow away while trying to record it! Rain or no rain, I feel completely at home in this town and at The Alternative – and it is wonderful to put down my rucksack, unpack my clothes and stay somewhere special for more than a little while.

Vivid colours right next door to The Alternative; El Nido's police station:

The rest of my pictures of beautiful El Nido are here.

More to come on some of the quirks and quarks of Pinoy society, now that I've been here for several months. Spoiler alert: I will rant about roosters again.

- Jodi

A Golden Sunset

Finally, after 3 days of torrential rains, howling wind and general misery, the sun peeked through the clouds to cast a golden sheen across the Bacuit Bay.



El Nido sunsets are normally beautiful, but I have never seen one with these tawny shades before and had to share.

-Jodi

The Saga of My Computer Charger Cord

October 29, 2008: Purchase Asus EEE PC 901 model (with Windows XP, Intel Atom chip and a teeny, tiny flash memory drive). Computer was purchased in Singapore, and thus came with Singapore charger.

October 30, 2008: Promptly rename the computer the Weee PC. Start shopping for "W" stickers to put next to the EEE on the front.

January 2, 2009: Decide to go to Future Shop in Montreal to find a replacement to the unwieldly Singaporean charger, opting to swap out the plug for a two-prong one that fits into the Asus charging bar but doesn't 1) weigh 1kg and 2) only work in the UK, Ireland, HK, Singapore and Malaysia.

Feb 4-May 15, 2009: Charger works fine, though the charging bar gets disgustingly hot when it is juicing up the Weee PC. Stop leaving the computer to charge unattended for fear of fires and/or random lawsuits.

May 19, 2009: Rats climb onto my bed and chew through part of the charger, right near the plug. I electrocute myself twice trying to plug it in without wearing my glasses (and therefore not noticing the live freaking wires at the end of the cord). I splice the wires, duct tape them up and the charger is good as new....minus that strange smell when it is plugged in.

May 25, 2009: Charger stops working entirely. Upon closer inspection, I see rats got to the charger in TWO places: near the plug and near where the cord is plugged into the Asus power bar. I blame this on the initial rats (hopefully long gone due to the rat poison under my bed - take that, computer destroyers!) as I've protectively swathed my charging cords in layers of bags ever since.

May 26, 2009: I splice, duct tape and cut my heart out. Nothing: charger still doesn't work. The staff where I work think it is odd that I am so preoccupied with fixing it. I try and explain the blog and my trip as a whole, but they are at a loss as to why people want to read about my staying in El Nido. Also, they want to know what a blog is.

May 27, 2009: I cave in and try and find an electronics store that sells a replacement charging cord. As you will see in my next post, I happen to be living in a town of about 4,500 people with no main supermarket, one bakery, a wonky electricity grid that is supposed to run from 2pm-6am but cuts out sporadically, usually when you are about to send a Very Important Email, almost no cars(but hundreds of tricycles) and many, many roosters but no store that sells toilet seats. So my charging cord? No where to be found. But the town is also full of lovely, engaging people who think it is hilarious that a small girl with no husband is 1) staying put for so long and 2) so obsessed with fixing a computer cord. Ergo: pretty much everyone on the main street in El Nido spent their afternoon helping me repair it.

Downtown El Nido; today's sunset:



I am not exaggerating, either. I initially went to 3 hardware stores, and each one brought me to another, and then another and then another - with each of the prior shopowners coming along for the ride. One store replaced the plug at the end with a new, shiny white one, another tried cutting through the cabling at the end of the cord (where it connects to the Asus power bar) and re-splice the wires there, and a third ended up trying to feed me boiled plantains because he had no idea how to fix the charger. In end, it took an electronics store - i.e. a shopfront selling fruit and veggies with a guy in the back who happened to own a soldering gun and some tools - to melt the crap out of the wires and solder them together. This was at 5pm. I started my charging odessey at 1:30pm.

Brand new firefly plug; sketchtastic soldering job - but my computer now charges!


So that's how I am able to post this to Blogger and is yet another addition to the long list of why I am so grateful to live in such a lovely place for the next few months. Helpful people, delicious ham and egg sandwiches from Yummy Angel Burger and a breathtaking view are also on that list, but more on El Nido in the next few days.

-Jodi

Palawan Paradise Part I: Sabang, Port Barton and Busuanga.

I met an Argentine couple at Bangkok's Suvarnabhumi airport while I was on my way to join Cale in Bohol. The man had lived in the Philippines for over 11 years and was bringing his now-girlfriend to see his former home. He had wonderful things to say about a slew of diverse destinations – all of which proved to be well worth visiting – but most of his gushing was reserved for Palawan. I, of course, had barely planned to be in the Philippines, let alone stay here long enough to visit a remote island above Malaysian Borneo, but filed his advice away for future reflection. At some point in the prior 60 days, I stopped trying to figure out where to go next and started to figure out how to stay in the Philippines longer. During my month in the Visayas and Northern Mindanao, I crossed paths with other travelers who ranted and raved about how special Palawan was, and having extended my visa through the end of April, I decided to fly to Puerto Princessa, the capital of Palawan, in order to find out firsthand.

My first impression of Palawan was that it is beautiful. Not just beautiful in a pat-on-the-head, quotidian way, but tirelessly, superfluously stunning, even when the clouds roll in angrily and blinding lightning replaces the scorching sun. Palawan is aggressively teeming with beauty, and just when you think you have seen it all, you turn a corner in your banca and a new island paradise awaits. The island covers almost 2000 km of land, much of it uninhabited and most of it covered in jagged karst rocks and tufts of tall, emerald trees. Transportation on Palawan is nonexistant in a traditional sense; while there are jeepneys or boats or buses heading from one place to the next, onward travel often involves several transfers and a long, unpaved, muddy stretch of road. There are cargo ferries that depart Manila's sketchy North Harbour once or twice a week for Puerto or El Nido, but most tourists opt to fly from Manila or Cebu to Puerto Princessa and slowly (because everything runs on its own time here) trudge their way northward to Coron. The South part of the island is rarely touristed; transportation is even more irregular there and its proximity to Borneo (and Borneo's mosquitos) has resulted in a steady increase in malaria cases, both serving to deter most travelers.

So Where is Palawan? A long island reaching northward to Mindoro and southward toward Malaysian Borneo, Palawan is bordered by the South China Sea to the west and the Sulu Sea to the east.


View Larger Map

People say that Palawan is known as The Philippine Frontier, and it is easy to see why: the rugged coastline, untouched inlets and bays and frustrating inability to get from A to B without scratching your eyes out all contribute to its standoffishness - and its charm.

Sabang

The capital of Puerto Princessa was a good starting point for my exploration of Palawan, but it remains a city – albeit a clean, comfortable city with cheap food – and I was eager to depart. First stop: Sabang, gateway to the 8.2km subterranean river, located within a diverse national park. Sabang itself is a small town camped out on the edge of the of the South China Sea, with one or two toro-toro restaurants (Tagalog for "point-point" because that is what you do to choose your food), a slew of souvenir shops and – of course – several karaoke bars and an arena for the cockfighting derbies. It was also the Sabang Fiesta the day I arrived, so there were swimming competitions, coconut-bashing competitions and cockfighting derbies rolling through the night. Fiesta aside, there is little to see or do in Sabang other than the subterranean river and national park - but I did stay at the incomparable Dab Dab Resort, hands down one of the nicest hotels I have found on this journey. For 650 pesos (400 for a shared bath) your room consists of a beautifully handcrafted wooden bungalow, with screening instead of walls to let in the breeze. Since the electricity only goes on from 6pm-midnight, the cross-breeze is the only thing saving you from roasting in bed. The bathrooms were impeccable – tiled, clean and beautifully laid out. The kitchen is run by Mila, a smiling woman with a killer vegetable curry. I've since sent dozens of people to stay at Dab Dab and everyone has written to say how much they enjoyed it. Extra bonus: it isn't in the Lonely Planet.

Back to Sabang. To get the underground river you can either take a banca or hike one of two trails, the monkey trail or the jungle trail. I opted for the hike, 5.7km each way, with the trail winding through limestone cliffs, jungle, caves and a mangrove forest to the yawning mouth of the river. In what turned out to be the most endearing memory of my time in Sabang – more so than the river itself - I was joined by two young Filipino boys, aged 17 and 21. They were surprised that I was doing the hike instead of taking a boat, but being from one of the tiny outlying islands, they couldn't afford the boat themselves and asked if they could hike alongside me. The questions began almost immediately: Where was I from? Where was my husband? Why was I hiking instead of taking the boat like the 'other white people'? Where was I headed next? Did I like the Philippines? As the kilometers started to add up, their questions became more focused and their incomprehension more palatable. They wanted to know about marital life in Canada and were appalled to hear that divorce was not only legal, but fully accepted and extraordinarily prevalent.*** They wanted to know when Canada's wet season was, so I explained that we had four distinct seasons and they did not match up to the seasons in the Philippines. They did not understand how we didn't have summer in April and May, like they do here, so I explained the northern/southern hemisphere divide and how seasons mirrored each other in opposites depending on which one you were in. The whole “winter is cold and not just wet” thing particularly resonated. After a pause, they started to ask where exactly Canada was – close by? Not close by? - and so I stopped near the entrance to a cave and drew a rudimentary world map in the sand, pointing to where they were and where I came from. Their shock was so disarming that I summed our situation up thusly: in Canada, we do not grow rice, and we do not have buko (coconut) trees. They were silently contemplative for the rest of the hike.

***It is important to note that their reaction was not a moral judgment but a reflection of the fact that divorce isn't just illegal in the Philippines – it doesn't exist at all. You can pay 300,000 pesos (approximately $6300 USD) to get your marriage annulled under the Catholic Church, but annulment is universally unaffordable for the general population. As a result, people will marry, separate and remarry – without any real legal grounds to do so. Child support and/or alimony are essentially unheard of outside the upper classes in Manila or Dumaguete and thus you end up with exceptionally complex and layered family arrangements.

The underground river was as pretty as the pictures would suggest, albeit slightly off-putting due to the staggering volume of tourists also queuing to float on through. We hiked back to Sabang via the Monkey Trail, in time for me to bid my curious friends adieu and indulge in a delicious curry fish dinner courtesy of the talented Mila.

Pictures of Sabang are here.

My two new, question-filled friends; the entrance to the Underground River:



A teeming mass of baby bats inside the river; giving the monkey trail its name:

Port Barton

I do not have much to say about Port Barton, save for how difficult it was to get there and how unpleasant it was to stay. While the beach looked stunning and the resorts and restaurants were fairly priced and clean, there was a Stephen King-esque cloud of meteorological disaster hovering over the place for my entire visit. I went on snorkeling trips where it was sunny and beautiful a stone's throw away, but the minute we motored back into the Port Barton bay, there would be a gathering of angry clouds, ready to spill their wrath. I am not talking mere rain, either. It rains so forcefully there that I saw a spider running to get out of it. I didn't think spiders ran at all, seeing as how they tend to scurry like crabs, but this one (its body the size of my hand) whirred out of of the wet onslaught by sticking its legs into twos and propelling itself out of the flood. When it got to where we were taking shelter (a store's awning), its legs popped out again, and of course, it made a beeline straight for me. Happily, a white cat came out of nowhere, popped the spider in its mouth and scampered away.

I spent my days reading trashy beach novels care of Elsa's Resort (owned by the Dab Dab Resort owner's cousin), except that I read them in their restaurant because the beach was sopping wet. I ate mostly at Judy's restaurant, run by the personable Judy and her shy, sweet staff (mostly gay boys who had been turned away by their families for not being straight, and who she sponsored to pay for their schooling and books), usually sitting under an awning, watching the sky open up and blanket the city in (yet more) rain.

The jeepney ride to Port Barton involved taking a Sabang-bound jeepney until the Salvacion junction, then a Roxas-bound jeepney to San Jose, then a final jeepney to Port Barton. To put it mildly, it was an unpleasant day. As a result, we (the random group of equally wet people I met in Port Barton) figured that a boat ride to El Nido was preferable to the reverse jeepney commute. We were wrong, since that trip ended up running us a full eleven soaking-wet, freezing-cold hours instead of the promised 5. We disembarked in El Nido, so miserable from our trip that the sheer magnitude of the beauty surrounding us didn't sink in. It wasn't until we dried off that we understood how unique the place truly was. More to come on El Nido in my next blog post; I loved it so much that I am currently back there, staying with a Filipino family for the next two months.

Rain, rain and more rain in Port Barton; a beautiful sunset in the adjacent bay:

Beautiful beaches on our snorkling trip to surrounding islands; colourful shells at our lunchtime pitstop:




Coron Town and Buswanga Island

There were still many more places to visit in the Philippines, and so I reluctantly dragged myself away from El Nido and planned my boat ride to Coron Town, on Busuanga Island. While most places tend to advertise a 2,200 peso boat ride to Coron, I was still scarred from my Port Barton trip and instead opted for an overnight cargo ferry. Perhaps not the wisest move since these ferries seem to sink with alarming frequency, but it was a new mode of Pinoy transportation, I had already survived one overnight ferry ride in the 'Pines, and it left at midnight (giving me a whole other day in El Nido). I left on Good Friday – technically Saturday AM – having bought my ticket from Atienza Shipping earlier that week. I went through a hilarious series of Abbott and Costello-esque conversations with Atienza to try and figure out if the “April 10th at midnight” departure date meant late Thursday, as it would in North America, or late Friday. Their confusion was so palpable that I stopped asking the that I ended up just letting it go, and relied on the fog horn of the approaching ferry for me to figure out when I was supposed to leave. The result: The 10th at midnight meant late Friday, not late Thursday.

In the end, I had an uneventful and surprisingly pleasant trip to Coron Town. The boat wasn't overcrowded, we had 1 foot-wide vinyl cots to sleep on and there were only 10 roosters aboard so I managed to sleep. We also had a water buffalo at the front of the boat, and huge tanks of fish and lobster at the back. The Pinoy travelers wanted to know why in my right mind I took the ferry, but it was almost as fun a ride as my initial overnight ferry from Iloilo and as the boat didn't sink, I have only good memories. Bonus: the fare of 750 pesos ($15) included 2 meals, and we got to stop at Culion, what was once the world's biggest leper colony, on the way.

Coming from El Nido aka Paradise Found, Coron Town was a monumental disappointment. There are no beaches near the town itself – you need to take a boat to get to one – and there is very little in terms of restaurants and bars that are worth a repeat visit. That said, Seadive (a popular hotel/bar/restaurant/dive shop/everything else you might possibly need but were too afraid to ask) had free WiFi, good food and cheap rum, and Bistro Coron, run by a cantakerous Frenchman who cooks fantastic food, were the choice hangouts. Since Coron is a mecca for wreck diving and I cannot dive due to an inner ear disorder, I was bored out of my mind by day 2. Luckily, I was joined by Lasse, a Danish guy that I met in Port Barton and kept bumping into thereafter, and we rented motorbikes to explore Buswanga Island.

A short 4 days and one disturbingly cheap flight to Manila later, I was back at Friendly's hostel, trying to plan a way to head back to Palawan again. First, though, a two-week trip with Craig through the rice terraces and caves of Northern Luzon's Banaue, Batad and Sagada.

Pictures of Coron and Busuanga Island are here.

Sleeping arrangements on the cargo ferry to Coron; mandatory rooster on board:




Diverse (and gorgeous) scenery on Buswanga Island:



More to come on the most beautiful place I've stayed thus far: El Nido, Palawan

-Jodi

Some Changes to Legal Nomads

As many people have commented, Jess hasn't updated the blog since last September. She is, however, safe and sound - and still traveling around the world. Since I temporarily went home to recuperate last summer, Jess has managed to visit a good chunk of Africa, as well as India, Vietnam, Thailand, Australia and New Zealand. She is currently heading to Oz again and will be heading home in late June, with a ton of memories, pictures and smiles from her 14 months of travel.

Contrary to popular belief (ok, maybe just a few of you) we didn't have a fight, nor did we dislike traveling together - we just had different desires with respect to itineraries and climates. We've kept in touch regularly and remain good friends - good friends on different continents! I will be continuing my travels for several more months and updating as I go, and I've made some changes to the blog and the trip map since we haven't been "two lawyers, one world" for quite some time. I've also added a Travel Blogs section to the sidebar and plan on adding additional Travel Resources/Links for those who are planning a RTW trip.

Jess' posts will obviously remain on the site - you can click on "Jess" in the sidebar to see them all. You can see her trip map (currently unfinished until she adds the cities she's been to since Aug) here and her photo gallery (incl. Africa, India, Australia, Vietnam and Cambodia) here.

Next up: updates from Palawan and trekking through the rice terraces in the Cordillera Central mountain range.

-Jodi

Potato and the Rice Terraces of Northen Luzon

Potato overlooking Batad's rice terraces in the Ifugao Province of Northern Philippines.

Overnight Ferry Insanity: Iloilo to Cebu City

It seems necessary to devote a full blog post to my trip from Iloilo to Palawan, given how fundamentally different it was from the usual tricyle/bus/boat combo that has peppered my time in the Philippines thus far. Wrapping up a luxuriously lazy week on the pristine and remote Sugar Beach in Sipalay, my next plan was to head on to the rugged and (if pictures aren't lying) stunning island of Palawan, a long slice of land tumbling downward from Mindoro with its southernmost tip straining to touch Malaysian Borneo. As I've catalogued in my prior post, Sipalay was notoriously difficult to get to (we took a tricycle, a v-hire van, 2 buses and a boat to get there from Dumaguete, on the same island!), it actually but proved even more entertaining to leave if your destination is Palawan: a 5.5 hour bus to Bacolod, ostensibly followed by a ferry to neighbouring Iloilo island and then a night boat to Palawan. Upon my arrival to Iloilo after a sweaty day of bumpy, dirty bus travel, a wrench was thrown in my plan: the night boat to Palawan sank recently, and the next ferry wasn't for another 5 days. There were also no reasonably priced flights to Palawan from Iloilo (7000 pesos wasn't remotely reasonable, especially when the ferry was 1000). Iloilo City was not the kind of place I wanted to spend 5 days, and so after a marathon session at the travel agency in the Atrium Mall near my ant and roach and spider infested hostel, I booked a night ferry to Cebu and then a flight from Cebu to Puerto Princessa, capital of Palawan province.

Those of you who have traveled in the Philippines will know that the ferries here are not renowned for their safety, nor are they strict about the capacity of the ship. Most of the boats that sank either did so because the waters were stormy but the company didn't want to cancel or because they stuffed too many people on the ship prior to departure. As a result, I felt it was prudent to Google 'accident Visayas Philippines ferry' in order to make an informed decision about what company I would sail with to Cebu. This internet research proved to be psychologically traumatising, as there were far more accidents than I had anticipated, and the gruesome, detail-oriented accounting of the ferries as they sunk left a pit in my stomach. I ended up going with Cokaliong Shipping Lines, a newer company with no major accidents thus far. This either meant that I was going to drown on my way to Cebu or that they took better care of their boats and followed the rules. I was hoping for the latter.

I took a cab from my critter-filled hostel (I'm not kidding: my legs are an impressive connect-the-dots tapestry of bites) to the pier and was met by the gawking stares of 20+ porters, who roused themselves from their staring to figure out why the hell I was there. Where was my husband? Why was I strong enough to carry my bags despite being “small, so so small for a white girl” and how could I travel alone? Wasn't it lonely traveling alone? I cracked up at how earnest these questions came at me, fast and furious and genuinely replete with confusion.

After convincing them I was just fine alone, they ignored the other arriving passengers and led me, pied-piper style, into the ratty ferry terminal and down to the loading dock itself, a massive concrete jungle of shipping containers and piles of rusted, discarded debris. Not promising. I then walked the 10 minutes to the ferry itself, picking up more and more random Filipino men on the way (with the existing men heading off the husband questions at the pass by yelling “she is alone! She is brave!”, until I finally arrived at the buttercup yellow Cokaliong boat, to the applause of all the stewards and crew, who yelled in unison “but where is your husband?!”. My newfound fan club answered for me: “she is alone! She is brave!”.

I extricated myself from the 20 questions game by promising to take pictures of the crew (I kept my word) and found my bunk in the Lapu-Lapu tourist berth (lapu-lapu is the Pinoy word for grouper fish) – and the 35 students, three nuns and roosters I would be sharing it with. As I walked through the door, total silence descended on the previously raucous berth – white girl aboard! – and suddenly, everyone crowded toward me asking what I was doing there, where I was from, how old I was, etc. Next thing I know, my bunkmates have scampered off to get THEIR friends and then the ship's crew stopped by to investigate the noise and in a span of 5 minutes, I had most of the boat in my bunk, a cacophony of “friend! Hello! Friend!” and, of course, “Where is your husband?!”

This chaos kept up until the boat blew its horn, at which point the crowd scattered and I was able to take some pictures of the crew. Given how many people popped in my bunk thereafter to get a glimpse of the white girl, it was safe to say I was the only tourist aboard. This assumption was corroborated by the fact that any crew member who saw me enthusiastically and immediately screamed “CANADA!” and pointed. People seemed genuinely worried that I had no husband with me, partially because they wanted to make sure I would make it through their country in one piece, but also because they wanted to know what they were missing. How hard could it be to land a husband? What handicap were they overlooking that prevented me from shacking up? It was hilarious.

The boat was 14 hours long, and divided into economy, tourist and suite classes. Economy class
featured rickety iron bunk beds nailed to the deck and from one side of the ship to the other, tourist class, where I slept, had solid wooden bunks and air conditioning. And the suites were a 2-person affair, cordoned off from us plebs. There was a canteen and a dining lounge, and the ship was immaculate and – important! - there was toilet paper aplenty. The night went smoothly, other than an hour of really rocky waves and the fact that my bunkmate, a sweet 21-year old social work student from Iloilo City, decided to shower at 4am and insisted on giving me a play-by-play – despite the fact that I was clearly trying to sleep. Roosters in cardboard boxes crowed all night, but I've gotten used to the sound as it is omnipresent in this country. Comedy ensued when, close to arrival, one rooster escaped its box and ran around the deck, squawking in a feverish mixture of panic and (one would assume) happiness at its escape. It took 5 people and a broom to get him back in his box. As we pulled into Cebu's hulking port, boats of sea gypsies pulled alongside and people dropped coins down toward the sea, where they were caught by the gypsies in a big blue tarp.

I got off the boat to a chorus of goodbyes from the crew and made my way to a taxi and then the airport. The taxi driver agreed to use a meter but then – once we were on our way – told me it was magically broken, so I said I would fix it for him or he could stop his car and I would fine another cab and – presto! it was working again. I ended up at the teeny Cebu airport well before check-in for my flight, and with 5 hours to kill I took advantage of the best massages the world has to offer: a massage by a blind person. There are blind massage places all over Asia, notably in Malaysia and China, but from what I can tell, no other country has as many as the Philippines. This is because the Philippine government actually subsidises massage school for blind people so that they can have a trade/profession within a society that doesn't leave much room for adults who are not fully capable physically. As a result, you can find blind massage parlours set up in ferry terminals, airports, bus stations and any other major transportation hub in addition to the usual stand-alone places. My 2 hour back-and-leg massage by Rudi, a blind kid who was born with a degenerative condition (whereby he could see perfectly as a child but last year – as he puts it - “all went dark”) was the best I have ever had, and a great way to pass my time at the airport.

My flight to Cebu was mostly painless, bumpy landing notwithstanding, and Puerto Princessa is cleaner than any other city I have seen in the Philippines. Also? They have a Chow King here, and some Halo-Halo is the perfect way to cool off after eye-opening, lengthily trip to get to Palawan.

More to come from this island paradise,
-Jodi

My group of random men from the Pier who led me to the boat; the Cokaliong boat in all its yellow glory:



The economy class bunks; me and my bunkmates from the Lapu-Lapu class cabin:

Island Wrap Up: Bohol, Camiguin and Negros

My decision to come to the Philippines was based solely on an irrational love for one of the world's smallest primates, the Philippine tarsier. Endemic to Bohol, parts of the Visayas and Mindanao, this rodent-like animal with enormous beady eyes is currently classified as endangered. Years of poaching to sell the cute furry balls to Japan as pets had backfired – the tarsiers are social animals and, if kept alone in their cages, gruesomely commit suicide by bashing their heads against the bars. They only have one baby per year, and numbers were precariously low, until the Philippine government gave them a protected status. Now one of the biggest tourist draws to Bohol, the tarsier's population has inched upward somewhat but it remains endangered - only 10 of them live in the Tarsier Sanctuary. Having called every zoo association in North America and found them tarsier-less (and, frankly, a little bit confused about why a grown woman was looking for them), I decided (somewhere between Siberia and Mongolia) that on this insane jaunt around the world, the Philippines would have to be on my list.

Bohol Island, The Visayas
One of the best things about having a baby brother who can finish your sentences is that he doesn't need to be told how wholeheartedly awesome it would be to travel together, let alone for the sole purpose of chasing down a miniature rodent. Currently employed by the government of Canada, Cale had a conference in Oz and managed to finagle 2 weeks vacation time thereafter. Of course, it would have been a lot easier for us to meet in Oz given his time constraints, but the lure of The Story was too big to ignore, and we were both excited to meet up somewhere totally different and much more out of the way. Insert parental eye-rolling here.

I met Cale at the Manila airport and we flew down to Bohol's capital city, Tagbilaran. From there, it was a bus trip just past Loboc, where we were unceremoniously dumped at the side of the road so that we could find our hostel, Nuts Huts. Deep in the Loboc jungle and perched above the emerald Loboc river, Nuts Huts was a perfect place to kick off our Pinoy adventures: it was 1km from the main road via dirt trail, and then over 300 stairs down to our nipa hut. Given that the restaurant/lounge area was halfway up those stairs, all of the guests tried to remember everything they would possibly need when they left their huts in the morning. Good exercise though, and the (somewhat domineering) owners Rita and Chris favoured health over sloth – they even had a scale by the door of the restaurant to see how those stairs were faring on your weight.

Our aim in staying near Loboc rather than Tagbilaran was twofold: we wanted to be close to the Tarsier Sanctuary and also the Chocolate Hills, Bohol's other main tourist attraction. We decided to tackle both of those sights in one day, and rented motorbikes from Nuts Huts to wind our way through Bohol's dirt-clogged interior roads, most of which were under construction. Since Cale had never ridden a motorbike before, we opted to get one each, banking on the odds that one of us wouldn't fall off and could get help if needs be. It turned out that he was a natural anyhow (not surprising) and we happily whizzed around the island, the wind in our hair, the flies in our teeth and the locals clamouring out to meet us at the side of the road. First off: tarsiers! Though they can turn their heads around 180 degrees (compensation for the fact that their eyes are firmly lodged in their sockets and cannot move at all), and though you were able to get up close and personal with them, seeing the little fuzzy balls of wonder was a bit of a let down because you were only allowed a 10 minute walk through the sanctuary (they get agitated if people are around them for too long). Because I desperately wanted to take one home with me but knew I couldn't, Cale convinced the guide to bring us around the sanctuary a second time so that I could get more of a tarsier-fix, as our friends Laki and Signe patiently waited for me to come bounding out of the forest to head out to the Chocolate Hills.

The Chocolate Hills was somewhat of a misnomer since they are currently green, not brown. An as-yet unexplained geological phenomenon, geologists have posited that they were formed by the rising coral deposits over time, combined with the erosion during the wet season. Since no one has conclusively accounted for their existence, locals maintain that the 1200 perfectly conical hills were created by a giant who shed tears for his lost love, tears that were so heavy that they created perfectly symmetrical indentations in the ground. In the dry season, the green sheen does turn to brown but we were at the cusp of the wet-to-dry months and the hills were still lush with vegetation.

In our brief time on Bohol, we also managed to squeeze in a swim to a small waterfall down the Loboc river (with the locals in the riverboats all screaming “hello! Friend! Why you swim?” as they motored by) and a cave hike into the Loboc jungle to two bat caves (very, very full of bats), where we discovered the horror that is a scorpion spider. Though Cale really wanted to go to Palawan, we were deterred by everyone's insistence that it was too remote to visit in the week that Cale had left (I have since corroborated this) and so we decided to head into Northern Mindanao to visit Camiguin Island. Mindanao, formerly the Sultanate of Sulu and the 19th largest island in the world, is a southern province of the Philippines replete with jaw-dropping geological wonders like Mount Apo and some of the nicest beaches in the Philippines. Unfortunately, it is also known for the rustling of its political discontent, and a rash of kidnappings, bombings and general disorder have occurred in recent years, with the kidnapping of two red cross workers making headlines only last week. Mindanao is currently divided between the predominately Christian north (including Cagayan de Oro, Surigao and Camiguin island), the moderate middle swath of the island and those parts of the southwest of the province which have separated into an autonomous region called the Autonomous Region in Muslim Mindanao (ARMM) as of 1989. Though North and East of Cagayan de Oro is perfectly safe, many tourists have opted to skip Mindanao altogether due to the consistency of the tumult in the Southwest of the province. Massive protests and a recent return to headline-grabbing violence have led to a resurgence in hostilities, with some of the groups seeking independence from the Philippines unhappy with the ARMM arrangements and calling for more autonomy. Amongst those groups, the 14,000 strong Moro Islamic Liberation Front (unfortunately abbreviated as “MILF”, which led Craig to joke that some “sexy moms were causing havoc down south”) has been the most active and has opted not to join the ARMM, as well as the precision-trained, profit-seeking Abu Sayyaf group, notorious for high-level, brutal kidnappings and beheadings, including a 2001 kidnapping from Palawan and a 2004 ferry bombing of the SuperFerry 14 that killed over 100 people. Despite the fact that my health insurance stopped coverage the second I hit Mindanao (since it is on Canada's 'do not go there please' travel list) and the fact that Cale, who is working FOR Canada, might get a serious talking to upon his return, we decided to take fellow travelers' advice to heart (Camiguin is gorgeous! You will love it! It is safe!) and head to Camiguin anyhow.

The many, many steps down to Nuts Huts; the emerald green Loboc river, shining in the sun:

Tarsier hanging on for dear life; Cale and I (and some random chick's foot) at Bohol's Chocolate Hills:

The rest of my Bohol pictures are here.

Camiguin Island, Mindanao

Camiguin has the distinction of being the island with the most volcanos per square metre of any island on earth. It also has more volcanos (7) than towns (5). Its terrain alternates between the moist, green jungle and black sand, with the looming mountains in between the two. Cale and I were joined by Sean and Jessica, a couple from England. We arrived late at night and took a tricycle (in Tagalog, a habal-habal, literally translated as 'pigs copulating' because of how intimately you will get to know someone if you share one with them) to Jasmine on the Sea, a family-run resort on a stretch of black sand beach. Given that there was only one room left, we dragged an extra mattress in and bunked down as a foursome for the week, cutting down on accommodation costs. Cale's priority was trying his hand at scuba diving, and ended up taking a Discover Scuba course with Jess at Funky Divers, a diving shop run by the extraordinarily eccentric Hans, the Austrian owner. His divemaster Romeo took Cale under his wing, and my brother was able to do a full four dives in his brief time there.

During our week on Camiguin, we managed to do a fair bit of exploring – we rented motorbikes and did a full circumference of the island, visiting the Ardent Hot Springs in the foothills of the Hibok-Hibok volcano and the Soda Springs near the Station of the Cross volcano, which were neither spring-y nor soda-y. We motored to the Katibawasan Falls, accessible by tiny dirt road that forked off from the main part of the island in a tapestry of flowers, water buffalo and crowing roosters. We climbed to the top of the Station of the Cross to watch the sun setting into the water far below, only to watch dark, dense clouds waft toward us from the back of the volcano. With one eye on the sun and the other on the quickly approaching storm, we stuck our ground and were chased off the mountain by the pelting rain. We took memorable boat trips to White Island, a partially submerged white sand bank a stone's throw from Camiguin's shores, where Cale went diving and I was befriended by 2 dozen lovely Filipino children who had a million questions about Canada and why I had no husband, and to Mantique Island, a wild nob of sand and tropical plants several hours from Camiguin, toward mainland Mindanao. The Mantique Island trip started out extraordinarily well: we left Camiguin early, arrived to the island paradise a few hours later and were able to snorkel or dive to our hearts content, feasting on a lunch of fresh clam soup and rice (I mean FRESH – the fisherman asked how many kilos, we told him and then watched him saunter out to the water's edge and casually pluck our lunch out of his fishing net). By afternoon, our plan to be back by 4 was derailed. We didn't leave the island until well past then, and the sea was disturbingly rough. Cale and I were on separate boats, and with the sun setting fast, and my watching Cale's boat floating farther and farther away and then disappearing into the horizon, I finally made our boat driver turn back to find out where he had gone. It turned out that their boat engine's had died and they were out of cell phone range and, by the time we arrived, they had been drifting aimlessly in the waves for a good hour. We tied the two boats together and swam to shore and took a tricycle back to Seascape.

After a week of outdoor fun and adventure on Camiguin, Cale to the boat to Cagayan de Oro so he could make his (long) way home – via Oz – and Sean, Jessica and I took a ferry to Negros Island's capital city, Dumaguete.

Crystal waters surrounding Camiguin's Mantique Island; our lunch of fresh clam soup and rice:

Cale and I at Katibawasan falls; sunset over the main road near Mambajao:

The rest of my Camiguin Island pictures are here.

Negros Island, The Visayas

The Lonely Planet guidebook claims that Dumaguete is worth 'more than a day of your time', but Sean, Jess and I believe they never actually visited - because really? It isn't. Sure, the boardwalk is pretty and the city is fairly clean and full of college students. But we found the people to be standoffish and curt and wholeheartedly unhelpful and the entire place lacking in any ambiance whatsoever. After a few nights at the Twilight Zone'y Harold's Mansion (power flickering on and off – only there and nowhere else – throughout the day, lethargic, angry staff, a systematic refusal to provide me with a topsheet – despite the fact that everyone else got one, etc) and a memorable trip to Apo Island we were done with Dumaguete and embarked upon The Greatest Travel Day of All Time. Destination: Sugar Beach, a stretch of pristine white sand jutting out from the small, bustling fishing town of Sipalay on the Southwest edge of Negros Island.

To get there, we did the following:
-Tricycle to the bus station
-Jeepney to the v-hire station
-V-hire van to Bayawan (3 hours)
-Bus from Bayawan to Hinoba-an (2 hours)
-Bus from Hinoba-an to Sipalay (2 hours – and in the pouring rain)
-Boat from Sipalay to Sugar Beach

We had made a reservation at Driftwood Village, a lovely resort run by Daisy (a luminous Filipina with dark hair down to her waist and a permanent smile) and her husband Peter (a gruff, seen-and-done it all Swiss guy, the perfect foil to Daisy's enthusiasm). With a jumbled mishmash of nipa huts ranging from 400-1200 pesos, there was plenty of variety to choose from and a big book exchange to attack during the lazy days on the beach. I ended up staying there longer than anticipated, bidding adieu to Jess and Sean who were making their way to Leyte and then down to Borneo and enjoying the sunsets, waves and evenings playing foozball and pool.

The beautiful Apo Island in South Negros Island; Sunset on the remote Sugar Beach, Sipalay:

The rest of my Negros Island pictures are here.

From Sugar Beach, I embarked upon a hilarious and unforgettable trip to the stunning province of Palawan – but more to come on that later.

- Jodi

Happy Anniversary, Legal Nomads!

It is hard to believe a full year has gone by since I embarked upon this insane jaunt around the world. Had you asked me last April where I would be in one year's time, I would have likely said
"back home". Certainly not in Palawan, the Philippines' last rugged frontier, surrounded by chickens and using satellite internet to wish myself a happy anniversary. As they say, make plans and God will laugh, and this year has certainly been a testament to that adage. From finding myself sicker than I have ever been, to traveling alone, to not even putting Malaysia or the Philippines in my initial itinerary and then sinking into each of those countries with a comfort level that astonished me, to stumbling upon new friends in random places, to finding a sense of inner peace I have never before known, the last 365 days were a lesson in adaptability and a grateful exposure to the souls of countries I have always wanted to explore.

I think back to those restless, long white nights before I left NYC, my brain in panic mode. I worried about where I would go, what I would do and how I would cope with showing up to a new place without knowing where to stay. And now, a year later, I have learnt that closing your eyes and stepping into the void is actually most of the battle, that the rest falls into place easier than you could wish for. All you really need to do to be a happy traveler is expect your journey to take a roundabout, winding path and then not get irate when it does; in the end, what you see en route informs who you will become as much as the actual destination.

People often ask me whether I am tired of traveling, or whether I am still excited to see or explore a new place. I assure them that if I wasn't moved by new places or thirsty to keep exploring, I would go home. It would be a waste of time, money and effort to force myself to travel if my heart wasn't in it. I can safely report that while I have been blown away by the geography and diversity of where I have been, I remain excited for the 'next stage' at every point in this journey. Instead of feeling as though I have seen it all, every new city, mode of transportation or chicken in my lap on a random bus ride propels me farther into the maelstrom of wonder that is my present. Though this type of travel is not sustainable long term without feeling unmoored, I have not exhausted my exploration just yet. The anchor of Craig, my family and my friends back home, and the sheer pleasure of sharing this journey with you on this blog, has given me a sandbox to play in (albeit a huge one) in lieu of drifting through this year aimlessly.

From the isolated, tangled wilderness that is Port Barton, Palawan: thank you for all the feedback, random commentary, well wishes and general enthusiasm emanating from the readers of this blog.

-Jodi

Welcome to the Philippines!

I left Thailand on February 28th, and met my baby brother in Manila for a few weeks of Ettenbergian fun in Bohol. I was, and remain, surprised at how different the Philippines is from Thailand and what else of Asia I have seen. That’s not to say I expected the same thing, just that on a base level, it is whole other universe here. I feel as though someone took a South American country and plopped it in the middle of the water on the Asian continent: the food, people and mannerisms well resemble Ecuador, not Thailand or China or Malaysia. When you consider the history of the country, its Latin feel makes a lot of sense.

The Philippines consists of over 7,107 islands nestled between the South China Sea to the East and the Philippine Sea to the West, including some 1500 that are too small to be named. From what I've experienced thus far, it is well beyond the backpacker trails of South East Asia - most days pass by without spotting another tourist at all. The landscape is somewhat overwhelming, even to a seasoned traveler: you can choose between limestone beaches (like those of Rai Leh in Thailand), lush jungles, swaying, vibrant coral reefs and deep, damp bat caves.

The beautiful Apo Island:



While archaeological digs have uncovered the existence of humans on Palawan from 50,000 BC, Ferdinand Magellan claimed the land for Spain in 1521, in blissful disregard for the people who had been living there for thousands of years. King Phillip II established Manila as the capital of the Spanish East Indies in 1571, which lasted through the end of the 19th century, when Spain ceded the Philippines to the United States in 1899, at the end of the Spanish-American war. What followed was several more years of unhappy colonial rule (this time by the Americans), until 1935, when the country was converted into a Commonwealth. Unfortunately for them, this change in status did not last long: the country was occupied by the Japanese during WWII. Filipino troops allied with the Americans to defeat the Japanese in 1944, and the Philippines was granted full independence on July 4, 1946.

Given that the Philippines was colonized by Spain and the USA, but is located in the heart of the tropics, several things stand out as being quite a bit different from where I've just been:

1) Garbage is everywhere here. Other than a few towns that have cracked down on littering (Puerto Princessa, Hinoba An, etc) the streams and streets are cluttered with plastic and remnants of meals. People throw litter out the windows from buses and tricycles, without hesitation.

2) For a tropical climate, there is far less fruit than I expected. I’ve found are bananas and mangos, and the occasional mangosteen. Otherwise, slim pickings. Some apples, on a good day. I have, however, discovered that coconut and peanut together make a mean, mean fruit shake.

3) I l hate to say it, but I am not a fan of the food here. There are almost no vegetables, other than kangkong (swamp cabbage) and green cabbage, and meals are mainly meat and rice or meat and noodles and with many tasty varieties thereof. A saving grace: there are a ton of roast chicken or roast pork roadside stands, each of which are juicy and crunchy and delicious, and there is Halo-Halo (see below) everywhere. Food is otherwise filling and tasty, but not exciting. I dream of spicy green curry with coconut milk.

4) Everything is sweetened. Coffee, tea, ube snacks, cakes, muffins – everything here has a ton of sugar added. No such thing as whole wheat bread either: you get white bread, with sugar baked in, dripping with sweetness. I've stuck to rice and eggs for breakfast, which happens to be delicious.

5) Halo-halo is the dessert of champions. Halo-halo (pronounced hallo-hallo) is a mishmash of all things goopy and crunchy in a plastic bowl. Start with crushed ice, add milk, coconut pulp from a young coconut, fruit gelatin, sweet flan, a scoop of ube ice cream and top it off with corn flakes and voila! you've got halo-halo. The perfect mixture of anything you might crave on a hot, sticky day, it has proved a great way to duck in and get some air conditioning and ice cream in the middle of the afternoon.



6) Asking someone for directions is not straightforward. Most tourists here say you need to ask three separate people, then go with the majority. You are, however, at risk for the Noncommittal Head Nod (see below) when asking.

7) The Noncommittal Head Nod is a likely response to anything you ask. It is a half nod with a refusal to make prolonged eye contact. It either says “I have no idea what you are saying, little girl” or “I will not make this easy for you” or “I don’t want to break it to you that you are totally going in the wrong direction.”

8) At 3pm in the bigger cities, the stores stop playing radio pop and instead a prayer comes on the loudspeaker thanking God for life, meals, etc. Everyone stops and listens and then crosses themselves and looks up at the sky (presumably, at God) at the end. I first discovered this because I walked into the supermarket and started shopping, only to look around slowly, in panic, when I realized no one else was moving. For a spit second I actually thought time and space had hiccuped, but no – it was God.

9) Women here do not ride motorbikes, unlike elsewhere in Asia. Thus, when I rented my own bike it felt as though I was in a parade. People were screaming and jumping and waving and yelling “HELLO FRIEND!” as I rode by. Good for the ego, bad for womankind.

10) When you meet a new Filipino, the following three questions are asked, almost immediately and in the exact order I've written:
- Do you have a husband? or Are you only one?
- How old are you?
- Where are you from?
- Why are you alone? Where is your husband? Why don't you have one? WHY ARE YOU ALONE?
I've been told by several Filipinos they cannot even imagine traveling to an unknown country without a guide or group, and it appears that people are genuinely concerned that I am alone and/or that I have not yet managed to land a husband.

11) The children here are both painfully adorable and absurdly friendly. Case in point: I sat on White Island off of Camiguin whilst Cale went scuba diving and the next thing I knew I had 20 kids all about 3 inches from my face, yelling "Hello friend!! Why are you here? Where is your husband? Where are you from?". They were more than happy to pose with Potato.





12) While they have minivans and tricycles here, they also have jeepneys, a jeep-van hybrid, gaudily decorated and packed full of people. And I mean PACKED: even when you think the jeepney can't fit anymore people, it can and will and does. The record: 34 people in the jeepney with 5 more on top and several others hanging off the back. This does not include the chickens on the roof, either. Normal capacity for said jeepney? 12 people.

Jeepney in Mambajao, the capital of Camiguin:



13) Cockfighting not only legal, but a source of national pride. Riding into towns you see "Derby" schedules posted outside the city limits (with rooster names like "Ringo" and "Elmo" and "Karl", listed in order of fighting). Riding on public buses you will see tons of mini teepees in the grass you are passing by, and under each teepee an irate rooster. Thus: roosters crow almost every minute of every day, and are brought in little cardboard boxes with handles and holes on every mode of public transportation, from buses to jeepneys (see above) to boats.

Rooster inside!



14) Pinoys are obsessed with their cell phones. There is cell coverage throughout the islands, and most hotels or hostels request that you text them to make a reservation, going so far as to complain that you didn't text when you actually call them. Most bus rides are punctuated with the beeps and rings and sounds of text message notifications, and people walk down the street either texting someone or listening to their phones. When a fellow traveler noted that they never bothered to get a Filipino SIM card, our hostel owner was aghast, wanting to know how one could get by without a mobile phone to be a guide.

Note that these are merely from my month down in the Visayas and north of here - like the mountains surrounding Banaue and Sagada - might differ entirely. thought it might be interesting to type these out quickly and share, since the contrast of this country to some of others is fascinating. Thus far, I've really enjoyed being here and the friendliness and open smiles of the people I have met. This country is known for its helpful, kind and inviting locals, and the reputation seems well-deserved. It is fun being a one-woman show traipsing through buses and ferries and towns, where children pull their parents out of stores to point at you and yell an enthusiastic hello. And I am really looking forward to exploring the rest of the geography of this place; the mountains, beaches and landscapes have so far been some of the nicest I have ever seen.

I'm off to Palawan now, but will update on the Visayas soon!
-Jodi

Twenty-Four Days of Zen

I have never felt as vibrantly, emphatically alive as I did on February 27th, over a lunch of baby corn with chicken and rice. Sitting alone at the Little Mermaid restaurant on Ko Samui, Thailand, the weight of how much I absorbed during my prior month at The Yoga Retreat on Ko Phanang sunk in. For a few moments, I felt complete and total joy, my mind still and my thoughts blank. All I could feel was happiness and calm and inner peace. Though this state of suspended thought must have lasted a mere five minutes (more specifically, until a motorbike determinedly crashed into the fruit stall across the way), it is permanently etched into my memory.

Those of you readers who know me well know that I suffer from what my best friend Nadia affectionately refers to as “Jodi Brain”, i.e. a complete and utter inability to relax, even when the situation merits it. I'm not sure where this dearth of zen comes from, but it was certainly exacerbated by my years in NYC. When the perpetual motion of the city I called home never ceased, how could I find personal calm? As I have stated in prior posts, a big goal of this trip was to learn to enjoy the present. That's not to say I never appreciated what I was doing – I did and do – but oftentimes a large part of my brain was off thinking of what I had to do next or where I wanted to go in the forthcoming days whilst the rest of it was like “lovely sunset!” Since the first part of this trip was about climbing mountains and physical activity (South America) and the second part was about experiencing cultures firsthand without getting sick again (Mongolia, China and the North of Thailand), I figured that I owed it to myself to make Part III of this journey about finding a semblance of inner peace. And thus, I found myself at The Yoga Retreat on Ko Phanang for a 10-day Chakra and Yoga course, ultimately enjoying it – and the lush jungles of northwest Ko Phanang – enough to stay put for an additional 14 days.

It merits saying that I had little to no yoga experience prior to this retreat. I've done some Bikram (or "hot") yoga, but hated the oppressive heat and seeming hypocrisy of a founder who espoused raising yourself above material things....while at the same time owning a mansion and Bentley in Beverly Hills. Even the Wikipedia entry for Bikram needs a serious overhaul; it currently reads like an advertisement. I also did a power yoga course when I was in law school, low on spirit and high on sweat, but hadn't tried hatha yoga, and sure as hell didn't know how to meditate. I had no idea what chakras were, let alone be in a position to ascertain whether mine were balanced. Choosing The Yoga Retreat for my crash course in all things yoga turned out to be a great idea: it is a family-run place, with the owners and their 8 year old living on premises. The yoga platform faces the thick, green jungle – making for the perfect inspiration to hold those asanas a little longer. My room was directly under the yoga platform, which turned out to an excellent way to ensure I made it to class in the AM. There was also a separate bungalow between the platform and the open-air kitchen, and a dorm room underneath the owners' home. Unlike some of the other studios or retreats I had visited, The Yoga Retreat was intimate, personalised and comfortable, and the owners Teresa and Kes took us yogis-in-training (self-dubbed "Team Yoga") under their wing.

The yoga platform facing the jungle; the open-air kitchen where "Team Yoga" spent many a day and night in deep conversation about life and everything after (and the restaurant at the end of the universe):

That's not to say settling in was entirely painless. I had other fears to contend with, as my room contained a panoply of critters: 3 angry scorpions, a 7-legged spider (wherefore did its other leg go??) the size of my hand*, colonies of ants, mosquitoes and many, many geckos scattered along the rafters and the walls. Nighttime was a crackling, cacophonous endeavour: whirrings, and chirpings and buzzings and tappings – all the trappings of bugs that go “boo!” in the night. I was fine with most of these things, save for the spider and the scorpions. I love geckos and found the constant noise comforting, though it took a few nights before I stopped waking up in a panic when I heard it directly above my head.

* I did a bad bad thing and killed this spider with a book, only later realizing that it was a book on Ayurvedic medicine. Sigh.

Class started at 9am sharp, with 1.5 hours of yoga and relaxation, followed by an hour of pilates and afternoons on the beach. Despite starting out creaky and tight and without the ability to touch my hands to my toes, I saw remarkable progress during the course of my time there. Sure, I wasn't able to do half of what the other students could during their practice, but for me – and for my still-painful ankle – the change in body was uplifting. More important, however, was the change in spirit. We did reiki sessions, guided chakra meditation sessions and I practiced meditation in my room after everyone went to bed and only the sounds of jungle remained. At the end of every yoga class, we did a half hour of relaxation and pranayama breathing, and I initially found myself frustratingly unable to concentrate. I thought about my inability to concentrate, beat myself up for not being able to something so simple and looked around the class at everyone's closed eyes and still faces and felt dejected. After several days of this – and of willing the relaxation to end soon so that I could escape – I was close to giving up. But two weeks in, I had a breakthrough and managed to go a full class without thinking of anything but the asanas I was doing, the muscles that I was stretching as far as they could go, and during relaxation the sound of my breathing. I ended the class in tears, having finally found quiet for the first time in as long as I could remember. It felt incredibly liberating.

Haad Salad Hut, home of the best pad thai and banana coconut shakes on the beach; yoga at sunset is extremely satisfying:

It was definitely a decadent way to live, my only focus getting better at my practice and finding silence within. I met some lovely people during my time at the retreat, all of us drawn into friendship by the commonality of our struggle to relax and inability to do a handstand in class. Wednesday nights were Animal Guide nights, with a complex, interesting man named Ashton leading a shamanic journey for each of us to find our inner animal guide. This was another example of how my skepticism was overcome; despite being sure that I would spend the time listening to Ashton's beating drum in total boredom, I slipped into another world with ease, ultimately discovering that my animal guide is a 40-foot tall fluffy, snowy white owl.** Teresa and Kes invited us to dinners with them and their son and friends, and the whole thing felt easy, light and a complete antithesis to the reality I have known. I realize now, though, that I had an equal hand in creating that reality and now that I know what 'living lightly' feels like, I will consistently try and channel that feeling, even if I am living in a bustling city or working in a job with long hours. I ended up having to leave the island to meet my brother in the Philippines but would have likely stayed longer had I more time. And, as Teresa said when she hugged me goodbye, "you've come a long way". Even if I don't head back to The Yoga Retreat, I plan on including yoga in my daily life, easily swayed by the power of how strong and calm I felt in my twenty-four days on Ko Phanang.

** when I told this to my mother she asked to stop messing around and please put her daughter on the phone.

Haad Salad beach at sunset; me and the jungle in a meditative duet:

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I am currently in the Philippines, in a part with spotty (if any) interwebs, and after a great few weeks with Cale in the Visaya Islands am due for another Island Wrap Up entry. Until then, I'll be posting some thoughts on the Philippines thus far.
-Jodi

LN Guest Post: Audrey Takes on Acongacua

During my years of lawyering in NYC, I was fortunate enough to meet likeminded lawyers, whose insatiable passion for adventure travel, new cultures and off-the-beaten track places remained an inspiration during long, paper-filled nights. Audrey is one of those lawyers. We were both staffed on the same deal at my first job in the city (which ended up lasting about 18 months!) and bonded over our mutual love of travel and bubble tea. Originally from Texas, she worked several years in NYC and then decided she needed to indulge her outdoorsy side more thoroughly and moved to Colorado. As if that weren't enough, she successfully summited Kilimanjaro and then set her sights on Aconcagua, the highest mountain in all of the Americas. As a traveling lawyer she was a perfect fit for Legal Nomads and I asked her to do a guest post.

-Jodi

* * *
Audrey Takes on Aconcagua
I spent 3 and a half weeks in Argentina -- a few days in Mendoza, 2 weeks on an expedition to climb Aconcagua (6,962 meters (22,841 feet)), a few days at Iguazu Falls and a few days in Buenos Aires. I'm not sure what would compel someone who grew up in humid, hot and flat Texas to want to climb mountains. For most there would be little allure in altitude headaches, nausea, opportunities for frostbite and edema, lack of opportunities to take a shower or an unobserved toilet break, et cetera. Say what one will, I love climbing because I'm fascinated by soaring, rugged peaks and the knowledge and experience required to ascend and survive them. Mountains were the reason I moved from Manhattan to Colorado 2 years ago, and on December 27, 2008, instead of flying to a beach as one might expect, I flew to Mendoza to experience Argentina's snowy white peaks. I spent a few days in New York around Christmas, hanging out with family and friends, before heading to Argentina and lucky for me, Jodi (I miss you!) was there for a couple days and we were able to catch up over sushi, cornbread and soup at Whole Foods in Columbus Circle. On the Miami-Santiago leg of my flight, I ran into Elaine, a woman who lived on the same hall as me freshman year when we were undergrads. Coincidentally, she, her husband and 2 adorable children were also on their way to Mendoza and totally randomly, she and I stayed in adjacent rooms for a night in Mendoza. We landed in Mendoza a couple hours later than expected because our flight out of Santiago was turned back about 15 minutes into the flight. We could smell fumes in the cabin and we weren't flying very high off the ground, even though we were supposed to be flying over the Andes mountains, past
el cumbre de Aconcagua. Mendoza was warm and breezy with clean, tree-lined streets. Anecdotes about how attractive Argentinians are proved to be true -- after a few days of eating asado, pizza, matambre sandwiches and helado, though, I wondered how the women stayed so petite. The next day, our guides checked our equipment and we met the other members of our expedition group over dinner -- there were 12 in all (8 men, 4 women) -- 5 Australians, 1 Swiss, 2 Canadians, 1 Argentinian, 1 Pole, 1 Irish and 1 American (me).

Hiking from Pampa de Lenas to Casa de Piedras campsite on day 2:


Of Permits and Penitentes
Before driving to Penitentes, a small mountain town less than a mile from the Vacas Valley entrance to Aconcagua Provincial Park, we had to obtain climbing permits. It turned out to be an involved process -- we filled out forms in one location, walk to another location to pay, and then walk back to the original location to complete the documentation and obtain the actual permit. Ariel, our head guide, briefed us on the climb's itinerary and expected timing, in addition to warning us not to feed wildlife, especially the birds of unusual size (which none of us saw, by the way). The dinner menu at the hotel in Penitenties had a couple interesting items, one of which was "Bird Mayonnaise", which turned out to be chicken salad rather than what it sounds like. I'm glad I didn't order any beef because it looked like those who did got a plate of gristly rubber.

Expedition begins!
The next morning, December 31st, we embarked on our expedition. The hiking was hot and dusty, and Ariel set a slow and steady pace for the group. We were able to drink the water right from streams we crossed. While I was nervous about not treating it, none of us got sick from it and it tasted fine. Our New Year's Eve destination was Pampa de Lenas, where we drank wine and ate asado to celebrate. In retrospect, it was probably strange to spend New Year's Eve with a bunch of new acquaintances, but then New Year's Eve is more about hype than about celebrating anything special, so I didn't think much about that at the time. As the new year rolled around in one of our countries, we'd wish the others Happy New Year, but for me, that time would not have happened until 4am in the morning at Pampa de Lenas. I retired to my mattress pad before midnight, but the muleteers whooped it up until the wee hours, but I was so tired I didn't hear them. It took 2 more days and 2 stream crossings to reach Plaza Argentina, which is base camp on the Vacas Valley route. Mark, a friend from Colorado, happened to be taking a similar route up the mountain, and he decided to do the 2 stream crossings in his Speedos -- if he was looking for attention, he certainly got it, especially from the muleteer taking our group across one of the crossings!

Second stream crossing from Casa de Piedras to Plaza Argentina on day 3:


To go up or go down?
The doctor at Plaza Argentina checked each of us to confirm we were okay to continue up the mountain. Above base camp, we had 3 camps above base camp. We would take one day to carry food and some gear up to a higher camp, rest the next day at the lower camp, and then move to the higher camp. We planned to summit the day after we moved to Camp 3. One of the Australians decided after our rest day at base camp, and 3 more Australians decided after our rest day at Camp 1, not to continue with the climb, and went down by mule. We lamented that as expensive as it was to go up the mountain, it would be more expensive to go down -- you had the option of taking to the park exit a helicopter (at $800 per person, or nothing if the doctor thought your condition required immediate evacuation), a mule or a 2-3 day walk, after which you had to pay for a shuttle to Mendoza and lodging in Mendoza upon arrival. We were a spirited group, and I think we were all happy that we got along so well, notwithstanding our size. However, our spirits were somewhat dampened by news that 5 people from 2 different expeditions had died on the mountain during our stay at base camp. It reminded us about the seriousness of the climb.

Taking care of business
Base camp was luxurious by comparison to our three camps above base camp -- it had a kitchen, long drop toilet with toilet seat and toilet paper, a mess tent, internet access (very expensive) and satellite phone (extremely expensive). Above base camp, we had to do No. 2 in a black plastic bag, and you couldn't get any No. 1 in it because you (or a porter, if you paid for one), had to carry it out -- let me just indulge in TMI for a moment -- it's hard enough to do No. 2 while holding a black bag over one's hiney (and braving the wind and cold), but it's even harder as a girl not to get any No. 1 in there. At Camp 1, it was impossible to find a potty spot that wouldn't be observed by others, so the girls and I tried to go at night, and above base camp, I used my 2.5 liter pee bottle whenever I could. One of my tentmates, Frances, called it my "briefcase", because I was all business whenever I walked through camp to empty it (I mean...it was sort of embarrassing walking around with a huge plastic thing with yellow liquid in it...).

Penitentes, or spiked ice, formed in high altitude glaciers where the air is dry and the sun causes evaporation in depressions in the glacier without melting first; Climbing from Camp 1 to the Colera, which was about halfway to Camp 2:

This is supposed to be fun?

During the week we spent above base camp, I had altitude headaches and nausea on and off. I tried sleeping, propped up against the side of my tent near the flap a) so that I could unzip and lean my head out if I needed to vomit and b) in the hopes that it would keep those nightly splitting headaches at bay. It turned out I didn't actually vomit and those splitting headaches were bullish about coming on in the middle of the night. When I looked at my photos, I found that I'd hardly taken any above base camp, and I'd taken none after Camp 2. Luckily, my tentmates, Emilia and Frances, kept me entertained, and thus mostly distracted from the discomfort. I don't know what I'd have done without Emilia's blue pills :) I wasn't the only one suffering, though. The remaining Australian in our group after Camp 1, would, apparently, sit up all night because he couldn't breathe when he lay down. Max, the Swiss, sounded like he might go into convulsions any time he entered or exited his tent, or when he'd wash his plate in the river. Others in the group were also experiencing headaches, but all of us were able and determined to continue ascending, so we soldiered up to Camp 3.

Summit attempt and end of expedition

On the first summit morning, it was windy and cold. I started a couple minutes after the group due to, well, feminine issues, and Emilia and I arrived with Adrian, an assistant guide, at Independencia Hut (6350m) about 5-10 minutes after the rest of our group. After checking the weather report and talking to some people who were coming down the trail, Ariel consulted our group, who agreed that we might want to avoid the cold windy summit this day and conserve our energy in order to make another attempt the next day. The next morning, however, only Max wanted to get out of his tent and while the rest of us walked down to Plaza de Mulas, he and Ariel summited. Actually, I didn't walk as much as I provided entertainment for the group by falling about 35 times -- it was the only section of the climb that I was carrying all of my pack and at that altitude I could barely stand up, much less walk on a steep, snow-packed decline, with it on. Juan, the other assistant guide, had to save my butt by adding my pack on top of his already huge one for most of the way down to Plaza de Mulas. While relaxing at Plaza de Mulas, Max and Ariel surprised us by walking into camp. They had walked all the way to Plaza de Mulas from the summit that same day -- quite a day for Max, who is 57 years old! The next day, we practially ran about 20 miles to the park's exit. The Horcones Valley seemed to stretch forever, and by the time we exited the park, we were waddling. Near the entrance/exit, there were people, clean people, just enjoying nature for the day, and I felt more bedraggled and filthy at that point than at any other time during the expedition. To make matters worse, Emilia and I both had burned our forearms on the first day, and I was molting like nobody's business. After gorging on meat in Upshallata, we were driven back to Mendoza. Somehow, the hotel's hot water didn't run out, with 8 people showering between 2am and 4am. The water running off my body was the color of very weak coffee, and I washed my hair 3 three times before I thought I felt my scalp. The next day we had a farewell dinner, and went out in Mendoza. Wow, the locals were still partying strong when I called it a night at 3:30am.

Final section up climb up to Camp 2; Partial view from Camp 2. The panoramic view was spectacular:

Buenos Aires and Iguazu Falls

Before Emilia and I took an overnight bus Buenos Aires, Max, Emilia and I took a tour at the Rutini winery in Maipu. The setting near the Andes mountains was beautiful, though the highlight was, of course, sampling the wine. We stayed in the centre of Buenos Aires in Gran Hotel Espana, a basic, but clean, hotel. While walking from Retiro Bus Terminal, a bird managed to "mayonnaise" the two of us. It, and we, smelled like pickles and mustard -- ew. Buenos Aires is a pretty and fabulous city, as they go, but I'm afraid urban activities generally hold little interest for me (even though, admittedly, I love a well choreographed and performed dance performance). So, as soon as I could, I boarded an overnight bus to Puerto Iguazu and managed to catch the last boat tour out to the Iguazu Falls. If you take the boat tour, I'd recommend wearing something that dries quickly because we were driven right into one of the falls and I got soaking wet. On the bus to the falls the next day, I realized that, goshdarnit, I'd forgotten my camera in my hotel. No matter, it was actually really nice to take in the falls without feeling the urge to snap photos at every turn. By chance, I ran into Emilia and her boyfriend at one of the falls, and we planned to meet up in Brazil the next day, but the next day, when Brazilian border patrol saw my US passport, they told me to go back to Argentina. Since I've returned, I've heard people have better luck crossing the border by taxi than by bus, which was the way I had tried to cross.

Iguazu Falls, Argentinian side:


Hasta que encontremos otra vez
My bus back to Buenos Aires was stopped at two police checkpoints. The second time, a police dog came on board and one of the passengers was detained while his bags were searched. Fortunately, he was allowed back on the bus without incident, even though those police had done their best to extort something from him. As I wandered around the city before my 10pm flight out of Argentina, I thought about all the things I'd have loved to experience if I'd had more time. Salta, Patagonia, glaciers, lake district and more. Perhaps I could come back soon. I'd miss this country, whose pace, culture and people I'd enjoyed so much during the last month. But how could I be sad -- I was returning to Colorado, back to ski season and back home to the Rockies' beautiful, snowy peaks.

-Audrey

Northern Thailand Wrap-Up

With 7 hours to kill in the Kuwait airport, now is as good a time as any to finally blog about the mountains, Wats and food of Thailand's northwest (warning: khao soi features prominently). From a week exploring the lovable city of Chiang Mai, to the awe-inspiring, stunning creatures at Tiger Kingdom, to a ridiculously improvised Mae Hong Son Loop, there was no shortage of new, interesting things to see and do.

Chiang Mai
In 1296, long before the former Prime Minister Thaksin focused his energies on revitalising his hometown's reputation as a culture capital of Thailand, Chiang Mai inherited the seat of power for the Lanna Kingdom from the neighbouring Chiang Rai. Fearful of Burmese invasion, the Lanna kings built a surrounding wall around the core of Chiang Mai, known today as simply "the old city." Much of these walls, painstakingly preserved or rehabilitated over the years, surround the core of modern day Chiang Mai (though the city is definitely going through a lot of urban sprawl and now seeps out a ways). As protective as the walls and the moats adjacent to them were, they couldn't keep the powerful Burmese empire at bay, and Chiang Mai became an occupied city, first under the Burmese and then the Thai kingdom from Ayutthaya. In the late 16th century, it was folded into what was then Siam and has been a rising star ever since. The city has over 300 Wats, including the forest temple of Wat U Mong (best visited at dusk - minus the mosquitos, of course) and Doi Suthep, perched on a mountain and famous for its golden Chedi (under renovation whilst we were there), and is a jumping point for treks to the hilltribes of the Northwest, most notably the Karen long-necked tribe.


Map of the walled Old City:

(Map from Travelfish.org - one of my favorite travel sites for South East Asia).

**A preliminary note on lodging: those of you heading to Chiang Mai might want to stay at the unbelievable Na Inn (136/7 Ratchapakinai Rd). For 650 baht for a double room ($9.25 each), the place felt like and looked wonderful. We got 3 new bottles of water every day. The room was made up each afternoon and what a room it was: the furnishings were modern and clean, the shower fantastic and the space enormous. There are definitely much cheaper places to stay in the city, but for the price, location (just inside the walls of the old city, south of Tha Phae Gate) and genuine loveliness of the staff it's a great option. I found the place through TravelFish but there were no other reviews to speak of at the time. We decided to give it a go and were beyond happy with the results. Their website features pictures of their rooms and surroundings. Email them first if you plan on going - it's a small place, and they take advance reservations.**

Before I got to explore Chiang Mai, I had to do a border run to get more time in Thailand, as my 30-day transit visa was about to run out. The best way to do this from Chiang Mai? A day trip to Mae Sai and a walk into Tachilek, Myanmar (Burma), buried deep within the Golden Triangle. I wasn't sure what to expect but it ended up being an interesting day, my minivan replete with diverse people (a vet for elephants whose wife is a renowned travel writer, a muay thai student, a student of Buddhism and meditation, an Israeli couple from Switzerland who were living their retirement in Chiang Mai, among others). The routine at the border was quick and efficient: you gave in your passport and got a receipt - required to pick up your passport later, you had a bit of time to shop at the astoundingly cheap markets of Tachilek (for political reasons, given the current climate there, I opted against spending any money on the Myanmar side - my $10 visa fee was plenty) and then piled back in the minivan and returned to Chiang Mai. As soon as I stepped into Tachilek, boys clouded around selling Viagra, Cialis and - interestingly enough - playing cards featuring Saddam Hussein and members of his cabinet. I told the boys I was not a prime candidate for the penile-enhancing drugs; the Buddhist student mentioned that he would prefer playing cards with live dictators, not dead ones and thus wasn't interested. And, finally, we were left alone.

Crossing into Myanmar (Burma); sunset on the way back to Chiang Mai:

Once you've tasted the mouth-watering food Chiang Mai has to offer, you'll want to learn how to make it. Luckily, Chiang Mai is renowned for its many quality cooking schools. Upon the advice of the Adorable Aussies, we opted for the the Thai Farm Cooking School, situated on its own organic farm just outside city limits. Most of the cooking classes in Chiang Mai take place in cramped, stuffy kitchens, so it was a fantastic experience to go to the market first and get our rice and meat, and then tour the farm's garden to pick out the vegetables we would use during our class. For only $25, we took a full day cooking class and were so unbelievably full at the end of it that we took several of our dishes home in a doggie-bag.

Craig and me in the farm's garden; a small selection of the 12 dishes we made that day:

Despite having a full week in Chiang Mai, we quickly learnt that there is just no shortage of spelunking to do. Within the old city, dozens of gilded Wats sparkle in the afternoon sun. Together, they whisper the history of the city and its changing rulers: you can find temples in each of Lanna, Burmese and even Sri Lanken -styles, each more lavishly adorned than the last. There is fantastic food aplenty, with my newest obsession (the rich, delicious and spicy khao soi) in a starring role, especially at the bustling night market food stalls. Renting a motorbike is the most efficient way to get the most out of the 2nd most visited city in Thailand, at at $5 a day (with discounts for longer term rentals) you'd be crazy not to troll around and explore. Outside the Old City are several markets teeming with people and interesting, reasonably priced things to buy. From the Andusan night bazaar (on Chang Khlan Road), to the sprawling, never-ending Sunday Walking Street on Rachadamnoen road starting at Tha Phae Gate, to the daily Warorot Market at the Ping River, there is a dizzying array of weavings from the northern tribes, food, drink and clothing on offer. If you want something more upscale, the Airport Center Plaza is a huge mall on the outskirts of the city, with all the western shops of Kuala Lumpur's KLCC mall and a matching slew of restaurants. In short: what's not to love about Chiang Mai? Steeped in culture, food for the ages, tons of classes (ranging from cooking, to muay thai to Thai language lessons) and all easily navigable, even for the directionally disabled (like me). I definitely plan on heading back.

Schoolgirls visit Wat Phra Singh; the older chedis behind the main Wat:

Chickens for sale at the Warorot day market; the bustle of the Sunday Walking Street:




The rest of my Chiang Mai pictures are here.


Tiger Kingdom
I posted on Tiger Kingdom in my Mae Hong Son quick-post, but I will let the pictures speak for themselves. While a lot of people opt to visit the elephant parks in and around Chiang Mai, Craig and I were crazy for tigers. I knew there would be plenty more opportunities to see elephants, whereas I wasn't sure when I'd be able to cuddle with a tiger again, and Craig (with a cat of his own at home) had been sent a picture of a co-worker lying on a tiger and had a one-track mind ever since. Situated approximately 20km northeast of Chiang Mai in Mae Rim, Tiger Kingdom is still being built but is certainly worth a visit even in the midst of construction. Unlike the tiger park outside of Bangkok (where reports from other travelers were that the animals were visibly lethargic/drugged and were chained to posts), Tiger Kingdom lets you in the cage, with the tiger. One-on-one tiger fun. It is authentic enough that tourists have been bitten or scratched; Craig had a 3-week old cub gnaw on his big toe, but papers have written up about tourists need fifty+ stitches when a tiger got ornery. Understandably, they make you sign your life away when you get there. For us, it was worth the risk.


Entrance fee depends on the amount of tiger-love you want: we enthusiastically went for all three available options (1 month olds, 4-7 month olds and the gargantuan 1 year old tigers). Nervous at first, we eventually settled into a nice tiger petting/cuddling/lying down upon routine and I even got to feed the 4-month old tiger (the one whose stomach I am scratching below).





Pictures of Tiger Kingdom are here.

Mae Hong Son Loop


When Craig came to visit, I thought it would be perfect to take a multiple day motorcycle trip. The question was: where should we go? In the end, we started out toward Chiang Dao but met two couples who had criss-crossed the country on motorbikes and strongly recommended the Mae Hong Son (hereinafter - in true lawyer style - "MHS") Loop as a great ride through the mountains and a quick way to visit Pai and MHS. Plus, we'd be able to circle back under the shadow of Doi Inthanon (Thailand's tallest mountain) on our way back to Chiang Mai. Their advice was spot on, and we definitely had a fantastic time.


After our out-of-the way first night in Chiang Dao (where we slept in tiny unheated bungalow at the foot of the caves - temperatures dipped to 3 degrees celcius so we froze), we looped back to the turn off of Route 107 to Pai, rumoured to be Thailand's "hippy capital". To get there, we had to tackle a substantial part Route 1095, through the mountains. We were driving 125cc Honda Clicks. Powerful bikes they aren't. I weigh less than Craig so was much zippier on the steep upturns; conversely I was also the one who fell off the bike 3 times, so whatever time I made up by being "zippy" I promptly lost by somersaulting down a steep mountain road. Short people? Not so good at the motorbiking.


Pai might be hippy-esque in a laissez-faire, "nestled in the mountains but couldn't care less" kind of way, but we found ourselves in the middle of piles and piles of Japanese tourists. Granted, the sleepy town does have the smallest bus terminal I've ever seen, sells a lot of bongs and opium products and there were a lot of dreads tumbling down the backs of those who had settled there, but it did not give off the promised relaxed vibe we had hoped for. Perhaps during low season?

Our plan post-Pai was to head to MHS. We were told - on several occasions - that it was a mistake to try and do this in one day. A mistake and dangerous. "You are too small to go in one day!" I was told. I wasn't biking, I was motorbiking - so I'm not sure what my size had to do with it. Sure, it's exhausting trying not to fall off the freaking thing, but a Honda Click isn't really a physical challenge. Determined, we set off disgustingly early on our 2nd day in Pai, hoping to make it to MHS by sundown. We ended up making it with time to spare, but not without our share of adventures (my falling off the motorbike - AGAIN - in back of a giant truck of pinneaple, almost running out of gas midway through the mountain pass without a town or petrol stop in sight and going to pee in the bushes without realizing it was THE turnoff point to one of the area's main attractions). In addition, I have a terribly small head. I've worn kids hats my entire life, and my baby brother loves to tell me that this obviously means that he's smarter than me because he has a bigger brain. The helmets we got when we rented our bikes just weren't going to, so I bought a helmet that fit me properly. A kid's helmet: blue and white stripes, a huge cartoon decal on each side and - for reasons unknown - the word "PINKIE!" scrawled in unrestrained script on the side. With my chestnut-coloured ponytail peeking out the back of the helmet and my height, the people we met were amazed that an 8-year old white girl was driving her own motorbike through the mountains. It wasn't till we stopped for lunch that it made sense: people would look at Craig, then at me, then at Craig and then point and say "how OLD is she? DANGEROUS!". Those of you who have been to Thailand know full well that 8 year-old bad-asses drive their own (manual) dirt bikes all the time, but apparently there was a different standard for Farang. Also? I fell off - the 8 year-old Thai boys didn't.


Finally in MHS, we were able to sample the amazing street food, see the beautiful Wat Chong Kham and explore the surroundings with our motorbikes. We stayed one night in a bug infested hostel (I had the spider bites on my face to prove it) and took off for Chiang Mai again, winding upwards until we were close to Doi Inthanon, and then barreling down the multi-lane highway on the way back to Chiang Mai. With a huge day of riding through the mountains and dusk looming large, we stayed in Chom Thong for the night at what felt like a Thai Disneyland (think log cabins with green roofs and cartoon characters). Rising early the next day, we dropped our bikes back to Mr. Motorcycle, trying gamely to explain the dents and scratches, and then promptly went to sleep at the incomparable Na Inn.


Trip Stats:
Km covered: 840
Curves in the road from Pai to MHS: 1864
Times we had to bribe a park ranger to siphon fuel to our bikes: 1
Amount for the park ranger's gas (1 litre): 100 Baht
Cost of a litre in Thailand: 15 Baht
Bowls of khao soi consumed on the trip: Jodi - 6; Craig - 1.
Dogs that ran after our bikes, barking: too many to count.


Me and my Pinkie helmet; the falls on the way out of Chiang Dao:




Our first night's sky was a rare feat of nature: the moon, Jupiter and Venus forming a happy face; a Wat built into the mountainside on Route 1095.



Wat Chong Kham at night.



The end! The rest of my Mae Hong Son Loop pictures are here.

Discovering Bangkok

I was prepared to dislike Bangkok from the minute I stepped off of my Air Asia flight from Krabi. During my weeks on the Andaman Coast, no one I met had anything positive to say about Thailand’s capital, resorting instead to one-liners about the plethora of tourists, dirty streets and prostitution. Having arrived from a month of lazing around and learning to enjoy the beach for the first time, Bangkok was certainly an assault to island life. However, once you scratch past that first layer of grime and wintry, wary stares Bangkok becomes a lot more inviting and a lot more fun.

Initially known as Bang Makok** (from Bang the Thai word for a village on a riverbank and makok for a plum tree endemic to Central Thailand), Bangkok consisted of a group of trading villages clinging to the banks of the Chao Phraya river until 1767, when the reign of Ayutthaya collapsed and King Taksin of Burma officially established it as the capital of his kingdom. When Taksin’s reign ended shortly thereafter, the city was given an official name that is listed in the Guinness Book of World Records as the longest name for anyplace on earth: Krung Thep Mahanakhon Amon Rattanakosin Mahinthara Yuthaya Mahadilok Phop Nop pharat Ratchathani Burirom Udomratchaniwet Mahasathan Amon Piman Awatan Sathit Sakkathattiya Witsanukam Prasit. Got that? As named by King Rama I, it means “The city of angels, the great city, the eternal jewel city, the impregnable city of God Indra, the grand capital of the world endowed with nine precious gems, the happy city, abounding in an enormous Royal Palace that resembles the heavenly abode where reigns the reincarnated god, a city given by Indra and built by Vishnukam.” Most historical writings on Bangkok will list its Raman name as Krung Thep Maha Nakhon meaning “City of Angels”, which is understandable because one might pass out trying to recite the capital’s name in its elongated form. As we all know, Thailand’s “City of Angels” is almost always referred to as Bangkok.

** Insert your jokes here. My favorite remains unusable due to the fact that I have no Y chromosome

Wats etched against the afternoon sky off of Yarowat Road in Chinatown:



Despite the city’s extraordinarily tumultuous and winding history, much of its cultural heritage remains intact, making for a lesson in contrasts as you explore its streets and soi (alleyways). Bangkok is quite a large city, with several areas to stay. The Siam Square crowd tends to include mid-budget travelers, with very few backpacker hostels in sight. Sukumvit is generally known as the “sex tourist” area, and the many guesthouses cater to that crowd: there are no rules about bringing Thai men or women back to your room, and staff discretion is well-renowned. There are, however, some good budget options in that area, away from the main throng of tourists. Bangalumphu is away from the Skytrain station route, but is generally centrally located and within walking distance to the University, the reclining Buddha and Phra Athrit pier on the Chao Phraya river. It is also home to the backpackiest of backpackerlands: Khao San Road.Wading through a sea of tourists certainly wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my days in Bangkok, but as I was traveling alone it provided a good, safe place to plunk down and explore. I found a room at the Four Sons Village Inn, one of the few Four Sons franchises that have popped up around Bangalumphu. The Inn was away from the main roads, tucked in Soi Chana Songkhram and directly across from a Wat (temple), where I would get my breakfast of sticky rice and chicken. I have stopped in Bangkok on my way to or from Chiang Mai, or before I flew home for the holidays, and always stayed at the Four Sons. The staff was very friendly, asking for makeup tips (one night I did everyone’s makeup at the front desk: men, women and ladyboys alike), wanting postcards from home and making sure I had plenty of freshly squeezed lemon juice whenever I sat down at the bar. Past all the street vendors hawking fisherman pants, t-shirts and flowing skirts, and the tuk-tuk drivers soliciting takers for ping-pong or ladyboy shows, the guesthouse became a comfortable home away from home in a busy, crowded neighbourhood.

Classic Khao San Road at night; Craig and me after he had his first bucket of Sangsom whiskey:

Holly and I saying "Sawadee-ka" (hello in Thai) to Ronald; 4 vagabonds smack in the middle of the crazy Khao San road:



Since the city fans outward from the Chao Phraya in an overwhelming mix of people, food and places to explore, the best way to summarize many (numerous) times there is a good old fashioned top 10 list (inspired by The Lost Girls’ own list for the capital):

1. Amazing street food: From a daily dose of pad thai for $1, to the melt-in-your mouth sweetness of the fresh pineapple sold all over the city (15 cents) to the puffy, savoury coconut pastries filled with corn at every street corner, Bangkok has a ton of food at your fingertips, and it won’t break the bank to indulge. In my trips to the city, I can’t think of more than one time that I ate at a proper restaurant. Street food: fast turnover, cheap and delicious. Definitely the way to go.

2. Sticky rice and chicken for breakfast near Wat Chana Songkhram: I had to break out the sticky rice and chicken because it was my breakfast pretty much every day, and I got a lot of shit for it from other tourists (most of whom were eating muesli and yoghurt). I never liked eggs or pancakes for breakfast, and would eat dinner leftovers in the AM when I was a kid, to the dismay and confusion of my family. Sticky rice and chicken with monks in Bangkok is a great way to start the day!. True story.

3. Thai or Foot Massages starting at $4 an hour: There are plenty of spas to choose from in the city, and a huge spectrum of quality on offer. I ended up going back to a spa on Rambuttri Road several times during my days in Bangkok, drawn in by the stupendously good foot/reflexology massage I got from a woman named Bang. After a long day of wandering, the head, neck and shoulder massage is a decadent pre-dinner appetizer and costs less than a sandwich in New York.

4. The Chao Phraya river: The Chao Praya River separates Bangkok and the former Thai capital city of Thonburi, and remains the most relaxed, pleasant way of touring parts of the city. Staying near Phra Athrit pier had many benefits, most notably the ease with which you can see the city – without the crushing, traffic-filled, smoggy roadways to negotiate. Hopping on the water taxi (there are two types: express and local, delineated by the colour of the flag atop the boat) was a lovely way to explore other areas of Bangkok, from the crowded, churning Chinatown to Wat Arun (The Temple of Dawn)’s dazzling 79m tall stupa on the opposite side of the Chao Phraya river.

The Chao Phraya at Dusk on the way back to Phra Athrit Pier; Bangkok's Chinatown - a melting pot of language, culture and really really good chestnuts:



5. Public transportation: An interweaving network of soft rail, buses, subway and boats make up Bangkok’s surprisingly intricate and comprehensive public transportation system. For years, the idea of a mass transportation system in Bangkok was a pipe dream, but in the last decade the government has put a lot of time, money and planning into making sure people can get around comfortably in Bangkok. Half of the city's buses are now air-conditioned, there is a clean, futuresque SkyTrain running high above the city, a thorough subway system and a fast rail to the new Suvarnabhumi airport. If you need to get somewhere in Bangkok, the city planners have already figured out a way to get you there.

6. Wat Pho and the Reclining Buddha: a full 46m long and 15m tall, and covered in gold and with feet made from mother-of-pearl, the reclining Buddha is a sight for sore eyes. Within walking distance from the Four Sons, it is near the Grand Palace (built by Rama I in 1782) and makes for a beautiful way to spend an afternoon. The sprawling Wat Pho complex comprises the oldest temple in Bangkok (and the largest!) and houses over 1000 different images of the Buddha.

I imagined these pictures as one of those 3 panel wall hangings, but instead it made the majestic Reclining Buddha look like a midget!:

The Reclining Buddha in all his reclining glory; some of the colour in Wat Pho's sprawling complex:

7. Makeshift street bars on Khao San Road: During the day, Khao San Road remains a bustling go-to place for esoteric purchases and travel necessities. From cheap dresses, t-shirts and pants to $1 malaria pills to Thai souvenirs and fake ID cards, if you need it you can likely find it on Khao San. At night, the street vendors are joined by bartenders who pepper the street with tiny plastic stools and shaky tables, yelling at passerbys to stop for their “very strong drink!”. As the night goes on, the bars creep in toward the centre of the street, closer together, so that by midnight when the police come to shut down the street festivities the entire road has become a sea of mini bar stools, drunk tourists and the women from Isan selling noisy wooden frogs. Post midnight the party moves back into the bars themselves.

8. The Grand Palace: Built by King Rama I the Great, the enormous Grand Palace comprises 3 different complexes (throne halls, temple of the Emerald Buddha and the royal residence) and is impressive to discover. Some lovely pictures to be had with the walls lit up at night.

9. Chatuchak Weekend Market: Open only on Saturdays, Chatuchak is north of Bangkok’s city centre and the place to buy anything you have ever wanted but were unsure of where it was sold. From kitchy souvenirs to high quality silk, to independent, quirky designers to huge works of art carved out of metal or wood, Chatuchak has it all, in spades. There was a live animal market, several busy food courts and thousands upon thousands of stalls to sell everything else. The market both enormous and overwhelming to navigate: in my 6 hours there I only covered a small part of it, and there are “tourist helpers” set up in the centre of the madness with maps to help you find your way back to a bus or SkyTrain station. Definitely wise to wear comfortable shoes and bring your patience, but well worth a visit, with prices lower than Bangkok’s markets and a seemingly infinite amount of things to choose from.

10. Jim Thompson’s House: Though I was initially lukewarm about visiting Jim Thompson’s House, it ended up being a very interesting few hours and a nice contrast to the gold finery of the Grand Palace and Wat Arun and Wat Pho. JT was an American who worked for the Office of Strategic Services (the office was replaced by the CIA during WWII. Returning to Thailand after the war (to the great displeasure of his wife, who later divorced him), JT founded the Thai Silk Company and is credited with bringing Thai silk products to the world stage. Before his suspicious disappearance in Malaysia in 1967 (his body has never been found), he began collecting works of South East Asian art and built a traditional Thai teak home to house them. Post-disappearance, his house is open to the public for tours of the many beautiful works of art.

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There are plenty more wonderful things to see and do in Bangkok, but these were the 10 that stayed with me. Next up: wrap-ups of Chiang Mai, Tiger Kingdom and the Mae Hong Son Loop!

All of my Bangkok pictures are here.

-Jodi

Home for the Holidays

I am writing this from New York City, and it is way colder here than I anticipated. Way colder than, say....Thailand. But, less cold than Montreal, which is where I have spent the last few weeks. Today, Montreal's high is -19, without windchill. Sometimes I wonder how I grew up there without turning into an icicle.

Me, freezing in Canadia:

On a whim, I booked a ticket home for the holidays to surprise my family. And by "on a whim", I mean "four days before I was set to depart." Unbeknownst to me, Kuwait Airways has incredible online fares, including my ticket from Bangkok - which ran me a little over $800, return. I was set to show up at my dad's place with a bow on my head until I realized that I needed to find my way from the airport to the house - and that my dad's place is so isolated that we have no cell phone access there. So, once I landed in New York I called him up and broke the surprise...which went a little something like this:

Me: Hi Dad!
Him: JODI! Why haven't you written in the last few days? WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?
Me: Brooklyn.
Him: There's a Brooklyn in Thailand?
Me: Um, not exactly.....

My dad drove the 2 hours and back to the airport to collect me, and I was able to surprise the hell out of my baby brother (who, being over a foot taller than me, was big enough and surprised enough that he picked me up and ran around the house with me).

Cale (the baby brother) and me in Canadia; a crisp, sunny winter day at home:

I spent a great, jetlagged week relaxing with my brother, his gf, my dad and stepmum and rediscovering what non-asian food tastes like. Definitely a wonderful way to celebrate the holidays.

Next up: surprising my mother and step-dad in Montreal. This proved difficult because, unbeknownst to me, they were heading to visit my stepsister and her kids in the USA. I only found this out after I had booked my flight home. Cale and I tried our best to dissuade them from going without giving the surprise away, from telling them the weather was going to be bad (“don’t you want to maybe wait to go till later on this week? BAD STORM COMING, Ma…bad storm!”) to vaguely implying that it would be a good idea to stay (“I can’t say why…I just have this feeling that you guys should put off the trip”). Well, we failed. They took off just before Christmas and were scheduled to return just before New Years Eve. Since they were hosting a NYE potluck, I decided to show up at the door then – and hoped they wouldn’t find out about my being in North America beforehand. This was a bit of a tricky situation since my mum and I correspond via email almost daily, but I tried to keep my replies as hazy as possible without lying – i.e. “I’ll be in touch in the next few days. I left Thailand on a whim. My Thai cell phone doesn't work outside of Thailand”, etc.

In the interim, I had a chance to spend a luxuriously lazy few days with my best friend Nadia, making raclette, eating amazing poutine at La Banquise, hanging out at the bar with our friends and Nadia’s boyfriend and catching up in person (for once!).

Me and Trishie; Cynthia, Erica me and Nadia all bundled up in Montreal:

I ended up taking a cab from Nadia’s to my mum’s place, and the cabbie was so excited that I was going to surprise her that he came to the door with me so that he could see her reaction. Well, she didn’t disappoint: she jumped up and down for over 10 minutes, screamed at the top of her lungs repeatedly (which sent all her friends running to the door too) and then cried off all her makeup. I couldn't have asked for a better reaction. My NYE was spent in the company of my mum, stepdad and their many friends, a quiet antidote to the month on the Andaman Coast.

My mum, me and my stepdad:

And now I'm back in New York, until I fly back to Bangkok on February 1. Tomorrow is Jared from Globestompers' 30's birthday and after traveling through Thailand, Malaysia and Singapore with him, it is karmically appropriate to help him celebrate now that he's home. I haven't forgotten about the postings for Bangkok, Chiang Mai or the incomparable Mae Hong Son loop that I did with Craig - those are forthcoming. And 2009 looks to be an exciting year, with a slew of new countries to visit, languages to try and learn and interesting people to meet. My brother will be joining me for 2 weeks in late February, and I will likely spend a lot more time in Asia where the U.S. dollar goes far and the food is beyond fantastic.

Happy new year to everyone and all the best in 2009!

-Jodi

Potato Meets His Thai Relatives

Potato meets his cousins in Chiang Mai's night bazaar.