(below) backside of duomo

(below) L-facade of the dumo R-the baptistry.  Greenery left on the street from the morning market

(below) our group entertaining ourselves (for about half an hour) by trying to scare birds...This one wouldn't be shaken

(below) itlian violin maker explaining the process of violin making

(below) two bicycles near the entrance of the violin museum.

Ivan and I took a train to Southend-on-Sea, Essex on June 27th. We were staying at Ivan's parents house for the weekend.  Ivan's Dad picked us up at the station. They have a great two-story house.

I like the Conservatory. It's a nice place to relax. We sat in the Conservatory and had food and drinks. There was lots of food like scones with strawberry jam, muffins, crackers with cream cheese, wheat bagels and chocolate chip cookies. Everything was very good. I had a glass of orange juice. The food was all very delicious. Ivan bought his parents a Wii. He set everything up. We played the Wii Sports. We played tennis, bowling and golf. Ivan also got the QuickShot Mega Pack. It comes with pink and blue skin. Also, there's a thing where you put the Wii remote and then attach different things to eat like a tennis racket, wheel, golf club and a bat. I think it's pretty kewl. That night, Ivan, Neal and I went to the pub to have a drink. There's a big field we walked in and shortly after we arrived at The Parson Barn.

We each had a Kronenbourg. The kitchen had just closed. So, after the beer we walked to another pub. They had stopped serving food as well. We got lucky and found a cab driving by. Ivan flagged it down. We got in and weren't really sure where to eat. We figured that we would find something in the central part of Southend. I didn't mind what we ate. We asked the cab if there was a good Indian restaurant. But, he wasn't sure. Ivan mentioned that it was lucky that we caught the cab. The cab driver said that he thought he was a cab fare he was supposed to pick up in that area. We saw an Indian restaurant and Ivan told the cab driver to stop. He checked it out and thought it looked good. We went inside Sonali Tandoori. We shared three different curries. Ivan and I both ordered a Cobra beer. I can't remember what kind of curries we got. But, they were all good. It was a bit spicy. One was a great tomato sauce. We stopped by ASDA (British Wal-Mart). Neal wanted to make some passion fruit mojitos. We arrived back at the house. Neal made some good mojitos and we talked a bit. I saw a photography book that Neal made with his work. He's a talented photographer.

So, I've been writing down more backwards things.  I think that England is backwards.  Or maybe America is backwards.  Who's to say really?  I was in ASDA and I noticed that the 2 Liter Coke bottles were shaped differently than in the U.S.  I thought it was rather weird so I took a picture of it.

The guy who worked there probably thought I was mental.  He said she's taking a picture of the Coke bottles.  He said something to me.  But, I didn't have a clue to what he said.  Sometimes it's hard with the accents.  I think he said that I should have waited until they stocked it fully before taking my picture.  In England time is in military time.  So, I actually have to think when I want to know the time.  Ok, it's not that hard.  But, it's just something to get used to.  Also, how the dates are written are a bit backwards.  We put 07/03/08 for July 3rd, 2008 and in England it would be 03/07/08.  I've seen this before.. but it kind of throws you off when you're used to seeing it one way.  Another thing I noticed is the sinks.  The faucets in most public bathrooms seem to have a double-spout tap.  So, there will be a tap for hot on the left side and cold on the other side.  It's weird since the hot side is usually boiling and the cold is way too cold.  I turn on both taps and try to combine the water together with my hands.
Ivan told me about the great cheddar cheese that is made in England. Cheddar cheese was originally made in a village called Cheddar in Somerset, England. The cheese is so much better than the American version. It's so nutty and just tastes delicious. It's better to be eaten alone to appreciate the distinct flavor.

On Saturday, June 28th Ivan's family and I headed to the Leigh Folk Festival. The festival had different activities going on throughout the day. Ivan's parents wanted me to see the Morris dancers. It's a traditional English folk dance.

Here's a video of the dancing. My video kept blurring up though.  I'm not sure why though.  Hope my video isn't crappy on this new digital camera.

Morris dancers

The Morris dancers were definitely something very English that I've never seen before.  I like when they use the sticks and they hit their friends' stick.
Everybody was really hungry at this point. We had a reservation set for 1 pm at The Boatyard.

It's weird that the tide of the sea can recede over a mile. I've never seen that before. It makes the boats seems so sad and lonely. I didn't actually get to see the sea at full tide. Ivan's mum told me it can come in really fast.

The restaurant is very nice inside. At lunchtime, there's a set menu for a 2 or 3 course meal.

I picked the roasted chicken and cream cheese tart with a chili sauce for a starter. It was really tasty.  I got the Crunchy Confit of Duck Leg for my main course.  The duck had a crispy skin and it was placed on some baked beans.

I thought it was rather weird combination.  But, it actually quite good.  The duck was excellent.  I had a great meal with Ivan's family.  The view was fabulous from our table.  We were thinking of getting dessert.  Unfortunately, the service was a bit slow.  We said we'd probably just grab some ice cream while walking around.  We went back to the house not long after lunch.
Ivan, Neal and I went to The Parson Barn again for some beer. We were playing the card game Cheat. A band came on to play. We decided to go outside to drink and continue playing our game. There were so many mosquitoes flying around. The pesky bugs were trying to suck our blood. I got bit in the butt. I guess my jeans were riding a bit low that night. It certainly hurt. As I found out later.. I got bit twice. It was definitely fun playing Cheat. Neal is a fun and funny guy. He has a sense of humor similar to Ivan's. We headed back to the house. We watched some of the performers from the Glastonbury Festival. We saw Jay-Z and Amy Winehouse perform. Ivan performed some hypnosis to show his mum. He hypnotized me. I thought Ivan was Jay-Z. I told him to do an improv rap like the did at Glastonbury. He tried but it wasn't very good. I also thought that Ivan's mum Denise was actually my dad. It's easy for me to get hypnotized since it's been done so many times by Ivan. I don't know if Denise actually believed it or not.

I don't know when I'll get a chance to put up another blog post.  It might not be until I get back to Las Vegas.  We just have so much planned since we're back in London.  I will update next time with my last day in Southend. We then went to Scotland.  We did a nice 2 Day Tour of Loch Ness and Inverness.

i am working up a new web site and hopefully it will be live shortly.

in the meantime, here is a link to a collection of photos of mine.

http://gallery.mac.com/seth.brooks#gallery

There is no doubt that in his own country, their family, their own culture, the first traitor and the most similar welcome from the people, because of his defiance of conventional words and deeds, hacked the World Customs panic, all stick to the traditional, conservative People feel the world is approaching the end, all the careful Contentment Gou of the people Danchanxinjing. Therefore, the traitor has become rotten to the core of the first, the target of public criticism. Rentier succession of generations, are Deshi power and the power, diverse enough to live comfortably, preaching, to his statement of interest to him Wishing official closure, and then to his abusive, he framed, shot him……

Therefore, treason life is likely to be short-lived; traitor could easily be tried and slander, was on fire, was shot dead, or were deported to remote, exotic.

However, the traitor is always difficult to change their character, they are inherently "anti-bone". they have been sucking their host of that society, that culture, that class of "milk". He wrote. "This kind of fighter," perhaps the real treason is life: He walked into nothing of the RUF, in the face of all kinds of nod,a variety of weapons, has unwaveringly He also encountered a variety of Kind of figures and all sorts of tricks, philanthropists, scholars and scribes, the elderly, youth,gentlemen, science, ethics, public opinion, national essence, logic, justice, Eastern civilization…"but he still As always, the vote raised sharp gun…… This is the traitor's life. Foresight, burdened by heavy responsibility, lonely stubborn, more than fighting.

However, not all of the times require treason life. In particular, is a happy mediocrity of the times, people have to get their point bounty complacent, they do not like to hear the thunderous sky, Swallow's call, and willing to Chanmian melodious immersed in the Serenade, to enjoy the narrow space of Mai Mai and the warmth and quiet. At this time, there is a traitor sound of police vehicles. Of course, maybe I would like to wrong. At this time, more needs traitor fell Zhenbi a call. History, who can predict?

The world's largest tepee located in Medicine Hat, Alberta proudly greets anyone traveling through Southern Alberta. Although it is easy to spot during the day, the Saamis Tepee lights up beautifully at night to give visitors to the area a warm welcome. The structure stands more than 65 meters (213 feet) high and has a diameter or almost 50 meters (160 feet) at its widest point. The tepee was originally built in Calgary, Alberta to honor the Aboriginal people during the 1988 Olympics. In 1991, they moved the 200 metric ton (800 lbs) structure to Medicine Hat where it remains the pride of the city.

For those who travel into the heart of Medicine Hat, historic buildings house a wide array of specialty shops, restaurants, stores, and services that are completely different from both malls located in the city. The Medicine Hat Clay Industries National Historic District is one of the most unique historic sites in the country. Guided tours of the attraction tell the history of Medalta Potteries and Hycroft China Complexes along with the history of the clay industry. The factory was a leader in the brick and tile industry in the early 1900's until it and its sister factory in Redcliff, Alberta moved into the pottery and porcelain industries. Up until it closed in 1989, these factories produced a variety of famous pottery and china products.

Another Medicine Hat travel destination to include in your travel itinerary is the Esplanade Arts & Heritage Centre. Housing a world-class performance venue, spectacular art gallery, as well as historical archives, this state of the art building is the cultural hub of the city. They have musicians, artists, and dancers from all over the world giving you the perfect opportunity to see amazing performances and shows in a small town setting. The concert hall is just the right size to give everyone the perfect seat.

Whether you are seeking interesting sights, a historic journey, shopping, or culture, Medicine Hat has it all. The large number of amenities and location make it the perfect stop for everyone's travel plans. Feel free to venture through the city's hidden treasures and fall in love with this beautiful city. ©2008 Angie Haggstrom

Picture is copyrighted and was provided for this post
by:

SC Photo Ltd.

1202 4th Ave NE

Medicine Hat, AB

T1A 6B9

1-403-529-9500

http://www.scphoto.ca/

Luckily (?) there was a broken umbrella at the scene, that could double as a cane! So I had an old man cane, and still do, to prod people and things with. Also with luck, Sonya is a third year med student and knows what to do when you bust anything and where to go and where to buy the good drugs. Anyways, so after a long and painful process of getting to a road, which involved me sitting on the skateboard being pushed and stared at like I was a lunatic, we got into a taxi and headed to a public hospital. I could have gone to a private clinic and just used my insurance, but unfortunately "Skateboard accident" I don't think would fly for a refund on hospital expenses. So, off to yet another South American public hospital (previously went to one in Guayaquil, Ecuador).

It was actually really great. I was passing out from the pain by the time we made it to the emergency entrance and two doctors practically carried me into the emergency room. They checked it out right away, which involved them poking my foot and ankle a lot, I honestly couldn't help but yelling every swear word I know in English and in Spanish. The doctors I think had a lot of fun trying to joke around with me, one even started to sing O Canada. Like...where in life do you learn another country's national anthem? Just randomly? then decide to sing it to a patient in a hospital.

So I got wheeled around in a wheelchair, x-rays taken (without the lead vest to protect key organs from x-ray rays), and wheeled back around to be told I just ripped the muscle off the bone and fucked up all tendons and ligaments. Wonderful. So I opted not to get a cast, because they are the old-school plaster casts and showering with a bag on my leg didn't sound too appealing. So I went and rented crutches and a walking cast for about $20 for two weeks.  I like the idea of being able to rent stuff rather than buying it, especially when this is all temporary.

So, after the hospital I wanted to go to the event they had going on at the Plaza for Go Skateboarding Day.  About 3 liters of beer and some anti-inflammatory drugs later, I couldn't feel too much and was able to enjoy watching skateboarding.  At the end of the day decided it was a good idea to go home, and Agustina came over to stay the night. Her and Sonya took care of me for the following 8 days, of which I was so fucked on Valium I didn't even get out of bed.  Go figure when I'm in perfectly good health, just being emo and moody I don't get out of bed, but this time when I actually wanted to go do stuff... I end up drunk and drugged and unable to walk. Life just rules sometimes.

So it's been rough, but I'm walking around now in my walking cast aka the Astronaut Boot, and I can hobble around without it.  Slowly getting my shit together, I went to my final exam, which is a whole other story that I'll tell next time.

So guys, enjoy your feet and ankles, because it sucks lacking one.  Maybe one day I'll be able to go to Body Parts-R-Us and purchase a new left ankle every time this happens. But until then, I have to heal the old fashioned way....alcohol, prescription drugs, McDonalds, and physiotherapy.

Cuidate.

"You don't know a place until you've run in it" has held true for me in Edison, Cambridge, Maine, Massachusetts, Pennsylvania, Vermont, Virginia, and China, maybe a couple more. I have some random but very clear memories of running past cornfields early in the morning at the hour the sun is the crispest, or running through winding, sheltered roads and wooden lodges, and maybe even a somewhat fond memory of running under lampposts and past coffeeshops in Cambridge. Maybe it's bad that I'm talking about it in retrospect because it usually means it isn't a habit/it isn't consistent anymore. BUT, I'm going to work on Lima, and getting the habit back in general. Lima's interesting: this was definitely not a standard run, since for the first time I was very conscious of an element of shit-I-need-to-get-home-before-I-get-raped.

Running when not in the U.S. always attracts stares, which is annoying, but I think I'm going to confine myself to running during the day. This is somewhat unfortunate, because Lima is beautiful at night.

If you know what ski slopes look like at night during twilight ski hours, you might be able to imagine this more accurately. (All the ski runs are edged by flourescent lights. Looking from a distance, you can see all these strings of lights running down the mountain face.) Most of Lima's cerros are located on large hills, so there's a similar effect. Only there's no white snow, no pine forest mountain against a blacker sky. Here, the sky is always cloudy ("nublado"; better in Spanish), and has that dull orange glow associated with light pollution. But it's consistent-- it's a dull orange glow over a brown, dusty city of orange lampposts. So imagine the ski slopes, except with these orange dots cascading over hills and hills of a short city, with some semblance of order and the occasional darker block. That was the view of Surco I got through the branches on a hill before I got kicked out of the park (closes 6pm).

Vía El Salvador, the cerro I'm volunteering in these two weeks, is striking as well. It's a poor hilly district  that's dusty and treeless and sunless and brown, and I think it's very beautiful in an ugly way... or ugly in a beautiful way.

So it seems my husband is under the impression I'm trying to kill him. I don't really know why he's gotten that impression.

I guess that's fine and all, although he's asked that I poison him instead of my current method: my imagination. Perhaps it is fair to argue that I've come up with a few strange ideas in my day and perhaps I've got a bit of wanderlust but I think it should just be chalked up to enjoying a bit of adventure.

Now, just a few years after putting in an application for his first passport he's jumped off the Great Wall of China, played with tigers and cruised around Tokyo on a motorcycle. We've also been certified for scuba diving and are pondering motorcycle licenses.

In the past year alone we've climbed Mount Fuji, been certified for scuba diving (two weeks till Australia!), done the motorcycle thing in both Thailand and Japan and, well, played with a few tigers. Now, forgive me, but I don't see where he's thinking I'm trying to kill him? Personally, I like to call it "expanding our horizons."

While it is arguable that some of our vacation activities are a bit unorthodox. I think it is safe to say we've had a great time.

So could someone please explain to me why exactly he feels I might be trying to kill him?

Downtown, met up with Eydís, again to that window drape shop thingie, but no, didn't help having a Czech speaking with us, they still didn't have the material on stock. Oh well. Went on a tour of the city's catacombs, pretty amazing, miles and kilometres of underground caves and tunnels, we only walked through 800 meters (about half a mile) but the tunnels are way longer. The old city is really small, and when they wanted to expand, they seem to have just burrowed deeper. Layers and layers of tunnels.

Back to the flat, meatballs, uhmmm! along with sauerkraut and bread and butter.

My lecture was looming, at 4 o'clock, I had almost chickened out, really don't like speaking about my music, my fellow composer Jiří Bezdék had agreed to make it a question-and-answer thing. Anyway, back in the flat, I decided to try to organize myself, sat down with my laptop with it's damaged screen and ended up writing the lecture down to the point that I didn't really need the questions. Had made a CD with the music I wanted to present, and sort of knitted my lecture around that.

Jaromír picked us up from the flat and drove to the University, Music department. Then a bit later had to drive off for an interview at the radio, I was supposed to be there too, but they changed the schedule so it got to be at the same time as the lecture (typical, but oh well!).

waiting for the clock to turn 4

Met up with my translator into Czech, poor girl of course hadn't had the chance to read through the lecture, as we hadn't thought there would be a real one, she borrowed my computer, had a few questions but turned out just fine. Not quite sure anybody needed a translation, though, most people seemed to understand my English just fine (laughed in the right places, anyway).

Now, what was I going to say, just now?

Anyway, the lecture went just fine, might develop a taste. (well, wouldn't mind doing it again, since I wrote it and all. Didn't really stick to the manuscript, but that's me. Will need to put the CD in the correct order, and not forget Syngur sumarregn, nope)! Didn't see anyone falling asleep, anyway, and got some questions at the end, though I didn't leave much time for questioning. Applause seemed a bit long to be just courteous, so I hope it meant people liked it.

Sort of glad when it was done, the only thing in the whole trip I was sort of nervous about. Jirí Bezdék was awfully sorry how few had turned up (about 15), exam time at the uni, had I been there, maybe March, the room would have been crowded. Said I must come again, not that I would mind!

Went for dinner with Eydís downtown, to Restaurant Svejk (suppose there will be one in every Czech town, definitely in Prague and Plzeň). I noticed wild boar on the menu and being an avid reader of Asterix, of course I had to order just that.

Was going to order potato croquettes along, but the title American Potatoes intrigued me, so I had to order those as a side dish:

oooh kaayy, what's so American about those? A long time favourite. Hmm.

Walked all the way to the radio house, after dinner, this we saw on our way:

a camembert burger, there. Hermelin means camembert or brie, this is a burger with white cheese instead of meat. Hmm, special.

At the rehearsel we listened to the 5 Birds (my premiére piece) again, plus the folk song arrangements, I added recorders to some songs I'd already arranged. Now look at Vašek with this amazing instrument:

a contrabass recorder and player :)

After the rehearsal, Jaromír drove us home. Lucky for us that he decided to stop and see if we got in, because we just didn't! Tried the key, back and forth to no avail. Gaad, wouldn't have wanted to tackle that by ourselves! He tried to call the owner of the flat, no answer. After much hesitation, he decided to knock on a window on the ground floor, but apparently the lady behind the window knew of the problem with the lock and keys and let us in, no questions asked. Whew! Really, really glad to get inside, can't really tell you how much. Key to the flat inside worked. Good. Sleep.

Since I have this weekend off, the only one for a while, mom and dad are taking me to Deer Island again :) That will be nice; the weather is supposed to bring more sun this weekend, which better happen!! I am so sick of the fog we have, it's retarded. It doesn't help up at the pool either, it does not warm the water and it's not as fun to work outside then. But anyway, it's the same when we are at the cabin. The grass is wet and you can't enjoy sitting outside at a fire or anything. SOO, hopefully the sun will pull through this time!

I made Mom buy graham crackers and hershey bars tonight, so I can make some delicious smores!!!! Yummm...if you have not had smores, I suggest you light up a campfire and get to roastin'! :)

INGREDIANTS: (for one smores)
1 marshmallow
2 graham crackers
1 chunk of Hershey's bar (or other preferred chocolate. Hershey's is great, or Jersey Milk)

Place piece of chocolate onto graham cracker, to be ready for when the marshmallow is roasted. Roast marshmallow till a golden color. Place marshmallow onto graham cracker with chocolate. Take the other graham cracker to help you slide the marshmallow off the roasting stick. Squeeze the crackers together to get a smores 'sandwhich'!
If you want to cook it at home, you can place the smores onto a cookie sheet and bake it in the oven! This would take approximately 2 minutes. Make sure to keep an eye on it till it gets to your preference. Enjoy!! :)

That's all from me for now. I work all day tomorrow at the pool until tomorrow evening at 7pm. Then I head to Deer Island. I may post a quick blog lunchtime. If I get the time. If not, I will blog again on Sunday evening, July 6.  :)

Guam is a part of the United States. It is a territory.  All persons born on Guam are U.S. Citizens. I grew up saying the Pledge of Allegiance and singing the Star Spangle Banner at school every morning.

July is a big patriotic month in Guam.  Partly because of Independence Day, July 4th.  We celebrate with barbecues, fire crackers and red, white and blue very similar to the states.

July was also the month back in 1944 when Guam was liberated from the invading Japanese forces. It was recaptured on July 21st that year.  I write "recaptured" because it was part of the U.S. when the Japanese  attacked and overtook the island. The residents of the island were all U.S.  naturals. They were held hostage by an invading army for nearly four years.

The U.S.  military  fought a bitter battle for Guam. Many lives were lost, both military and civilian.  Both my parents lost siblings.  Guam is filled with memorials to the brave dead. I see them clearly from my childhood memories.  I still remember the sacred reverence my people felt around such sites. Those feelings have been passed down to me.

Since Liberation Day from the Japanese,  the percentage of individuals per capita from Guam that have served in the armed forces of the United States is one of the highest in the nation. As a percentage of the population Guam has also sacrificed a considerable number of its finest to the cause of freedom for our country. 

It is particularly poignant for me to know that in a little man made peninsula that juts out from the capital city of Hatgatna in Guam,  there is an eight foot Replica of the Statue of  Liberty that stands on a concrete block overlooking the Pacific ocean.  

The present statue ( made of white jade) actually replaced the original one which was installed in 1950 at the 40 year anniversary of the Boy Scouts.  That was also the same year that the Organic Act of Guam was signed granting all Guam residents United States Citizenship.   The new statue weighs over 1200 lbs. and comes from China.

Like the original that graces Ellis island in the Atlantic, the smaller version stands on land touted as the place "Where America's Day Begins" because of Guam's geographical position as the first U.S. soil to receive the new day's sunlight on the other side of the international date line.

So on this 4th of July,  the story of sacrifice for freedoms fought has continued through varied places from the Atlantic to the Pacific. The story of America continues to unfold and its spirit continues to move even into the isles of the sea.  Lady Liberty continues to raise her freedom torch .  Happy Independence Day!

Bus- By far the most common form of transport in Guatemala.  It's cheap, faster than walking, and allows you to carry a lot more than if you were on foot.  On the bus, you're usually crammed 3 to a seat built for 2 school-aged kids.  Your view of the passing landscape is limited to a square of glass, often obscured by your fellow passengers' heads, some sort of fogging material (plastic), or steam from the collective bodyheat of the bus's contents (sometimes including, yes, chickens). The landscape passes you by the side, as if it were moving and you were sitting still (compared to moving through a landscape, as when you're sitting in the front of a car or are traveling on foot). 

Travel by bus is more priviledged than travel by foot, since it costs money, but not as fancy as riding in a car. People riding the buses are usually considered "poor" or "uneducated."

Airplane- The most isolated and expensive mode of travel, yet simultaneously (with walking) highly priveledged and possibly reflecting some sort of poverty. 

Isolated because you have your own seat and you very rarely talk to the stranger sitting next to you.  They even offer headphones so you can listen to the television rather than carrying on a conversation.  It also produces the biggest carbon footprint (uses the most resources), and signals that you have capital (the bucks to buy a ticket). 

It also has a certain cosmopolitan air to it (er, no pun intended)-- generally, airplanes are used to cover large distances and to go to exotic places.  In these cases, ground/ water transport can take days or weeks, so people that use airplanes are too important to spend that kind of time. Then again, you don't have time to spare, which is certainly a luxury item. 

Airplanes are also used by (migrant) Guatemalans returning to Guate after working in the States. Returning from the States, you have money and status. Unless, of course, you're being deported. In that case, you're probably in handcuffs and under the supervision of a US Marshall, and thus highly stigmatized.

Private Car: Carries the most obvious index of priviledge in Guatemala (and in many other places too).  Relatively few people can afford the freakin' high gas prices ($5/ liter!!), let alone the price of an actual car (average for a new car in Guate is lower than in the states, but still very high when compared to household income). 

I've ridden in three private cars in Guate: Last year the foundation I worked for had a pickup truck, and fellow teachers and I drove it to and from Barillas (the city itself held a special air of priveledge for my students).  When my mom came to visit we rented a car, and I even got to drive it (very scary)!  Finally, a friend of a friend picked me up in Xela and gave me a ride to Pana, thus sparing me the need to take either a chicken bus or a tourist shuttle.

The view from a private car is so different than the view from a bus! Sitting in the front seat, you have this panorama of landscape ahead of you, unfolding in a way that lets you take it in, at least superficially, more than the blur passing you sideways through the square of glass on the bus.

Do I really need to go in to the wide, comfy seat you have all to yourself, or the complete control over where you go, when you go there, when you stop, how often you stop? How about the temperature and sound (music) control? Quite de lujo.

Back of a pickup truck: A classic gringo-in-Latin America experience.  Flagging down a pickup (ahem, pikop) is a very common form of transport in the highlands, especially where there aren't regular buses.  It's pretty easy: you see a pickup passing, you stick out your arm, it stops and you hop on. You usually pay the driver the same amount you'd pay a bus for whatever distance they take you.

The back of a pickup truck is novel to gringos because it stopped being a common form of transport (except in some rural areas) when my generation was very young-- saftey regulations, doncha know?

Similar priviledge and stigma as buses: stigma because you don't have your own car, but hey! You do have the money to pay the car's owner.

Tourist Shuttle: Gawd I hate tourist shuttles. But sometimes, they are nice. For instance, getting to and from the airport and Antigua.  A tourist shuttle costs about $10, it's direct (they'll even drop you at your hotel) and it's pretty secure.  A bus, on the other hand, costs 7Q (about $1), but you have to haul your own bags, face possible robbery at the bus station, and have to additionally get to and from the bus stop.  Minus? Well, you're chilling with a bunch of tourbus bunnies in the meantime.  You get to exchange disturbingly similar "travel stories" with people ("Dude, we got soooo wasted that night!" " -X- place has the best beaches / cheapest booze / craziest parties" "I'm studying Spanish for a week, and then 'seeing the sites'"). Amusing for a short while, and then it gets old. Especially when you end up translating "Cuánto cuesta" for someone who doesn't have traveler's Spanish, but has been in Central America for months. No, I'm not bitter.

Walking: This is the form of transport I really wanted to talk about.  I've been asked numerous times "why do gringos like to walk so much?!"

People I have met in Guatemala have been largely baffled by why gringos would choose to walk, when they can clearly afford to take buses (or even private tourist shuttles). Yes, gringos like to walk places. But only when they're traveling, you see. Gringos walk for amusement.

While I was hiking from Nebaj to Todos Santos, several kind people pointed out that "A bus goes right by here, and it only costs 2Q."  Walking in the highlands is something you only do if you can't afford to take a bus, whereas with gringos it's something you only do if you can afford the time.

I could say something about how it's because "we're" so disconnected from nature that we feel the need to get back in touch with it through superficial recreational activities... but I'm not so sure that's the case.  Yeah, sure, we've distanced ourselves from Mother Earth, and hiking makes us feel warm and fuzzy and "balanced." But it can't be that simple.  Is it some pattern of "development" and "progress" rhetoric that says driving = progress, and only once you start to drive for transportation can you walk for recreation? I don't know...

I'd spend more time talking about this, but I have to go study for my quiz tomorrow (and I'm already over 1000 words on this post).

Our trip went something like this:

Boston > Washington D.C. (layover) > Frankfurt > Berlin > Riga, Latvia > Kuldiga, Latvia > Riga > Tallinn, Estonia > Helsinki, Finland > Stockholm, Sweden > Umea, Sweden > Frankfurt > Washington D.C. > Boston

Phew! Planes, trains, automobiles... and ferries, and a bus!

In every city, we visited with or stayed with friends of Mike's, some of whom he hadn't seen in six years. They were all such wonderful, welcoming hosts, and made sure we ate very well and saw all the best that each city had to offer.

Some quick notes from the trip:

• Gigantic stork nests sat atop telephone poles along the highways in Latvia
• I was four months pregnant with our little peanut: no smoked fish, saunas or beer gardens for me
• Two weeks of sunshine - it only rained one day
• The bartender at the Klondike bar in Kuldiga remembered Mike by name, even though he was only in third grade when Mike lived there for a year and taught English at the town's high school
• Lots of fried meat and potatoes
• Touring castles outside of Riga with Edmunds and his family
• Pizza with dill on top (yuck)
• Jonina and Andreas' brand new baby boy - only 12 days old
• Losing money in the Finnish-language slot machine (oops!) in the casino on the overnight ferry from Helsinki to Stockholm
• Tour of Stockholm by boat with Rikard and Sarah
• Roast moose for dinner at home with Anki, Bjorn and Evert, Emma, Jacob and Estelle in Umea
• Sunset at 11 p.m., sunrise at 2:59 a.m. in Umea
• Reunion with Lisa and Monica, Mike's childhood neighbors
• Non-alcoholic champagne at our fancy dinner with Rikard on our last night in Stockholm
• Ryan Air stinks - we had to unpack and repack our suitcases to meet the weight restrictions
• Learning "thank you" and four languages, and carrying five currencies
• Salt licorice in Sweden - intriguing, delicious and awful at the same tim
• Pay-entry public toilets, and we never had the correct change

We had a blast, and took a lot of photos to remember it all by.

Click here to see the photos from our trip.

I like to believe that I'm an optimist, having faith in the best of people and situations that occur in life. That said, I'm knowing enough to realize that people in general are stupid.

(To clarify, a single person is harmless, but gather more than one person in a social setting transforms them into an idiotic, annoying and potentially destructive creature -- hence, the need for laws and rules to govern people.)

Within these regulations are various licenses that serve as permission to engage in certain behaviors -- getting married, operating motor vehicle and practicing law, for example. And even then, there is no guarantee that the person is competent to carry out the task asked of them. (See the horrendous divorce rate or Britney Spears' driving record.)

However, there are dozens of other common practices that are not regulated, and the lack of structure is tearing this world and our social fabric apart; the fact that girls are being named Destiny and Rumor is proof enough.

Here are a few that are desperately needed:

A license to breed: While we enforce that people register to marry or carry a gun, we don't regulate who is ultimately born into this world. And with the amount of kids born to loveless, unfit and unjust parents, it is only fair that the person or persons that will care for the child are up to the task. The fucktards that are irresponsible towards their families and/or popping kids out like Pez dispensers are the ones letting equally terrible children terrorize the world, act as nuisances to the people around them and drain the resources of their communities.

Available at Wal-Mart

I propose that people should be subjected to earn a license to breed. Follow me on this: starting at the age of seven, everyone is tested yearly for intelligence, home environment, common sense, biological symptoms and social skills. When they reach physical maturity, everyone will be temporarily sterilized until the age of 29. They will continue to be tested yearly until 25, at which time, those tested factors will help determine whether they should be able to breed. By then, a person will be better settled into the person they will be for the rest of their lives. If there are any strikes against the person that would make them an unfit parent, automatic permanent sterilization; everyone else, license to breed!

Believe me, this will be a blessing for everyone. Spend 10 minutes at Wal-Mart (or your local grocery/retail store), and you'll wish that the mother letting six bratty kids wreck the aisles was sterilized at birth.

License for Political Work: Similar to the License to Breed, this will determine whether the person who will one day run for a political office will be fit to serve out their duties. Intelligence, civility, common sense and humility will be among the traits tested. Because heaven knows we don't need a sociopathic screwup with their finger on the button... oh, right...

This will weed out the people most prone to ruin their cities, states or countries with ineptness. However, there will be some prone to buckle at the offers -- monetary, political or sexual -- from corporate lobbyists to sway their allegiances, in which said lobbyists and their rich backers will be driven out to a cornfield in Nebraska, tarred and feathered, and left to die.

Tom Delay

License to be part of the media: The level of irresponsibility on the so-called news networks is becoming more and more appaling on a daily basis. FOX News, despite claims of being fair and balanced, is as balanced as a teeter-totter after Fat Albert jumps on it; CNN, MSNBC and every other news broadcast have their own agendas as well.

Combined with an inability to fact check, substituting opinions for facts and letting psychopaths occupy airtime, and you have a ticking timebomb of hot air and heated situations to diffuse. (Look at the recent Democratic primary race and the racism and sexism given off by the political media alone.) The job of the media is to report the facts, not telling people what to think but what to think about. This is not the case when windbags pass off their beliefs as the truth.

You are in the No-Sense Zone...

Therefore, whoever is going to be part of the media has to be subjected to the same testing methods as those planning to run for politics from the age of 16. They have to do this yearly until the age of 18, when those who are capable are mandated to earn a Bachelor's AND Master's degree in journalism and communications -- tested yearly to ensure they are on the right track. Upon graduation, they have to go into the field and work for news organizations in third-world countries until the age of 30. During this time, they determine what country they want to work in and study the political workings of the world. After that, they can be tested for a license to report on political affairs in their country of choice.

While these methods won't weed out all of the problematic people in the world, these steps will make the world a somewhat more tolerable place to live. And for that, optimism won't seem to be a silly idea to practice.

We arrived in Pigeon Forge at roughly 4:00. We made relatively good time adhering to the speed limits not only to prevent getting a ticket, but for the added benefit of saving on fuel.

Dinner
We had dinner at Calhoun's. This has been a Tennessee favorite of mine for a long time. They're famous for anything from their steaks, seafood, and my personal favorite - Ribs! They were as always terrific. Shannon and Katelyn shared chicken tenders. Nathan had the special which was a Pork Chop with broccoli and a side of mashed potatoes. Our bill came to roughly $55.00 for all of us. Considering this was our main meal of the day I didn't figure that was all that bad.

Traffic Surprise
To our dismay, on the way into Pigeon Forge, starting almost from the point we got off of Hwy. 640, onto Hwy. 40, there was bumper-to-bumper traffic. When we arrived at Calhoun's we enquired about the traffic, and according to them, Gatlinburg, which is just up the road from where we were at, is known for being one of the first places in the United States to celebrate the birth of our country, by having a parade that starts at the stroke of midnight. People were lined up trying to pile into the small town before the streets get blocked off. Even as patriotic as I am, we decided to forego those festivities in favor of a quiet evening here in Pigeon Forge.

Accommodations
After almost 11 hours travel, we were ready to huddle into our room. I had some anxiety about checking in. I had previously booked a room here and had to cancel it when we decided to arrive a day early and needed a room for 2 days rather than just the one. The cancellation went through without incident, but I just wasn't sure by cancelling and booking another reservation was going to work out. I could just imagine, someone thinking I intended to cancel the reservation and cancelling both of them. To my relief, the room was in fact ready.

Econo Lodge Riverside Review
Now, I'm not a connoisseur of hotels, but I have stayed in my share of good and bad, and there are certain things we MUST have in order to enjoy our stay at a hotel. Econo Lodge Riverside at 2440 N. Parkway Pigeon Forge TN 37868 is in a great location. It's billed from a 2 to 3 star hotel but several sites. Incidentally, I located this hotel at Kayak.com for a rate of $79.99 (Thu.) and $99.99 (Fri.). This rate includes a non-smoking room with 2-queens with a AAA discount. Below is a description of my rating system and my review of the room.  

My Rating System

• Cost - This is a very important factor in all of our decisions. In the past we have paid dearly for a room only to be disappointed. Budgeting for rooms for us typically falls in to the $75 - $100/night, depending on the area.
• Cleanliness - We don't mind paying an extra $10 or $15/night, if we can be assured the room is going to be clean. We have had bugs, hairs, soiled sheets, mold, mildew, rooms in disrepair and swore off ever staying at not only that particular hotel, but sometimes going as far as never wanting to stay at the chain. Best Westerns and Days Inns are 2 names that we have seen go down the tubes in terms of quality.
• Closeness - Being in close proximity is important. This saves time and fuel, and enables us to absorb ourselves in the surroundings of the tourist attraction, but not be so close that we are dealing with crowds.
• Quietness - Seldom, if ever, can you avoid noise, or predict it happening. The quieter the better though. We've stayed in 4 and 5 star hotels only to be totally disappointed with the stay due to loud and rambunctious hockey or softball teams and even grown-up reunions or retreats.
• These are my ratings from lowest quality to highest: Awful -  Bad - OK - Good - Fair - Moderate - Excellent - Superb

So with these things in mind, let me just say, it's been roughly 2 hours since we checked in trouble-free with this Econo Lodge in Pigeon Forge and here are my immediate reactions.

• Check-in: This went relatively well. The lady at the front desk was polite enough and was helpful. I would suggest here that if you require a room on the first floor due to medical problems (like I currently have) you book this in advance and let them know. We were assigned to the third floor. When I requested a lower level, I was quickly cut-off and told there were none available. Here would have been a good chance for her to at least have offered to check for cancellations, and to offer at least a second floor. She did neither. I immediately asked if there was an elevator. She said yes, but it's proximity to our room was prohibitive. I may as well take the stairs, although slowly and with a great deal of discomfort. The walk to the elevator would have been roughly double in length.
• The Room: Very clean. A bit cramped, but with good reason. There are (2) queen beds, an small kitchenette style area with a small fridge, coffee pot, and microwave, 26" TV, 2 closets with doors, a table with (2) chairs, a full dresser, a luggage table, and the standard night stand.
  • The decor was tasteful and up-to-date. It appears this is their original state, as no signs of paint or new wallpaper are evident. The carpet is a bit worn in high traffic areas, as is to be expected, but there are snags, perhaps from children or luggage.
  • The linens were all clean and in good supply. Enough for all (4) of us.
  • The soap products seem a bit stingy, but do-able. I did notice while we were checking in, a gentleman that must have been here for a couple of days had to come and get a bar of soap from the hostess, as his room attendant apparently forgot to leave a fresh bar. We had a bar on the sink and on in the tub, so apparently, the room attendant forgot to leave (2) bars of soap.
  • The pool is smaller than in the pictures, but clean. Being on the smaller side, the pool was quickly crowded, with a lot of screaming kids and non-existent adults.
• Overall: My impression of this room is MODERATE
• Would I stay here again? Yes
• Would I recommend it? Yes
• Recommend to who? Family on budget, business, or budget-minded couple on a get-away.

It is amazing how much one has to think about. And for anybody who plans to do something like this my advice surely is to start in time. The Visa for India for example have not arrived yet and I am somewhat nervous if everything went well with posting my passport and all to the embassy in Madrid. Maybe it was a mistake to try getting it in Spain, but that I will know in a couple of days I guess.

The visas for Laos and Cambodia and also for Vietnam I will arrange once I arrive in Bangkok. Thailand is the only place on my travel that I have already been to. And in a way it was intentional to make it the first leg of my journey. I was going to start in South America originally, but I reconsidered for three reasons: 1) the weather (it would be earliest spring in Argentina and Chile if I had arrived there in September, and in accordance to the interwebs still too cold in the very south) and 2) I was not sure if my good fellow Björn still lives in Vietnam, had I been there as one of the last stations on my journey. Finally 3) it is going to be somewhat more mellow and comforting to start with the good-ol' south east asian region. The comfiest way for getting in the traveller mood, I reckon.

India is going to follow right after, possibly with a short trip to Nepal, since it is the perfect season to pay the kingdom of the mountains a visit. But certainly plans will change due to new events or simply because I meet some nice people I rather join to go somewhere else than I planned. But I am looking forward to explore the northern part of India. It is sure going to be annoying as hell and exciting like crazy. But when it comes to "crazy" I used my time in Morocco recently in order to pratise ;)

I got a really cheap ticket (350 €) taking me from Germany to Thailand, from there to India and on to the USA. I have some hours in Korea and hope to get a chance to have a look around in Seoul, but we'll see.

In San Francisco I am not going to settle for two long, as I have booked a flight from LAX to Brazil for a week or so after I arrive in the US. Should be enough to get an impression and not too much time to being able to get annoyed about the US in their election time ;)

I found an inexpensive ticket for 400€ to bridge this huge distance with two stops. The reason I chose to do so is, that it will get me to south america just in time for late spring which is just perfect for my intended itineraries. 

However, from there on everything is starting to be real travelling with no further tickets booked and no fixed plans made. If affordable enough I will go far south in Argentina after a short look at Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay. In the south I might change coast and travel north again within Chile's borders. 

Probably I will do so mostly by bus and train and take some more time and a bit more chilled out approach, especially since it is going to be already the 13th country on my trip at that point. I guess pressing on is not what I want to do at that time any more. 

It was like that back in the good old times in New Zealand and Australia. One gets to a point where the motto "it's not what you see, it's who you meet" becomes more weight and value. At that time I might take it easy in a nice spot for a couple of weeks. On the other hand I might do just that when I reach Bolivia since it is supposedly gorgeous and freakingly cheap too. Time to sit back, do some budget calculation and see whether I am still within my plans.

I do have some detailed plans when it comes to my budget and I strongly recommend for example lonely planet to get some ideas, but also other sources you can easily google. And- of course- this blog is going to bring you detailed reports about costs and experiences. Hence I hope to become a source of information for planning your next trip.

However, after Bolivia I will know how to go on (I am going to have to know by then) and book the next flights. I might either take a plane from Peru to Panama, or Cuba. Or, depending on the current safety situation, I am going to travel to Ecuador and either on by Bus of planes to Colombia and Venezuela. Reports on the webs are somewhat contradicting and it sure looks different once I am there and especially it might change slightly until then. 

In either case, central America is going to be next, and as it looks right now Panama, Costa Rica, Honduras, Nicaragua, Guatemala and maybe Belize are on the list. How exactly I go about it I do not know yet. There is a chance I go to Cuba for some weeks, but that is far from certain. There are a few different ways to get from south America to Central and depending on prices I am going to chose one once I am there. That also means that the destination which I am going to arrive at in central America is not certain yet...

For sure Mexico is next eventually and depending on how I feel about it I will restrict myself to the south or pass the north into Texas. Somehow and via some undecided means of transport and route I am planning to end up in New York. If there is some money left for it at this point I am probably going to have a look at the south of Canada since it is not too far away from New York. After some 30000 kilometres of travelling at this point and after more than 20 countries I am probably going to feel that it is really very close indeed. But it might be that I am so fed up and tiered of it all by that time that I just want to take a flight home.

That of course is the interesting part of it. How will it be at that time of the journey? Will I make it all the way to New York, or am I going to go home before that for one or the another reason? how will I feel and who will I be by then? Am I finally going to be speaking Spanish? I hope so, and I really don't mind doing it with some south american coloration instead of the castillano that surrounds me now. No- don't mind at all... :)

We will see. The is the nice part of it is...not to know. Only one thing I know: it is not going to be like a 9-5 job situation and it is in no way going to be regular and repetitive or predictable in any way...

The Vietnamese are very early risers. Things start buzzing between 5 and 6, and the market is usually the center of this activity in Vinh Long. A stroll along the narrow path between the stalls is a smorgasbord for the senses. Everything and anything one could imagine eating is here for sale, and in any state as well, from just born to freshly cooked. I see all kinds of fish, piled and stacked in tubs, some still flipping. Creatures lifted from the sea are present in all shapes and forms. There is a woman chasing down one of her frogs that has managed to escape from its bondage and hop away. I encounter a bunch of baby pigs in a metal crate poking their noses at me. Meat of all kinds is cut right here and hangs or is laid out on tables, the vendors shooing away flies. And then there are chickens. Chickens abound in every phase of life from the egg to the butchers blade. There are boxes and containers filled with yellow baby chicks, “boiled eggs “ (eggs with a little chicken in it that is eaten scooped out with a spoon), chickens tied up or in bamboo crates, and chickens being slaughtered, boiled and plucked. It all happens out in the open every morning. The sights, smells and sounds, though not for the timid, make for an entertaining and fascinating stroll. Fortunately, I am a vegetarian and I settle for fruit, biscuits and some noodles.

Pushing my luck I get back on the motorbike and head for Cantho, the unofficial capital of the Mekong delta. Along the way, something catches my eye. Telling myself it is better to stop and investigate than to pass and regret, I turn around and park the bike in front of a house. A dirt pathway leads to the front of the bamboo and wood house. A makeshift bamboo gate closes the path. Staring at me, through the gate, are two children. I throw out a polite “Hello” which results in giggles and smiles. This is exactly what I am looking for and I start taking pictures. I move a little closer and take a few more. Now the rest of the family has taken interest in this stranger. The father instructs the children to open the gate so the kids can pose proper for me, thus ruining the picture. They invite me to look around their house and once again two cultures share a brief moment with only “Hello” and “Thank you” as common language.

Once in Cantho I again head for the water and another boat ride. This time I take a Vietnamese row boat. These boats, usually operated by women, are rather small and can be seen all over the delta and throughout Vietnam. The paddler stands at the rear of the boat and uses her weight to push the boat forward. They may look small but these women are strong. No matter where I go it seems that women are always doing a greater share of the work. Anyway, it’s late in the afternoon and we head down the river as the sun begins to set. Along the banks of the river are many houses built up to and in many instances over the water on stilts. As the light fades, I can see into the houses as we pass in the water. The orange yellow glow of lights inside contrast with the blue dusk glow outside. In many houses the glow of a TV stands out sharply with the simple open bamboo and wood construction of the homes. Atop the homes the silhouettes of a jumble of TV antennas pierce the darkening sky. Even here the tube rules.

As we head back the woman rowing the boat shows me her house and asks if I would like to go to her house and meet her family. Once again confronted with gracious hospitality I accept. Inside the house, I am offered a cup of strong and pungent tea. I force myself to drink politely. The whole family is here - her children, husband, and others. The youngsters practice their few English phrases they know on me. I mimic what I hear in Vietnamese and everyone giggles. Soon an older woman and her daughter come into the house. She speaks hesitant English, “ What is your name? Where are you from?” I tell her I am American. She looks at her daughter. “She is American too, only we can’t find her father.” I look at her daughter and I understand; she is Amerasian, the daughter of an American soldier and this Vietnamese woman. The woman tells me they are trying to find the father in the U.S. so they could emigrate there. All she knows is that his name is Sam. “It was a long time ago, I don’t remember too much. I haven’t spoken English in a very long time,” she says. Her daughter, half American and half Vietnamese, is outcast and will have a hard time marrying in Vietnam. Though long gone, the aftermath of the war still lingers

On the road early in the morning, I have a long ride ahead of me from Cantho to Chau Doc near the Cambodian border. The road roughly follows the Hau Giang River, a major tributary of the Mekong. Everywhere I am surrounded by green, primarily rice fields. The rice fields are divided up into rectangular plots with walls of mud all around. These walls allow for the plot to be flooded with water before the rice is planted. By hand small rice seedlings are placed into the mud below the water. Rice fields can be seen at any stage of growth from a freshly flooded field to waist high sea of green ready to be harvested. Out in a large field I see some women working the fields, so I stop and have a closer look. To get out to where they are I have to negotiate the thin mud walls separating the plots. I find a woman who is amused by my curiosity in this everyday task. The purple shirt she is wearing makes for a wonderful contrast to the green surroundings. For a moment she gets a break to exchange hellos and to laugh at this curious looking fellow with a camera. And then she is back to work.

And I am back on the bike moving with confidence. A couple of days of riding have convinced me that I am invincible, swerving around pedestrians and women on bicycles, passing others on motorbikes with a confident wave and smile. Riding with the wind in my face I am king of the road...until a bus comes by out of nowhere with its horn blaring, nearly running me off the road. Humbled, I proceed with renewed caution. What if that bus hit me? Would I even get to a hospital? If so would the cure be worse than the affliction? I begin to realize how far away I am from the world that is so safe and familiar to me. And that’s the joy of it. Being so far away, in both distance and in culture.

And farther I went.

The midday air is hot. Fortunately the heat is tempered by the constant breeze from my motion. I realize exactly how hot it is as I stop for gas. Not being near a large town, I find that gas stations are few. Along the road in front of little food stalls or people’s homes are glass bottles filled with a clear yellow liquid. This is black market petrol. A few thousand dong (the Vietnamese currency where one dollar equals 11,000 dong) is exchanged, the gas is poured with a funnel and I am off. I ask no questions as to whose bright idea it was to store gasoline in a glass bottle.

Chau Doc was my favorite town in the Mekong Delta. Maybe because it was the farthest from Saigon. Or maybe it seemed to best fit my vision of what the Mekong delta was all about: river based communities pushed up to the water, small boats everywhere, houses on stilts jutting over the water, and floating houses built on the water with trap door openings to the fish farms underneath. It’s not that I didn’t see these things in other parts of Vietnam, but they all seemed to come together in the right proportion right here. Then again, maybe it was the wonderful an chay food stall right in the middle of the market. An chay is Vietnamese for vegetarian, and for about 75 cents I had splendid vegetarian meals of tofu and vegetables.

I hop on the public ferry and go across the river to Con Tien Island where I walk along a road lined with small wooden houses on stilts. A group of children follow me as I walk. I say “Sin chau” and they say “hello”, then I say “hello” and they say “sin chau” and everyone giggles. We repeat this giggly exchange as I wander about. Along the river side, a large family poses for me in the open part of their house as I point the camera. At the foot of the house in the river two pigs blissfully lounge in the muddy water. Further down I encounter men unloading barrels of petroleum from a boat. They roll the barrels precariously along a narrow plank of wood from boat to shore. Everywhere I go the mechanics of life play themselves out right in front of me - on the street or along the river, from the growing and processing of food and livestock, transportation of goods, to someone getting a haircut, a welder fixing a motorbike, a tailor making and mending clothing, people eating and sleeping, commerce and activity of all kinds out in the open. And I realize how shielded we are from most of these activities in the industrialized world.

Instead of taking the ferry back to town I allow a woman and her young son to take me back in a row boat. We slowly move past more houses high on stilts and a neighborhood of floating houses. The sun is low, and the light is magnificent on this side of the river. The dull gray wood of the houses has turned warm and golden. As we glide along the water, we pass other boats propelled by women in brightly colored loose fitting clothes, the long paddles gracefully raising above the water, with cargoes of produce, fish and a man with a bicycle. People pass by on the water with smiles directed at me, as the receding light adds a softness to the movement on the river. The Chau Doc side is already in shadow with a cool bluish light setting itself apart from the fading warmth across the river. For a moment, everything seems to be held together by the sheer quality of the late afternoon light.

Walking along the street that follows the river through town I see many narrow alleys paved of wood that jut out over the water connecting the houses along the water with the road. All this makes for a strange kind of neighborhood - rickety wooden pathways on stilts, no basements, just water. Boats and bicycles for vehicles. People are washing clothes or preparing and eating meals, kids are curiously following me around, desperately wanting me to point the camera at them. I really like this place. I like the simplicity, ingenuity, and functionality that it exudes. And of course the friendly welcoming smiles. Walking along one of the raised wooden sidewalks above the water I encounter a family eating dinner. The houses in this tropical climate are usually open to some degree. Privacy as we know it is virtually unknown here. They smile at my interest in them, sitting on the floor around large bowls of rice, fish and vegetables. They offer me some food, I gracefully decline and move on, chasing the remaining light.

In the evening, I eat at a small restaurant where I am befriended by the family who runs it. Yet again, there is the ever present available daughter being highlighted for me. Before I know it an older uncle who speaks English has been summoned. We talk about his fine niece and I explain that although she is nice, beautiful and charming I am not looking for a wife in Vietnam. He translates as I speak and we all smile. I ask about the war and what has happened since. He is reluctant to elaborate his feelings. They were all very kind, and we ended up playing “lotto” (similar to bingo) all night. Everyone puts in 1000 dong and whoever wins gets the pot. I was embarrassed to have had good luck that night, to the disdain of one of the older aunts who seemed to think I was playing some American trick. I was hoping that the good luck would spill over into tomorrow, when I was to make my way further out to a place called Ba Chuc where the “bone pagoda” stands in haunting memory of the atrocities perpetrated by the Cambodian Khmer Rouge.

A long and uncertain road ahead of me, I make an early start on the motorbike, hoping that the chilling place I am going to is not an omen of my ultimate fate on this two wheeled death trap. Ba Chuc is where approximately 3000 innocent civilian Vietnamese were killed by the Khmer Rouge in 1978. The Khmer Rouge also slaughtered nearly one million of their own people during this time. I venture to this place to see for myself, to make the unreal very real.

The road takes me along channels of water leading out of Chau Doc used for flooding fields of rice and for fish farming with large nets that can be lowered and raised above the water. Just outside of Chau Doc is Sam Mountain, with its many temples and pagodas, standing out in the otherwise flat terrain. The road completely encircles the small mountain. Continuing on I leave the water, rivers and canals behind. The landscape seems drier here, but maybe it’s just the heat. The road stretches out in front of me and now I can see more mountainous terrain off in the distance towards Cambodia. The land begins to resemble the images of the “Killing Fields” I remember from the movie of the same name depicting what happened in this part of Asia during the 1970’s. It is decidedly less crowded here, barren for Vietnamese standards. In this vast open landscape I see two boys on a bike. The one in the rear is dressed in the bright orange robe of a Buddhist Monk, complete with shaved head. I chase them for pictures. We are equally amused by each other’s peculiarity.

At a small village the road to Ba Chuc veers off from the paved road and becomes a dirt and at times sand road pitted with craters. I feel an eerie sense of isolation and almost dread out here. People look at me with wonder as I maneuver the rough road on my motorbike. It must be rare to see a lone traveler out here. Feeling that I must be near the Bone Pagoda I ask along the way. They point down the road and let me know with their fingers that it is about 2 kilometers. I continue down the dusty road, 3, 4, 5 kilometers. I stop again wondering if I had passed it, but no, further down the road they point. “How far?” I ask. They indicate 2 kilometers. Skeptical, I wonder if it wasn’t a mistake to have come all the way out here. OK, I think to myself, 5 Ks no more. Fortunately at about 4 Ks I have found the dreaded place.

I park the bike and with trepidation and respect I approach a monument unlike any I have seen before. Staring at me through the glass walls of the six-sided structure are hundreds, if not thousands of skulls of the slaughtered innocent. Many of the skulls are broken by what must have been deadly blows. Behind the skulls are the other bones of the dead piled up in a gruesome mass. I feel like a voyeur looking at these poor souls stacked like a pile of rocks, almost undeserving of being here as I watch some Vietnamese come to silently ponder this part of their history. Inside the pagoda is a wall of photographs, thankfully in black and white, of many murdered people, men, woman, and even children, killed in horrible ways, bodies strewn on the steps and the grounds of the very pagoda I am standing in. In this solemn atmosphere a man eerily plays a flute in the other end of the room as the smell of incense fills the air.

Standing near the monument of skulls, I can overlook a wide field where a man with an ox driven cart moves alone. In the distance I look over to Cambodia and I realize I am at my furthest point. Far off and alone in many ways, my journey from here on is a process of returning. So back along the dusty road to Chau Doc I must go; maybe another night of lotto, to Vinh Long where Khanh and a cheerful dinner of an chay food wait for me, and then back to the rumble and roar of Saigon. And I realize not only will I travel in distance, along the rivers and canals of the Mekong, but in time as well, for I will travel from a war torn and agrarian past on towards the hectic and prosperous future that belongs to this land of the mighty river.

If you can't make out the street names on the photo...the parade leaves Miller Park at 9 a.m., Saturday Aug. 30 and continue east on Wisconsin Avenue before turning south on Milwaukee Street downtown. The route then turns east on Erie Street to the Summerfest grounds, where the celebration continues and a close out concert by Bruce Springsteen.

The parade route will be led by bikers who have raised a minimum of $6400 for Muscular Dystrophy Association as well as reps from Harley and the dealer network.  This year marks the 28^th year that Harley-Davidson has been a prominent sponsor of the cause.  They truly deserve a round of applause for their untiring efforts to bolster the MDA service and research programs.

I'll be sitting on the parade route admiring the Harley riders who contributed and made it in the parade!  Congrats.

Photo is courtesy of Google maps.

Driving Home From S.C.

Originally uploaded by SmileyShae.

I think we were in North Carolina at this point. ;)

P.S. There are a total of 4 new pictures.

Our last few days were with Shawn & Nikki who we talked into coming to Kapalai in November! With them we hit up the Solstice Parade. An excuse to close off town and watch people parade down the street in various stages of undress celebrating summer (with weather like theirs the summer is a big deal). Celebrated Katies birthday, Raw Food Style, and took Rogue for one last walk to the dog park.

Our last day was spent satisfying my cravings at the Wing Dome and watching Corrinda eat. Before Linnea had left she had bet Corrinda that Corrinda couldn't eat 35 wings. The stakes were set and a week later 2 hours of chicken wing debauchery ensued. Corrinda painstakingly ate the 35 wings to thunderous applause from the crowd (us and the waitress) and one the new nickname "Majesty".

Photos are here.