It's getting hot in here! (Yes I'm in india)

I am in India. A land where women wear full jewel tone saris in 100 degrees and cows walk around saintly. Beggars sit in the middle of the street, stalling traffic while peasants carry full loads on their heads in harmony. Exotic aromas infuse my nostrils. I had arrived for the third part of the journey. India is a true dichotomy of beauty and spirituality and immense poverty and scams. It's only my second day here but I have already seen both sides.

Side A:
I got off the plane at the Chennai airport at 11pm and walked out into the steamy humidity (yes its hot even at night). I had arranged my hotel previously as a quick one night stop before my flight to the south, Kerala, in the morning. For $80 USD, I figured I would be taken to a moderate or perhaps even luxury hotel. This was my first scam. Hotel Heera, online, looked like a palace. Hotel Heera, in reality, resembled a crackhouse. The warnings for "solo women travelers" in the Lonely Planet guide echoed in my mind. After arguing with the grumpy man at the front desk about the fees, I was taken up to my room. The porter flicked on the lights but I wished he wouldn't have. The flickering light displayed a shabby room with peeling paint, cigarette burns on the bedding, and blood stains on the towels. The bathroom faucet leaked brown water. There was no toilet paper. And to top it off the signs on my door were not the typical emergency escape instructions but rather signs prohibiting gambling and prostitution in the rooms. Wonderful. I was in a hotel that doubled as a whorehouse. I bolted the door and threw a decrepit chair under the knob. I went to bed gripping my knife in one hand and my pepper spray in the other. The outside noise frightened me. I slept 45 minutes that night...my head spun on how I would combat an intruder. I realized that I didn't even know how to use my pepper spray. I would surely blind myself. And throw a punch?? Hmm...I vowed to take martial arts classes when I got back to San Francisco.

Side B:
Instead of going to the Ashram right away (which is an oasis truly--in all their correspondence to me they call me "Blessed Heidi") I decided to come to a beach town called Kovalum first to enjoy my last air conditioned room for a while. For much less that Heera had cost, Varmas Beach Resort presented me with a beautiful room with antique wood furniture and a terrace that looked out onto the sea. The fresh breezes abated the humidity. The man at the front desk was friendly and chatty and seemed quite impressed that I was going to the Sivananda ashram. With directions from my cheerful host,I walked around the small town and bought myself a sari and other Indian garb from two local girls. Women scantily clad are asking for trouble (or so I read). This means no more prancing around in my Dolce and Gabbana bikini. Sigh. But I intend to blend in. Sleeves and farmer tan here I come....



On my walk today i ventured up to the lighthouse. The views were impressive from the top but for some reason instead of snapping pictures of the scenery, a few men with fancy cameras at the top insisted on taking photos of me. Moi. It must have been my new attire. Who knew I would have a modeling shoot in southern India? One of the photographers, Heera (no connection to the name of the ghastly hotel I stayed at) was a journalist from New Delhi. He asked me if i was in India for fun or for silence. Silence, I answered without stopping. Australia was fun, Vietnam was eating and thinking, and India...all silence. Hot humid silence. I have come to cease my jumbled rumbling thoughts and conflicting actions so that my true spirit may break free. This may sound cheesy on North American soil, but headed to the ashram it makes perfect sense.

I may not have internet access for a while...but please know that I will be well looked after at the Sivananda ashram. Photos (more than the two I took today) will have to wait. Stay tuned.....

So long Vietnam

It's my last night in Vietnam. I am not quite ready to leave as I have only sampled a tiny morsel of what this diverse little country offers. I leave for my Indian ashram tomorrow, where I will immerse myself in meditation and a vegan diet. I decided my last meal should be especially meaty. Vietnam was just the place for that! I stuffed myself on ginger beef papaya salad, pork hot pot with cinnamon, mystery meal spring rolls, and a Tiger beer. My most expensive meal cost me $7. I love this place.



As I ate I pondered the strongest memories I have of the country:

1. School children furniture. The Vietnamese like to sit on the side of the street eating in small plastic chairs built for gnomes. An Australian man tried his luck sitting down and got promptly stuck. 'Help I've sat down and i cannot get up."

2. Fish sauce. The aroma lingers in the street. No meal is complete without it. I am reading a book about a Vietnamese refugee and he states how his mother, once in America, had problems cooking the Thanksgiving turkey ("large chicken") the American way. She insisted on basting it in fish sauce.

3. Motorbikes. Everywhere. Honking, racing, littering the streets. Men shout out every 4 minutes trying to sell their services "Motorbike? You? Where you going? I take you. motorbike?" It doesn't mater if it's raining or if you have three over sized suitcases (ahem) ...they still insist on being your transport.

4. Bad dubbing. Think of your favorite movie. Now imagine the voices of ALL the actors being replaced with one single woman. Yes one movies does the voices for everything----Julia Roberts to Jean Claude.

5. Amazingly good, cheap...(insert noun here). Examples would be massages, food, beer, hotels, Cucchi (their fake Gucci), and photocopied lonely planet guides.

I'll miss Vietnam.....

Mutiny on Halong Bay

Once again I was in my element...cruising along the water with an international motley bunch, sticky with sunscreen and sweat, mesmerized by the exotic landscape before me. Halong is currently competing to be recognized in the list of the top "World Wonders." I can see why--It's hauntingly beautiful. Majestic tall rocks rise out of the salt waters, shrouded in mist, as if from another time.


Our group was eager to sail through the rocks and caverns, kayak and swim on our three day tour. Unfortunately we were met with a bit of bad luck. Our poor tour guide, Nam, explained to us that our boat had been "chosen" to represent some dinky festival at Halong Bay harbour. So while the other ships sailed freely with gleeful tourists, we were to stay docked for the first few hours of our trip, smelling fumes from other (non tourist) boats, and listen to the tinny music coming from shore. Imagining the other tourists on other boats frolicking in the ocean while we stayed tied to shore immobile was too much. Many of us had watched James Bond (dubbed by a single lone Vietnamese voice) and were in powerful spirits. The music coming from shore was truly awful, and we were positive we were the only tourists that had been "captured" and forced to stay in the bay twiddling our thumbs.

Peter, an intimidating muscled dutchman started the complaints and demanded to sail. He towered over little Nam. 'We are not stupid tourists you know. You better call your boss because we won't stand for this."

Then Three Germans demanded free beer...and threatened to steal it if not offered freely.

Two french Canadians, sweet in their accents, yet firm in their position requested reparations immediately.

And I, the American, threatened to write bad reviews of the boat on yelp.com and perhaps even do the American thing and seek legal action for "pain and suffering" compensation. I was bound to get a migraine from the boat exhaust.

Nam claimed to have called the boss. "I am sorry, " he said. "Can you not relax for a few hours?"



We counted the staff--they outnumbered us. But no matter. The Germans headed toward the beer fridge. Peter eyed the captain's chair. Nam frantically called the boss for the fourth time and pleaded our case again.

And what do you know.....an hour later we were among the other boats in the ocean drinking freely offered beer, mesmerized by the silent giant ocean rocks.

Table for One Please

One thing about Vietnam--it attracts a ton of adventure happy travelers. Solo travelers. Now I am quite used to dining alone, thanks to my consulting training and series of "lonely dinners" while on the road. However, in Hanoi everyone seems to be equally adept at it. I once ate at a restaurant where despite one huge family table, every one was seated alone! There must have been six one-tops! It was amazing. I wanted to get us all together at one long table where we could exchange travel tales and laughs. As the outgoing American this should be my role. But alas I have become shy. And I was in a particularly interesting part of my book.. Creating a dining party was about as likely as Pierce Brosnan coming up to be table and asking to join me. Plus I am finding peace in my "oneness."

Good thing because in Sapa I was not among solo happy travelers but rather older European couples. This was because I broke out of my budget accommodation to splurge on a luxury resort. Am I the only solo adventurer that likes nice linens? Apparently so. I had made polite conversation with the other guests and staff and of course they all asked me where my husband was. I decided to stop answering the usual ("Well, you see I am unlucky in relationships...it all started when I was cursed by this gypsy in Spain..." and give them the ol' 10 year play by play of my romantic history). Instead I decided to just sigh wistfully and lowly murmur 'I'd rather not talk about it' then an expensive glass of wine. With this and my tendency to take long treks through the mud (see post on highland trekking below) I had transformed myself into a woman of mystery. The other guests would point to me eating alone in my dress with a single candle writing (presumably) deep poetry...'Ahh yes that is the lovely young woman I mentioned...something tragic must have happened to her.....and is that a mud stain on her calf?" Well this is what I imagined they were saying anyway. An yesterday's trek WAS tragic.

I have a 12 hour train ride back to Hanoi tonight. I will do my best to remain enigmatic. (perhaps it's time to pull out Sartre...)

Highland Trekking

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I am high up in the northern Vietnamese highlands in a place called Sapa--the Vietnamese alps. It's beautiful with lush green rice paddy terraces and thick mists that languidly curl around the mountain tops. Naturally, because I am here, it's also raining. I expect that monsoon season will come a month early to India as well when I arrive. Sigh.....The rain has given me a cold and a slight eye infection (aren't only school age children supposed to get pink eye)...but no matter...i won't let it get the best of me.

In Sapa the main thing (actually the only thing) there is to do is go trekking. Rain or shine. Pink eye or white. So yesterday I headed out determinedly with gortex boots, a rain slicker, and a flimsy hotel umbrella that clearly shouted "tourist. My guide came to meet me and I almost laughed out loud when I say her. A 3' 8" girl foot dressed in the traditional Black Moum tribal clothes introduced herself. Chi was her name and she was going to be my fearless (small) leader through peril and rain through the highlands. I wasn't sure how this little mini-me could lead me, the towering clumsy giant. But Chi was excellent. She wasn't 12 as I thought but rather 25. She spoke English, a little French, Vietnamese and her own tribal language. Pretty impressive as she had not gone to one day of school in her life. (many tribal children are called upon to stay at home and help with chores as opposed to going to school). She taught herself languages from the tourists. She desperately wanted to go to school now and learn to read and write them all, but she was deemed too old. After listening to her life story, i immediately drafted up a fantasy of opening up a school for the Asian hill people...a school that would be open to all ages and work within their hectic schedules.....yes, I would eradicate illiteracy in southeast Asia and be featured on Oprah. How I am going to fund this venture I have not figured out yet.

As I pondered my school, Chi lead me through the muddy paths through various villages. Before out ascent up the mountain I showed her my eye. She immediately escorted me to a village doctor/school teacher/fabric maker/pig raiser. The "doctor" insisted in sticking her finger in my eye. "Mmmmmm" she mumbled knowingly. She then left and came back with a box full of (presumably ill gotten) medicines. She rifled through it and picked out a likely cure and offered it to me for only 20,000 Don. It was Pepto Bismol. Yeah, I don't think the pink stuff would help the eye, although it may provide relief for overdosing on spring rolls. I asked her if i could see the medicine box myself...Hmm..laxatives, allergy medicine, ahh...I found it..a yellowish bottle of liquid with a picture of an eye. This was what I needed! Chi gestured for me to lie down while she poured the stuff in. The "doctor" held my hands...i didn't understand the restraint procedure until Chi let the liquid hit my eyeball. Searing pain. I was sure she had convinced a neighboring water buffalo to come over and urinate in my eye. I shot up and did a little "pain dance." But after a few moments the pain subsided and my eye felt much better. What do you know, bottled water buffalo pee works!

I was going to need my right eye to help me navigate up the rice terraces in dense fog. For we were not going to walk amid them...but rather IN them. The path we wanted had been washed out by rains so instead we had to scale the rice terraces up. Little Chi had to hold my hands numerous times to keep me from slipping. She was graceful and dainty hopping through the water and mud....but i seemed to slide around it it. The hills were a giant slip n' slide. Rain pounded, thunder echoed, and I started regretting being coaxed by the tourist office to see the "wonders" of the hills. At least I had my gortex boots on. The Vietnamese must laugh at us Americans (or Europeans) who actually PAY MONEY to do this. I had paid $50 to be miserable for 5 hours. I was hiking through rain and mud with zero visibility for what? I guess I could go back to the plush lodge and say 'Yes, i just got back from a trek. Oh no, that rain couldn't keep me down....great workout up these amazing rice cliffs. So what did you do? Stayed indoors by the fire? Oh. I see. Not athletic inspired, eh? Hmmmm...well adventure isn't for everyone. (flex muscles)" Even though all I could think of during the 5 hour misery trek was indeed sitting by the fire drinking a glass of bordeaux laughing at the tourists who were stupid enough to hike. The fire image was particularly appealing when Chi told me we were going to have to fjord a river. Fjord a mid thigh-high river. She, naturally, pranced around on rocks and made it to the other side safely. I, naturally, slipped on the first rock and immersed my self in brown water. My gortex boots were acting AGAINST me as now they were keeping the water IN! Sigh.

I know now why the French and the Americans lost their battles here.....Vietnam terrain is no match for western trekkers. At least not this one. Incidentally they call the "Vietnam" war here the "American War," Obvious...yet also makes you think more a bit about what happened.

After my trek was over Chi and the driver drove me back to my trusty lodge. No one recognized me. I resembled a red-eyed mud troll. But after I showered I went straight to the fire, hoping to find willing listeners to my trekking tale and impress upon them how wonderful the highlands outdoors are.

Ahoy Hanoi...or Finally I'm in Vietnam

I made it! One pit stop in Singapore and now here I am in bustling Hanoi.

Five tell tale signs I am in Southeast Asia

1. I have risked my life just crossing the street. Numerous times. Traffic here is a nightmare. There are no stop signs, no street lights, no rules, just mass chaos. Crossing the street is like playing a game of chicken against whizzing scooters, cars, bicycles, and street vendors. No one stops. Ever!I am terrible at this game. My first attempt had me waiting at the curb patiently waiting for someone to notice the lonely lovely pedestrian and stop (or at least slow down) for her to cross. I waited for 20 minutes looking like an idiot with unsurprisingly little luck. My second attempt, a bit braver than the first, consisted of me crossing the street in multiple spurts to dodge mopeds. But alas, pausing in the middle of the road is stupid (Deer in headlights syndrome-and I get yelled at) so now I have a new technique. I say a quick prayer, close my eyes and sprint across the road as fast as I can, hoping traffic will doge me. They are doing a decent job. However, I made a will just in case a speeding cart of poultry gets the better of me.

2. I have become a massage whore. (no, no-not as a profession but rather as an addict). For less than the price of my breakfast in Australia I can receive a 60 minute head to toe rub down. The first time was a bit startling as the woman insisted I undress while she stood watching me smiling (and no, I didn't go to one of THOSE places...) but even with the voyeurism to my Caucasian nakedness the massages here are solid, a blend of Thai, Swedish, and Reflexology, and (thankfully) all reputable. I guess the government did a major crack down of the prostitution ones offering "happy ending liquid explosions" a few years ago. They are safe. They are $8. And I think I am going to get one every day. Ahhhhh......

3. I have eaten 10 cent street food. I also had no idea what exactly I purchased. It was yellow. It was tasty (like er...chicken). But I suppose it wouldn't really be the true southeast asia street food experience unless I managed to get a little curse from one of my little treats and spend some time admiring the southeast asian plumbing system. Sigh. Fresh spring rolls only for dinner tonight.

4. I have bartered for clothing. Although pretty unsuccessfully. This used top be my niche. Guatemala, Thailand, China....you name it I could barter down even a sick old woman to the last dime. I was ruthless. Well, no longer. Women are using a secret weapon against me. Their children. How on earth can I try to barter down a dollar when and adorable child is staring at me. Sometimes they even tug my clothes and say hello. Their meals, schoolbooks, college tuition flash before my eyes. Before you know it I start offering the woman more than she originally asked for. I am putty in their hands. Pathetic.

5. I have gotten lost. Hanoi has a unique street system. The streets change name every few blocks or so. This makes a fun challenge when trying to navigate. It rather dictates that you look like a tourist while walking with a huge Vietnamese map in front of your face trying to figure out what part of the road you are on. Many street names also start with the word "Pho." This does not mean the soup. (I actually thought it did when i first arrived---wow--every street has soup!). Motorbikes are around plenty to offer lifts but I generally refuse them as I stubbornly try to navigate my own way....even if it takes three hours to go half a mile. Its highly humid out so I imagine my stubbornness will start to falter after a while.

The city hosts delights a plenty but I am eager to leave and get up to the highlands on night train tonight...I have 4 days in Sapa and then a three day boat tour of the majestic Halong Bay. But now, since I did make it to Vietnam, I must roll the credits and offer thanks where gratitude is due. People, especially Australians, are nicer than I ever imagined. I have renewed faith in the human race.

The credits--

• Troy, a random Australian that I met while enjoying my "real last last" meal in Perth. He insisted on saving me another cab fare and driving me to the airport after hearing my story how I had been there twice already but unable to leave. Although I did keep my pocket knife close to me during the drive (haha--if he tried to chop me up on little pieces I'd chop him first!), he had no ulterior motives and was quite enjoyable company.


• Clinton from Asia World travel. Sadly the flight my Vietnamese Visa was on was delayed by three hours...meaning that it arrived 10 minutes after my flight to Vietnam took off. Clinton, the manager of the tour operator handed me my visa at 1.05am. The next flight wouldn't be for another 24 hours. However, he was kind enough to let me crash in his family's spare room, drive me to the airport in the early morning, and book me a hotel in Singapore as he insisted a night there would be better than hanging out on Perth all day.


• Singapore Airlines. Even though my ticket had restrictions that prevented any changes, they changed my flight for me three times without charge. Including the last minute whim to hang out in Singapore. Note to self....looking pathetic and frantic in the midst of travel chaos helps.

Travel Glitches

I had done everything perfectly. Met my friend Larry for dinner for my last Australian meal of Emu, Kangaroo, and Croc, packed my bags expertly, used up my last Aussie dollar on cab fare, and arrived at the Perth airport with my visa laden passport exactly 2 hours before my departure to Vietnam. I would have patted myself on the back for how travel savvy I was if it weren't for the huge (travel savvy) pack on my shoulders.

And then, right in the peak of my smug travel savvy euphoria, is when the glitches started.

To get to Hanoi I had to connect in Singapore. Apparently the airlines had changed my flight to have my Singapore-Hanoi leg depart (10am) BEFORE I arrived in Singapore from Perth (noon). Obviously this was one connection I was not going to make. Yes, even I, (travel extraordinaire), wasn't that good. Singapore airlines pondered their mistake and asked me "Didn't the airlines send you a notice with the flight change?"

Hmmm...come to think of it I did vaguely remember being sent some email from the airlines a few weeks ago. Hmmm...was I supposed to pay attention to that? Crap, I thought I had glanced approvingly over all the line item details. I looked at her sheepishly and tried to defend myself-After all, who could possibly catch the mistake in three pages of round the world flights and connections and times?? I felt like and idiot for not noticing the error sooner.

Sigh. But the problems didn’t end there. "Umm...Miss, we can change your flight to the night one but your Vietnamese visa isn't valid until May 18th."

What?! I stared at the smiling pink slip in horror. Today, the day I needed to be in Vietnam, is April 18th...but the stark black ink in my Visa clearly said May 18th. Oh God, the Vietnamese consulate had got the month wrong, or I had written it wrong or someone was playing an evil joke. I know I had 4 visas for 4 different countries to monitor but why oh why didn't I double check every date on every one?

I don't deserve to live. I don’t deserve to be on this trip. I will never ever claim the travel savvies EVER again.

"They are very strict--they won't let you in to the country with this."

Singapore airlines could change my flight to a 1am departure, but I had to change my Visa in order to board the plane. I had exactly 16 hours until the next flight. I did ponder just going home, throwing up my arms and vowing to never travel again, but I had one last minute chance. Apparently my tear laden eyes encouraged the lovely Australians to help me. That or my American Express card. Someone from Asia World Travel could obtain a Visa for me from Canberra (middle of Oz where the Vietnamese consulate is), fly it over, and hand it to me in the international terminal at 11pm--2 hours before my scheduled flight. Risky--but my only hope. I ran out of the airport.....

• Luggage storage: $12
• Return taxis to/from airport: $64
• Passport Photo: $8
• Expedited Visa fee: $200
• Flight from Canberra: $250
• Vietnamese meal in Australia while I wait:$15 (equivalent cost in Vietnam-50 cents)
• Feeling of elation when this whole thing is over and done with and I rest with my 50 cent meal in a Hanoi Cafe while nursing my wounds from banging my head into the wall: Priceless.

Let's just hope there are no delays and Clinton (the courier bringing me my new visa) will find me in the international terminal. He does have a passport photo of me to reference...but c'mon we all know those things do not resemble us in the slightest. Per usual I am the cross eyed deer stuck in headlights.....I'll try to mimic that look in the airport tonight to aid him.

And as for my own traveller IQ--obviously I learnt a costly lesson. And as Larry pointed out to me last night, women may not be any more travel savvy then men anyway. (There goes my feminist theory and dissertation material). He is travelling for FIVE months and it's HIS girlfriend that will come to meet HIM for a segment. Plus, I am 110% positive he checked all his Visa dates.

Sigh.

Green Money and Red Earth

I remember I had clearly postdated my IRS check to April 15th. However, those slimy bastards (sorry, but my parents told me to only resort to cursing if it was absolutely necessary to convey a point) deposited my check BEFORE the date on the 2nd. My bank account had been running a deficit until today (thank god) when my last paycheck finally arrived.

Running out of money is a traveler's worst nightmare. Skimping is challenging. How can one say no to $70 wine tours and $40 boat cruises or most importantly to "spontaneous eating." (" I know we just ate but this cafe says it has the best pies in the region....we really should taste the local bests because, really, when will we be here again?").

I am a bleeding wallet.

But enough of my tendency to support the tourism industry. I am in Margaret River, Western Oz, the red earth. Here on the west coast the soil is alive. Rusty orange vibrates under the sun's power. The red is everywhere-even the paved driveways have a reddish hue. The man-made and the natural become one...

But this week's thunderstorms are transforming the dry oven into a jacuzzi on full blast. Yes, the rain has found me even in the driest of places (would you believe they were in a drought before I arrived? Call me the rain goddess). I have read a full novel while the rain thunders down on the lodge's tin roof, unrelenting in its attack. But I cannot stay indoors all day. Determined to be wet, I still surfed bit with the locals. And then ventured out yesterday on a semi-dry activity--wine tasting (haha). Margaret River has some of the most prized wines in the country.

On the tour, I did my best to not be one of those snobby Napa winos and say in a high pitched voice, 'Hmmm....this Shiraz is a bit pale compared to the 'plum laced with dark chocolate and cigar' notes i am used to." Or" this wine is simply divine--it must have been in French oak...for you know i can't stand the American kind..."

No, no...I just drank and enjoyed. The Shiraz actually was quite good. I would have bought a case of it had I not had three more countries to hit. And yes yes, I could have forked over a small fortune for shipping, but money seems tight given all these unforeseen adventures coming my way.

The wine group i went with comprised of six nationalities. American (that's me!).\, Australian (duh), Kiwi, Irish (they are everywhere), Dutch, and Italian. The crazy yet lovable Italians invited the entire group back to their place for a BBQ. We spent the evening eating, drinking (again), and discussing driving on the left and the new marketing campaign for Australia's Champagne-Cockatoo. A female celebrity says, coyly (and somewhat rushed) "I'd sure like a Cocka(r)too." Apparently she didn't realize the blunder while taping and now she is humiliated. If she were in America she could plead stupidity and sue for being tricked into saying such a foul (yet highly amusing) line.

We had a few laughs over quite a few dumb jokes...I am realizing that each day presents a new series of best friends and cheap humour.

Tomorrow I head back to Perth to meet another friend....one from...wait...San Francisco! Larry is in Perth for an International swimming competition. Same city. Same time as me. How random these things are. After many days of reading I am quite ready to talk his ears off. I better warn him. I have millions of tales of the land of Oz. He can always pawn me off to another poor swimmer. Perhaps a butterfly champion. And last night's group would like to know if anyone still

competes in the side stroke.

The Characters We Meet

Perth fits my US description of a west coast city. Relaxed, warm and full of people who love beer, wine and the ocean. I thought I was relaxed on my cruise in the Whit Sundays but this city has me even lazier. I feel like a Golden Retriever.

So now that I am happily calm (from the warm sun and exhaustion. A few hours of biking Perth's nearby Rottnest island left my legs as jello.) I will take some time out of adventure writing to mention a few of the unique individuals I have met.

The Byron Group
Australia is full of familiar faces.....no, not because I happen to know everyone here but rather because travelers seem to keep running into one another. In Byron Bay I had a solid group. We entertained each other with tall tales and odd dance moves. A dutch PhD student, a military enthusiast, a Canadian Human Rights scholar, and a sweet English girl. The unlikely duo-the PhD and the military man- teamed up to hitch hike up the coast together (apparently they were picked up by 'hot' women drivers). The Canadian found me in Noosa, where we picked up our conversation (solving world hunger, naturally) right where we left off. We cursed the rain and drank our favorite beer on the porch. I left the Canadian only to meet up with the PhD again aboard Power Play! It is so wonderful to run into "old friends" who know you! Mr PhD had been well briefed on my tendency to over analyze and let the "what ifs" and "should haves" invade my dreams. He came aboard Powerplay equipped with a new strategy for me. 'Heidi, you see those puffy little clouds? Those are your thoughts. See them, but also let them drift away." Amazingly it worked! All I really thought of during my sail trip was...well the ocean......and when the next meal would be served. Diving makes you hungry!

The New Ones

And as good as it was to have old friends, there were new friends to be discovered as well. Two women (English and Canadian) became the 3 day BFFs aboard Powerplay. They had both left their understanding boyfriends at home to travel the world solo. Why is it that women seem to be much more adventurous than men? No offense to the rare few men in my readership that are travel enthusiasts (Yes Paul I know you are in Tajikistan at the moment) but I have found that men either travel in packs of other men (and spend half their time drunk), or must be prodded by their spouse to leave the comforts of their home beer and sports matches. Women, on the other hand, just pick up a backpack quite happily and fly away solo across the world.....I love my fellow women travelers! We all share like pasts and futures and instantly understand one another....

Another friend I made was a quirky English pilot/writer. He brought his notebook with him to every beach and all sides of the ship, outdoing me in writing nerdiness. He engaged us all with that impossible sense of English humour. Was he being rude or just funny? I still do not know....


The extraneous surfers

Naturally Australia is full of 'em. I have met pros and newbies...all with their own tales of how they got into the sport.

Jimmy had a cockney accent so thick I had to have him repeat his story four times. (Many English accents sound like pig latin...vaguely familiar yet totally non understandable). He realized his trade (carpentry) was needed all over the world so is not using it as a means to support his international surf habits.

Nick in a Perth native. When he asked me if I surfed I said "Of course. I am from California (no ones needs to know I just picked up the sport 6 months ago and still look like a sick sea turtle most of the time.) I asked him if he did. His reply "I'm from Western Australia. Of course." He was competing in the Marget River Competition. When he's not surfing, Nick is a welder.

Do any surfers have white collar jobs? I have yet to meet an investment banker or history professor out here......

I am off to Margaret River in one hour. Home of wine and the biggest waves in Australia, it's San Francisco's near cousin. It will be my last taste of "west coast" before I head for the very different culture of Vietnam.

Whit Sunday Diving Woo Hoo

Two of the impossible happened. One-I went three days without internet access and after one mild panic attack, felt wonderful. Two-After a week of torrential downpour, I managed to get sunburned. Thank God for the WhitSunday islands......

After I left Noosa (lovely beach town north of Brisbane) I headed further along the coastline seeking sun. I reacquainted myself with the bright orange bulb in the sky in the picture perfect Whit Sunday islands. I had booked my boat, "Powerplay," months in advance. Even though the thought of going 30 meters under water terrified me, I booked a dive boat in hopes that the other passengers would be more hungry for adventure than for drunkenly pole dancing the mast to Brittany Spears. (not that there is anything wrong with pole dancing...in the privacy of your own home....or ahem....Tahoe cabins with friends...but I didn't want to be with wasted strangers f for three days trapped in a boat with a tiny toilet that doubles as a shower and shared beds).

I was not to be disappointed. Upon boarding the boat Paula, the skipper, gave us a long lecture. 'This is NOT a party boat. We get up at 6am, right before sunrise, and bed down after dinner. You'll have a great time if you follow the rules...and trust me you'll be so exhausted from the multiple excursions during the day that come 10pm you won't have any party in ya anyway."

Alcohol of any sort was forbidden until dusk (when a a few oil cans did emerge). And if we failed to follow any of the scuba/ snorkel procedures we would be punished with a teaspoon of Vegemite in the mouth (seriously).

But the rules were worth it. The boat was filled with liked minded adventure seekers and we were so excited about the upcoming cruise through the sunshine that we would do anything the crew told us to. (which, actually we did. Many of us were exploited for "Powerplay" marketing photos..yes the photo with us on Whitehaven beach forming a "PP"....all to avoid Vegemite).

At first I was going to stick to snorkeling where I could safely see the sea life from oh a safe 2 inches from the water's surface. But then I heard all the stories from the cool "certified" divers. Apparently the "down under" of the Down Under was much better than above! Perhaps I could give the ol' Jacques Cousteau routine a try. We were in the Great Barrier after all. And sure enough I soon found myself in a wetsuit with my own weight in oxygen strapped to my back. Naturally, death thoughts filled my brain. I was going to get lost, lose the group and get found by a flesh eating manta ray. My regulator would become plugged with jellyfish. I would over inflate my vest and float away to Indonesia. Or a shark would mistake my red toenail polish for bloody niblets.

But once I made the dive (down under) I discovered such a beautiful new world (brave new world) that all thoughts of death slipped away. Did you know that there is a type of fish that mates for life? (you can see them swimming in pairs). Or that manta rays are actually afraid of us and swim away? Or that most coral is soft to the touch? Or that some coral, life fire coral, really shouldn't be touched and will leave you with a distinct burning sensation for 35 minutes? Sigh. I saw so many creatures including sea turtles, giant clams, and even little Nemo (aka clown fish) that I was addicted. Ladies and gentlemen, we have another yuppy sport to add to the collection.

Lessons From the Road

Greetings from Noosa! Yes, yes I know I intended to stay in Byron Bay a bit longer but the didgeridoos kept me up at night and I felt I needed a more "yuppy" surf town (no, it's not an oxy moron). I am on a path to self discovery afterall....and I discovered that, well, I prefer Pucci to patchouli.

However I did meet some fabulous people (some hippies, some yuppies in hiding) and thought I would share some wisdom from the road.

• #1 "Are you a traveler or a tourist? Tourists see more places, take more photos, but rarely experience much and make few friends." ---from Duncan (a hippy living in the hostel for over a year. He asked me to have his love child. I turned down the offer).

So okay I have actually not taken ONE photo since I arrived. But it has nothing to do with trying to be a "traveler." There have been terrible storms up the east coast of Australia and I don't want to be reminded that I was wearing a rain jacket when my intentions were tanning. I HAVE made some friends though and realized that my most fun days were spent staying in one place having those long philosophical conversations over beer, trying, as usual, to solve the world's problems.

• #2 "If you commit to a wave, you commit to it 110%. There is no hesitation, no second guessing, because if you do not give it your all, you'll get destroyed out here."---Wapoo(supposedly one of the best surfers in Byron..).

This quote happened one stormy day when I had given up on the ocean. The winds were howling, the waves were churning, and I was convinced I was going to drown. Wapoo saw me on the beach looking like a wet cat. "What's this...giving up are ya" "I just can't.....I'm a wet cat!" "Hmm.....want me to head out there with ya?" I discovered some strength in my now spaghetti arms and nodded. Despite the downpour, we paddled out in the storm, diving under waves, rolling under waves, and paddling like our lives depended on it. Every dive I got was rewarded with Wapoo's "good girl!" I felt pathetic needing such support, but did realize that we WERE the only surfers out there, too stupid to stay in and drink hot tea. Once we made it out behind the breaks, Wapoo told me I pretty much had one shot to get back to the beach. His advice saved me. I was very determined to make it. There was no hesitation. I got a 5 footer hanging a right......If only I could apply this determination to other facets of my life.....no second guessing.....

• "Why spend $20 in a restaurant with stuffy people when you can buy a sandwich for $5 and eat it on the beach?"--Jasper, Dutch traveler preparing to enter the military.

Good point.......why waste money in a restaurant? Especially because (no offense) Australian food, at least in Byron, leaves a lot to be desired. I do not think I have seen a vegetable in 5 days. Even if I order them. The Aussies have tricked themselves into thinking POTATOES are vegetables. So any vegetable order will likely be either potatoes or some unidentifiable object with ketchup (here called "Tomato." Again another ploy to convince themselves they are eating vegetables instead of a starch derivative). I luckily have brought packets of "Energy-C" and other vitamins to prevent me from getting scurvy. Scurvy. It's a viable concern.

So those a a few gems from some of the many TRAVELERS (not tourists!) that I have met along my journey. Some have braved my international accent and become my friend, others have merely been a passing flicker in my life. Here's hoping it continues.......friends and flickers....

Surfing My Saviour

Yesterday morning I couldn't shake the feeling that I had made a huge mistake. Unlike most people that came to Byron, I was NOT here to play hackey sack, hook up with a hippy lover, party til dawn, or go to Nimbin to smoke myself silly on weed. I was older than most, many here just on their first international adventure. Even though most took me for 25 (thank God for sunscreen) I sure didn't feel it. This whole 'adventure' seemed a mistake. I'm too grown up. A relationship aborted, a down payment on a house gone, and exciting career opportunities stalled. (plus I would be missing SF's 'Bay to Breakers' race!). What the hell was I doing?

Then I got on the surf bus. Sean, the guide, decided that Byron beaches were too crowded and so he took us to a secluded spot about 15 minutes away. We had the entire beach to ourselves! Perfect glassy 3-4 foot rolling waves....

I paddled out determined, and amazingly caught the first wave I attempted. I felt the rush of the drop down, the the thrill of the perfect left, and the euphoria of being able to do this once again.

Salty hair flying, I looked around at the vast sea and remembered why I was here. To learn from the ocean, live in the present, and feel nothing but my board underneath me and the rising waves that pushed me forward.

Regrets and mistakes melted into the racing waters.

This will be my new identity. My reason to go to bed early and wake up with the sun. My inspiration to write every day...nothing more that the feelings of that day itself. Perhaps I seem a bit standoffish (or plain boring) to the Byron population, but once I explain, they tip their hat (or beanie, or dreds..) in respect. Even my party crazed dorm mates.

The 30 year old in a hostel

I have only been in a hostel once before...in Spain 11 years ago. I remember it as an exciting experience to be with all those travel savvy Euros and oversized backpacks. I didn't worry about laving things unattended in the room, the communal bathrooms, or the inevitable late nights.

Fast forward to now.

After having a few beers with new friends last night, I crawled into my top bunk at 11pm and prayed my jet lagged body would fall into a coma and not wake up as the other five girls entered, presumably much later. Unfortunately I am a light sleeper.

The girls staggered in one by one at various times. However their entry wasn't offensive--it was the noises that happened later. For example the girl below me I named 'Whooping Cough" because some severe aggravation of her throat caused her to hack loudly every 5 minutes. The beautiful Swede parallel to me had a non beautiful habit. She snored. Loudly. The girl to my left had to get up twice to run to the bathroom, likely vomiting up whatever beverage was on special that night. I think someone else had sleep apnia. But it gets worse. Someone started crying. Yes, Whooping Cough's coughs turned into whooping sobs. Apparently she was going through a painful breakup. Yes yes, they are hard but couldn't she be a normal person and cry in the shower? AND THEN Whooping cough had a visitor. Her friend came in whispering and hand holding the weepy Whooping Cough. They started to have a romantic consultation at 2 am right below me! This was a bit too much....the whole room didn't need to hear the gory details of how she was wronged...of course if she wanted to publish her pain , oh, say on a blog on the world wide web, that was totally acceptable. ; )

But the worst wasn't over. After the friend left and people started to fall into slumbers a beep could be heard. Someone's phone battery was dying. The annoying 'reminder' beep went off every 4 minutes like clockwork. The worst wasn't hearing it, but rather anticipating it. I lay motionless staring at the ceiling anticipating each one. Why doesn't someone turn their darn phone off! I bet it was Whooping Cough's. It sounded just like my phone and if this was the case this beeping could go on for hours.

Wait....was this my phone? Beep. Everyone stirred in their cots. Beep.

Crap. My mind whirled. I DID briefly turn on my phone mid day to get a phone number. Was it possible I didn't turn it off again? Beep. Oh no!

I sat upright in bed and let my ears follow the beep. Hmmm....it did seem to be coming from my locker (heavily padlocked of course). Crap. What to do? I prayed everyone else was sleeping through it. Beep.

Okay I had to take care of this. I climbed down the ladder to the floor and stealthily made my way across the room tiptoeing noiselessly. Noiselessly until a huge "ACCCK" escaped my mouth. I had tripped over the Swede's large suitcase strategically positioned in the middle of the room. She must have done that to alert us to any intruders that would break into a hippy commune.

I ignored the pain from my stubbed toe and went over to my locker. Crap again. Why didn't I bring a flashlight with me? There was no way I could make out any of the numbers on the dial on my super strength padlock. It was too dark. A mocking Beep came from inside. I had two choices. I could turn on the lights, wake everyone up, get into my locker to turn off the offending phone but also alert everyone as to who the owner was. OR I could sneak back to bed, pretend the noise was harmonious, and pray it stopped soon. I choose the latter. 20 minutes later it stopped and i fell asleep. I woke up a few hours later to the Art Factory birds heckling outside.

When hearing comments this morning about some strange beep I played dumb? Really? A beep? You don't say. Hmm...I must have been knocked out completely. Didn't hear a thing last night.

Arrival

I have arrived at the Arts Factory Lodge in Byron Bay. A colorful community with dorms, tents, pools, open air pool tables and a plethora social activities. For $10AUD you can take a didgeridoo lesson, a yoga class, or learn creative massage technique. People sit around in their tie dye and philosophize. Right now I am a bit overwheImed but give me a few days....I plan on unleashing my inner hippy. (hmmm....is there a gucci version of birkenstocks, I wonder?)

On the bus ride here from the Brisbane airport, I met a nice English girl. She is here to take a yoga trainer course. We talked a bit about travel, boys, the 'crow' yoga pose and everything girls do when they first meet each other on an adventure. I think I may have used my famous "international accent" when talking to her ("where are you from again?") but she seemed forgiving enough and wants to meet for dinner tonight. If I can make friends unwashed, sleep deprived, and with a bad accent I should have no problem the rest of the trip....

I already feel a new person, washed clean of the regrets and sadness that weighed me down prior to my departure. During the long plane ride here the haunting echos of the last phone conversation with my ex boyfriend slowly dissipated. We broke up a few days ago...because of my trip..or perhaps not because of my trip....and I seemed to need lots of "last goodbyes." In person, email, phone...sigh...pathetic. We had a strong connection that I will miss deeply..he was very inspirational in my life...but decided that there is no point in holding on to something or someone who has made it very clear that they do not want to be held onto. During our last phone conversation I heard 30 variations of why I wasn't worth it.....deflating.....yet after the initial hurt, strangely cleansing. I certainly don't want my feelings to burden someone else.

Soooooo here I am in a hippy commune feeling raw and naked in a sea of bad clothing and medicinal herbs....oh dear lord. Maybe I'll take a didgeridoo lesson. I guess anything is possible....I am claiming the open road and new possibilities. It's a suprisingly comfortable idea (the road, not the didgeridoo).

And surfing starts tomorrow...bring on the waves.