Oh Tannenbaum, part the second

Thanks all for the many, many British names. Some of those have been names in years past. Nigel is the first one that comes to mind every year, followed by Jeeves.

I ended up decorating the tree, but it kind of looks like I wadded up the lights and ornaments and tossed them on the tree, hoping some would stick...or hoping it would detract from the fact that more and more needles continue to fall out. At least it doesn't smell like socks and vomit, like the Madoogan tree.

But that would be a good sort-if british name: Saxonvaughmitte. Of course, to be a truly British name, you have to add a bunch of consonants that don't get pronounced, and a nice little "shire" at the end, like Gloucstershire or something.

In other news, I'm mourning the loss of a tv show. Why do the networks cancel all the good ones? First, Arrested Development. Now, Journeyman. I contemplated writing a whole blog entry about it, but the world has heard enough about my feelings on time-travel.

But back to the topic on hand. A new name. I think I'm skipping tradition and going with something non-British. Well, British inspired, but only if you follow the leaps of logic that my brain does. I shall call the tree: Puddin'. It's in honor of how British people make things that are called pudding -- like Blood Pudding -- but that are not at all pudding-like or even remotely delicious.

Plus, it means I can do a Bill Cosby impersonation every time I say Puddin'.

O Christmas Tree

I got my tree last week, so it's beginning to look like Christmas in my apartment...instead of a moving box graveyard.

It was a minor ordeal to get the tree. Ostensibly, picking up a tree is easy, and I just went to the local Home Depot for a bargain $25 tree. The problem, however, is getting a tree when you are just one person. It can sometimes feel a bit lonely to get a tree -- as depicted in When Harry Met Sally -- but more than anything else, it's just awkward and bulky for one person to carry.

Of course, after all the work getting it here, I haven't decorated it yet. Just some randomly strung lights. Decorating the tree really isn't that interesting, and it requires a lot of effort. And, you get nearly the same effect if you put the tree in the corner and throw some lights on.

I may break down and decorate it today, if only to hide the fact that the branches are already drying up and losing their needles like a junkie in rehab (or a pregnant nicole richie). I'm hoping this baby lasts until Saturday, when I'm having some people over for a holiday dinner. I fear by then it will look like all the trees that get tossed out on the curb -- brown and dry and naked.

Speaking of which, I need a name for my tree. A british name. The tradition of naming the tree something british started in college, for reasons I no longer know. I'm not sure what's stranger -- the fact that we named our tree at all, or the fact that the name had to be british. In any case, I need a name. Maybe Beatrix.

Christmas Rapping

I spent the day fighting the gale winds rushing across the outlet mall tundra to try and buy some Christmas gifts for friends and family. I didn't end up buying much, but I did stumble across two inalienable holiday truths today:

1 - Contrary to what the 24-hour holiday radio stations will lead you to believe, there really are only so many Christmas songs. That number dwindles even further when you're dealing with shops catering to a so-called hip crowd. So today I found myself hearing the same loungy x-mas songs that used to play on a loop in the Georgetown J Crew circa 1999, and I was immediately taken back to the trials and tribulations of folding dozens and dozens of roll-neck sweaters after store closing.

Suffice it to say that I'm over the loungy x-mas music. I'd be happy if all the stores would give up trying to be hip, and just play a loop of the classics: Run DMC's Christmas in Hollis, Band-Aid Do They Know It's Christmas, and of course, Wham's Last Christmas.

2 - While browsing on-line for a gift for my near teenage nephew, I decided to check out a sporting goods store website. Bottom Line: Remember to type in the whole name www.dickssportinggoods.com. I don't want to tell you what happens if you accidentally leave off the sporting goods part, but I'm sure the FBI has a file on me now.

To Madhu: Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

I stopped blogging once I arrived back. Nothing exciting was going on. And, the few amusing things I had to say were being said in person. I couldn't possibly share the same bits on my blog, especially considering my audience was hearing it in person.

But, I hear I still have an audience of at least one. At least one faithful reader. So, I'm going to try and blog more. But, don't be mad if I'm kind of boring when you see me these days. It's because I'm saving my best stuff for my blog.

In the meantime...

I went out tonight. It feels like the first real time that I have gone out since I moved back. That's not technically true because I've been out in DC since I moved in mid-November. But for some reason this felt like the first time back. It was nice, although a little strange -- I'm home and maybe a little tipsy by midnight.

Upstairs, my neighbors are throwing a party. Ten years ago, that was me. I can hear the music and what I think is dancing. It sounds a little like Stomp! and a little like the Rockettes. Lots of rhythmic stomping that I'm assuming is dancing. Well, not this second because a slow song is on. Were we this loud ten years ago?

Speaking of ten years ago and my lost youth, I was driving home this morning and I heard a song on the radio that reminded me of my senior year in high school -- Jesus Jones' Right Here, Right Now. Totally saccharin song, but it still reminds me of my senior year. Fortuitous timing on our part that it came out right before we graduated, and not some other year. Anyway, as I was listening to the song -- and actually listening to the lyrics for the first time -- it reminded me of how much time has passed. When we were getting ready to graduate, the Berlin Wall had just fallen and the whole Cold War ended. We were so optimistic -- geez how things have changed. I can't imagine today's high school seniors feel so care free and hopeful. I hope they are oblivious to the world's current ailments.

Not to change topics, but the theme song from Dirty Dancing is playing at the party upstairs. and the feet stomping has started again -- I can't wait for the lift! No wonder we were so optimistic.

Picturebook...A Holiday in August

I still haven't downloaded any Africa photos, for fear of causing my laptop to spontaneously combust. But, I just got some pics from a friend I met during my Namibia journey. Here are a few...with the promise to actually put together photos of all my travels:


Can you believe this is Africa? It's Swakopmund in Namibia, but it looks like Germany.


Now this looks like Africa - the dunes of the Namib desert, near Sossusvlei.


More beautiful dunes. Very English Patient.

Welcome to the Old Apartment

So after much ado, I finally have an apartment. I signed the lease and I move in on Tuesday -- assuming the movers ever call me back. (Seriously, the only thing harder to find than a good apartment is a reliable mover.)

Anyway, I'm actually moving back into my old Adams Morgan/Kalorama Triangle neighborhood. Well, to be more specific, I'm moving back into the same apartment building that I lived in during law school. The apartments there were so nice, and I loved the street. (I stumbled upon it one evening right before I started law school when I was driving around checking out DC neighborhoods, and then by major coincidence, a few days later I happened upon a roommate posting of someone living on that street.)

So, in the midst of my apartment frustration, I came across an ad for a one bedroom apartment in the same building -- just one floor up. And the rest, as they say, is history. Really boring history, but history nonetheless.

Of course, this time around I'm paying way more than I paid in law school for the apartment. Rent control. It's a beautiful thing sometimes. There's a woman in the building who has been there since I first moved in 1997. (She wasn't too fond of the parties I used to have, which is hard to understand -- who wouldn't love The Petite Soiree?) Apparently, as I just learned, she's been in the building since 1971. Thanks to rent control, she now pays only $700 for a 1500 sq. ft. gorgeous apartment in a great building. These are the stories that I would hear about in NY or see on Friends, but didn't actually believe.

That could be me in 30 years. Except, I wouldn't mind if the young neighbor downstairs threw a Petite Soiree. So long as I was invited.

So, We Meet Again

Since I created this blog to keep everyone posted about my travels, I kinda didn't know what to do when I stopped traveling. I kept thinking that I'd write one more entry, summarizing everything I learned from my travels and revealing how many miles I traveled, and maybe even finally posting some pictures of yawning crocodiles and baby elephants and the like. But, somehow I never mustered up enough gravitas to write an entry worthy of my travels and all the self-growth that occurred. (And, I still haven't downloaded my photos, not even the awesome one of the leopard in a tree devouring a dead impala, that should be on the cover of National Geographic.)

A few times I was thinking of writing about my mini-adventures in suburbia, since that's still kind of traveling. This idea popped into my head most recently when I went a'gambling with my parents and aunt/uncle at the Dover Racetrack a few weekends ago. I was conjuring up pithy observations about the experience while playing nickel slots. (e.g., The pungent smell of desperation and bus trip hung thick in the air.) But, somehow I never mustered up enough energy to describe those kinds of trips.

But now, I've decided to break my silence, mainly just to gripe. To bitch and moan about the total absence of inhabitable apartments in the Capitol Hill neighborhood. I've been looking for a few weeks now, and I can't believe how many crack dens are out there. Wait -- that's a "Cozy, junior 1BR crack den w/ open floor-plan, and original details." It's shocking how many slumlords exist, with delusions of grandeur dancing like sugerplum fairies in their greedy little heads. And the ones that aren't crack dens, all have something strange happening, like the whole apartment is only nine-feet wide. The kookiest one so far was a building where the landlord decorated the hallways and staircases with lots of wicker furniture and tchotchkes, as if it were part of her apartment. That doesn't sound kooky on its face, but if you'd seen the knick-knacks, and met the new-age landlord, you'd understand.

There were one or two apartments that, in a moment of weakness and desperation, I almost considered taking. But in both instances, I detected some serious unease from the landlord about the fact that I don't have a job. Never mind that I have sufficient cash to pay my rent. Never mind that it's not exactly so easy to get a job in a different city, when no one will rent you an apartment in that city without a job. (Chicken? Meet the egg.) I feel like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman, where she goes into that boutique to buy some non-hooker clothing, and they won't sell her anything, even though she has the money (and a pair of thigh high suede boots). Dammit, people. I'm not a hooker. (But if I were, I'd have a job then, no?) Rent me an apartment.

Disappointed at all the one bedrooms for rent, I have been considering the idea of moving in with a roommate for a few months until I get a job and then I'd buy a place. Actually, I should say that I was kicking around the idea of finding a roommate until I saw this ad on craigslist.

Seriously, someone shoot me and put me out of my misery. Or, shoot them. This ad belongs on gawker. I'm not sure what I find more troubling -- the fact that they are haters to liberals, or the fact that they won't let you put anything in the kitchen except a knicknack...But you should feel like it's your house, too. Really. Just so long as you don't say anything too liberal. And so long as your knicknack isn't too tacky. Cuz it isn't a frat house.

Sheesh. I need a drink after this beezwax. A drink, and an apartment.

Good Morning Sunshine

It's 6:15 am, and I've been up for quite a while, dressed, and thinking about going running or something...once the sun comes up, that is. As you can see, I'm still adjusting to the time change. It's absolutely maddening.

Back on the Chain Gang

I'm back stateside, after enduring a 32-hour journey back (including two flights, one super shuttle ride, a MARC train, and a ride from my dad). It was endless.

Last Thursday afternoon, I traveled from Swakopmund back to Windhoek, the capital of Namibia. I overnighted in Windhoek before flying to Cape Town to spend my last few days in Africa.

My time in Cape Town was lovely, if uneventful. This time I rented a car, which provided much comic relief, as I tried to drive on the wrong side of the road -- and with the stick shift on the wrong side of the car. There were a few close calls, and every time I tried to change lanes, I ended up turning on the windshield wipers.

Once I managed to figure out the driving, I took a jaunt down the peninsula to visit the Cape of Good Hope, revered as the most southern point in Africa and the place where the Indian Ocean meets the Atlantic. In fact, as it turns out, it's neither. But no matter. It was a pleasant coastal drive, with cliff-side roads that snaked through the cape with beautiful views. On the way to the cape point, I stopped to see the large colony of jackass penguins at Boulders Beach. Cool. I also stopped at a seaside town of Simons Town for their annual penguin festival, after seeing two people dressed like penguins riding around in a pick up truck. (That turned out to be the only exciting thing.)

So it was a good weekend. The only hiccup for an otherwise perfect trip was my discovery that my cell phone had been pilfered somewhere between Zambia and Jo-burg, and the later discovery that several hundred dollars had disappeared from my bag. I was a little upset about both events; but, in light of the fact that I've been traveling for years and this is the first time I've ever had anything stolen, I'd say that overall I've been pretty lucky if that's the only really bad thing that's happened to me.

And now I'm back in the US, with major jet lag, no cell phone, and a vague idea that I should probably start looking for a job soon. Maybe next month. In the meantime, I'm going to revel in the memory of a fantastic trip.

The Real World -- Namibia

I'm still in Swakopmund, wasting some time at an internet joint before we drive back to Windhoek this afternoon.

So, I was sitting here quietly perusing The New York Times website, and this thin, blonde South African bloke started yelling loudly through the gated door. He was yelling at a woman sitting near me who was checking her email. Finally, he stopped yelling and marched into the place -- with a cameraman following him and filming his every move.

Apparently they are some sort of reality television people. So, the cameraman taped them having a short argument in Afrikaans. I did not understand a single word, but I can only assume it went something like:

Man: Why are you taking so long to check your email? I would like to go get some delicious Namibian pancakes.
Woman: Go get your bloody pancakes and leave me alone. I'm checking my email. Also, why do the back of your pants look like a thousand years of sand and dirt have accumulated since the last launder? Don't you remember you are on television?
Man: Quit your nagging, woman. I'm going to get me some pancakes.

Then, the guy stormed off in his dirty-arse pants, and the cameraman stuck around for an unnaturally long time filming the woman checking her email. Major yawn. But, I'm in the background while all this goes on, so it's only a matter of time before I'm on South African tv.

Half a World Away

I'm in Swakopmund, a small town on the coast of Namibia . I have come to Namibia to give birth to Brad Pitt's (second) love child . . . er, I mean, to see the largest sand dunes in the world. (For what it's worth, Swakopmund is about 40 km from Walvis Bay, the place where the much anticipated first love-child was born.)

Instead of the fancy game camps I had previously visited, this time I'm on an overland (read: budget) safari. Basically, eight of us piled into a Land Rover and drove ten hours out into the Namib desert. I spent the last two days camping in the desert, and to my surprise, it turned out to be real camping -- not this faux camping that the other places offer -- with sleeping bags, tents, the whole nine yards.

Now, I'm not much of a camping person. In fact, the last time -- and only time -- I went camping I was probably 7 years old. But, the camping went surprisingly well. The only wrinkle occurred on the first night, Monday.

It being the desert, I consumed probably about four liters of water on Monday. Even so, I felt really dehydrated. I went to bed kind of early, since we were waking up at 5 am to see the sunrise on the giant dunes. About three hours later, the four liters of water kicked in, and I woke up desperately in need of a bathroom. But, our guide had warned us about the jackals that come around the camp at night. So, I spent the better part of an hour in the tent, debating whether I would be eaten by jackals if I trekked across the camp to the building with the bathrooms. Eventually, I decided that this must happen to other people and they don't get eaten, but that walking across camp was still too risky. (Surely our guide would have told us that story.) Finally, I ended up availing myself of the natural desert facilities near our tent, but the whole time was freaked out that a jackal was going to jump up and bite me in the arse. (At least I didn't see any porcupines.)

Anyway, minor unpleastantries aside, the dunes were amazing. The area with the dunes looks like something from a science fiction movie -- one hundred foot tall dunes made out of red sand. Hiking up one of the dunes is pure torture for your legs. I was thinking that if I could find a way to recreate the giant sand dunes in LA, masses of starlets and bored housewives would give up their trendy stripper pole workout for the ultimate uphill sand dune workout.

In addition to the dunes, the extended time driving around in the Land Rover gave me a chance to see other parts of the Namibia. The landscape varies from huge sand dunes, desert plains, multi-colored rocky mountains, and slate blue lagoons. It seemed like most of the country was untouched. Oh -- and in addition to the beautiful landscapes, the nighttime sky out in the desert was amazing. Minimal light pollution for miles and miles, so you can see hundreds of stars and comets. I've never seen the sky so clearly.

Oh, and I saw a bunch of ostriches. (Or is it: I saw a bunch of ostrich. Either way, that's what I saw.)

Oh...

Forgot to mention that I racked up another visit to a UNESCO World Heritage site today: Robbins Island, where Nelson Mandela was a prisoner for some 18 years.

There were also penguins.

One Lonely Night

I've been ambling around Cape Town for the past two days, and I have to say, I dig it. It's pretty chill, with lots of cafes and sunshine. I'm here for one more day, and then on Sunday I leave for a camping trip in Namibia. I still can't get over the fact that I'm going camping -- even if it is supposed to be fancy camping. Considering how on edge I was staying at the budgety hotels in Asia, it should be highly amusing to see how I react to camping out in the middle of the desert.

No matter, though -- it should be worth it. Apparently there are dunes the size of small mountains. Should be just like the English Patient.

Otherwise, I'm having kind of a lonely evening. It's Friday night in Cape Town, and I am seeing lots of people heading out on the town. (Or gearing up to have people over to watch the opening night of the World Cup of Rugby...I don't know that for sure, but it just seems like that's what people are doing. Rugby is huge here.) It makes me wish that I had my friends around to head out to dinner, or to come over and watch some rugby. Of course, none of us actually care about rugby. But, then again, I don't care about other sports either, so it wouldn't be any different than having a super bowl party. Everyone would hang out and gossip and eat cheese dip.

I've been traveling alone for about two weeks now, which is just about the longest I've ever traveled on my own. For the most part, it's gone smashingly well. I met oodles of people at the various game camps, so there wasn't too much time to feel lonely. Even here in Cape Town, it didn't bother me until tonight. I think it's because it's Friday night. I suppose that I could go out to an Irish bar and watch the opening night of rugby -- you are bound to meet a kooky Australian who will hang out with you. But, that's not really my thing, even if I do enjoy a kooky Australian.

Apparently I'm not the only one feeling lonely tonight in Cape Town. I grabbed a cab back to the hotel tonight, and the cab driver repeatedly offered to give me a full body massage. "No sexual activity," he said. Just a massage. Which would have been a creepy enough offer until he started telling me how much he was looking forward to giving me said massage. Needless to say, I had him drop me off a few blocks early.

I'm meeting some of the strangest characters on this trip.

No Gnus is Good Gnus

On Monday morning, I left Zimbabwe to go on another safari, this time in Botswana. As promised, the setting was absolutely beautiful. In addition to the dry bushy-type landscape that I saw in South Africa, the area I visited in Botswana also had lush, grassy floodplains (which look just like it sounds). There were flat grassy areas as far as the eye could see, interrupted in spots by the Chobe River and other little water inlets.

My room at the game lodge was more like a hotel than a game camp. (Apparently Liz Taylor and Richard Burton got married there for the second time in the 1970's.) In any case, the view from my room was spectacular -- there was full wall of windows that looked across the very narrow Chobe River to Namibia, where a herd of elephants was grazing. (I had no idea that the game lodge was only about 50 yards from Namibia.)

The game lodge is in a national park in Botswana, so you can't go off the roads like we could in the private game reserve in South Africa. This means that you don't get to see the animals as closely, and you can't follow them through the bush. On the other hand, the sheer number of animals hanging out in Botswana was far greater than SA. Every ten minutes or so, we'd stumble onto a new herd of elephants. That's one of the impressive things about being on a safari, period -- instead of seeing three or four elephants in a zoo, you see dozens at a time.

Though the Botswana park had more animals (in terms of numbers), there seemed to be less variety than SA. Most of what I saw were giraffes and elephants and various varieties of 'lopes. Unfortunately, giraffes and elephants don't do much more than eat, so it can get kind of boring. I also saw a gun (wildebeest), which I had been dying to see. Turns out they are probably the second ugliest animal in nature, after the warthog. That's unfortunate, since I have had a strange fascination with gnus dating back to the days of newsman Gary Gnu on The Great Space Coaster.

The game lodge was huge by African standards -- some 60 people were staying there. As a result, it lacked the warm and fuzzy feeling that I understand is pretty typical of the smaller camps, and that I myself reveled in while staying in SA. Still, I managed to meet some interesting people while I was there -- including, if you can believe the odds, an associate who currently works at my old firm (Washington office, though, not NYC).

Monday night, I ended up having drinks with a random group of people, that included two photographers (traveling separately), a Botswana tourism official, and an Irish woman. We talked for quite a while, and when it came time for me to head back to my side of the lodge, it was pretty late. Whereas the camp in SA didn't let you walk around at night alone, the Botswana lodge had said it was okay to walk on the lit-paths.

So, I headed off on one of the lit paths towards my room. I was about a third of the way there, when I realized that the whole common area of the lodge was pitch black, and I was going to have to walk through that to get to my room. I mustered up all my courage and started to head through. Then, I heard a rustling, and had a mini-heart attack. I was sure a lion was about to eat me. Some chairs moved, I held my breath...and a huge, gargantuan porcupine waddled out of the dining area right onto the path I needed to walk on. I know porcupines are more friend than foe, but I'd never seen one in person, and it was huge. And I was kind of tipsy.

I ended up running back to the patio where the others were still having drinks, and the Botswana tourism official -- a very petite woman and unlikely bodyguard -- kindly walked me back to my room. (She had worked at the lodge before, and apparently has no fear of deadly porcupines.)

The rest of my stay was fairly uneventful. Lovely landscapes, nice people, but no further porcupine or gnu sightings.

Yesterday, I left Botswana for Cape Town, where I'll be for the next few days, at least. So far, me likey. As much as I loved visiting the nature reserves and parks, it's nice to be back in civilization for a while.

P.S.

I don't know how, but I forgot to mention that while I was touring Vic Falls (the Zambian side) two different groups of people stopped me to take my picture. One of the groups even posed with me in the picture. I don't know if it was my awesome fashion (Gap, circa 2005), or my blonde hair. Either way, I'm not used to such idolatry.

Dr. Livingstone, I Presume

I'm in Zimbabwe at the moment, visiting one of the seven wonders of the natural world and UNESCO World Heritage Site, Victoria Falls. The falls are the largest in the world, the water plunging from a cliff down to a gorge 300 feet below. Impressive, for sure. But, the visit kind of reaffirmed my previous guiding principle about waterfalls: that is, they are fine to see, but don't go out of your way to do so.

I mean, the falls are great. But it takes about an hour to see them from every which angle. And then you are done. And there is nothing else really here. And my travel agent booked me here for three nights.

Still, it's a big draw and there are many, many tourists here. Interestingly, more than half of the travelers that I have seen are over 50 years old, many seeming to be from the US. (By contrast, when I was on safari, Americans were overwhelmingly in the minority, and there were a number of younger people, too.) A surprising number of the tourists here sport khaki safari vest/jackets while walking around. Sure, it's Africa, but about the hardest thing people are doing here is trying to track down bottled water from the porters at the fancy hotel. It's funny, though, because in the vests everyone looks like either an AP photographer read to go on assignment on Beirut, or Dick Cheney on a fishing trip.

Given the demographics of the visitors, you can imagine my surprise at how many adventure companies there are that offer the chance to bungee jump from the bridge near the falls, or to raft through Class 5 rapids. I can't see that appealing to the over-60 set. But that's the main thing to do around here, apart from viewing the falls. However, you couldn't convince me to partake even in the US, where there are tons of safety measures and liability concerns. (You can sense the huge difference between the American legal system and the Zimbabwe system by the number of people that are freely allowed to walk out into the water maybe a half dozen feet from falling -- to their deaths -- into the LARGEST WATERFALL IN THE WHOLE FREAKING WORLD.)

Deciding to pass on the bungee jumping, I took a trip this afternoon into Zambia, which is on the other side of the falls. Not much to see there, either, except for the falls, at a slightly different angle. Oh -- and there seemed to be more 8 foot high wooden giraffes available for purchase, which I secretly kind of want, although I have no idea how I'd get it home or what I'd do with it in the US.

Oh -- I forgot to mention what Dr. Livingstone has to do with any of this. For some inexplicable reason, that phrase popped into my head several times since arriving in Africa, and I had to fight an urge to say it. I must have read it in my guidebooks before I left. Apparently the infamous Dr. Livingstone was a British missionary/explorer who "discovered" the falls in the 1800's when he came to Africa. Years later, he went missing and a reporter for the New York Times tracked Livingstone down to a town farther north in Zambia, supposedly muttering the now famous phrase when he encountered Livingstone.

And with that exciting history lesson, I'm off to head back from town to my hotel. Tomorrow morning I leave for Botswana, where I'll be spending another couple days on safari. (Yay safari!) They say Botswana has some of the most beautiful and undisturbed landscapes in southern africa, so I'm really looking forward to the trip.

And Where Shall I Begin?

So, the safari turned out to be even more fantastic than I ever imagined.

I went to a game camp named Motswari in the northeastern corner of South Africa, right near Kruger National Park. The camp is located on a huge nature reserve that is actually a conglomeration of a number of privately owned farms. But, there's no fence between Kruger and the reserve. So, the animals migrate freely to and fro. Plus, the bonus is that on the private reserve, you can drive off the main road (which you can't in Kruger), so you can see the animals closer.

I call it a camp, which is really not a fit description. Sure, it's a camp, in that every one's living in the middle of the african bush. But, I had my own enclosed bungalow, complete with a super comfy king size bed, down bedding, huge freestanding tub built for two, rain shower, etc. The accommodations could easily rival some of the nicer places in the US.

On the other hand, you can't walk outside your bungalow by yourself at night, lest the hyenas may eat you. (The Westin should consider adding that amenity!) Although I didn't see any, supposedly elephants have been known to wander into camp. I did, however, see a huge group of baboons hanging out across from the lounge. (The lounge is an open air pavilion where you have tea in the morning, and lunch in the afternoon.)

The schedule is more or less set each day. Someone wakes you up at 5:30. You have some tea or coffee, then it's off for the morning game drive. You get back around 10 am, eat breakfast (delicious omelettes), and then are free to take a nap or go on a guided walk. But, that's about all there is to do. Then, they serve a lunch at 2:30 and you're off again on the late afternoon game drive. You get back from that drive at 6:45. Dinner/drinks were about an hour after that. That's it.

So this was the schedule every day. I did skip one of the morning drives. But otherwise that's what I did. The game drives were awesome. You tour around in an open Land Rover with stadium seating. I saw oodles of animals: lions, leopards, giraffes, elephants, zebras, warthogs, rhinos, hyenas, all varieties of antelope, etc. It was amazing how close some of the animals came to the vehicle. Thursday morning, we had a herd of elephants pass about 10 feet away from the car. That same morning, we also had a leopard walk about two feet behind the back of the vehicle. Surprisingly, it's not as scary as you'd think.

But even without the animals, the scenery was just so beautiful. It is the end of winter and the dry season, so it's not anywhere near as green or as lush as it is in summer. But, it's beautiful nonetheless. Lots of short trees, tall golden grasses, and the most amazing sunsets. (Each night we stopped during the drive to have a drink -- a sundowner -- and watch the sun set.) Plus, the temperature was like the late days of spring in the US -- sunny and pleasantly warm, with a light breeze.

When you get there, you are assigned a guide and tracker who look out after you for your stay. As a result, you also are driving around and eating dinner with the same people for a few days. I met some interesting people -- some good, and some just bad.

The first two days I was in a group that included all Europeans: a very friendly couple from Serbia and France; a stoic German couple that never talked; and, a gregarious Italian man and his wife, named Roberto and Roberta. Roberto liked to try to make jokes in the very little English he knew, and you found yourself laughing heartily along with him, even though his jokes tended to be something like "Buffalo? I like buffalo mozzarella."

Then, they all left, and a group of Americans joined us. They included a husband and wife from Ohio, and their college aged son. They were all in South Africa because the husband was attending a competition wherein he would shoot targets with an 18th Century musket or some such firearm...if that tells you something. The wife seemed extremely bitter that she was in Africa, which could be because she doesn't like 18th Century musket shooting competitions...or it could be that she is just plain racist, as evidenced by the comment I overheard (but won't repeat) the first night they arrived. Their son was a disaffected youth, who didn't seem to realize how awesome it was that his parents TOOK HIM TO AFRICA. I talked to these folks some, but they pretty much whined and hated everything. Except for the photo opps. They had huge crazy professional cameras with foot-long lenses, and took thousands of photos. I thought they were going to explode with delight when we stumbled upon a group of buffalo locking horns...with beautiful backlighting...and the right amount of dust to really set off the lighting. But, even as annoying as they were, it still couldn't bring me down. Mostly I was kind of amused.

By the last day, it was just me and an English couple from outside London. We, along with our guide, were about the same age, and all got on very well. Oh -- our guide was really cool, too. He was a little reserved by American standards, but very nice and extremely smart. His love of the bush and the animals was contagious, and by the end of the trip, I found myself completely taken with the area...and had managed to develop a mini-crush on our guide, too. (After he took a few of us on a walk through the area around the camp-- carrying a gun to protect us from elephants and such -- it was completely impossible not to be crushing a little bit.)

So, I ended on an extremely high note. The last day was just sublime -- very chill company, the most beautiful weather, morning tea across from a small river filled with hippos. Just perfection. I felt completely calm and relaxed, like I could have stayed there forever.

I was surprised at how very sad I was when I left on Thursday. As awesome as the whole trip had been -- the last day in particular -- I realized that I would never have that experience again. To be sure, you can go back to an area, or even stay in touch with people you meet on a trip. But, I was acutely aware that it would be impossible to recreate how wonderful that particular moment had been, and sad that the moment had passed.

So that was my safari experience. I loved it so dearly, that it made me startlingly sad to leave.

...and it is Awesome

I've just emerged from my safari, and it was amazing beyond even my grandest expectations. I have a novella to write about the experience, but need to surrender the computer that I'm currently on. I'm hoping to write more this evening, particularly since I leave at the crack of dawn tomorrow for Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe.

But, in short, it was so freakin' awesome. I kind of want to move here and be on permanent safari.

I'm Here....

I made it to Jo-burg yesterday, as did my luggage. (I had my doubts about the luggage, but it arrived.) And, as soon as I arrived, I'm off again. I leave in about 20 minutes to fly up to safari land, where I'll be on safari for the next five days. Yay, giraffes and zebras!

On the Road Again

I'm leaving for the airport in about a half hour. I'm so thrilled, that I almost fainted several times this morning. Woo hoo!

It's a little bit funny...this feeling inside

I'm leaving on Friday, and this week should be a flurry of last minute errands and packing. But, thanks to the internet, I ordered a new camera on-line, so I there's no need to leave the comfort of my home today. It's rainy and cold out, and I have to say, this is precisely the kind of day that would always make me want to stay home from work and lounge in pajama pants -- particularly since I spent all day yesterday traipsing around in the rain in Philadelphia, city of Brotherly thugs, trying to get additional pages added to my passport. So today, due to the joyous fact that I'm not working, I can spend the day playing Excite Truck on the wii. (I love my life.)

The one other thing I might muster the energy to do today is to find some new music for my trip. I've got an iTunes gift card to burn, but am really out of the music loop. When I was in high school and college, I really liked music and was hip to whatever new music was coming out. These days, though, I have no idea what's new and awesome. I blame it partly on the dirth of even nominally decent radio stations in New York, but largely on my ever-advancing march to middle-age.

In any case, whatever the cause, I'm tired of every song I own, and I have a fifteen hour flight. (Someone please tell me why I decided to load so much Elton John onto my iPod. Seriously? Of course, now that I took the time to load it I don't feel like removing it.)

I'd really love any recommendations for songs/cds to download...or any good books for that matter.

I Bless the Rains Down in Africa

The trip is booked. Well, almost booked. I still need to send payment tomorrow, and there is one side-trip I'm still trying to work out. But, ostensibly, the deal is done. After much ado, I'm leaving next Friday for Southern Africa, including stops in South Africa, Zimbabwe, Botswana, and in all likelihood, Namibia.

I'm so freakin' excited. I plan to spend the next week alternatively singing Todo's Africa, and/or doing the african dance from Can't Buy Me Love in celebration of my trip.

Weather's Great...Wish You Were Here

I'm still in Maryland right now, trying earnestly to finalize plans to head to Africa later this month. It's taken much longer than I ever thought to plan something, partly because Africa is so big and I had no idea specifically where I wanted to go -- other than the fact that I wanted to see elephants and giraffes.

Now that I finally have my act together and have an idea of budget and locales, I can't get the travel agents to plan something fast enough. I'm ready to leave as soon as possible. But, it takes forever to work out even the most basic details, because I email the travel agent, and they have to talk to their people in Africa, and so on. And, I'm driving the travel agent crazy with my frequent comments on their proposed itineraries. (Things have changed a lot.) The current plan, which I suspect will ultimately work out in the end, but not before I end up pulling my hair out, is to leave for South Africa in the next two or three weeks.

In the meantime, I'm planning to cool my heels over a long weekend at the beach with my family...and possibly another sojourn to the beach next week with a friend.

It does amuse me somewhat, though, that I'm completely stressed out right now about trying to plan this trip. I'm worrying out about planning all the details of the trip with the same fervor previously reserved only for worrying about old cases or crushes. It's kind of ridiculous, though, when your largest concern is whether you can get a reservation at the "nice" game park in South Africa, or whether the trip to the passport agency for extra passport pages will infringe upon a night out with old friends. These are the kind of worries I should always have.

Orioles Magic...Feel it Happen

It's been many years since Baltimore had a baseball team that caused any excitement. But this weekend, Oriole fever was back, as Baltimore went crazy in support of hometown hero Cal Ripken (Jr.), who was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

When I was growing up -- and an Oriole world championship was still fresh in the city's memory -- we kids fell into two camps: Cal Ripken fans, and Eddie Murray fans. Cal, of course, was the beloved shortstop and number 3 batter in the lineup. Murray was the cool first baseman, and batted fourth, clean-up. I suppose someone could make up a theory that who you liked more said something about your personality: either you were a fan of the quick and talented shortstop, a hometown hero; or you were a fan of the cool powerhitter, who could always be counted on to bring in the winning runs. Me -- I just liked Cal Ripken because he was cute.

I was working in the Camden Yards warehouse building in 1995 when Cal Ripken broke the iron man record. The feeling around the stadium was electric, and the celebration seemed to last for days. From my cubicle in the warehouse building, I had absolutely no view of the baseball field -- in the pre-law school job, my view was of various medical dictionaries and the men's restroom. But, we would go downstairs at lunchtime to grab a dirty water dog for lunch and enjoy the crazy anticipation of Cal's triumph over Lou Gehrig's longstanding record.

This year, I'm far away from Camden Yards and did not partake in any celebratory activities. But, on Friday night I had a dream about Cal. (Completely G-rated, I promise.) I dreamed that I went to an after hours club on Friday -- that part actually happened -- and when I emerged from the club, someone had manufactured a snowstorm like they did in Dubai, all in honor of Cal's induction. There were piles and piles of fake snow, and Baltimore folk were wearing Orioles jerseys and tossing snowballs at each other. In my dream, I dropped onto the snow and started doing snow angels for Cal.

When I woke up on Saturday morning, two thoughts came to mind. First, I thought it's too bad that Baltimore doesn't have any oil-rich princes/Oriole fans who are willing to sponsor a snowstorm in honor of Cal. That would have been cool. It also occurred to me that perhaps that last beer was not as good an idea as it seemed at the time. (Of course, without the last beer, there would have been no inspiration for the fauxstorm.)

I Dreamed of Africa

It's painfully quiet here in Maryland this week. I've been working with travel agents to plan my next trip -- Africa -- and the planning is moving at a snail's pace. At this rate, I'll be visiting Africa in 2009, and none of the countries will have the same names anymore.

Last week, I took a quick trip up to NYC to see some friends, which was weird. Not the friends, but being back in NYC. Within hours of arriving, I felt my blood pressure jump sky-high. There's something about being back that makes all my anxieties and neuroses boilover. So, for that reason I'm glad I've moved. But, I do miss my friends. And, all that hustle and bustle of the city reminded me that I'm not doing anything right now.

After years of a stressful job and the otherwise hectic pace of NYC, I had thought that doing nothing would be delicious. And it was, for a few days. But, now I'm anxious to start traveling again.

I had made myself a list of everything I planned to do in my down time, which included, among other things: watch the first two seasons of Lost; take up yoga; learn to cook impressive gourmet meals; have a torrid affair, preferably with someone foreign; learn Spanish (possibly in furtherance of the aforementioned affair); read Walt Whitman; organize all the stuff in piles spread throughout my parents' house; knit a scarf; shower daily; build houses for Habitat for Humanity; buy a bike; go hiking; oil paint; read all seven of the Harry Potter books; go running; play tennis; see Canada; moisturize more; write a book; etc.

So far, I've learned to make garlic bread, watched four episodes of Lost, read a few chapters of the new Princess Di biography, and launched a vigilant campaign to rid my parents' house of the pests and pestilence that have recently descended upon it (strangely coinciding with my return). Oh, and I secured my sure damnation with an insincere promise to accept Jesus Christ as My Lord and Saviour while serving as my nephew's godparent at his christening last weekend.

Somehow I feel like I could be doing something more. I'm entertaining suggestions...

Shut Up and Dance

So, now that I'm home from Asia and other foreign and exotic lands, I'm a little bit at a loss about what to write. I'm in the midst of planning the next leg of my trip (to Africa), but it looks like I won't be heading out until at least mid-August.

I spent the past few days enjoying various festivities at my friend Megan's wedding. I have known Megan since about two hours after I arrived at college. Megan had the room right next door to me in my freshman dorm, and walked over that first afternoon to introduce herself and check out my room. We became fast friends, and then were roommates for the next three years in college. After college, we lived in different places -- and for a while on different continents -- and then we both ended up moving to New York in the fall of 2001. So, after many years of being separated, it was nice to be living in the same city again.

Coincidentally, Megan also happened to grow up in Baltimore, about 15 minutes from where I grew up. So, this weekend I was right here in Maryland at her wedding, playing the role of bridesmaid. After some 15 years of friendship, it was an honor to be in Megan's wedding. (And, it was the least I could do, considering it was Megan's idea about the elephant riding in Thailand.)

It was a beautiful wedding with good food, great friends, and is turns out, probably too much dancing. I woke up Sunday morning with multiple dancing injuries. My knee was scraped and bloody from the patented super-spin move my friend Chris and I created -- and then flubbed during the last dance of the evening to the theme from Dirty Dancing. (We got too greedy, and should have stopped after our fourth perfect execution of the move.) Also, I somehow threw out my hip while twisting to the oldies, and it still hurts when I walk up stairs. And, my toes had kind of lost all sensation from wearing strappy sandals all night long. But, it was worth it. I had a great time.

Joanie Loves Chachi; America...Not So Much

So, I was traveling just about three months, and apparently the country has fallen apart while I've been away. That is to say -- who thought it a smashing idea to give Paula Abdul and Scott Baio each their own television series? Haven't we suffered enough?

Sheesh.

Hello...Is it Me You're Looking For?

I made it back to the US in one piece. It only took three flights and some 31 hours of travel time. I'm so exhausted and tired of airports -- I don't even want to think about where I'm traveling next.

But, I'm also bored. I've been in air conditioned -- and ice rich -- bliss for less than 10 hours and I don't know what to do with myself. I'm too whacked out from the time difference to sleep. I already voraciously tore through every gossip magazine I could get my hands on while stuck in O'Hare airport. I have no patience for Matt Lauer this morning. I guess I'll go head to the tailor and start the necessary groveling to get my bridesmaid's dress altered in time for the wedding this weekend.

Thai Me Up, Thai Me Down

I'm fully recovered from whatever hit me last week, and have been enjoying myself in Thailand since Sunday. From Sunday until yesterday (Thursday), I was in Chiang Mai , where, as promised, I went on an elephant ride. (His name was Camus.)

It's a little hard for me now to convey how excited I was about riding the elephant, since the novelty of seeing elephants has worn off. There were tons of elephants around Chiang Mai. And, on my way over to this Internet joint, I passed a baby elephant hanging out front of an Irish pub called the Dubliner. (Apparently, he has good taste.)

But, the day of the elephant ride I was psyched. I've been daydreaming about riding an elephant since February, when I started seriously thinking about this trip. As soon as I got to Chiang Mai, I signed up for a group tour to ride elephants, do a mini-trek, and see a few outdoorsy things.

It was a strange group that I ended up with for the excursion. There was a woman from California and her five-year-old son. And...there were these two young French-Canadian women who just spent the past four months volunteering at a Thai orphanage. But more importantly...they liked to sing...crazy children's songs...all day long...in French. They were like a cross between Mary Poppins and the Smothers Brothers, sent on a southeast Asia goodwill USO tour to save orphans because Celine Dion was too busy in Vegas hanging out with her older husband/manager, Rene.

They sang children's songs the whole freakin' day. They sang to the five-year-old. They sang in the mini-van. Even when we took a haphazard, bamboo raft down a murky, disease-filled river, they sang cheerful songs about being on the river. When we got to a ethnic hill village, they did several song-and-dance numbers for a poor, speechless little child. (This time they sang in English, and they were joined by the little American five-year-old who was trying to keep up with their songs and moves.) By this point, the tour guide just threw his hands up in the air and walked back down the hill to the mini-van. I was torn between following the tour guide, and gawking at the seemingly endless song-and-dance spectacular...Er, I mean, supporting the French-Canadians who help orphans.

Meanwhile, the woman from California became obsessed with orphans. All day long, she kept posing questions to the French-Canadians about what the orphanage was like and what she could do for the orphans. I admire her desire to help, but the frequency of her questions was a little overboard. Even the kind-spirited French-Canadians seemed a little weary of all the questions by the end of the day. I think my favorite was on the way home when she asked if she could send an old digital camera to the orphanage, and then suggested that maybe her son's class could become pen pals with the orphans when he starts kindergarten next year. It was all I could do not to speak up and tell her that most kindergartners don't know how to read or write, let alone read/write Thai. But, the French-Canadians saved me from sure damnation by kindly pointing out that the Thai orphans don't speak English. To this, the California woman responded that the children could draw each other pictures. I really did admire her spirit and optimism.

So, needless to say, the elephant riding was probably only the second-most memorable part of the day.

I'm in Bangkok right now, which, contrary to the view of many people, I actually kind of like. But, I may be delirious from all the gelato and European baked goods I've been consuming since I got here. (Who knew there was such deliciousness in Bangkok?) Pastries aside, it's pretty seedy here, and there are massage parlors and "fancy" ladies everywhere. It makes me very sad how the city shamelessly -- maybe even proudly -- caters to the sex-pat crowd at the expense of so many women and children. But, Bangkok is hardly alone on that point.

And, on that uplifting note, I'm off to grab a beer at the Dubliner and see if I can strike up a conversation with the Elephant. Tomorrow's my last day in Asia. Sunday I have a marathon 25-hour journey back to the US for my friend Megan's wedding. (My favorite part is that for one leg of the trip, I leave Tokyo at something like 3 pm on Sunday and arrive in Chicago eleven hours later... but at 2 pm on Sunday, earlier than when my flight left. Time travel is so awesome.)

For Every Paradise, There's a Parasite

Thursday morning we headed out from Hanoi for an overnight trip to the nearby Ha Long Bay, yet another UNESCO World Heritage Site. (Counting Hue, that makes FIVE UNESCO World Heritage Sites -- ahh, ahh, ahh, aaaaahhhhh.)

We booked an overnight stay on the boat "Jewel of the Bay" and were off. By some stroke of luck, we ended up being the only passengers on our boat. So, Marcella, Barb, and I had a staff of probably seven or eight waiting on us. It was cool. Also, this meant that the really annoying blow-hard American ex-pat on the van to Ha Long Bay was not on our boat, thus preventing one of us from committing murder.

The bay is beautiful, with small green mountains periodically rising out of the water. There are caves in the mountains for you to explore, too. The only downside is that there are dozens of other boats out on the bay with you, seeing the sites at exactly the same time. (I think the government licenses the boats only to go to certain sites in a particular route.) When we put down anchor for the night, I counted over three dozen other boats surrounding ours. Also, there were people in rowboats going from boat to boat trying to sell water and Ritz crackers and what not. Though I love a Ritz cracker -- who doesn't? -- I think the presence of all the other boats takes away a little bit from the peaceful idyll that the bay could otherwise be.

Unfortunately, I probably should have bought some Ritz crackers. Something I ate on the boat or elsewhere did me wrong, and I got sick yesterday morning. (We shall call it Ho Chi Minh's Revenge.) I was pretty much miserable and in bed from yesterday afternoon -- when we returned to Hanoi -- until this morning. I'm 33 years old and have traveled half way around the world, and all I wanted was my mom to be sitting next to me, with a cold washcloth and some red jello.

I'm all dosed up on antibiotics now, thanks to the prescience of the docs in my pre-trip travel clinic, who thought to give me a prescription to bring with me to Asia. Of course, I laughed when I saw that the side effects of the drug they gave me to treat Ho Chi Minh's Revenge are nausea and diarrhea, the very same symptoms the drug is supposed to alleviate. But, in any case, I'm definitely feeling better and am able to get out of bed.

Today's my last day in Vietnam, and it's pouring like a mutha. Tomorrow I head to Chiang Mai in northern Thailand, where among other things, I plan to lounge in a fancy hotel, ride an elephant, and get a massage. I'm super excited.

We're on a Road to Nowhere

After our stay in Hoi An, Marcella and I made our way up the coast to a nearby city called Hue. Hue was the imperial capital during the 19th Century and part of the 20th Century. It's also probably the closest city (as opposed to town) to the North-South Vietnamese border.

Monday morning, Marcella and I got up at the crack of dawn to take a half day tour of the DMZ and surrounding areas. The border between N. and S. Vietnam was at the Ben Hai River (technically the 17th parallel). The DMZ was created in the 1950's, and if I understand correctly, is basically a 5 km stretch on either side of the river. I can't say what the DMZ looked like during the Vietnam War, but now it's just an area full of rice paddies. You can't really tell when you are entering or leaving the area, and there's nothing really to see in the DMZ itself.

But, we also visited the Vinh Moc tunnels, just over the border in North Vietnam. The Viet Cong created several kilometers of underground tunnels as a base during the Vietnam War. The tunnels go something like 23 meters underground, and were pretty complex (also pretty narrow). Eventually, village people came to spend time in the tunnels, and more than one baby was even born there. It's interesting though. Our Vietnamese guide kept emphasizing how the tunnels were civilian tunnels, and the museum at the tunnels showed pictures of all the babies that were born and the movies that were shown inside, etc. But, picking up one of my guide books, the first thing you read is that the tunnels were built and used by the VC as a base. That part was conveniently not discussed on the tour.

Interestingly, on the way to the tunnels, we saw a team of British people searching for mines in the land right along side the road. I was pretty surprised that some 30 years later, there is still a need to search for land mines -- particularly, because this was an area some 15 meters away from the side of a road leading to a major tourist attraction. I would have thought that if there were still any mines left, they would only be in remote locations.

Anyway, after going to the tunnels, Marcella and I set about trying to make our way back to Hue (which was about100 km to the south). We had been promised by the tour operator that someone would pick us up from the nearby town of Dong Ha and take us back to Hue. But, that's not quite how things worked out. First, we were taken to a restaurant in Dong Ha and told to eat lunch and wait for someone to pick us up. Then, someone took us on a moto from the restaurant to the bus station.

At the bus station, we were shuffled onto a local bus. "Bus" is a generous word. It was actually a beat up mini-van smelling vaguely of stale urine. We climbed on board and waited for the bus to head back. Strange experience.

While we were waiting, the woman in front of us kept eating things, and then tossing the leftovers and various food trash out the window. Then, she pulled out a glass cup that looked like chocolate milk on ice -- but with vegetables floating in it. She offered up a sip of the milky brown concoction to us, and we declined. When we refused her offer, she frowned, and pinched my arm.

I forgot to mention that the busyard also reaked of urine. I got the brilliant idea -- from watching Silence of the Lambs -- that I would smear some Tiger Balm under my nose to stifle the smell. I had no prior exposure to Tiger Balm, but it's apparently well-known in these parts and among certain Western tourists. I have no idea what it actually is, but it kind of smells like Vick's and supposedly has similar healing qualities (except with green Tiger packaging). Hence, my idea to smear the stuff under my nose to block out the icchy smells. But, my skin started burning like crazy after I put on some of the balm, so I was then furiously rubbing off theTiger Balm. And, then, the crazy woman in front of me -- she of the goofy food and chocolate milk veggie shake -- complained (via pantomime) about the smell of the Tiger Balm.

Soon enough, we were on our way, smooshed into the van. Where I was sitting had no leg space, so, although I was the tallest person on the bus, I was literally squatting on the seat, my knees poking into the seat of the crazy woman in front of me. (She, incidentally, had her feet stretched out and was lounging in the spacious front row.) Instead of daydreaming about ice, I found myself wondering about deep vein thrombosis and how long that tv journalist was cramped into the tank in Iraq before he died.

The bus was kind of a local run, and was constantly on the lookout for new passengers. So, every time we came close to what could be described as a residential area, it slowed down to a crawl and laid on the horn. This went on for the whole trip -- some 75 km. We picked up and dropped off various people along the way. Eventually, Marcella convinced them to rearrange so that I ended up in a seat with leg space (love Marcella).

We stopped on the outskirts of Hue briefly, for some reason I can't figure out. But, as soon as we pulled into the bus station, a horde of men started running after our bus and shouting. When the bus stopped, we realized that many of the men seemed to be shouting at Marcella and I, trying to convince us to take a moto ride from them. Some of the men started sticking their hands through the open windows of the van, and the people on the bus shut the windows, resulting in many dirty looks and stares from the men outside the van.

A few minutes later, we were in Hue. Our arrival was mostly uneventful, except for a small incident with the woman sitting behind me. When we got close to the bus station, she started climbing over our seat, and pushed me out of the way so that she could be in our row of the van. When we arrived at the station, the door opened, and I tried to get out. No sooner had I leaned forward towards the door, then the 90-lb woman from the backseat pushed me out of the way and literally scurried across my lap so that she could leave the van before me, rather than wait ten seconds for me to go first. Meanwhile, the people on the van started yelling at Marcella and I to get out of the bus because apparently we had not left fast enough.

Anyway, we made it back to Hue in one piece (with no apparent Deep Vein Thrombosis) and even squeezed in a short visit to some royal tombs. Yesterday, we left Hue for Hanoi, where we'll be for the next few days. So far, Hanoi seems pretty cool.

Ice, Ice Baby

It's so freaky-deaky hot here, that I often find my mind wandering, daydreaming about ice. Seriously, I spent the better part of a 5 hour bus ride in Cambodia fantasizing about having a drink with ice. (It's too risky to have ice here, because you don't know if it's made with purified water.) Or, a snowcone. I would probably be willing to sacrifice part of my liver or my spleen for a giant snowcone, right now. Even a little snowcone from one of those Snoopy Snowcone machines I had when I was little that ended up giving you melty water and big ice chunks instead of a crushed ice treat. Either way, I'd take it.

It's not just icey drinks that fill my head, either. I think about how much I would pay for a big block of ice, so that I could spend the afternoon sitting on it. Is two months salary too much to ask? (Heck, I have a dress made out of bathing suit material that would be just perfect for ice perching.) Or, I daydream about doing the backstroke through a pool of crushed ice, the way some people dream about diamonds. There was once an MTV Gauntlet challenge where the contestants had to melt a giant chunk of ice by sitting on it. I initially found the challenge and the contestants' methods of ice melting a little tacky -- although I did watch every single minute of the episode, probably more than once. I now think they were the luckiest goofs on the face of the earth.

Sometimes, I'll think about the places in Dubai where you can pay to ski indoors. Or, how some people in Dubai once threw a special man made winter carnival so that the local children could see snow for the first time and toss snowballs at one and other. That would be really cool. Of course, United Arab Emirates is rich beyond belief with oil, and Vietnam ... well, not so much. So, regrettably, I think the likelihood of any snowball fights in my near future is quite dubious.

I could fly back to Argentina and hang out with the icebergs again. (It would be nice to have some steak or jamon y queso, instead of noodles noodles noodles. At this point, I'm pretty much over noodles.) But, I'd want to sit on the iceberg in my bathing suit, and I think you could get tossed out of the country for those kinds of shenanigans. (Unless I pretended it was some sort of protest...Argentines love themselves a good strike or protest.)

Pret a Porter (or Sashay, Chante)

Greetings from Hoi An, a quaint old city on the central coast of Vietnam, that I think may also be another UNESCO World Heritage site. (Three UNESCO world heritage sites -- ah, ah, ah, ahhhhh.) I was having problems accessing my blog since we arrived, but I think I finally figured it out.

Hoi An is famous for its tailors, so I've spent the past few days running around having things made. I'm like an addict. So far, I've had three dresses made from three different shops -- with varying outcomes. They take your measurements and you pick out the style and the fabric. Major fun. I had one knockoff of a J Crew dress made -- it turned out kind of cute, but not too exciting. (I still want the one in the catalog.) I also had a dress made out of the Hawaiian print fabric usually used for men's bathing suits. That one is interesting, as it is made to my exact measurements -- meaning, it fits like a wet suit (albeit a lovely chartreuse flowered Hawaiian print wet suit that I could wear straight from swimming in the pool to a cocktail party). I kind of love how ugly that one is. And, there's a third dress that I have to go pick up tomorrow.

But enough about dresses. Actually, I haven't done too much more than that. I dared to ride a bike into town today, which was just crazy foolish. I thought traffic in Argentina was bad, where the lanes seemed more like suggestions than requirements. But here, it's a tangled web of cars, motos, and bikes, and people only sometimes stick to the right side of the road. In that equation, bikes always lose. I thought that I was going to die by moto several times.

I think tomorrow I'm going to finally do something and see nearby attractions Marble Mountain and China Beach. (China Beach was a show that I never watched, but my college roommates loved, and now I kind of wish I had watched it...I have, however, seen Escape from Witch Mountain, which as far as I know has nothing to do with Vietnam except for the fact that Vietnam has mountains and I am going to visit one tomorrow, but that will have to do for now).

Clearly the heat has poached my brain.

24 Hour Party People

Barb and I made our way from the beach to Siem Reap, a trip that involved multiple tuk tuk rides, two bus companies, one annoying toddler, many strange food smells, and about ten hours on the bus.

But we're here, and today we got to see a bunch of really cool temples (including Angkor Wat), but I'm too exhausted from climbing so many steps and what not to say much about them. So instead, I'll tell you a amusing nugget from the beach.

Many of the bars and restaurants at the beach would send someone up and down the beach handing out fliers to people about their latest parties. I think the fliers are what turned us on to the bar Monkey Republic. (Sidenote: We saw pink-bottomed monkeys today, and Barb fed them mini-bananas.) But, my favorite fliers were for a bar that we never actually went to, The Dolphin Shack (or Dolphin Club, or Dolphin Room or some other beach name like that).

The first flier we got from the Dolphin Shack advertised "Free Shit Shots" at their party that night. I can only assume -- and seriously hope -- that this was a translation snafu, but I can't figure out for the life of me what they meant to write. I was even more amused when we got their flier the next day, and it advertised "Free Garlic Bread at 1 am for all the Party People."

Now, I like garlic bread as much as the next person. In fact, maybe even more than the next person. But, I've never been enticed to go to a party for free garlic bread. Nor can I imagine that so-called party people would be enticed by bread smeared with garlic. Actually, I suppose it depends upon what they mean by party people. There were an awful lot of pizza places at the beach advertising "happy pizza" -- a few bucks extra will buy you pizza with marijuana on it. I suppose free garlic bread would be a nice side to that pizza.

Needless to say, I did not partake of the pizza or the garlic bread -- or the shit shots, for that matter.

Holiday in Cambodia

Greetings from Sihanoukville, Cambodia's answer to the Euro-crowded, Thai beaches. Barb and I are enjoying a few days of relaxing in the sun before we head north to check out the temples of Ankor.

The beach is beautiful, but ridiculously hot. Also, I had about a half dozen women randomly touch my legs today and cluck about my shaving habits, all in an effort to convince me to have my legs threaded on the beach. I didn't take offense after I saw them doing this to every other woman on the beach, too. And, I got off easy. Someone just yanked out thread and started trying to demonstrate on Barb.

Fun on the beach aside, the one thing that you continuously observe here in Cambodia is the pervasive poverty. For anyone who has been to an impoverished Caribbean country on vacation, imagine something ten times more dire. It's really incredibly sad, particularly since many of our interactions are with children selling things or begging for money.

Barb and I befriended one eleven-year-old girl this afternoon who was selling bracelets on the beach. Unbelievably smart, funny, and fluent in English, this girl was not in school, but spent the day going up and down the beach from person to person. (There are many other children like her.) We learned later in the day that both her parents had died, and that her five brothers were home while she was working all day. At one point, she laid down on my beach chair next to me and took a nap for a while. It was both cute and sad.

And here I thought the beach was going to be uplifting after trips earlier this week to the War Museum in Vietnam, and the Killing Fields in Cambodia (one site of Khmer Roughe genocide). Pithier stories coming soon, I promise...

In the meantime, I think it's time for a drink at the bar up the street called the Monkey Republic. (Fantastic name.) Speaking of which, yesterday I saw some monkeys randomly hanging out on a building in Phnom Penh, which I was not at all expecting. I had no idea there were monkeys here. Lizards and malaria-infested mosquitos - yes. But monkeys? I dared not imagine. A definite bonus (although I was slightly disappointed that neither monkey had on a fez).

Naps (but no Apps)

Things are looking up. My luggage finally arrived yesterday, and I'm off in a few hours to meet up with Barb in Cambodia.

The time difference is really throwing me off, though. We're eleven hours ahead of the east coast US. So, right now it's really 10 am on Wednesday morning, even though I think the blog entry probably says it's 11 pm on Tuesday night.

Anyway, late Tuesday afternoon I went back to my hotel room to take a nap while the rains were a-coming, and I couldn't make myself wake up for dinner. So, I slept from 4 pm until 3 am. I've now been up since 3 am, apart from a short nap I took around 6:30 am. (I did catch an awesome made for tv movie with Melissa Joan Hart and a special about climbing Mount Everest in the middle of the night.)

I'm hoping things straighten out when I meet up with Barb. Now, those who know Barb are probably laughing a little bit, because Barb really loves to sleep. But, I think having someone else around will keep me from going to bed at 4 PM!!! (First the orthopedic walking sandals, now going to bed in the afternoon. Next, I'll be watching Lawrence Welk and complaining about my bunions.)

Good Morning Vietnam Redux

So some eight hours have passed, I've had a long nap, a beer, and a chance to talk to the luggage people. Word on the street (tr: a United Customer Service operator in New Delhi) says that my luggage made its way to Hong Kong, and supposedly arrives in Saigon yet tonight. So, my current mood -- aided much by the nap and the beer -- is one of cautious optimism.

Prior to the nap-taking, I spent the morning trying to find some clothing more appropriate for the climate and also that I hadn't been wearing for two straight days to travel. Hopefully my luggage arrives tonight, but I once went five days without luggage on a Caribbean vacation. Thus, I have learned to anticipate the worst-case scenario.

Shmanyway, two different people I talked to sent me to a large market to buy "cheap" (tr: counterfeit Polo and Lacoste) clothing. It was an interesting, if not demoralizing, experience. Problem number one is that I am an Amazon woman compared to most Vietnamese people. Yesterday on the plane to Saigon I ended up helping everyone put their bags in the overhead compartment because I was pretty much the only person who could reach without standing on the seat. Seriously -- I kid you not. Anyway, when I went to buy some t-shirts at the market, two women just said to me "too big, too big." Not exactly what any girl ever wants to hear, but particularly not when already jet lagged and devoid of any remotely clean clothing.

Another person tried to sell me some pants, but then physically blocked me into her stall when I tried to leave without buying the knock-off $20 Tommy Hilfiger linen crop pants (style: Chicos circa 1998), that were somewhat amusingly in a size XXXXXL. I had to ask her probably about 30 times to let me leave before she did, and then she called me "crazy" when I walked away. Given the six inches and umpteen pounds I had on her, I wasn't concerned physically about being trapped. But, I did not want to create a scene/commit an assault in a market in a communist country where I don't speak the language and they supposedly are fond of arresting people.

In the end, I ended up buying some t-shirts in a supermarket, and went back to the hotel to stalk the luggage people and take a nap. I'm hoping for less adventure tomorrow, and more straight-up communist propaganda. (The War Museum and Reunification Palace are on my agenda.)

Good Morning Vietnam!!!

After some 24+ hours traveling, I made it here. I wish I could say the same about my luggage or my sunny disposition.

My Arm Hurts So Much I Could Barely Type All of This

Only a few days before I leave for Asia. I'm starting to get a little anxious. It might be the four shots I got that are causing my arm to feel like it's going to fall off. (In case you were concerned, I'm now protected against Hepatitis-A, Polio, Typhoid Fever, Tetanus, Diptheria, and Whooping Cough, but still vulnerable to Dengue Fever and virulent strains of TB brought onto planes by punk-ass Americans who selfishly insist on traveling despite doctor's warnings.)

I have a sense this trip is going to be very different from my time in Argentina. Already, I've been jumping through hoops to get a Vietnam visa and to book a flight from Vietnam to Cambodia. (Vietnam Air does not take credit cards, apparently.)

Minor travel anxieties aside, though, I'm pretty darn happy right now.

Tomorrow's agenda: finding sporty sandals that don't look ridiculous or like I'm in an osteoporosis commercial, and figuring out where exactly I'm going to stay when I get to Saigon on Sunday. (I'm wondering whether I have to call it Ho Chi Minh City, because Saigon is fewer words, and despite overwhelming evidence of my long-windedness to the contrary, I support using fewer words when it comes to naming cities. They Might Be Giants should write a song about that!)

Don't Cry for Me Argentina

After much ado, I'm finally back in the U.S. I made my way out of Tierra del Fuego, and arrived home a few days ago -- although about 25 hours after I was supposed to be home.

It's been a flurry of activity since I got back. I was down in DC on Thursday and Friday getting my visa for Vietnam and seeing friends (and also having my car fixed after it decided to fall apart on Thursday -- you'd think it was made by Aerolineas Argentinas). Barb was in town doing the same thing, so we went shopping for stuff for the trip. Then, I stayed with my friends Madhu and Elin, two of the most gracious hosts ever. They always make you feel right at home -- even though when I have tried to return the favor I have managed to lock them out of my apartment in the middle of the night not once, but TWO separate times.

Right now I'm at my parents' place in Maryland until I leave for Vietnam early on Saturday morning. It's pretty relaxing out here, and I'm delighted that I don't have to try to figure out what I'm saying in Spanish before I speak. Also, it smells like honeysuckle.

I think I'm adjusting back to American culture very easily -- last night I had a dream that I was in a reality show kind of like The Amazing Race, and that I got in a fight with Donald Trump about it. I suppose you could call that a nightmare. If this is what my subconscious is thinking under so-called normal circumstances, I can't wait to see what kind of strange dreams I have once I start taking the malaria pills.

Marooned

So I'm stuck here in Tierra del Fuego thanks to the evil machinations of Aerolineas Argentinas and the Russians, if you believe my mother's theory about the control they exercise over the weather. I was supposed to fly out of here this morning to Buenos Aires, have a 7 hour layover, and then fly back to the US tonight. The 7 hours was key, as my experience with Aerolineas Argentinas is that most flights are several hours late, for no apparent reason.

This morning, the Beagle Channel and surrounds were blanketed by a thick fog, that I'm told "never happens." So Aerolineas waited two hours after the flight time -- which is about when the flight probably would have taken off under so-called "normal" circumstances-- and then cancelled the flight altogether, with no other flight out of this god foresaken place until 9 pm at night. Goodbye 7 hour cushion. Meanwhile, shortly after the flight was cancelled the weather cleared up and the sun came out.

I spent the afternoon fighting with Aerolineas Argentinas and Delta (who holds my BA-US ticket). Basically, both airlines told me it wasn't their fault, and Delta said that if I missed my flight and wanted to fly out tomorrow (or any other day this week) it would cost the pretty sum of $1000 USD. I shite you not. Talk about extortion. This prompted a minor emotional meltdown, complete with tears, which none of the Argentine men working at the airlines reacted well too. Finally, I went to a locutorio and called Delta directly in Phat-lanta, where a kind woman named Judy worked the system for me and got me a flight out tomorrow with minor ticket-change fees.

Bottom-line: Aerolineas Argentinas is dead to me. I declare a pox on all their houses. Too bad they don't seem to care. At all. Delta managed to squeak onto my probation list, largely because of Judy -- although if I had ended up paying $1000 to fly home I would have insisted on free drinks on the international flight. And, by association, every time I am forced to say "Tierra del Fuego," instead of getting all excited about the fuego part like I used to, I shall spit, with a french accent. Tierra del Fuego -- Ptwah.

The silver-lining in this cloudy fog is that I get to have one last afternoon in Buenos Aires, where I plan to get a pedicure and fill my belly with all the steak, wine, and empanadas it can hold before my 12+ hour flight home.

It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)

I hesitate to write this, at the risk that I sound like I'm gloating. But, anyway...

I just got to Tierra del Fuego, pretty much the end of the earth. My hotel is on the edge of a peninsula in a small town named Ushuaia. The oversized 15 foot window in my room looks out across the Beagle Channel, with the Andes mountains right on the other side of the Channel. (I have a 180+ degree view of the channel and mountains.) It's snowing a little bit, and I'm lounging on my king-size bed covered up with a caramel colored wool-llama hair blanket. The hotel has satellite TV, so when I get bored with the view, I can watch Law & Order or MTV. In a little while, I'm going down to the hot tub, which also happens to look across the Beagle Channel to the Andes mountains.

If I had known life could be this good, I would have quit a long time ago.

Seriously.

Have a great memorial day weekend, all.

Iceberg, Straight Ahead

On Wednesday and Thursday, I went to the Parque Nacional Los Glaciares. Truly amazing stuff.

I should warn you ahead of time -- this is going to be a long one. If you want the short version, it goes something like "Blah, Blah, Blah...Icebergs...Blah, Blah, Blah...Glaciers...Blah, Blah, Blah...Breathtaking." For everyone else who is bored at work or has nothing better to do, read on.

Wednesday -- In Which I Glimpse Icebergs

The first day, I got up super early to go on a boat excursion on Lake Argentina and check out some of the so-called "smaller" glaciers. It was completely pitch black when we left at 7:30 am -- the sun doesn't rise in El Calafate until around 9:30 am. This was the first time in my life -- and probably the last -- that I managed to be up before the sunrise three days in a row.

We entered the park and started to board the boat, and immediately I realized how underdressed I was for the excursion. I had on a ski coat (without my liner, which I didn't feel like packing) and that was about it. In my sleep-deprived stupor, I couldn't find my gloves. And, I didn't even bother packing a hat or scarf. I'm not sure how after 17 years of schooling it did not occur to me that a trip to see glaciers -- on a boat -- might be cold.

But, I played through. Being cold was not the worst part of the boat trip. No, shortly after I got on board, I realized that by some stroke of horrible luck, every irritating person I had encountered thus far in my trip from Buenos Aires to El Calafate was on the boat. Cranky old American woman who yelled at her husband in the BA airport? Check. Woman I almost took out at the baggage carousel in the El Calafate airport? Check. And, oh yes, all 40 of the loud and pushy, middle-aged Argentine businessmen staying at my hotel? Check.

But again, I played through. The cranky American woman turned out to be nice, and her husband was a ridiculously cute 70+ year-old New Yorker now living in Queens (originally from Brooklyn) who had been married for 50 years (but not to the cranky woman) before his wife died (may she rest in peace). The woman from the baggage carousel also turned out to be nice. The businessmen continued to be overbearing, but these are little problems.

Anyway, the glaciers we saw that day were pretty awesome. But, even cooler were the icebergs. The captain navigated our boat through a minefield of icebergs to get to the Upsala glacier. There were a few (seemingly) close calls, and it was all I could do not to yell out "Iceberg, Straight Ahead" in a goofy cockney accent. (For the record, it's the same British accent I use when saying "Hallo Guvn'r.") Of course, then I would collapse into giggles and the people near me would shoot me strange looks.

The icebergs ranged in size from big to small. They also ranged in color -- some looked like small translucent ice sculptures rising out of the water, others were mammoth chunks of jagged windex-colored ice, and a few even reminded me of the icey "blue" flavor of the striped Good Humor snowcones from my youth. A few pics:







Thursday -- In Which I Glimpse Awesomeness

On Thursday, I went to see the BIG glacier -- Perito Moreno. This glacier is HUGE. It's 5km wide, 30km long, and rises some 60 meters above the water. It's so big that on the other side of the glacier is Chile.

The glaciers are all nestled in the Andes mountains. The first time I saw the Andes mountains was last fall when we all went to Argentine wine country, Mendoza. We went horseback riding on an estancia at the foot of the mountains. It was without question one of the most memorable days of my life, in large part because of the scenery. Beautiful blue sky, puffy white clouds, and the overwhelming and majestic mountains. So, I was excited about seeing the mountains again in Patagonia.

The thing is, I cannot even begin to describe how beautiful the Andes mountains are, and how it makes me feel to be around them. Neither words nor pictures come even close. The same thing is true of the glacier Perito Moreno. It is truly breathtaking. I spent a long time just staring at the glacier at different observation decks. I felt very small and humbled in the presence of the grandeur of the scenery, blessed to have the opportunity to see it in person, and connected with nature in a spiritual (albeit non-religious) kind of way. I'm including some pictures, but these pale in comparison to the real thing:





You can't see it in these pictures, but earlier in the day there was a full double rainbow over the glacier.

One of the things that's cool is when the glacier "calves." Calving is when a piece of the glacier breaks off into the water, forming an iceberg. I saw a huge 50 meter piece of the glacier break into small pieces and fall into the water. You can tell when the glacier is about to calve, because you hear a loud, thunderous rumble.

The other interesting thing is how different the scenery is in El Calafate, the town where I was staying about an hour away. My hotel overlooked Lake Argentina, the same lake that surrounds the glaciers. But, in El Calafate the lake is a beautiful, deep turquoise blue color, as if you were in the Caribbean, whereas near the glaciers it is a more translucenty shade of blue. Also, the land on the way from El Calafate to the glaciers is borderline desert -- brown, flat plateaus with sheep and yellow calafate plants dotting the landscape. There are no buildings around except for a random estancia house every now and then, and you can see across the land for miles.


This is near the entrance to the park.

And Now A Word From Our Sponsors

Okay. They aren't my sponsors, but I wanted to share with you my favorite commercial from Argentina television. I don't know if it's the music or the look on the guy's face or the fact that I've been trying for a month to figure out what the guy says when he arrives at the girl's house, but I find it cute. Which is good. Because it's on all the time.

Oh -- And if anyone who speaks Spanish could tell me what the guy acually says, I'd be forever grateful.

And Now Back to Our Regularly Scheduled Programming

Sorry for the brief hiatus. Last time on Jamón Jamón: I was in Buenos Aires having a jolly-good time, and getting ready to leave for Patagonia.

Buenos Aires

Monday was my last night in Buenos Aires, and we went out for final hurrah on the town. Barb, Missy, and I met up at this fantastic bar called Milion. They took an old, fancypants townhouse mansion and turned it into a bar. If we were in New York, I guarantee that this bar would have a velvet rope and bottle service and preppies would be getting The New York Times to write articles about how they have a prep school reunion there every week. (And I would have to come prepared with a huge stack of "you are a douche" cards.)

But, fortunately it's not in New York. So, it is just a normal bar, but in the coolest setting. You enter through a side door off the street, presumably where the carriage used to drop off the lord of the house before heading back to the carriage house. Anyway, you go up a fancypants wrought-iron staircase to the second floor bar. All the architectural details of the old house are there, like old doors and beautiful carved wood molding. But, it's still manages to look hip. It's an eclectic mix of people, too -- from a group of suits enjoying some post-work drinks, to someone entertaining their grandparents, to regular people like us. Even better, it's cheap. Combined, we had six huge glasses of delicious wine -- probably the equivalent of twelve glasses, if the bartender had been filling the glasses to regular level. Total bill for all the drinks: 39 pesos, or about $13 USD. Un-friggin-believable. So, not only is the place spared from being overrun by pretentious status-seeking wannabes, it's ridiculously cheap. Best. Bar. Ever.

Afterwards, we tried to go to my favorite restaurant in BA, La Cabrera, only to find out it was closed on Mondays. I was crushed, as it is truly fantastic. So, we went somewhere else and had some tasty steak and empanadas. Then, I said my goodbyes and headed home to pack. I was pretty sad to leave Buenos Aires. But, I have a strange feeling I'll be back soon enough.

Patagonia

So, Tuesday morning I was off to Patagonia. I was working on about four hours of sleep, and I made my way to the airport looking like I had slept even less. (Of course, there were women there dressed like they were getting ready to go to a charity benefit or Junior League luncheon, or whatever they call it down here. I have always had a serious distrust of anyone who shows up to an early-morning flight in makeup and heels and a small purse. Why don't they have toothpaste on their sleeve and an overstuffed carry-on to schlepp around, like everyone else?)

After several hours in the airport waiting for Aerolineas Argentinas to decide they felt like operating aircrafts, I flew into El Calafate, a small town in southern Patagonia on the edge of the Andes mountains, and a short trip from about a gazillion glaciers.

I have lots more to say about the last two days in El Calafate, but I'm ex-hausted from all this activity and heading off to bed. Also, if I kept going with this novella, no one would read anything. So, like a bad episode of Lost, I'm leaving you hanging. More details -- and hopefully some pictures -- tomorrow.

To the Left, To the Left

It was a good weekend here in South America. Very sunny, very mellow. My friend Marcella is now here in BA, which has been much fun. The first time I visited Argentina last fall, I went with Barb, Marcella and our friend Lorie. Now, three of the four of us have quit our jobs as lawyers and are spending some time traveling. Barb was first, then me, then Marcella. (We're anxiously waiting for Lorie to quit, but I think that fact that she's getting married next weekend might throw a wrench in that plan.) Anyway, so we're all here in Argentina for the moment, and it looks like we're all going to Asia next month together, too. I'm very excited.

We spent Friday night out celebrating Marcella's return to BA -- and well, celebrating life in general. It made it very tough for me to get up at the crack of dawn on Saturday to go to Uruguay, but I played through. I took a rapid ferry from Buenos Aires to Colonia, Uruguay -- it's another of those UNESCO World Heritage sites, and apparently one of the 1000 places to see before you die. So, I only have 999 left. (1000 seem like a lot of places, no? I mean, it's not very selective. I can't even think of a 1000 places total in the world, let alone 1000 places that I think I need to see before I die. I think they need to do a little editing of that list.)

So, Colonia was cute. It's a coastal town in Uruguay established in the 16th Century, I think. Lots of cobblestone streets and old buildings. I went to Colonia with Marcella's friend Ashley, and we wandered around the streets and ate lunch on the water, watching the sailboats go by. It was fantastic, but it did make me miss summers in Maryland spent hanging out on the water.

Tomorrow is my last day in Buenos Aires before I leave for Patagonia. I'm planning on taking care of some last minute errands and shopping, and hanging out with Barb and Missy. I can't believe a month has gone by so quickly. I also can't believe that we have only known Missy for a couple of weeks. In my old life, knowing someone two weeks meant that you probably had dinner once or something. But here, Barb, Missy and I have been running around the last two weeks as if we have all been friends for years -- sipping fancy cocktails in the afternoon, singing Beyonce's Irreplaceable, scouting out high priced hookers in hotel bars over sterling silver bowls of pringles, and generally having a great time. I think it's a completely different timetable when your life centers around leisure. And, I also think that traveling makes you more open to meeting people in a way that I had neither the time nor the energy for when I was in NY.

In some ways, my trip reminds me of being in college, when your whole life was basically about new adventures and new people. There was a certain feeling when you were younger that anything could happen, and your whole life could change completely in a moment. As I grew older and more jaded, I lost that feeling of hope and promise and excitement. I'm glad to have it back, even if it turns out to be only for a few months.