Thailand

Today I woke up at 5:30 at our lodge next to the active volcano Mt. Bromo in Indonesia, and realized that we have a mere 4 days remaining in this country and only 17 until we arrive in Sydney (note...I started this blog a couple of days ago and finished today, so I actually woke up in Bali today and will fly to Australia tonight...the rest still fits).  I have to apologize for my inconsistent blogging.  Initially my intention was to keep this updated at least 3 times a week, but my inability to write on the bus and limited Internet access have tempered my ambitions.  In Australia, I expect to have more consistent access and intend to post more frequent updates.  To catch up to where I am now, I’ll give a haphazard explanation of what all has transpired over the past 3 weeks.

Bangkok, Thailand:

Thailand joke:
Q: Why do all the soccer matches in Bangkok end in a draw?
A: Because this is Tie-land!

After winding down our time in Nepal, we once again boarded an Indian bus for three days of  travel to Calcutta from where we’d fly to Bangkok. Perhaps it was that I was merely happy to be back in a well developed place or perhaps it was the presence of a 7-Eleven at every corner (complete with Slurpees I might add), but either way: I loved Bangkok from the start.

As with nearly every other city we’ve visited on this tour, Awal and I searched for all available free sightseeing and entertainment options.  The first day, several of us walked around and saw the Buddhist temples and monuments scattered throughout downtown Bangkok before venturing into Chinatown.   I never would have guessed that Bangkok has a Chinatown (not really sure why…it‘s much closer to China than NYC), but it does and it’s vibrant, bustling, and possesses every item you’d ever want to buy (and plenty you’d never want).  We spent a couple of hours rummaging through the shops until we finally emerged on the other side after making only one purchase between the four of us (that being my purchase of "Sony" headphones...that thankfully are still working).

The next day, we hit the jackpot. Turns out, the city of Bangkok offers free bikes for rent to anyone who shows their passport.  For the next two days, we took full advantage of this offer, riding everywhere around town.  Being one who grew up in East Tennessee suburbia, I have plenty of experience bike riding on nice hilly roads, but not so much on crowded city streets.  I was amazed by the courtesy shown by Thai drivers.  Perhaps it's that there is much more of a biking culture in Bangkok, but riding a bike through Bangkok was neither harrowing or nerve-racking.  Free use of the bikes allowed us to explore all nearly all of downtown and even out to Bangkok's 8 story mall.

For much of the trip, a handful of us have talked about finding a night to go out for karaoke.  As my Fort Myers friends know (perhaps all too well), I'm a big fan of karaoke, and not in the least afraid to make a fool of myself singing a ridiculous song (Tiny Dancer with a 6'3 interpretive dancer in the background, I Want it that Way, etc.), so I was anxious for us to find a place to display our "talents."  After a good bit of work searching for a place, I found one within walking distance.  Our group of seven arrived, sat down and realized that this happened to be an "alternative" karaoke bar.  Since we were already there, we sang a song or two and then made our gracious exit (I'd like to say this is the first time I've made this mistake, but my friends Ryan, Misty, Bri and I did the same thing last year in Peoria, IL...perhaps I should ease off on my love of karaoke).

I found that one of Bangkok's perks is its street food.  On every corner, you can find pad thai, chicken on a skewer, grilled pork ribs, roast duck, or fried rice...all for cheap too.  Some people are wary of street food, and they probably should be as you never know if the food you're eating is clean.  I'm blessed to have an iron stomach, so I can practice adventure eating without having to experience anything adventurous  in the bathroom (I actually have a bet riding on whether or not I get sick to my stomach at all during the trip...tomorrow I'll go to Australia and I'm still good).

From Bangkok, we traveled to the island of Koh Samui for a several days in the sun and sand.  When we arrived there, the sand was most certainly present.  The sun, however, failed to show up.  Unfortunately, our visit to the island coincided with monsoon season in Thailand, and we were met with unyielding rain for all three days.   After a few days of not being able to swim or do anything at the beach, Awal and I went out anyway during the monsoon.  Debris of all sort had washed up onto the shore...so much so you could barely walk.  So in the monsoon, in the middle of debris, trash, wood, rocks, etc. we played bocce ball with coconuts for an hour. In the midst of our game, we spotted what looked like an abandoned beachside bar.  We waded through the newly formed river flowing from the town to the ocean and climbed over rocks to the bar where we found pretty much nothing but empty chairs and a dartboard. After a few rounds of darts, we realized that this place had been abandoned for no more than a week and decided it best for us to leave. So we went and played more bocce

From Koh Samui we had nearly a week of nothing but 12 hour bus days through Malaysia and into Indonesia.  Like Mom always said, "If you don't have anything nice to say, just keep your mouth shut." So I will.

Our next destination of note was Mt. Bromo, home of an active volcano.  Unlike the rest of Indonesia which possesses humidity and oppressive heat reminiscent of Ft Myers, Mt. Bromo was chilly, and had us busting out long sleeved shirts.  We only had one full day here, so we made the most of it.  At 9AM, Awal and I took off with 8 others to climb up to the mouth of Mt Bromo where we could stare down its mouth.  Amazing.  Sitting on a ledge and staring down at a massive hole in the ground spewing with ash and sulfur was truly surreal.  As cool as it was to climb to the top of a volcano, there's really wasn't much to do from the top but just sit there, throw rocks (a totally underrated past time), and mill around.  So after thirty minutes or so, we left to embark on an ambitious climb of a nearby mountain.  Armed with only a vague map, we walked to the base of the mountain, found a road which led to a trail which led us up to the 2500m summit (though on part of it we had to do more of a climb than hike...the trail ended up getting a bit hairy).  Being on top of a mountain is frequently used metaphorically, but I have to say, few things give you the sense of accomplishment and gratitude that you get when literally standing on top of a mountain you just climbed.  Awal and I sat at the top patting ourselves on the back for a while, ate some snacks, and took a nap in the grass for an hour or so before heading back down.

Sorry this post is a sloppy stream of consciousness, but I had to catch up.  Tomorrow, I'll be in Australia where I'll be posting pictures to document the experiences detailed in this post.  I'm still shocked that this whirlwind adventure is nearing its end.  Though I'll certainly be glad to be home, I'll no doubt miss the entire experience...friends, adventure, the feeling of having no idea what today will bring, the newness of everything.  Pretty much everything except my cramped, hot seat on the bus.

More Nepal

From Chitwan we traveled to the popular tourist destination of Pokhara in central Nepal.  Pokhara's landscape is breathtaking as it sits aside a modest lake at the foot of snowcapped mountains in the Annapurna range (with nearby peaks approaching 7500m).  Unfortunately, due to cloud cover, we didn't see the largest peaks until our last day in town. Speaking of cloud cover, the morning fog here hangs amazingly low.  Awal and I kept our patio door open in our 2nd floor hotel room, and I awoke one morning to find a cloud creeping into the room. I didn't tell it to leave.

On our first full day in Pokhara, Awal and I decided to attempt walking around the lake.  Unlike most lakes in the states, this one didn't have clear boundaries.  In the distance, the deep water faded into rice fields before approaching the foot of a mountain. Either way, from our vantage point, it didn't look like much of a walk.  We set off for the far side of the lake, and after 2 miles or so, we made a friend.  A big black and brown dog with the markings of a Rottewieler, the hair and body of Golden Retriever, and the tail of a Chow ambled up beside us and followed as we walked.  At first, we thought he was just passing by and saying hi to some strangers, but he quickly showed that he was in it for the long haul. We stopped at a local shop to grab some water and he sat down at my feet, waiting for us to finish and continue.  Since we knew at this point he was our dog, Awal and I decided he needed a name.  After mulling over a few options, we settled on "Buster."  Accompanied by our new friend, we continued our journey around the lake which provided to be a bit longer than we anticipated.  Two hours into our walk we found ourselves in the middle of a rice field with no trail in sight. With no other options, we had to turn around and head back in the same direction.  As we were getting nearer to town, Awal and I started discussing our coming departure from Buster. He kept saying things like "I sure am getting attached to Buster...I don't want to make him leave." As for me, I had a cheesy Disney movie type scene in my mind where Buster is sitting at the steps of our hotel whimpering while I'm yelling "Buster...you have to go home...don't make this harder than it is! Go Buster...GO!"  Mercifully, Buster made it easy on us.  Suddenly, he darted up a hill (presumably his home) never to be seen by us again.  I'd like to think he misses us...

That night, we were pretty wiped out from the 4 hour walk (my hiking shoes were still soaked from our jungle hike 2 days before, so I made the walk that day in my flip-flops...a rough day for my feet), but still had the energy to head to a "Jazz Club" right down the road.  A large group of us from the trip went in and we expected live music to start at some point. I asked the bartender and he told me that there wasn't any live music, but if I wanted I could pick up the guitar on stage.  Initially, I jumped up to play a song with vocal help from my friends Becky and Laura.  Unfortunately, we received further "help" when a drummer and flute player suddenly appeared on stage.  I suppose this could have turned out well, but considering the drummer kept a beat as well as an 8 year old on a Pixie Stix binge and the "flute" player kept trying to steal my mic for his own frantic solo when I was singing the chorus, our noise bore a closer musical resemblance to a group of laughing hyenas getting hit by a truck full of tambourines than it did to "I'm Yours."  I stepped down and gave the stage to Awal and a few other guitar players in the crowd, and after a while the backup musicians stepped down and the quality of music took a dramatic turn for the better.  After 2 hours or so, the bartender told us he had to turn off the sound system but we could continue playing if we wanted.  By that time, Awal and several of the other musicians left, so I was about the only guy left in the place who knew a few chords.  We met a group of people on vacation from Israel, who had an insatiable appetite for music.  They kept saying "Play anything...just play,"  so I listened and played about every popular song I could remember.  Nothing like a late night singalong with Israelis in a Nepali club...

After our time in Pokhara, we drove to the capital city of Kathmandu where we stayed for 3 days.  This drive included a climb over and down a rather large mountain...a drive that's not for the faint of heart.  These roads are barely wide enough for trucks to pass and have no guardrail.  So if you're headed up or down and cross paths with a vehicle of similar size, it can make for a harrowing experience. I'm pretty well oblivious to that sort of danger, so I loved the ride!

Kathmandu is an interesting place. Like Pokhara, it serves as a base for many trekkers, only it's also the capital city of Nepal.  We stayed in a touristy location full of shops, bars, restaurants and Internet cafes.  For some reason, much of this place reminded me of a less developed bohemian Gatlinburg

Chitwan, Nepal

Nepal
Since Nepal is known for its elephants, we decided to go that route with jokes:

Q: How do you kill a blue elephant?
A: With a blue elephant gun.
Q: How do you kill a yellow elephant?
A: Hold his nose til he turns blue then shoot him with a blue elephant gun.
Q: How do you kill an orange elephant?
A: With an orange elephant gun of course!

This joke loses much of its luster when written, but when spoken it’s certainly good for a pity laugh.

Before I left, friends and family frequently asked me “Where are you most looking forward to going?” Each time, my answer was the same: Nepal.  Being one who has an affinity for mountains, Nepal appealed to me from the moment I first looked at our itinerary.  We rolled in from India and were greeted by a more relaxed and calm atmosphere than we had experienced for the past few weeks.  Nepal looked promising..

Our first stop was Chitwan, home of Nepal’s most frequently visited national park.  Throughout the entire trip, we’ve had options for a variety of excursions and planned outings, and on most of these occasions Awal and I have passed up on these options in favor of wandering around town.  To do this in Chitwan, we would have had to blindly stroll into the wilderness with rhinos and who knows what else, so for once we actually splurged for the $120 package that included all meals and several excursions.  Thankfully, it ended up being worth the investment.  On our first full day, we had a sunrise boat ride down the river to our departure point for a jungle walk.  Our well trained guide pointed out a variety of birds and otherwise hard to spot wildlife as we leisurely floated down the river.  We came to a gradual stop and I heard grumblings from the back of the boat about a potential crocodile.  Sure enough, our guide dipped his paddle into the water and with a violent splash, a medium sized croc emerged thrashing and snapping.  Screams and minor freakouts ensued from our group but we proceeded unscathed.

We arrived at our spot on the riverbank and split into a few groups for our jungle walk.  About this time, the slight drizzle that had accompanied us all morning turned into a moderate downpour.  Shortly after we got off the boat and began to walk through the jungle, we were all drenched from head to toe.  I’ve been on a few game drives before, but they’ve all been in Kenya where you’re prohibited from exiting the vehicle.  Here, we’re on foot, so that level of feeling immune to your surroundings  is gone.  Trudging around in the pouring rain was a blast.  Whenever it rains, seems like I’m always trying to avoid getting entirely wet, so whenever it’s appropriate to embrace the rain and get soaked, I feel a bit of childlike freedom.  After only 30 minutes or so of walking, our guide stopped us and pointed straight ahead toward two rhinos slowly grazing 90 feet away.  Initially, these guys didn’t seem too bothered by our presence, but after a few minutes they huffed and puffed and briefly headed our direction.  Our guide hurried us behind a tree in case they charged, but they moseyed on their own way. (I’m not so sure the tree would have done much to help us, but I heard years ago that if a rhino charges, you stand your ground until it’s about 15 feet away and then dive out of the way.  To pull that off you’d have to remain calm and have some major stones.  Not to say that I could do that move for sure, but I had convinced myself that it would work)  We wandered around the jungle for two hours or so and thoroughly enjoyed the scenery, rain, and mud.  One not so lovable part…each of us kept having leaches attach themselves to me.  For some reason, Nepali leaches love me.  At one point I pulled eight of them off my leg, one of which had buried both sides into my calf.  Leaches sound bad, but they’re actually not painful, they just steal your blood…jerks (our guide had a fantastic quote “If leach bites you, no problem, you can also bite leach”).

We ended our jungle walk by walking through a river (not so deep, just above my knees) which happened to have 2 more rhinos about 50 feet away from us. They were busy hanging out in the water and paid us no mind.  After coming out of the water, we took a short jeep ride back to the lodge where we were told that in a few minutes the elephant bath was starting.  Not knowing exactly what we were getting into, several of us walked to another part of the river (each of us still soaked by the way) where our guides were with two elephants, playing in the water. (these were trained elephants mind you)  Each of us then took turns sitting or standing on the elephant's back as she threw water over her head and drenched us.  I'm not really sure why I expected any different, but man...an elephant can fit a whole lotta water in its trunk!  We swam and played with the elephants for a good 30 minutes until it was time for the elephants to leave (though I'm not sure where they went...home maybe?

After a morning of encounters with rhinos, a crocodile, elephants, and leaches I took a long nap, ate some good food and played guitar to wind down the night.  All in all...Chitwan was fantastic.

Incredible India!

Eighteen days in India.  Maybe it’s that we did so much while we were there and maybe it’s because we passed the halfway point during our stay but either way it feels like we were there for much longer.  When our journey was last updated, we were in Jaipur where we spent a few days checking out forts and monuments.  From Jaipur, we moved north to Agra, the site of the Taj Mahal.  Before I continue, I should describe our experiences on the Indian roads.  First of all, we had left our plush Mercedes bus back at the Iran border and now rode in a significantly smaller Tata (India’s largest automaker) bus that looked to be as old as me.  The suspension absorbed the constant potholes and uneven road as well as a wheelbarrow, occasionally sending the backseat passengers airborne. Constant jarring and shaking from the road made it difficult for even me to sleep as we moved, so time, like progress was slow.  Indian roads are a site to behold.  In the cities, the streets are a rushing tide of cars, motorbikes, tuk-tuks (small 3 wheel vehicles powered by lawn mower engines that serve as mini taxis) bicycles, buses, donkey carts, wayward cows, and pedestrians.  If you’re passing through a rural area, the roads are still a bit crowded, just with more cows and random livestock and fewer cars.  The chaos of the road is bad enough on its own, but the cacophony of horns is nearly unbearable.  In the states and much of Europe, using the horn is for either emergency purposes or to express outrage at another driver’s carelessness…not the case in India.  Using the horn is a courtesy in here, to make other drivers aware of your presence.  The majority of trucks even have “horn please” written across their tailgates.  After a day or so of observing, I was able to see why horns are a necessity rather than a courtesy here.  The reason: buses and trucks pass at even the slightest opportunity.  If you’re the type of person who’s prone to be on edge while riding in a car, or if you’re a backseat driver I recommend that you stay out of India altogether. A wreck won’t kill you, a heart attack will.  After about 10 near misses, I decided that the driver must know what he was doing and I’d just ignore our proximity to oncoming trucks. (At some point I heard the rumor that the prevailing attitude of Indians-perhaps Indian drivers is that of “when it’s your time to die, it’s your time to die.”  I might be crazy, but it seems to me that this attitude is reflected in the Indian driving culture, and though I believe in that to an extent, I also believe that our own actions can bring us to an untimely end.  So maybe this is an area where enculturation might not be the best idea.)  These driving conditions certainly took their toll on the group, so each time we rolled into a new city each of us were exhausted by the drive.

So Agra…

I’d say that between 99.9 and 102 percent of visitors go to Agra merely for the Taj Mahal, and I’m in that vast majority.  World famous monuments tend to be a letdown.  You see pictures and hear words like “breathtaking” and “picturesque”  and when you arrive your breath remains firmly in your lungs and the only pictures you’ve taken are obligatory.  Not the case with the Taj Mahal.  From the moment it entered my line of sight in the distance until I was standing at its threshold, I was amazed by the Taj Mahal’s regal beauty.  Throughout the day, I heard a variety of historical facts and interesting bits of technical data regarding the Taj’s construction (we‘re on a first name basis btw), but I lost most of them in the building’s sheer mass and beauty.  Even though the Taj itself lived up to its billing, it could have been even more grand if the surrounding area had been in better shape.  The lawn had a variety of man made streams and fountains that lay dormant, the approaching roads were covered with litter, and the adjacent river a murky shade of gray.  Unfortunately, this is more of a reflection of India as a whole as opposed to Agra or the Taj Mahal specifically.  Other than going to the Taj Mahal and Red Fort, we did little in Agra before we moved on to Dheli.

As we arrived in Dheli, my friend Laura looked in my direction and said dryly “It shouldn’t be ok to be able to stare at the sun should it?”  Sadly, Dheli is about the most polluted place I’ve ever been, and sure enough in midday, one can stare at the sun without consequence. Like a rainy day,  Dheli’s layer of smog gives the appearance of perpetual gray clouds, only no one is getting wet.   Even though the conditions outside made me want to acquire a vaporizer, stay inside and purify my lungs all day, Awal and I decided that we’d venture out catch what we could of the Commonwealth Games.  To do this, normal people would consult a schedule of events and hire a taxi to get to the arena.  Awal and I aren’t normal, we asked which general direction we’d travel to get to town and blindly walked off to find downtown Dhelituk-tuk to take us to the stadium.  Unfortunately, we arrived 5 hours before the track and field events started, and had no desire to pay $30 to see weightlifting, so we purchased track and field tickets for the bargain price of $5 and killed a few hours until the events started (In an attempt to discover more of the city in our free time, we managed to accidentally go right back to our hotel, prompting much head shaking, grumbling, and lamenting from each of us).  Despite an illogical access route to the stadium and overly cautious  security (you couldn’t take batteries in, thus rendering cameras useless.  So we have no pictures to prove that we actually went) we had a great time at the track and field events.  I enjoyed watching the crowd cheering on their home country, and celebrating their competitors even after a poor finish.  Though I cheered along with the Indians, I also found myself openly cheering for Kenya and the other Eastern African nations. (As much as this trip has proved to me that I’m thoroughly American, it’s also shown to me that Kenya is most certainly my second home).  The event was a great time…certainly worth our $5.

I’m left with mixed feelings about India.  I enjoyed the people…they’re friendly, helpful and inquisitive, but the overwhelming pollution and general chaos is tough on a daily basis.  My time in India wasn’t spent without gaining a new perspective, however.  I came face to face with urban poverty that I’ve never previously seen outside of Port-au-Price.  Urban poverty, to me, seems very different from the rural variety.  In an urban setting, those in need are surrounded with buildings, cars, nice clothes, good food, and tourists that all serve as perpetual reminders of what the poor do not have.  With rural poverty tends to come a simple life, estranged from conveniences and consistent reminders of wealth.  (I must say that I don’t see one as more or less difficult than another…just different…I still have thoughts to unpack, you’re just getting a stream of consciousness here) In a city, those reminders are unavoidable, so a sense of hopelessness lingers.  If you have no place to sleep in the bush, you can at least lie your blanket in the dirt or on the grass.  In an urban setting, you might have to settle for a makeshift mattress on a pile of garbage, as I saw a family of 4 do in Varanasi, India.

When I first set out on this journey two months ago, I had hoped that I would have a clearer picture of what I wanted to do next in life…vocationally speaking.  By September, I had so tired of the $700/mo life that I was thinking about just finding whatever job could pay me the most so that I could live more comfortably.  Now I realize that I have to do something to pay the bills, but I felt myself thinking about my own financial well being instead of serving the poor, the broken, and the hopeless.  All that to say that I’ve felt like a bit of a hypocrite…living the wealthy life of an international tourist while internally I’m wrecked by what I see.  Seven hundred dollars a month…that’s a fortune to most of the world.

So no, I don’t have any clear solutions to what is next for me, but I do know that I’m a little bit closer.  Whatever it is that I do vocationally, it cannot be for me.  I have a passion to serve those in need and if I neglect that passion, I’ll be restlessly pursuing greater vanity.

Farewell, India…you’ve taught me much.

Iran Q&A

My British friend Chris and I in Isfahan

If I ever get to the point in life where I have an online mailbag, I’ll be elated.  For years I’ve read sports columns in this format...while envying the writers question by question.  So for my blog about Iran I’m getting to give the mailbag a shot...I hope you enjoy! (if anyone wants to send me emails about my sports opinions I could make that a mailbag too. What’s that? Nobody interested in that? Crickets...crickets....

Ok for real...

  

What was the most endearing aspect of Iranian culture? - Jordan and Lee Anne Johnson (Narok, Kenya)

Perhaps it's simplistic, but to me it still comes down to the people.  Nearly everyone we met took a genuine interest in us and warmly welcomed us to their country.  Those I met were keenly aware of their country's less than stellar global reputation, so it was important for them to show Iran as a friendly, welcoming place.  Just like any other country, the citizens don't necessarily agree with their government's decisions and policies, thus they're eager to help change that perception.  Regardless of their motivation, I saw Iranians as people who warmly welcome visitors...which is pretty endearing to a visitor.

As you already stated, the people are generally very nice compared to the "general consensus" or the politics of any country. Did you find that to be true, and who was the one person or personality that you met in Iran that really sticks out? Also, what was the one God thing that happened in Iran, because it seems that you got a Visa for a reason. -Scott Tageson

The average American doesn't have the most favorable view of Iran, and much of that is due to their political situation.  I as partially answered in Jordan's question; I did find the locals to be very kind and nonjudgmental.  One person who stands out to me is a man by the name of Amin, a man around my age, who I met in Isfahan.  He walked up to me and politely asked if I would have a conversation with him.  We talked for fifteen minutes or so about our countries, our jobs, our opinions, and our families.  At one point he asked me what I thought of the Iranian people and he seemed genuinely surprised that an American man spoke kindly of Iranian citizens.  Later he said, "You don't think that all of us are terrorists?"  "Of course not" I replied. He asserted (as did a variety of others that I met throughout my time there) that the negative opinions of Iran are the fault of American propaganda.  I assured him that the vast majority of Americans don't consider all Iranians to be terrorists and told him that it's a shame extremists can end up defining their home countries.  After we finished talking, he asked for a picture with his camera phone so that he could tell his friends that he met an American.  With a smile he departed and said "please greet your family and friends back home...pleasure to meet you." 

I would have liked more time to talk with Amin so that I could ask his opinions on his own government.  Even so, he was very engaging, kind, and intelligent, and I'll choose to remember Iran by Amin and people like him instead of their government.    

Did you have tea with anyone? If so, I'd like that story. -Michelle Arnold (Nashville, TN)

I actually didn't have tea with anyone, though I was invited.  On our last morning in Tehran, I stood on the elevator with a man and who told me he was in Tehran to take his wife to the hospital and we had the following conversation:

Iranian man: I came from far to take my wife to the hospital...she is a little unwell but should be ok.
Me:  Well I hope she gets well soon and is seen quickly today
IM: Yes, yes, thank you.  Do you have a wife?
M: No, I sure don't
IM: haha...oh, you see for me two wives, three wives...no problem!
M: (chuckles) yea, that would definitely be a problem for me
IM: Please...for tea?

So I did successfully get an invitation for tea, but I had to turn my new friend down because we were leaving for the city of Isfahan a few minutes later.
Another interesting elevator story...
In the same elevator several days later (we returned to Tehran to fly out), a man asked my friend Bev and I where we were from as we entered the elevator.  I've been a bit reluctant to divulge my nationality considering the tension between the US and Iran so I replied "Our group is from England." (I thought that was a clever response since I avoided the question without lying)  He said "I am from Iraq, why did you come destroy everything? Tony Blair destroyed everything!" I didn't really know how to respond to that and since he had a smile on his face I knew that he had no ill intentions toward me so I just said "If it were up to me, that wouldn't be."

How does Iran compare to the rest of Africa? –Adam Griffith (Ft. Myers, FL)

Sunset in the Iranian countryside

Funny question, Adam (he's joking about Iran being in Africa fyi).  My African experiences are isolated to Kenya and Uganda, and those countries are vastly different from Iran. For one, Iran is certainly more developed than eastern Africa.  The infrastructure is fairly good and modern convinces are readily available.  Kenyan roads are comically bad (but getting better...that new road from Nairobi to Narok is glorious!), whereas in Iran we enjoyed miles and miles of well paved interstate.  Perhaps the only way that Iran reminded me of Africa was in the scenery.  Like parts of Kenya, desert with sparse vegetation extend to brown mountains on the horizon.  This makes for beautiful sunrises and sunsets but little else. 
                Culturally, however, Iran and eastern Africa (and pretty much everywhere else I've been) are completely different.  In Iran, everything operates within the confines of the restraint of the Islamic government. Media is closely controlled; every newspaper and TV broadcast (at least all I saw) extols the government for its competence, lauds the national military strength, and portrays the west (specifically the USA) as arrogant aggressors intent on keeping Iran from prospering.  The most obvious way to see Islamic law is within the dress of the women.  At all times while in public, ladies must keep their heads, legs, and arms covered.  In Kenya and in maybe other parts of the world there's certainly a cultural dress code that should be observed, but this one felt different.  I think part of it is because there's a lack of color...everything is black, brown, or (if you're really getting flashy) dark blue.  In Eastern Africa you often see women in vibrant colors, and that's not the case in Iran. 

Hmmm, questions... here we go. On the whole how would you describe the demeanor of the people you encountered? Was there a consistent military presence? Did you ever feel/were you ever followed? Love you buddy be awesome. –Mike Sheagren (Ft. Myers, FL)                           
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      

Demeanor of the people:  Overall, I'd say people are friendly and helpful in Iran. With the few exceptions of people being sullen and grumpy (like anywhere else), the Iranian people are wonderful.  Smiles are universal and I saw a lot in Iran.

Military: I actually didn't see much of a military presence.  Aside from a few bases and the like that we passed, I didn't see anything.  I did expect to see guards and men with guns everywhere but that was not the case. 

Were we followed:  When we got to our tour bus, I thought it was strange that we had 2 drivers plus one tour guide.  We were told that we had a backup driver for when our regular driver was tired. Our backup driver never touched the wheel and was as always careful to do a headcount each time we loaded up in the van.  He never said much and constantly kept a watchful eye on everyone.  He didn't speak a word of English but seemed like a nice, helpful guy. His presence may have been merely for security purposes, but regardless, we were monitored.                              

OzBus friends in Isfahan

Alright, that's it for the Iran mailbag...if you're interested in knowing more about my time in Iran, feel free to ask more questions. Also, if I have posted a ton of new pictures on Facebook...check em out here. I'll be posting about Nepal and the rest of my time in India in the next few days.  Thanks again for reading/supporting...

More India and turning 27

After leaving Armristar, we made a stop at a small town on the way to Jaipour.  We didn’t know anything about this location and didn’t have much time to discover it, so six of us left the hotel just to explore.  We made it about 200 yards off the premasis when a man my around age approached and started talking.  Unfortunately, I’ve become suspicious in India because conversations often start as friendly and enjoyable and quickly turn to a sales pitch or a not so subtle ask for money. However, my friend here seemed much more interested in discussing Richard Gere, the US, and the various downtown London department stores than trying to sell me postcards.  After walking for a while he asked where we were going, and I told him we were just exploring-looking for a park, palace, or temple.  He then told me the location of a local temple and volunteered to show us the way and give a tour…what a great guy!  Along the way, we passed a veterinary university where our friend was enrolled.  He explained his studies and the activities that take place on campus and that one of the main forms of recreation is basketball. My eyes lit up on hearing that, and I told him how much I love to play.  “You want to play? Come now,” he said.  Sure enough, the school had a fabulous outdoor full court where a dozen or so guys were playing, so we walked up and asked to join in.

After Awal and I each took a few practice shots (both firing up glorious airballs on our first attempts), the guy who seemed to be the ring leader asked us to play 2 on 2.  Of course we did. (Asking me if I want to play basketball has always been about like asking Dwight Schrute if he’d like a little more authority…the answer is always yes, even if I don’t know what I’m doing).

The two best players jumped out to play us and the rest formed a small crowd along the baseline. Initially, it looked bleak for the Americans.  Before we could shake off the rust we found ourselves down 4-0 (playing to 11 by ones and twos) when I decided I’d be better off playing barefoot instead of playing with flip-flops.  The change seemed to help and we brought it to 8-4 when our tour guide came over to tell us it was time to go to the temple.  Our basketball buddy told our guide “Please do not disturb us as we are having great fun,” so our group headed on to the temple and we stayed to finish up. (pretty nice way for our buddy to tell the others to go away)  We weren’t about to go down quietly, so Awal went back to his roots and started playing fundamental Indiana basketball (sharp passes, solid defense, strong rebounding, quick cuts), I found my quick-fatboy low-post game (jump hooks, head fakes, put backs, spin moves), and we pulled out an 11-10 comeback victory.  Go us.

We high fived a few people and briefly talked the guys there when our opponent offered to give us a ride back to the hotel.  Three sweaty (and not so small) guys hopped on his little Honda motorbike and rode the mile or so back to our hotel.  What a kind and generous gesture from our new friend.

Awal and I got to play pickup ball and the rest of our group received a free tour of the local temple, all thanks to the generosity and hospitality of the Indian people.  I’m learning that many citizens here treat foreigners as their own personal guest; it’s quite an honor to be their guest.


Jaipour, India

Jaipour, I learned, is one of the most visited cities in the country for its forts and other historic monuments.  The city itself is the first place in India where the crowd and poverty truly struck me.  Jaipour is a fairly compact town, so I was shocked to find out that the population is over 3 million (about half the population of the entire state of Tennessee).  The vast amount of people in a small space is perpetually evident.  Each street is bustling with cars, buses, rickshaws, livestock, dogs, pedestrians, salesmen, and children.  Even the side streets are packed.  We rolled into Jaipour in the late evening on the 5th so all there was to do was find dinner and go to bed.  Awal and I weren’t too crazy about the idea of hotel food so we decided to go for a walk until we found food. Our friend Frankie came along with us, so she ended up being dragged into a guys night out.  After stumbling into some rougher parts of town, we backtracked to a main road when I spotted a familiar sign: Pizza Hut.  Since it would be my 27th birthday in a few hours, what better place to be than in a Pizza Hut? (Anyone else remember the Pizza Hut Kids Club? You’d get a free personal pizza on your birthday and a lame Land Before Time toy or something like that…I much preferred the crappy basketballs they gave out every March)  We all enjoyed a western treat and headed back to the hotel to hang out on the roof. (By the way, considering my affinity for the night sky and cool breezes, I love rooftops…especially if I have a cold drink and a guitar)  We sat around telling stories, playing guitar, and singing along for around an hour.  Suddenly, I noticed a solitary firework explode in the distance.  I looked at my watch and there it was: 12:00 midnight…my 27th birthday.  In celebration, Awal ran around and danced a ridiculous jig while saying “happy birthday” over and over.  We then decided that it would be a good idea to jump off a nearby 2 foot ledge and take a take a picture in the process (if done correctly, it would look like we were jumping off the side of the building).  Initially, Awal and I jumped while Frankie tried to get the picture.  Our first few takes didn’t turn out so well, so Awal and Frankie switched.  We took another jump, and though I landed just fine, Frankie did not.  Instead of landing nicely on her foot, she landed on its side, severely spraining her ankle in the process.  Being the fine young men we are, Awal and I took good care of her and since each of us had dealt with severe sprains before, we knew what to do.  I’ll never forget that I spent the first few minutes of my 28th year searching for ice in Jaipour at 12:15AM…not so easy. (side note, she is recovering nicely)

The next day, we had a full day of sightseeing scheduled.  We explored a palace which possessed an encircling 9km wall as well as a few other monuments.  I know there were plenty of nuggets of cultural significance throughout the day, but I can’t say that I remember any.  Though I enjoyed it all, nothing really stood out to me.  Most likely the reason for that is that I spent much of the day lost in my own personal reflection.  For me, every birthday is a reference point for where I am in life, so I thought about where I’ve been, where I am, and where I’m going.  A large part of the reason I’m on this trip is that I wanted to take time just to think and write.  So on the 6th, I did a lot of thinking to myself.  No talking, just sorting out changes, chaos, excitement, and tragedy of the past two years.  As this grand journey continues, I hope to continue to make time to think, write, and listen.

I still have some catching up to do for India (we went to the Taj Mahal and caught one night of the Commenweath Games in Dehli) but I’m most excited to talk about Nepal.  My next few updates should be more interesting…full of rhinos, elephants, water, adventure, and my answers to questions about Iran.  As always, thanks for reading

Amristar, India

Amritsar, India

After our semi-stifling week in Iran, I anticipated India being a refreshing change…it was.

When we arrived at the Tehran airport, I expected a bit of an ordeal going through customs and immigration.  As I learned from my border entry experience, the guards don’t see many US passports come through and considering all the “random” screenings given to middle eastern people in an American airport, reciprocity seemed certain.  However, I received a nonchalant passport stamp and passed through the second most lax airport security system I have ever seen without a single interruption. (The most lax I’ve ever seen was in Liberia, Costa Rica where I threw my bags on a cart that passed through something that resembled a drive through window more than an x-ray machine and walked through a metal detector that was supported on 3 sides by cinderblocks) 

We flew directly from Tehran to Amritsar, India, a small but significant town near the India-Pakistan border.  Our first afternoon we drove out to the border where every day the two nations engage in an elaborate ceremony.  Soldiers from each country assemble outside the government building within their respective national boundaries and demonstrate their marching techniques to an energetic crowd of roughly 3,000 people.  We sat on the Indian side and it was difficult to see what was going on behind the Pakistan border, but it seemed like each group of soldiers were doing the same sort of marches.  The ceremony culminates with each side opening the gate to their country and soldiers lowering the flags of their respective countries while saluting one another.  Perhaps the most entertaining part of it all is before the actual ceremony begins.  Loud, upbeat music plays as women take turns running the Indian flag up and down the street and then joyously dance together (men aren‘t allowed to run the flag…after seeing some teenage boys down there getting in line to run I thought I‘d give it a shot…nope…”Gents not allowed“).  After spending a week in Iran where at best women have to live in cultural restraint and at worst are an afterthought, seeing women honored and appreciated here was refreshing. The pageantry is fun, but the atmosphere is what makes the border ceremony so enjoyable.  If you’re not dancing, chanting, clapping, waiving a flag, or cheering, you’re at least smiling.  Maybe I was just enjoying the moment, but I felt a sense of great  national pride all around me without an ounce of nationalism.

After the border ceremony, we made our way to the Harmandir Sahib, or Sikh Golden Temple.  By the time we arrived, night had fallen and the temple was beautifully illuminated.  I didn’t know a thing about Sikhism, but I learned much by the atmosphere of the temple and the attitudes of the people.  An enormous marble entryway (one of four to signify openness to visitors) led us into the temple where a golden structure sits in the middle of a football field sized lake.  Though not crowded, the temple was most certainly full when we entered.  In every direction people prayed, meditated, slept, sang, and bathed.  The temple is open 24 hours to anyone, and they even feed thousands a day…all for free.  While walking around and taking it all in, my friend and fellow Oz-Bus tripper Frankie asked me “I know this isn’t your religion, but do you feel close to your God in here?”  To which I replied “Ten times out of ten I feel closer to God in nature…at the mountains or the beach.  Structures don’t do much for me.  However, I cannot help but appreciate these people who believe in something bigger than themselves and warmly welcome all comers.  They even feed them and give shelter if it’s needed.  I definitely feel God in that.”

My feeling of welcome was soon confirmed.  On a peninsula in the center of the lake stands the part of the temple that gives the namesake. Awal and I wanted to check it out, so we proceeded up the walkway to the golden building and ran into a long line.  At this point, we decided to turn back and pass on going inside the main part of the temple.  First of all, we weren’t sure if it would be disrespectful for us to enter, and second we thought the line would take a long while.  Seeing that we had turned around and started back the other direction, an older man in traditional Sikh dress gently snagged my t-shirt as I was passing by. “Why are you turning back?” he asked.  I replied that the line was long and I wanted to remain respectful.  With kindness and sincerity in his eyes he said “Please…please come inside.  The wait is not long, and you are most welcome here…please.”  This man knew good and well that I’m not Sikh, but he not only welcomed me, he urged me to go inside.  I smiled, thanked him and Awal and I turned back to enter. 

The entrance was packed, so we walked through in a semi-hurried crammed mess, but a respectful semi-hurried crammed mess nonetheless.  We passed through so quickly, that I struggle to remember may details aside from the fact that everything is ornate and either gold or red and in the very center, the Sikh holy scriptures sit with dozens of men and women sitting in worship.  Mostly I admired the devotion of these people and understood that likely someone near me was making their once in a lifetime trip to this holy place…a landmark life moment they’d never forget.  As we exited, two lines formed where people receive free food from one of the Gurus.  Initially, Awal and I walked past, again fearing we’d be disrespecting.  One of the Gurus made eye contact with me as we skipped around the line and to the exit…he smiled and motioned with his hand for us to get in line…so we did.  I approached his station (sort of a massive wok with a mound of mysterious brown mush) cupped my hands and received, from my new friend’s bare hands, my portion.  I’m still not entirely sure what it was I ate…something like cornmeal with brown sugar…but the makeup and taste of the food isn’t important…the act of giving and providing, however, is.  Departing from the temple that night I realized that like the people making their once in a lifetime pilgrimage, I too had an experience that I’d never forget.

More updates soon to come, including answers for the Iran questions.  My apologies for my lack of updates and pictures. I've not been able to update pictures because the connections have been painfully slow.  I hope to have good internet soon...but who knows?

Thanks so much for reading

Where Americans Can't Go: Iran

After Cappadocia, we spent two days driving nearly non stopped, and two uneventful nights in smaller Turkish towns on the way to the Iranian border.  Before I left for this trip, nearly everyone who saw my itinerary said something to the effect of “Iran…woah…be careful there…aren’t you nervous about that?”  To which my reply was something like “There’s no way I’ll get a visa to Iran anyway, so it won’t be an issue.”  Lo and behold, two weeks before our trip departed, I received an email stating that my visa had been approved.  Americans simply don’t get into Iran…the only time any of us do is if the traveler is with a tour group, and if the visa is obtained in Istanbul.  So on our first morning in Istanbul, I went to the Iranian Embassy and picked up my visa.  If you know me well, you know that I don’t really get nervous or unsettled about much, but I must admit…going to Iran made me a little uneasy.

I’ve been enough places to know that regardless of government policy and prevailing stereotypes, the people you meet and with whom you interact are almost always friendly and helpful.  So even though I was a little unsettled,  I felt that once I got into the country all would be well.  The process of getting in, however, could get hairy.  *One additional note: Although I received an Iranian Visa, Awal did not.  Apparently it was merely a clerical error, but either way his application was not in Istanbul and he (with two others) stayed behind in Turkey, so I was the only American making this journey.

The Turkish-Iranian border is a beehive of travelers, guards, officials, guys trying to make a buck exchanging money, and kids who have nothing better to do than watch it all transpire.  I passed through the Turkish side with little incident, entered the no-man’s land, and approached a gate bearing a massive Iranian flag with the images of two of Iran’s leaders and the greeting “Wel come to the Islamic Republic of Iran.” Moving forward, I handed my passport to the boarder guard who gave my blue passport (which stood out among the 20 some red ones) a double take.  He gave me a half grin-half chuckle as he returned my passport and said with inquisitiveness in his voice “America…ok, go.”

I spent the next two hours or so waiting on paperwork, getting fingerprinted, and as my British friends say “fretting” over the whole situation.  Eventually, my visa was stamped and my blue fingertips and I were sent into out of the building where a gentle mist and distant storm clouds greeted me as I stepped onto Iranian soil.

I have so much to say about Iran…so much that I’m struggling to write it all.  I’d like some help on this one.  Please send me a question about my time in Iran…any question at all and  I’ll answer each of them in an upcoming post.  All I’ll say at this point is that I learned a great deal, met plenty of wonderful people, and remained safe throughout.  So please send me your questions and I’ll give a good and thorough answer…maybe sprinkle in a story or two.  Thanks!

Cappadocia, Turkey

As has been the case for much of the trip (and for much of my roadtrip history when I’m not driving), I slept for the majority of our morning drive on our journey from Istanbul to Cappadocia.  When I first nodded off we were still inside the city, but when I woke up the landscape had changed dramatically.  Lush greenery, rivers, and streams gave way to a brown semi arid desert.  In American terms, goodbye Indiana, hello Arizona.  At a remote truck stop we all piled out of the coach to take a break.  Initially this seemed like any other rural stop, dirty and run down, but turns out we were at salt flat.  I knew nothing about salt flats aside from every time a land speed record is set, it’s done at a salt flat, and standing in the middle of one it was easy to see why.  The ground is so incredibly white that sunglasses are a necessity, much like the morning after a night of intense snowfall.  Amazingly, this flat is actually a lake for half of the year.  And not because TVA dams it up, but because the rainfall varies so greatly.  We took a few pictures and I bought the Turkish version of Pepperidge Farm Goldfish and we headed on our way.

For hours we drove through desert, the scenery hardly changing, when suddenly a valley appeared as if it had been carved out of the ground below us and we descended to its bottom.  The spectacle of Cappadocia isn’t necessarily the valley, but the homes inside.  Within the valley, oddly shaped rock/mud homes seemingly stick up out of the ground nearly everywhere you look.  Every home/structure seems to be carved out of the rock that used to be there…each one a semi-modern cave dwelling.  The omnipresence of these in Cappadocia has made it a popular tourist destination, so conveniences and helpful English speakers are abundant.

After getting a good night of rest at the Flintstone Cave Lodge (under a pink Pebbles comforter no less) , Awal and I decided to rent bicycles to explore the area.  Initially, after climbing a decent grade, enjoying the view, and coasting back down, this seemed that a fantastic idea.  We spotted out a hill way out in the distance and decided to bike out toward it.  After traveling several kilometers mostly downhill, we got on to a trail and made it out to the a hill where we could climb around, check out some of abandoned dwellings and enjoy the view of the city.   From the top of the hill, we spotted a trail that winded through the hills and back to the main road and decided to bike down it.  Unfortunately, after just a few feet Awal realized that his rear tire was completely flat, and he could no longer peddle.  So here we were, off on a trail several kilometers from town without any option but to push our bikes back.  Going back to the road would have meant walking a good bit out of the way, so instead we pushed our bikes up the aforementioned trail.  If we were merely walking uphill, then it wouldn’t have been so bad.  Or if we were pushing our bikes on flat ground, that would have been ok too…pushing the bikes on a hilly dirt trail, however, was grueling.  After pushing for an hour or so we found a cave where we stopped for a short rest.  People were passing by on the trail every so often, so we knew we were still in a safe area…we’d even ask them “how far to the main road?” and nearly every person replied “you’re nearly there!”  Considering this, we didn’t worry too much about being dehydrated or lost or any of those other things you hear about idiot hikers doing.  Besides, we were merely idiot bikers that wouldn’t be so idiotic had the tire not gone flat.  In the middle of our laughing about the situation and discussing our resentment for the bikes, Awal looked up and said “Is that an apple tree?”  Now, I’ve never come across an apple tree in the Turkish wilderness before, but it looked as much like an apple tree as any other apple tree I’ve ever seen, and those red fruits dangling from its branches sure looked like apples.  Awal climbed the tree and from his perch tossed me a smaller one.  I caught it and after debating whether or not it was a good idea, took a bite from the semi-mysterious fruit.  Sure enough, it was an apple…about the best apple I’ve ever tasted.  We sat in the shade and ate as many of the ripe apples that we could reach on the tree and then continued on our way.

Remember earlier when I said that the passersby told us we were nearly there?  Apparently “nearly there” means “not very close” around here because it took about 2 more hours to reach the main road. Even though walking with the bikes was a royal pain, we had just enough energy and sustenance to get us through.  When we were hungry, we found apples, when we were thirsty, we stumbled upon a roadside stand selling water, when we were unsure about directions, we crossed paths with a British man on a BMW motorcycle who affirmed we were going the right way, and when we were thirsty again, we found a water spigot next to a campground.  Weary, heavy legged, and sick of being in possession of bicycles, we made it back to the Flintstone Cave Hotel and promptly began doing nothing for the rest of the day.

Istanbul, not Constantinople

Q: What do you call a Turkish school kid who takes your money?

A: An Istanbully

As I left for this trip, my wonderful big sister took my itinerary and gave recommendations from books and her friends for where to go and what to do at each of my destinations.  Most locations have 2 or 3 lines worth of text, but Istanbul, Turkey has 3 pages.  Considering that at one point, this place essentially was the center of the world, it’s completely understandable.  As opposed to giving a chronology of what we did, I’ll describe the places/moments that gripped me.

The Seaside

Along the Bosporus River at the Golden Horn peninsula in old town Istanbul lies a miles long shore of rocks bordering on boulders strewn as if God took his hand and tossed them as gravel lining the river.  The shore in and of itself is nothing extraordinary…there’s no inviting sandy beach and the water is choppy in behavior and dingy in appearance.  However, for local men, this is the place to hang out.  Stretching the entirety of my 30 minute walk along the seaside, grown men sat everywhere along the rocks.  Some fished, some read, some sat and stared at nothing in particular, some seemed to be working on their tan, some bathed, some played chess, some ate, and all seemed to be enjoying the company and comradarie of friends.  I often joke about how much fun it would be to make a fort like we all used to when we were kids.  You know, you and your buddies grab a few mattresses, pillows and anything else that can provide an impromptu barrier, make a sign for the outside, grab some Doritos and Cokes for the inside and camp out-protected from the world-until you have a truly good reason to leave.  At the shore I observed the same childlike attitude displayed in these men.  Presumably, many had finished work for the day and they were there to hang out and relax with their friends.  Better yet, some of the guys had taken some boulders and brought mortar or Quikrete to fill in the gaps and make their own fort where they can revel in their manhood.  I’ve found that as different as cultures may be, some traits remain ingrained in humanity…one of the most prominent of those is the need for friendship...we weren’t meant to be alone.  Some cultures go out and get drinks, some sit for hours in public baths, some play chess, some build forts by the sea, and some even play a little fantasy football.  Seeing this trait in other cultures makes me feel a bit more normal…and I look forward to observing this on the rest of my journey.

The Grand Bizarre

For some, Istanbul’s Grand Bizarre is an overwhelming and intimidating spectacle of commerce.  Vendors selling nearly everything you can imagine (and some things you can’t) stretch as far as the eye can see.  Many of the salesmen hurriedly approach and do their best to convince you that their item is exactly what you need.  I’ve been to my fair share of open air markets (I grew up in East Tennessee where you’re always within a 30 minute drive of a good flea market…ain’t my first rodeo) and love bartering, so I’m in my element in this sort of place.  Some of our group needed to buy a few items, but I didn’t have a thing to purchase, so I just enjoyed walking around and having friendly exchanges with salesmen.  Here are a few gems from the day (bear in mind, I always keep a smile on my face when talking with a vendor):

Vendor: My friend…you want cologne?

Matt: No thanks, I naturally smell good.

V: Look Turkish spinning top…50 cents!

M: I’d get dizzy

V: Socks…you need socks?

M: No thanks, my feet are really hot

V: My friend, we have shoes in your size

M:  I’m good thanks.

V: But we have jeans in your size too!

M: (scans the crowd and realizes I’m a relative giant) I doubt it man.

V: You come for carpet?!

M: No thanks, I don’t need a carpet

Awal: Yea, where are we going to put it?

V: By now, and I’ll ship it to you…where are you from?

M: Tennessee

V: Oh, like Texas…people in the south loooooooove carpets.

Awal: I do like carpet

M: It does feel nice on your feet

V: Come inside and look

M: No thanks, I don’t have a house…or really anywhere of my own to live

V: (puzzled) Oh…well…ok, bye

Awal: For real, how would we carry a carpet?

M: It’s probably the thing that is keeping us from total happiness.

The Grand Bizarre…gotta love it.

The Haggia Sophia

So far on this trip, Awal and I haven’t made many bad decisions.  Granted, the Sleeping Beauty Motel was a disaster but average is pretty high. Unfortunately, we made a mistake by choosing to walk through the Haggia Sophia instead of Topkopi Palace.  I had two reference citing Topkapi as the best place to see in Istanbul, but I went with the mindset of thinking “How can you go to Istanbul without seeing one of the most significant religious and historical landmarks in the world?”  Inside, the Haggia Sophia is an extremely interesting place…a true intersection of Christianity and Islam.  Christian mosaics uncovered after years of a plaster coating are a site to behold, not so much because of their beauty but because of their significance.  However, I think one can behold its exterior beauty and sheer mass and get 70% of the appreciation.  All I heard about Topkapi were raving reviews…each place was about $15 to enter and we only wanted to pick one…oh well.  Even so, the 30% of extra appreciation that one receives from standing inside the Haggia Sophia is significant, if only to let your mind wander and imagine what all transpired within the building.  For a variety of reasons, standing inside made me feel the effects of religion dictated by government…the ills of theocracy if you will (I have more thoughts on this, but not for this venue).

The Barbershop:

pre shave

After a few weeks of traveling, Awal and I both had begun to look a bit scraggly and considered a beard trim.  Personally, I’ve been a proud beard wearer for about 5 years now- and in that time I’ve only been clean shaven 3 times (once cause the Florida heat was too hot, once as a joke to get a creepy mustache, and once in Kenya because I felt like eagles would soon nest in there).  However on this day, we saw a sign outside a small barbershop in old city Istanbul advertising a shave/massage for 10 Lira (roughly $7) and decided to go for it (hey, I’ve always been curious about getting straight blade shave).  

We walked in and were escorted by a man sitting outside (who mar or may not have had anything to do with the shop) to some metal chairs sitting just inside the shop.  The barber, a man perhaps in his late 50s had longer grayish-black hair with a receding hairline and a fierce mustache spoke no English.  He looked a bit like a 70s-80s hair band rocker who was holding on to the remnants of former glory…or perhaps a guy who drives a Harley…or maybe, just maybe he looks like the most skilled barber in Istanbul.  His previous patron left and I jumped into the chair not knowing what to expect.  I gave a sign language descrption of what I wanted done by rubbing my beard and then signaling that a base runner is safe, then rubbed my head and gave the ‘don’t do it’ finger wag.  He smiled and nodded, rubbed my beard, and then said a few exasperated Turkish words presumably griping about the amount of facial hair he had to contend with.  In an instant, most of my beard was gone thanks to a pair of hair clippers and a narrow guard.  Then my new friend got some water out of a teapot that had been sitting on a hotplate and mixed it with some shaving cream, of which a heaping amount was lathered all over my face.  Carefully, he pulled out his razor, attached a fresh blade and slowly scraped the hair off my face.  One thing I didn’t really thing about, was the fact that a strange guy’s hands would be all over my lips and face…gotta admit, that was weird.  The barber (I really wish I knew his name) continued with his precision until my face was as smooth as marble.  He took great detail in getting every hair off my face and even put some sort of lotion on the nicked places.  I thought we were done at this point, but I was wrong.  From out of nowhere, a lighter appeared. Awal remained in his metal chair and through the mirror we had the unspoken communication of “Holy crap…what is he about to do with that?”  Turns out the lighter wasn’t to light a cigarette, instead to singe the tiny hairs off the end of my ear.  Rapidly, he whisked the flame over and over my ear, leaving it as bald as an ear can be. Fire=awesome.  Suddenly, I remembered that the sandwich board that advertised the shave also said “massage.”  Perhaps thankfully, no massage came with the price of the shave…

I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the face staring back at me…short hair and a cleanly shaven face?  Me 5 years ago, but that’s surely not someone I know.  I nodded a nod of thanks to the barber and gave the seat over to Awal and rubbed my smooth face, impressed with the barber’s work. Hey, I don’t shave often, but when I do it oughta be an experience right?

Even though this is lengthy, it’s a mere snippet of my thoughts and experiences. When I return I hope to sit down and expound on it all…give a bit more commentary and a few less reports.

 I hope you’re enjoying this journey with me…

Bulgaria

Knock, knock:
Who’s there?
Sofia
Sofia who?
SOFIAT UNION!! I AM THE ONE ASKING THE QUESTIONS!

Of all the places on our itinerary, Bulgaria excited me the least.  Nothing against the country, I’ve met a lot of great people during my previous two visits, but unlike everywhere else on this journey, I’ve been there before.  Sofia was only a short stop as we arrived in the late afternoon and were scheduled to leave by the following morning.  Our hotel was a bit of a spectacle as it rose 19 stories above the ground and happened to be the tallest building in the area.  Strangely, I’ve twice stayed in Bulgarian hotels that were half renovated, and I’ve twice stayed in a non-renovated Soviet side…probably fitting considering my past history with hotels.  After a night of sweating and sort of sleeping in the 15th story room (heat rises right?), we all set off for a walking tour of Sofia.  I had seen everything in the tour just a few months before, so I mostly followed along semi-engaged.  Around lunchtime, we headed off to Plovdiv, a small town 2 hours east of Sofia.  Plovdiv, apparently is the 2nd oldest continually inhabited city of the world and has evolved into a relaxed touristy community with gelato stands, travel information centers and Lacoste stores. With only a 6 or so hours to spend in town, we spent the daylight semi hurriedly walking around and exploring town and the evening once again eating what we could find for cheap.  Awal and I made the gluttonous decision to eat too much for dinner and  regretted it almost immediately. Since each of felt like we were carrying bricks around in our stomachs, we decided to walk it off.  We came upon some sort of city/government  building that possesses a massive marble slab that serves as an entrance.  Unfortunately, we didn’t have a football to throw around (one of the items I should have packed…like more t-shirts and some shorts…I still don’t know how after all my travels that I remain a poor packer) so we relived the glory days by running a few football drills.  I wonder what bypassers thought? “Hey, there are two idiots running and jumping around  at town hall…stupid teenagers.”

That’s it for Bulgaria…and that’s soon to be it for Europe!

Serbia

Q: What did renowned Serbian chess player Boris Kostic say to each of his defeated opponents?
A: You got Serbed!

Yep, we went to Serbia.  Belgrade is a place that I can’t ever say that I thought I’d ever be for any reason…though I guess that applies to most of the places I’ve been so far on this journey.  Pulling into the city, Serbia’s relatively recent war torn past is apparent. Despite the presence of modern edifices and typical semi-big city conveniences, dilapidated structures and bombed out buildings aching for demolition still litter the streets.  Even so, Belgrade has its charm.  The first thing I heard about the town is that it has a fantastic fort overlooking the river and city.  I couldn’t help but think of all the family vacations to small Carolina coastal towns over the years when Dad would get excited for us all to go to the fort.  Well as I remember, I’d complain and gripe about stomping around a fort instead of spending more time building sand castles and getting in fights with waves, but then would thoroughly enjoy myself.  So now I like forts, and the one in Belgrade is a spectacle.

Overlooking the confluence of the Sava and Danube rivers, it sits at a beautiful location. Though the fortress was built in the 500s, it has been updated periodically through the past 1500 years and has the varying architecture to attest to that fact.  The structure itself is impressive, but the view overlooking the Danube is perhaps the best spot in Belgrade.  Apparently, many of the locals agree because there were at least 20 couples making out at the fort (of all ages I might add). Side note- there are gorgeous women all over in Belgrade...I've been a lot of places and I must say, Belgrade ranks up there with Knoxville, Birmingham, and Atlanta on the beautiful women scale. Ok, so I digress...

After walking around the fort for a good two hours or so, Awal and I decided to employ a new strategy for dinner. Considering how we're on a super tight budget for the trip, we went with the "walk around and eat cheap stuff for sale on the street" method.  Yep, great decision. We managed to get another fantastic kebab and eat gelato twice.  Gotta love adventure eating.

One night in Belgrade...I say it was a success...on to Bulgaria

Pictures are up!

Here are just a few of the pictures that I've posted from our journey (about time, I know). The full album is on Facebook 

Just click the word "Facebook" above and you'll be there. Please check it out, comment, etc. 

Budapest

Q: What do you call an overbearing Hindu?
A: A Buddha pest
(terrible, I know)

You thought I was going to go with a play on Hungary didn’t you?  Can’t always go with the layup in life…

Making our way to Budapest, it was easy to see we are making our way to progressively more impoverished areas.  Compared to Port au Prince, Budapest may as well be Martha’s Vineyard, but the subtle shift from Austria and Germany is apparent.  Like Prague and Vienna, we had two nights to check out the city.  After rolling in around 5PM, we didn’t have much time to explore the city, so the whole group went out to a traditional Hungarian restaurant near city center.  Being a cheapskate, I was a bit leery of the establishment considering that it had all cloth napkins, a long wine list, and a fantastic location. Sure enough, this was one of the more expensive restaurants in Budapest…and my fantastic meal of stuffed cabbage was about $12.  One of my not so hidden talents is my ability to pack away the food and as this trip continues, I’m becoming known as one of the people who can serve as a garbage disposal (or a rubbish bin if you’re British).  The food was wonderful, and thanks to my abilities and the generosity of others had about 3 entrees. Go me.

Most noteworthy sites in Budapest are mostly in a central location, so instead of walking around for 8 hours like we did in Vienna, we merely walked for 5 (also we didn’t get lost).   The best spot in Budapest has to be at the Liberty statue which overlooks the Danube and all of downtown.  Getting up there took a bit of a climb, so that that made the view just bit better.  During our walk in Budapest, Awal and I both decided to wear our NFL jerseys (it was a Sunday after all).  We’re both suffering from a bit of football withdrawal, so we each brought one of our favorite bad jerseys. (in case you don’t know, our group of buddies from college all wear bad NFL jerseys whenever we hang out…an integral part of our “straight middle school weekends” so we’re taking straight middle school global and combating our football withdrawal at the same time) After walking all over creation, we came upon the world’s swankiest McDonald's where we spent an inordinate amount of time on the internet looking at the week 1 NFL scores.  We really didn’t have much else to do…and hey, it was nearly free.

Still, I give my apologies for the lack of pictures...still can't load a picture in less than 10 min.  Hopefully  some will show up on Facebook.

Cheers ya'll!