Visual Pilgrimage

El Fin

2010-11-28T12:08:00.000-08:00

Well, folks, this is it.

It's been a good run, but this blog is getting disbanded.

Let's just say that being female and posting the crazy stuff you’ve done online is a risk. And while I took it knowing that it was a risk...well, I guess you never know exactly who's reading your blog until you post something controversial. And then suddenly you have the wrong audience.

Then again, all publicity is good publicity?

I could lead this into a diatribe on privacy in the internet age, and probably I should have paid more attention to the 13 things you should never post on facebook, thank you Huffington Post. If you haven't already seen it and you go check it out, pay close attention to number 11, kids. But then roll your eyes at number 7 and be mistrustful of the relatively conservative ideas that seem to suggest limits on freedom of speech (especially when you're talking about people getting fired for criticizing their company or boss), really insecure managers, people who think all their friends are thieves, and idiot Facebook users who don't understand the difference between public and private personalities.

Wait, Sharmini, this is a blog, why the Facebook rants? Well, I needed some way to advertise...

And now I'm slightly retreating with my tail between my legs.. So I don't have the biggest balls. Well, actually, I have no balls at all, so it turns out. It's called femininity.

...but not entirely. I'm going to keep writing. Like wanderlust, it's a disease, and this blog thing is great because it reduces the amount of hardcover journals and torn indecipherable papers lying around my room.

So, if you read this blog and you want to continue to follow, I'm going to try to divorce from my professional you can add the 'internet persona':

Facebook: Jay Ellie

Included in new blog will be joke songs and photo slide shows and attempts to be less self-centric and much more awesome.

And if what I'm talking about causes you fear, distrust, or pain and suffering then for your safety, turn away.

Also, blogspot just annoys me sometimes, format wise. So, goodbye.

Peace, love and safe holidays--

Strangers, Kindness and Poverty

2010-11-14T16:42:00.000-08:00

Excuse me, I feel the need to get up on my two foot cajon, I mean soapbox, for a second and moralize.

With all my focus on the physical and mental pain I experienced during the Death March I may have forgotten to mention that It was one of the best times of my life. This was for many reasons, of course. Yes, there's quite a thrill in it all.

But damn, I also learned a whole lot from the whole trip. Take for example, the being the recipient of goodwill aspect of my hitchhiking adventure:

The other day at a Friend’s gathering (as in Quaker) I listened to a discussion on the old classic, lending a helping hand to people in need.

Pretty simple message, yes? I’m sure you’ve all heard some form of the ‘treat others as you would like to be treated’ rule, and I’m guessing many people are familiar with Jesus’ Good Samaritan story—you know the one in which a beat up man is helped by the non-Jewish, disliked Samaritan.

The Friend's ultimate message seemed to be both that it’s important to get out into the community and start putting Jesus's community oriented teachings into practice and it's important to reach out to those who look, think and act differently as well.

You could be cynical and dismiss the story as a children’s parable taught by adults to help Americans ‘get along’. You could be too trusting and consider it to be the only way to live.

Me? I wanted to laugh when the Friends mentioned their ‘sermon’ topic of the day. It felt so relevant to what I had been through, and something I did not have to think about much. My world has been expanded to the point that I don't usually second guess talking to a bum, offering a ride to a stranger, trying to reach out to someone with ideological differences.

Did the Quakers mean crazy hitchhiking youth? Did they mean bums? Have they ever been on the other side of the divide—the side of needing the help?

These friends had stories to tell of their own involvement in lending a helping hand. A pensive man mentioned buying a birthday present for a neighborhood child after he overheard her complaining that she didn’t receive any. A couple of different people got up and talked about providing holiday baskets to local families. A woman mentioned giving a ride to school to a boy who had slipped on some ice.

A young 20 something girl, in a statement very close to my heart, described how in her travels abroad she had always received care from strangers and felt welcomed. Yup—those poorer countries where people have less, well, they tend to be less afraid and more giving. I remember a traveling friend in Nepal saying to me, “People in Nepal have less but they give so much more.”

Well, it’s not always true, but it does have a certain familiar ring. And it made me think back to all the charity I had received, often times from less than upstanding citizens. A kindness that is unforgettable. But yet, people might frown upon the givers of that kindness.

Which reminds me that there’s a lesson in my travels besides ‘get a real job kids,’ and ‘appreciate what you have even if it’s not much because it sucks to have less’. At the least, there’s some insight into the nature of community and altruism and human nature and all that stuff.

In my months hitchhiking I received so much help and kindness from strangers and people I wouldn’t normally have associated with, or spent time with, or gotten to know. I mean, how else would I have met Gregg from Pennsylvania? Or, from a story I haven’t gotten to yet, ex-hippy hicks in North Carolina that besides feeding me recorded some of my band’s music. And then there was the kid in Fredericksburg who made me tacos, and the kid in Annapolis who drove me to Washington D.C., and even Dan and Dave and the crazy punk kids really helped me out because it was raining and sleeping outside would have been a pain in the ass.

At the very least, hitchhiking is an instant icebreaker. Busking is even better for that. “Hey, I noticed that you play music on the streets. I’m guessing you like DIY art and putting yourself through a lot of pain for minimal reward…”

Beyond that, it makes me feel connected to a greater community. I mean, that’s the thing about traveling. People put aside different background and ideological differences to connect with each other because they know a traveler is out of their element. It doesn’t matter that I probably will never see most of the people I met again. It doesn’t matter that I may not have been friends with them if I had encountered them in my home town. It’s just the idea that they were willing to give me the benefit of the doubt and just straight up be friendly.

It’s more than that. I’ve felt that traveling in Asia before, or the Middle East, or with friends around the United States. But the added element of poverty, combined with the strong will to go somewhere, to play music, to be successful in this endeavor (yes, there is such a thing as busking success, I’m getting there), means for the first time I was willing to trust people to a degree I never had before. Odd people. Different looking people. Different ideology people. People who were not always upstanding citizens.

Good Samaritans in our society?

I mean, this is all anecdotal, but I'll tell you most of the people who helped me out didn't have money in that upper middle class sense, and often not even in a middle class sense. And many of the people I met who were on the poorer side were very gregarious.

Some people see as a potential downfall. I disagree. I mean, brain still races when I'm in an unknown situation. I'm uber-careful of every chance I take.

And all this goodwill makes me want to turn around and extend goodwill. When I found hitchhikers in a Bay Area Wal-Mart I at least tried to help. And when a woman started loudly yelling “Dammit, they towed my car,” I offered her a ride, which she denied but accepted a joint (she must have been 50-it made me smile-thank you Santa Cruz).

Though, believe me I'm no saint. And I don't always trust the world, or the people in it.

But being bold enough to accept help has made me bold enough to approach strangers to talk, to offer help, to listen. It's put me in a better place. It's made me more honest--even if whatever it is I’m doing in my life seems like a failing to some people. More often than not when I simply asked people for help and told them the story, straight up honest, their amusement and confusion would lead them to help me out. I appreciate other people's honesty too. Try not to judge.

And me interacting with strangers means we both gain something. The world get's smaller, I learn a bit and give them company in exchange for some help, some money (as in on the streets), some fun (damn, I wish I had approached more buskers when I was bored going out in college) and some inspiration for people who feel stuck or anxious. I feel like I have a better grasp on social interactions and what people want from interacting with you.

Hey, sometimes it's like traveling abroad. Especially in the South where people can have very different ideological backgrounds.

Well, alright, that's enough. Message barely touched upon. It’s hard to explain, fully, how something can change your life and it’s hard to know how things that ‘change your life’ last in the long run.

But despite the doubt about the strength of my character, I can always say, “Hey, at least I got a story out of it.”

Warning: Middle Aged Bag Lady Reveals the Dangers of Pigeon Poop

2010-11-10T19:04:00.000-08:00

El Cerrito, CA
sometime near the present

Breaking News:

A middle aged bag lady has reported the hidden dangers of pigeon poop in Bay Area BART stations. She was prompted to warn the citizens of the Bay Area when she discovered two girls sitting on the concrete ledge of the El Cerrito BART.

Her message was very simple: "You girls shouldn't sit on the ledge, there's a lot of pigeon poop."

The girls nodded in polite thanks. A skinny jean wearing girl popped off the ledge and shyly shrugged an apology. The other girl, with a messy orange bandanna nodded but otherwise ignored the warning.

"I used to clean these stations and those walls only get hosed down every 10 years. It's a big problem. They try to prevent it in some places, you see the spike sticking up."

Having given her warning the woman began to move towards her metal cart (which was near the stairs out of the station) but hesitated feeling that she hadn't got her message across. "But yeah, even if they clean it up, that stuff never comes off. It's been crusted on there for so many years."

The girl with the orange bandanna stubbornly refused to get off the ledge even throwing out a sarcastic, "Okay, I'll be careful not to eat off my pants or anything."

The woman was undeterred. Her message needed to be heard. "No, no. It's really dangerous, even if you get some on your pants and you touch them later that's pigeon poop all over your hands. Do you know how much disease is carried in pigeon poop?"

The orange bandanna girl, having abandoned her book, began to dispute the cart lady's charges. "Yeah, but I'm always careful to wash my hands. Besides, it's such a nice ledge. There are no other ledges like this in BART stations."

The woman agreed, "That's because of the pigeon poop. They try to prevent it in some stations-that's why you see the spikes, but it's still no good. The pigeon's are just everywhere. It's really disgusting. It's really a problem. They can't ever clean it thoroughly. You girls should be careful."

The skinny jean girl began to giggle uncontrollably under her breath at the last interaction, while the orange bandanna girl finally jumped off the ledge so the cart lady would go away.

It seemed the cart lady's warnings had been heard and she exited the station leaving the two girls to make 15 minute friends on the BART car.

Citizens concerned about pigeon poop can check out http://www.squidoo.com/The-Dangers-of-Bird-Poop

Weed is Burning

2010-11-09T16:13:00.000-08:00

The Present

No, really. Weed is burning. Or at least it was when I drove through yesterday. Check this out:

It looked pretty cool. And smoke smells great. It was a beautiful day.

7 hour drive, $40 of gas. Getting stared at by forest service workers: priceless.

Day 4:'Colored People Time'

2010-10-29T18:17:00.000-07:00

No longer Newark, thank god

around 10 am

If you want to hitchhike, you’ll have to walk. Day 4 drags on. The morning clouds that sheltered our hangovers turn to sun tentacles that poke at our eyes. We walk. The side of the road is covered in the orange wings of dead butterflies. Live grasshoppers smack against our legs as we walk through the grass to avoid the side of the freeway.

The freeway entrance in Newark is closed. Rerouted some unknown distance.

I stop to pet a cicada on the side of the road. Somewhere in my foggy brain I decide that I need to prove I am not afraid of a cicada and that crossing a bridge on the highway is the time to prove this. A car zooms by. Tom grabs me by the backpack, lifts me, pushes me towards the bridge, berates me and we walk in silence for the next 30 minutes.

We get a ride. We get $40! Jodi is so cool, and not just from that money. Or maybe it is the money? Well, she’s an attractive female with a 14 year old husky who wants to bite me. She hitchhiked around the country with her dog, became a brick layer, shit in the walls of a few high school buildings she built, got fired (for unrelated reasons) and is headed back to the Midwest. She knows. She sympathizes. She gives us $40!

We are no longer broke! $10 goes to a classy diner meal, then $2 to a new sharpie, then for fun we spend $4 on fruit and fudge…$10 goes to the junkies who pick us up in the middle of the tick field so they will drive us across the bridge and $6 dollars goes to Wendy’s food when the junkie’s drop us off. Add it up.

But we needed the junkies. After Jodi drops us off we got a ride from this guy named Peter who decides the best place to drop us off was the side of the road in the middle of cornfields, 10 miles from any town. We don’t want to walk, but we can’t hitchhike.

We are stuck pulling ticks off ourselves every 5 minutes and staring at the sky when the junkies pull up. Even in their car I find a tick crawling over my backpack.

The junkies are very sympathetic “those motherfuckers are hard to kill, you have to burn them.”

I make a joke, “It’s as bad as trying to get rid of a heroin urge…not like I do heroin or anything…”

Justin, the driver, is very matter of fact. “We do.”

“Oh.” Pause. What’s that like?”

“That’s why we came to this area. There’s a lot of good heroin.”

“Oh.”

“In fact we’re on our way to meet our dealer right now. I can drive you over the bridge if you have bridge toll…”

Steve, the passenger, starts getting anxious. “We’re supposed to meet him at 3.”

But Justin is sympathetic to us. “Naw, he’s on CPT?”

“CPT?” I ask.

“Colored People Time. Always late.”

“Oh.”

We then talk about chiggers, getting beaten by the rail crew and why Delaware sucks. Justin does all the talking. Steve complains to Justin about how he needs to sell the gold chain he’s holding.

And so I offer them $10 since I don’t have change and it’s hard to convince a junkie to give you any, apparently.

And then we get dropped off in Maryland and go to Wendy’s because we still have money and we love Wendy’s and we’re not in Annapolis and we’re really freaking tired and we don’t even know if we can get to Annapolis since it’s like 6 o’clock and because it’s just nice to sit sometimes when you’ve been walking half the day…

Day 4: Morning After Regret

2010-10-25T11:30:00.000-07:00

Newark, Delaware
around 9 am

Apparently I am a cultural offender. I shouldn't be wearing pants that hug my hips, when I go out I should be tipping 20 percent, and what is that hand shaking courtesy for sick people? Thanks Fox News.

It's the morning after in the punk house and I have serious regret. Between thoughts of what my head might have rubbed in every time I rolled off the sleeping bag, and the hangover knot in my stomach, I wish I had a clean and warm bed. The air conditioning is still blowing at 63 degrees.

63 degrees! Goddamnit...

Dave, who told me last night he had to get up early to go to work, is sprawled out on the couch and the beer bottles are lined up over the kitchen counter. Tom and I pack up our stuff as quietly as possible and avoid glancing at snoring Dave.

Where's the water in this house?

Curiosity leads me to check the fridge. Or I wanted a morning beer. But there's nothing left but Ketchup and old Chinese food. Hardened food particles on the fridge shelves.

The bathroom in sober light. Damn punk men with long hair.

We say goodbye and leave. The plan is coffee, then play some music. We have 3 dollars , that's enough for coffee and I'm sure we can make enough for breakfast.

But I get to the coffee place and my stomach turns. Do I really need this? For $1.50?

Vitamin water instead. It seems more essential.

I'm so tired at this point in time I just drag my whole pack into the CVS and make a big deal about asking for the $1.00 Vitamin water. The two employees in the store both jump from the counter to help me.

Celebrity? Or potential criminal?

Time to play? Walking down the street we feel disheartened. Okay there's some kids out. But it's a cloudy sky. We can't really play. It might rain. Plus, we're hung over. I mean. I don't want to play right now.

Tom assures me that we can make it to Annapolis in the evening. In fact, he tells me, Annapolis is a much better town. It's touristy, it's white, it's got a Naval base and it's on the water. How can we go wrong?

Alright, fine. Let's run to Annapolis. Vitamin water, $2.00 and pretzels in tow, the half hour walk down University Ave becomes a time for head-in-hand reflection. We don't talk. I see flashes of Pennsylvania suburbia.

No money, no money, no money.

But once we are past the University it no longer matters. Actually, my head feels clearer. Why would I want to stick around to hang out with bad punks anyway? And we did have pretzels for breakfast.

Alright, Annapolis it is. Only good things can come?

Drugs Make Strange Bedfellows: Georgia

2010-10-21T16:52:00.000-07:00

Milledgeville, GA
sometime between drinking and passing out

On a porch meeting a guy for 10 minutes while my friend runs around and catches up with the people of Milledgeville. I have two things to latch onto: drink and any shiny pretty thing that comes my way (cute counts):

Me: "Awww, this is such a cute cat. What's his name?" The cat crawls into my lap.

Nameless guy. "He's called getta."

"Getta. That's interesting, what does it mean."

"It's short for get 'tha fuck off me."

"Why's that?"

"I always tell him get 'tha fuck off me 'cause he has fleas."

Day 4: Playing the Asshole

2010-10-17T13:44:00.000-07:00

Newark, DE
sometime around midnight

Dave with the studio punk house has offered to let us stay at his place. He offered before we left to busk. I wanted to go to the waterfall, the one that Hippy Mike had mentioned. I kept insisting.

But Dave also kept insisting. "It's gonna rain outside. You really need a place to stay. I suppose I can let you stay here. Its just a studio, but we can find you some space. You seem like good kids." Tom accepted the hospitality despite my protests.

He offered to let us stay, but when we get back to his house he's sitting on his porch with Screwball and he insists we can't come in.

"Before you can stay I need to know that you're cool." Dave squints his eyes. "So, what if I said I had a way for you to make 10,000 dollars but you had to kill someone. Would you do it?"

This is all directed at the man. Tom swallows but hardly misses a beat. "Don't think so, man. That's going a little bit far."

"Well, what if all you had to do was dump the body."

"Dumping bodies might be possible. I mean, I don't have a car for this or anything, but I have some ideas about where to put the body."

I'm completely silent. Dave grins, "You're scared, huh? You are scared!" He looks at me. "Look, she's looking away! But I'm serious. You can have 10,000 dollars. I need to make sure you're cool before you stay here. I know exactly where you'd need to go. There's a well down south about 30 miles."

"Well, I could dump a body. But I don't have a fucking car. What do you expect. But, I could do it for you later. When I get a car."

Dave grins. "Okay, but you're sure you can dump the body?"

Tom wobbles a bit. "Absolutely. But, again, I gotta make sure there's no complications with this."

Wth a straight face Dave reneges. "Haha, I'm just kidding man. You fell for it, didn't you! Hahaha. I was just kidding. You guys were so scared. Hahaha."

These kids are quickly losing credit with me. I was worried, what can I say. "Well, fuck, I would have dumped a body." I say and we all go inside where Dave pokes at my stomach and gets really close to my face.

The rest of the evening is kind of a blur. The punk kids have managed to get more wasted in the half hour we spent out on the street. And they scored another 12 pack of beer. At some point in time Dave kicks out Screwball. "Hey man, you've got a car, you're not travelers like these kids. These kids really need a place to stay, and you have one."

Screwball threw his body out the door and ran across the street.

I go out to the porch to take a break with Steve who's still bumming cigarettes off Ryan. 170 IQ Ryan angrily hands him one, although he protests first. "Man, this is my last pack and I just lent you one." But he gives it out anyway. "Alright, fucking whatever." Then Ryan leaves without a goodbye.

I escape having to socialize with Dave, who gets closer to my face the more drunk he is, by playing cards with Dan and Steve. I get to wear the 'asshole' hat a couple of times. I down a couple of more beers.

At this point I'm a Miller High Life 40, a couple of Budweisers, some bad vodka, some good rum, and a few more Budweisers deep. The punk kids are worse. They're stumbling all over. Hippy Mike passes out on the ground. Dave tells me, "Okay, I know you're not going to like it but we're gonna put on our punk music now." We exchange phone numbers in case I come back into town. The sleeping bag goes down on the kitchen floor. I walk outside for a break and throw up behind the apartment. Dan, whose wound is now dripping blood, gets in a fight with Dave and runs out of the house yelling. Hippy Mike passes out on the ground. I come back inside disoriented and lie on the ground next to Hippy Mike, see his tattoo, and jump up and run over to our sleeping bag. I spend all night freezing. A couple of times my head ends up on the kitchen floor rolling over the dirt. NOFX fades into the background.

The night hours pass...

I wake up to fashion advice from Fox and Friends.

Last Night's Earnings

2010-10-17T12:24:00.000-07:00

San Luis Obispo, CA
Saturday Night, all night

Last Night we earned:

*Coldstone coffee ice cream
*endless cigarettes from the street kids
*a free conditioner sampler
*a nameless CD from a bum with a laptop of music that he composed "from 1979 until 1995"
*a bible
*a pair of waist 34 dickie's jeans cut off at the knees
*friendship with the party girl who "runs this town"
*30 bucks
*prayer
*lemon tea
*pizza
*four four lokos
*whiskey shooter of E&J brandy
*2 business card contacts
*"the coolest people around" title

And We Love it Because

2010-10-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

Los Osos, CA
the present

Tom: "This life we have is really great."

Me: "Yeah, why is that?"

Tom: "I really love cold cuts."

Day 3: A Waste of 170 IQ

2010-10-15T12:47:00.000-07:00

Newark, Delaware
around 7:30 pm

We show up at 13 Maple Street. Hippy Mike does not open the door.

Instead a suspicious guy confronts us. "What are you guys doin'?"

"Uh, is Mike there, we met him on the street and he said that y'all might be jamming..."

"Oh, I see. Mike invited more travelers, huh? That motherfucker I'm going to have to kill him. No, just kidding. What's up? You guys on the road, huh? Where are you coming from?"

Right, that story. Well we had one to tell. You know it. It sounded something like this: "After cultivating fast food addiction we discovered that if you want to hitchhike you'll have to walk, but at least we found raspberries. Then we walked 15 miles through the pennsylvania burbs, got stuck in a monsoon, committed night crimes, and learned how to get away with it, saw a lonely canada goose in a parking lot, planned and executed, and now we're bankrupt.

Hippy Mike appears in the doorway, followed by a guy with a mohawk named Steve, followed by a guy named Screwball followed by gash in the forehead Dan. Our host is Dave.

"Nice backpack," Dave points to my Kelty backpacking pack. "Where did you get that from?"

"Um, stole it from my mother..." Tom looks at me sideways.

We joke on the porch. We go inside to jam. The kids play bad punk music. Out of rhythm Violent Femmes. They play their own music, "We're gonna get wasted tonight..." It doesn't exactly sound like Black Flag.

I get sick of the jam and walk outside to have a cigarette. Dave puts pressure on this kid named Ryan to buy some alcohol. But Ryan is only 19. "Who else has an ID?" I volunteer to walk with him to the liquor store.

Halfway down the block Ryan starts talking about his life. "Yeah, I came up from New Orleans. Now I'm going to school at the University of Delaware and hanging out with these guys. What a waste of 170 IQ."

I get pretty nervous as the night goes on, the booze soaks in and we still aren't playing. Our punk friends insist that we can't busk late at night, "There isn't anything happening Wednesday night."

Tom is stubborn, we walk out to play around 11 pm. I pick up a bucket on the way. I have some pencil sticks to drum with.

We walk down looking for a place to play and, it starts to rain. We play for a good 10 minutes time.

Well, at least we made 3 dollars and a few sips of 30 year old rum from a reformed street kid. Apparently he gave up traveling for a sign waving job so he could support his woman.

I guess that's what happens to aged street kids?

Day 3: Bankrupt

2010-10-13T16:13:00.001-07:00

Back to the death march. If you remember what I've been goin' on about, I had just gotten into Newark, Delaware on my third day of marching. Just in case you wanted to read about it all again, or check the facts (I do all the time): read about the death march.

*******
Newark (pronounced New-Ark), Delaware
around 6 pm

We wander into downtown Newark with some swagger. Along the main street restaurants with outdoor patios make us smile, and I bite my lip when I see all the people walking around. This is what we've been waiting for: a good place to place music.

In a small park area I see a guy with messy blonde hair and dirty jeans getting up from his grass seat. I make eye contact but keep walking as he picks up a plastic bag and a fork. There’s a couple other dirty looking kids in the grass, but I’m not sure how to approach them or whether I should.

Passing the first restaurant I hear an acerbic, “Are you guys walking?”

Of course Tom says yes.

“Why? I would never do that!” We find out there’s specials on pizza and beer.

I laugh and keep moving.

The guy with the fork interrupts us a few more paces on.

"Hey, I'm Hippy Mike and this is Dan." Dan smiles at us and rubs his un-bandaged forehead gash. "Did you guys just get into town? We were just playing on the corner and made 20 dollars. We were just playin' some Violent Femmes and Nirvana, shit like that. They love it. What do I play? I play guitar. Dan plays the drums. You guys? You were just in Wilmington? Wilmington fucking sucks, man. There's a church here that gives out good food at noon. And there's a waterfall if you need a place to stay. You hafta hike there, but its a good spot. Do you have a place to stay? What kinda music do you play? Me and my friends, we're gonna have a jam session later. We play like punk music and some folk music and some classic rock and stuff. Yeah, my friend Dave he's got this place down the way where this jam is happening. You should come jam with us..."

Across the street we meet a guy with a tribal pattern tattoo over the right side of his face. He's sitting at a round table with a pose of 6 people ranging from dirty gutter punk to sweet faced college girl.

Tank acts alpha dog. Hippy Mike goes silent as we introduce ourselves and watch as the college girl whispers something into Tank's ear then leaves the table. Tan plays music too, apparently, or at least, he used to play until he lost his instruments. Used to play the drums, but he lost his drum sticks. Everyone seems interested in our travels. How long have you been on the road?

We lose Dan who goes over to the pizza parlor crowd and sits down next to a girl wearing an emerald tunic.

Out of ear shot Hippy Mike runs on. "Yeah, you should come jam with us, but don't tell Tank where it is. If you need drugs you can talk to him, but I don't want him at the jam. He just got into town yesterday, but he just wants to be in charge of everything. Oh here, " he hands us the plastic bag with ramen and an opened spaghetti-o's package. I think its still good, its just been opened. Oh, yeah, this spot right here's a really good place to play also. You can play in front of the walls, they don't care."

"Well," I let Tom do the talking, "We need to go get some food first. Do you know where the supermarket is? Okay, well, we're gonna go get some food and then we'll probably be playing out on the street later. I'm thinking 11 would be a good time to play. We need to make some cash and all that shit."

Mike agrees. "Yeah, I made like 20 dollars playin' on the street this afternoon. But its not that great 'cause college isn't in session. Okay, if you wanna jam it's at 13 Maple Street, you can just come in, well see you guys later." And he takes off.

Dinner is canned oysters, pretzels, trail mix and two forties. And dinner leaves us bankrupt.

Well, okay, we're not completely bankrupt. We have maybe 70 cents or some odd change.

Two wide-shouldered college boys pass us. They're wearing leather thongs (the sandals!). You know. Those ubiquitous brown ones worn by young, relaxed twenty-something men. One of the guys starts talking about furnishing his new apartment. "I found some sick posters over at Target too, like Floyd and Jim Morrison. And I just got new speakers. Really great bass and shit..."

I stare at his Grateful Dead t-shirt and wonder if he's ever had only 50 cents in his pocket. Or if he's traveled with a backpack and no car. Or if he's played music on the streets for money.

We decide to go to Hippy Mike's jam. As a warm-up.

Ramble On Writer

2010-10-13T16:09:00.000-07:00

October ten, twenty ten

Ladies and gentlemen I interrupt the death march for some pressing news:

The disease has won. Wanderlust has now invaded every last corner of my brain. Do a cat scan on me. I know I'm not clean.

It’s a new era. Travel is no longer a summer episode. It's part of my daily regimen. I’ll go until...

Until I go insane and end up becoming a corporate administrative assistant and living in a fancy apartment in New York? Until I’m a burned out hippie growing organic plants on a commune? Until I make music profitable and became a famous millionaire?

The world is my oyster.

And the air smells like oysters right now. Ah the California coast.

Time to see how having a car can make travel fun. Adventure abounds. The trip kicked off with side of the road, lodged the car, um, 'intimacy'. It was dusk, all you can see from the road is the shadow of a face! No consequences, except a stick shift bruise.

Already had a run-in with the cops:

More like an awkward date. Turns out the beach road I parked on was the local teenage getting-down-in-the-back-of-the-car spot. Should have guessed that by the evenly spaced cars along the road.

The cop lights showed up and stared in my face for a good minute or so before I even saw a cop. They approached like a slug. A silent slug. Then finally asked, "Can you remove your hands from your pocket?"

I stick my hands up like a moron.

“No, you don’t have to put them up, just keep them out of your pockets.”

I laugh. “I guess there’s just this automatic reaction when you hear that from an officer.”

Then they asked for my ID. Then they ask what I’m doing.

And then silence. In the background sea lions cried with a passion.

I went in for the conversation. “What’s the name of that park where they get all the Sea Lions? Ano Nuevo? They get a big group of them up here too, huh?”

The cop seems unimpressed. “There are sea lions all up and down the coast.”

“Oh, okay. I see.” Silence.

Tom turns to me, “Did you serve your jury duty last week?”

I get excited. “Yes, I did! I served jury duty so they can’t get me on that.” I glance at the officer. “Actually I would like jury duty if I didn't have anything else to do.”

Tom, “Well, don’t they pay you for it?”

“Yeah, 15 dollars a day. That's nothing. If I didn’t have a job I’d love jury duty, but you gotta make money, you know?” I glance at the officer. He has his ear to the phone and eyes on my ID.

Tom, “Yeah, but they give you free cookies.”

“I never got free cookies! Not fair, where were my free cookies.”

“Well, you have to be selected. At least in Oregon they do. People’s blood sugar is so low. Can you imagine if someone was diabetic on the jury?”

The cop hands back my ID without a word. I'm waiting for some kind of warning but I don't hear it...

“Well you can’t be parked here after dark. So if you stay you’re gonna have to deal with us every time we drive through.”

“Okay, thanks officer, have a good night.”

Going to have to deal with us every time we drive through?

Now there's a warning.

No beach camping. But I did get to watch the fog roll in this morning on top of a sand dune overlooking a bum camp, a crazy woman walking in circles, I think it should be called the Monterrey twist, and a perfect camp spot on a ledge with a fire pit. For next time.

Anyway, enough of that. Let’s return to the death march…

Day 3: Plan and Execute, Train and Monsoon

2010-10-13T16:05:00.000-07:00

Pennsylvania

Around 6 am
Still Day 3

Sigh. Day 3. Its day 3 and I'm in McDonald's, I haven't made it past Philadelphia, we haven't played any music, we walked all day yesterday and we can't get to our bags because of the cop...

CNN in the background is running a story about verbal abuse. They keep playing the transcript of this guy getting angry on the phone, 'you're a b***.' It seems surreal that this is the news.

Well it's not all bad news. Back at the Mormon Church the cop is gone and our bags are dry and safe. It's early in the morning. We have like 15 hours of daylight. Time to walk.

Five minutes down the road it starts to rain. I'm seeing a pattern. Well, we do what makes sense. We go back to the McDonald's and put our heads down on the table (and get more coffee).

Monsoon rain. More stories about people getting angry.

Shitty food. Dollar yogurt parfait.

Wet streaks on the floor. Men in boots coming in and out. A little girl in wet pigtails struggles with the door.

An elderly Asian couple quietly splits that big breakfast meal in the back.

Tom tells me to stop playing with my pack. He's afraid of getting kicked out of McDonald's.

How much time passes?

We need a plan.

No, we need action: we call Tom's brother for directions, he directs us to a bus stop a few blocks away. We power walk over there with our new McDonald's pack covers (trash bags), pass a whole flock of Canada Geese, find the bus, get a ride back to 309, spend the money to take the train and end up in downtown Philly. Easy, right?

I won't even mention the ex-Jazz singer on the bus raving about Rocky Mt, North Carolina. And I won't go into any detail about how hard it was to ask for directions and the correct train line at the ticket booth, "Um,I just want a stop somewhere on the major freeway. One that's kinda out of the town area..."

But we made it to Philly. We took two minutes to think about playing, looked at the clouds, and decided to just keep moving.

We need a plan.

No. We need action: we pick a train line that gets us to Delaware, get tickets for the last stop, get off in Wilmington, DE, find a map, find the library, get on the web.

No complications there.

Except that Wilmington is a complete shit hole. Known for credit card companies and police camera surveillance. It's poor. So are we. This is not the place to be.

We need a plan.

No, no, no. Action

No complications here. We're on a bus to Newark, Delaware within a half hour and walking through the University campus an hour after that.

Alright this is it! It's not raining. We're in a college town, we can start busking, we can make money, we're out of Pennsylvania and!

What else is there to be excited about?

Lesson of the day: public transportation rocks.

Day 3: Lonely Canada Goose in a Parking Lot

2010-10-13T16:03:00.001-07:00

Down at the shopping center its still too early for McDonald's. The places is deserted and the ground is wet from last night.

My head hurts and is heavy. Was it worth it sleeping in that school? Well, we only got a few hours of sleep but we did get protection from the rain. Oh well, I can't think too much, I'm just waiting to get my coffee.

We pass time by walking around the shopping center. At 5:30 we walk down to the McDonald's, but they're not open! With more accumulated anger, I walk over to the gas station next door to check the maps. I ask the attendant if there's a bus running but he just shrugs.

In the empty Exxon parking lot there's a solo Canada goose turning circles. He slowly waddles over to one side of the station and vigorously quacking at the closed McDonald's. He turns around and waddles towards the other side of the station quacking at the empty street. He turns in place, quacks at the humid air.

The gas station attendant comes out to watch this scene. We both stare as the goose begins to move towards the street, then the attendant goes away. I walk slowly back to my breakfast, every now and then turning to look for the goose.

Day 3: How to Get Away With It

2010-10-13T15:51:00.001-07:00

Somewhere Pennsylvania (in a school)
around 4:30 am

We set the alarm for 4:30. That was at 12:30 am.

4:30 comes and he presses the snooze button. I'm awake but not energetic so I don't complain. 4:40 comes and he presses the snooze button. 4:45 comes and I notice that there is a new stream of lights in the classroom.

My heart starts to race. I peer above the desk and see that there is most definitely a new car in the parking lot. Shit, shit, shit! With a mixture of fear and adrenaline I quickly put my boots on, throw the pillows back in the corner and abandoned the chip bags I stole from the teacher's desk in case they're too noisy.

We have to stay down low because of the car, but remember the desks are all stacked together. So we carefully slide over the desk, bellies down, crouch down and iguana crawl across the floor.

The hallway is a bit safer because the classroom wall blocks us from view. But, still, you never know if there's somebody parked right outside the door and I'm not taking any chances. I gallop down a little ways and then duck behind some shelves.

All clear.

I gallop a little further down the hall and hide behind some shelves.

All clear.

Tom walks straight down the hallway without ducking, peeking or hiding.

He does check very carefully before we open the glass doors about 3 inches and slide out of them.

All clear.

We walk away like nothing is wrong and I immediately get a rush. Awww yeah, we're free, we did it, they didn't catch us, we got away with it! I give Tom a silent high five.

And then I look across the street at the Mormon church and see a cop car in the parking lot.

Shit, shit, shit.

Well, what can we do but continue walking like nothing's strange. We walk past the church and down towards the grocery store from last night. No stuff.

But that's good luck. The cop wasn't watching. He didn't know anything. He was probably just sleeping in the lot at the end of his shift.

Dark, Scary In the Classroom

2010-10-13T15:31:00.000-07:00

Day 2: Night Crimes

2010-10-13T15:27:00.000-07:00

North of Philly
around 11 pm

Okay so the day was terrible, but sometimes interesting things come out of the terrible. You'll like what happened next, I promise. Guess where we spent the night? We had that nice Mormon Church electrical room which was good shelter from the rain. But it wasn't at all a good place to sleep. I mean, if necessary it was the option. But there was a much better spot.

Remember that I said we dropped our packs at the school first? Well, this particular school was under construction. Meaning the back doors of four classrooms were boards of plywood.

Meaning it was possible to break in.

So that’s what we did.

Oh yeah, with two-by-fours found at the school and everything. I mean, it took a bit of plying to get the wood off, but we did it! The plywood door cover was held on with 3 nailed-in two-by-fours, and once one of the wood pieces popped off I could push the plywood inward enough to sneak inside.

Empty school in the middle of summer at night. I’m trying to remember how many times I fantasized about breaking into the school as a kid.

It was pretty spooky. Giant windows cast a few parking lot lamp shadows on the classroom, but other than that there was very little light. The classroom was disorganized, with desks stacked up against desks, so we had to climb over a few desks to get to the teacher’s.

Yeah we poked around a bit. You’d be curious. This teacher had a stash of candy. Only one airhead, though.

We found some pillows and plopped down on the floor, setting the alarms to 4:30. We weren’t going to take any chances. We knew we had to get the hell out of there as soon as possible.

Which brings us to day three…

Day 2: Monsoon Pennsylvania

2010-10-13T15:19:00.000-07:00

But at least we got to wear cool rain jackets!

Yeah, I know I already posted the second picture but now you get the full context. That's the tiny Mormon church electrical room in the background. Doesn't it look comfortable?

Day 2: 15 Miles Through the Pennsylvania Burbs

2010-10-13T15:00:00.000-07:00

This is what highway 309 looks like: long stretch of sidewalk-less road, followed by sidewalk on one side, followed by long stretch of sidewalk less road, followed by sidewalk on the opposite side of the road. The scenery? Car dealership, car dealership, car dealership, auto parts shop, car dealership. Abandoned gray office building. Empty plot covered in gravel. Furniture shop. Gas station. Old quarry. Traffic light, traffic cones, traffic road worker in orange vest. Blocked off sidewalk. Car dealership, gas station, Jiffy lube, Walmart, gas station, 7-11, cars that pass too fast to catch their make...long stretch of road with no sidewalk...

Around 2:00 we find an Indian food grocery store and buy a $2 pack of fried samosas plus a couple of jalebi.

Around 2:20 we see a temperature reading of 98 degrees on a car dealership sign.

Around 2:40 we stop at a Wendy's because the heat has become unbearable and we're still hungry.

Around 3:30 I begin to practice 'r' rolling (you know, like the Hispanic, erre)

Around 4:30 I begin to practice whistling.

This is what highway 309 starts looking at after about 8 miles: abandoned office building, empty lot of concrete and gravel, abandoned office building, long stretch of road with no sidewalk followed by longer stretch of road with no sidewalk. Car dealership, 7-11, cars that pass too fast to catch their make. A few raspberry bushes with no raspberries, gas station, construction cones...

This is what highway 309 sounds like after walking for almost 3 hours on it: the engine of a car revving up in a bathroom while I'm drowning in the tub.

Eventually we come to an impasse: a long stretch of highway that is a bridge with no sidewalk and no shoulder.

After 15 minutes checking the maps at a gas station and dealing with the sour and not-too-bright attendant, we decide to turn down a side street. All the roads around here are numbered highways. All roads lead to Philly, right?

Here's what the side street looks like: suburban house followed by fancier suburban house followed by fancier complex of suburban houses called the 'Emerson Community' or something like that. It's a long stretch of 35 mph suburban through street with no sidewalk.

Around 5:00 I realize that hiking boots only prevent your feet from aching when you walk on mountain paths.

Around 5:30 we come to a gas station and realize that we've only walked a few miles since 309 and have around 20 more to walk before we come to the actual outskirts of metropolitan Philadelphia.

Around 6:30 I'm so tired I sit down on someone's lawn (long stretch of sidewalk-less suburban through street).

Me and Tom have not talked for about an hour now because ever time he tries to talk to me I tell him to shut up. He keeps saying, “I don't know. I guess I just keep failing in life but I truly believe something good is going to happen to me. Something always happens." I keep saying, "For an atheist you're suspiciously religious." I've spent the last 3 hours grinding my teeth in attempt to distract myself from how tired my legs and feet are.

Around 7:30 we find a school, drop our packs and lay down.

We're starving and we have no idea where we can find food and it looks like it's going to rain. But we need food. I need food. I tell Tom I'll cry unless we get food.

Luckily the Mormon church across from the school has an open electrical room door that we can stash our packs inside while we go looking for nutrition.

The good news? We find a grocery store! Bread and hummus for dinner.

The bad news? Around 8 it begins to rain. No, not rain. It begins to monsoon downpour. All the employees go and stare out the window when they hear the rain.

We are in the grocery store and our stuff is 15 minutes away in the Mormon church.

We wait a little while but the rain never completely subsides.

What can we do but walk back?

Day 2: Decisions

2010-10-13T14:58:00.000-07:00

No we didn't take the train!

We figured, hey, we'll walk. We volunteered ourselves to walk.

We volunteer ourselves to walk on about 4 hours of sleep after already having walked through Allentown, and waited in the sun for a couple of hours for hitchhike rides.

But its 12--we've only been up six hours and there's plenty more daylight left.

Day 2: At Least We Found Raspberries

2010-10-13T10:36:00.000-07:00

Allentown, PA 6 am

I wake up. No, more like, I finally pull my body off my sleeping mat and start moving to avoid people discovering our temporary bedroom. I remember the starry sky above Allentown more than I remember any dreams.

Dunkin' Donuts is a big relief for my 3 hours of sleep blues. Like at the Wendy's, I make the mistake of buying a slightly more expensive food item (bagel with cream cheese, not just bagel). Note to self: next time just a bagel or money will run out too fast.

I always pride myself in my ability to be frugal. I guess I never realized what poor frugal is like.

No rides on the on-ramp. This means we need to walk a speedy freeway mile to get to the next exit where we might be able to find a better spot to hitchhike. My anger level rises. It's hectic. The noise and closeness of cars has an almost migraine like pressure on my brain. I'm trying to move fast to get off before the cops see me, and my shoelaces snap mid walk. But I keep going, dragging them through the gravel.

The bad? No traffic at the next exit. There's not much likelihood we'd get a ride. Time to walk.

The good? A few miles down a side road we find raspberries. A whole lot of ripe raspberries. Despite being really frustrated I can smile for a while. The day is starting to look up. (justification for hitchhiking) I never would have discovered these raspberries if I had been driving.

In fact, the whole stretch of road is covered in raspberry bushes. We pick enough to fill up a Tupperware container.

More negative. And I’m frowning again. When we get to the end of the road we ask for directions and find out that we're still in Allentown. Damnit. It’s terrible to walk that far and realize we've been in Allentown almost a whole day.

But we do get a ride! From an Air force academy student in an orange BMW with leather seats (his dad's car and still the nicest car I've ever gotten picked up in). He's not actually going anywhere specific, he's just bored and saw us and decided to drive us a half hour down the road. Oh well, can't argue with that.

At the next town we get a ride from a glass art transporter with a van and many, many miles of travel to discuss. Good looking, too. He only takes us a couple of miles and then points out the train to Philly.Add Image

So did we take the train to Philly? Are you kidding, do you read this blog? Do we ever give up and take public transportation?

Please remember we're low on money. If we took the train, that would leave us a few meals shorter. Why would we do that?

Day 1: If You Want to Hitchhike, You'll Have to Walk

2010-10-13T10:31:00.000-07:00

We get a ride from this Asian couple in a brown van. They're the last people I expected to pick us up. Tennie talks about his son who plays music but, according to Tennie, is going to become a doctor or something. Tina doesn't talk at all, except when she talks to Tennie in Mandarin.

We give them a story about trying to get to the bus stop. I don't know why since we're not planning on taking the bus. This means they drop us downtown, far, far away from the freeway although we're all lost.

Luckily, there's a rehab center right across from the empty street where
we're let out. The inhabitants are in a line against the wall smoking while two people who must be employees stand and watch them. We walk up to the 'employees' and ask, "Where's the freeway?"

They look at us like we're crazy and ask, "Why do you want to go there?"

Luckily a guy from the end of the line, yells, "You gotta go down to Hamilton Street and then take a left."

"Yeah, but its a really long walk," the counselors add, "I don't think you want to do that. It's a walk." They scrunch their eyes.

An hour later we're still walking and the heat has gotten worse. The scenery changes from boarded up houses to duplexes with flags and small plots of lawn, from duplexes to larger suburban homes with landscaped gardens.

Two gas station map checks later we have made it to the freeway, but, frustratingly, there's very little traffic. In order to pass the time while Tom's flying a sign I sing the hitchhiker's version of the wheels on the bus..."the drivers on cell phones go swerve, swerve, swerve..."

No luck. No rides.

Instead of waiting I insist we should just leave. We hit our second Wendy's of the day and, loaded up on soda refills, head south. We don't even know where to go. We're just walking. We pick a road that winds and try to ask a roadside worker for directions. He claims not to know the area.

My legs are starting to get tired. But I know if we can just keep going we'll get somewhere. Just keep going, just keep going.

When we finally find a gas station and check the map, we discover that we are on a freeway entrance, even though that entrance is still in Allentown.

But it's dark, there's nowhere we can go. Exhausted, we crash behind a Pizza Hut.

Unable to sleep I watch the couple across the street bring out garbage bags to their front yard. One by one they line the entire sidewalk in front of their house. I 'm sure that during their numerous trips they'll spot me. But no, I am invisible. I guess people don't expect to find crazy kids sleeping behind the Pizza Hut.

Day 1: Cultivating Fast Food Addiction

2010-10-13T10:28:00.000-07:00

Wendy's, Easton, 12:30 pm

(after leaving the house)

Tom is a moron. What the hell am I doing here? Why does he keep saying, 'we're going to be millionaires?' Why does he keep telling people we're on foot?

I feel like I'm making a huge mistake.

This older guy in a blue and neon yellow Nike hat, with a long gray beard, just turned and asked, "You guys on foot?"

And of course Tom says yes. But then he explains, "We're trying to hitchhike to Allentown."

Bearded guy, "Where are you coming from?"

"Cincinnati."

Guy, "I'm impressed. Where are you from?"

"Well, I'm from New York, she's from California."

Beard, "Oh, a Cali girl"

And that was the end of that interaction. I was secretly hoping that the crazy beard guy would offer us a ride. He was there with a younger woman and a couple of kids. I assume it was his daughter and grand kids. They didn't seem at all interested in us, just kept eating.

Freaking Wendy's salads. I know money goes fast, but I didn't even think not to buy a full meal. From now on its dollar menu food only. That's six dollars wasted.

The plan is to go to Allentown, PA and hit the freeway going south. Then? Well, Philadelphia, if we get dropped off there; or D.C. if we can make it in one trip; or Baltimore, although we both agree that it sounds pretty shitty; or whatever comes our way. Fluid equals freedom. Freedom equals fluid. I'm hoping for something really random.

Notes from the Ascetic Death March, the Reissue

2010-10-13T10:24:00.001-07:00

Hippies are wrong. Money is necessary. I mean, it's to get by without it. However, if you don't have any it weighs on your mind and you constantly wonder when the hell there will be money around.

I mean, maybe some people are above this.

They're also probably crazy.

My goal wasn't to hang out in nowhere, Pennsylvania all summer. My goal was to travel, to work on music, to work on writing, to become an amazing superhero human, and so on.

I left Pennsylvania intending to busk and make money on the street. I figured, okay, I'll make some money as I travel so there's no need to bring any with me. I also rationalized leaving my bank card behind believing I'd harder. The more desperate you are, the more strength you'll build up in order to make it, right?

So I headed south poor as a bum.

The resulting trip became known as 'The Ascetic Death March'.

Ladies and gentlemen, my notes from the trip...

Bum Camp, Virginia

2010-09-03T11:21:00.000-07:00

The sad lives of other people-

There are so many good reminders out there of why poverty is not glamorous. So many good reminders that dropping out of society does not lead to more freedom or more happiness. So many reminders that living off the radar can actually destroy people.

Or maybe these people would have little luck in normal jobs with normal places to live. I can joke about sleeping outside and feel a sense of pride to find well hidden or kind of ironic spots.

I'm not stuck.

Bum Camp, Virginia

I ran across these tents around 10 am on the side of the freeway. At first I thought the sight might be deserted, but as I was taking pictures of one tent I heard some shuffling and a guy inside grunted a 'who's there?' He stayed inside his tent.

No Tresspassing-Finding Home on the Road

2010-09-02T10:33:00.000-07:00

Playing Rock Star on Paul's boat, Annapolis, MD
Napping in the Cemetary, DE

Hiding from the rain in a Mormon Church electrical room (with homemade ponchos)

Home, July

2010-09-02T08:29:00.000-07:00

When I was young I had this fantasy that I was on the run from my evil family and I had to travel across the United States by following the freeways and hiding out on the side of the road. I spent family road trips looking for good places to hide behind convenience stores, freeway rest stops.

Of course nobody does this in real life.

Then I started traveling without money and suddenly those hiding places I'd spotted as a child seemed less fanciful.

Behind Pizza Hut, Allentown, PA

Behind Tsunami Asian Cuisine, Annapolis, MD

dock on the Rappahannock River, Fredericksburg, VA

Eric's Home, Fredericksburg, VA

random office building, VA

Monumental Company, Durham, NC

more to come...blogspot formating is a pain in the butt and takes too long...big problem for a bum like me using public libraries

Escape From Harrisburg

2010-08-26T09:14:00.000-07:00

Going back to the plot-

I realize I never filled you in on what happened between hitchhiking in Pennsylvania and hanging out in Easton. I mean, I ended up getting to Easton using the 'normal' method of public transportation. Which is actually just as interesting of an adventure. Let me explain.

Remember, I was stuck in Eastern Pennsylvania, but escaped with the help of hospitable Gregg(Hospitality in Rural Pennsylvania). Then I was stuck in the middle of Pennsylvania where I deliriously danced on the side of the road (Are We Stuck?). Well that episode ended with a ride to Harrisburg where, dropped off at the Greyhound station, we give in and buy bus tickets. Its been in the back of our minds for a while, they were just expensive. But now we are so close we can't help the extra expense.

After buying the tickets, we headed straight for the bar our hitchhike ride pointed out when he drove through Harrisburg.

Now, if you've ever traveled on the 'hound, you know that the bus stations are usually in pretty bad areas of town. We find the bar at about 4:30 pm. Just in time for happy hour and one dollar Pabst. Its cheep and it definitely looks like a dive.

As we enter the bar the white worker who is painting the door in an oversized orange shirt stops to stare at us. I nod hello but he doesn't respond just focuses his eyes harder.

Inside we are the only white people in the bar. I feel tense.

The bartender is a very round Latina woman with the tattoo "Jezebel" on her arm. As we enter she walks over to us with her arms crossed. I glance at the heavy backpacks dumped on the floor as Tom giddily asks, "How much for a pitcher?"

In the back of the room a woman is dancing with a pool stick while her game mate focuses on the holes. The music is as loud as a dance club on Saturday night.

On our left two men are sipping beers and staring at sports commentary on TV. They glance our way with a heavy stare when we sit down. To our right an older man with wide bug eyes switches back and forth between two glasses of beer arranged in front of him ocassionally cracking up in a bombastic laugh.

Jezebel comes back over to us. "Where are you guys traveling to?"

"Um, well, we're coming from Pittsburgh. Trying to get to Easton, Pennsylvania."

"Oh yeah, whats in Easton?"

"Well, my aunt has this house and I get to go there and stay in exchange for fixing it up and..."

"You kids be careful now."

Jezebel looks like she's about 30. She turns around to yell at the bug eyed man. "You gotta keep it down." They're argument goes on for a little while. The man keeps opening up his hands as if to say, "What do you expect me to do?"

A few minutes later a guy in a business suit walks up to us. "Easton, Pennsylvania, huh? I'm from Allentown. You need any Viagra?"

The bug eyed guy starts squawking.

"You know what we need? You know what we need. We needs some James Brown. It ain't a party goin' down 'till you've got James Brown."

Tom gets excited by this notion and goes over to the jukebox to help the guy pick out songs. Our new friend is very excited, but the pause in the hip hop playlist annoys the dancing woman who starts loudly complaining.

Our friend gets up and sways stiffly. "You know, we used to dance to this back in the day. They don't make music like this anymore. Uh uh, they don't. Not like this." His sway is a few small steps backwards into the path of another guy. He comes up to us and angles one eye towards our face.

"Where you all travelin' to?"

A heavyset man walks by Tom, pauses with his face angled down and asks, "You need any Cialis?"

We drink two pitchers in two hours. Back on the Greyhound the bus driver stops the bus 10 minutes into our travel time, walks back to where Tom and I are sitting and starts lecturing us.

"You guys are way too loud. Way too loud. I can hear you all the way up in the front of the bus and you know what, I don't want to hear you and neither do any of the passengers. You need to be quiet now. If you can't control yourselves, if you can't quiet down then I am going to have to kick you off the bus. Understand?"

He marches back to the front of the bus.

I suppress my giggling and look out the window while the 19 year old girls in front of us look back in awe.

The girl with snake bites asks, "Where you travlin' to?"

Sally's Dinner Guests, Portsmouth

2010-08-20T10:05:00.000-07:00

Portsmouth, NH

around 7:30 am

The Starbucks bums are at the back table near the restroom nursing a venti iced water. Yesterday I saw them sitting outside the front of Starbucks on the wire tables. The day before that i saw them sitting on the bus stop bench, a whole 10 feet away. They caught my attention before because they are so still and quiet. They sit and stare. They don't nap, they don't talk to anyone (even each other). They just sit.

I've seen them at the Salvation Army dinners too. They were still sitting and staring.

As I go in for my second refill, the woman starts pacing back and forth in the small aisle between the booths and the wall. Her red windbreaker adds a beat to the Starbucks jazz mix. The man has his beard pointed down at a newspaper. But each time I look up, he's still on the same page.

In downtown Portsmouth, the Starbucks also functions as the public bathroom since there's a backdoor entrance right where the bathroom is. Families will come in with their kids and take a good 5 minutes in the restroom. Its also a bum haven.

I'm only half paying attention to the old couple, but I look up when I see the woman grabe her messenger bag and go to the bathroom door.

I look up when I see an employee approach them. She bends down like she's telling them a secret and quietly says, "We've had a lot of complaints, you're going to have to leave." And they slide out the door, a fish symbol on the messenger bag is the last thing I see.

A few minutes later I go into the bathroom and find a pile of long gray hair on the side of the sink.

(the sad lives of other people)

Sally's Dinner Guests, Raleigh

2010-08-19T07:16:00.001-07:00

Raleigh, NC
around 8 am

Free breakfast in Moore Square happens at 8 am so I'm standing in line in a half awake state among other half awake bums, even though I played music until about 2 am. Other than soft coughs, the line is very quiet.

From across the street a short black guy walks up and loudly challenges, "What the hell is this? Huh? What the hell is this? What y'all standin' 'round for?"

The line of people buzzes with hangover silence.

He's soon behind me in the back of the line smiling over a glass of neon blue liquid.

"Here. Try this shit. I got some juice in the mornin'. Try it."

"Uh, no man that’s okay." I look around. No one else acknowledges the guy.

"Naw, come on. Try it. Its juice. See, blue juice. Come on, take a sip of tha’ shit."

"Well..." The glass is placed in my hand and since I'm a sucker for following the odd requests of bums, I take a small sip and pray that his red gums are bloodless.

"Heh. Heh, heh, heh. Tha’s not juice! Gotcha! Tha’s not juice. Hehe. Hehe. Here," he turns to Tom, "try this. I got me some juice. Try it. Haha."

Tom also tries to deny a sip, but, a sucker for odd bum requests, Tom takes a sip.

"Hehe. Hahaha. Tha’s not juice! Tha’ shits 12 percent alcohol. 12 percent. Haha. Hehe."

The other line inhabitants are ignoring us.

"Here," my new friend with the neon liquid hands me back the cup, "Hol’ this. I don't know why y'all standin' in line like this. Why the fuck you standin’ in line? Look at this."

He pulls a wad of 20 dollar bills out of his pocket and starts unfolding them one by one.

"Twenny dolla’. Twenny dolla’. And another one. Another twenny. You see this shit? You see this shit?"

I try to act nonchalant but I'm starting to wish I had never put my hands on the plastic cup.

The guy looks around the line and slaps his arm down at his side.

"I don' need to be here. I don' need to be here. You see this. Hehe. Hahaha."

He rolls up the bills then starts unfolding them again.

"One twenny. Two twenny...look at that! I don' need to be here. Hahaha. I don’ need to be here suckas. I choose to be here."

"Alright, man, that’s great." I quickly hand him back the cup and stare straight at the front of the line.

And when I hear, "check this shit out," I don't even turn around.

Greetings from New Hampshire

2010-08-10T09:57:00.000-07:00

Portsmouth, NH
around 7 am

I wake up to the sound of footprints and my sluggishness is replaced by quiet stealth. There are two men coming up the hill. They have a rugged bum look to them.

I can hear the guy with the uneaven beard say, "Hey, be quiet, there's someone sleeping." Dirty hat guy yells over at us, "Whose in the tent. Hey!"

My fingers twist in the air in their general direction.

Uneven beard guy adjusts his brown paper bag then yells, "You feel safe over there?" Dirty hat guy laughs.

"Um, yeah, yup. pretty safe."

I hear them walk away, presumably back to the same spot I thought I heard them the night before when I was setting up the tent and I saw a shadowy bike ride out of the cemetary.

Time to pack up for the morning.

Hospitality in Rural Pennsylvania

2010-08-05T11:10:00.000-07:00

When Gregg picked us up he asked if we were Rainbow bound. I guess this makes sense, since I was wearing a country girl dress (yes, I was hitch hiking in a dress) and we had two backpacking packs.

After a timid 'no' and an earnest 'what festivals are happening around here?' Gregg revealed that he was a huge Grateful Dead fan. Actually, he was a two-years-spent-chasing-concerts-in-the-90s Grateful Dead fan.

Burning Man in the late 90s? Hippie hospitality, new friends and lots of dust.

Living on a Midwest farm? A lesson in learning how to wash dreads.

Touring in a van with his jam band? The best memories, until the damn thing broke down.

The details of his current occupation were a bit sparse, but we didn't bother to press. After all, he had so much to say about traveling as a guitarist, about his own music festival in rural Pennsylvania and about growing, um, herbs.

He had a lot to say about Western Pennsylvania as well. He pointed out good places to camp and warned us about private property. He took us on a tour to the spring where locals got fresh water and the cliffs that overlooked Pennsylvania and Virginia.

As we were standing on the cliffs, he casually looked at us and asked, "So what are you thinking? Do you need to get moving on or would you like to come back to my place-I've got some great herb and I know we can get some kind of lunch for you."

Its hard not to grin when offered a luxury like that. When it happens, my theory is a casual shrug and a muttered, "sounds good," won't betray my excitement. Excitement could reduce street cred.

But really it was wickedly, awesomely, fantastic.

So here's how the rest of the afternoon went. We met Gregg's wife. Gregg's wife was an attractive 30 year old woman who, upon us entering, exclaimed, "How funny, I almost picked up a hitch hiking couple the other day! Welcome, make yourselves at home." She went out and bought us Gobs, the local cake treat, so that we could sample Pennsylvania pastry. He grilled hamburgers and passed around a bowl. We both took showers. Ringo the cat rubbed fur all over my leg and backpack. I found out that my friends were sending me e-mails. Gregg played his crazy synthesized music. Tom messed around on an acoustic guitar. Gregg's wife, Melodie, showed us the tattoos she'd gotten in the Bahamas. They both called their kids messy monsters (although the house looked clean) in the nicest voices. Basement cat got kicked out of the house for hissing. Gregg grilled us about our relationship and reminisced about traveling with his wife.

Then he drove us 30 miles out of the way and even backtracked 15 minutes to get the purse I'd left on his couch.

After he had dropped us off, a business card in hand and a promise to "pick our crazy asses up if we were ever within 50 miles" Tom turned to me and laughed, "that never happens. That was the best ride ever."

Besides the fact that he let us shower and fed us, besides the fact that his wife welcomed us like family, besides the fact that he drove us an extra 30 miles, besides the fact that he gave us relaxation supplements...

He and his wife seemed happy.

A Note on Rides

2010-08-04T09:28:00.000-07:00

Hitch hiking does cause anxiety. It does cause stress. Its inefficient. It makes me want to scream and sometimes murder my sidekick.

The worst experiences I've had so far, getting stuck in New Stanton, Breezewood, and later Philedelphia and D.C., I'd consider lesson in Buddhist acceptance not lesson on the dangers of hitching. So far we haven't been picked up by serial killers. We haven't been told our lives are being wasted unless we accept Jesus. No one has tried to molest Tom or I.

Which could happen. But it hasn't. And the majority of the time, a ride is a fascinating glimpse of Americana life. Its the best way to gather information about a local area, drivers not only know the area they are normally also enthusiastic tour guides. Drivers open up to us about their personal life. We act as psychologists and work through problems.

The best rides lift my faith in American hospitality and friendliness.

And if the scary comes along, well...it would be a fascinating story. Life is filled with risks, no?

Home for the Rest of June, "Resting" in Easton

2010-07-21T07:00:00.000-07:00

"no more boredom" 4th of July blockparty When Easton gets hot, the grocery store is cool and has built in amusement rides"Welfare dinner"

Easton, PA

from the Wikipedia entry on Easton:

"The per capita income for the city was $15,949. About 12.3% of families and 16.0% of the population were below the poverty line, including 21.3% of those under age 18 and 11.2% of those age 65 or over."

Sally Jesse Raphael, Christopher Lennetz (Alvin and the Chipmunks movie soundtrack composer) and Larry Holmes the heavyweight boxing champion are all from Easton.

Easton is locally known as the place to score drugs.
Its also home to the Crayola Crayon museum (the factory left a few years ago).

Home, June 13-16

2010-07-20T16:14:00.000-07:00

6/13/2010
Abandoned Hotel, Columbus, OH

6/14/2010
The Heroin Highway outside Pittsburgh (3 hour sleep)

6/15/2010
Greenburg, PA behind apartment complex
(and apparently I'm a turtle)

6/16/2010

Breezewood, PA, behind the Shell station
next to the Comfort Inn bar

Catching You Up

2010-07-10T13:29:00.000-07:00

So, I think it's time I explain exactly what I'm doing traveling, and, even more importantly, why the hell I'm in Pennsylvania.

The story starts way back in March. At the time I thought I was really hip with street kids and every time I was in downtown Berkeley I tried to make friends by exchanging stories with anyone who looked dirtier and less employed than me. I was especially intrigued by street musicians.

I’ve always been a firm believer that ‘the grass is always greener’. I mean, bumhood may not be glamorous, but you can't know what revelations living on the street can give you until you've tried it.

One day, while eating a tuna and avocado sandwich in front of the library, a guy in a dirty camo jacket turned to me and said, "You look like you just got out of jail, please take some candy from a stranger. Women love chocolate."

Obviously, the next course of action was to take him back to my house, give him some booze and invite him dancing.

Two months numerous illegible snail mail letters, and lengthy phone conversations later I found myself in Cincinnati traveling alongside a guy with a handlebar moustache.

Why and, as everyone asks, why?

Tom, this particular bum, is a traveling musician. When I met him he handed me his banjo and I responded by narrating my music history in sprechstimme. We realized, after 4 hours babbling outside the Berkeley library, that we made great sidekicks in imbecility and worked well as enablers. Circuit bending in my room in a shared house of 8 people? Check. Drinking Nyquil because we’ve never done it? Check.

I always wanted to live as a bum. And by bum I mean musically inclined traveler who explores a particular style of impoverished living while collecting stories.

Bad ideas? Yes and no. How do you know until you’ve tried?

I had to be in Cincinnati and Tom had to be in Missouri. Somehow it seemed serendipitous that we meet up afterwards and go on a little American adventure.

Tom’s original plan was to buy a car so we could travel fast all over the U.S. Unfortunately two cars died and then he was penniless.

But that was okay, because, as you can see, hitch hiking really leaves you with interesting impressions of American lives. Other people have knowledge that I don't. And I learn how to identify with people I would not necessarily interact with in everyday life.

Plus, it leaves me with a lot of interesting stories to tell you about.

Great American road trip 2010, here I come.

Are We Stuck?

2010-07-07T13:44:00.000-07:00

I'll probably lose 40s full of street cred for this, but it needs to be mentioned.

As I explained, our hitching dance routine started in New Stanton. But that was the rough act. The real show came together when we got stuck in another travel town, Breezewood, PA.

The dilemma explained:

Are we stuck?

We want to get to Harrisburgpleasetoothlesssmilelyface.
Instead we're at the Breezewood on ramp. So...
WE ARE

STUCK

For two hours we practiced spitting ice cubes into the air and catching them in our mouth (very low success rate). I drummed on a styrafoam cup. We sat in front of the Gateway Travel Center and laughed at ourselves. Tom opened doors for old ladies.

Then we figured out a solution: Explain the situation through signs!

If I grab a "we" and an "are," and he grabs a "stuck" and a "harrisburg-please-toothless-smiley-face" we almost have a sentence.

Then we added some motion.

1 and-2-3-4- step right, right, step left, left, spin and present. He goes up I go down, I go up he goes down. Repeat: up-down, up-down, shake out, smile, plead.

Are we stuck? We are stuck! Spin, we are stuck.

(We are also morons. Nobody picked us up while we were dancing. It wasn't until a traveling guy in all black wandered over to our spot warned us that we weren't going to find a ride and then suggested hoping a train that a car pulled up. Right while the other traveler was giving us the message of doom. We hop in the car, he retreats back to Breezewood. So long sucker, we win.)

But, are we stuck?

To Catch a Ride-setting the scene

2010-07-06T16:38:00.000-07:00

The problem with traveling the unconventional way I've been traveling is that direction, speed of travel and ease are entirely based on other people's whims.

People are just not always reliable. Nor helpful. Like the crazy guy on the lam from his girlfriend's husband who took us just a little bit closer to Pittsburgh (he thought it would be better than dropping us off on the main interstate) where we ended up on a small freeway with little traffic and had to walk 5 miles to the next onramp.

Or the 17 year old girl that picked us up in New Stanton, who had just earned her license and had no sense of direction or even an idea of where she was on the map. Her desire to do a good deed kind of backfired when she took us off the main interstate and dropped us off in front of the main entrance of the mall.

We got lucky our first few days out of Cincinnati, picking up rides within an hour or so. In a morale boosting moment, we got dropped off on the side of the freeway in Pittsburgh only to get picked up literally 30 seconds later.

Pennsylvania tried its hardest to kill our luck, and aggravate our nerves. But we managed to defeat it by coming up with a way to enjoy ourselves. Maybe even catch more rides.

The fun started in New Stanton. After a ride in a carpet cleaner's van, we landed in a town outside Pittsburg that, as far as I could tell, consisted of 3 or 4 gas stations, a Wendy's, a Burger King, a Subway, a McDonalds, a couple of chain hotels and an abandoned, vandalized hotel next to the truck parking lot. It smelled like grime and exhaust.

We were feeling pretty optimistic so we found ourselves a spot on the freeway overpass and started waving and smiling at the passing cars. Tom has a ridiculous grin when he hitch hikes. His theory is that if you look like you're having more fun, people will think they're missing out by not picking you up.

So there we were, on the anorexic sidewalk of an overpass with no shoulder, almost face to face with every car that passed by. As time passed and the heat reacted with the delirium, we began waving like beauty queens, giving thumbs up, air high fives, raise the roofs, oh too bad finger snaps and shoulder raises. As more time passed I even started dancing.

If you ever thought hitching was a lazy way to travel, or that bumming a ride is a sign people don’t want to work, you would be wrong. Do you know how much effort I put into trying to convince people to pull over? Not to mention my attempts to telekinetically stop cars.

The delirium and desperation triggered our roadside show. People's reactions kept us going. We got smiles and laughs, waves, men or women pointing to their stoic copilots as if to say, "its her fault," head nodding teenagers with colored hair, hand adjustments from drivers who otherwise pretended not to notice us, heads shaking in confusion. After about an hour we turned to each other and said, "hey, well even if were not picking people up, at least we're being entertaining."

You remember I said I caused an accident?

But I digress. The point of describing our New Stanton fun is that it spawned the beginnings of our roadside show to attract rides. Between the 2 hours and the afternoon, and the 2 hours in the evening as the sun was going down, we evolved from smiles and waves to sign dancing, twirls and cabaret kicks.

But we still spent 6 hours in this town. If you saw two 20-somethings on the side of the road trying to hitch and looking like idiots having more fun than you, wouldn't you pick them up?

But who can tell how people's whims will react? When, feeling defeated, we started to collect our bags to move away Christina, that 17 year old girl with no sense of direction, showed up. We praised our luck.

And then we were stuck, 15 miles away at a mall.

But we had something new: a side of the road dance routine. To be described in the next post.

The summer list

2010-06-29T08:50:00.000-07:00

Now that we're a bit more into the trip, let me reveal my list of plans:

Hike Appalachian trail in Maine

Bike across Long Island

Jam with work class percussionist in Carol King's grandson's apartment

Busk in Raleigh and Savannah

Whitewater rafting in Pittsburgh

Rainbow gathering?

Dancing in Northampton clubs

Canada

Setting off fireworks in cemetaries

make strange percussion instruments

bowling

ride a train

hitch hike to California (or Portland)

rendezvous with old friends (tell me where you'll meet me!)

a whole lot of magic

And the plot thickens

2010-06-23T17:11:00.001-07:00

I caused an accident the other day.

Yeah, you heard me right. I mean, maybe I wasn't the only cause, but I definitely helped it along.

Pretty girl standing on the side of the road, wouldn't you be looking?

Okay, let me explain. In my defense, I wasn't doing anything too crazy. Me and my friend were just standing on the side of the road, stuck in some small town in Pennsylvania, which was really more of a strip mall than a town, waiting for a ride, which was really more hoping than waiting, while we balanced over packed backpacks on our hips. I know that hitchhikers can be a distraction, and we were carrying a cardboard sign that said, "Harrisburg" with a please, an exclamation and a smiley face. But if our sign distracted route 30 cars and made them rubberneck bad enough to cause an accident, how come none of them pulled over?

So while I was standing there in the sun, my thumb getting tired I heard a screech, thump! as a white truck smacked into a red suv stopped at the stoplight. My heart and my legs away from the road. The fender bender was bad enough to have knocked some parts off of one of the cars and the guys in the truck looked pissed. The one closest to us, a skinny guy with a mullet, threw his fist down and yelled out the window, "You fucking assholes!"

My friend Tom immediately responded with a defensive, "it wasn't our fault," but as the damaged vehicles pulled up the road we made a quick retreat in the opposite direction, Tom eyeing an empty bear bottle on the side of the road as defense. The whole time he worked out the accident in his head, "We can't possibly be blamed, I mean, he was the one not paying attention. And I think that red car stopped too far passed the stop light, thats probably why the guy didn't slow down in time. Yeah, they can't blame us."

Twenty minutes later, when we got picked up by an ex-Dead Head, Tom was telling the story of how I caused an accident because three rednecks, maybe landscapers on their way to work, were watching me and not the road.

Welcome to Indianapolis

2010-06-21T17:01:00.000-07:00

The greyhound station is always the sketchy epicenter of town and near the worse food. Inside the bus stations you can buy an assortment of 'the food making America fat.' Rotisserie hot dogs, cheesesteaks and cheese pizzas, every type of bagged chip snack and lots of packaged pastries.

And if you want the king of all junk food, in Indianapolis you can walk across the street and head to White Castle.

Never been? Neither had I. It was the slowest fast food place I've ever been in. An overweight counter worker ignored me for five minutes, although there was only one other person in the entire restaurant. One woman walked in, looked at the menu, then walked out again. The place smelled like dirty oil and greasy hamburger wrappers. The food? square slabs of 'meat' on the whitest, nutrient drained fluff of white bread.

I hear the burgers are called sliders because they slide right in and then slide right...well, you know.

Once is enough. That's a lesson learned. Why does this place exist?

From Oakland to Indianapolis

2010-06-21T16:23:00.001-07:00

Welcome to Salt Lake City

Long lines and no sleep

Greyhound Manifesto

2010-06-19T12:38:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen this is your greyhound driver speaking. It will be a 56 hour ride to Indiana from San Francisco. Once again, let me remind you of the rules-

If you have music listening devices, cell phone devices, use your headphones and keep it down. Whoever is playin music back there I can hear it all the way up here it is so damn loud. The next time you turn that on I'm just gonna pull over to the side of the highway and kick you out of the bus.
Once again, let me remind you of the rules-
If you are caught under the influence, you know drugs, under the influence, maybe you'll go crazy, maybe you'll start harrasing the passangers. You don't want to do that. You know what I'll do if you do that? I won't deal with you myself, I'll just call the cops, and you don't want the cops to come because you don't want to be stuck in the state of Nevada. And I dont think you want to go to jail here.
The rules-
We will be stopping for a 4 minute smoke break. This is just a smoke break-don't try to get food, we'll be stoppping for food once we get to the Battle Mountain. I know there's a KFC next door, but if you go inside you won't hear me announce that we're leaving and then you'll be out of luck and have to wait another 12 hours for the next bus to come along. So go outside, have a cigarette, but don't get any food, don't go inside because the bus will leave and take all your stuff and then you won't have any of your stuff and you won't have any ride.
Make sure you only smoke 5 minutes. As soon as I turn around and get on this bus I'm leaving and I want you all on the bus and I want no harrassing. I hear everyone complaining, but you all forget that there's a schedule. I'm just trying to get you to the next place. If you want, we can stay and smoke cigarettes all night and miss the next connection. Is that what you want? Because I'll do that. I'll take an all night smoke break and we can smoke all night but I don't want to hear no complaining when we miss the next connection.

(real words from real conductors)

Lessons Never Learned

2010-06-13T05:57:00.000-07:00

aka Greyhound riding, temperatures risingLeaving at 1:30 am, 2 days and 6 hours on a bus, on a BUS, traveling with 2 checked bags, 2 carry ons (with 2 cameras, expensive electronic devices, at least 3 pairs of pants), trailmix and a bag of craisings

destination: India-NA

method of travel: Greyhound

I can't sleep on buses. After last year's 48 hour plane trip fiasco with two layovers of over 8 hours, 3 deplanings and not even an hour of sleep I thought I was done with traveling cheaply at the expense of sleep.

When I told people I was taking a bus to the Midwest the most common response was laughter.

You think I would have learned my lesson.

Greyhound runs on stress and anxiety, though. In fact, the more pissed off the passangers, the more cantakerous the bus driver becomes, the more likely one is to reach destination on time and intact. Passengers arguing about lack of smoke breaks? Driver revokes them. Passengers making too much noise on the bus? Driver threatens to kick them off. Passengers worried about the storm? Driver tells them to shut up (and then calls his wife). Passengers snorting coke on the back of the bus? Well...driver didn't quite see that.

But I'm still not quite sure why Greyhound the organization seems to believe that its a good idea for cigarette break deprived, movement deprived, decent food deprived, sleep deprived travelers to stand in hour plus long lines and go through bag checks. Especially since we are also the low-life and, hey, potentially dangerous, right? Or at least potentially crazy, which means potentially dangerous.

Hint: if they fail to provide a second bus for a too-long queue of passangers, make a stink and something complimentary will appear.

So, in answer to your questions 'how was the trip', well currently I say I would never ride Greyhound from California to Indiana again.

But I probably will end up doing so. Because when you need cheap transportation to travel, you do stupid things.

Stay tuned for the Greyhound Driver Manifesto.

its summer!

2010-06-08T08:47:00.000-07:00

time to run away again...

Bandhs, Strikes and Civil Unrest in Kathmandu

2009-09-08T03:42:00.000-07:00

In the Rain-Monsoon Kathmandu (Barsa Ritu)

2009-09-04T02:41:00.000-07:00

In monsoon Kathmandu the rain comes, and everybody runs out of its way if they can make it. People hang out under the awnings of businesses for up to an hour if need be. And the streets become a flood within minutes so creative navigation is necessary if you want to get around without getting wet. I've never managed to stay dry. Usually I wind up holding up my pants so they don't fall down because all fabric from the knee down is soaked.

Back in Delhi (still pre-monsoon and HOT)

2009-08-02T04:52:00.001-07:00

I had a day in Delhi because of poor (or maybe really excellent!) travel planning. It was kind of a culture shock... here's what I realized:

Coming back into Delhi makes me laugh. The things I'd forgotten to be surprised by during my time "living" in India are suddenly blaringly obvious and rather annoying. It all hits you like a blast of heavy rain-trapped air.

I walk out of the airport into this oppressive heat and immediately some guy asks me what I'm looking for. I say prepaid taxi and he starts leading the way. Of course, i forget which country I'm in becase if I had remembered I would have been ready when he said, "okay ma'am, 100 rupees." Yeah right! I am extremely appreciative of Jordan in this moment. People will actually help you there just because.

And the mess of rickshaws lining the streets as we move into town. A whole row of men napping in their vehicles, feet dangling off the side, head pressed into the seat while men and woman tend fires, argue and sit on the dusty "walkways" behind the bikes.

I headed to Paharganj, tourist block extroadinaire, simply because I knew I could save some money there. In my guesthouse as I'm checking in I tried not to seem amused by the worn look on the faces of two travelers sitting in the lobby. I asked them how they were enjoying their time and got an ambiguous head wobble in response and a few mumbles with little enthusiasm.

One thing thats dissapointing is how much of an agenda everybody in Delhi seems to have. I mean, people in tourist areas everywhere have an agenda, but I feel like in Delhi they are more in your face about it. I mean, the common course of one sided conversation goes something like this: "Ma'am, hey, how are you? Hello, hey, madame, hello? Where are you from? Hey, why you so sad? You should smile, I just want to talk to you? I don't want anything. Why you ignore me? You should be happy. I want to practice my English with you."

Sure.

Some guy actually followed me into a cafe, sat down across from me, and proceeded to ask me questions about my life while I stared almost exclusively at my food and at the wall. I mean, I could have gotten rid of him at any moment, but I was amused by his persistance (and enjoying making up a fake life as a medical student living in Kansas with 6 brothers and sisters). Apparently he was a student as well who just happened to be looking for some English conversation among a lone foreign girl in the most touristy part of town on a Saturday afternoon. It was almost postmodern the way he tried to talk his way around the truth knowing that I knew what he was after. In the end, though, he brought up some hotel and I told him to get lost.

He walked away saying, "you're just like all the other foreigners. Not very nice."

Yeah, sure.

(actually, now that i think about it, he could have been looking for sex. okay, i'll add that to my list)

Well, whatever. Its not the most hospitable city in the world. But I kinda enjoy maneuvering around the begging shopkeeprs and devious rickshaw drivers and disorienting heat and completely incomprehensible street plans.

And a good way to do this, I found, is just ride around on the subway for a few hours. Hey, its cooler.

Round Kathmandu

2009-07-30T22:39:00.000-07:00

Nevermind on that other countries thing I said, for now at least. I'm having a difficult time finding a computer without multiple viruses. So now that I think I'm safe, a few more photos of Kathmandu, for your viewing pleasure...

Pashupatinath: Holy temple and burning ghat.

Inside the "Nepali Whitehouse."

Wading through the monsoon and trash. Apparently every 4-6 months (a journalist friend source) protesters block the landfills and demand better dumping sites. This disrupts the garbage pickup and the streets become the new temporary landfills.

The snake gets a milk bath during the Nag Pachami Festival. I believe this is an offering to the good snakes (not the dangerous ones, of course) and the snake god.

Kathmandu Photos-if the gods like me today

2009-07-23T06:12:00.000-07:00

Nepal

2009-07-20T07:39:00.000-07:00

I'm going to go backwards a little bit.

At least, I'm going to attempt to go backwards and fill in the past few months because some of what happened is worth filling in. Somehow I found my way through 3 new countries of the middle east, met my long-lost family, befriended the cool kids in Jordan, crossed borders and got really relaxed about travel organization and procedures. Somewhere in there I started feeling more comfortable about getting lost in countries where I didn't speak the language and more confident in my own "style of wandering, which includes a lot of "take rest" time. I'll get to this, but first, a word about Nepal.

Actually, I've gotten so relaxed that I showed up in Nepal without the phone number or address of the man I was supposed to be staying with, without a map, guidebook or any information of the city and with insufficient funds to pay for my visa. I don't think I ever would have done this in the past. And you know, the funny thing is, it all worked without a hitch. I bought a visa for less time with the intention of extending it. The man I was supposed to be staying shoed up to meet me so I didn't have to call him. And the visa application didn't even ask my address in Nepal so I didn't need to know. Really, I think this is better than being constantly glued to a computer screen, making sure that all details and possible scenarios are accounted for before I go anywhere (not that i really ever did that...but close enough).

Kathmandu is green! It's 4,000 feet up in the Himalayas but it reminds me more of Thailand than India. Yeah, its a city and there's dirt and trash and mud and buildings and too much traffic, but there is also life hiding in it. There is moss growing on the trees and the outside of buildings and even in the middle of the city are trees with vibrant green leaves. There's a rice farm down the road from me nestled between a water plant and an embassy. This valley is cooler than Delhi and despite the monsoon, It feels refreshing to be here after all the desert and sun of the Mid-East. So far I've seen most of the city from the back of a motorbike and I think that alone is worth coming up here for.

The rest of this trip is completely weird. My host, in a true South Asian style, drilled me on all the important facts my first few hours at home: How old are you? Are you married? Do you have a boyfriend? When are you going to get married? What do your parents do? What is your focus life?

I'm used to this, but he has an exceptionally blunt style of speaking and in Western standards, no idea of personal space. He first introduced me to his cook and explained her shyness as "she's not feeling very well. She just started her menstruation and its making her feel bad." Later when I was asking about meal times he explained, "We only eat one meal in the morning and one at night. We eat a light meal in the afternoon. Otherwise it makes us grow like this (he motions to show his belly expanding). It makes her grow like that (he points to Laxmi) and her grow like that also (he points to his other worker.)"

But its just a different sense of whats too private to talk about. He seems to care for both of his workers like his daughters even encouraging Laxmi to study. Unfortuantely, he doesn't seem to worry about my stomach because he gives me ice cream everytime he sees me. Which is ridiculously hard to turn down (you're young, you don't need to worry, i know you like it...its a serious hospitality guilt trip)

I give up, I'd like to post photos but my favorite internet cafe is RIDICULOUSLY SLOW...so for now you just get a long winded babbling of travel nonesense....I'll look for a new cafe (sadly) later...

Signs and Gates, Himachal Pradesh, India

2009-07-09T03:14:00.001-07:00

(The sign in Hindi script also says "Car Parking". Well actually it says Kar Parkig (nasalized i), which I thought was interesting because there is a word in Hindi for car and I assume one for park as well.)

---------------------------------------

Besides interesting signs, I was fascinated by the gates of middle class homes in Himachal-most of the iron gates had carved designs and some were brightly colored. As in all of India, though Dharamsala and Himachal Pradesh were not as extreme as some of the bigger cities, you could be walking along the road littered with trash and come across a beautiful front gate with the owners name and titled posted on the front. But I also saw houses that were obviously less wealthy with gates that still had little details and decorations.

Rock Sliding is Cool

2009-06-23T01:11:00.000-07:00

Any questions?

Damru

2009-05-31T02:49:00.001-07:00

One drizzly afternoon, I went walking across the river from my house with the intention of wandering through some small villages. As usual I stood out like a bejeweled bride wandering through a muddy field. But instead of feeling uncomfortable I was starting to embrace and understand how odd I looked and encourage people to interact with me, the weird white girl wandering down farm roads with no purpose. So I said "Namaste" to the villagers I ran into. And when they smiled and laughed at me I said, "Aap Kaise Ho," "How are you?". One woman began speaking to me in Hindi, asking me where I was going (which I understood!) and I told her, "just walking." So she kept going and I tried to throw out a few words, but mostly stood tongue tied. I complimented her salwar Kamiz and asked the name of the village. And then I asked to take her picture, which she seemed to love because she stopped some girls walking down the road and told me to take their picture as well.

The woman who began a Hindi conversation with me.

And then suddenly the drizzle turned into harder rain and the Indian girls standing at their gate insisted I come sit on their porch and wait for the rain to stop. I had to agree, I was charmed by their hospitality and touched that the girls offered me tea and the only chair on the porch.

What ensued was 20 minutes of awkward silences punctuated by a few words of English and Hindi. At one point in time a door opened and an older man, who looked like he had been napping, walked out, starting questioning the daughters, looked me over, and then retreated to his room without addressing me. Despite feeling uncomfortable that maybe the patriarch of the house didn't want me around, the girls continued to try and talk to me and so I sat there and pulled as many Hindi phrases out as possible. I learned that the one who served me tea likes to sing has two younger brothers and "is from" the village. I learned that the woman who invited me into the house didn't live there, spoke "little-little" English and liked Dharamsala.

And then I left, and my newfound friends urged me to come back soon. Although we hadn't been able to have a strong conversation and really learn about each other's lives, I learned how welcoming and open Indian villagers can be. I walked away smiling, thinking about our few moments of connection and feeling energized knowing that women with completely different backgrounds, from the opposite sides of the world, can smile and laugh and enjoy themselves together as they fulfill their curiosity about each others strangeness.

The family

Making Friends

2009-05-30T09:23:00.000-07:00

I've always wanted to think of myself as a "savvy traveler" and therefore have often adopted the head straight ahead don't-acknowledge-anyone-who-is-staring-at-you stance. However, since being in India I've been watching one of my fellow travelers who is sometimes uber polite. At times I think with annoyance, "why must you say so many thank you's", but she knows how to make people relax around her. And so after watching her say "Namaste" to the people we pass on the road, I've adopted the habit.
It turns out a smile really is contagious. And its made me feel closer to a small area in the Dharamsala community. Or maybe I just look silly running around in my Indian salwar kamiz, throwing tossing around a Hindi hello to all I see, with my strong American accent and giant sunglasses and so people have to laugh at me. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. "Namaste" seems to soften people up. Women have stared at me warily, looking as though they were passing judgment on my presence, until I say hello and the same women as as if they are meeting an old friend.

I've also discovered that being a silly and friendly American can provoke a tea invite. Especially if I use one or two Hindi phrases. More to come...

Dharamsala:

2009-05-22T00:59:00.000-07:00

This is where I am currently staying.

Manali:

2009-05-18T09:50:00.000-07:00

Tourist Capital of North India. Home away from home for many Israelis, Europeans, and Americans looking for cheap enlightenment and mind expansion through ideas, substance and maybe some hippy clothing. Just much of a fascination for Indian tourists.

And some of the most beautiful countryside. And some of the most stunning silencing hills. Just walking through emboldens me to explore.

Rain and Puppies

2009-05-12T21:51:00.000-07:00

Three little puppies live on the grounds of the house i'm staying at. Most of the time they run around biting clothes, hands, and feet or steeling food. But the other day when it was raining I went outside in the morning and found the puppies next to the door, huddled together and shivering.

Adorable. And they were finally still enough to photograph.

...via car blocking the exit

2009-05-10T08:03:00.001-07:00

This one-day stretched out over a week blog post is finally coming to an end, just as our journey did finally come to an end at the end of obstacle after obstacle (and then I promise not to talk about cars again for a long, long time). We travelers discovered, in a final post-fort climax, that road blocks are to be expected on an Indian journey. But we also discovered that, in India, there is always a way out, as impossible as it may seem. He really tried. But, in a shocking move that suggested a concern for property, he refrained from scratching his car in order to escape the fort town.

But our taxi drivers were amazing. They managed to back up hill on the narrowest road ever, as other smaller cars were driving downhill and passing the blue tank. Cars passed our taxi with literally a few centimeters of space. But, a testament to all drivers involved, none of the cars were damaged.

What else can I say. Thats what he backed up through. I never would have been able to do that.

The end.

...via a monkey-run fort...

2009-05-08T07:11:00.000-07:00

When we were finally on our way our group assumed we were headed back to Dharamsala. Initially we planned to visit a fort on the way home (which we all kept mistakenly calling the red fort) but after our political rally entanglement we decided going straight "home" was better. Numerous times different CCS individuals instructed the drivers "Go straight back to Dharamsala".

But we weren't all that surprised when they brought us to the fort instead. One of the group members, David, laughed and said "Well, lets all get out look around and take a few pictures so the drivers don't feel bad."

The fort actually turned out to be interesting...

Very old, crumbling ruins set on a hill overlooking the valley.

I, of course, dangled my feet off the edge a little bit because I love pretending like I'm doing something dangerous...But it might have actually been dangerous to mess with the monkeys who ran the fort. One of my fellow travelers had her shirt bit when she got a little too close to the monkey.

This monkey, for example, was one of the guards. He watched me to make sure I didn't get too close, staring me down intimidatingly.

...via wheatfields

2009-05-07T01:52:00.000-07:00

At some point in time some men in the rally attempted to tell us that we were going the wrong way and that we were going to get stuck. This was when we were already parked, but the gesture was nice. Someone else instructed us to turn around and move backwards through the crowd of people and the parked cars and the idling buses. We actually made it about 100 feet.

So it appeared that we might be stuck for hours, an opinion that was reinforced when, while driving against the crowd, the crowd insisted with waving hands that we turned around.

But two blue-turbaned Sikh men were fascinated by us and our predicament. They insisted on leading us out.

So the vans turned off the road and drove through a patch of shrubs,

and into a wheat field,

where the taxis maneuvered over a shallow ditch before they finally found a road leading into town.

But once we got there our Sikh friends were not entirely sure where we were. Nor were any of the villagers. At least the villagers weren't sure where we were in relation to where we needed to be. But finally, after a few false turns (one of which began to lead us back to the rally) we made it to a clear road and were able to take off.

But before we left we were given a card and an invitation to visit any time from the man who helped us make the escape.

To Dharamsala... via political rally...

2009-05-03T07:38:00.000-07:00

The whole gang of CCS volunteers (8 of us) took a little weekend trip to the border town of Amritsar this past Saturday. This was an enjoyable visit but it felt like we spent most of the time in a car. On the way home our vehicle rides got a little bit crazy. Of course Indian traffic is often crazy or the roads are often packed. But this traffic adventure was just too much fun not to mention:

When we left Amritsar Sunday morning we were (mostly) in good humor because it was cooler than 43 degrees Celsius. Sunday's early morning rain had cleared up the air and reduced the temperature (as well as providing a lightning show above the golden temple at 4 am). But the traffic was slow. There were quite a few packed buses on the road and I noticed many turbaned heads peering out as well as groups of men laughing on the bus roof. I assumed they were pilgrims returning from visiting the Golden Temple.

Slow traffic was not unusual and I didn't think much of it until, ushured by a traffic cop, we turned down a road where buses began piling up and our pace got slower and slower. Suddenly we found that instead of zipping around the buses our drivers were attempting to part the sea of vehicles by wedging the taxis through the crowd. There efforts didn't work. It was soon clear that we were stuck.

As we were slowing down we began to realize this was not a crowd of pilgrim tourists or normal travelers. Almost every bus was adorned with the Mammohan Singh sign, a orange white and green hand over the orange white and green stripes of the Indian flag. The men on the roof were yelling chants, and people were abandoning their transportation and walking through the cars, waving flags.

We were stuck in the middle of a political rally.

Our car, the 25 and under young'uns, began laughing at the situation and, not sure of what else to do with myself, I rolled my window down and began trying to capture the scene with the camera. As I did so a stream of punjabi came in through the window, as the passing men tried to explain what was going on. I kept hearing the word "Sonia Ghandi". I tried to show sympathy, confusion, interest and shock alternatingly through my facial expressions and hand gestures. I think the only thing that came across was "shameless tourist".

Then again, the Sikh boys were just as bad. A group of them kept appearing on different sides of the car staring and snapping photos of us with their camera phones. And quite a few people asked us to take photos of themselves. But we were still gawking gratuitously.

Luckily this caught the attention of two blue turbaned men who decided to make it their mission to get us unstuck.

That story to come in the next installment. But for now, the results of my camera out the window maneuver...

The cars begin to slow down

Most of the busses were decorated with political posters

The crowd

We started to document...

And the crowd seemed to enjoy it

Just Thinking...

2009-04-29T07:45:00.000-07:00

I'm coming to that point in my travels where I'm unable to recall what day it is. This is when I start wearing my itinerant status like it fully belongs to me, like I picked it up a long time ago and have been carting it around since. This is when I start to forget where I came from and whether I was going somewhere. This is when I am no longer passing through but fully present where I am and capable of soaking up more and more. This is when the self reflection starts flowing.

Its like those moments in the heart of night when time becomes suspended and the night deceives you into thinking it will last forever. The witching hour. Dangerous? Or maybe a safe way to hallucinate.

More to come, I promise. No home-based internet for a week+ (still no home based internet) which makes it complicated to provide photos. So i might be a little bit slow. But they have to fix the internet eventually...even in India.

and bruises

2009-04-09T17:32:00.001-07:00

Thank you for reminding me courtney. Yes you can also get massages that leave massive bruises on your body. Unfortunately I didn't have this experience, neither do I have a picture of the bruises...but for Courtney's memory...

You also ride around in the very back of a Taxi ready to step out if the vehicle slips and goes over a cliff. This advice was given by a flirting but friendly English accented Ko Pangan resident outside the front of his bar.

She does look ready to jump, doesn't she? I was.

Rainy in Paradise

2009-04-06T08:10:00.000-07:00

As I get ready to go to India, knowing that the rainy season will arrive at the end of my trip, I am reminded of my island time in Thailand.

When we showed up at Koh Pangan, the backpacker paradise was disguised in a layer of clouds. Only a few hours later, after the initial excitement of swimming in warm tropical rain, we realized that the rain was just not going to stop. And it didn't for about 2 and a half days.
So you sit around waiting, staring at the rain. Or you sit around in the backpacker bars drinking, staring at the rain and watching (often) bad American movies, or you sit around watching Thai shopkeepers sitting around and staring at the rain and you pretend to be interested in their overpriced Thai goods.

It was a little bit dreary. But I like to read.

Ancient Wat

2009-03-21T16:16:00.001-07:00

This is a neglected blog

2009-03-13T18:30:00.000-07:00

but today I will make up for that....

Courtney is a bubbling optimist. She believes that any and all people want to communicate with each other and with her. She wants to communicate with all people. She thinks, even if someone doesn't speak my language, I can use music or gestures and have a meaningful interaction.

She's probably right. I'm the cynical one who sometimes fails to try. I believe that I'm already an intruder in someone's house, and I don't want to annoy them as well. But as I said, she's probably right. Only people who believe that everyone wants to talk to them can actually talk to everyone regardless of linguistic barriers.

Music may not be the universal language,e however. At least not the kind of odd musical improvisations me and Courtney think make us very creative. Courtney tried to get the children to sing along to her lip bubbles and avante garde scat, but neither of these styles received anything but stares.

I admire her though. I would have felt a little clownish and would have assumed people viewed my behavior with adolescent disdain.

We, Courtney and I, did get Yu to teach us a children's song: a silly nursery rhyme type song about being pushed down, or maybe it was weighed down. It wasn't quite the song either of us were hoping for, but Yu was worried that our inability to perfect the Thai accent would get in the way of more sophisticated music.

He taught us the song the first night as we sat on the uncomfortable teak floor of our host family's hut, while the family looked on. Occasionally we heard children's giggles mixed in with the soft crackle of the fire. Once I thought I heard quiet whisperings of the song coming from the fireplace, but the young girls were shy. They didn't want to join us (was it the accent or the song, I wonder).

Courtney's efforts did pay off eventually, despite music's somewhat failure. on our second evening out she made her move by performing tricks with her body: she held up her hand and pretended to take her thumb off.

Hopefully the thumb trick is as important a game from your childhood as it was in minde. I remember being an easily amused 5 year old (as opposed to an even easier to amuse 25 year old) and seeing the thumb trick for the first time. Of course, I know that my friend wasn't actually taking her thumb off, but it was really impressive to me that it looked that way. At the time I was thrilled.

I imagine the hilltribe villagers experienced some of the same fascination. Young children and adults alike came together to laugh at Courtney's antics and to try out the thumb trick for themselves, enjoying the silliness of it. And they kept encouraging her to do it again and again.

So if you ever find yourself in the hilltribes of Western Thailand and you see children doing the thumb trick, remember us.

Elephant

2009-02-23T18:25:00.001-08:00

More Hilltribe Photos

2009-02-13T19:34:00.000-08:00

Courtney and host grandmother

The Shopkeeper

Our host family's "host" kid

Woman with pipe and baby

shower time

Beetle Nuts

2009-02-08T21:04:00.001-08:00

While I walked around in the Karen villages behind a lens, Adrian found out a more local way to pass the time by enjoying a favorite treat. As I mentioned, Yu was always looking for new forest things for us to touch or, occasionally, put in our mouths. And one thing he introduced us to was the beetle nut. I quickly learned that the beetle nut was a pastime for both the young and the old. Old women's teeth were usually stained red from the substance that they added to the nut as they chewed (i wish I remembered what it was supposed to be) and after dinner I saw families pass around the nut to everyone, including the 6 year old children. Another sign of the popularity of beetle nut was the fact that everyone we encountered was always spitting.

I tried the nut the first time Yu climbed a tree and returned with two round fibrous balls that me and Adrian boldy popped in our mouth. Unfortunately I didn't seem to have the determination for beetle nut (neither did Courtney who only tried it for a few seconds). It was very bitter, hard to chew and made constant spitting a necessaty. I'm guessing if I had stuck with it it would have grown on me. Probably like coffee.

Adrian, on the other hand, loved it. He told me that after a while of chewing it (10 to 15 minutes?) he started to feel slightly high. Every time we stopped for the night, the first thing he asked for was more beetle nut. He was always laughing about chewing it too, and always asking for more. I admire his guts (he thought I had guts for taking photos). I would have a hard time asking for something from people who I couldn't talk with.

Adrian also discovered Karen style of cigarettes, thanks to the guy who led our elephant and insisted that the stuff Adrian was smoking was no good and that leaf rolled tobacco was a better idea. So then, along with his beetle nut habit, he was going around looking for more tobacco.

In retrospect, I kinda wish I had tried chewing beetle nut for a full 15 minutes just to see...

Yu climbs the tree.
Old woman with stained teeth.
Adrian and Yu

Photos-Just a Sampling

2009-01-28T23:09:00.001-08:00

This is the woman that was complaining to me about her picture (see earlier post).

I wonder if she was upset at me for taking a picture of her from a higher angle when she was looking down, like this one:

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As you can see this little boy is enjoying his candy. His mom just laughed at the whole interaction.

In the second village we visited the kids were much more forward and made more attempts to interact with us. This was the village with TV and road access.

Cameras

2009-01-28T22:52:00.001-08:00

In the first village, Yu convinced me, Adrian and Courtney that the only way to get the children to talk with us was to give them candy. Later I read in the guidebook to avoid any such behavior and that if you were going to give a hilltribe kid candy then you should also be giving him the assurance of dental care. But Yu, a child of a Karen village, was sure this was the best way to reach out to these kids. So, after settling into our "host home" we went wandering around the village holding out candy to kids, much as one holds a treat out to a dog.

I had many unvoiced questions about our presence in the village. Nobody spoke any English and nobody really knew how to interact with us. And then there was the fact that I had my camera to my eye most of the time, Adrian was an intimidating giant sized man (to the Karen-or this is what Yu translated to us) and Courtney worked overtime to try to get people to talk to her. Actually she did have some success. We all did.

My camera moves were enterprising. I was obsessed with getting a fantastic photo. Barrier creating? Yes and no. It made me interesting to watch, and I swear I asked everyone if I could take their photo before doing so. In some cases, parents seemed to think it was amusing that I wanted to take a photo of their kid and would try to get the kid to pose for me. In other cases, as in when I showed an old woman a photo, I got a sense of the fact that these people are concerned about whether or not they're photogenic although digital cameras do not abound.

After showing an older woman a photograph of herself she shook her head and made some hand motion as if to signal "no good." I shrugged and thought I'd take another photo of her. This time A lowering of the head some more shaking. I tried to convince her in English (and a Thai phrase) that she looked great and I was glad she posed for me. But then she kept trying to talk to me and I had no idea what to do. I keep saying "mai kao jai, mai kao jai" which means "i don't understand." And I backed away slowly. I felt bad, I wanted to talk to her! But it was just uncomfortable havine her sit there say things to me, very seriously, and not know what to do.

Later that day, when that same woman came to our host families house, she handed me a leaf full of tobaccoo.

Some Bugs

2009-01-19T21:52:00.000-08:00

On day two of our hill tribe trek me and Courtney started out the morning riding on an elephant. While it sounds exotic and is definitely a novelty kind of thing to do, this is not the most glamorous way to travel through the forest. The main thing that I found bothered me was having to dodge spiders like this:

Some of the littler spiders didn't seem quite so spooky, but I have to confess i'm afraid of anything thats brightly colored and makes a web.
When he saw this out of the corner of his eye, Yu let us know that he "had to kill it" because the snake would kill people. I was surprised by this approach (as opposed to the "just avoid it" approach) but I guess I could see how if you were threatened by a snake you'd want to get rid of it. But I'm sure it doesn't help the ecological balance. This is the snake after Yu beat it with a stick.

And then there's this bug which was hanging out on a sandy cliff, which is just awesome.

Into the Mountains

2009-01-17T14:23:00.000-08:00

Somewhere along the Thailand/Myanmar boarder I, Courtney and a very tall Canadian named Adrian hiked into the Thai wilderness not knowing exactly what to expect. From guidebooks I got the impression that Hilltribe people would be glad for tourist buisiness, although I didn't think there would be any kind of money for photo transactions in this part of Thailand. From other tourists I kept hearing that hilltribe treks were the time of their life, but nothing too descriptive. From British youth living in Chiang Mai I had heard the horrible corruption of the
"Hilltribe Trek" and been discouraged from participating in an exploitative business. And then, of course, I had my own doubts about embarking on something that "everybody else does."

From the smooth-talking but genial guest house owner who sold us the trip, we learned that we would stop to see one Karen village, stop to see another Karen village, eat some lunch here or there, sleep a little, ride an e le phant. But none of this was too descriptive and, honestly, we didn't care too much about tour's description because it seemed to be the only option in the sleepy town of Mae Sariang. Plus there were only three people going. This seemed like a good sign to me.

Our guide, Yu was a fresh faced youth enthusiastic to show us every edible, touchable, smellable,
photographable, enjoyable and avoidable plant/animal/other in the jungle. He would often stop us in order to find an example of said items. We were constantly being fed on the trail, including nipping snacks of chilli and green beans from a Karen farmer's garden. Once I was givin a decorative flower, just because it was a beautiful flower, which I stuck in my hair for a little while. Okay yeah, I might have been under the impression that I was flirting with him, but he was just friendly in general

On the first day of hiking, Yu led us up, up, up (and a little down) into the jungle firmly placing his flip flops in the hillside. Often, he would burst out into song, belting, in a sweetly resonating tenor voice, a popular Thai melody or an American favorite such as the Backstreet Boys. He was always turning around and looking at me, mid joke or song, still smiling, looking a little worried that he might leave me behind, "You want to rest? Are you tired?" My response, avoiding indignation, was something like, "No. But I don't climb mountains every day like you...Yu."

We took the Karen "superhighway" (as Yu liked to call it), a little raised dirt walkway through Karen farms and saw many rice fields. It was impressive how the rice was planted right on the side of the hill. We wobbled across countless felled bamboo trunk bridges, working on our balance and listening to Adrian (a construction worker) lament about the lack of smooth planed bridges. And towards the end of the hike we stumbled down a rice field hill in order to reach a waterfall that Yu had been constantly telling us was our destination. Although we were pretty sure we wouldn't dry off before the end we all jumped in.

Yu and our guesthouse owner, Aekesan

Rice Farm

Animal Sacrifice for the rice farm

On the Karen Superhighway

Courtney working on her balance

Waterfall

Fresh Schnitzel

2009-01-12T21:55:00.001-08:00

The Other Half of Full Moon

2009-01-07T19:41:00.000-08:00

...is inadequately described by these:

Sometimes my camera fails to capture details well. But if you look closely at the bottom of the picture you can see a beach trash can.

............

Daytime bucket stands reveal the beaches true colors.

Interlude-Courtney does Full Moon

2009-01-07T00:21:00.000-08:00

Courtney, true to her style, seemed to undergo spiritual enlightenment over the whole thing. I admit I was a little jealous of it, and sometimes frustrated at myself for not feeling the same way. But I'm glad she had her experience. And watching her entranced in ritual was interesting and a good photographic opportunity.

Interlude-My Party Face

2009-01-07T00:19:00.000-08:00

Despite the fact that I chose to go to giant raves of the world, I always arrive insistently believing that I'm not actually the type of person that would show up.

They're not me, I'm more aware of whats really going on. I can transcend the experience to find the analysis of the social gathering. I have grand theories about the ritual of this all, which, of course, nobody else here has considered. Sure I might be here, but I'm just observing. I'm just passing through and soon I'll go back to my very normal, sane, party free life. Sure there might be other people here who think they're just observing, but they're mistaken. Do you see how much of a raver that girl/guy is anyway. She/he has painted herself in black light colors. I only paint myself in black light colors because its subversive: I'm mocking the ridiculousness of frat-boy/girl style party spirit. And anyway, I have enlightened taste in music. I understand that there's nothing wrong with dance-techno, but I know that it lacks musicality and musical insight and only listen to it when I want to dance.

By the end of the night, I end up looking something like THIS:

Half the Full Moon

2009-01-03T14:28:00.000-08:00

Part of my journey took me to the Full Moon Party, Thailand's tourist playground extraordinaire, a party served with doses of whiskey filled toy buckets and an entire beach of bass thumping music.

Leftover Buckets

Hat Rin Nok Beach

One of many Reggae Restaurants

I couldn't stop wondering what Thai people think of this funny ritual that is the giant rave. Sure, some participate (especially, it seems, young male Thais), and many more people make money from tourists, but what do the majority of Thais really think of our impulsive, hedonistic displays.
At any rate, I took the most photos of vendors.
These bucket salesmen really were the life of the party. I heard a lot of "Hey, I love you. Buy a bucket. PLEASE?"

Whereas this woman seemed to be a little more weary of tourists.

Precarious Places 2: Vehicles

2008-12-22T09:08:00.000-08:00

#3: Train with Open Doors

I seemed to be the only one interested in stepping down to the bottom step, so maybe its no big deal that the conductor/ train guys don't actually close the doors to the train car. Actually closing doors in general seems to be a foreign idea, unless the car is air conditioned. Busses without air conditioning also leave the doors open and the bus attendent sits in the doorway. Anyway, I'm sure its not that dangerous to stand on the step of a moving train. And it was a lot of fun.

#4: Almost every other form of taxi/in city transport

And what more can I say. When we were on Koh Pangan we had an interesting discussion with a British guy who called the island home for part of the year. He said that anytime we rode in a songthaew (the pick up truck like taxis) we should ride in the very back so that if anything happened we could just step off. That was the same conversation where he advised us to be careful on the roads because motorists were more likely to hit a pedestrian than another vehicle since vehicles were insured.

A Drive Through the Countryside

2008-12-20T22:40:00.000-08:00

Outside of Pai, Northern Thailand. We drove down a quiet road on motorbikes. A truly spiritual experience.

And a little taste of Hippie Pai.

Frog Ladies: a Story of Bargaining and Loss

2008-12-16T23:26:00.001-08:00

Koh San Rd in Bangkok is the tourist ghetto and in consequence home to a variety of peddlers aggressively selling food, clothes, souvenirs and other odd objects Thais think Westerners need. The Frog Ladies are the most ubiquitous of these salesmen. Through endlessly scratching carved wooden frogs they create a chorus of frog croaks that follows you wherever you walk down the road. The woman follow you too. They will walk up to anyone naive enough to make eye contact, or comfortable enough to sit street side at a restaurant. And the frog ladies are persistent. Once I saw two girls in the course of a an hour go from rolling their eyes at the frog ladies to buying a handful of bracelets and consider buying a traditional hill tribe hat.

So early in my trip, Day 2 evening, I made the mistake of looking straight at one of the woman as I passed her. She immediately held up handfuls of bracelets and hand sewn items. "You like, good price". Her good natured smile made it seem like she was trying to make a friend rather than a sale. So me and Courtney, jet lagged and a little overwhelmed, were obliging and took a seriously look at the frog lady's handicrafts. But in the end, I knew I didn't really want to buy anything, and motioned for Courtney to walk away with me.

Our walk wasn't fast or determined looking enough. The woman followed us and Courtney glanced her way giving the frog lady enough confirmation that she might still make a deal. She held her goods up to us again. My eyes rested on a patchwork cloth waterbottle holder.

The woman's eyes lit up and she exchanged a look with Courtney saying, "She likes it, yes?" To me she confidently stated, "400 baht." My answer was to turn away.

But the frog lady was not to be deterred. She shouted after me, "Ma'am, very good deal. This is handmade, I sew myself. See, see." She held up the clothe piece above the crowd and we were stupid enough, and amused enough, to look back. And as we did, the price dropped to 250 baht, and I found myself on the threshold of having the freedom to walk away before I felt obligated to buy after bargaining.

But I was enjoying the attention. And since we were stopped I took a closer look at the water bottle holder. Earnestly, I expressed distrust saying, "I dunno Courtney, could that really fit a big water bottle? And that strap is so thin, it might dig into your shoulder." But the woman showed us, by yanking a bottle of water out of my backpack, that it really could fit the biggest water bottle. And in her faith, she lowered the price to 200 baht. Still, I was more hesitant than interested, and as soon as I saw that Courtney was no longer paying attention either, we started walking away, dismissing her with a wave.

And that's when I heard "Okay, 100 baht."

Despite everything I thought about what I did and didn't want to buy, the minute she shouted out that enticingly low price I knew I couldn't walk away. Because I had inadvertently managed to bargain down to a quarter of the original price. I had to laugh at myself because my reluctance had won me a good price, but I hadn't even been very interested in the first place. So I patted myself on the back, filed my head with the pride of being a fantastic bargainer, dug into my purse for an 100 baht bill to hand over. Then, because I was already in a good mood, I asked her for a picture, and was honored when she shook my hand.

About 20 feet after we had walked away, Courtney stopped me and said, "did you get change?" And I said, knowing Courtney was mistaken, "No, I gave her a 100." And Courtney said, "No, you gave her 1,000." I waved her suggestion aside, it was dark, Courtney hadn't seen very well, and I was very confident that I saw 100 when I handed her the bill. "No, I'm sure I didn't." I said, and kept walking. Courtney looked at me funny and then said, "OK," implying with her voice that I was completely mistaken and rather full of myself to think otherwise.

So then I thought twice. "Well, I guess I should check," I said, but I kind of didn't want to know the answer. But we found a seat and sat down anyways and I began to count my 1,000 baht bills. And count again. And count a third time and look in different pockets and count one more time. And I kept coming up short. "Oh shit, you're right, I gave her 1,000."

(1,000 baht is about 30 dollars. Not the worst loss I've ever experienced abroad, but definitely a blow to my ego as well as my consciousness of being a confident savvy traveler.)

So after this we wandered up and down Koh San looking for all the frog ladies, trying to use the picture of her. But there were so many of them and my head was filled with so many croaks that we couldn't find her. I'm sure she had disappeared down an alley anyway. No wonder she had been so nice to me after my purchase.

We never did find her. But in case you travel to Thailand:

This woman owes me 900 Baht.

Sharmini's feet in precarious places

2008-12-08T04:37:00.000-08:00

Cheap thrills are very common in Thailand. My favorite are the crazy, dangerous places you can walk that would be blocked off in the United States because of potential lawsuits or bad press.

Precarious place 1: The River Kwai Bridge

Between the lack of hand rail for pedestrians (and there's a good three feet of space for a person to fall through) and the fact that a train periodically travels down the center forcing people to find a stable ledge, I'm surprised there aren't warning signs advising against this river crossing.

Precarious Place 2: Bangkok Temple

The Thai tourists who climbed down this flight of stairs before me had both arms wrapped around the railing as they carefully lowered one foot at a time. Its always interesting to me that ancient stairways were built so steep, especially when the people tending to them, the monks, were supposed to be so calm and deliberate when moving. At any rate...look at that fall! In America there would be a big yellow cautioin tape sign across the steps because somebody's kid would have hurt themselves by now.

Skip road trip-thailand is more current

2008-12-07T07:12:00.000-08:00

A List:

Listing number ofs like this is probably more entertaining to the recorder than any third party observers. Nevertheless, its totally fun and, maybe for therapeutic reasons I'm going to do it anyway...

No. of Hours I've been on a bus in the last 7 days: 26

No. of times I've had a long chat with a monk: 2

No. of days I've been stuck in Thailand: 8

No. of days since my visa technically expired: 1

No. of male farang/thai women couples i've seen: i've lost count

No. of stray dogs: same-same

No. of books I've finished on this trip: 5

No. of days I've been stuck in non stop rain: 3 (plus one day of on-off drizzling)

No. of elephants I've ridden: 1

No. of times giant spiders have crawled into my dwelling: 2

No. of hill tribe style villages I've been to: 3

No. of photos I've taken: at least 2,000.

We'll start with a few overviews:

drying chillis, Go mu dur

Wat, Bangkok
Rainy Paradise: Koh Pangan

On the train, somewhere south of Chiang Mai

mile 2436

2008-09-30T23:38:00.001-07:00

blood meridian

mile 2421

2008-09-30T23:34:00.001-07:00

Floyd locks us out. Or rather, sharmini forgets to remember to check for her keys 30 miles from any major town (but luckily not far from the tall, reflective ranger).

mile 2356 revisted, by request

2008-09-30T23:32:00.001-07:00

Western North Dakota guarded by a giant cow

mile 2356

2008-09-15T01:01:00.000-07:00

camp

mile 2239

2008-09-12T23:40:00.000-07:00

mile 2128

2008-09-12T23:26:00.000-07:00

mile 2068

2008-09-12T23:23:00.001-07:00

mile 2016

2008-09-12T23:19:00.001-07:00

mile 1787

2008-09-12T23:16:00.001-07:00

mile 1583

2008-09-12T01:16:00.000-07:00

mile 1550

2008-09-12T01:10:00.000-07:00

mile 1515

2008-09-10T18:42:00.001-07:00

mile 1321

2008-09-08T00:46:00.001-07:00

mile 1269

2008-09-08T00:38:00.000-07:00

mile 1,155

2008-09-05T01:09:00.001-07:00