The Wandering Travels of AB

SE Asia Adventures #8 - Stateside Return & Pictures

2009-08-11T16:29:00.001-04:00

Kings, Queens, and Jesters,

Greetings from Chicago, USA. Whoah... I've never written one of these from the states, so even typing those three letters seems strange. I know this concluding update is long overdue, but certain things happened in the final weeks of my trip that led to this being delayed. Most notably, I focused the pen to my leather-bound journal rather than keyboard strokes and enveloped myself in the tree-soaked hills of Thailand and Laos rather than her far-less scenic internet cafes. My only ask from each of you is that if you've read some/most of these, please let me know. I've found that my friends know they'll hear the stories in person so they don't read the emails as often (and they're long as hell haha), but many of you I don't know well apparently read the travel tales so please reach out and I'll make sure you're more directly included in future sendouts. And of course if you've followed things thus far, please visit www.PencilsOfPromise.org to find out more or make a donation or get involved in the movement we're creating...

The final 3-4 weeks of the trip consisted of time spent in Northern Thailand's Chiang Mai and Pai. Activities included playing with baby and massive tigers at the Tiger Kingdom, many waterfall swims, hot springs, foot massages, delicious pad thai, meditation, late nights at The Rooftop and Rockers bars, and many miles logged on a solo motorbike riding through the mountainous region. To say I fell in love with Pai is a large understatement, it's just a tremendously special little town with a powerfully positive energy that I highly recommend each of you check out.

In Laos the agenda was dictated by Pencils of Promise matters, which included many, many muddy village visits across remote regions of Luang Prabang province, several great meetings with Education Ministry and other government folks, and lots of intriguing conversation with my buddy Kevin Slemp who met up for several weeks. My third visit to the country only reiterated how strongly I feel about the land of a thousand smiles and no dollars... Oh, and we have a finished school in Pha Teung that looks awesome and our first Lao coordinator as a resource on the ground for any of you that want to visit and check things out! We also spent three days at The Gibbon Experience, which is a series of 21 zip lines and 5 shadily-built but large treehouses several hundred feet above the Bokeo province national park canopy. For several magical days and nights we literally lived in the treetops, gliding hundreds of meters across valley ravines all day and sleeping in a treehouse 250ft above the ground with 6 others, completely unsupervised and only accessible through a 300m zipline. Mindblowingly cool stuff.

I'm flying through the final weeks' itinerary because as usual with these trips, one of the most profound experiences is always the time spent at home afterwords. There's no doubt that the greatest culture shock of each trip isn't found in some third-world town, but in the return to America where nothing and everything seems to have changed all at once. I've now been stateside for long enough to have made the visits to water my roots- Connecticut, NYC and Brown University. In each place I've been recentered through the love of family and friends, which can now really be meshed into simply "family". Many thanks to each of you for being as amazingly awesome as you are. I now find myself in Chicago doing work to build out the PoP network and enjoy a weekend of Lollapalooza music, with the time and energy and clarity to write this final email containing a few trailing thoughts:

- NYC is an absolute animal. She pulls and twists and slaps you in the face with everything you could ever want... but if you don't have the ability to occasionally say no, she's going to eat you alive. I unfortunately haven't found the ability to say no yet.

- We have everything in the United States. This is by far the greatest country in the world, and completely deserves the reference as "the land of freedom and opportunity"... the only thing we often lack, myself included, is the awareness of such gifts in our everyday life.

Lastly, when I began my trip in March it was the hottest time of year in Laos, and while riding my motorbike I'd often pass tiny fires along the countryside. Small plumes of smoke drifted aimlessly from the soil into serene air on every hillside. This wasn't slash and burn agriculture, it was simply arid conditions leading to brittle wood and leaves catching fire. When I returned to Laos in July the monsoon rains had already been cascading across the countryside for weeks, and the once barren fields were now exploding with greenery and goodness. Everywhere I looked I saw the emergence of new life and growth in familiar locations, facilitated by the consistent thunder and rainfall.

Now that I'm home it's struck me how important both the fires and the rains were to achieving what can only be described as organic harmony. Both enabled a natural process of cleansing, which simultaneously empowered future growth in each area they touched. The fires burned out the clutter of the lands, which perfectly captures what the first half of the trip did for me mentally, emotionally and spiritually. Once those unhealthy elements had been removed, the rains of new life showered both the countryside and the journey... stimulating new thoughts, new friendships, and new beliefs. Now that I'm back stateside the fires and rain have been quelled for a bit, but fortunately they've seeped through the soil and with each new day I can only hope that they sink deeper and deeper into the roots.

Still walkin' down the many roads,
Adam

Pictures from the Trip- PoP On the Ground 1, Laos & South Thailand, Malaysia, Brunei, Borneo & Indonesia, Nepal, Cambodia, North Thailand, The Gibbon Experience

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 124
Song of Note- "One Time" by Justin Bieber. Signed by my genius brother off Youtube and soon to be the biggest star in the world, jump on the wagon for the ride. You don't have to be a teenage girl to acknowledge how talented he is... but if you are one prepare to subscribe to Tigerbeat Magazine. Go Scooter Go.
Album of Note- "In Rainbows" by Radiohead. For a long time I've acknowledged Radiohead's epic status among true music heads, but didn't get it. This sucker opened up that door for me, and there's no turning back. The most textured music I've ever heard and felt by probably the best band on the planet. If there's one thing I can leave you with, it's to buy this album and make it the soundtrack to your days.

MUCH LOVE AND MANY HUGS

SE Asia Adventures- #7: Kathmandu and Cambodia

2009-06-20T01:21:00.002-04:00

Smalls, mediums and larges,

Greetings from Phnom Penh, Cambodia. I hope this email finds each of you in health, happiness and awareness. You’re probably thinking, “You said you weren’t going to Cambodia on this trip.” This is true, but I couldn’t deny the value of visiting my mentor/inspiration Scott Neeson at the Cambodian Children’s Fund to pick his brain, see some of the adorable kids I’ve sponsored and emailed for years, and discuss partnership opportunities between the CCF, A New Day Cambodia Girl’s Orphanage and PoP… So here I am. I last wrote from Kathmandu where I was still in fever recovery mode from the Annapurna trek. Fortunately, I was able to settle into a really unforgettable week in Nepal’s capital through the help of several great friends.

Following my dad’s departure I was immediately whisked to the Yellow Guesthouse, a true oasis of comfort, delicious food and even better people just outside the bustling Thamel area. My good friends Anna and Steve are basically family with the Swiss-French owner and his Nepali wife, so I was given a huge room and a warm welcome from the entire staff. Right away I shared a beer-filled lunch with some of the guesthouse’s semi-permanent inhabitants- Jacquie is a Frenchman in his late 60’s who lives with a pack of 39 tigers as a forester in the Nepali and Indian national reserve lands, Rick is a gentle Texan who runs an art shop between Kathmandu/Paris and was actually in the Andaman Islands when the Tsunami struck (his entire beachfront bungalow filled with water but he luckily survived), Nadia is a 30-something Canadian who teaches rehabilitation and self-help courses to battered woman, children and jailed offenders in Kathmandu, and the list goes on. Everything at the Yellow House is communal- you eat your meals, share drinks, play ping pong and bocce, or discuss the day’s events always with others. It’s a true slice of effervescent disco lemonade and highly recommended by this guy.

Kathmandu happens to be an outwardly dirty and noisy city. At first glance it lacks all charm, and seems to be overrun by people, cows and NGO’s… but once you peel back the surface and see it through a local’s eye, the city is actually filled with hidden gems. Candlelit bars, traditional restaurants, kind nods of “Namaste” and palms pressed against one another in devotion and respect await those who give Kathmandu a chance to win them over through its toothless grin. Anna, Steve and I said our prayers at the ancient monkey-filled (real monkeys, not statues) temple of Swoyambhu (arguably the world’s oldest active temple) and spent time at the tiny home and feet of one of Kathmandu’s most powerful female spiritual healers. After they left I went to see the massive stuppa at Bodona, visited the 12th century city of Bahktapur with its towering pagodas, and witnessed riverfront cremation ceremonies at Pashupati, Nepal’s version of Varanassi.

On Anna and Steve’s final night there was a massive farewell dinner at the Yellow House with family-style pasta, gin, beer and bocce. My good buddy Rory from Bain had just moved to Kathmandu, so he joined us for a huge night highlighted by our savage beating of “the French team” by “the American team” (apparently it’s like their national sport, whereas it was Rory and my first game ever) to the cheers of an all-French crowd that loved heckling their experienced but drunken countrymen. Over the next few days I toured more of the city, dined with Rory and friends at night, and on my last day met up with a Nepali friend of a friend named Pranab. It was an extremely bittersweet day, because as Pranab and I discussed Nepali vs. American culture and education in his newly built bookstore, the sold out Pencils of Promise White Party was erupting in New York City.

Oh how it killed me to not be there… but in starting to plan out the event back in February, it was always understood that I wouldn’t be there to attend. It would be an opportunity for all those who expressed an interest in getting involved with PoP to actually take full ownership over the event and the org, effectively expanding it far beyond any personal network and into the youthful NYC masses, and through the incredible hard work of the PoP leadership, volunteers and summer internship teams they put on a beautifully epic night (for pics checkout http://www.flickr.com/photos/pencilsofpromise/sets/72157619752494639/show/). You guys are seriously amazing. I also had this indescribable feeling, one of those where you don’t really “feel” but rather “know”, that important things would happen on the ground in SE Asia around the time of the event. Fortunately the fates dealt an ace of spades that day.

Without my knowledge Pranab had invited a woman of enormous intellect and presence, Sadhana Shrestha, who for the past 8 years had been Nepal’s head of Ashoka (a massive organization that has given stipends to innovative social entrepreneurs for many years), to meet with me at the bookstore. We immediately hit it off, and within 5 minutes of our conversation’s start she began telling me about an Ashoka Fellow who founded and had now been running a countrywide organization for 30 years that provides early childhood education programs and learning centers/schools to women and children in poor, rural areas of Nepal. She mentioned that her office was just a 10 minute walk away but she didn’t have her cell phone, so without thinking I immediately asked, “Can you draw me a map? I’ll walk there now and try to find her. I’ve got to meet this woman."

The map was drawn, and suddenly I found myself walking alone through random side streets of a Nepali neighborhood in search of an unmarked building, on a street they thought it might be on, to convince a woman who chances were wouldn’t even be there at 4pm on what happened to be a national holiday, that she should meet and talk with a random 25-year old stranger for several hours about her work… But as I said, the PoP event was going on in NYC at that same moment, so I had the ace of spades on my side. After 45 minutes of walking through the exhausting heat, knocking on many random doors, shadily entering several empty homes, and a motorbike ride by a nameless man who took me to her office’s doorstep, I arrived to shake hands with Agatha Thapa.

In her late 50's, Agatha wore a bright green traditional sari that paled beside her luminescent spirit, vigor and ambition. She’s a fighter. It’s clear from the moment you meet her that she’s lived her entire life overcoming the hardships of adversity and naysayers, bolstered by the prioritization of education and female empowerment in a country where egalitarianism is as common as political stability (this is sarcasm… they have neither). What started as a conversation about each of our backgrounds quickened in pace and excitement as we realized the many partnership opportunities to better each others’ organization and educational outreach… Two hours later we left her office only because their electricity shuts off at 5pm and we were now talking in the dark… Kindred spirits for sure. As I left her, I offhandedly said, “Well I’m so glad I decided not to return to New York for this party and got to meet you instead.” She immediately stopped, looked with penetrating intent into my eyes, and stated, “You did not make any decision. G-d has made this decision. Do you believe me, because I know this.” She still didn’t move, letting the question hang in the air. “Yes, I believe you” I said, and then I left with her words, her conviction, her radiance and her infectious resilience written onto the corners of that ace of spades.

Later that night I shared a lengthy conversation and dinner with Sadhana, Pranab and his friend Suvani, and the following morning I flew out of Kathmandu heading for Phnom Penh, but there was a slight issue. The entire city was shut down by a full day of huge political protests. Any taxi or motorbike was beaten with sticks, and I had to somehow get about 20km to the airport. I’ll share the detailed stories in person because my worry-filled grandmothers get these emails, but I fortunately made it unscathed on a bicycle-driven tuktuk through two pretty scary incidents where I was much closer to a mob beating than I ever want to be. Luckily many humble statements of hand-clasped “Namaste” and a look of sincere empathy with their cause got me out of two very sticky situations.

Two days later and I found myself in the place where it all began, the Cambodian Children’s Fund. Four years ago while backpacking through Singapore, Thailand and Cambodia with two friends we were linked up with the CCF’s founder, Scott Neeson, who had just left his job as one of Hollywood’s top executives to move alone to Phnom Penh to build an orphanage/school for 40 kids out of the Steung Muenchey dumpster where they worked all day collecting hard plastics for 25 cents per potato sack filled. His work was the most heroic, trustworthy and tangible that I’d ever seen, so in efforts to become a part of what at the time was just him in a three-story building with three staff members and two computers, he allowed me to have a “CCF Fundraising Coordinator” title and business card. Until starting PoP in October, that was my pseudo-side job/passion for three years and I’m so grateful that he let me be a part of what he was creating... Scott has absolutely been a mentor and inspiration from Day 1.

To say he’s made significant progress in four years would be the understatement of the century. He now has 500 kids, seven fully operational centers, a staff of 140, an amazing curriculum that includes everything from drama, music, karate and dance to phonetic English and excel tutorials, 100 or so computers for the staff and kids, around $2M in annual funding, and the love of every child in his program. When we’d arrive at each facility they’d mob Scott and I with hugs and handholding. Shockingly many remembered the 2005 visit (one in particular immediately asked “How is Dennis?!”, my Owen Wilson-like friend she developed a huge crush on within 2 minutes of meeting him… a four year crush, that’s serious). Over several days I was able to visit each CCF facility, visit the dump and its surrounding shanty-hut villages again to walk amongst the garbage-pickers in what can only be described as living hell (Scott couldn’t attend because he has pneumonia for the third time in 9 months from all the time he’s spent there and his doctor insisted he stay away until he’s regained full health!), discuss partnership opportunities, spend plenty of time with my angelic sponsored child Sokha (a former garbage-picker herself for as long as she can remember), and visit another tremendous orphanage NGO called A New Day Cambodia to see their amazing kids and meet with their wonderful Executive Director Annette Jenson. The children worship her, and rightfully so because she just gets it in every way, so we discussed the progress of their NGO, shared learnings, and laid a bit of groundwork for a potential volunteer-placement partnership.

The past 10 days have been intense and enriching and wonderful. At Pashupati a national minister was being cremated at the main waterfront platform, flanked by thousands of onlookers. Rather than standing among the masses, I somehow came across and watched for 30 minutes as a small gathering of men poured rice, flowers and kerosene on the body of a parent wrapped in a brilliant orange cloth at the smallest and most distant platform designated for the untouchable Dalit caste, the lowest in Indian/Nepali culture. The wailing cries of the three shirtless brothers tore through every person nearby, and I was paralyzed by the ferocity and purity of their grief. As tradition dictates, the oldest brother has to light the initial fire in the mouth of the deceased parent, which he did while being held up by another man to keep from collapsing. Tears poured from the eyes of every one of us watching, as the body was instantly engulfed in towering flames… And yet only days later I found myself inside the CCF and ANDC facilities holding the hands of children literally brought back from the dead by the work of Scott Neeson and Annette Jenson.

That cycle of death and rebirth goes on all around us every day, but we rarely get a chance to see it on such a personal, humanized level. To spend the morning in a garbage dump of human agony and an afternoon with its five-year-old survivors as they practice English, Excel and traditional Khmer dance provides a renewed sense of faith for anyone fortunate enough witness such acts of heroism. These experiences are rare, but they inspire us not to worry about trivial concerns and live whatever we are going through richly and deeply. To say I love you more often. To inhale life’s recipe of uppercuts and stardust fully, and exhale with the lionheart conviction of an Agatha Thapa and Sadhana Shrestha. Nepal and Cambodia have been the welcomed salt and pepper to these spicy travels, but for now it’s back to Laos for me, where the death of each night’s moon marks the birth of a new day, and another chance to leave a few footsteps in the land of no dollars and a thousand smiles.

Walkin' down the many roads,
Adam

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 97
Song of Note- "Love is Only a Feeling" by The Darkness. Such a jam. Huge chords, ripping solos, this song will have you raising your goblet to the rock deities by the end of minute 1.
Album of Note- Sister Rosetta Tharp's "Live in Paris." A gospel singing female rock-n-roll blues guitarist who played when TV was still in black and white. She's only about 5,000 years ahead of her time. Look her up on Youtube and you'll want to thank Al Gore for inventing the internet.

SE Asia Adventures- #6: Bali and the Himalayas of Nepal

2009-06-12T02:30:00.000-04:00

Breakfasts, lunches and dinners,

Greetings from Kathmandu, Nepal. Damn it’s crazy just to type that, life really is a trip... Before I dive into the update, I’d like to shamelessly plug the Pencils of Promise White Party event this Saturday June 13th at the Union Square Ballroom. If you or any friends in the NYC area are interested, please checkout the link to buy tickets at http://www.paperlesspost.com/events/6706-d75f5680/card. I’m heading back to Laos in the next few days for another month of PoP work on the ground, so unfortunately I won’t be there, but it will be a great night for sure.

When I wrote last we’d arrived at the home of my good family friend Alan Solow, who is something of a cross between Billy Crystal, The Dude and Wilt Chamberlain- He’s hysterical, the absolute man and a walking, breathing incarnation of the kama sutra. After several weeks of magical but draining travel through Malaysia, Brunei and Indonesia, his huge smile and hosting panache were an incredibly welcomed respite from the road. We anticipated spending 2 nights with Alan before leaving the supposed tourist traps of Bali to head to the Gili Islands… but we never made it that far.

Instead, we were immediately introduced to the local scene of ex-pats living in Bali, effectively bypassing the tourist experience, and fell in love with the people, places, friends and culture we discovered. Our “two days in Bali” melted like a Snickers in the Central Park sun and soon became 2 weeks, with more highlights than I can possibly mention in one email- Soul shine sunsets on the black sand beaches, epic all-night “galaxy” parties underneath a sky of cascading stars, having wild monkeys climb on our heads in the Ubud sanctuary forest, redefining the color green while getting lost for hours on a motorbike amongst the stunning rice terraces of Tampak Siring and Tagal Lalang, guitar and surf sessions on Pedang Pedang beach and an empty for miles Nyang Nyang beach, visiting ancient temples built into a natural setting that I can’t possibly describe at Gunung Kawi, and spending time with an amazing NGO called the East Bali Poverty Project that’s done work so revolutionary that I’ve laid up many nights contemplating how to possibly replicate the accomplishments of their founder, civil engineer, teacher and cigarette-smoker extraordinaire David Booth.

For two weeks we lived in paradise, and then the storm struck. Without warning or cause, it attacked with a furious vengeance- The morning of my flight out of Bali to Bangkok I awoke at 6am with horrific fever symptoms. Cold sweats, teeth-rattling shakes, a blistering headache, muscle pains everywhere and the fire of a thousand splendid suns burning in my eyeballs. I knew right away that I needed to get to the hospital, but there was no time before my flight. I needed to get to BKK to fly to Kathmandu the next day where I was meeting my dad for a week of trekking in the Himalayan mountains of the Annapurna Sanctuary… major problem right? In a state of complete delirium I made it to Bangkok, but as I walked through immigration, the Swine Flu thermodetector went off… no joke. They had a thermodetector.

I was immediately whisked to a medical station, given a Michael Jackson mouth covering, and my temperature was taken. 39.2 degrees Celsius. What the hell did that mean? It meant I was at 102.6 degrees Fahrenheit, and quickly raising suspicion in the eyes of my suddenly-not-so-friendly Asian hosts. I was then moved to a quarantine area, where for the next 2 hours they performed a myriad of tests and group discussions about how to solve their latest medical conundrum. Finally a resolution was agreed upon… they wanted to take me to the hospital for more influenza testing. As much as I could feel the burning lava pulsing through my veins, I also knew that I had a flight in 12 hours to meet my dad in Nepal and considering he was flying out from the states, I had to get there undisturbed… so I insisted I felt fine, and with a bit of luck was released into the Bangkok streets… where the fever got worse.

The next morning I arrived in Kathmandu with my symptoms absolutely owning my body… we immediately flew to Pokhora, the jumpoff point to enter the Annapurna trek, and checked into our hotel. I wish I could say I was insanely heroic and brave and trekked the world’s greatest peaks with a Game 6 Jordan-esque fever… but this would be a lie.

I ended up making it up through Nayapoor to Birathani and rested for a few days in the mountains at Tikidhunga as my dad put on a heroic performance in nursing me back to health while also making sure he trekked up to the heights of Ghorapani and Poonhill. The mountain villages we hiked by were filled with warm smiles and children shouting “Namaste” through the fresh mountain air. Elderly women tended to baby goats and young boys flirted with girls on rocky steps smoothed by the footsteps of travelers and locals alike… We then went up to Sarang Kot, where we spent a night looking down on the luminescent lights of Pokhora… sadly our sunrise wakeup was ruined by a thunderous storm with one lightening bolt that couldn’t have struck more than 100m from us, and a cloudy morning obstructing the mountain views… so around 10am we trekked down the mountainous steps, and in a moment of weakness the clouds gave way to allow a slight view at the peak of Annapurna II. We all gasped at the towering beauty, as it was so high above the horizon that I truly hadn’t realized to even look that high above the clouds for a mountain.

We decided to sit down for tea at a lone table on a grass clearing just in case the clouds parted… and were treated to a show. Over the next few hours the clouds slowly gave way, shedding their white morning veils to reveal a mountain range unlike any other I’ve ever seen… several peaks over 21,000ft stood with menacing grace, like a pack of regal brothers you can’t help but admire and fear at the same time. That morning validated every moment of the Nepal experience, and contains many mental images that I hope to never lose to the thievery of time’s razors and sawdust.

The following morning we took a 5-hour mountain biking tour through the bustling dust city of Kathmandu, riding through ancient city streets and quiet park vistas until my legs and lungs begged for mercy. Throughout the ride we heard the persistent horn honks mesh with distant calls to Hindu prayer stuppas; a true representation of this puzzling city where I currently find myself writing to you all… My dad left later that afternoon, and I have since been in the company of one of my favorite couples on Earth. Steve is a close Native American friend from the Lakota tribe with an enormous heart and smile, and his wife Anna is a beautiful mystic Buddhist, originally from Sweden but she’s lived all over the world speaking 11 languages and most recently spending 5 years on the banks of the Ganges River in Varanasi, India after living here in Kathmandu for 4 years. She’s done humanitarian social work in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Bosnia, India, Nepal, Serbia, and the list goes on and on… yes, I love everything about them, and yes we’re spending our days and nights in deep conversation, healthy laughs and shared experience.

These past few weeks have been a real lesson in hospitality and what we do for those we love, as friends and as family. When Crosby and I needed a place to rest and recover, Alan lovingly opened his home to two traveling strangers simply because he is the brother of one of my dad’s best friends. He treated us like his own blood, because as he said, “You’re family, this is love.” When I became horrifically ill with the fever from Satan’s bulls on parade, my dad babied me like I was an 8 year-old again. He labored over me with a caring intensity unlike anything I’ve ever seen. He may not have realized it but this past week he taught me so much about what it means to be a real man, to express love through the power of your deeds and the merit of your actions. One day I hope I can repay both Alan and my dad for the gifts of their care and kindness when it was needed most… but until then, all I can do is pay it forward. So here’s my offer- 5 hours of open bar and all the wonderful, fun and great people you could ever want to meet in a single night, how’s that sound? Boom, now you’ve got your Saturday plans- http://www.paperlesspost.com/events/6706-d75f5680/card

Walkin' down the many roads,
Adam

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 87
Song of Note- "Off He Goes" by Pearl Jam. Everything that a male vocal ballad should be... strong, meaningful and serenely beautiful. This song has been in heavy, heavy rotation lately.
Album of Note- Warren Haynes "Live at Bonnaroo" Wow. This acoustic set by one of the best guitarists and vocalists in the game is phenomenal. Warren plays lead for The Allman Brothers, The Dead, and his own band Government Mule. Everything he touches is brilliant, and this solo set is no different.

SE Asia Adventures- #5: Malaysia, Brunei, Indonesia and PoP

2009-06-12T02:10:00.001-04:00

Chocolates, vanillas and strawberries,

Much love and many hugs from Semanyak, Indonesia. This email is long overdue, but I'm going to skip through many of the travel stories and just provide the who/what/when/where so I can get straight to the final insight that concludes most of these updates. The reason for this is because I assume most of you don't have the time to read all the way through these, and I'm hoping you'll take the time to make it to the end of this one, especially if you have any interest in the evolution of Pencils of Promise.

I last wrote from Kuala Basu, Malaysia, the jumpoff point for the Perhentian Islands. It took 14 hours of exhausting overland travel and a shady late-night border crossing from Thailand to get there, but we made it around 2am as rains crushed us from above. The next morning we took a boat across the most beautiful water I've seen in my entire life, water that's so saturated with color that it makes the sky jealous, and arrived in Long Beach on the big island. No accomodations were available except tents by the beach, so we spent our first night in a tent. Traveling the backpackers way... The next day we took an amazing snorkling trip, swimming with sea turtles, sharks, and fish of all shapes and colors.

After a few days of snorkeling we took an overnight bus to Kuala Lampur, arriving at 4am and walking the city streets until we could find a decent hostel to get some rest. Two days of touring the sprawling malls of the great Malaysian city (including a hysterical haircut experience at a styling academy in one mall), and then we hopped a flight to Brunei. Why the tiny nation of Brunei? Simple... because I don't know a single person that's ever been there, and recalled the middle school fact that the Sultan of Brunei used to be the richest man in the world. Brunei turned out to be one of the most fascinating places I've ever seen. They've become insanely oil rich in the last 50 years, as there's no income tax and everything is subsidized and completely peaceful. But there's a deep commimtment to simultaneously maintaning many of the elements of traditional life. They have the world's largest sea village, with 30,000 residents living in basic wooden huts on stilts that you might find in any impoverished region of SE Asia, but the entire place now has wireless internet and apparently on the mainland most families have 4-6 cars! Fire trucks, police cars and school buses for the sea village are all just fast boats of various colors. Just 10 minutes down the Brunei river is the Sultan's Palace that's over 2 million square feet, has ~1800 rooms, 18 elevators and more than 165 Bentleys. 10 minutes past that and we felt like we were in the Amazon, finding rare birds and packs of long-nosed Probiscus monkeys jumping from tree to tree. It's an amazing dichotomy of contrasts, and was well worth the two day diversion.

Next we took an all day bus into Malaysian Borneo, passing many passport checkpoints on the lengthy ride before arriving in the coastal city of Kota Kinabalu. Several days of snorkling, amazing sunsets on the waterfront esplande, riding ATV's along the beach, a bit of hitchhiking around, city exploring, witnessing a Malaysian Idol-type singing contest outside our guesthouse on Mother's day, one wild night at an all-Asian danceclub with a sick live band, and then we hopped a flight to Jakarta, Indonesia.

Jakarta is a bustling city of 8 million people, but all I cared about was that the Burger King there had the first barbecue sauce I've found in 2 months. It was delicious, and we actually found the city to be pretty cool in our 24 hours there. Next it was off the cultural city of Yogyakarta followed by a 9-hour sunrise tour of the spectacular ruins at Borabadur and then Prambanan. Absolutely amazing. We then hopped on an 8-hour overnight bus with no AC to Probilinggo, immediately grabbed a 4am minishuttle up to Mount Bromo, witnessed the sunrise from the exact lookout point where Baraka captures the mystic beauty of this place (google it... trust me), walked along the rim to look into the fuming volcano, and then immediately returned to the bus station where we traveled 11 hours by bus/ferry/bus/taxi to get to a family friend's house where we're now staying in Semanyak, Bali. The past few weeks have been a furious itinerary of travel, sightseeing, and stimuli for all senses. It's been exhausting and overwhelming and great.

Key Trip Info
Days- 65
Song of Note- "Skyline" by Dan Teicher. A ballad of beautiful lyricism and soaring classical strings written by the most dangerous artist on the NYC music scene.
Album of Note- ESL Remixed by Thievery Corporation. So good it hurts. Throw it on during a sunny day andjust try not to smile while bobbing your head to the euphoric rhythms.

Now onto the insight-

We spent a lot of time underwater snorkling in the past few weeks, and it's so fascinating to realize just how much activity is going on below the surface of a calm sea. I was blown away by the diversity of wildlife, as there seemed to be a limitless supply of differing species swimming amongst myself and the others. While there's certainly an appeal to the brightest, the biggest, and the fastest, I kept on finding myself observing the large groups of similar fish that swam together... How did they know to all turn left simultaneously? Why didn't they ever bump into each other? How did they maintain perfect space between one another at all times? Even more interestingly, what impact were they having on the sea of activity and the bigger fish around them?

Since Pencils of Promise was founded in October, I've been on thousands of emails regarding the organization and probably spoken with hundreds of different people about it. Listening to the advice of those with significant nonprofit and leadership experience has been invaluable, even if most of them consistently told me that PoP couldn't be successful without attracting large individual donors, which is something we have not done. Nevertheless, the organization is on the verge of its first major tipping point, as we're about to complete construction on our 1st school in Laos, launch an amazing website, begin a summer internship program, host an event with over 1,000 NYC youths, and surpass the $100,000 mark in donations received all within the next month. While snorkling one day I began recalling the many conversations about PoP with people of all ages over the past 8 months, and in paying closer attention to the fish underwater, I realized just how much they represented what we were accomplishing and why it's happened.

A consistent weakness of youth is a lack of wisdom that says "Don't try that because it can't be done". We don't know yet that certain things are impossible, and in that idealism lies our ability to prove that they are not. They're possible when we join together. When many little fish move in a unified direction with shared purpose and intent, they create ripples of powerful change that even the big fish in the sea must heed and acknowledge. This is the essence of Pencils of Promise. Not one of us is independently capable of creating the impact we hope to enact in the developing world, but when we collectively combine the vast resources, knowledge, experience and passion amongst us as a whole, as individuals bonded by our commitment to basic education, the impossible becomes possible. And what do we call these many fish swimming as one? They're not called a pack, a herd or a flock... they're called a school.

Walkin down the many roads,
Adam

SE Asia Adventures- #4: Two weeks in Thailand

2009-05-04T05:56:00.000-04:00

Windows, Aisles and Middles,

Hot and sticky greetings from Kuala Basu, Malaysia. Since sending out my last email I met up with my buddy Crosby in Phuket, Thailand to begin 6 weeks of travel together. Our itinerary was very loose, and since we rarely book anything more than 24 hours in advance, we’ve changed our expected schedule daily. Each morning carries with it an unknown adventure, as we know something's happening but we don't know what it is.

So how does one possibly describe two incredible weeks in the islands of southwestern Thailand? The answer is you don’t. You touch on a few highlights, but keep most of the memories in your backpocket to be shared around a campfire one day with close friends. Phuket is a highly developed resort city, studded with sprawling beaches, five-star resorts, friendly shops, and a pretty wild nightlife scene that I didn’t anticipate whatsoever. Before even arriving in Phuket I planned to head out as soon as possible, but we headed over to Patong our first morning, cruised for a few hours to a remote beach on rented motorbikes, and enjoyed one great night of clubbing. All I’ll say about that night is that I saw an “Eel Show.” I won’t provide any details, but I did sprint out the front door within 5 seconds of the show’s start. I’m not kidding, 5 seconds was all it took before I was literally running. For those who are wondering, I also turned off 2 Girls 1 Cup about 2 seconds into its main act… It’s a toss-up as to which is more gross. It’s like asking whether the heads or tails side is more valuable on a quarter. Except no one wins… least of all the cup and the eel.

From there we headed to Koh Phi Phi, a place famed as one of the most beautiful islands in the entire world… due to this notoriety, a burgeoning backpacker town has developed with cobblestone walkways and a plethora of eateries and late-night options. During our days we played volleyball, snorkeled, visited Maya Beach where Leonardo DiCaprio’s “The Beach” was filmed, met other travelers and generally relaxed. At night, it was a different story. Each evening local fire twirlers did their thing as a throbbing beach rave swelled in the sands… Hundreds of young travelers from across the world drank buckets and danced with snake-eyed intent until 5am. Two of them were named Crosby and Adam. After three ridiculously fun nights of this, we crawled away from Koh Phi Phi for two tranquil nights on Koh Lanta and then at Krabi’s Ton Sai Beach.

Our trip is currently taking place in the SE Asia “low season” for travel, so many places are hit or miss. Ton Sai Beach is a super-chilled out backpacker spot nestled between the towering limestone faces of a stunning horseshoe beach that seemed like an off-the-beaten path dream to me, but Crosby was looking for a bit more excitement so we headed through the darkness of a small mountain path with our full packs at 6pm on our second night to relocate to Railay Beach next door. This turned out to be a great move, because we absolutely fell in love with Railay.

We originally anticipated 2-3 nights there… we ended up staying for seven. This was partially due to the fact that we found a cozy resort to stay at (queen sized beds, AC, pool, manicured landscaping, maid service, etc) for $12 each per night. Railay’s east side in the low season was also the perfect storm of nicely developed bars/restaurants with few enough people to create an extremely laid back and congenial vibe. Highlights from our seven days included a magnificent hike to an emerald green lagoon enveloped by 200ft limestone cliffs that left an eye-shaped sky above, monkey viewing, guitar lessons from a lovely Swede and sunset watching on Prenang Beach (one of Thailand’s Top 3 beaches), shady Muay Thai boxing matches at Bamboo Bar, befriending nearly everyone on the island, and going on a true adventure with a local friend.

For seven straight nights we ended up at a bar called Chok D’s, where everyone lay on comfortable cushions listening to a brilliant Phillipino guitarist play covers of any classic song you could think of... the local crew of young Thai guys that ran the joint quickly became our boys, and after a few nights a real bond of kinship was formed. We became particularly close with one 20 year-old kid named Mon (as in, “What’s up Mon”), and on our fourth night I asked him if he could take us to visit his home in the remote village where he lived… He was pretty surprised at the request, but it’s these local experiences that are the core of why I travel. They’re always filled with surprises, newfound appreciation of other cultures, deep humility, and astounding beauty. They don’t come often, as I can probably count my exposure to such events on two hands in over two years of total travel abroad, but they’re the best of the best… and I just had a good feeling about this one. He agreed, saying “My home? I only go back every two months… but in three days, I go. You come? Yea!”

Three days later we found ourselves on a slowboat heading towards Krabi Town with Mon grinning madly. We rented three motorbikes and jetted off for the island of “little Lanta”. Mon hadn’t been on a motorbike in 3 years, so he led the way at speeds reaching 110km along the narrow motorbike lane of the highway. It was pretty nuts, but a blast nonetheless. After 1.5 hours we arrived at his basic concrete home, where his mother and sister had prepared a full meal for us of omelettes, fish, boiled eggs, vegetables and rice that we ate sitting cross-legged on the ground. Surprisingly, it was delicious. From there we headed down to a small local jetty, where Mon’s father picked us up in his mini-slowboat and lazily rode off for “the cave.”

As we pulled the wooden boat up to a small mangrove patch I knew we were in for something special, and I now truly believe that we’re some of the only Westerners to ever see this local gem. The crew scaled a bamboo ladder and with flashlights in hand entered a shockingly massive and deep cave, filled with stalagmite formations, baby cones, ancient engravings, a few bats and our hushed “oohs” and “ahhs.” After 45 minutes of exploration we returned to the boat, thanking Mon’s father profusely, and he took us on an hour-long island viewing boat tour before we jetted back to Krabi town. From there we hired a boat to return us to Railay as the sunset melted wax candles onto the sky over our shoulders, sea winds whipped our faces, Michael Franti’s baritone blasted into my ears, and as each wave bounced beneath us like nature’s heartbeat the creases of our smiles grew ever so slightly. We both agreed, it was our best day in Thailand for sure.

Railay and Ton Sai also happen to be two of the Top 5 rockclimbing locations in Thailand, so they’re among the world’s best. I’d never rockclimbed before, but we had to go for it… and it was indescribably great. We spent an afternoon under the baking sun scaling several different routes of a 400ft rock face, challenging every strain of physical and mental juice that we had in our bodies. It was exhausting. It was insanely hard. More than anything, it was fucking awesome. There’s just something about ascending a wall formed thousands of years ago with nothing to help you but a harness, a rope, determination, blood and guts. It reminds you of your own mortality, vigor and pulsing lifeforce. There were many times when I was sure I couldn’t move my arms whatsoever, but I just had do yell at myself a bit to keep the spirits high. After several deep breaths the adrenaline would propel me upwards… And upon reaching the peak and turning around to see the tropical paradise below with aqua green waters shimmering for miles, the endorphin-release was unparalleled. I’m pretty sure I’ll be forcing my unborn kids onto professional-grade climbs before they reach the age of 10… just to toughen em up and whatnot. They can take it, they’re not even born yet.

Departing Railay was extremely tough, but a necessary move to continue the trip. It took a ridiculous 16 hour trip by boat and several minishuttles to get us to Malaysia, but we’ve had a great few days here so far and are looking forward to the next stop… which we booked last night on a whim although it certainly wasn’t part of the original itinerary. But you’ll have to wait for the next update to see where the adventures have taken us…

Our time in the cave really got me thinking about what we saw in there and how we responded to it. The formations we witnessed were at once beautiful, scary and awe-inspiring, much like many of the elements each person possesses deep within the recesses of their mental, emotional and spiritual beings. We now live in a world of hyperconnectivity, where we not only immediately share and post the images of our lives for thousands of others to see, but we’re moving towards a society where people are increasingly sharing their every thought, action and feeling via the internet multiple times a day to friends and strangers alike. When you take a picture it’s now usually with Facebook or Shutterfly in mind, as the lights of universal exposure become brighter and brighter with each passing moment.

But what about the caves? As the power and scope of these lights expand, the internal caves seem to be diminishing day by day. The fact remains though, that certain things can only develop in the still silence of darkness. Our time in the cave was a stark reminder of this. Not everything needs to be put on immediate display for others to recognize and commend. Some items should be kept in the caves, enabling isolation to harvest their evolving beauty… and in the future, when each of us allows a few trusted and intrepid explorers into those caves, they too will shine their flashlights of illumination with deep appreciation and respect. The previously hidden elements will remain steadfast from the lengthy period of unfettered development, and each person who enters this cave will leave knowing they have experienced something special. It’s okay to keep a few pieces of yourself in the caves. These are the things that one day, if you keep them away from the eyes of the world long enough, just might turn into someone else's treasure.

Walkin’ the many roads,
Adam

Key Trip Info
Days- 48
Album of Choice- “Live at Bats” by Fly My Pretties. A New Zealand super-group comes together for a wicked live set that grooves in all four directions at once. If you can’t get this live set, find anything by Fly My Pretties or their band members’ own groups. You’ll sleep happily once you do.
Song of Choice- “Your Protector” by Fleet Foxes. They’re the modern lovechild of Simon & Garfunkel and The Band. Mountain men who only care about two things- Making sweet, sweet harmonies and growing burly beards. Definitely check them out, explore their catalogue, and find your own favorites… this bellowing ballad sounds oh so right when you’re surrounded by sparkling turquoise waters headed on a speed boat towards the Perhentian Islands. Give it a listen.

SE Asia Adventures- #3: You Know the World's Gone Mad...

2009-04-17T04:54:00.001-04:00

…when Laotians wear plaid, and I’ve already broken my Canon. Yes, sadly my camera somehow died within 2 weeks, and yes that opening line was a clear and direct reference to the album you should all go out and buy when it comes out in 3 days, Asher Roth’s “Asleep in the Bread Aisle.”

April is without a doubt my second favorite month of the year. It’s a time of creation and transition. Obviously a lot of people get busy on July 4th, which you can directly attribute to the masses of April birthdays including my sister, brother, niece, dad and a handful of other close friends. The New England weather I love so much slips its gargoyle skin into flower blossoms and breezy iguana necks this month. There’s music in the cafes at night and revolution in the air.

April is a month of life, and it should feel like a damn good time to be alive.

After writing last from Pakse I caught a bus heading due south for what are affectionately known as “The 4,000 Islands.” It’s a remote but pristine archipelago just north of the Cambodian border on the Lao Mekong River. Several of the islands have become traveler hotspots you hear about in the ever increasing whispers about their dramatic beauty and traditional simplicity. After a bus ride and a brief slowboat, I arrived in Don Det, where a German backpacker I met months ago had traveled 28 hours by bus to visit… and told me it was worth every second.

Besides the decent amount of family-owned power generators, Don Det only has electricity for 3 hours per day. From the miniscule beachfront at the point, long rows of simple wooden bungalows line what are known as the “Sunrise” and “Sunset” sides… Nearly every bungalow is the same, with an awful bed inside, no bathroom, no light or fan, and a small deck with 1-2 hammocks looking out onto the water. There were far more bungalows than I expected, but very few were even close to capacity and it made for a very, very small town feel.

I met my ragtag band of international neighbors right away, and we rented tubes for 50 cents to take a nice long float down the river. While in Muang Ngoi I’d befriended a Canadian guy who raved about this English girl he fell for there and really wanted to see again. As we floated down the river, sharing our traveling tales, it turned out that the girl I was talking with was this guy’s love! To connect the dots even further, our other neighbor was the one who persuaded the Canadian guy to spend time in Muang Ngoi in the first place and had traveled with him as well. We were all pretty overwhelmed with the tangential crossing of paths, and the girl was even more lovestruck with our Canadian buddy… Sometimes fate deals you a royal flush on the river, both figuratively and literally.

The high spirits led into a tasty BeerLao watching the cotton candy sunset and a great chill session at what’s called “The Reggae Bar.” Absolutely nothing about this place is reggae, no rastas or Jamaican flags or otherwise, but they play damn good reggae music, and I dug it. They’re well known for staying open later than the other places, which means they keep the lights on until 10:45pm. The power went out just as the monsoon rains started, so all 30 people stayed sitting on their ground cushions, sharing libations while the rains thundered down around us in the dark and moondrenched laughs were exchanged across the tables.

It was also during that hour that we found out one of our neighbors, a 40-something Californian nonstop talker, ran a softcore porn website of herself. The 20-something Mike Myers look alive who met her at the Vietnam border and told us about it said straight-faced, “I honestly wanted to check it out, but my Paypal is broken so I couldn’t register.” I loved this guy.

Two days later I found myself invited by my new neighbor (a Frenchman named Joma who lives in the Ranier Islands, spends significant amounts of time in Madagascar, and has one of the wildest haircuts I’ve ever seen) to visit an extremely remote village. An incredibly sweet Lao woman who sold baskets at the Don Det waterfalls had befriended him and extended an invitation to visit her husband’s home village, where she claimed most had never seen a Westerner. We arose early and excited that morning, met up with a new American hippie friend, and rented bicycles to ride 30 minutes through dirt paths, wooden bridges and scattered rice fields to meet with our Lao host (“Mama Dam”). It turns out that she hadn’t visited the village in 40 years, since she was 15 years old, so the adventure began. After 4 hours of treacherous bike rides, two broken chains, river swimming, long hikes, and a seemingly endless walk through scorching rice fields, we arrived several islands over in their village. True to their word, most had never seen a Westerner. The time spent the in Ban Sai Hong and the trek itself were both incredibly, incredibly special… days like that one revitalize the desire to backpack. They reinvigorate the joy of connecting with others. And they remind you not to wear a jersey without suntan lotion unless you want some really stupid tanlines.

The next seven days melted into one blissful afternoon of silent introspection. I’d love to say I partied nonstop or hiked a new mountain everyday, but I spent most of my time by myself primarily listening to and working through the flow of internal thoughts. I visited as many local schools as I could to gain information on the area’s basic education status, read 800 pages to complete the incredible book Shantaram, swam to an island and back nearly every day, wrote voraciously in my journal, and stayed away from external connectivity as much as possible. Removing all of the usual minutiae, stresses and external interactions from daily life really forces you to think big picture thoughts. I made a home out of my hammock, and my eyes fixed on the shifting horizon as it cycled through technicolor birth and death.

When I did come out of my shell of private introspection occasionally at night, I was fortunate to meet some incredible people who equally fed off the energies of the island. One night’s dinner and late night chill session included a 30-something Valencia jungle warrior who’d lived amongst the refugees of Burma and Peru for months at a time, a 68-year old widowed mystical poet who spoke 10 languages and blessed us all with her scholarly wisdom (and gave me a lovely poem), a Barcelonan couple who I truly loved and hope to meet up with again, two Englishman both named Andy (one was self-referred to as “Candy” or “Gandy” because he was the gay Andy hahah) who lived in Don Det for several years, and two Russians who sang hysterical songs of the motherland proclaiming the strength of the Russian man… Oh, and my total room rent on the island was $23... altogether... for eight nights...

April 14-18th is Lao New Year, which means the whole country stops to have a water fight. No joke. Everyone just drills each other with buckets, hoses, waterguns, and more. Absolutely no one is safe, and they take special delight in drilling falong (Westerners). It’s a blast, and my last night in Don Det I came across an all Lao birthday/New Year party. After idling outside for a bit, I was invited in and seated at a full table of Lao men ages 18-40. No one spoke any English… But they spoke the language of celebration. We shared self-made ricepaper spring rolls, drinks, Karaoke songs, weird hip-shaking dances and a serious amount of hysterics. The children went to bed early and the heat really turned up, as my favorite cultural tradition I’ve ever seen started-

For some reason, it’s a Lao New Year tradition to rub baby powder on your face and the face of others late night… especially older wasted people that are passed out. I can’t even begin to describe how funny it was, but people were covered in baby powder, defenseless and clueless as to how ridiculous they looked. Everybody loved it.

I thanked the gracious hosts and finally left the party around midnight to walk the few steps to the beach front where a 15-traveler bonfire was simmering, and was reunited with my Barcelonan friends. We shared a great late night jam session as a storm settled in the distance and the man in the sky flicked the bright lights on in off in the waterfront horizon. Silent lightening enveloped us from all directions every few seconds for several hours. It was the kind of natural display that lets you know there is Godliness even in science’s playground…

Tomorrow my Laos visa expires and I’ll fly to Thailand to travel south for 6 weeks with my buddy Crosby. I’m pretty confident that most of my NYC fatigue has been washed out in the blue and green rivers of this country. The last month has been good, great, grand, wonderful. That is the word that captures it best. Full of wonder. Both in the internalized monologue asking constantly difficult questions that require scary but truthful answers, and in that feeling of amazement and intrigue that this culture offers to an outsider in each passing day, especially through the work of Pencils of Promise...

There is a tremendous peace to these people and this land. The sun and mists rise slowly each morning and the soft clouds bow their heads in deferent acknowledgment of each day’s closing. Children dominate the landscape holding hands under soft pink faded umbrellas. Elderly women walk in packs, their woven purses complementing traditional skirts that speak of maternal kindness. These women always walk silently, never making a fuss or even addressing their peers. They simply walk together towards their shared destination, screaming dignity through the heavy bags under their eyes and the patience of their step. The family underlies everything here. They look after each other not because they are told, but because it is simply how they live. And permeating each collective act is the beautiful silence and confidence of necessary solitude. It’s witnessed in the men carrying wood logs on their backs from the fields and the women preparing banana stands at dawn.

I’m incredibly thankful to have spent this month amongst the Laotian people. Sometimes it’s in the absence of the usual sound and speech that the deeper subconscious of a people or an individual can be heard. Having come from a world of constant sound and stimulation, being here has been a healthy reminder that each man and woman’s most powerful statement is not expressed through their way with words, but in their way of life.

Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

Key Trip Info
Days- 30

Album of Choice- “Mastercuts – World Beats”. Global rhythms just sound good in beautiful places.
Song of Choice- Bob Dylan’s “Gates of Eden”. Get it acoustic, preferably 1965 BBC Concert… In my humble opinion it’s one of his five best lyrical masterpieces. The words all have jagged edges, and land with a thud at the base of your cerebellum. Like many of Dylan’s best yarns (Tangled Up in Blue, Desolation Row, Stuck Inside of Mobile, etc) it’s a children’s bedtime story for adults that have lost their key to clarity’s front door. You know something is happening but you don't know what it is... Listen to it twice in a row and just try not to have a few lines stuck in your head… I dare you… I double dare you... or you could take the Physical Challenge.
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SE Asia Adventures- #2: Hitting the Road

2009-04-13T08:31:00.000-04:00

Cowboys, Indians and Native Americans,

Before I launch into the update, I want to first send a massive hug-shaped congrats to my brother Sam and his wonderful wife Bridget on the birth of their beautiful baby girl Lua. Simply amazing... Since last writing there’s been a lot, nearly all of it related to Pencils of Promise though so I’ll do my best to provide you with a comfy passenger seat on the ride that's now led me to Pakse in Southern Laos.

In the days following the first update, each morning I rode my motorcycle black Madonna two-wheeled gypsy queen about an hour to Pha Teung heading for the Gates of Eden. The workers seemed to almost get a kick out of the assistance of a “falong” (the regular term for foreigner), but getting to know the kids personally was what drove me out there each day. By Week 2, when I’d arrive in the village most of the parents and kids would greet me with a large “Saibadee AB!” (they struggle with pronouncing “Adam” and nearly everyone has an easy nickname, so they like calling me by my initials, “AB”). I also discovered a hidden bamboo hut about 30m from a small riverfront beach on a secret dirt path 2km past the village, so some days I’d stop there to relax, eat, read, meditate, go for a swim, and generally enjoy the amazing sense of peace found when completely alone in a remote but beautiful, natural environment.

There are many tales from Pha Teung that can be shared, but the one that had the most personal significance happened on my last day there. When I first visited in December and found several children doing work on a Sunday in a classroom by themselves, one girl absolutely froze my senses. She wasn’t the youngest, the cutest or the prettiest, but I later realized that it was simply how normal she seemed that made her stand out. Her clothes were plain but not dirty or ripped like the others, and she reminded me of any girl I might have sat next to in primary school growing up… only she was living in a starkly different setting. There was just something about her. She radiated the unspoken latent potential of her fingertips. Her paralyzing stare carried no sharp objects. This one girl’s expression alone made me want to build in Pha Teung… But since being out here she won’t engage me whatsoever. Other children laugh, shake hands, exchange names, play games, etc. I’ve tried over and over to speak with her, just to get a name, but she always shyly walks away without a word or even eye contact.

On my last full day in Pha Teung I finished up by going for yet another long swim in the river with the kids. When I came out they walked with me back up to the village to rinse the mud off our feet. For some reason, that one girl curiously watched and stuck around. I asked the names of all the younger kids around her, and finally when I got to her, with creased corners of expressive delight she shouted “Thanh”. Yes. Finally. We talked a bit more in my broken Lao, and before leaving I reached into my bag to grab my favorite writing pen, and gave it to her. Her face was a blank slate as I handed it to her, simply staring into my eyes and accepting the gift devoid of emotion. As I walked out of the village though, I looked back to see a large crowd of kids surrounding her and examining the writing utensil. Moments later she skipped away, singing while admiring the pen she now held high in the air… It’s hard to put into any words, but that simple image validated and encompassed everything that I’d ever hoped Pencils of Promise would become… It felt like a circle had been completed, and that all of the time spent in the village was well worth every second.

Sadly my motorbike finally died that day, so I was forced to hitchhike to get back to Luang Prabang after the high of that final experience. In many ways it almost seemed fitting, as I drained that bike of everything it had to give... The next morning was occupied by a two-hour ride south with TC and three Education Ministry officials through lush mountainous plateaus to visit a small village called KiewTaloum II that’s in need of a preschool, and will possibly be the location of the second PoP school. The morning after that, the real backpacking began.

It started by meeting with a Lao engineer named Somlat who beamed a devilish smile and said, “Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name”. He does all of the building for an organization called Community Learning International that wants to partner together, so the two of us hired a tuk-tuk and hit the road heading north…

Along the 6-hour journey we stopped to visit the CLI library in Pak Ou, the PoP site at Pha Teung, the CLI dormitory at the district’s lone high school in Nam Bak, and an incredibly remote village called Pha Yong that’s in desperate need of a primary and preschool. The hour-long road to Pha Yong is made of dirt and rocks carving a snake-like ascent through a countryside of astounding beauty. Sprawling rice fields seem to sway in green unison to wind songs that only farmers hear. At times we had to get out to help push the tuk-tuk up steep hills, but the ride was definitely my favorite from all of my time in SE Asia thus far. The village itself was extremely poor, and most kids walked two-hour each way to get to the nearest primary school. Somlat and I used sticks to carve out a basic three-room school diagram in the dirt, which just may become a reality before year's end. It was inspiring and beautiful and badass... once again, everything that I hope PoP will become one day.

We then arrived exhausted in the sleepy village of Nong Kiaw, and arose early the next morning to take a speed boat up the Nam Ou to a tiny village called Hoay Hoay. A monsoon-like rain exploded from the sky upon our arrival, and as we trekked through the mud to visit the Hoay Hoay primary school, the village children laughed hysterically beneath their bamboo huts, holding handfuls of rain tempting us to defy them… But I didn’t have to think twice, it was all right.

A second night was also spent solo in Nong Kiaw, relishing a lightning storm of epic proportions, and the next morning I hopped on a slow boat headed upriver towards the idyllic village of Muang Ngoi… Ahhh Muang Ngoi. I love this place. I really, really love it. It’s a hidden paradise with a patchwork of $5 per night waterfront bamboo bungalows and the ghosts of ‘lectricity howl through the village bones for only three hours each day. Two afternoons were spent in a hammock there, watching the sun arch towards its resting place and absorbing as usual the words of the greatest writer to ever live, Robert Zimmerman of Duluth, Minnesota. It was also the first time I’ve had any consistent interaction with Westerners since arriving in Laos, so it was really nice to hear the tales of fellow backpackers. One guy was headed to the Tibetan plateaus after four months of learning to now speak semi-fluent Thai, two Canadian’s had just returned from three weeks of trekking in Nepal, and the couple next door was an Israeli guy and Guatemalan girl that met while spending eight months traveling India… this patchwork of jelly-faced personalities and a few others made for some great conversations and late-evening jam sessions.

After an assortment of boat and tuk-tuk rides I returned for a night to Luang Prabang and will now be traveling Southern Laos for 11 days where internet is even more rare than heated showers. The final story I’d like to share occurred one afternoon in Pha Teung while playing with the kids during their lunch recess-

They suddenly started shouting a word I didn’t recognize and pointing to the sky. I didn’t see it, but I heard a sound that I immediately recognized. As it got progressively louder, a child tugged on my shirt and guided my eyes towards the black object approaching from above. My entire body tightened. A large helicopter rapidly approached as my heart elevated in beats and decibels. The children jumped and waved all around, shouting laughter towards the sky. Many looked at me with approval-seeking giggles, ostensibly asking “Isn’t that amazing to you too!?” Of course they had never watched footage of the Vietnam War, seen the infamous picture of the Vietnamese girl after a napalm raid, played modern aerial videogames, or viewed the many Youtube clips taken from assault vehicles during battle. But that's what I pictured, those were my only "helicopter flying over Indochina" images...

I looked back up, and when I looked down again one child was sternly shaking his head. After a second I realized he was impersonating the expression I must have been inadvertently making while watching the helicopter pass several hundred meters above. The entire event was a shocking and completely unexpected experience. I had to sit down after to absorb it all- that feeling of absolute vulnerability and helplessness, compounded in its effect when juxtaposed with the excited kids jumping all around… To them this was a marvel of magic and futuristic technology, but to me it potentially spelled the end and there was nothing any of us on the ground could do about it.

One of the main reasons I travel is for these rare moments when something completely irregular and simultaneously unforgettable occurs that alters or solidifies your view on something. For the first time in my life, I felt the panic and indefensible fear that civilians in warzones must feel during an aerial attack. Fortunately, the one person I know in the armed forces is naturally equipped with the deepest morale character and courage out of anyone I’ve ever met, so I’m hopeful that our weapons of war are in the hands of other individuals with similar merits. But that afternoon made me wonder… How differently would we feel about acts of war and civilian destruction if they were rarely seen from the above or from miles away as we see usually them now? How much more reluctant would we be to engage in these acts if they were consistently shown from the civilian perspective on the ground? My beliefs were certainly pro-pacifism before, I just now wish I could have put the war hawks next to me that afternoon, standing in a schoolyard with waving and jumping children all around... begging for a helicopter’s attention…

I hate to end on a somber note, I just felt the need to share that last story since it was such a powerful experience. To lift the mood before ending this sucker, my last night in Muang Ngoi everyone was sharing traveling tales from their trips. This one Austrian lifelong traveler then went on and on about these incredible mangrove monkeys. He talked for 10 minutes about their ability to make dives into muddy waters in search of fish and keep their eyes open the whole time... It was a hysterical story, and he talked with tremendous fervor about how great these monkeys are. He finally finished his diatribe, and another person jumped in. Before they got too far, I asked him "Oh by the way, where exactly did you see these monkeys? Maybe I can check it out on my trip..." His response was, "Oh... me? I saw them on television. Discovery Channel man!"

Two minutes in heaven is much better than one minute in heaven,
Adam

Key Trip Info
Days – 21
Album of Choice – “Consoler of the Lonely” by The Raconteurs. One of the best pure rock albums in years. Book-ended by its two finest tracks (“Consoler of the Lonely” and “Carolina Drama”), also give “Top Yourself” a listen if you ever have post-breakup angst. This one enters the Dylan pantheon (“Positively 4th Street”, “Don’t Think Twice it’s Alright”, “Dirge, “Just Like a Woman”, etc.) of songs that absolutely destroys a former love. Wicked stuff but real raw.
Song of Choice – “Mr. Soul” by Neil Young. It’s a kaleidoscope of lyrical delight, best heard acoustic and without distractions.

SE Asia Adventures- #1: Breaking ground (Part II of II)

2009-03-27T01:32:00.002-04:00

…I was immediately hit with what every outsider, particularly a New Yorker who never sees this, realizes when spending time in Laos. It's one of the many reasons I fell in love with this place from the start- There are children absolutely EVERYWHERE. On bicycles, in mothers’ arms, playing in dirt schoolyards, scooping cups of muddy water onto tiny crabholes shrieking contagious giggles towards no one and everyone at the same time… And best of all, they all smile and wave. Without hesitation or fear, they flash chicklet teeth whether you choose to unveil yours or not. Without a doubt, I’d come to the right place.

Upon arriving in the center of Luang Prabang, I decided to return to the Rattana Guesthouse where I’d stayed during my week-long visit here in November. The results of that visit were finding and selecting Pha Teung as the village for the first Pencils of Promise school, which was a huge deal in itself. I greatly overpaid by backpacker standards for my room ($13 per night… What? I’m serious, most can get a shared room here for $4-6 per night), but it was well worth it for the private space, an AC unit, hot showers most days, and most importantly the room came with the blackmagic karma that emanates from its creaky wooden floors… It actually reminds me a lot of Apt 23H at 1 Union Square South, mainly because my room is the exact dimensions of my roommate Alex’s closet (in my own defense, he has an awesomely huge closet).

The next morning I was met by Thongchanh aka TC, the Lao coordinator for Give Children a Choice (the organization we’re partnering with in the construction of our first school). TC and I get along great from my last visit, and after catching up for a bit we hopped on his motorbike to head to the Luang Prabang Education Ministry. Sporting a healthy beard and wearing my backpacker best (a pair of old jeans, a purple woven belt from some random market in Guatemala, the one button-down in my bag and Nike sneakers), we entered the building where not a single person spoke more than a few words of English.

The first meeting was with Mrs. Suchya (the Head of the LPB Preschool Education Program) and a girl who will be my point of email contact within the ministry. I’m attempting to create and have them implement a new but simple performance testing program to clearly demonstrate that Pencils of Promise not only builds schools but that kids are learning in them as well, so this girl’s ability to send test results is incredibly significant. The meeting went well in defining PoP’s role and solidifying our collaborative efforts with GCAC and the Education Ministry going forward. Next we shuffled into a large room and were joined by six other Lao officials, none of which spoke any English.

Tea was served and a man stood up to read the full Memorandum of Understanding (the legal agreement of who’s responsible for what) regarding the Pha Teung Preschool. The MOU was then signed, after which Mrs. Suchya made a long speech of thanks about fourteen inches from my face (all in Lao, so TC translated every few sentences). I then made a reciprocal but very brief speech thanking them and letting them know that this was much more than a one person effort, that the school had been funded by more than 1500 donations from NYC-based youth, and they asked that I thank all of you as well. So THANK YOU. As I left the building I asked the one girl to email me immediately so we could stay in contact regarding test results. She informed me that they didn’t have any internet, so she’d have to go to an internet café. Keep in mind we were already at the Provincial Ministry of Education building… Welcome to Laos.

I knew that MOU was supposed to be signed on Friday March 20th for months, but until seeing it happen you just never know, so I was pretty ecstatic about the day’s events… The rest of the afternoon was spent practicing guitar in the chill outdoor rest area of the guesthouse, something I’m trying to learn on this trip but struggling heavily with so far. After playing for at least 2 hours straight my fingers were killing, and to my relief a small but kind 20-year old Lao kid named Ki walked up asked to play for a bit. “I thought you’d never say hello” I said, “you seem like the silent type.” Turns out he’s not silent, and he’s sick on guitar. Not Dan Teicher sick, or actually even close, but he plays the Lao and Thai styles really well.

On Sunday afternoon I returned home from doing some email work to find him waiting at my guesthouse. Interesting. He asked me to get on his motorbike so he could take me to “a beautiful location for sunset.” All of my valuables (passport, money, camera, journal) are in one bag that I take with me everywhere. “Should I get on this local but complete stranger’s motorbike with that bag and let him take me wherever?” I thought. The answer was clear. Hell yes, I’m at least twice his size and he can’t even grow a mustache. And what a shady but wise decision it turned out to be… he took me to meet his two sisters who were also miniature-sized people, and they led the way through a winding dirt walkway to a sprawling, beautiful beach along the Mekong River dotted with about 100 Lao locals. I wondered how many Westerners had ever even seen this place… While people playing soccer, volleyball and generally acted as though life was perfect, we hired a canoe-style fishing boat for $4 to take us on the river for about an hour as Ki sang guitar songs and the sun lowered its blazing tangerine self beneath the distant mountains. After this we shared a noodle dinner in his sisters’ one room home, which was also strangely the size of Alex’s closet, and Ki gave me a lift back home. It was a magical experience, to see the true Lao culture with no pretense or tourist slant… a night I won’t soon forget.

As usual I couldn’t sleep because I was so excited for the next morning’s ground-breaking, so at 5:30am I went outside to attend the famous alms-giving ceremony of Luang Prabang where saffron-robed monks silently walk the streets at dawn accepting gifts from patrons. After this I was met by TC and two Education Ministry officials (one who I’ve met several times and wears an “NYC –New York City” hat that when I gave him the thumbs up about, he said “Yes very good quality company”. I honestly think it’s possible that he believes NYC is a clothing company, not an actual city) and we drove the hour plus to Pha Teung. It’s a small village of ~650 people where most are farmers and the average family income is $400 per year. I fell in love with it back in November when visiting on a no-school Sunday and seeing several children practicing their writing on a chalkboard in a thatched bamboo makeshift classroom. We arrived to see the site for the preschool had already been completely cleared by locals, and about 100 children were attending classes in the primary school. They soon came running out to stare at the men at work, and we performed the leveling for the site and hammered some wooden boards in place to define the school’s outline. It was awesome beyond words to see a once far-fetched idea finally becoming a reality.

Following this I played with the kids for a while before being invited to share some Lao Lao (local rice whiskey they love here) and Lao beer (there’s only one beer in the entire country, fortunately for all it’s absolutely delicious) with the village leaders, ministry officials and the schoolteachers. We had a ceremonious lunch where they made their best effort to get me wasted… and were relatively successful. The excitement around the school’s construction was palpable throughout the village, and it was incredibly gratifying to see that while the entire PoP crew had been working so hard over the past few months in NYC, these people were putting in plenty of physical work to prepare the site over here too.

Due to the difficulty of remembering Lao names, I decided early on nickname each of the village teachers/leaders that I frequently interact with after an American celebrity who would play them in a Lifetime made-for-TV movie. Most days I now have lunch with Kurt Cobain (he only wears plaid flannel-like shirts), Steve Buscemi (he’s super creepy but awesome), Christopher Walken (he’s real old but oh so smooth), Mr. Ed (his teeth are just ridiculous), Sam Cassel (his alien head is crazy) and Mr. Miyagi (he’s the wise old principal who commands respect… sometimes I call him Billygoat though, cause he has less than 10 facial hairs and one is at least five inches long). They usually try to get me drunk so we can better understand each other, but I’m pretty sure I’ve already won their respect through my beard and leg hair since none of them have the ability to grow either.

TC has now loaned me his old motorbike and I ride for a little more than an hour solo through the winding countryside out to the village early each morning. My day alternates between hours of playing games while being amazed by how adorable the kids are in the schoolyard, digging trenches with the local workers, swimming in the river with a ragtag crew of 5-9 year olds, being taught to fish by village leaders, and brief conversational exchanges with Walken, Miyagi and sometimes Mr. Ed. I can’t describe it as anything other than purely awesome. The souls of my feet are painfully cut up from playing duck-duck-goose barefoot, but the internalized soul feels rejuvenated and healthy.

That is the full update. I know it’s been long, but as Willie said to Toots, “It’s hard to explain how I feel, it won’t go in words but I know that it’s real.” The one final story I’d like to share happened on Monday morning before the ground-breaking. In attending the alms-giving ceremony, I hoped to witness and participate in a sacred tradition. While it was certainly very special, there were a handful of people aggressively snapping pictures right next to the monks that were not only disrespectful, but seemed to reduce the ritual itself into somewhat of a tourist spectacle. After I’d finished handing out rice to the monks and all had passed, I sat on some nearby steps to write in my journal for a bit. Most people dispersed, returning to their guesthouses. After about ten minutes I looked to my right to see an extremely old Lao woman still sitting on a low plastic chair, looking ahead in silence. She simply didn’t move. I kept writing. Several minutes later, the monks walked passed us in the opposite direction, returning to the temple where they reside. The old woman gave each of them, young and old, a handful of rice from her box with persistent diligence. Each was rewarded.

After they passed, she closed her rice box and continued to look straight ahead in expressionless silence for several moments. She then pressed her palms together so hard that her hands began to tremble. She bowed her head, placed her hands gently against her forehead, and paused for several seconds of devout prayer. She seemed not to be thanking an individual person or deity, but more the ceremony itself. This was devotion. This was fulfillment. By the looks of it I’m guessing she’d done this every morning at sunrise throughout her entire life, each day repeating the sacred ritual. The beauty of the act gave me chills, and made me realize the significance of simply having something in one’s life to care about with that much passion. For those that aren’t aware it was during my first visit to the NY Philharmonic in September, while watching a piano virtuoso furiously crushing the keys to a Rachmaninov piece, that I kept thinking “I just want something in my life to feel as passionately about as that man does towards the piano” when the idea for PoP was created… Watching that woman put her trembling hands to her forehead allowed me to see that the size of the task is secondary to the primary significance of simply having something that makes one feel alive with a sense of purpose and meaning. It was a powerful reminder to always keep the eyes open, because sometimes you find the inspiration in the great concert halls of the world, and other times you can simply pass it on the street.

Much love and many hugs,

Adam

SE Asia Adventures- #1: Breaking ground (Part I of II)

2009-03-24T23:45:00.002-04:00

Thieves, bandits and innocents,

I’m writing to you now from Luang Prabang in Northern Laos, a charming town of 26,000 that will serve as my home base while in Laos. This is the first travel email I’ve written in almost 2 years, so I’ll do my best to Shake off the Dust and Arise. Be aware that these will be laced with obscure musical references (e.g. capitalized phrase above), overly detailed stories, and are essentially the anti-Twitter. They represent how I see the experiences on the road in full, which means that in a world of morsel-sized information, I’ll be serving up 5-course meals. They’re not written with Blackberry-screens in mind, so I’d suggest you print them up for a read on your morning commute… But enough qualifications, let’s dig into the guts and bones of this Freewheelin’ yarn.

As many of you may have seen, I’ve never worked harder in my entire life than the past six months in order to get everything in a position so that I could comfortably leave the normal life behind. This trip is about advancing Pencils of Promise on the ground in Laos and additionally getting back to my soul by backpacking SE Asia for an extended period of time. Fortunately the hard work paid off and everything was in line, but I found myself still awake at 4:30am on Tuesday morning handling final responsibilities without having a packed bag for my 8am flight. So in that sleep-deprived state of delirium when the world seems to have fallen through its own back pocket and you understand how Dr. Frankenstein created his monster, I packed four months of gear into the trusty backpack that’s now rested on my shoulders through 40+ countries over the past few years.

At the Cathay Pacific check-in counter at JFK, I was told I didn’t have a seat on my flight. Too tired to be annoyed, I just stood and waited. It turns out that my booking was listed under Braun Adam, not Adam Braun. Thanks Vayama.com. As described in my previous email, the flight itself was apparently an insulated baby convention with monk-chanting fathers. The flight was also 95% Asian, which made it even funnier when the massive Soviet guy (yes it still exists… as long as Rocky IV can be purchased the Soviet Union is alive and a serious threat to the American way of life) who was sitting directly behind me in his Muscle Beach tank top at one point said aloud “You cannot be facking seereeuus!”

After a brief layover in Hong Kong I arrived in the Grand Central Station of SE Asia, Bangkok Airport. As most travelers will attest, Bangkok is the hub to access the gems of the region but it can offer a few ephemeral delights itself… most of which can be found in the backpacker equivalent of Times Square, Koh San Road. If you want a tailored suit, the world’s best knockoffs, cheap accommodations, Thai cover bands in Irish pubs, ping pong shows or a ZJ (if you don’t know what that is you’re not ready for it), that’s the place to go. Having been through Bangkok probably 5-10 times in the travels thus far, I quickly made my way to Koh San on a local bus (it’s the only part of Bangkok I’m familiar with) but was way too tired to do anything but find a decent bed, take a warm shower and eat some delicious pad thai. Sorry but no Bangkok adventures to tell of, my focus was on getting to Laos and that’s where it stayed.

The next morning I hopped the bus back to the airport and flew into Luang Prabang Airport in a small airplane painted with ridiculous boats and clown fish. Upon touching down at the airport I gave the new U2 album its first listen. The opening lick to the cover track “No Line on the Horizon” seemed to perfectly fit the mood of the country I was entering. That fine separation between the tangible and the unknown is shaded in grey here; some days it seems as though the sun isn't sure whether it's supposed to rise or set. The next tune, “Magnificent”, forced a “hell yes” smile across my face as I stepped onto the terrestrial goodness of the land I’d been craving to return to since my first visit in November. As I applied for my entry visa and they reviewed my passport, the third track, ironically titled “Moment of Surrender” began… touché Bono. Then I exchanged money and hit the jackpot. I changed $200, and immediately became a millionaire. Literally. In my pocket was $1.7M Lao kip, I was fucking loaded. I hopped a tuk-tuk towards town and “Breathe” exploded into my eardrums as wind whipped my face and blood and electricity and a hard rain surged through my veins. It was go time.

CCF Donations

2007-06-19T11:28:00.000-04:00

Be part of something great, donate to the Cambodian Children's Fund today :-)

FINAL South American Adventures- Part 12: Ecuador, Colombia & El Salvador

2007-05-21T16:46:00.000-04:00

Hola muchachos de Suchitoto, El Salvador!

Upon arriving in Quito, Ecuador on April 25th, I immediately felt a connection with the Lego-looking capital city of this wonderfully strange country where they absolutely love volleyball, 80's rock ballads, gold trophies and Jean Claude Van Damn movies. Just visit once and you'll concur. Ecuador was my 50th country I've traveled through in my life, so of course this was cause for celebration. Fortunately I was joined for the past 3.5 weeks by my former Semester at Sea roommate, the legendary Jaret Martin, so celebrating in style was not a problem at all. Traveling with Jaret is like backpacking alongside a funhouse mirror- You know there will be incessant self-reflection, but there's a healthy dose of unexpected comedy and strange twistedness. During lunch on my first day in Quito, I spoke the words that will forever haunt me... I said to Jaret, "My journal from this trip is by far the most valuable thing I have with me. I'd rather lose my camera than lose this journal..." Two hours later I noticed that my camera had been stolen from my daypack, as the fates delivered a swift kick to the jimmies.

We jammed extra hard in Quito that night, consuming 6 schwarma sandwiches, 8 Ted Brogans, two rounds of apple-flavored hooka and a bottle of wine for a grand total of $14.50. Gotta love South America... Apparently we were sharing a few too many good laughs, as two kind Ecuadorian sisters approached us soonafter and asked if we were boyfriends. Thanks ladies, another kick to the goods. We did end up having one of those unforgettable travel nights, and booked it early the next morning to the mountain town of Banos. A visit to the Amazon jungle, 30k bike rides, thermal hot springs excursions, a terrifying cable car ride across a 500m gorge, latenight Mirador parties, chess battles, delicious food and my worst single day of illness awaited us in this great pueblo. In the interest of brevity, I will simply say that Banos is one of my top five favorite towns in the world. Go there. Now.

While in Banos we decided that we both had a strong craving for some rigorous physical exercise. The only workout I'd had since leaving Guatemala 2.5 months earlier was the daily 12oz lifting of local beverages to my parched lips. We set our sights on Volcan Cotopaxi, an active volcano where you can look into the crater from the rim and the 2nd highest mountain in all of Ecaudor at almost 20,000 (5900m) above sea level. That's higher than any mountain in all of Africa or the continental USA, which is probably why only 15% of attempting climbers had reached the summit the previous week. This was going to be one hell of a difficult rim job. We began the trek up the absurdly steep mountain at midnight aided by tremendous moonlight, the sturdy rope tying us two to our guide, razor-sharp shoe crampones and our diesel ice axes. Seven exhausting hours later, after all others had turned back, we arrived at the "cumbre" where both Jaret and I literally collapsed into sleep in a small snow hole. The walk down was equally treacherous, but we finally made it back around 11am from what I can genuinely admit was the most physically and mentally draining challenge of my life. My respect for mountain climbers is somewhere between how I feel about President David Palmer and the brave souls who catch spiders for a living. Damn those terrifying eight-legged freaks.

The rest of our time was spent viewing the gorgeous Ecuadorian landscapes in places like Latacunga, Alausi, el Nariz del Diablo, Zumbahoa, Laguna Quilotoa (incredible), and the northern market town of Otavalo. While in Riobamba we found a $2 per night hostel, which of course seemed to good to be true. By 3am, we found out that it was. Earlier in the night I offered a drink to the lone hostel worker from the full bottle of Pisco I'd been carrying since Peru. I took note of how much he seemed to enjoy the drink, but what I stupidly overlooked was the fact that he was wearing a cutoff t-shirt and black fingerless gloves. Yes, fingerless gloves. Over the next two hours he drained half the bottle, stole the other half when I told him he couldn't have it because we were going to sleep, attempted to fight both Jaret and I separately while breathing idiot winds every time he moved his teeth, and then finally locked himself outside the hostel for two hours. Again, one of those crazy traveling nights that I will never ever forget nor repeat.

After several weeks in Ecuador we experienced your typical shady latenight border crossing into the land of drug cartels, guerrilla warfare, kidnappings, Cuartas and beautiful women- Colombia. We bounced through Ipialis, pleasant Popoyan, crazy Cali and Pasto during our week in the country. I watched a 45 year-old salsa king tear up the dancefloor with his 23 year-old wife of 7 years, frequented the casinos on various occasions, and as always Jaret entertained with actions that shall only be revealed in person. Typical quotes included, "How do you feel about your personal development?", "Do you believe prayer can change the outcome of events?", and "Oh I forgot to tell you, I had my first wet dream in years last night!" We then popped back down to Quito for two final epic days together before I flew to El Salvador where I'm traveling for four days before returning home on Wednesday. Those final Quito days consisted of perusing the Old Town, splitting the Mitad Del Mundo, Gringolandia partying and of course Jaret fulfilling his lost bet obligation to wear just sandals, boxers and my Cuzco skimask for 15 minutes on the city streets.

I return home to the good ol' US of A in about 24 hours, so this will sadly be the final update from the road. The question I keep getting asked is, "Are you ready to go back to reality?" I started to think about that notion the other day, about the concept of home and the working world. I think that people have it backwards. While traveling is a removal from what's deemed to be "reality", in many ways it actually illuminates the inner-realities of the human condition. On the road and in hostels there's no performance reviews, no paid overtime, no long weekends. There's no defined schedule, no desired promotion, and most importantly, no bosses. I do exactly what my heart and mind tells me is most desirable at any given moment, with no skew of responsibility towards any elements of usual confinement. We are all equals when we throw on a backpack, sleep in 12-person dormitories and wait an extra day to shower because the water will be hot in the next town. Class, color and creed are only meaningful when you allow them to be, and on the road we feel an immediate connection to other backpackers regardless of such attributes. Removal from one's cultural comforts forces an openness and willingness to explore both internally and externally that cannot be induced to such extremes through any other method. Each day of traveling, I inherit new knowledge and expunge myself of subconscious stereotypes and misinformed assumptions. The more I know, the more I know just how much I don't know. For the past four months I've been able to act solely on personal intuition, and what is more real than that? While I'm extremely excited to return home to see you friends and loved ones, there's a bittersweet sadness to leaving the purest form of reality that I will ever know.

Lastly, I wrote a little ditty at the Puerta del Diablo yesterday about the people I've encountered on this trip... It's probably the best summary and conclusion I can give to these writings-

EMPANANDA STEW
Lumberjacks, quacks and exogenous ex-pats
Hippie chicks wearing sacks spitting facts through braless racks
The whispered prayers of blackmagic soothsayers
Pueblo mayors holding impenetrable pocket pairs
Venemous almond scorpion stares
Alpaca stealers, bamboo peelers, lesbian acid dealers
Chicken bus cop-a-feelers
Librarians, agrarians, political contrarians
Astral travelers, cocaine dabblers, yarn unravelers
Undereducated youth, reluctant bearers of truth
Homeless men grinning vigor through a single golden-tooth
Irish fortune-tellers, Polish jungle-dwellers
Witch market candy sellers
Scuba instructors, cock-fight conductors
Teachers and lawyers, perverts and voyeurs
Masked shoe shiners, Ecuadorian ice climbers
Father and son complejo miners
Army commanders, former Pinochet bystanders
Argentinian cantors, Israeli salsa dancers
Scandinavian jugglers, Cuban-cigar smugglers
American Buddhists, Guatemalan nudists
Local news reporters, cooks for short-orders
Customs-paper sorters, hemp-necklace hoarders
Illegal profiteers falsely guarding sovereign borders
Priests, beasts, those betrothed to the deceased
Casino looters, English tutors
Massively fake Colombian hooters
Japanese tourists, Uruguayan florists
Dancing naked flags of Bolivian futbol purists
Gently echoed sighs of Chilean rabbis
Empty-palmed Mayans blinking dignity through cancelled eyes
All while sun and moon tango to control fickle skies
They said don't go there, to the foreign place you're bound
They said you'll get lost, but look what I've found
And each tells a story, of elation and strife
Each now interwoven
In this tapestry called Life.

Challenge the Assumptions,
AB

Final Trip Statistics
Trip Mantra- "Tourists See, Travelers Seek."
Occupation Given at Final Hostel- Unicorn Hunter
Days- 110
Hot Showers- 29
Total Intercity Bus Rides- 63
Hours spent on intercity buses- 246
Oreos Consumed- Over 300
Facial Shaves- 2
Sticks of Deodorant Used- 1

South American Adventures- Part 11: Buenos Aires & Uruguay

2007-05-06T20:03:00.000-04:00

Hola amigos de Latacunga, Ecuador!

In my last email I referenced the need to describe my time in Buenos Aires with my brother. Let me just preface all descriptions by saying that in 12 nights in BA, I did not go to sleep once before 6am. They say NYC is "the city that never sleeps", I say BA is "the city that never sleeps nor runs out of delicious steaks". I got the best piece of ass all trip in that city, and it was sadly from a cow. Interpret that as you wish...

We arrived from Rosario on April 11 and shacked up in our hostel on Corrientes Avenue, the city's analogue to Broadway. We first decided to get a big beef dinner and went to the best restaurant in the area (Estancia), which happened to have a tango show going on upstairs for an extra 10%. We were in. Expecting some light dancing, we received far, far more. A 70 year-old showman, whom we dubbed "Johnny Crazylegs the Dancing Machine" led a group of young tango dancers through several routines while also speaking at least 8 languages, beating drums, telling jokes, milking the crowd, rodeo-style tap dancing and crooning ad nauseam. Just when we thought the show couldn't get any better, we saw a large woman entering through the hall playing a giant drum. My first thought was, "Holy shit, some hobo broke in from the streets." Oh no, this was the hired act; an Argentinian Mama Cass who smiled broadly to everyone and no one in particular. She sang and sweated her sagging breasts off, while diner participation hit an all-time high with spoon table-tapping and matador napkin waiving. Pretty much everyone in attendance was fully convinced that she'd consumed an absurd amount of crack before hitting the stage, and she did absolutely nothing to dispel such a rumor. A hell of a start to Buenos Aires...

Over the next 12 days we explored the various neighborhoods of the city- The lush gardens of Palermo, the brilliantly painted homes of La Boca, the stunning cemetery of Ricoleta where Evita is buried, and of course the wild nightlife of a city that awakens at 2am. A friend of Scott's hooked us up with some of BA's finest partyers, led by our boy Fernando aka Chiche aka La Pirata. We never fully found out why he was called The Pirate, but I'm pretty sure it's because he's an expert at swindling booty. We spent late nights exploring the great clubs like Pacha, Opera Bay, Museum, Asia de Cuba, and others. Many dances, smiles and laughs were had by all.

Perhaps the strangest night I've had on this trip occured when we headed 30 minutes outside the city to the "best Sunday night club around". Immediately upon arrival we realized we were among the trash of Buenos Aires, but the club interior was nice and the throbbing house rhythms were infectious. After 45 minutes of music though, the hanging TV screen was raised and the music faded... Everyone moved to the outskirts of the dancefloor, taking seats to observe the stage as if they knew exactly what was coming... Suddenly, a busty blond sauntered onstage in high heels and lingerie. "Take My Breath Away" from Top Gun pierced the stank club air, and my first thought was "She's not going to...." Oh yes, she was. After a few pathetic gyrations, she removed her top to reveal silicon-enhanced breasticles. Interesting. Suddenly, a large pony-tailed man walked onstage behind her, wearing an oversized black leather trenchcoat. Ummm, okay.

She walked towards the beast and removed the dead cow from his shoulders, revealing tighty-whitey underwear and nothing else. Scott, Israeli Doodee and I looked at each other with equal looks of "Is this really happening!?" She knelt down to face the Incredible Hulk's incredible hulk, and at that point the same thought ran through all of our heads simultaneously... "Not a chance." Oh, but how wrong we were. She pulled down this dude's jock strap to reveal a freakish 11-inch ramjam boner-nation. A collective gasp shuddered through the scattered crowd, and for the next 3 minutes they engaged in softcore faux sex ON STAGE. We were in a state of absolute shock. This was a regular nightclub we thought, not Marv Albert's chamber of love. Finally the curtains mercifully closed, and Bob Sinclair's club anthem "Hold On" screamed over the speakers. We were paralyzed with "what-just-happened-to-me"-ness, but everyone else sprinted onto the dancefloor and began shaking it up like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened! Where the hell were we?! If anything, they danced with more vigor, most likely to compensate for their newfound feelings of loathesome sexual inadequacy thanks to the trenchoat-wearing tripod... Definitely one of the weirdest and funniest things I've ever witnessed on the road.

In the subsequent nights we ate great dinners with new friends at the famed steakhouse Des Nivel and the hidden "878" lounge, enjoyed the social scene and chess games at our LimeHouse Hostel, went to the stadium to watch the biggest futbol match of the year between Boca and River, attended a beautiful Friday night Shabbat service led by our new friend Sheila, flew to Iguazu to see the INCREDIBLE Iguazu Falls (they put Niagra to shame), and watched playoff basketball while consuming 4 litre beers jugs with our buddy Murph at The Alamo Bar. Murph is a 40-something American who regaled us with stories of youthful drug consumption, women chasery and crafty law evasion. His opening line to me was, "I recorded with my band at Tuff Gong Studios (inside the former home of Bob Marley). You've probably heard of us, RKWP?" When I looked at him blank-faced, he answered incredulously, "Come on man, Rich Kids With Problems!" Sadly, he was dead serious. Mark it down dude, another classic character from the road.

Lastly, I was also able to do something while in BA that I had dreamed about for years. Each of us has those nostaligic handful of songs from our youth. We remember the exact setting and details of our first listen. For me, one of these songs is Jethro Tull's "Locomotive Breath." While on another long-drive with my dad to an 11 year-old AAU practice, the song came on the radio. I remember it as clear as day... he immediately sat up in his seat, turned up the volume, and looked me dead in the eyes. "Oh this is one of my all-time favorites!" I had no idea what the hell was occuring, but I knew the song had to be sweet and that my dad was suddenly driving about 35 mph over the speed limit. I dug the heavy bassline right away. The lyrical delivery was definitely cool, except for the fact that my dad sang the lyrics "Runs the all-time loser, headlong to his death" as if I was the all-time loser. He got especially juiced when shouting in my prepubescent face "His woman and his best friend, in bed and having fun".. and I'm pretty sure we went over 100mph when he howled "And the all-time winner, has got him by the balls!!!" while viscerally demonstrating a testicular grip and squeeze (sidenote: at that time, my balls were nowhere near that big). The flute solo was kickin though, especially the priceless "Ugggh" grunt, and seeing this all in person when they performed at Buenos Aires' Luna Park on April 20th was a special, special memory. If you get the chance to see them live, check out "The Tull" for sure.

After Scott and I had a brotherly depart, I headed by ferry on the Rio del Plata to Colonia, Uruguay for two days with a band of merry travelers from California, Germany, England and Australia. The beautiful colonial city lent itself to some pleasant perusing the first day, and after mis amigos left me solo I rented a motorbike the second day and bombed around the coastal city streets for hours. With raging music penetrating the ear drums, wind whipping my face and sun pelting the shoulders, I felt alive and free once again... Easy Rider style.

The next day I flew to Quito, Ecuador to meet up with my former Semester at Sea roommate, the legendary Jaret Martin. We have traveled this magnificent country together for the past 11 days, soaking in its splendor and regurgitating its unequivocal radness. Although I had my camera stolen somehow during my first day here, I can say with absolute conviction that this is my favorite country in South America thus far. Details to follow in the next installment...

Throughout my days in Argentina, I spent many hours on bus rides just listening to the sounds of my breath. In Guatemala at Las Piramides, whether during mediation or yoga, the breath was constantly emphasized as a focal point of self-control and power. It is so basic, so entrenched in every second of our physical existence, that I felt a compulsion to dig deeper to find something there. In symbiotic harmony with the ever-present heartbeat, the breath is the cyclical manifestation of the lifeforce that moves through each of us at every moment. But what could I take from this? I spent hours of frustration, meandering through thoughtways that made partial sense before I finally succumbed to complacency, resolving to spend my busrides focused on tuneage above all else. But in listening closely to the lyrics of Michael Franti's song "Speaking of Tongues", at one point he says, "...and that would be a shame, because the exhale is the name of the game." The line lingered on the mental treadmill for a few days, jogging through layers of latent lessons until a revelatory thunderstorm of thoughts busted through with unrelenting waves of mental sentences, providing the long-awaited answer to the question in question-

The breath is the perfect representation of the balances we naturally create through our daily actions. We are always both giving and accepting, but the measure and contents of these acts can vary greatly depending on the decisions we make. Inhalation is an act of positive consumption, actively providing us with the essential elements of existence. Because of this, when someone says "Just breathe", we immediately tell ourselves to inhale deeply. Most of our efforts are consistently focused on the inhale rather than the exhale; the consumption of added goods to our lives seems supremely significant. We place great value on the things we possess, the things that we take in, to make a tangible part of the our reality. Alleviation from troubling issues is felt by addition, by augmenting the body and spirit. We feel stress mounting, so we take a long, deep breath inward. We draw breath and our ribcage, in congruence with our possessive value, expands.

Through a lifestyle of capitalist competition, which I agree is the best economic system, the focus becomes production and consumption. Our actions revolve around the positive elements we desire to contribute to our lives... Family, love, material success, etc. We want to inhale these assumed providers of happiness. The only problem is that sometimes we concentrate so much on the inhalation, we lose sight of what we're forced to exhale in the process. Every intake of breath necessitates a responsive expulsion. The realization was that the same is true in life's pursuit of our individual goals. There is a realized gain AND loss through each of our actions, which breathing demonstrates to us during every second of every day.

Fortunately, the body expels waste product through the act of exhaling. But this same waste is utilized by the environmental elements around us for beneficial nutrition. Each time we exhale, we are equally giving off a piece of ourselves while contributing to the realized existence of others. So we must ask ourselves certain questions... Is the inhalation of a better salary worth the exhalation of a significant friendship? How will the exhalation of what I deem my life's waste affect the common good? Am I contributing trails of trash or waves of worthiness through my exhaling actions?... The breath reminds us to always value the inhale, but we must also remain cognizant of our exhale as well. The inhale gets the fame, but remember that the exhale's the name of the game.

I hope this email finds each of you filled with health, happiness and fulfillment.

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 94
Showers with Heat- 27
Song of Choice- "Foot of Pride" by Bob Dylan. Take a lyrical ride.
Book Selection- "Global Mind Change" by Willis W. Harman
Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Sex-change Authorizer
Quote of Note- "True, deep, abiding love doesn't create the path for others, it lights it." Thanks to my mom for that one.
Random Person- Scott Manson

South American Adventures- Part 10: Pictures and Postponement

2007-04-24T12:35:00.000-04:00

Hola muchachos de Colonia, Uruguay!

I'll be writing a lengthy Buenos Aires update from Ecuador in the next few days, but I have good news and bad news, so I'll keep this brief and spicy. The bad news is that I'm enjoying the travels so much that I've decided to extend my South American stay for an extra month and will now be returning at the end, rather than the start of May. Therefore I won't be able to see your beautiful faces for a few extra weeks...

The good news is that I've finally loaded and labeled most of my pictures from this trip (and a ton from Semester at Sea), which you can view at:

www.arbraun.shutterfly.com

Feel free to comment or hit me back with reviews.
I miss you all like barbeque sauce.

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

South American Adventures- Part 9: Braun Brothers in Argentina, Part 1

2007-04-18T12:17:00.000-04:00

Hola muchachos de Buenos Aires, Argentina!

After 2 months of traveling solo (with a brief visit from my good buddy Matt Wiggins), I have become accustomed to a certain barebones backpacking lifestyle- occasional showers, rarely done laundry, extremely cheap hostels and even cheaper food... no more with Scott "Scoot-Nuggets" Braun in the mix for a 20-day visit. He arrived toting a new Blackberry, iPod shuffle and Sidekick 3 in the spot where his bugspray should have packed. The fates laughed deliriously and made raincheck plans to mock him for this splendiferous miscalculation... Our first night together we enjoyed another great seder with the Herzberg's in Santiago, and then headed the next day to Valparaiso, a beautiful coastal city which was the former home of famed poet Pablo Neruda. After perusing the insanely cool neighborhood with multi-colored buildings and art galleries, I allowed myself to be taken to the first nice restaurant I'd visited in 2 months. We dined like royalty at a gorgeous high-end bistro with an outdoor patio overlooking the illuminating city lights... Scott chose a fine Caesar salad with duck puree dip for the bread as an appetizer, I went with french fries. The best interaction of the meal came when he asked the waiter, "So these wine prices are by the glass?" and received a shocked response, "Umm no sir, those are by the bottle." Hahaha, welcome to South American prices in the most expensive country on the continent.

The delicious dinner was followed by two brotherly Coronas at a great jazz bar, a good night sleep, and then the 12 hour-bus ride over the Argentinian border (where our bus almost left a bathroom-bound Braun) to Mendoza. We happened upon great timing with Santa Semana, the most holy and celebrated 4-day weekend on the South American calender. Mendoza was a scalding hotspot for university students on break, so we quickly met some great internationals. Our first night in the hostel we engaged in savory conversation with three Californian chicas, self-nicknamed the "Dudettes", and an unintentionally hysterical Georgetown guy named Taylor. The combination of the girls' penchant for saying "duuuuude" and Taylor's statements like, "Oh my god! This ice cream is amazing! Seriously you guys, this is the best day of my life, that's how incredible this ice cream is!" made for a great time had by all.

In our four days inhabiting this splendid city the Braun brothers ate massive Argentinian steaks for breakfast, lunch and dinner at each meal... We're real men, you can check our genetics. The second day in Mendoza we walked the city streets for hours, chilled in the sprawling park, and then headed to a bar and later discotec with some newly made Brazilian and Columbian friends. We were juiced and ready to dance, or as our dad calls his oldschool hip gyrations, "Shake it up." To our dismay, the club transitioned its playlist between awful house music and even worse Argentinian pop songs that everyone but us knew the words to... Awesome. Our diversionary entertainment was provided through a game of "You pick a girl for me to Freak On", wherein we select random lovelies or not-so-lovelies that the other must make feel like a natural woman. The debate still rages, but I think I won... Finally the DJ broke out Usher's "Yea", and from a distance I saw Scott busting some serious A-Town Stomps. Sadly, no more than 30 seconds into the song they cut to "Insane in the Membrane", so Scott gave up on all coolness and broke into a Central Middle School furious dancefancy.

The next day we spent several more hours getting to the know the city streets, had the best steaks of our lives at Restaurant Facundo, and then while changing money at the casino decided to stay for some brotherly debauchery. We hit the $10 peso blackjack tables with a fury rarely seen in the Southern Hemisphere. I immediately became fully commited to drinking as many of the free beers as possible, while dropping lovely comments towards the 50 year-old cougar seated to our right. We were breaking even while I drained brews and dropped ridiculous lines to everyone in sight... It was great. Everyone was having a blast, mainly because the Braun brothers were on absolute fire. The casino owner soon came down to meet the young Americans who had lit ablaze his blackjack room, and offered us the penthouse suite for the weekend and a free dinner the next night with his gorgeous 27 year-old twin model daughters... Okay that last part isn't true at all. What did happen was that I got cut off by the servers for the first time in my life by any establishment... And it was a casino, where they want you to get wasted! We eventually left down $50 combined after hours of fun, agreeing that it was the best time we'd ever had in a casino for such little change. In retrospect, I'm pretty sure the cougar roofied my beers. Like I said, she was diggin my flow!... Still, I respect the move. Damn you classy vixen.

By the way, a random interjection of questionitude- If you had the choice between only being able to wear kitten fur or puma, which would you choose? I'd go with puma, but only because it's the more aggressive of the two felines in question. Sometimes you've just gotta let people know you mean business, ya know? Dave Rocco knows exactly what I'm talking about...

Anyway, the next day we again walked the city through and through before taking the overnight bus to Rosario, a city famed for the beauty of its female population which outnumbers the males seven-to-one. Yup, its a rumored fact, so you know it's true. Let that one swish around the gums for a little bit... Unfortunately, I lost the bus ride gamble as I was seated next to a wickedly diesel bodybuilder whose beastly forearms couldn't help but extend into my personal prism of privacy. The apex of awkwardness was reached right away, as his mini-sleeved tshirt forced his triceps to conspicuously rub against mine because I happened to be wearing a tshit, albeit normal-sleeved, but a tshirt nonetheless. We shifted silently in obvious discomfort with the situation for several hours, until he finally placed a jacket between us and we once again felt like heterosexual men. Within 30 minutes this giant was sleeping on my shoulder, and my heterosexual pride was again stripped... When we got off the bus 14 hours later, Scott immediately told me about his ride- "Dude it was great. I sat next to that cute blond 23 year-old, she was giving me hand massages and shit, it was awesome." Adam 0, Scott 1.

Upon arrival in Rosario we checked into the phenomenal Casona de Don Jaime Hostel, where we were destined for glory. We immediately befriended two of the best characters I've met thus far in my travels- A young Israeli named Doodee who after drinking became a salsa-hipped dancefloor maestro, and a neckless 300lb Peruvian who'd been living in the hostel for a year, everyday wearing a size medium Philadelpha Eagles Hugh Douglas jersey with hot red tightpants and hiking boots. He only spoke in Spanish curses, and fittingly his name was Angel. The date happened to be April 9th, the birthday of our father. In honor of the event, I decided to make it OldSchool Erv Braun Appreciation Day, and therefore shaved down my month-old beard into the rudest mustache you've seen since Erv circa 1986. We spent an excellent day perusing the city with our new friends, and because only four of us were staying in the hostel that night, the two-man staff locked up the restaurant doors and we dined like latin kings on incredible steak, potatoes, veggies, unlimited wine and spiritual lubrication. The Braun brothers agreed that it was the best $3 dinner of our lives... Yet it only served as a mere preface for the day that was to follow.

Our time in Rosario coincided with a wild mosquito epidemic, so it came as no surprise that Scott got stung on the forehead the previous night... The kid's seriously delicious, to insects he tastes like blood-flavored icecream sundaes. What was truly shocking though, was the tumorous forehead lump that developed after the bite. It served two magnificent purposes- 1) To Scott scared shitless because everyone immediately joked in half-seriousness that it was Dengue Fever. His name immediately became "Dengue" throughout the hostel. 2) To provide me with nonstop laughter when looking at the absurdity of my mustached face next to his Dengue forehead. We were in rare form.

So as the hideous brothers awoke the next morning, we were greeted by the news that TV cameras were coming to the hostel that afternoon to interview travellers about their impressions of Rosario. Scott is a natural showman, but his skills were greatly augmented by his Borat-inspired oration that he had been delivering in horribly broken Spanish to every single female we met on the street, regardless of looks, age or Cesarian section scar. He had asked at least 100 women by this point, "Quieres ser mi esposa? Soy de los Estados Unidos, y yo tengo un television." Translation = Do you want to be my wife? I'm from the United States and I have a television. He wasn't getting any yes's, but he was getting many laughs and a few booby flashes... I kid, no booby flashes. So when the cameras arrived it was only natural that he delivered the speech to the people of Rosario while sporting Dengue forehead, and was followed by his brother who repeated the sentiments with a wink and mustached grin.

From there we headed to a waterfront restaurant with Doodee and two local girls we'd met on the busride, and within twenty minutes of being seated, our fire was fanned. A gorgeous female field reporter began walking around our table with her cameraman, apparently shooting a story on the mosquito epidemic. Scott immediately approached and proposed marriage to her, which she refused but let him down softly by insisting she interview us for her story that was going to air on the same station as the Rosario traveler piece. The only day in my life that I'm rocking a gobstopping mustache next to Dengue-horns and we get put on TV twice! The fates are funny I tell you...

The day raged on with our four-man crew of Angel, Doodee, Scott and myself going to an indoor GoKart racetrack. It was clear by the trashtalk that they assumed the races would be competitive, but they overlooked a very small but simple fact. I had a mustache. Anyone who knows racing will tell you that mustaches equal three things- speed, cornering prowess, and a lack of basic education. As expected, I ruthlessly dominated every race and celebrated atop the sweet podium that I previously thought only existed in ExciteBike.

Following the races we looked up at the TV to see our splendid mugs on the nightly news, and once again high-fives and Spanish curses permeated the cool evening air. We then went back to the hostel to eat a big dinner among fellow guests and jammin music. Scott and I were seated next to a 50 year-old German man who was traveling solo in hostels without a word of Spanish knowledge and fronting the most aggressive toupet we'd ever seen. When he said he worked at a paper company I couldn't help but respond with, "Ohhh, Dunder Mifflin?" (If you don't get this joke, buy every episode ever of The Office and watch them consecutively without blinking. You'll thank me, I promise) Scott practically snarfed his drink, and the rest of dinner was littered with immature bathroom jokes that won us no respect from our fellow diners. Still, we made some friends and the German turned out to be a great guy. Plus, Scott got bit on the forehead by a mosquito for the third time in three days. Clearly this was swift justice, Walker Texas Ranger style.

After the comida we bounced to a karaoke bar with our local female friends, and again lit the place on fire. Unfortunately we started slow, as our brotherly duet of "Summer Lovin" with Scott playing the part of Sandy bombed horribly. No one laughed, clapped or even gave us a courteous jazz-snap. The rebound was strong though, as Scott put on an unbelievable show for "Billie Jean" that culminated in him doing a chest-compression dancemove and at least 10 seconds of serious roboting onstage. He later took the mic when a friend struggled and sang "No hablo espanol... No hablo espanol. Quien quieres ser mi esposa. En serio, quien?" The people laughed their drunken faces off, and Scott became the official Diego Maradona of Argentinian karaoke. At this point we could crap gold, especially after befriending some rowdy young locals that were farewell partying for a wild friend who spent 15 minutes trying to pick up an Irish girl through his unintelligably broken English, offering her cocaine he didn't have by singing Eric Clapton's "Cocaine" into her face. "Daaaadaaadaa daaaa, da da da daaa da da, COCAINE!" he'd scream at her from three inches away, until he finally came back to the table laughing in pain, and informed us that the reason she couldn't understand his slaughtered English was because she was a native Argentinian from Rosario. We practically peed ourselves, shook it up salsa-style for a little longer, and then called it an early night at 5:30am.

The next day we bid a sad farewell depart to our great friends in Rosario, and rolled into Buenos Aires. The brotherly adventures have continued in fine fashion since arriving in this effusive city, but those shall be dispensed in the second installment of the Braun Brothers in Argentina emails. Normally at this point I would write a paragraph about some lesson that I've learned via the travels in the past week or two. However, the recent events have taught me one simple creed that all should heed- No traveler should pack a Blackberry instead of bugspray, the decision will always come back to bite you in the forehead.

I hope this email finds each of you filled with health, happiness and fulfillment.

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 75
Showers with Heat- 20
Song of Choice- "Highway Patrolman" by Bruce Springsteen. Hauntingly moving song about brotherly devotion. A tip of the cap to Catfish McNamara for this gem.
Book Selection- "Socrates Cafe" by Christopher Phillips
Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Highlander
Quote of Note- "It is possible to have too much. A man with one watch knows the time, a man with two is never sure."
Random Person- Heather Weiss

South American Adventures- Part 8: Southern Peru & Chile

2007-04-11T13:23:00.000-04:00

Hola amigos de Rosario, Argentina... the land of beautiful women and even more beautiful steaks.

Let me first thank the gracious offers that so many of you extended to visit the absurdly fictional town of Picantemanos. Many of you got that it was an April Fools edition, written in South American style (meaning late), but the second update was to see who would really believe in 12-fingered families, alpaca-chase training for mayoral slapping contests, and cocktail umbrella gang warfare in a town called Hot Sauce Hands... Picantemanos is about as real as Harrison Whitman's sister. Special bonus gullible points go out to Donnie Iyamu McGrath, Fernando and Jose Cuartas, Alyssa Dawn McConkey, Dan Rockin Teicher, P-Goo Martin, Jordan Johnson Jhabvala and John Catpiss Chernin. By the way John, I was also the one that bought the advertising space on the Daily Jolt last year to put up that frontpage ad selling your virginity. Happy belated birthday.

Onto reality... There is actually a lot to write about considering I haven't sent a factual update in over two weeks. After leaving Uyuni, Bolivia I did actually head to La Paz for two days. I went there for one reason only, to ride on a bike tour down The World's Most Dangerous Road between La Paz and Curoico. All I knew was that the Israelis refused to go out of fear and that my good friend Noah Marwil had previously written in a Bolivian recommendations email- "The next day was the best. I signed up for a bike ride down a road called "Death Valley". It's beautiful and dangerously sexy. DO THIS." Noah is a true connoisseur with over 23 years of radical experience in "sexy", so with his ringing endorsement I wanted in. What I didn't find out until we mounted our bikes was that over 7000 people have died on the road, averaging about 100 per year, most recently an Israeli tourist just two weeks ago and a Canadian six weeks before our venture... Imagine an SUV-wide dirt and rock path winding through waterfall-laced gorgeous green mountains, with no railing to protect individuals from dropping off the 300 meter edges, and you'll have a vague mental image of the road. In retrospect, it was one of the stupidest but coolest things I've ever done in my travels. The hours of riding were exhilarating, the scenery incredible, and the fact that I survived is probably my favorite part.

From there I took a bus back over the border to Puno, Peru and visited the floating reed Uros Islands of Lake Titacaca. The inhabitants explained that they were too poor to purchase real land and enjoyed the ancient traditional lifestyle of their life on these floating islands which they maintained by constantly adding new reeds to the infrastructure. Another incredibly cool place to see. From Puno I hopped an overnight bus to Arequipa, and went on a two-day tour of Colca Canyon. Thermal baths, condor viewing, delicious food and excellent company made this trip to one of the deepest points on the planet highly enjoyable. I got along especially well with a 50-something American couple who were in their fifth of a planned 25 years of global travel via the small catamaran they sailed around the world. Fucking righteous man...

Upon my return to Arequipa I went out for a great night of drinking and dancing with some Norwegian girls and a hysterical Scottish guy from our hostel. The next day was for digesting Arequipa, which is a truly beautiful city that I highly recommend visiting. The Santa Catalina Monastery is a small city unto itself with intriguing buildings and beautiful tiny cobblestone streets. The walls of each plaza and room are painted brilliantly forceful blues, reds, yellows and creams. Trust me, it's a uniquely amazing place. I normally don't fall in love with churches or museums, but Santa Catalina was brilliant and a great spot to spend a few hours in meditative contemplation and reflection.

Afterwords the overnight bus to Nazca wasn't bad and once there, I was able to sit shotgun in a 6-seater plane riding over the famed yet mysterious Nazca Lines. These are recently discovered lines carved into the salty desert soil, making massive designs and geometric figures when viewed aerially. Among the thousands of shapes there's a monkey, spider, hummingbird, trapezoidal landing strips and even a waving spaceman... but many are dated to about a thousand years ago, and can only be viewed from planes which didn't exist at that time. So these eternal questions remain- Who were these designs made for? What was their purpose? Does Luke Tedaldi really have a ponytail? Wicked cool stuff.

From Nazca I ventured to Ica to grab lunch at the Huacachina Oasis. This is a crazy little lake with surrounding vegetation in the middle of massive sand dunes. The locals say the waters have healing powers, I say the chocolate there tasted delicious. Finally the exhausting day of travel ended with a bus ride to Lima, where I found a great hostel in Miraflores and chilled out until my flight to Santiago, Chile the next day. Unfortunately my flight arrived at 2am, and I didn't feel like entering the city in search of a hostel with rare 24-hour check in. The only solution was to nap in the airport until daylight, which www.SleepingInAirports.com said was a viable option. After eventually finding a dark corner behind the worker's storage area, I hid there discreetly and stole two hours of awful sleep on a hard wooden bench. Three more hours at a breakfast buffet restaurant, eight hours of walking the city center with my big backpack, and I landed at the doorstep of the Herzberg family.

April 2nd was the first night of Passover, so my friend Suz linked me up with a Chilean family who offered to host me for the night and provide a delicious seder. It was honestly the first real house I'd entered in two months, so the wireless internet, hot shower and comfortable bed were tasty luxuries for a weary traveler. The seder was attended by both family and friends of all ages, and the table danced with conversation and song in Spanish, English, Hebrew and German. A highly memorable evening. The next day my brother Scott Scooter Braun arrived...

I know several of you are fiending for some Scoot-nuggets stories, but like any self-respecting author I know the value of a cliffhanger. The next email or two will be fully devoted to the adventurous tales of the Braun brothers in Argentina... And they will be as delicious as the 600g steak that I nearly cried while eating last week because it was so fucking good.
A perfect three-word description of our time thus far would be "Laughter through Wifehuntery"...There is no longer any doubt in my mind that my older brother is certifiably insane, but more importantly, he and everyone around him has a damn funky time reveling in that insanity... myself included.

Finally, the last 10 days, between the Herzberg's hospitality and the arrival of my brother for three weeks of siamese travel, have been saturated with thoughts of family. In my travels thus far I've met some great and some not so great people, but the consistent common denominator has been that those with a strong family base tend to have inherent levels of intuitive morality. They respect the shaded lines between right and wrong. They have open-hearts and kind words for strangers, perhaps because they are ingrained with a certain skew towards positivity that comes from a loving household. That's certainly not to say that those without this family base cannot possess the same character traits; it's just not quite as common in those who were never bestowed with the gift of family life... The ultimate reality is that no one knows your inner skin like your family, and no one deserves more credit for your outer skin than those same people. We often take their sacrifices and love for granted, but perhaps once in a while we should each take account of how important that familial love is to each of us... Gracias mom and dad por todos, and a big happy birthday to my brother Sam Braunlanga, my beautiful sister Liza, and my dad swervin Ervin.

I hope this email finds each of you filled with happiness, health and fulfillment.

Challenge the Assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 68
Showers with Heat- 16
Song of Choice- "Speaking of Tongues" by Michael Franti.
Book Selection- "My Losing Season" by Pat Conroy
Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Chocolateer
Quote of Note- "Open your eyes and look within. Are you satisfied, with the life you're living?" -Bob Marley in "Exodus"
Random Person- Miss Piggy

South American Adventures- Part 7: Picantemanos Update

2007-04-07T19:58:00.000-04:00

Hola de Mendoza, Argentina!

It seems as though almost all 100 or so of you on my mass email list responded in some fashion to the last email... Apparently it was a lightening rod of controversy and potential tomfoolery, so let me now dispel all myths about my commitment to the people of Picantemanos and their extremely extraordinary extremities. I will be going there at the end of June, and I am sure that the craziness of the experience will leave me a stronger and better person.

To answer the questions-

1) FACT- Alfonso is real. I discretely took a few snapshots of his freak hands, but I forgot my camera cable so I'm unable to load the pics at this time (the same reason why I haven't created an online album with any of the trip's 700 shots). His father, Alfonso, is also very real as are his 12 hideous digits. His four sons, all named Alfonso but nicknamed Zo, Z, Zorge and Zoseph, all possessing normal 5-fingered hands, are great kids. His wife, Alfonsa, happens to be a sweet woman but after witnessing the respect a 6-fingered man receives in Peru, I understand why Alfonso despises the pathetic weakness of Alfonsa's genetic makeup.

2) FACT- The world's first and only cocktail umbrella cartel will become a reality, and it will exist in Picantemanos, Peru. Unfortunately, in recent years the cocktail umbrella business has become a dirty game around here, soiled by corruption and backstabbing... literally stabbing in the back with small, delightfully colorful umbrellas has become a method of persecution by local gangs. The wounds are small and non-life threatening, but it gets the message across when you're lying face down in the mud with cocktail umbrellas sticking out of your back. Yet the proud people will not be intimidated by their weaponry.

3) FACT- The slapping contest with the outgoing Jefe Superior will occur on the Summer Solstice in 2007. Apparently I have to undergo 5 days of alpaca chasing as training before the event because it will exhaust every ounce of energy that I possess. There is no loser in this contest, only two sore-faced winners.

4) FACT- Yes, the closest translation for the spanish word Picantemanos is "Hot Sauce Hands".

To those of you that showed immediate unquestioning support for my becoming mayor of a Peruvian town called Hot Sauce Hands where the people have 12 fingers, mayoral inaugurations include slapping contests, and the biggest problems are dog-shit covered streets and cocktail umbrellas cartels, especially to those that are interested in arranging a summer visit- I thank you for your unwavering commitment to the absurdity of the adventures thus far. I love you the way Dennis Stratton loves bestiality pornography. But please don't change any of your current plans because I'm awaiting to hear back from the outgoing Jefe Superior about whether other Westerners would be allowed to move into/visit the village. When I know more, so will you...

To the rest of you, I still love you, but more in the way Phil Charm loves Lion King... which is a strong devotion, but not nearly as intense as Stratton's insatiable lust for hardcore bestiality porn.

I hope this email finds your day filled with happiness, health and
fulfillment.

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

2007-04-02T10:47:00.000-04:00

Hola amigos de Santiago, Chile!

Well there's an insane amount that occurred since the last update, but I'll trim the fat and get the filet mignon... the deliciously juice stuff. After Uyuni I headed back to La Paz for a few days, crossed the border to Puno, visited Arequipa and then anticipated spending a few days between Nazca and Lima. Fortunately for all players involved, the good fates blew my sails in another diretion- Towards Picantemanos. Let's take a few steps backwards... On the overnight bus from Arequipa to Nazca I was seated next to a man with a peculiar ailment, or wondrous power, depending on how you view the situation. Alfonso, my seatmate, had 6 fingers on each hand. It wasn't a situation where you would spend hours addressing someone and then suddenly notice; his sixth digit was blindingly apparent from the moment I met the grip of his elephant-hand. The sinewy second-pinky aggressively wrapped around my underpalm, and I couldn't decide whether to giggle or shriek in horror. I compromised by laying an involuntary but extremely soft fart into my leather seat to alleviate the mounting nervous energy. Over the next few hours he kept me enthralled with tales of Picantemanos, his small pueblo in the native Peruvian mountains.

Alfonso possessed a vigorously brooding hatred towards his wife of 32 years, because she had apparently "tainted the sangre pura" of his 6-fingered ancestry. I didn't believe a word of his claims of a 6-finger bloodline. Total crap. But he went on, decrying that not one of his four sons was born with six-fingers per hand, thus shaming not only himself but all of his living relatives who proudly possessed the extra digit... After several hours of conversations and catnaps, we heard a loud pop and the bus came to a slow halt. Broken axle. Shit. Alfonso laughed hysterically at the misfortune, saying that Picantemanos was only a 5km walk away and invited me to spend the night at his home... Of course I jumped at the opportunity, especially after the righteous excellence of my Guatemalan home stay with Joel Puac.

Then magic struck... When I awoke the next morning inside of Alfonso's tiny home, I was greeted by his entire family of "5-fingered freaks". During the day we toured the town, which exports papaya and alpaca wool mostly, but many of the elderly women have created a successful collective of cocktail umbella makers. They spend hours making these decorative miniature umbrellas, but turn a pretty nice profit selling to nearby resort towns... Then around 3pm we went to the bar, and we start to drink. Heavily. The 96% grain alcohol that the Potosi miners consume is also the Picantemanos beverage of choice, so in no time I was absolutely housed. We played a wild drinking game that involved dice, singing and a strange ovational dance to Pachamama, the indigenous Incan G-d who in many parts has been supplanted by some dude named Jesus. In my spiritually lubricated state I explained at length my desire to one day start an NGO that raises money at home and works with local communities abroad to create self-empowering schools of effective education. Alfonso and his compadres sang a loud "Salud!" to the concept, and the snowball began rolling...

It turns out that their annual election for the equivalent of a mayor ("Jefe Superior") was that night, and the entire community was disappointed with the two running candidates- an elderly woman who sold alpaca meat at absurdly high prices because she was the only supplier, and the husband who detested her because she allegedly killed his favorite alpaca without an utterance of request. He was running for the position just to spite her. Spurred by drunken jubilation, Alfonso and the rest of the merry bar patrons suggested I run in opposition, but I obviously demurred. At that point Alfonso's father entered the bar, and was called over to meet the gringo Americano. As I shook his hand, I instinctively felt something strange. When I looked down, I saw it- His 6th finger! The crazy bloodline was true. As the over-powering chills of fate ran throughout my numbed body, I saw the signs very clearly, and without hesitation agreed to run for Jefe Superior. Why not? How many 23 year-old Americans have the opportunity to make a real difference in a foreign community, especially through the position of Mayor?

The town gathered in the outdoor community center, and at that point the nerves started to kick in... My heart was racing, but the grain alcohol Alfonso forced down my dry throat before addressing the crowd helped immensely. I did my best to emulate the "Dwight's Speech" episode from The Office- waving oustretched arms in sweeping motions and pounding alcohol-soaked fists on the table, I felt like an crazed Evangelist. The speech simply restated my desire to empower the locals through education, and also mixed in tidbits about the need to clean up the dog shit that covered the streets, create a cocktail umbrella cartel with surrounding towns, and ended with "Viva Pachamama!" The gente ate it up. Repeated cries of "Con Juntos!", several more devilish drinks, a shouting pair of alpaca owners, and two hours later they informed me that I'd been selected by the community as the new Jefe Superior.

Brothers and sisters, I know this sounds insane, but I really think it's an amazing opportunity that cannot be passed up. I can still travel South America for the next few months because my term begins with the summer solstice on June 21st, so it's an ideal setup. I've emailed my future employer Bain and requested a one-year delay on my start date so I can join with the next incoming class, and I'm preparted to fight them tooth-and-nail to make that happen. The initiation ceremony apparently involves more heavy drinking, a 10 day retreat into the mountains to find guidance from Pachamama, and an absurdly weird slapping contest with the outgoing Jefe Superior... It should be a wild ride, and of course each of you are more than welcome and expected to visit me when I make the move to Picantemanos at the end of June. If anyone is interested in moving there with me (even just for the summer) to help empower a beautiful Peruvian community, let me know as soon as possible and I'll see if I can figure something out...

I hope this email finds you filled with happiness, health and fulfillment.

Challenge the Assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 61
Showers with Heat- 11
Song of Choice- Just get the whole Manu Chao Live Album. Do it, do it.
Book Selection- "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera
Occupation Given on Hostel Registrations- Horse Whisperer
Quote of Note- "I like you. Do you like me?." - Borat Sagdiyev
Random Person- Krayzie Bone

2007-03-25T11:31:00.000-04:00

Hola de Uyuni, Bolivia!

I have extremely sad news to report- Before leaving La Paz the 2-month beard became an extremely itchy and hideous nuisance. I'd complain to hostel owners about the prickliness of their pillows, only to be embarrassed when they pointed out the fact that it was actually mi barda. The last straw was drawn when I took an extended hot shower in front of a mirror and decided that I honestly didn't recognize my own face... I wanted me back, so I begrudgingly decided to enter a barbershop in La Paz where a man awaited wearing a white butchers jacket, and craftily utilizing tools that I only believed existed in Dr. Seuss books, gave me a classic double cut- Both beard and hair were sliced in a brilliant 30-minute display of pelucaria expertise that featured pump-blowtorch sterilization, paintbrush shaving cream lathering, single-blade shaving-fancy, and antiquated scissors with ancient-clipper-endings. I left feeling like a new man, my old self...Adam was back.

That afternoon I took the 9-hour busride to Cochabamba, a rarely traveled city whose cuisine is supposedly just as tenderly sweet as its given name. Before leaving for South America I'd been put in touch with a 24-year old student/model named Dari who had been giving me great travel advice, so when she agreed to help host me in her fair city I had to seize the opportunity... The bus-ride through the mountains was delayed by a protesting pueblo blockading the single-lane highway in an effort to attain gas from 18-wheel tankers, so the spectacular ascent through the Bolivian mountain-range provided both a topographic and social education for the lone gringo on the bus. The planned two-day stay quickly turned into four, as Dari immediately whisked me away with a friend to an amazing churascaria called Buffalo. Churascaria means that it was a restaurant with a set price ($5) for a buffet and constant merry-go-round of waiters offering you as much meat of every variety as one can consume. I voraciously ate to the glorious point of achieving the "meat sweats", which is when an individual eats so much beef that their face becomes flush and an internal heat (often cow demons calling from within) forces the person to sweat from beef saturation. Only after completing this feat, do I consider myself a real man. They call me "Hombre Real."

The greatest part of having a local host is that you stay away from tourist traps and get to see a native area through native eyes. Fortunately, among many other things, Dari had really nice eyes. After Buffalo, we went to a great local bar where I conversed with a bunch of Bolivian 20-somethings over Taquina cervezas and finally headed to an underground dance club that played everything from The Doors to hardcore reggaeton. The next few days consisted of eating amazing food all over the city (pique macho might be the greatest dish ever), touring the massive Cancha market, visiting Bolivia's most prestigious and expensive university ($250 per month), drinking and dancing at various pubs/clubs, walking the city streets, and taking in a lively futbol match with Dari and her father... If one wants to learn how to curse in Espanol, my best advice would be to attend a South American soccer game. 25,000 strong continually sang, jumped, danced, screamed, and most importantly, spat obscenities with fervor. Cries of Spanish expletives rained onto the field like luminous verbal confetti for two hours... And when our squad finally scored the eventual 1-0 game-winning goal in the 80th minute of play... Insane Celebration. I swear some of these men were happier than when their first-born child emerged into this world.

Leaving Cochabamba was pretty tough as I ate like a king and was amongst amazing company the whole time. Dari was an excellent host and because Cochabamba is a truly Bolivian city, I only saw one backpacker/caucasion in four days, which made for an extremely authentic experience. I then took the overnight bus to Potosi, the once-richest and highest city in the world at 4200m. Upon arrival at 6:15am I took a local bus to the city centro, grabbed an American desayuno and hopped on an all-day tour of the infamous mines. The mountain overlooking Potosi, called Cerro Rico, once produced enough silver to allow the city its own mint (called Casa de la Moneda, "House of Money", which I visited two days later)... Today its resources are heavily depleted yet 15,000+ miners work over 300 mines daily in search of silver, lead and zinc. There is no government intervention or assistance, no bosses or leaders, only small cooperatives that are usually family-based and they thus determine their own hours, risks and exploration sites.

After changing into proper garb, exploring the mineral factories, and purchasing gifts of soda and dynamite for the workers (just once I´d like to get soda and dynamite for my birthday), we headed into the mine. Within about 30 seconds it became blindingly apparent that this was no tourist gimmick; we were being taken into a legit mine that was meant for tiny Latin workers, not 6´4¨, 230lb quaterbacks with laser-rocket arms. Surprisingly though, they had a large lounge setup with flat-screen TV´s, internet portals, Skype headsets and two NBA Jam Tournament Edition arcade machines!.. I kid. They had shovels and headlamps. We spent over \n2.5 hours inside of that crazy mine- crawling, coughing, feeling nauseous (many people left), watching the men work, and helping shovel exploded rocks for two minutes before sitting down from exhaustion. I spoke briefly with a 36 year-veteran of the mine who was doing a 12 hour day, and also a 24 year-old who sat beside his 15 year-old brother, both of which began working the mines at age fourteen.

Finally we blew up some dynamite outside with the extras we had purchased, and after returning to the city I gorged myself on llama steak. Like my brother Cornelio Guibunda, it was dark, slightly thin and extraordinarily sweet. I had few hours to kill so I entered the magnificent San Francisco Church, only to find myself and one other visitor being taken around by the Spanish-speaking guide. Right away this other visitor seemed weird to me. A 30-something Canadian caucasion male, he dressed every bit the part of a NYC hipster. A tight black jacket over his plain grey t-shirt was tucked crisply into jet-black pants, which were strangely squished inside his shiny black galosh boots. It was sunny and pretty hot outside. The best part by far, was that he wore a massive white Karate Kid headband with three huge Japanese letters, meaning "Fighting Spirit" as he later explained. This was definitely the kind of guy who sipped on $6 lattes daily and then bought 1-ply toilet paper to wipe his ass. Don't ask me what that means, just believe it as truth. Everytime I would translate the guide's Spanish for him, he would rapidly nod at me and say "Asah!" A Canadian white guy. He soon mentioned he'd lived in Tokyo the past 7.5 years, but I swear he said "Asah" over 50 times in the hour we were there. As he rode off afterwords in a light green mountain bike with a huge frontal breadbasket, I cracked up but immediately felt regret that I never got his name... fortunately the fates were kind.

Unfortunately though, I mistakenly missed the last bus of the night to Uyuni, so the following internal dialogue ensued- Problem= What to do? Solution= Toss a coin to see whether I stay in Potosi or head to Sucre for the night. Problem= Toss completed. Is this side the heads or the tails on a 5 Boliviano coin? Total mystery. Solution= Suchre seems more mysterious, I'm going there... After eating a street hamburger I took the 2.5 hour taxi ride straight to Suchre, for a whopping $3.15. I quickly checked into an alojamiento for 2 bucks a night and went right to Joyride Cafe, a local watering hole where I bled blackink thoughts of reflective appreciation onto the lined pages of my journal... Knowing that my 24 year-old friend had been in that dirty mine 12 hours a day during the past 10 years while I attended basketball practices and frat parties was incredibly humbling... Perspective. Appreciation. Humility. A very powerful day.

The next morning I walked the streets of Suchre, Bolivia's "People's Capital" and widely regarded as its most beautiful city with an all-white interior. After viewing the entire city from the gorgeous lookout at La Ricoleta Cafe, I hopped the bus back to Potosi only to miss the Uyuni bus for the second straight night. As frustrating as this was, I had to find some element of positivity and therefore decided it was fate, so I looked for a purpose in my Potosi presence that eve... which became immediately obvious when I noticed the raucous crowds headed to the futbol stadium. One of the biggest matches of the year against a Venezuelan squad started in an hour, so there was only one thing to do- Drain 2 litres of Potosina beer, get as distastefully drunk as possible and join the rowdiest fans in futbol mayhem... The night was a blast, although we tied 2-2 (more screams of "Puta maricone!" from all directions), and I stupidly ate a 45 cent hamburger and fries combo from a street vendor both before and after the game... An Immodium morning followed.

So the next day I boarded the seven hour bus to Uyuni. Sometimes you really hit the jackpot with your bus seatmate- a pretty girl, an intriguing conversationalist, or a knowledgeable local. On this day, I lost, and I lost badly. As the obese 50 year-old Bolivian with just four yellow teeth sauntered towards the vacant aisle seat to my left, I didn't think much of it. But when he sat down, I was smacked with an odor unfit for this Earth. I'm 85% sure that in May of 2002, during a drunken game of Truth or Dare, this man chose dare... to which his compadre jokingly challenged, "Okay, okay I've got it. I dare you to become the shittiest smelling man to ever exist on this planet"... As his friend chuckled heartily, this man looked him sternly in his patched eye and said "You don't think I've got the cajones? Alright, I'm gonna do it." Since then he has showered twice a day in 4-month old rancid milk and blow dries himself with bottled hangover breath... I would have called him out for later forging his son's ticket, but I was too scared of being stabbed with a poisonous fart.

That night I got some solid rest and the next morning joined six Israelis, all my age, on a 3-day jeep tour of the Salar de Uyuni. To say that it felt like we were often on another planet would be a gross understatement. The enormous salt flats are one-of-a-kind with miles of bleached white land, often with an inch or so of water creating a wild mirror effect. As our truck came upon the first tiny salt pyramids, a dark blur flashed past us... It was the crazy Canadian riding his bicycle into the water! Sadly, after 3 hours of riding on dry salted land he got stuck and had to turn around, so I had time to find out his name and seven-year occupation in Japan. I expected, "Well I was an accupuncture specialist, and my name is Ted," Nope, way way better. "I worked in facility maintenance, and my name is Vinna." Vinna!? Vinna!!!? Life is a trip man. Anyway, in the middle of nowhere was a huge island of cacti, later a forest of tree-like rocks, soonafter thermal pools, geysers and amazing colored lakes with pink flamingos... The 3 days were a gorgeously wicked goodtime, especially considering the seven of us shared some hysterical conversations, sing-a-longs and one excellent Shabbat dinner with cheap wine and stale bred... I'm now back from the tour, heading to La Paz and then there's another week in southern Peru.

Bolivia was a country I originally did not intend to visit. Most just don't go, so I figured why bother. A planned five days has unintentionally blossomed into two weeks. In those two weeks, between the jeep and bus rides I've probably spent well over 40 hours staring out the window through disbelieving eyes, inhaling the oceans of stunningly diverse landscapes. This is by far the least traveled of the major South American countries, but it's offered so much through its natural beauty every single day...Rigid outlines of silhoutted mountain ranges rested each morning on a technicolor horizon, only hours after the same sky was peppered with salty stars. Angry geysers hissed sulfuric fuy and thermal pools sweated steam into the chilled air as the sun awoke. Lemon-dry plains stretched towards cloud-shadowed mountains that mocked the goats, llamas and alpacas below with brown contempt. Vanilla swirls were both lost and found on the slopes of cherry clay mounds. Tired volcanoes waned through rear windows, begging to be noticed by the charitable passage of time. Lakes appeared without warning or provocation, each dyed a different shocking color- blood red, topaz blue, oak brown, jade green- perfectly placid mirrors only disturbed by the occasional movement of the resident flamingos, which lazed about like brazen birthday candles. Ruined stone walls stood as skeletal reamins to what once was, or what never became. Dirt roads caved through lush countrysides like dried veins, snaking from peak to valley with vericose intent. Serated sand dunes flexed cracked surfaces from the 10,000 winds of natural expression. Towering mountains appeared and passed like tracing paper, witnessed by the lone few in passing...

Traveling through Bolivia is a road not taken by many, which is simultaneously its greatest weakness and strength. I urge anyone who ventures to this part of the world to spend some time in this magnificent country. Two roads diverged and during these past two weeks my experience has been within the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 52
Showers with Heat- 8
Beard Status- Deceased
Song of Choice- "This Must Be the Place" by Talking Heads... Checkout String Cheese Incident's "This Must Be the Place Jam" for a rehashed and extended jam version.
Book Selection- "The Giver" by Lois Lowry... forever great.
Quote of Note- "He not busy being born is busy dying." -Bob Dylan
Random Person- Teddy "Sometimes Serious, Sometimes Delirious, Always Tiberius" Farkas

South American Adventures- Part 4: Machu Picchu and Titicaca

2007-03-16T20:37:00.000-04:00

Hola de La Paz, Bolivia!

Immediately after sending out the last update I took several public pickup trucks to a very very remote town called Palestina, to live with a man named Joel Puac who had approached me a week earlier at Las Cristalinas and kindly invited me to live in his home for as long as I liked in exchange for some English lessons. It was a big risk to go solo into the mountains of Gautemala with just the man's name and his town (he doesnt have an address... he just lives at the end of one of the dirt roads) but it turned out to be one of the best travel experiences I've ever had.

I could write about my three days in Palestina for hours, but I'll make an attempt at brevity. After boarding a truck to Palestina several people directed me down a dirt road where I found Joel tending to his chickens. He showed me around his small property (two multi-purpose rooms, chicken stalls, three dogs, a cow, some space for growing coffee and corn). His wife and kids were in another town for the night so he introduced me to his father, a man who lived next door and only spoke in whispered "ahhs" or sighs that could express any emotion. He proudly wiped the dust off his 40 year old framed picture of the NYC skyline, and the three of us talked for several hours about life, religion, family, youth, and American vs. Guatemalan culture. Pretty soon Joel pulled out his massive portable cassette recorder, a Spanish-English dictionary and two books. He said "these are how I study my English everynight" and my eyes almost bugged out of my head...

The first book was the Bible, which I completely expected and respected. The second was a pamphlet, sponsored by Phillip Morris USA with two fakely smiling Latinos on the cover, called (I swear this is true), "Raising Kids Who Don't Smoke"!!! I thought it was too absurd to be true (like the kid I saw earlier that week in Guatemala wearing an orange shirt that said "White Plains Basketball"), but apparently life has a lot of humor to it. He asked me to read as much as I liked into the recorder, which he would then listen to via headphones everynight to improve his English... The American Dream man, the American Dream. Over the next three days we visited the indigenous town of Santa Clara, I read the first 50 proverbs from Salomon and the entire pamphlet into the recorder (2 hours worth), his wife taught me how to make corn tortillas and educated me on raising chickens, I spoke with several of his neighbors who told me a non-Guatemalan had never stayed in their village before, we walked to an amazing lookout over Lake Atitlan, and generally enjoyed mutually eye-opening conversation. Before leaving I exchanged gifts with his son Elgar, and thanked them for the incredible experience.

After a night in Santa Cruz la Laguna and another in Guatemala City before a 7am flight, I flew to El Salvador for a 5 hour layover and arrived in Lima, Peru at 7pm that night. From there, things got damn tasty... About a week earlier I had tried using a site called couchsurfing.com (where people offer travelers a free nights stay at their homes) and was led to a 26 year-old Peruvian named Henry Laureano. After some email and IM banter, he ended up deciding to pick me up from that airport, give me a brief tour of Lima that night, take me to this amazing Peruvian hole-in-the-wall hamburger joint, provide a bed at his parents' home and they drove me back to the airport at 3:30am for my 6am flight to Cusco! Henry had a real penchant for using the English word "deleeseous" when describing burgers, so I believe one sentence went something like, "McDonalds is very deleeseous like Burger King which is huge deleeseous, oh and Wendys is so so deleeseous, but I think this place is muy muy deleeseous, more deleeseous than the others because it tastes so natural deleeseous." Clearly he is the absolute man and the generosity that the entire Laureano family displayed towards me was truly unforgettable.

Upon arriving in Cusco I checked into a hostel and immediately jumped on a tour of the ruins around the spectacular city. Cusco, aka the Navel ofthe World, was the center of the Incan empire when it stood at its height before the New World took over... I went to 5 different sites, the highlights of which were the Sun Temple Qolcancha and the incredible, get this, say it aloud, Saqsaywaman ruins. Yup. Awesome. After the tour I had a fantastic 4-course meal for 95 cents with a lovely 30 year old Argentinian girl I'd met on the tour who I am hoping will host Scott and I when we venture to her hometome of Buenos Aires in a month. Always great to meet good people on the road. The next two days consisted of hours spent drinking in the city by the gulps- Cruising around the San Blas barrio, bargaining for a gorgeous piece of abstract art, witnessing a wedding at La Merced Inglesia, taking in a great cultural dance show, going out until 5am on the Plaza de Armas where every bar gives you a free drink upon enterring, learning salsa from Peruvians in an unmarked 3rd floor locals club, shopping in markets while speaking with vendors about their lives for hours, and then taking a late-night train to Aguas Calientes so I could see Machu Picchu at sunrise.

The train seated 4-people per section facing one another, and of course I got seated with a Danish family of Jehova's witnesses. The kindly 70 year-old father was politely engaging when telling me that I had to read the Bible in its entirety and recognize my path to G-d. I decided to forgo mentioning the heresy of my Hebrew tattoo, but I came very close after his wife fell asleep and he spent the next hour incessantly picking his nose and overtly scratching his balls... we were directly facing each other with less than 3 inches separating our legs, and yet this guy was pulling off the lift, scratch and tuck every 5 mins! I just started laughing out loud after one particularly vigorous ball tug, to which he closed his eyes, tilted his head back and smiled through closed eyes of pure content. Ohhh the glories of man...

To put it simply, Machu Picchu is my favorite site I have ever visited... better than the Taj Mahal, Great Wall of China, Western Wall, Vatican, the Louvre, or Christian Sorensen's left trapezius muscle. I woke up extremely early to make sure I was one of the first to enter the site at 6am, and the result was breathtaking. Misty chilled rains exuded an eerie feeling of ancient mystique. Tired clouds exhaled along the mountain sides, eventually enveloping the few silent spectators in the serene air. After several hours just staring awe-struck from a distant terrance, I explored the ruins from up close for about an hour before scaling the large mountain behind the site called Waynapicchu. The challenging 45 minute hike ended with a spectacular view from the fortressed ruins above... Again as one of the first few at the top, I spoke with a humble Peruvian groundskeeper for about an hour before descending to a slightly lower terrace, where I spent 3 hours just staring through echoed eyes, listening to music, writing in my journal and meditating. Eventually the sun shone through around 11am and motivated by the warm heat I ascended to the beautiful peak of the mountain before hiking back down, exploring the ruins further, and finally leaving around 1:30pm... 7.5 hours after enterring Machu Picchu's entrance gate. Chills from head to toe.

The natural high I felt upon returning to Aguas Calientes seeped through every cell in my body, and fed me in my return to Cuzco, immediate overnight 8 hour bus to Puno and then the 7am bus over the Bolivian border to Copucabana. From there I ventured via a \n1.5 hour boat ride to Isla Del Sol on Lake Titacaca with two great 28 yaer-old travelmates, Connie from Ireland and Joe from Australia. Lake Titicaca is the highest lake in the world at about 4000m, and La Paz in the highest capital city in the world as well... Anyway we checked into a gorgeous hostel for $2 each and hiked up the island to have some of the famed fresh trout. The result was Scott Braun (equation: Scott Braun=Amazing). After a delicious meal overlooking the gorgeous lake, surrounding Bolivian hills, the nearby Isla del Luna, and the Andes Mountains in the distant horizon, we hiked to some Incan ruins and took 360 degree panoramic pictures of what I can only describe as a draw-dropping sunset. We then returned to get another trout and mate (tea) meal in a candlelit restaurant because the island had no elecricity. Magic. Pure magic in that place. Upon leaving the restaurant we were greeted with the most brightly visible Milky Way I've ever seen and a congested sky of welcoming stars... I saw my first satellite (like a small star but moving.. sooo cool) and after the dodgy 30-minute walk back in the dark we went up to the hostel roof to take pics while sharing glorious conversation and local cookies.

The next morning we returned to Copacabana and took a stunning drive through the Bolivian mountains to reach La Paz, where we relaxed at an Irish travelers pub and I had my first-ever helpings of both lasanga and hot whiskey (great for relieiving congestion)... La Paz is a wild capital city, built literally into the mountains but a full city nonetheless... For now I'll be in Bolivia for 10-12 days before returning to Peru to travel the southern coast... Life on the road has truly never been better.

The greatest lesson I've learned in the past two weeks has been to take chances; trust in the inherent goodness of others. As a traveler you are often told not to trust anyone. Keep your eye on your bag and your hand on your waistpack that should be tucked as close to your goods as possible. Well, the recent exposure to people like Joel, Henry, Joe and Connie have taught me that great people do exist in every corner of the globe, but their light can only shine when you remove your personal blockades of inherent fear. Perhaps it's naivete on my behalf but this trip has certainly had its few downs and many ups so far, and the greatest highs have only been reached through the trusting interactions and guidance of others. I have no guidebook with me, just the kind words of advice that I receive from fellow travelers and locals. I urge anyone who has read this far to take a chance next time you hesitate to trust a friend or a stanger. Put your faith in the inherent goodness of others, and the positive vibrations you spread will likely be reciprocated exponentially... and if that doesn't work, try couchsurfing.com :-)

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 44
Showers with Heat- 5
Beard Status- Semi-Wolverining
Song of Choice- "To Let" by Xavier Rudd. Didj, guitar, throbbing drums and a spicy time had by all.
Book Selection- Vernon God Little by DBC Pierre... Hysterical first-person narration with biting wit.
Quote of Note- "Knowledge can only take us to the end of the diving board. It's faith that gives us the courage to jump." -Elizabeth Lesser
Random Person- Richie Sambora

South American Adventures- Part 3: Silence and Fire

2007-03-04T14:00:00.000-05:00

Hola amigos del mundo!,

If it's possible to extend a hearty hug via email then I'm doing that now. I hope that this update finds each of you in a great mood, and if not then print this up and read it on the toilet later today. Trust me, it's a great time to read excessively long emails… I'm currently in San Marcos la Laguna, Guatemala at the Las Piramides meditation center. I've been here for a little over three weeks completing their "moon course" that, in case the name didn't give it away, follows the lunar cycle. To give a brief description of this magical place, which every single one of you should absolutely visit no matter where your commitment to spirituality stands-

Las Piramides was started by a Guatemalan woman named Chati, who comes from a family of healers and astral travelers. During one particularly powerful vision she was told to create her spiritual center near the three volcanoes of Lake Atitlan, which led to her selecting the quiet holistic town of San Marcos. I assumed this place would be a hostel with meditation and yoga classes, but it is actually far, far more. It is a community of people, that are rapidly unified through a deeply significant experience…Each full-time resident (at the present moment there are 13 of us from the US, Canada, Ireland, Chile, Israel, France, Japan, and the Cayman Islands) lives in a pyramid-shaped small wooden hut on the verdant two-acre property and is expected to attend the four daily courses that last about an hour and fifteen minutes each. The courses all take place in the candle-lit pyramid-shaped Sun Temple next to the medicinal herb garden.

You just can't help but feel something mystically present upon first entering the beautiful wooden structure, which has space for about 15 people seated on mats in a circle around the small center pyramid. There's no major lighting at night so either you grow accustomed to walking around in the dark or some people use flashlights occasionally. We share a kitchen with no dishwasher, refrigerator, microwave or toaster but most of us cook every single meal ourselves. We hand-wash our clothes and hang them to dry on clotheslines, often flush the toilets but dumping a jug of water in the basin, and generally live in a pretty naturalistic state. It takes a few days of acclamation, but it's absolutely great. Actually in my first hour here I tried to strike up a friendly conversation with two guys who refused to respond. It turns out they're part of the 3-month sun course, which includes a 40 DAY vow of silence that they are currently undergoing. That's tough.

Below is the daily schedule I kept throughout my first week here-
6:30am- Awake to go watch sunrise over the lake
7am- Hatha yoga
9am- Cook breakfast of 4-egg Rocky Mountain Toast
10am- Meditation followed by metaphysics lecture
12pm- Create broken-glass artwork with crazy Frenchman nicknamed Merlin
1pm- Make two PB&J sandwiches for lunch (thanks to Ryan "No Limit" Silva)
2pm- Swim in lake, treading water for 15 mins, jump off 45 ft cliffdive
3pm- Catnap a la Shaun McNamara
5pm- Meditation followed by spiritual introspection exercises
7pm- Hatha yoga
9pm- Cook dinner of either rice or spaghetti dish
10pm- Journal and go to sleep

Needless to say this is easily the healthiest living I have ever committed myself to… Days are passed in meditation, reading or journaling in shaded gardens, swimming in the pristine lake, cooking deliciously uncreative meals, and all without indulgence in any substances that poison the body. Along with a few others I recently completed a 5-day course on how to give an Ayurvedic Indian head massage… so I got that going for me… which is nice. Hysterically it was taught by a Bulgarian woman named Nadie, so the quotes like, "you girls need to verk your muscles, your hands are so puny and veak! hehehe" were amazing. In our metaphysics courses we've learned and discussed theories of astral travel, lucid dreaming, spiritual health, esoteric religious mysticisms, balancing one's chakras, kabbalah, tarot, numerology, astrology, kyballion, and the deepest levels of introspection possible. The days pass slowly but gently here, although in retrospect it feels as though my time here has passed far too quickly. The final five days were spent in complete silence, something that is way harder than I ever realized… The purpose was to save the energies normally expended on conversation, and direct them towards deeper self-analysis of one's own spiritual existence, ideals, realities and ultimate mission… Obviously it was highly intense, especially with the almost cult-like but amazingly cool closing ceremony. Overall though, a truly phenomenal experience.

I could write about the beauty and depth of the experience that this place provides for the next 100 pages, but I will simply say that I highly recommend spending some time here for any individual. Just as I have often described Koh Tao, Thailand as my closest conception of physical Paradise, this is my Eden. The indigenous peoples are a beautiful race of welcoming souls, and the ex-pats who have moved here are all great, funky people. As one guy said to me recently, "Look at this place, it's seriously camp." It's almost as though a bunch of random people decided that they wanted to do the one thing that made them happiest, which they lacked the talent to do professionally in their home towns. One guy moved here and opened the restaurant Unicornia, simply so that he could start a band which he fronts every night as if he is a rock legend filming an episode of VH1 Storytellers. He does 10 minute sound checks before songs, tells absurd stories that no one believes are true, has a 1980's psychedelic visualization playing on the big-screen behind his amateur three-piece salsa band, and wears outfits that would make Grand Master Flash proud. The crazy Frenchman who runs brokenglass artwork classes fervently dislikes Americans, solely because he believes he was a Native American in a past life and had his land stolen. His real name is Alan but here, he actually goes by the name Merlin. During parties at homes or bars there's always a mix of jugglers, fire dancers, yoga-pose performances, guitarists, djembe and dijereedoo players, and there's even one guy who puts on a devil sticks performance with fire!! I mean, really?! Devil sticks man!

On several afternoons I've taken the public transportation (about 50 people standing while holding onto a metal pole in the back of a pickup truck) to the surrounding towns on the lake to play some pickup basketball, buy groceries at local markets, take in the beauty of the lake via a trip to the tranquil beach of Las Cristalinas, and checkout the nightlife scene over in San Pedro (an extremely cheap hub for backpackers looking to enjoy a town where cool movies are played every night at restaurants with excellent food, weed is practically legal and short local women seriously walk around with chocolate cakes on their heads throughout bars at night hahah… they clearly know how to cater to their crowd). Each of these ventures has further given me the impression that Guatemalans are among the kindest people in the world, as they continually greet strangers with toothless smiles and warm calls of "Hola amigo! De donde esta?"

Possibly the best night of the trip so far occurred earlier last week when a 41 year-old ex-pat named Rick threw a birthday party at his house. On a whim we went with the mohawked, tattooed Julie (who two weeks ago told us at breakfast that she'd been crying the night before because, "After 27 years of existence, I finally realized that I am gay." Wow, talk about sharing with new friends) through the unlit dirtpaths and rocky hill up to Rick's house… The scene was absolutely awesome. About 40-50 people from every corner of the globe, each uniquely true to their own self and style, had gathered to share one great night in the presence of one another. A sick electronic DJ played throbbing beats throughout the house/patio as people talked, played djembe drums and danced. New friends conversed in the kitchen, others seshed in the dimly lit rooms of the guest area, and the massive patio doubled as a great dancefloor under a brilliant star-salted sky… each person just finding their own groove, their inner jam, expressing themselves in whatever way felt right (which for one guy was putting on a 15 minute fire-twirling show)… Again, impossible to describe, but easily one of the best party scenes I have ever been a part of… very reminiscent of the small but amazing nightly gatherings in Koh Tao.

I feel like this email hasn't been too overtly dramatic for a 3-week period, probably because it is truly impossible to accurately relay the internal travels experienced when spending weeks calming one's mind to a state where continuous revelations are illuminated and explored. One thing I'd like to share is a realization I had during a very simple yoga exercise the other morning, which anyone can do now by taking one minute to stand up, place your bare feet together so ankles are touching, and close your eyes. Take off your shoes, stand perfectly straight, so as to draw a straight line from the top of your head, through your pelvis and down to the heels of your feet. Attempt to maintain that position with your eyes closed for a minute, and see what you feel in your body… Go ahead, just try it. I'll wait about a paragraph away in time…

You will invariably notice that the maintenance of balance requires many, many small movements. Tiny distributions of weight from one area of the body to another are necessary to retain a position of comfort, consistency and strength. The metaphor in this basic exercise seemed so clear when considered- Like life's path, even when we think we are remaining in one place we are constantly in motion through innumerable modifications and shifts. At every moment we are altering ourselves both internally and externally to accommodate the dynamism of existence. While that point of perfect, immovable balance will always be present, it can never be fully attained. It is like the shadow which can be intuitively felt within grasp, but never wrangled into our absolute physical possession. The best we can ask of ourselves is to place pride and honor in each of our adjustments, whether large or small, acting with conscience and nobility at all times… The tiny actions may seem insignificant, but they collectively allow us to stand tall.

Challenge the assumptions,
AB

Key Trip Statistics
Days- 30
Showers with Heat- 1
Beard Status- Respectable fullness, unrespectable length... but getting there
Song of Choice- "Longtime" by Salmonella Dub… its sunshine for your ears.
Quote of Note- "The secret of life is enjoying the passage of time." –Richie Havens
Random Person- Mr. Belding

South American Adventures- Part 2: Pyramids and Volcanoes

2007-02-15T15:35:00.000-05:00

Hola part-time amigos y lovers,

I'm growing a beard. It's getting pretty wicked already, and has nothing to do with the recent events of the trip, but I just felt like leading with that fact... Another quick observation I'd like to note is that the Mayan kings have unbelievably cool names. The major builder of Tikal was named Lord Chocolate, and the two greatest leaders of Copan were King Rabbit the 18th and the 15th rey, King Smoke Snail. Lord Chocolate clearly loved himself some Hersheys, but what the hell did King Smoke Snail do to earn that name? Regardless, he is clearly a man with style.

I'm now in San Marcos la Laguna, Guatemala. After writing the previous email I returned to my hostel and engaged in an hour-long Spanish conversation with a 18 year-old Honduran kid about the paths of our divergent lives, our experiences traveling foreign and domestic lands, and the absurdities of the fact that Americans tip as much as they do. It doesn't sound like much, but because so few Hondurans ever travel out of their country it was really enlightening to hear his varied opinions and perceptions.

The next morning I took a bus across the border back towards Antigua, Guatemala (this time when the authorities tried to rip me off I began asking questions about why/what I was paying and they immediately let me pass for free) and arrived around 7pm. After checking into my Black Cat Hostel, I went out to the parque central to grab a bite and witness the children's festival they happened to be hosting that night. As I crossed the street I heard someone call out my name and guess who I see... the Jungle guy!! Arturo, my Polish-Californian compadre from Flores had just gotten into town as well and we perused the park while he talked again about sleeping in the jungles- "Yea man in Lanquin it was windy so the mosquitoes didn't bother me at all, but it seems pretty arid out here. The night birds should be nice and the ground is soft bro, hahaha, I love it man! What can I say." Upon entering the parque some 4'6" Guatemalans immediately offered us a multitude of drugs, some of which I'd never even heard of, and Arturo struck up a conversation. I watched the impressive 10-minute firework show above us and next thing I know Arturo had bartered his service of "I'll do anything you want" for a sleeping space on the floor of their home. We took a pic, swapped emails, and his last words to me as he left were, "Haha bro, I hope I don't spend the night in jail! I have no ideas what these little fuckers want from me"... the epilogue to the story is that the next day I saw one of the mini-sized Guatemalans on the street and asked que paso con Jungle-man, and he said he was crazy but that he slept on their floor. The following day I got an email from Arturo that simply said "here's my email, great to meet you." The subject, was "Monkey Brains."

That night I went out to a bar with a German and some Dutch kids, and the next morning explored the massive market before embarking on a tour to climb the Volcano Pacaya that overlooks Antigua. We were supposed to pay 25Q to enter the national park but a band of angry Guatemalans surrounded and boarded our bus yelling passionate Spanish. For a minute I thought I was going to have to go into Jackie Chan mode, but it turned out they were livid with the government for ignoring their pleas for a new school...so as punishment they were going to let us all enter the park for free, thus the government wouldn't benefit from our patronage. Gotta love social activism in action... I definitely cannot accurately describe how cool a two hour hike on volcanic rock is, nor the sweetness of actually seeing active lava within 3 feet of you, but I will just say this. We brought marshmallows and chocolate and made lava smores, which is something I doubt I'll ever be able to do again. We then debated over whether someone should touch the lava simply to get a nasty burn, so whenever someone asked you about your scar you could say, "Yea thats from molten hot liquid magma... no big deal." The sunset behind the volcano was perfect as well, and after returning around 10pm I went bar-hopping with a few friends while our other newly-made amigos "went to score some blow."

The following day I left behind the beautiful old-world city of Antigua and took several chicken buses to get to Lake Atitlan, where I am currently at the Las Piramides meditation center in the town of Los Marcos. However I did spend my first night on the lake in the most popular town here, which has been appropriately named The Amsterdam of Guatemala, San Pedro. It's a very cool backpacker town with lots of people pushing crazy drugs and many a rooms for $2 a night, but it wasn't what I came here for so after one nice night I came over to Las Piramides. I could write many many pages on the magic of this place, but I'll stop the email here and wait until next time to discuss the gifts that this place bestows upon its residents.

Random Trip Statistics
Days- 14
Showers with heat- 1
Beard Status- Moderately respectable in a "aww, he's trying" kind of way
Song of Choice- "Helplessly Hoping", as covered by Richie Havens ( attached. turn it up, close your eyes, and drink in this LYRICAL MASTERPIECE that Richie reworks into his own tasty gem)
Random Person- Rick Flair aka The Nature Boy

Lastly, some of you may recall that in my first mass email on Semester at Sea, I wrote about the powerful symbolism behind seeing two seagulls flying together several hundred miles from land... I'd like to share one thought I had while swimming in Lake Atitlan yesterday, wherein a small butterfly flew past me at a height of a mere foot or two above the choppy waves. It was a hazy afternoon so San Pedro (a mile away across the lake) could not be directly seen, but surely felt. It amazed me to see the butterfly teetering above the water alone, as it boldly flew directly into the path of nothingness where I'm sure it assumed land must be... It reminded me of so many peers, who like myself, feel something great along our horizons but fear reaching for it because it cannot be viewed in plain sight. The message was alarmingly simple. Take a chance. Fly alone for a little while in the direction that your soul tells you is right... There just might be greatness on the other side of the lake.

I hope this email finds each of you strengthened with health, happiness and fulfillment.

Challenge the assumptions,
Adam

South American Adventures: Part 1- Candles and Watermelon

2007-02-07T20:38:00.000-05:00

Hola amigos y part-time lovers,

Greetings from Copan Ruinas, Honduras! If you're receiving this you're on my email list from which I'll be sending out updates from Central and South America over the next 3-4 months. These may get a little lengthy because they'll be serving as a pseudo-journal for me during the travels, but I'll try to be brief without leaving off too much. I'll also be posting these at http://www.arbraun.blogspot.com , so you can check that if you wanna read these later.

Anyway, I flew from NYC to Guatemala City on Friday, February 2nd. My supposed-friend Matt Wiggins was rumored to travel with me through Guatemala and Peru during the first two months, but will be joining me two weeks late so for now I'm solo. Upon arrival in GuatCity (reputed as one of the most dangerous in Central America) I immediately took a cab to the bus station and bought a ticket to Coban. After using the bathroom where a real midget filled up the bowl with water after each flush (keep in mind, his head level was at my ehh-ehmm level) I boarded the 5.5 hour public bus with about 60 Guatemalans. The ride was my first exposure to the verdant countryside of lush rolling mountains and it was quite breath-taking. Listening to the smooth sounds of Richie Havens made it all the better, and I couldn't help but smile until they put on a Hillary Duff movie in Spanish... I mean, come on, you've got to be kidding me.

In Coban I went to the first decent hostel in site, appropriately named "Hotel Cheepy-Cheepy", which turned out to be so cheap that it had no running water. In desperate need of a shower after 12 hours of travel, I switched to La Casa Luna where I roomed with two great Aussies from Sydney. That night led to great conversation while they both played beautiful guitars in the room, and later on 5 blazed Israelis arrived and we all watched Snakes on a Plane together. A perfect ending to a perfect first day...

The next morning we boarded a 7am bus to Lanquin where we stayed at an amazing hostel called El Retiro. If you're in Guatemala, go there for sure. I took a local ride to Semuc Champey which is an incredible natural wonder with beautiful emerald green pools and a 30k bat cave you can explore. I insisted the locals call me Bruce Wayne... okay that never happened... I went with two French-Canadian girls and a guide for the day, as we walked, climbed waterfalls and swam through the first 3k of the pitch-black caves while holding candles to illuminate the way the entire time. It was genuinely one of the coolest experiences of my life- Awesome, awesome stuff. That night the hostel held a huge Mexican BBQ with great music blasting, people twirling fire, juggling, dancing everywhere, sharing great conversations and better laughs. My favorite quote of the night that embodied the spirit of place was when I asked my Aussie buddy what our room number was, and his accurate response was, "Puma"... I easily could have stayed there for a week, but I'm on a tight schedule so I left at 7am the next morning for Flores.

Flores is the jump-off point to go see the famed Mayan ruins of Tikal. After the 7 hour ride to Flores I got some grub, jammed with some other backpackers about cool locales, and watched the Super Bowl in a small cafe with some other Norteamericanos. The game was great, def a unique experience in Guatemala, but the undoubted highlight was Prince... I don't know what the general response has been, but he was pretty kick-ass in my eyes.

The next morning was a 3:30am wakeup for a sunrise tour of Tikal. We boarded the hour-long bus to the site, and entered in the shrouded mist of darkness and fog. The near-full moon illuminated the silhouettes of the towering temples, which gave me a severe case of the "holy shit this is awesome!" chills. We hiked 30 minutes through the jungle and climbed Temple IV, the tallest scalable temple, and sat overlooking the forest and ruins awaiting the sun's greeting. Although the fog definitely detracted from what could have been a spectacular sunrise, the experience was still amazing and literally hearing the forest come alive with waking cries from howler monkeys and varied birds gave me a second round of the chills. The rest of the morning was spent exploring the massive ruins and viewing playful monkeys, and that evening I met a 23 year-old Polish Californian (I know) with no shirt or shoes, long blond dreads, and we spoke for an hour about different spots while he expounded on the virtues of sleeping in a hammock in the straight-up wild jungles of the world. "I love it bro, I just love sleeping in the jungle.. I just march off into the woods and I'm at peace man... I gotta go change my contacts, I'll be right back but you can use my Mag-Lite if you want" Hahhaa, priceless.

The next morning I took the worst of the many many public bus rides I've taken so far. Let's just say I had to hide my money and passport in my shoes cause of certain people on the bus, the guy directly behind me made "tssk-tssk" cracking sound every 20 seconds for 6 hours straight, and the honest highlight of the ride was when a 250lb women sat beside me while crushing my thigh with her thigh-overhang... BUT, she smelled absolutely divine. If the heavens created a scent that made every person immediately happy, it would be her splendiferous scent. As bad as my semi-crushed lungs were feeling under the weight of her meaty elbows, my heart and mind were singing because every time I felt miserable I'd lean over to get a good whiff of her ethereal odor... I'll leave out the shadiness of arriving in Rio Dulce at 11pm to a hard-falling rain and a cab driver openly carrying a gun who offered me a ride, but needless to say I slept in a single-bedroom alone with a shower that was filled with spiders (and I hate spiders).

The next morning I left for Copan, Honduras, where I am now. The bus-ride was great (mostly empty) until we switched to a mini-bus in Chiquimula. This bus was meant for 20 maybe, and I swear they put 65 of us in there. As usual I was the only gringo, and I sat next to a 60 year old machete-wielding farmer who was slobbering down a full watermelon piece-by-piece. I couldn't believe that out of everyone there I got seated next to him... this guy had talons for hands and would take a bite of his sliced watermelon with the juice spraying everywhere, in particular all over his entire chin and shirt. It was almost funny, except for the fact that it was one of the grossest things I've ever seen. Think of that scene in the last Lord of the Rings with the guy eating the berries, and imagine being in the most congested bus imaginable with that guy practically sitting on you. I also had a beautiful almond-eyed 5 year old Honduran girl basically sitting on my lap, which made the trip bearable cause she was so cute and friendly. Soon though the old farmer fell asleep and nodded off onto my shoulder. When he suddenly came to an entire massive mouthful of drool fell onto my lap... I saw it outta the corner of my eye and thought, "This can not be happening." Luckily the man above answered my prayer, cause the 5 year old girl was still sitting on my lap and took the bullet hahaha. Ahh, thats terrible, but oh so true. It did get slightly worse as a crying baby was seated on her mothers lap directly behind me and incessantly grabbed/tugged my shirt, but thankfully after 30 mins a bunch of people got off the bus (I swear they got off where there was just a dirt path into the mountains... really crazy but grounding stuff to witness) and I had space to move seats. Finally I shared a good laugh with some of the locals witnessing my misfortune, and spoke a little bit in Spanish about their lives around here.

Crossing the border in El Florido was fine, as both the Guatemalan and Honduran authorities illegally ripped me off for about $2 a piece, which is cool by me. Copan Ruinas is about 30 mins away and a 10 minute walk from the detailed Mayan ruins of Copan where I spent today taking it all in. The town is surprisingly charming and last night I shared a great meal and legendary laugh session with an Argentinian guy and German girl. There was just something indescribably cool about laughing your ass off while walking down the Honduran streets and sharing stories/observations as an American with a European and South American... all understanding each other in a combination of English and Spanish. A great night for sure.

Thats the full update for now leaving out the parts my grandmothers would not want to hear about the shadiness of certain events. But I'm here safely and incredibly excited for Antigua, Guatemala and Lake Atitlan next. Traveling alone has been challenging at times but it's forced me to meet so many diversely interesting people, relearn my Spanish very quickly, constantly remain stimulated by my surrounding environment, and dig into the depths of introspection that I would otherwise rarely be able to reach...

I hope this email finds each of you happy, healthy and fulfilled. This trip has already reminded me that no matter how much you think you know or expect, life will constantly push you further. It pushes you to adapt, to change, to seek new connections and every so often, inhale hope fully. The first sunset I witnessed on this trip was from the bus window on my first night... the sky blazed with an assortment of oranges unlike anything I'd ever seen. I've been fortunate enough to witness incredible sunsets across the world, but there was something uniquely distinct about this one. The same sun I've witnessed every day of my life somehow spoke a new language of expression to me, proclaiming that its ubiquitous presence in my daily life could always be countered by its simple ability to appear as something totally fresh on any given day... That was all I needed to see to put a huge smile on my face. Each day provides something new for each of us, whether you are in New York or California or Atlanta or Honduras. The only question is how you choose to capture and experience that gift.

As always, be safe and stay classy,
Adam

PS: If anyone is interested in traveling around Peru during March lemme know... you're all more than welcome to come along.

Eurotrip Update 5- Beergardens and Koreans

2005-12-17T13:25:00.000-05:00

Email sent August 2, 2005:

At the behest of Sir Dennis Hurley Stratton, the following email will be written from the third perspective... At the limitation of this german keyboard, I will not be using the enter button- Prague was a great time for the two young bearded backpackers as 5 shots of absinth (post several hours of beer drinking) laid a massive dump on the fragile mind of one Lucas Tedaldi the First. The city was fantastically beautiful, with intricate architecture and the viewing of an opera in the national museum. After several days of fun in Prague, where sex was offered and refused at every corner after 6pm, the boys travelled to Munich... They checked into their fine Wombats hostel, and found two polite koreans in their dorm room. The 50 year old seemed kind enough, until the morning came... at that point he woke up at 7am and proceeded to make more noise than any human possible... hocking loogies in the shower, crinkling plastic bags for hours, cutting pears, and being generally rude. Braun's skin was crawling as was Tedaldi's, at which point Braun heard Tedaldi rip a massively long and rude fart in protest of the noise being made by the elderly Korean. Braun silently chuckled and applauded his friend's display of protest, as he was unable to fall back asleep for the next 3 hours due to the sounds of rudeness. Later that day Braun brought up the enormous exhibition of flatulence that Tedaldi had pulled off, and upon telling him how proud he was of Tedaldi, the response was "Dude that wasn't even me! For no reason that asian guy just decided to rip ass! That was the rudest fart ive ever heard!"... Since then Munich has been a great time. Our first day we did go to Dachau, the first concentration camp which i cant really put into words how moving it was (walking though a gas chamber and crematorium is something I only need to do once in my life to feel the hatred of the nazi regime and the cruelty some people possess... which is still prevalent in many parts of the world... damn sorry i broke 3rd person)... the next day the two Brunonians travelled far outside Munich to the Neuwhalty castle (horribly mispelled), which is the inspiration for the Disneycastle/logo... Imagine the disney castle being real, larger, and in the mountains, and you will understand the spectacle of Ludwig II's famed castle. After Tedaldi slugged a liter of fine german beer, he and Braun passed a souvenir shop where they saw an absurd German traditional liederhosen-outfit hat... He immediately bet Braun 50 euro he couldnt wear that hat throughout the duration of the trip (11 more days), and a bet was had... at this very moment, the insanely stupid looking hat is perched on Brauns head. It really wasn't that great a display of rudeness for the mangy 21 year old backpacker, seeing as how he had worn the same outfit EVERY single day of the trip. While reading this his mother turned her head from the screen with a look of disgust for him wearing a t-shirt and shorts for 27 straight days, but it wasnt until now that she grasped that it was the same exact t-shirt and pair of shorts that had been adorned each fine morning... at this point the t-shirt smells of musk, sweat, beer and a small tinge of passionfruit.... some would say it stings the nostrils. The following days in munich were spent walking at least 8 miles a day to see every major site, including the fantastic beer halls and gardens where they saw a man carry 15 glass 1 liter mugs with just two hands, each filled with beers. Upon further questioning, this man informed the boys that he was the world record holder for liter-of-beer carring, with his best being 23 individual litres. Braun retorted that Tedaldi could chug an entire liter straight, to which the beerman replied that a local man easily did 3 in a row and had drank 15 LITERS of beer many a nights... Tedalid's testicles instantly shrank into raisins, so he then chugged a full liter to return them to grape form, and in his attempt not to vomit it back up Braun laughed himself to tears along with the Swiss couple sitting at the table... Yesterday was highlighted with a walk through the English Garden, a park twice the size of Cerntral Park, to the Chinese Tower beergarden where the scene consisted of hundreds of people sitting at picnic tables while drinking liters of beer and eating fine delicacies like fully roasted cornish hens (what?). Earlier that afternoon the boys passed a cafe where they saw a 4 year old girl draining her own PINT of beer next to her parents, who were sipping on pints of their own. It was highly distrurbing, so when the boys ventured to the beergarden they found it necessary to prove their testicular fortitude by slugging several liters of heavy heavy german wheat beer. After becoming pretty "ein-schtobened", they wandered to the nearest park bench and patch of grass and passed out for 3 hours like common hobos... again their parents back in the states were extremely proud.... So the adventure continues as tonight the weary boys take the overnight train to Amsterdam, where they hope to survive 4 days of whatever it is that people do in Amsterdam................................... The two young men deeply miss all those back home, and hope each of the people who read this update will find themselves happy and healthy with a hearty smile on their face. Be safe and stay classy, Adam.

Eurotrip Update 4- The Eastern European Swing

2005-12-17T13:23:00.000-05:00

Email sent July 25th, 2005:

Okay, well Im not really sure where I left everyone off but I know I last wrote from Budapest... The city was really cool, very eastern european feeling, and we had a blast walking for hours and taking it all in. Our final day we went to the Gellert Thermal Baths and pool, which included pool size jacuzzis, an open air pool, beautiful decorations everywhere, and far too many naked elderly men. It was a great relaxer though, except when way too many large european guys in their 50s entered the steamroom immediately after luke and I entered... and right before that this old creepy guy wouldnt give us a towel to enter until he literally watched us take off our shorts and change facing him... all I could think of was American History X and there was no chance i was getting invaded in a damn hungarian steamshower, so I got the hell out of there immediately... from there we went to the crown jewel of this planet- Bratislava, Croatia.

Luke and I planned out our eurotrip to include what we thought were the coolest and/or most beautiful cities in Europe that we hadnt previously traveled to.. that said, we really picked some great spots. On our first lengthy train ride though, we were randomly reading through the Lonely Planet Europe Guidebook and came across Bratislava, Slovakia, which it kindly described as the shittiest place on earth. We read about its depressing nature and lack of anything worth seeing, so we immediately decided we needed to go there for a night... i believe it was aristotle that said "you cant smell the roses if you never smell the poo", and ive heard he was pretty smart so that was the mantra for the visit to bratislava... from that point on we talked about bratislava incessantly (or as its name evolved into for us, (said in the thickest russian accent possible)... "The Brautishlaiv"))... it truly became larger than life for us, and everytime we'd see something horrible somewhere we'd describe it as the most beautiful thing that could possibly happen in the brautishlaiv... so we took our 4 hour train ride there and arrived at 11:45pm, in what most sites on google describe as the worst train station in europe.. this is taken from the first site i found on google:
Worst Train Station: Bratislava
Whoa boy. This is a tough one. Eastern European train stations tend to be filthy, depressing places, so it's hard to finger one as worse than all the rest. That said, Bratislava's pretty much got it all. You can't buy English–language reading material or change money after hours at the Slovak capital's dark, dirty railway station, and the waiting lounge reeks of passed–out winos.

This is a gross understatement... Bratislava is the type of place where high fashion includes 60 year old men with all 4 headhairs combed over, wearing capri versions of grey dress slacks and 1982 Reebok hightops, with their distended stomachs screaming out from their button down shirts that have not a single button done... not because they dont want to button their shirts, but because that would make them a part of the hated aristocracy of "people who have anything resembling clothing that looks normal"... we swigged our bottle of wine from the hungarian wine tour (the only way to handle a place that smelled that awful and was that depressing was to get drunk and laugh our asses off) and walked the mile into town and began searching for a hostel... the entire city was desolate on a wednesday night, no people, no cars. Eventually a nice guy helped us find a "orange hostel", which upon our entrance we were so delirious and buzzed that we decided to tell them we'd been jumped on our way there but because luke was a taibo instructor who'd trained with billy blanks we were able to fend them off... they had sympathy for us showing up at 1am, and gave us a "nice room" as they described it... google reviews described our hostel as "Ugly and dirty, not recommended at all. The staff woke me up at 09.30, telling me to get out because they were going to disinfect the room (creepy...)." Again, a gross understatment.. we decided to pee in our own sink because somehow that made our room actually cleaner.

So luke and i were beyond pleased with our bratislava experience, it turned out to be the exact shithole we expected and so much more... from there we went to vienna for 3 nights where we had an amazing time... great hostel, good food, unbelievably cool city. This email is already long enough so i wont detail vienna much, but its definitely our favorite european city thus far (although dubruvnik wasnt a city so it cant be compared) so if you go to europe def get to vienna... we just arrived in prague, city of absynth and absynth.

K, i hope everyone is having a great summer, staying healthy and happy. As always, id love to hear from all of you.
Be safe and stay classy
Adam

Eurotrip Update 3- The Homeland

2005-12-17T13:22:00.001-05:00

Email sent July 20th, 2005:

I dont know how many of u know this, but im mainly hungarian... many people guess im italian or israeli or spanish, but the sad truth is im a hungarian... a man of (as someone once gracefully explained to me by reciting verses from Encyclopedia Britannica in a Laurel Avenue living room) Madyar descent, and my father was actually born in the fine city of Budapest... thereby making him a completely foolish immigrant on all matters American... he may have come to New York City at the age of 3, but his ability to speak trash about me at the dinner table to my grandmother in hungarian and his overt affinity for all things related to a dish called "coos-coos", make him a dirty immigrant in my jingoistic eyes... and yes i just used the word jingoistic...

so after leaving the ridiculously beautiful croatian coast for hungary, luke and i decided it would be wisest to take an overnight bus from Dubruvnik to the croatian capital of Zagreb (a small poopstain on the landscape of eastern europe), then take a train to budapest... what we didnt realize was what that entailed... heres the story: the 9pm bus from dubruvnik to zagreb is an 11.5 hour bus, so we were excited to find a somewhat empty back of this busride which would pay for itself by saving us overnight accomodation fees... at the first stop 4 late teenage croatian kids got on and took the rest of the backrow luke had claimed and their other friend sat in the empty seat next to me in the next to last row... i was reading away at the phenomenal Daniel Quinn book Ishmael (everyone should read it, its such a simple read with such a well crafted and profound premise) but after a few hours i looked back to find Luke stifled into the back corner, sweating profusely with the croatian teen doing that hysterical sleeping head nod and tapping onto lukes shoulder before getting off... then diong that over and over and over again... my teen did the same and it drove me crazy too but i woke him up and he stopped... fast forward 7.5 hours to a rest stop at 3:30am, and my fully bearded and mustached travel partner, had been inexplicably transformed into one of my favorite movie characters of the early 90s... TEENWOLF... and not the crappy michael j fox teenwolf who swished every 3pointer and was 5foot2 but somehow dunked on everyone a la wesley snipes in white man cant jump.. he was the boxing teenwolf... eyes bloodshot, sleaves rolled up, sweat dripping, full beard and head of hair frazzled, and his first words to me were "if there is hell on earth, this is it... im freaking out"... for the next 20 minutes i laughed uncontrollably while he convulsed at the knees, staring straight ahead and saying nothing while listening to his ipod... the kid apparently continued falling alseep on his shoulder in the back where he had to pee, was nauseous from the gross salami sandwiches wed made at teh supermarket, was sweating up a storm, and absolutely bugging out... his only words when we got off were "i never wish bad things on anyone but i hope that kid falls in a puddle of horseshit and dies... oh im sorry i didnt realize my shoulder was your fucking pillow, next time why dont u make my knees a fucking legrest!" ... the situation was so absurd i became delirious as well, and the fact that immediately after that ride we walked right onto a 7.5 hour train ride to Budapest in a cabcar filled with 13 year old socialist croatian kids who had a fixation with slamming their armrests throughout the car made things far worse... i laughed myself to death while luke freaked out and pulled a cromagnum man eye twitch... it was amazing...

last night we slept the days travels off cause we obviously slept about 2 hours each in our 19 hours of travel, and today we went on a winetasting tour in the countryside where we both got blasted and i lost it again when the 3 elderly women on the tour got into a fullscale debate about whether Richard Gere was a classically Broadway trained dancer... after that we went into a casino briefly and i felt i was on fire from the wine and fun of the winetour so i started throwing 5 dollar bets on black and other major bets for roulette... and walked away 75 dollars richer, which led to a fantastic reward of a steak dinner... thats it for now, random thoughts to follow

be safe and stay classy
adam

Eurotrip Update 2- From Croatia With Love

2005-12-17T13:22:00.000-05:00

Email sent July 17, 2005:

Okaz... so the zs and ys are still reversed cause now were in croatia (no apostrophes either) so bare with me... a lot has happened since the last update but ill condense it as much as possible-

we ended up going skzdiving that daz i wrote the last email... 45 second freefall partiallz through clouds in the swiss alps; amaying to saz the least... from interlocken we went through milan to bologna spain... manz of zou know mz eating habits, so giong to the home of pasta bolognese was a form of paradise for me... thats all i ate, and i ate it smiling the whole time... the citz itself was verz cool, authenticallz italian and old world... we walked the citz our first night, chilled in a park the next morning and basicallz visisted all the main attractions... we walked the 498 steep steps to the top of the citzs old tower (all with our massive packs on cause wed checked outta the hostel) and the view was breathtaking, we stazed up there talking for 2 hours... the citz was so beautifullz condensed and the red roofs looked so cool... bologna has more porticos than anzwhere else in the world... and for those of zou who dont actuallz know what a portico is... its simplz a portico

that night we took the train to the coastal citz of ancona where the lonelz planet guidebook (travelers bible) said manz backpackers slept in the ferrz terminal... which we attempted to do until some guz masquerading as an authoritz figure cause he had a huge ring of kezs booted us and said no one could sleep in there... its was 11pm and too far to walk anzwhere nearbz... so we decided to sleep on the street... so we slept on the street outside the train station... the fight of flight adrenaline response def took over a bunch... anztime somewhat sketchz approached us it was on... definitelz an experience to saz the least

the next morning we took the ferrz to split, croatia... croatia is so unlike mz mental images... beautiful beatiful beaitful... in its beaches, and especiallz the women.. ive never seen anzthing like it... split was a reallz cool town... a combo of capetown-miami and old world communist russia... imagine a beautiful beach zou get to bz crossing grafitti-laided train tracks with incredible blue waters, but theres no sand its all stone and fences... dirtz communists

so after a night in split where we saw an irish folk band jam... i think thez were named the artist formerlz known as shaun mcnamara... the next daz we came to dubruvnik, where weve been for 2 dazs (of course our bus broke down on the waz here).. .and its the most beautiful place ive ever been to in the world... look it up on google and see some pics, ull get the idea... the adriatic sea is also one of the most beautiful bodies of water ive ever seen, crzstal clear with aquas and greens... croatia looks a lot like how id thought of greece i guess... just with rubble in random places and beautiful 15th centurz palaces in other places... weve basicallz been beach bums in dubrovnik during the daz, adn todaz we even frequented the nudie beach for a while... when in croatia, do as the romans do... this place is great, everzone should come here if thez are in eastern europe

so thats the scoop for now... a few of u expressed disappointment after mz last email that i didnt include some tzpe of thought outside what we were doing... obviouslz on long bus and train rides u have a lot of time for rumination, so heres one things i thought bout.. please email me back and respond... id love to hear zour input: most people i know believe in some conception of heaven... most people i know also believe heaven is onlz for humans, not for animals like lions and tigers... lastlz, most people i know also believe in an evolutionarz theorz wherebz we evolved graduallz over time from primates into humans... if thats the case, at what exact moment did we become candidates for entrance into heaven, as humans and no longer mere animals?

k... enough of that stuff... mz few observations are these... the french are reallz not kind but actuallz gaz and repressing their sexualitz bz eating croissants all daz... the italians can cook a mean pasta... italian men have absurdlz bad bodz oder... croatian women look like the women in south beach miami minus the makeup and silicon... mz mind and nose often disagree on whether its a daz for a shower... no matter how far awaz something is, in croatia thez all will tell zou its 200 meters awaz... the irish are everzwhere... european men love capris, its on fire here, male capris in europe are like the american von dutch hat... 99% of the people on nudist beaches should not be nude

as alwazs be safe and staz classz... i miss all of u and drop me an email if u have the time
adam

Eurotrip Update 1- Croissants and Chocolat

2005-12-17T13:18:00.000-05:00

Email sent July 11, 2005:

ok these kezboards in swityerland are kinda weird and have the ys and zs reversed... plus i cant find the apostrophe so bear with me... heres the update so far and ill be brief

we arrived in paris and tried to book an immediate train to interlocken but thez were full so we got one for the next morning and spent the night in paris... of course on the flight there i ordered the free champagne, luke and stared deeplz into each others ezes and i toasted to "well alwazs have paris"... no were not gaz... oh zea, and i also ate a croissant as soon as i got to france... it was delicious... but instead of enjozing the last bite i placed it on the ground and stomped on it... go USA

so the first night in paris we checked out notre dame and i swear i saw a hunchback swinging from the flzing butresses onto the bell tower... but then i realiyed it was this kid named clzde that i used to go to high school with who we all called quasimodo on the bball team... from there we ate dinner at an indian hookah bar... and zou all know how i deal with indian food, so i went with a fine meal of hookah...

the next morning we left for interlocken swityerland but got on the wrong connecting train and ended up going to montreax were thez have one of the top jayy festivals in the world that we caught... it was sick... i saw crosbz stills and nash perform a duet with talib kweli and the roots...

im totallz kidding bout that... instead we saw a g-d amongst men... PIERO... this italian indz pop rocker who looked like a cross between michael jackson and jonnz depp circa 1992, had the stage presence of bono and the voice of axl rose.. and he plazed songs from probablz 15 genres... opera, rock, pop, rapped, beatboxed, acoustic ballads, latin samba, metal... changed wardrobes to match the genre of the song, at one point putting on a white frock mid-song!!!! hahahaha, luke and i were dead sober and freaking out, seriouslz it was one of the most fun shows i think ill ever see.... even his own band coudlnt take it all seriouslz but it was amaying... later though the whole roots band walked bz us while we were having a few pints at an outdoor cafe and queslove gave me a peace sign... i smiled

so now were in interlocken where we did an amaying waterfall hike zesterdaz and signed up to go skzdiving this morning but its rainz so hopefullz well be able to jump tomorrow... skzdiving in the swiss alps is supposed to be unreal... were eating incrediblz well, last night our dinner was 2 bags of potato chips, a half bar of chocolate and 4 pints of Uder Frau dark ale

all is all weve gotten lost a lot, met a ton of hzsterical characters like the girl who worked at our hostel and spoke english with a swiss-new jersez accent... and when i complimented her on her english she seriouslz goes "yea i know its good... fyi to get into the WILLAGE its to the left"... hahaha, luke and i lost it... k thats it for now, please write and share stories from home... and checkout QuickHomeFix.com if zou get a chance (shameless plug), its changing the world

be safe and stay classy
adam

SAS Email 10 - Venezuela

2005-05-03T13:29:00.000-04:00

Okay, well as many of you know by now, I’m back in the US. We docked and disembarked in Ft. Lauderdale, Florida on April 28th, and it’s been a slow readjustment period since then. But first let me detail my Venezuela experience, before I forget any of it…

So April 21st we woke-up in Laguaira, Venezuela. The view from the 7th deck off the back of the boat was breathtaking, as it fully displayed the entire city with its congested housing scaling up the countryside hills. Laguaira isn’t the nicest city and doesn’t have that much to offer the international traveler, so I went with three friends on the hour cab ride to Caracas. The ride itself was actually really cool, as we saw the diversity of Venezuela’s countryside. Some parts were barren, while other areas would have small colorful houses basically piled up on top of each other. In Caracas we ate a great lunch in the Las Mercedes area, shopped in a mall for a little while but couldn’t find a single thing we liked, then took the shadiest cab ever (the radio was a small cassette player strapped to the old drvier’s hip, and I broke the metal door handle in half when I pulled it to enter the cab) to the Chacaito area. There were a bunch of small indoor/outdoor markets in the Chacaito area, but because of it’s intense congestion there is a lot of petty theft. After coming from some of the Asian markets we’d been to, the truth is this Venezuelan one was pretty weak. At one point as we were walking through, a shop owner I started speaking to told me that at that very moment we were being targeted because we looked like Americans and that we were probably gonna get robbed soon. He told me to always stay alert, and not make a right out of the market to this other market because it was more dangerous than going to the left… so of course we went to the right to checkout that market, haha. Everything was fine although we still couldn’t find a single item to buy, and around 4pm we returned to the ship in Laguaira to meet up with friends. It was my roommate Jaret’s 21st bday, so it was celebration time.

Thirteen of us got semi-dressed up (the guys wore ties with shirts untucked while Jaret wore a full suit) and hired this clueless cab driver with a 14 passenger van to take us around. We found a nice place to get dinner that had a keyboardist and singer, ate a great meal, had the whole restaurant sing Happy Birthday in Spanish to Jaret, drank some good Sangria and beers, had Jaret do another “Strong Man Shot” (if you’ve forgotten what it is, please revert to my Hawaii email), and headed to a club. We searched for nearly an hour for “The Loft”, which was supposed to be the best hotspot and when we finally found it there was a huge line. Since I was the only one who spoke Spanish I was kinda leading the night, so I figured we should all get into character (it’d worked everywhere else and was pretty fun). I called over the main bouncer (guy with earpiece, suit, looking real serious) and told him in Spanish that I was at the club with 12 other people. I pointed to Jaret in his nice suit and said he was the son of the US diplomat to Venezuela, and I was only a friend of the family’s but because I spoke some Spanish I was asked to take him out tonight. Obviously we were here unannounced because of political security, but because it was the diplomat’s son’s 21st bday I took him here for a good time… Within 5 minutes the bouncer got us all in, free of the $25 cover charge, and once inside we were offered a private table. There was some crazy hip-hop videoshoot/show going on in the club that was pretty cool, and once we accepted our private table (we had to buy one bottle of liquor as a stipulation, which was only $40!) they took us to the rooftop where we could see the city lit-up in front of us. Around 1am, something weird starting happening and then we realized it… the roof was retracting! The roof completely retracted so it was open air and we could see the entire city all around us… just an amazing night and fortunately Jaret had a blast on his bday.

The next morning we flew to Managas, Venezuela to begin our “Orinoco Delta” field program… fortunately two of my best friends on the ship (Reed and Dennis) signed up for the trip with me, so I knew we’d have a blast. After the 1.5 hour flight, we had a 2 hour bus ride down to the delta, then boarded ships and took an hour speedboat ride to where we were staying. On that ride through the Amazon (the Orinoco delta is an extension of the Amazon) we saw monkeys in the trees and river dolphins in the water. Our lodging was on a small island with waterfront wooden cabanas on stilts, and the three of us got our own cabana on the water itself… plus for some reason they had a caged jaguar and puma on the island, with the puma being our next door neighbor. The first night we arrived late from a flight delay so we basically ate a great dinner, had some drinks (full bar at the lodge, and once the bartenders starting talking to us they got hammered and couldn’t stop handing us free drinks), relaxed by the waterfront, and passed out once Reed had pushed all three of our beds together to make what he called “the world’s best and biggest California king.”

The next day was one of my favorite of the entire voyage… in the morning we were up early, boarding our 15 person boats, and went for a jungle walk. This was no hiking trail, we just stopped by a random entrance to the jungle and got out of the boats. Our main guide Mario (think Venezuelan Crocodile Dundee… this guy was rugged) and our Orinoco guide Raphael (only spoke Spanish, small smiling guy with 6 fingers… all of his fingers except his thumb were completely gone from one hand… we all speculated he chopped it off with his machete but he later told me he lost it in a farming accident) led the way, with Raphael just cutting down trees or brush with his machete and walking ahead. They’d stop every so often to show us cool stuff like a tree root that contained water, which they cut up and we drank from, and a tree that when you cut into it literally started bleeding this red blood-like liquid. After the hike we had a delicious lunch of fresh-made pita bread, some tuna concoction, cuba libre (rum & cokes) and many many beers. Once we were pretty liquored up, we went back on the waters and sped around on the boats for a while taking it all in… the Amazon was just incredible, with the indescribably sights, sounds, and the way these local Warao people lived was amazing. The children wore almost no clothing, had pet tucans next to them at times, and families lived by themselves on wooden-stilt huts on the water.

We stopped in one large village, which basically meant it was a bunch of open-air wooden stilt huts on the water with a 500 foot boardwalk connecting them. We spoke to some of the locals (they had their own dialect but a few spoke some Spanish), played with the kids, and after an hour were off… but it began to rain, and rain hard. At first we covered ourselves with plastic tarps, but realized it’d be so much more fun to get wet so we took em off and basked in the rain while speeding around in the boat. There’s just this feeling when you’re in boat, traveling across the water while warm rain is drenching your body, and I can only describe it as elation. Once the rain stopped after 15 minutes, the intense sun came out to dry us as we went through this one narrow pathway to search for anacondas. Unfortunately we didn’t see any, but from there half the 40 person group went back to the lodge while the rest of us stayed to go swimming in the Amazon. After a few flips, pencils, and splash contests, we just chilled on the boats while witnessing a tranquil blue sunset with a full moon ahead of us.

That night at the lodge was a blast as I befriended this bartender named Ricardo who was obsessed with chess. I’ve probably played chess ten times in my life and this guy was studying to be an official referee, so during our first game after one of my moves he’d suddenly start putting the pieces back in their original positions to start a new game. I was in shock, asking him what the hell he was doing and he just goes “I resign to you, I want this game to be fun, this one will be mas-sac-ray”… I’m like “what the hell is mas-sac-ray, why’d you restart the game” and he just writes on the napkin “massacre”, and laughs and goes “it would have been av-a-lancha”… Hahaha, so I laughed and agreed I’d probably done something that would have led to him pummeling me, although I had no idea how, and then he proceeded to whip me handily the next game. A few cuba libres and Polar beers later, Dennis and I were playing for a huge Pride Dollar, and I’m proud to say the victor was yours truly. We also had this delicious beef dinner, and through a little Spanish charm I got a 2nd plate from the cook. I was feeling pretty good so I ate the 2nd dinner alone with just fingerless Raphael and over this 45 minute Spanish conversation he told me all about his life, his family, the Amazon, the people and Venezuela itself. It’s simple things and connections like that that I take the most from on this trip, more so than anything I could see in any museum.

The next morning by buddy Dennis was pretty damn sick, probably a combination of overexposure to the sun, dehydration, drinking, and maybe something he ate. Of course, he was in the tiny bathroom (our shower was literally a faucet head, with water coming out like it was a hose) making use of two out-holes simultaneously so Reed and I decided to snap off a bunch of pictures. You can find one posted as my last picture in my online Venezuela album, which his family apparently had framed and was sitting on his desk when he returned home. The morning consisted of a few short boat rides, meeting a fisherman floating in his boat which was a hallowed out tree trunk, and then we fished for piranhas in the river for a while. That was really cool, although frustrating because they’re smart fish and would eat just the bait but rarely take the hook… although we probably caught about 15 piranhas in all and my buddy Reed somehow managed to hook a small fish by its tail. We then took the boat, bus, and airplane rides back to the ship and boarded at 9pm… from there we sailed back to the states… thus concluding my in-port experiences.

One thing I haven’t detailed much, if at all, are my experiences on the ship. While this may be the case, they were just as amazing and integral to the trip as the in-port events. My classes on the ship were highly educational, three of my professors were outstanding including one who is by far the best lecturer I think I’ll ever witness (Lawrence Meredith… buy his book called “Life before Death”), and I had countless unforgettable days and nights on the ship (themed pub nights, dances, open mics, the talent show, the Ambassador’s Ball, jams on the 7th deck, improv shows, movie filming and screening, etc etc etc).

The morning of April 28th at 6:45am I was awoken by the PA system, but there was no voice or announcements. “Coming to America” was simply played in its entirety, and then the PA went off… It was the perfect wake-up call, and once I went up to the 5th deck after breakfast to lookout on the crowd I spotted my grandmother (Ma) in a classic purple jumpsuit holding two large red balloons, which read “Welcome Bugika!” I know I’ve done observations on several ports, but my list of observations upon returning to the US could go on for pages, and it’s one of those conversations I’d love to have with people face to face. I’ll just say this, the largest culture shock I received on the trip was neither India nor Africa, it was returning to the United States. In terms of my usual insight, I think I’m gonna address the trip experience as a whole.

Before coming on this trip, I saw a lot of great travel quotes by various philosophers, politicians, and other famed figures. I used personal quotes like “You can sleep when you die”, “When in port…” and “Don’t be a tourist, be a traveler” as mantras throughout the voyage. It seemed like just when I needed a certain motivation during the voyage I would find some inspiring quote from a song lyric, novel, textbook, professor lecturing, movie, engraving at a site, or anywhere else that I least expected it. I’d never really enjoyed quotes that much because I thought they were so cliché from hearing many speeches (hence my Africa email quoting the brilliance of Lonnie), but now I realize how perfectly fitting some can be. So allow me to share my opinions relating a few of my favorites…

Proust said “The real voyage of discovery exists not in new landscapes, but in having new eyes.”

For so long I loved this quote, especially during my moments of discovery on the voyage. I felt myself changing; thinking and seeing things from a completely new perspective. But upon returning to the US, and the strange disorientation that I felt in a place I thought I was so uncomfortable with, I’ve realized the error in Proust’s quote… While the real voyage of discovery may lead to an altered perspective, it does not result in new eyes. Inside I am still the person I was when I left, and there is no way that I can lose the pre-voyage experiences and views I’d held. Together those views are still a part of me, but they consisted of only one angle. I looked at the world through a single eye, which as most know leads to only a two-dimensional view. This voyage has given me a second perspective, one which is completely different but still complementary to my old views. To extend the metaphor, with this second eye, the world can take a three dimensional view and flat shapes become raised objects. It is not fresh new eyes that should come out of a voyage of discovery, but having two eyes to created a three dimensional worldview incorporating the experiences and ideologies of both past and present, East and West, That is why I encourage all of you to travel to places outside of your comfort zone, like India, Vietnam and South Africa, where you will be forced to accept a worldview containing all three dimensions.

And I hate to bring religion/spirituality into this because it’s always a touchy subject, but I think it’s a necessity after all the things I’ve been fortunate enough to see and learn about… Many of you are firmly entrenched in some religious tradition, which may be your greatest strength and confinement at the same time. That’s what my religion was for me for a very long time… I know others put me in a box because I’m Jewish and I put myself in a box as well, thinking that I could only believe what my religion allowed for and never questioning that edict. I also didn’t look intensely into any other religions except Christianity and Islam, and in doing so was completely ignorant to many of the beliefs of others… Now I realize that neither Buddha nor Muhammad were ever to be revered or seen as G-d but as merely mortal men, that there are an estimated 30,000 translation errors alone in the King James translation of the bible from the previous Hebrew version (as told to me by a reverend), that there is no reliable written record of the Torah in Hebrew until the 10th century BC… I urge you to ask questions about each great faith- Why are Christians and Muslims so inclusive, wanting everyone in the world to join their faith? Why are Jews so exclusive, wanting no one but born Jews to be a part of their faith? Why are Buddhists neither? Each religion contains several great truths, but if you are willing to make such a large commitment to one religion I suggest you at least learn about the others. And I’m not limiting that to saying Catholics should know about Protestants, Jews should know about Muslims… You should learn about the Suffi mystics, Hindus, Sikhs, Caodaism, Taoism, Judaism, Confucianism, Buddhism, Baha’i, Christianity, Islam, and the list goes on. Huston Smith said “If you know only one religion, you know no religion”, and I couldn’t agree with him more. There is so much beauty and so much to learn from each religion, and we tend to stigmatize certain religions into a few stereotypical beliefs… don’t do that, learn about them as a whole, and ask critical questions. Still keep your religion close to your heart, but try considering the validity of others. The thing that hit me really hard, was when I thought to myself that if G-d is such a great and positive force, why would most of the world believe so firmly in some religion that was completely erroneous? Most of the world does not have the same religious beliefs as you, so either G-d wants to trick most people on Earth to be completely wrong except you, or maybe there’s something bigger going on here… maybe they each contain a correct piece to the puzzle…

Lastly, Professor Meredith in his commencement speech proclaimed, “Socrates said the unexamined life is not worth living, but I say the unlived life is not worth examining.” That’s my mantra for the future.

For those of you that read through these pseudo-journal entry emails of mine, I hope you enjoyed them. Please feel free to write, call or tell me how you felt about them, especially if you have some counter views which I’d really like to hear about. Sorry for making them so long, but now that they’re complete I’ll have something to look back on in years to come.

As always, be safe and stay classy,
Adam

SAS Email 9 - Brazil

2005-04-17T13:28:00.000-04:00

Hey everyone,
Greetings from the Atlantic Ocean, it's nice to finally be back on
this side of the world. First off I want to send out a belated happy
bday to my long-time friend and future legal representation, Harrison
Whitman… And to those of you who've written me in the past week or so
(you know who you are), thank you so much for keeping me updated on
your lives, you have no idea how nice it is to hear from those of you
back home that I've missed… We're now only a few days from Venezuela,
and 9 days from returning home to Florida. Today is our "study day"
before the next two days of finals, so the answer is yes to all of you
that ask if I have classes. I just figured most of you would be more
interested in my in-port experiences than the lectures I attend,
although some of them have been really great… But I digress, now onto
Brazil-

There's a unique vibrancy to the nation of Brazil that's unexplainable
to those who haven't been there but incredibly palpable as soon as you
touch Brazilian soil. The culture and people are just so rich with
life, and it's a truly contagious feeling. We docked in the city of
Salvador, which is a pretty diverse place of development and lack
thereof. The first morning I walked around the Pelhourino area, which
is the more traditional, older part of the city. Imagine cobblestone
streets, small cafes, great little restaurants, art shops everywhere,
a few street vendors selling handmade crafts… I felt like I was in
Spain somewhat. Crime is a pretty big problem in most of Brazil (a
friend of mine had his camera stolen out of his hand within 30 mins of
getting off the boat) but I was fortunate that I never encountered any
of it. So I walked around with a few friends, through this great
market called the Mercado Martel, saw some Capoiera (the sweet martial
arts fight-dance of Brazil), ate a great lunch, and did some solid
shopping. The prices are relatively cheap in Brazil, but not quite
like Vietnam, China or India… after that morning spent taking in
Salvador, we went to the game.

We were so lucky in our timing, because the morning we arrived there
was a huge soccer game between the state of Bahia (where we were) and
Vitoria, two of the top teams. A bunch of us paid this tour company
$15 for a ticket, transportation and a beer. At the game, beers were
75 cents each… a real stretch from the $6.50 at MSG or Fenway. So
needless to say, we got pretty liquored up, and made our way into the
heart of the craziest Bahia section we could find… I have some videos
of it that I'll show people when I get back, but let's just say it was
bananas. The first half had no scoring but I still had so much fun.
The second half though, we (Bahia) scored first and it was absolute
madness… Our section was going crazy, drums playing, shirts swinging
over our heads, everyone jumping, chanting, singing, it was just
awesome. Vitoria struck back though, but soon after that we scored a
sick goal that led to the biggest eruption I've ever witnessed at a
sporting event. These guys around me seemed happier than they'd ever
been in their lives… I swear some of them woulda given up their first
born for a Bahia goal. Unfortunately, Vitoria scored in the final two
minutes of the game and it ended in a tie, so the Bahia fans weren't
too happy with the conclusion, but the game as a whole was one of the
true highlights of my trip… A Brazilian soccer game was one thing I
didn't think I'd get to experience, but sometimes things just work out
in your favor.

The rest of the night was spent having a great time in Salvador,
crashing at the Hotel Ibis, and the next morning I did some more
shopping and chilling. I ate a great meal at this beachfront café,
and watched the sunset on the sandy beach be low. The view was
slightly obscured by the two 50 year-old guys in speedos who decided
it was time to do their callisthenic stretches and pushup sets. Just
try to picture this beautiful Brazilian sunset in front of you;
patched clouds with pink and white hues, sounds of Portuguese
conversations and samba music, a group of guys playing soccer-style
volleyball to your right (volleyball with no hands, only feet, chest,
head, etc), beautiful women in thongs to your left… and two hair dudes
in speedos doing hip swivels for fifteen minutes right in front of
you… Ahhhh, Brazil.

That night I jumped on a small tour at the last second to a Candomble
ceremony… Candomble is a religion only found in Brazil, it's similar
to the Santoria of Cuba… it's a hybrid of Nigerian animism (brought
over by the slaves to Brazil) and Catholicism (many missionaries were
sent to Brazil from Portugal and Spain)… The ceremony itself started
off pretty boring, as everyone there was wearing white (including our
small group of students) and we just watched these 20 women and one
man do simple dances to the intensely rhythmic drums while slowly
walking in a circle. After literally an hour of these small dances,
they took a break… I will admit the drumming was pretty intoxicating,
but I was hoping some men would come out and do some more exciting
dances or something… when the women and one man returned after a 10
minute break to do the same dances I was pretty disappointed, and then
after about 15 minutes of the dances, it happened. The guy got
possessed! He started shaking, convulsing, had to be held in place,
then his eyes closed and he started doing the dances but with this
incredible passion. And when one of the drums or bells would be
rattled he would stand erect and convulse in this eratic dance (think
a combination between Elaine from Seinfeld and Carlton from Fresh
Prince). It was really crazy, because his eyes were shut he almost
crashed into us seated around the main floor a few times, and then all
the sudden one of the elderly women (she was probably 75) became
possessed too! She started shaking also, her eyes shut, and she began
the dance as well. We all just sat there in awe, and then after 15
minutes of watching them dance, there was a stirring in the audience…
About half of the 40 people watching the ceremony were locals, and one
of the local woman got possessed too!!! Her head was down, her arms
shaking uncontrollably, and a few other local woman had to slowly
escort her out of the room. We left after about two hours, with my
mouth wide open in half shock, half awe. Unlike my roommate Jaret
(who told me he'd had the Holy Ghost enter his body and spoken in
tongues before), I'd never seen anything like it. My brother and I
sometimes watch BET on Sunday mornings for fun to watch the preachers
touch people's foreheads to make them go nuts, but seeing someone get
possessed in person and especially in a Candomble ceremony was
something that just blew me away… Some of the other students were
skeptics, and although my personal religions beliefs don't lead me to
believe there were orixas (Candomble spirits) actually entering their
bodies, I don't doubt that they entered a trance like state and that
they're physical reactions were geniune… The whole event just
reaffirmed my feelings about the incredible power of our mind, and how
our bodies are merely slaves to the incomprehensible powers of the
mind… After the ceremony I quickly packed a bag and headed to the bus
station with 10 friends to catch the 11:30pm bus ride to Lencois.

Okay, now I know in my last email I said that Capetown was my favorite
city in the world. But as any of that know me well know, I have a
small habit of referring to everything as the greatest, best,
favorite, etc. So, I have to make a small amendment to that statement
from the previous email. Lencois equals Capetown in my eyes, although
they couldn't be more different places. I've decided this is how I'd
put it: If I could live anywhere for a few years it would be
Capetown, but if someone told me I had just one month to spend
anywhere in the world it would hands down be Lencois… The six hour bus
ride there from Salvador was a great start to the trip, as it was a
perfectly clear night and the dark sky out the window was blanketed
with beautiful stars. With that omen, I knew Lencois would be
special… We arrived at 5:30am, and went immediately to a small hospeda
(Hospeda de Arvoles… basically a small hostel) where we napped for a
few hours… Lencois is a very small town in the heart of the interior
of Bahia (Northeast Brazil). There are only a few small main
cobblestone streets in the center of the town, basically no crime, and
the people are so great. They're all kind of like Brazilian hippies;
completely fun, kind, loving, all do capoeira, hike, rock climb, and
basically enjoy life… The entire town even has its own handshake too,
how sick is that!

So we got our guide Luan that morning, and she took us on a 9 hour
hike. We just set out walking from the center of town outwards to the
trails, and the hike consisted of really diverse terrain, beautiful
vistas, lots of lush green, waterfalls, huge boulders, stopping and
swimming in the river/pools, and a few stops to rock climb (as in
harnesses, clips, ropes… real rock climbing). It was a great day that
neither words nor pictures can really describe, and that night we had
a ridiculously good meal… In Brazil most dishes at restaurants are 2-3
people, so when I saw chicken parmesian (which I hadn't had all trip)
my eyes lit up. Luan told me to get a half order, and then when my
own full plate showed up with 4 chicken parms she bet me I couldn't
eat the whole thing (Mom you woulda def laughed at that one). So I
proceeded to eat all four chicken parms, had room on the side for some
steak after, and won a nice gift from Luan on the next day's hike.
After dinner though, we went to the small main street in town and
bar-hopped between the two tiny bars, drinking on the street and
listening to some great music. I had a few conversations with some
locals and other international travelers in
Spanish/Portuese/Spanglish, which was cool as hell. Around 1am almost
everyone had gone back to the hospeda, and there were 20 total people
left out on the street when this local guy began singing and playing
the penny whistle. He led us in clapping rhythms which he'd sing,
play and dance over… it was pretty funny but had such an authentic
feel to it… again just a really cool thing I was able to be a part of.

The next day's hike was really tough. It took about 10 hours, and
consisted of some incredible waterfalls, rainbows, natural pools,
boulders, trails, jungle-feel, etc. The first long leg ended in this
huge waterfall, which is supposedly the biggest in all of Bahia. We
did some cliff-diving too, and I had a really cool meditation with two
friends on this small rock ledge about 50 ft up directly across from
the waterfall. We tanned on the rocks, ate lunch, and headed back.
After the hike all the way back we continued on to the natural rock
slides… The one slide we went to had a few places to cliff dive, where
of course we jumped off. The rock slide itself was this natural slope
with fast-flowing water over a rock formation. We would walk up the
side of the rocks until we were about 100 ft up, edge our way onto the
middle of the rock slide, sit down, and go for the 100 ft ride that
ended in the pool below. A few people bruised up their butts, but all
in all it was incredibly fun. After an hour or so on the rock slides,
we headed back, had a nice meal at a streetside café, and then took
the 11:30pm bus back… Luan and her boss offered me a job to return and
become a guide, which I doubt I'll take at but I know I'll definitely
be returning to Lencois at some point for a longer period of time.
They have this one 5 day hike where you sleep in caves every night,
and one cave is inside a waterfall! So if any of you are in Brazil,
definitely make your way to Lencois 

The final day was spent doing more shopping and touring of Salvador
and the Pelhourino area. I got two cool paintings, and walked alone
through three museums briefly (Museu Udo Knoff, Museo Eugenio Texeira
Leal, and the Afro-Brazilian museum). After one final delicious meal,
we headed back to the ship. I can honestly say I would have loved to
have spent another 2-3 weeks in Brazil, and if you're spending time in
South America you should make it a top priority to see Brazil… the
vibe there is just unreal.

Brazilian Observations:
- Brazil imported 3.5 million slaves during the slave trade era,
that's 7 times as many as the USA… so the people of Brazil have a
strong African heritage, influence, and look.
- There's all this hoopla about the women of Brazil and how gorgeous
they are… its not true… they're actually even hotter than people say.
- This was the country where language was actually the biggest
barrier. Everywhere else English was spoken by many, but here it was
all Portuguese and some Spanish… thankfully some of Senorita Sbrizzi's
lessons came back to me.
- Brazilian women are, in the words of Pat Powers, "fireballs"
- Men in Brazil don't really find it necessary to wear shirts in
public or on the streets… and they're tan and many have longer dark
hair… I swear I thought I saw Jesus jaywalking three or four times.
- According to my friends who went to Rio, it's like "Manhattan on steroids."
- They love the samba in Brazil, and the inability of white Americans
to do the samba is probably why they love it so much.
- I hate to say the same thing multiple times and be redundant and
repetitive, but Brazil has pretty women

Finally, my time spent in Lencois involved a lot of personal
reflection. When you're on a 9 or 10 hour hike, you can't help but
collect your thoughts as you walk the trails. Obviously this happened
to me, but as I was rummaging through my various thoughts on the
second day's hike I realized I was staring down the whole time. I was
looking at my feet, rarely up at the trail. Part of that comes from
my paranoia about further damaging my ankle, but most of it is just
the natural reaction to hiking. That realization got me thinking
about the concept of hiking on a trail, and how analogous it was to
walking the steps of life… I was missing the views around me because I
was so concerned with planting my foot on solid ground. Maybe I
needed to look ahead of me instead, enjoy the surroundings, and trust
my feet to guide me to safe footings. That concept in itself I could
write about for pages, but then I also started thinking further… Many
people explain their personal ideas about fate by equating life to a
trail with roadblocks, forks, obstacles, etc. "We are walking on the
path of life". "I'm on the path to enlightenment" and "There are many
paths to choose from…" are all common phrases when describing not a
hike but life as a whole. So that led me to start considering the
fact that thousands of people had probably done the same hike that I
was on at that very moment. They had walked the same grounds, sought
the same destination, but no single person had taken the same exact
route as I had. And if they had taken the same route, maybe it was
the very step I was taking at that instant that was separating my
route from theirs… So every single step, no matter how small or large,
could be the one distinguishing step that defined the rest of my hike…
And on the hike we found moments of beauty in the rainbows, moments of
fatigue when we thought we couldn't take another step, moments of
solitude, reflection, social engagement, laughter, elation, boredom,
and frustration, but each of them could have been determined by any
one of my earlier steps. No single step was any more important than
any other, just like how each of life's moments is no more important
than any other. They are all so interconnected that no one can happen
without the others… We only look at the bright light bulb that's
illuminated, but equally as important are the thousands of tiny wires
leading the electricity to that light.

Then at one point we came to a river crossing, where we had to walk
through the water on wet stones. It was pretty hairy, but in order to
cross we took off our shoes and socks… To make sure I wouldn't slip, I
needed to grip and feel the rocks with my toes. When the river got
deeper, we removed our backpacks and shirts… So when we came to a
major obstacle, when the path was no longer clear and uncertainty
permeated the air, we changed our current state by removing the
excess… we let go of the physical materials we thought we held dear,
and were stripped to the bare essence of our bodies… it was so
blatantly symbolic that when we faced that obstacle, we let go of what
we thought we held dear and only relied on our true selves… At the
end of the long hike there was the huge majestic waterfall, a reward
well worth the hike. But then it dawned on me that it wasn't the
waterfall that made the hike special… if I had stepped outside my
front door to see this waterfall, it wouldn't have been such a great
experience. It was the hours of hiking that was the true treat… like
my mom told me before I came on this trip, "Life is not about reaching
the destination, it's about experiencing the journey." I don't think
she could have been any more correct.

And for my final piece of advice: To alleviate suffocation, breathe normally.

We arrive in Venezuela tomorrow, and then I'm back in the states at
the start of May… I can't wait to see you all.

Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

SAS Email 8 - South Africa

2005-04-06T13:27:00.000-04:00

Before I begin to explain my experience in South Africa, I need to preface this email with a celebratory note- LIKE I’VE BEEN TELLING EVERYONE ALL YEAR, MY UNC TAR HEELS WON THE NCAA CHAMPIONSHIP! ALL YOU DUKE FANS (including my future Dukie sister and bandwagon father) WILL BE HEARING BOUT THIS ALL YEAR LONG. GO HEELS.

Also, I have a ton of April Birthday’s that I’ll be missing, so let me just say now to John Chernin, Big Sam, Liza, Dad, Noah “Well-well!” Marwil, Tedaldi Nation, Patty Goo and anyone else I’m forgetting, HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

Okay, now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, how can I begin to describe South Africa… The land of Nelson Mandela, apartheid, Afrikaners, Capetown, “The Power of One”, Johannesburg, and the passionate artist/architect/mango-fruit simply known as Richard Moss. I assume most of you know a little about the apartheid situation there, which was officially ended in 1994 with the release of Mandela from a 30 year imprisonment and the African National Congress taking over the government. While the situation is clearly improving, there is still so much progress that needs to be made. The contrasting white and black worlds of Capetown were plainly evident to even the common tourist, with some parts seeming so modern/developed and others out of a remote 3rd world nation.

With that said, I absolutely loved Capetown… It’s now my favorite city in the world, and I hope to return there for an extended period of time after I graduate from school. The waterfront where we docked was absolutely beautiful and full of life- shops, cafes, fine restaurants, a mall, jazz bands, all-male African township choruses (like the group Paul Simon popularized, “Ladysmith Black Mombazo”), musicians of all backgrounds, a performance amphitheater, an aquarium and a market all adorn the waterfront. The city then ascends up the small hills to the base of Table Mountain, which towers majestically over the entire city with its completely flat top. There are gorgeous beaches, extreme sports of all kinds, towering peaks, marinas, various faiths, friendly people, and pretty much everything I could want from a city. I’ve been fortunate enough to have traveled to a lot of places in my life, and no waterfront area that I’ve seen has been as contrasting or beautiful as in Capetown.

This stop was also the first country we’d traveled to where most people spoke English, and had a similar feel to anything back home. After disembarking, I immediately set off with my five closest friends on the ship to hike Table Mountain. We went up a trail through the incredible Botanical Gardens, which if any of you are ever in Capetown is definitely the route to take. The hike itself was one of the most diverse I’ve ever had; over 5 hours we encountered a jungle feel, rock climbing, dirt paths, ladder climbing, gardens, face scaling, flat plains, pebble hopping, small wooden steps, and other terrains. Upon completing our ascendance after 2.5 hours, we all climbed this massive irregularly shaped rock that was just so cool it can only be described with a picture. We chilled on top of the rock for a while, and watched in hysterics as two of my friends feared for their lives when climbing down this one tiny face. They were literally screaming in fear about a 4ft drop because they couldn’t see the small landing beneath them. Unfortunately the Cable Car wasn’t running because of the wind conditions, so we had to book it down the mountain by foot. After walking across the entire length of flat top of the mountain, three of us basically ran down the Platticup’s Gorge trail, which was a steep gorge with rock steps. We covered several thousand feet of vertical in 45 minutes, so my legs have been damn sore for days since.

That night I went on a SAS field program called “Township Music.” It was pretty cool and fun, the highlights included playing in a 60 person drum circle with locals, a homecooked meal at a township restaurant called Masande, and visiting a township’s pub where we drank, danced, and chilled with the people of the township while a great local band played a mix of funk, jazz and soul. From there we went to Long Street, which is where most of the bars are, and met up with some friends at a bar called Cool Runnings.

The next morning I jumped out of a plane at an altitude of 11,000 ft above ground. Yea I went skydiving in South Africa, and it was one of the biggest thrills of my life. The place we did it though had two small planes, one with room for 6 people (3 tandem jumps) and one with room for 4 people (2 tandem jumps). I went with three buddies, so we put out the odd finger to see who would jump with whom, and as usual it was me and my friend Dennis stuck together. When it came time for us to go up, we went to the end of the runway to wait for the plane, and as we walked out there Dennis looked at me and said “Hey if the parachute doesn’t open at least it’s a painless death, and that’s the worst case scenario”…. Nice confidence builder… When the plane arrived the pilot jumped out and started mumbling something about how he’d never fly the damn plane again… They took it back to the hangar for repairs, and we waited for an hour in suspense… Now my confidence was just sky high- I think I nearly sharted. Finally the plane was ready and we went up, I ducktaped my camera to my hand to take a video, yelled “Cannonball!” into the lens, and jumped out of the plane for a 30 second freefall. I won’t even waste time attempting to describe the feeling, I’ll just say you have to do it to yourself to understand the ridiculous rush.

That night I had such a good dinner at this great Italian restaurant called Hillenbrande’s on the waterfront (still relatively cheap though), and went to The Houseparty. I capitalize those words because we didn’t attend a houseparty… we threw a houseparty. My friend Jason had been talking about renting a house by the beach in South Africa since the start of the SAS voyage, and by emailing rental agencies was able to find one at a reasonable price. We had it for three days, and about 20 people chipped in $50 per night that we planned on staying there so we could pay for it all A big party was advertised for the 2nd night in the port, with drinks, a dancefloor, pool and live DJ. When I arrived at the party though, there wasn’t a DJ spinning the usual American hip-hop I expected. Instead, in the kitchen there was a live South African marimba band of locals! Hahaha, it was incredible, Jason had seen them(a bunch of guys about 20 years old called the St. Michael’s Marimba Band) playing on his township visit earlier in the day and offered to pay em to come and play that night at our party. There were three marimba players (huge wooden xylophones), some bongos, conga drums, and shakers. They were seriously jamming out; the music was so cool and energizing, as everyone was dancing to the melodic sounds. I realized they had a set of big conga drums that weren’t being used, and the lead player (he was insanely talented) motioned for me to join them, so I went up to play a little and ended up becoming a part of the band… I played with them for an hour and a half, until my arms felt like they were gonna fall off. Finally around 1:30am we stopped playing, the DJ began spinning, and the party felt Americanized… but all in all that night was one of the most fun of my life.

The next day was pretty relaxed, I spent some time at the mall and waterfront areas listening to the jazz bands, trumpet players, marimba groups and male singers. As dusk fell I was able to attend a nice service at a local temple, and converse with some locals for a while. That was followed by a great seafood dinner with about 10 friends, and the night ended at The Green Dolphin (jazz bar) watching a jazz quartet. The following day was a busy one. We found a relatively cheap day tour company that took four of us with a private driver to Cape Point and the Winelands. We stopped at Seal Island to sea a few thousand seals lying on rocks, saw a lot of the unbelievable coast during our drive around Chapman’s Peak, found out tons of cool info from our local driver Andre, saw where the Indian and Pacific Oceans meet at Cape Point, chilled by some penguins in the beach, toured the quaint wineland town of Stellenbosch, took a wine club tour of the refinery, had a wine tasting (ate my first piece of pure cheese… it’s still gross) and then returned to the waterfront. After a quick shower, we went to meet up with others to go to Vicky’s Bed and Breakfast.

For me, the experience at Vicky’s was the highlight of the entire SAS voyage thus far. Bathing in the Ganges was unforgettable, the sunset in Hawaii was breathtaking, the techno club night in Beijing was entrancing, being taken into the woman’s home in Vietnam was so moving, the red carpet in Hong Kong was a blast, but the night at Vicky’s exceeded each of those in some indescribable way. Perhaps it was because I had no idea about what Vicky’s really was beforehand, maybe it was because I experienced the very best and worst of South Africa at Vicky’s, I honestly am not sure… but it was something I wish everyone could go through. I’ll finish the email with a few stories from Vicky’s, but first let me finish detailing the last day.

After my night at Vicky’s I returned to the waterfront, where I sat in contemplation for a while. I showered on the ship, then went to the Two Oceans Aquarium alone where I walked around for a few hours and sat in front of the massive predator tank for a solid hour and a half. Listening to music, zoning out, thinking, napping, writing, I loved every second of the serenity in watching the tank. From there I went to the Capetown Synagogue, which is the oldest temple in South Africa, and was able to attend a Friday night Sabbath service… the service was really interesting because the cantor was accompanied by a powerful male choir of men and young boys, which was far more reminiscent of a Roman Catholic service than a Jewish one…. Clearly the European influences from colonization were still prevalent in all aspects of South African life… From there I returned to the ship, and decided I had to return after I graduated from college.

South Africa Observations:
-While English is the predominant language, in the townships and squattercamps they speak Xhosa too… which is one of those great languages with a clicking sound in the middle of many words
-Capetown and Johannesburg are huge rivals… it’s like Boston to NYC
-Descriptions of wine are the most absurd and ridiculous things I’ve ever read… “This quaffable mint julep rose petal arouses the senses in a zesty chocolate and banana-peel dream”… What the hell is this, fermented grapes or sex in Willy Wonka’s Factory?
-Even those who live in townships or squattercamps are very proud of their one-bedroom shacks as homes
-The music of South Africa is so great, everyone should try to get some CD’s of their music
-South Africa is the 2nd most murderous country in the world, and has more reported rapes than any other

Now onto my stories and insights. Obviously a lot happened at Vicky’s Bed and Breakfast, so I’ll explain what it is first. Vicky’s is “the smallest hotel in South Africa”; it’s really just a woman’s home in a township (therefore it’s basically a scrap metal shack) with two bedrooms for guests. She takes guests into her home, which is in the heart of the Khayalitsha township (1.5 million people in shacks, the largest township in S. Africa, it has a 50% AIDS rate). She’s rallied her community around the effort to ensure the guests’ safety, and when we arrived it was like a full community event. Children immediately ran up to us and asked our names, played with us, wanted to show us their homes, etc. We were in the epicenter of the place we’d stopped by earlier in the day to get a picture of because it was such a ridiculous sight to see hundreds of thousands of metal shacks so congested, and were welcomed so warmly by the locals. We all thought we’d be going to a small bed and breakfast hostel, probably near or even in a township… No no no, this was a normal shack in the middle of the township…. We were served a homecooked meal, drank and talked with locals, and spent the night bonding with young children, guys our age, and several elders. We taught each other handshakes, played each of our cultures’ music (some kids had brought guitars and small hand drums), and stayed on the unlit streets until 2am. The guy I had spent an hour laughing with as I taught him handshakes, ended up steeling some of our beers. The women of the community scolded him sharply although he never admitted to the crime, and I began to see past my initial naiveté. As four SAS students and four 18-20 year old local boys, we sat on a bench drinking and sharing stories all night. One local man then attempted to rob my friend, and again I saw the best and worst of the townships. Our group banded together to walk my friend home in the dark so he wouldn’t come under harms way, and then the local boys walked me back too.

When I returned to my shack where I was to sleep in a room with Dennis (so typical, Vicky randomly selected from the group of 20 and we end up in a room together) on a double bed with pillows that were embroidered with the words “Romantic”, there were four boys around 10 years old sleeping in blankets on the floor. We’d spent the evening with them, and told them to sleep on the bed while we took the floor. They smiled in appreciation, packing all four across the double bed. In the middle of the night I heard a zipper move, decided to get up and move my backpack closer to me. When I arose at 7am for breakfast, the streets were silent except for the local woman sweeping. Soon the children were everywhere, I spoke to Vicky about her situation for some time, and Dennis came to talk to me. In the night, the very boys who we let sleep on the bed, who had spent the entire previous night with us, who were to take us on a walking tour of the township and nearby squattercamp that morning, had stolen the cash (just $5) he had in his money belt. He was understandably bothered, but we didn’t tell Vicky because we knew how much trouble they’d get in. More than that though, I didn’t blame them… it was a product of their situation. A few people are murdered every single weekend in that township; survival is more than a catch-phrase for them, it’s truly a way of life… and taking $5 from the perceived rich white Americans is a part of that survival. It’ll be a long time before the problem is truly rectified, and it obviously begins with education, but they lack the educational resources. How many intellects are willing to teach or start a school in a township with almost no money and an AIDS rate of 50%? Vicky told me they had a library for 5400 families, guess how many computers were available to those 10,000+ people? 1. Until people are willing to extend a true helping hand to these people, I can’t find fault in some of them acting in that way… I would probably do the same if I was in their shoes. For us $5 is a sandwich at a local deli, for them it’s a full family’s meals for several days.

The township experience at Vicky’s was something that opened my eyes so much. The people were so welcoming to us… I’d be naïve not to realize it was partly because we had money, but their kindness was still so genuine. In the morning the boys took me around the township, over to the squattercamp where thousands more lived in 10 x 10 ft shacks, one room, with no water, electricity, or heat. The preschool was a one-room shack, the teachers made a little less than $100 per month. The townships were created in 1948 when the Nationalist Party was elected into the government and instituted legal segregation and racial degradation… aka “apartheid.” 85% of the land was given to the 10% white minority. Blacks were specifically taught in schools to underperform and learned only unskilled labor, and the best place they could live in were “townships”, which were densely populated areas of minimal land that were in close proximity to the major areas of work. 10 years after liberation from apartheid, the townships are still growing and densely populated. My friend Welcome (yes that’s his name) from the township told me if I was to walk down the street at night, I’d definitely be robbed and maybe shot. I didn’t doubt him, but at the same time I felt safe being with him and the other friends I made around the neighborhood of Vicky’s… It was Vicky who created all of that, by involving the entire community, making the township experience available to travelers like myself, and speaking with her was really the first time in my life that I felt I was in the direct presence of a transcendent person. I don’t want to demean those who have inspired me before, but Vicky had a presence that was astounding. She radiated inspiration, and not in a didactic manner but through her passion and sincerity. It’s because of her, and the things I was able to experience during that night and morning, that the visit to the Khayalitsha township will probably be the ultimate highlight of my SAS experience. I can easily write about it for days, but when I get home I’d be happy to talk to any of you about it in greater detail.

Okay, the last thing I’ll describe was what I realized while sitting in front of the massive predator tank at the aquarium. There were several hundred fish in that tank, effortlessly floating in their underwater world. As I zoned out while watching, I began to notice tiny subtleties. I took in the gestalt (sorry I wanted to be a psych major once) of the tank, and it all started to make sense. The hundreds of small and large fish were all swimming clockwise, most of them at a moderate pace. Obviously this was no big deal, until I noticed that there was one species consistently not swimming in that direction. There were five large sharks in the tank, and each of them was swimming slowly in the opposite direction of all the other fish. The tortoise switched between directions, often going up to the surface too for air, but it was only the sharks that swam against the grain at all times. Although I was in South Africa, I still had the Eastern philosophies on my mind mixed with the symbolism in nature from the Kenyan Masai Mara, so instinctively began searching for the deeper metaphor in the tank. I came to an initial conclusion, which I think you’ve probably reached by now. If you haven’t come up with the analogy of how the tank’s species relate to human life, reread this paragraph until you have one before scrolling down:

Is it that something to the affect that the dominant sharks swim against the masses?… That it’s those in life who go against popular conformity, who dominate their contemporaries, who are willing to swim against the grain, that climb to the top of the food chain. Is it something similar to sharks representing leaders in life and how leaders are those who go counterclockwise when everyone else is going clockwise? That’s what I came up with at first too, and I was satisfied with that. I too wanted to be a shark in life… But then I got out of my ethnocentric Westernized view, and tried to look at the tank from an Eastern standpoint. Instead of individualism, I examined collectivism. Isn’t the shark probably very lonely? Yes, he can eat the rest of the tank and enforce his will on them, but what about the fact that they’re all swimming along with companions while the shark is in solitude? Which one would I rather be? Moreover, aren’t the other fish far more important to the tank’s success than the shark? If the fish don’t create a system of uniformly swimming in the same direction, there is no organization. The tank doesn’t flow with serenity; it’s anarchy… chaos with fish swimming in all directions. It’s the fish who should be venerated, not the sharks. Yes, the sharks have the courage to swim against the grain, but without the intelligence and organization of the fish there is no harmony, there is no grain. By conforming to the group, they formulate the tank’s successful balance. So who would I rather be, a fish or a shark?... I sat on that thought for another 20 minutes, until it struck me. The answer was neither. It was the tortoise. The tortoise swam in both directions, assisting both the harmony of the tank and still striking out on his own path when necessary. When he approached the shark from the opposite direction, he simply altered his trajectory slightly and glided above the shark with ease. He avoided conflict, maintained the balance, remained an individual, and most importantly… was the only species to periodically go up for air. Even in the active world below the surface, every so often, the tortoise left that world behind to alone travel upwards for some oxygen. He never lost sight of the most important part of his life, the ability to look upward for help and get that breath of fresh air. I wanted to be a tortoise.

Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

SAS Email 7 - Kenya

2005-03-27T13:26:00.000-05:00

I know a lot of people like to start off emails, speeches, etc with profound quotes, so please allow me to stifle all originality and creativity in favor of class…

“If I had all the money in the world, I’d be in Africa son! With the babies!”
-Lorenza Hill, 2004

My esteemed colleague could not have spoken truer words when he exclaimed them from the passenger seat of a musty SUV on a foggy Providence Wednesday night last year… His breath may have reeked of the feminine martini he’d consumed earlier at Rira, but his words had an endearing quality as they triumphed over the radio sounds of throbbing base and cries of “Blah! Blah! Como Regetone!” Luke Tedaldi had been laughing hysterically behind the wheel along with myself in the back seat, but the primal cry of “Danzaaaa” we then heard pierce the night air furthered my desire to be amongst the animals freely roaming the plains of the Kenyan Masai Mara… Well people, last week that dream became reality.

We were sailing within 200 yards of Kenyan land around 5pm on March 17th, and as we meandered along the coastline tons of locals stood on the shoreline waving to our ship. It was a great welcome, which was further enhanced by the fact that Toto’s 1983 hit song “Africa” was blasting into my ears… A child of 1983, I was in Africa listening to Africa from 1983… sometimes I think the cosmos just align. Around 8pm I was told that the parents on the SAS-run “Parent Trip” would be boarding the boat at 9pm, so I was basically hit with the info that after 65 days away from my parents I’d be seeing them in an hour… I tried to brainstorm of ways I could screw with them (wear crazy clothes, glasses, fake piercing… anything to throw them off), but nothing came to mind in my limited timeframe so I figured I’d just let them off easy this time… Apparently not so… When my parents finally boarded the boat in promptly late fashion at 9:30pm, I saw them walking up the empty hall to the dining room where I was waiting. My mom was leading my dad (yes he’s just a puppet government installed by her to externally seem like the family leader) so I walked toward her smiling. For some reason she wasn’t making eye contact with me, just looking all around nervously and excited. I walked closer and she continued to look behind and around me, but not at my face. About 5 feet from her I stopped and yelled “Mom?!” She looked at me startled, her eyes widened, and the first words my mother said to me after 2 months apart was “Oh my g-d, you look like Ghandi!” Hahahah… I was neither completely bald, wearing a white robe, emaciated, nor peering through glasses… but somehow she got Ghandi… musta been the linen pants.

So I showed my parents around the ship and introduced them to a bunch of friends, gave them a few of the presents I’d bought them (Yes Erv just had to wear his double-sided Chinese silk robe all around the boat). That night I watched two movies with a bunch of friends to prepare me for the sites of Africa… Lion King and Baraka of course (PS- Rafiki is in both) The next day we toured the city of Mombasa with my four closest friends on the ship (My buddy Dennis has fair skin and long blond hair that he had in cornrows. That combined with his light-blue Indian corta shirt led to every local yelling at him “Beckham! Beckham!). The first thing I noticed in Mombasa was the heat, which was immediately followed by the overpowering smells. India had some unbelievably strong smells, the worst of which I can only describe at old cow poo mixed with stale garbage… but the smells in Kenya were just as potent. Some might even say “oooh, they burned the nostrils” (Scooter shoutout) The best description I can give of this one smell was like heated goat urine… it was just crazy. But the city of Mombasa itself was really nice, so we checked out Fort Jesus and then went to my parents’ hotel to hangout for the day. The highlights there were when my Dad and I went kiteboarding in the Indian Ocean and caught a few good rides, as well as my playing soccer on the beach with a bunch of locals. I got ridiculously lucky and scored my first soccer goal since the 5th grade when I played for Team Paraguay, and of course acted like a fool by doing the airplane and a few cartwheels in the sand. The locals laughed at me and joked in Swahili to themselves, I think the loose translation was “We should ship his ass to Mozambique.”… The next morning we flew to the Masai Mara, where we began our 4 day safari. I’ll just preface the safari details by saying that the Bronx Zoo will never possess the same majesty it once had…

The Masai Mara itself is a set of massive plains inhabited by every animal you’d expect in Africa. The “Big 5” that are most desirable to see are lions, rhinos, buffalo, leopards and geese... Over those 4 days we went on 9 game drives (6 of us in a landcruiser with our awesome driver Sammy (everytime we’d come to a crazy set of bumps or whatever he’d turn around and say “Okay, one more hold on!”) on a drive for 2-3 hours). Over those 9 drives we saw so many animals I can’t count, but the highlights were the giraffes, zebra, buffalo, warthogs, a leopard, several cheetah, a grouping of over 100 baboons running around us, a pride of 24 lions with a bunch of cute baby cubs playing all over each other, a dead elephant with it’s head already completely gone and body still being eaten by hyenas and vultures, a zebra carcass with it’s ribs picked perfectly clean but face still intact (minus the eyes, the vultures ate those), getting out of the car and walking next to three gigantic rhinos, and my personal favorite, the hyenas… They just remind me of a middle child; they do most of the dirty work but never getting the credit or fame of the mighty lion (older brothers) and never receiving the oogles of cuteness like the monkeys (younger sisters). So I’m deeming hyenas as future kings of the animal kingdom. They just look like animals ready to kill, which is the only thing I unfortunately didn’t get to see (an actual kill). My roommate on the ship told me they saw two lions mating (upon completion the male lion literally fell over, haha), and on his trip the Masai let them drink goat’s blood straight out of the neck, so I was a little jealous of that too... I’ll just have to wait to get home to ask Sam and Cornelio what it tastes like…

My personal favorite part of the trip was entering a Masai Village, which was mind-blowing to say the least. During the game drives we’d see a single Masai warrior walking alone along the plains with nothing but a spear, miles from any village. The village itself was probably half an acre, with about 15 circular huts made of cow manure mixed with thick mud. They had no artificial lighting, were the size of a dorm single, and the small window inside the hut brought in little to no light at all… It was definitely the least affected culture by modern society that I’ve ever seen. The people all wore beautifully colored outfits with ornate jewelry (most of which were necklaces, bracelets, and beads on their super-elongated ear lobes). They performed some songs and dances, and the men have a tradition of standing in a singing line while taking turns walking in front and jumping as high as possible while exerting the least effort. The man who jumps the highest in the village is usually rewarded with some of the most beautiful woman in the village, so my AAU days finally started to make sense to me… Also, when you see the videos on TV with Sally Struthers talking about sending food to children in Africa so she can personally eat it, and the children have flies all over their faces, that is not a misrepresentation whatsoever. I’ve never seen so many flies on the faces of so many people, especially the babies; it was absolutely nuts. As our group was supposed to leave I noticed a small cluster of five young kids (probably 8 years old) standing next to a hut, staring at me. I smiled, and they smiled back. I knew they didn’t speak any English (although some of the others who were in their teens had learned English pretty well through schooling) but I really wanted to connect with them in some way. I walked over, pulled out my iPod, placed my earbuds in the ears of two of the kids, and began playing some music… Their faces lit up. Eyes widened and teeth exposed, one of them began bouncing up and down to the music. Pretty soon I had a group of about 20 kids crowding around as I took turns placing the earbuds into their ears. I put on some older funk jams with hard baselines like Lakeside’s “Fantastic Voyage” and some George Clinton, and pretty soon we were all bouncing up and down to the music. I swear I’ve never had that many flies on my body in my life, but it was well worth the aggravation. I don’t know how well I’ll remember the animals I saw in the years to come, but the memory of those kids listening to my music should stay with me for a while.

The tents/lodges that we stayed in were really nice, and basically on the bank of the Mara River. It sounds so peaceful, but in the Mara River just 20 feet below my tent were hippos and crocodiles, along with baboons on the other side of the bank so that our “Safari Club” had two resident baboon hunters… What would you think if you met some guy at a bar, asked him what he did and he said “Well, I’m a baboon hunter”? I know I’d buy him a beer… It was especially crazy that around 5am the hippos would get all restless and start getting incredibly loud, so your 5am wakeup call came from the hippos every morning. My suitemate Phil once told me for some reason, “You shan’t be needing an alarm clock” and something about 7am, but that was nothing compared to the hippos.

Another highlight of the trip was on the 2nd night of the safari when we caught a mesmerizing sunset on the plains where you could actually see a confined rainstorm on the horizon. Right as the sun dropped and darkness fell, the storm moved toward us and it began to pour. We rode the rest of the way back to our safari club in the darkness, knowing full well that we were surrounded by wild animals and received the occasional flicker from flashing bolts of lightening. I really felt like I was in a movie, but the aspect that really enhanced it all was the music I was playing in my headphones… it was almost like a soundtrack. I’ve learned on this trip that music can completely change an experience, so when traveling I’d highly recommend getting the music of the local cultures to really get a full grasp of the places you visit. Plus, when you return home all you have to do is put on that specific song or album and you’ll be immediately transported back to those surroundings and memories.

In terms of my usual over-analysis of a personal anecdote, it’s difficult because there is one main event that sticks out but it’s a little to personal to share via email. What I will say is that it was pretty amazing to realize the harmony and balance of nature itself. For all that we try to force and impose on ourselves and the world to create some form of balance, it is nothing compared to the simple balance achieved by the natural animal kingdom. The way the animals work together AND in opposition to fulfill their distinctive roles was something I’d never truly appreciated until I was there to witness it in it’s purest form, and I think a lot can be learned from that. I wrote this short verse which I believe sums it all up:
From the day we arrived on the planet, and slowly stepped into the sun, there’s more to see than can ever be seen, more to do than can ever be done. There’s far too much to take in here, more to find than can ever be found, but the sun rolling high in the sapphire sky, keeps rising small on the endless round, it’s the CIRCLE OF LIFE, and it moves us all.

I blessed the rains down in Africa.
Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

PS: The last of the Big 5 obviously isn’t geese… but I guarantee Josh Cohen now thinks it is…
PPS: One night a girl on my trip apparently made a toast thanking her parents in front of everyone. Like all good parents, my parents informed me of this over dinner the next night. I never really got a chance to do that, but I guess I can still toast my parents via email right? So thank you for helping to send me on this trip, for caring enough about me to meet me in Africa, and for being the loving parents that you’ve always been. One day hopefully my kids will be as successful as your oldest child, as impressive as your youngest child, as tall and kind as your adopted children, and as appreciative as your middle one. You’ve given me so much, and if there’s anything you ever need from me you know I’ll be there.
PPPS: I can’t make the family vacation this summer.

SAS Email 6 - India

2005-03-13T13:25:00.000-05:00

Attempting to write this email is probably going to be one of the most
difficult things I've ever done, so brace yourself cause it's gonna be
long. During my six short days in India I pretty much experienced
every emotion in the book. The sights, smells, sounds… the life of
India are etched so indelibly in my mind but attempting to describe it
is basically impossible. It's like explaining to a man who's been
blind his entire life what the color blue looks like, it just can't be
done. So I'll just run through the incredible events of my time spent
in India and hopefully that will motivate all of you to visit her on
your own so you can create your own unique Indian experience too.

The night before arriving in Chennai I decided to sleep on the top
(7th) deck of the boat. All students are free to do it at anytime
and there were probably 30 or so of us up there that night. Obviously
I didn't sleep too much from the excitement, plus the fact that we
could SMELL India over the ocean when we were 1.5 days away was enough
to keep anyone awake. So I fell asleep around 3am, and was awoken by
the sounds of a foreign language at 5am. It was just so cool and I
wanted to prolong my first taste of India, so I kept my eyes closed
and tried to take in the sounds of these Indian men's voices around
me… after about five minutes I opened my eyes, only to realize that
all along it had just been a couple Phillipino members of the crew
playing hackeysack next to me. Haha, after that though I was pretty
awake and was fortunate to watch the complete sunrise from darkness to
daylight as we steered into the port of Chennai… The sun over the
Indian ocean is unlike any I've ever seen… it has the capacity to be
this perfectly defined circle that you can easily stare at without
discomfort. The intensity of the pinkish orange/red hue is so deep,
but it's confined to this perfect circle and it literally mesmerizes
you into submission. The best part of that morning was that the sun
was behind the clouds the entire time so you really couldn't see it at
all, but around 6:30am when most people had left to eat, a small
divide in the clouds began to open. Pretty soon, there was a really
small circular rift, and at that very moment the sun perfectly
intersected that rift and shined through. It was really crazy to
watch, and it only lasted for maybe 45 seconds, but for those 45
seconds the sky was absolutely stunning and it felt like "the heavens"
truly came together.

When we disembarked from the ship a few hours later, the total assault
on my senses began… The first thing I noticed was the intense heat,
which was followed by the even more intense smells. Literally every
20 feet I was overwhelmed by a new odor, most of which were unlike
anything I'd ever encountered. Then came the visual stimulation, as I
saw the city streets and people. The colors of India are so plentiful
and vibrant, and they're mainly seen in the architecture and women's
saris… I had always thought that the saris were a very traditional
dress that some Indian women wear, but nearly every woman of every
socioeconomic status wears one all the time. The designs and colors
and so unique, and they definitely accentuate the beauty of an already
gorgeous population of women… literally I'd be walking down the street
and be frozen by the beauty of some of the women, but the amazing part
was that it wasn't always the aristocrats. At one point a woman in a
train station was begging me for money and I instinctively didn't look
at her (if you make eye contact then they take that as assurance that
you're going to give them something), but after a few minutes I looked
her in the eye to tell her I didn't have anything for her and couldn't
speak because of how stunning she was underneath the dirt covered
sari… Okay so now that I've gone on a huge rant, let me stop
digressing and try to describe the events of my trip.

So the first morning I toured the Chennai streets with two friends,
mainly taking rikshaws (these scooter-taxi vehicles that are
everywhere in India) and stopping in a few markets. After a few hours
we returned to the boat to meet up with some friends, and decided to
rent a car and take a day trip to Mamallapuram, a town an hour south
of Chennai. On the way to Mamallapuram we passed the beach where the
tsunami attacked (we were driving on a road that it swept over) and
after 30 mins of driving we kept passing these groupings of makeshift
wood huts. We eventually asked our cab driver what the huts were, and
when he told us they were tsunami refugee camps, we decided to go into
one. So we pulled over, and the eight of us went into the village and
spent about half an hour talking with the elders and playing with the
kids. It was so sad to see how little these people had (the village
was 800 people), but so refreshing to see how happy some of them were
because they hadn't lost any loved ones, and it definitely made me see
how little you really need to live a happy life… in terms of materials
they had nothing, but they were rich in spirit. One other really
interesting part of the visit was when I was talking to an adult in
the community, and when I asked him if they needed money for housing
and food he said no… he said what they needed most was fishing boats
and nets, because they could make their food and homes, but they
couldn't remake their livelihoods without fishing supplies.

Mamallapuram itself was so much fun, it's this cool village littered
with ancient stone carved temples and monuments. We spent hours
walking around this one massive stone park, and saw another amazing
sunset. The main attraction is this massive Shore Temple right along
the beach, but we spent so much time in the stone park that the Shore
Temple was closed by the time we tried to enter and didn't even get to
see it. But the 15 minute through the village to get to the temple
itself was great, as there were all these cool vendor shops, friendly
people, and random cows or other animals crossing the unpaved streets.
Walking through there with one friend at dusk seriously made me feel
like I was in some movie about India during the mid 1800's… We ended
up eating dinner at a seafood restaurant called Moonrakers, where they
sat us on the roof and served us a feast that cost us a grand total of
$9 each including all our drinks. Dinner lasted about 4 hours,
because we got into all these great conversations with locals, the
highlight of which was when the owner sat with us for an hour and gave
us an inside perspective on India itself and the tsunami experience…
here was a guy who strapped his valuable possessions and family on his
moped and rode away from the rushing wave at 9:30am, then returned
only to have to flee even harder when the 2nd wave struck a little
after noon, and was giving us a passionate recounting of it all… it
was really something special to witness. He spoke of how his business
was getting crushed because he was used to Indians vacationing in
Mamallapuram and eating his seafood, but the Indian seafood industry
has been decimated since the tsunami… the reason- because many people
lost loved ones in the waves and feel that those who perished in the
waves became food for the fish, so by eating seafood they'd be
indirectly eating their loved ones! So we returned home around 1am,
and ride itself was pretty powerful; people were sleeping on the
streets everywhere… on bridges, sidewalks, under trees, in parks,
under awnings, even on the actual rode… the masses of people in
poverty were just everywhere. It made me wonder what it must be like
in the city of Calcutta, where 500,000 people live and sleep on the
street every single night...

The next morning at 4am I left for my field program to Delhi, Agra and
Varanasi. My roommate Jaret had been deathly ill with an awful fever
during the days leading up to our arrival in India, and he definitely
passed the bug on to me. While in line at the security check-in at
the airport, I had to sit down from nausea and general disorientation.
When I finally tried to get up and go through security, I fainted for
the first time that I can remember in my entire life… from then on I
had just an awful fever for the next few days, but fortunately I'm
over it now and completely fine. So we flew to Delhi and luckily had
a really light first day because I was pretty much feeling like my
head was gonna explode. We toured the city via bus, stopping at major
monuments and landmarks. We also spent some time at the MK Ghanhi
museum, which I personally loved (got to see his actual glasses,
meditation garden, and the place where he was assassinated while
walking to meditate) and thought was a humble but perfect tribute to
such an inspiring man. After that we saw this Baha'I Temple, which is
a really cool universalized religion with a temple that reminded me of
the famous Sydney Opera House. After that we returned to the hotel,
where I slept from 6pm to 4am.

The next day we took the 2.5 hour train to Agra, and I pretty much hit
the worst of my fever. We visited three main locations, the first of
which was the palace of King Akbar called the Fatehpur Sikra. King
Akbar was the first of several great Indian Kings, and while he had
every material possession he couldn't produce a son. So some holy man
blessed him, his wife had a son, and in 12 years with 32,000 workers
the king built these incredible palatial city called the Fatehpur
Sikra. All of the palace is made with a red stone, except at the
center of the main mosque plaza is a small building made entirely of
white marble, which serves as the burial tomb to the holy man who
blessed King Akbar. The next place we visited was Fort Agra, which is
where King Sha Jahan (Akbar's grandson) was jailed by his own son King
Auranzeb. Sha Jahan is the one who actually commissioned the building
of the Taj Mahal as the burial place for his wife (who died giving
birth to their 14th child), and when his son Auranzeb ascended to the
kingship he jailed his father in Fort Agra, where he could look out
during his final years and see the Taj Mahal where his wife rested.
Auranzeb was the youngest of four boys, and also happened to send the
head of his oldest brother to his father while in jail… nice kid.

The last place in Agra we visited was the Taj Mahal, which is simply
the most perfectly beautiful architectural work I've ever seen.
Looking at it is like staring at a picture, it just doesn't even seem
real. It's entirely constructed of white marble, with incredible
symmetry and simplicity to it… It was the only thing I've ever felt I
couldn't take a bad picture of, although I'm sure Lonnie Hill and
Donnie McGrath would claim they fall in the same category. We spent
about three hours there, and I felt like I could have stared at it for
days if my eyes weren't burning out of their sockets from my fever.
After our time spent at the Taj we returned to the Agra train station,
where we had to wait for 45 mins on the platform before taking the
late train back to Delhi… During that time we all gave tons of food to
the begging men, women and children, but it did nothing to change the
look of desperation on their faces. It was only after we began
showing them photos of themselves on our digital cameras, having the
children model for sketching pictures, and asking them to write their
names on pieces of paper, that those faces of sadness changed. It
taught me that emotional sustenance can be far more valuable than any
physical gift… it wasn't the food we gave them for 35 mins that caused
them to smile, giggle and wave while yelling "byeee" when we left, it
was the fact that we showed a genuine interest in them and
subsequently formed a bond…the next morning we flew to Varanasi, the
place I'd been waiting to see all trip…

If I was given the option to spend a day anywhere in the world, I
would have said Varanasi before the trip started, that's how badly I
wanted to see this place. It's the holiest city in Hinduism, the
place where the g-d Shiva and Ganges River (which itself is believed
to be a great g-dess) lived. Bathing in the Ganges (which
biologically is probably the dirtiest water on Earth, and I'm not
saying that as an exaggeration whatsoever) is considered one of the
holiest acts a Hindu can perform… dying in Varanasi is a desire of
every Hindu, because having your body cremated along the river
guarantees entrance into heaven. So there are nightly prayers
attended by thousands right on these steps leading to the river, and
every morning thousands of Indains bathe in the river and say their
morning prayers while immersing themselves in the water. Two years
ago I watched the movie Baraka for the first time with my boy Adil,
and there's a scene in the movie that takes place in Varanasi, and its
all I could think about for weeks after… since that moment I knew I
had to see the city and the river with my own eyes, and I feel so
fortunate to have had that dream come to fruition… not surprisingly,
my time there also exceeded all expectations.

The first place we went to was Sarnath, a small town 6 miles from
Varanasi, which is extremely holy to Buddhism because it's the site of
the Buddha's first actual sermon. We went to that exact place where
he delivered his first sermon, which was so cool when you stepped back
and thought about it, and saw the small temple and monument dedicated
to the event. My fever at that point was starting to wane but
definitely still present, so instead of spending thirty mins in some
archaeological museum I asked our tour guide if I could go somewhere
to sit down, rest, and meditate. He said sure, and pointed me towards
a set of gates and said "Go in there, it's the next stop for the
group, just tell them you're with SAS and they'll let you in and
you'll find a lot of grass." So I entered what was some type of
archaeological excavation site with a bunch of stone ruins, and found
a quiet spot under a tree in the grass to meditate. After a solid 12
minute session, I felt somewhat better and the group was entering
behind me so I went up to our guide and asked what this place was… he
told me, "This is the ancient temple site, where the Buddha came and
told his disciples of his enlightenment around 300BCE. It then became
a place where he taught his students, and is also where the Buddha
himself often meditated." I hate to use profanity here, but HOLY
SHIT! That one sent chills throughout my whole body- I'd just come
and meditated on the same ground where the Buddha had meditated
several thousand years ago… and of all the ways to do it, I sat under
a tree, and the claim is that Buddha attained enlightenment when
meditating beneath a tree... Obviously I'm no Buddha, but that series
of events led to a major "wow" moment.

The day progressed on, and as evening came our guide offered to take
us to the evening prayers. We took rikshaws through the downtown area
of Varanasi until it got too congested, and from there we walked
through the crazy streets. I can't even explain what it looked like,
with shops, colors, holy men, beggars, prodoce, animals, it was just a
site that only exists in that one place in the world. When we got
down to the steps that led to the waterfront, the prayers were just
beginning. We all got into small boats and floated out into the water
to better observe the rituals, and again I can barely describe what we
saw. There were two main platforms with 4-5 holy men leading a throng
of thousands clapping and chanting Hindu prayers, while the holy men
performed synchronized ritual movements with their hands/bodies and
eventually with these candletowers. But when we took the boats
several hundred yards down the river, the cremations were going on
with people gathering around small wooden bonfires that contained
human bodies. The smell of the Ganges, burning wood and flesh,
incense, India… it was all just something so powerful. After spending
about an hour and a half on the boats watching the cremations and
prayers, we walked back through the city and returned to the hotel
where I talked with our guide all night about India, Pakistan,
religions, his life, and my desire to bathe in the Ganges.

A few hours later we were back up before dawn, and heading back to the
Ganges for another boat ride to witness the morning bathing, prayers
and rituals. Luckily we were in Varanasi on the day of Shivaratri,
which is the anniversary of the g-d Shiva's marriage, so thousands of
people were descending on Shiva's holy city to pay homage. 50,000
people were expected to bathe in the Ganges that morning, so we had to
go to a less concentrated area from where we'd been the night before.
I told our 2nd guide (the local, Varanasi expert) that during the
night I'd felt a strong compulsion to bathe in the Ganges, and he
smiled and told me I had good Karma. He said "There is something in
you that wants to feel G-d's water, the rest of them are afraid but I
see that you know it will not harm you. This is good, if you want to
I will make time for you to bathe in the water." So we toured up and
down the river for two hours and watched the sunrise, but this time
the river had a very different feel. The night before had been much
more ascetic and somber in tone, while in the morning it had a more
celebratory, lively and almost divine feel (For those who are Jewish,
it was like comparing Yom Kippur to Rosh Hashanah). With Indian
voices singing over megaphones, the innumerable colors of the local
clothing, and the fervor in the people's actions, I just knew I had to
be a part of this unbelievable tradition. So as our boat ride came to
an end I took off my shoes, (I'd worn bball shorts to swim in), got
off the boat, and walked down the steps and bathed in the river next
to several locals. I said my prayers while immersing myself in the
water for 3-4 minutes, and simply got out, and that small act created
a big controversy on the ship…

Explaining my full reasoning for doing it requires a lengthy
face-to-face discussion but the shortest explanation is that although
I am firmly Jewish, I also believe there is an essence of G-d in the
most foundational elements of each major religion. I believe they're
all here for a reason and with some message from G-d, (like a stained
glass window each religion is a distinctly different color window
pane, completely unlike the others. And while the light on the
grounds ends up being red, blue, green, etc, it all comes from the
same original white light which is G-d) and through the various
narratives each religions possesses, that original message has been
somewhat corrupted (even in my religion). But at their core each
major religion has some essence of G-dliness, and if a core belief of
Hindus is that the Ganges River is G-d's holiest water, and they enter
it each morning with the intent of celebrating G-d, then surely the
water must be a part of G-d and I was fortunate to have the
opportunity to enter it beside these people when saying my prayers.
And yes the biological fact is that the water is disgustingly dirty,
but I really felt that if I entered it with the right purpose and
intent in my heart, then I would be completely safe (although I wasn't
intending for it to accidentally get into my mouth, haha). I hope I'm
not coming off as some religious zealot here though, I'm not trying to
preach at anyone nor claim that what I'm saying is right, but because
I'm sure many of you will be critical I'm just trying to explain my
reasoning for getting in the Ganges, which simply stems from faith in
no religion but G-d as religion himself.

Upon returning to the ship, all these people I barely know have been
asking me about it and apparently talking about it amongst themselves
(friends relay stories), and most of the people are critical because
they claim "oh the water is so dirty, you'll get soooo sick." But
over the past three days since we set sail for Africa I'd say almost
half the ship's been sick in some capacity (mostly the notorious
"Delhi Belly") while my fever and cold are gone and I feel great.

Oh! And when I got out of the water and was putting back on my shirt,
this cute Indian boy and girl stood in front of me laughing and
mocking me because I was a little cold and shivering. I made some fun
back at them, and we started talking a little. They ended up holding
my hands as we walked though the back streets of Varanasi for the next
20 minutes, something that absolutely made my week. I showed them a
few magic tricks and pretty soon I had a small posse of eight-year old
Indians walking around with me… Eventually I gave them a few pens and
bought them some fruit at a stand before exchanging hugs goodbye…It
was really cute and definitely fulfilled one of my fantasies, cause I
felt like we were the Newsies of India, hahaha…. (sorry for that
story, I had to be an idiot at some point in this email)

My last day in India was spent going to the Balamandir children's
orphanage for a few hours, which was so much fun. Six of us arrived
together and were immediately brought to a room of about thirty
five-year-old kids (no Josh Cohen, that's not 35 year old kids, it's
30, 5 year-olds) who were in a crazy mood from just finishing their
finals. We played games, sang songs, performed dances, etc. with them
while they crawled all over us. It was so cool how much communication
and enjoyment was passed between us and these children, without either
or us even being able to speak a word of the others' respective
language. Later that day I attended a short field program to one of
the "relocation slums" on the outskirts of Chennai, where we heard a
few lectures on the urban population growth problems of India and then
walked the streets meeting the people. They all asked for pens
(something you should always bring as gifts to 3rd world countries,
they LOVE them) which we gave away, and the children loved seeing
themselves on our digital cameras. Again, these were people who had
close to nothing, but by bonding together as a community were able to
find happiness in each other and their relationships.

INDIA OBSERVATIONS- Probably half the people aren't wearing shoes
ever… the woman are some of the most exotically beautiful I've ever
seen… men all wear some type of collared shirt no matter where they
are in societal rank (includes beggars) and some can grow ear hair 2-3
inches off their lobes! It's nuts!... cows are revered as holy beings…
animals, beggars, people peeing and showering on the streets,
rikshaws, are all everywhere… men hold hands when walking as a sign of
affection although not gay… nearly every woman wears a colorful sari…
traffic is crazier than in Vietnam, there'sjust no respect for rules
of the road… although the country is 80% Hindu and 16% Muslim, there's
still a strong historical Muslim influence all over… teeth are not a
high priority.

The best description I've heard of India is that with any one thing
you can say about India, its opposite is also true… They have the
poorest and the richest, the cleanest and the most dirty, the most
beautiful and most wretched, the brightest and darkest, and the list
goes on… The country is so diverse I feel like I could spend a year
there and still barely know it, but I urge all of you to go there at
some point in your life and see just how amazing India really is. It
was the port I was most looking forward to, and every expectation I
had was met and exceeded.

Please email me and let me know how you're doing,
Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

EPILOGUE
So now we're heading towards Africa with Kenya as our next port, which
will have such a different feel from the past few weeks I've spent on
the Asian continent… Today was actually Neptune Day, which is the
official day when a ship passes over the equator, so we had no classes
and went through the various Neptune Day rituals… I won't spoil the
secrets for those of you who will one day go from a lowly "pollywog"
to a revered "shellback" like myself, but I will say that my head was
shaved today. A few hundred guys did it, and over 30 girls too! But
the best part was that we all had absurdly rude haircuts for the days
preceding our heads being shaved, so most people had awesome mullets
while I attained my lifelong dream of growing a small beard and having
the same haircut as Bad Attitude Barakis aka MR. T… Yes Scott, the
A-Team lives on… dada dada da da, da da, daaaaa….

SAS Email 5 - Hong Kong & Vietnam

2005-02-28T13:23:00.000-05:00

***I know these are ridiculously long and probably contain a ton of extraneous info most of you don’t care about, but if you’re reading this far then at least you’re interested in some part of my trip… While I write these partially to serve as a journal when the voyage is over, another purpose is to hopefully evoke similar responses from you. I’m halfway across the world but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about your lives, so please take some time out of your day once a week or even month and write me a detailed update on how your life’s going… I’m interested and miss ya***

“Certainly travel is more than the seeing of sights; it is a change that goes on deep, deep and permanent, in the ideas of living.”

Well I know it’s been a long time since I’ve written, and the amount of things I’ve done and seen since my last email would be impossible to fully recount. I’ll try to condense Hong Kong and Vietnam into this one email, but in the process I’ll be leaving out a lot of the details I usually like telling people about (and hearing in other people’s stories too)… I guess I’ll start with my highlights from each country, this way if anyone goes to either of those places they can use this email as a travel reference.

Hong Kong- Although HK wasn’t my favorite actual location of the ports we’ve been to, I had the most amazing days there… it just seemed like everything I did ended up being something incredible, like the cosmos were perfectly aligned for me to have a blast. I was expecting an impressive skyline from my little background knowledge of HK, but I was overwhelmed with the skyline on Hong Kong Island… it seriously puts mid-town Manhattan to shame. My first day there was spent walking the streets of Kowloon (urban area… not as city-like as HK Island), taking the Star Ferry over to HK Island and taking that all in, visiting the incense-filled (so smoky the people who work there wear doctor’s face masks) Man Mo Temple, taking a sampan ride in Aberdeen (a must-do in Hong Kong… Aberdeen is basically a floating village with fishing boats, restaurants, etc all on the water), and then one of the most fun events of my life happened… As usual I was with my buddy Dennis (the kid with the long blond hair in the pics that my brother said “looks like a funny dude), and we were trying to get into the HK Cultural Center but couldn’t find an entrance. We ended up walking through this back glass door that had a velvet rope on the inside (but the door was open, and open doors are meant to be walked though).

The place was massive and really impressive, but totally empty. We were on the 3rd floor, and were shadily walking around the place. The only people we could see were wearing tuxedos and catering uniforms, and after talking to an usher we found out that in 30 mins they were hosting a gala/reception to kickoff the Hong Kong Arts Festival, with a 300 person guest list consisting of every major politician and player in Hong Kong… we snuck around the place for the next 30 mins, hiding in the bathroom for a little while, just so we could witness this major event w/o being kicked out (keep in mind we’re in shorts, t-shirts, sneakers and I’m wearing a backpack)… then we realized somehow we were on the inside section of the set of stairways. So we could technically walk down the red carpeted staircase to the main reception area where the press was surrounding the major players in their formal wear, sipping on cocktails and eating joir’devours (I know I’m butchering the spelling)… I don’t know why, but I felt this compulsion to walk down and join them, act like I belonged for some ludicrous reason and hopefully get kicked out… I just kept thinking you only live once, and how many people are given a golden opportunity when they’re 21 to crash an event like that in Hong Kong… so we got into character- We were part of a delegation of American college students hand-picked to be sent across the world from country to country to promote diplomatic relations with foreign nations… hahahha…10 mins after the gala started, maybe 15 people were in the velvet-roped press-surrounded section, and we walked down the red carpeted grand staircase. Grabbing a cocktail and roastbeef joir’devoirs (Ron Burgundy style saying “Oh this is delicious! You gotta try this.”), we walked up to the nearest couple and started a convo… … we said our ship was badly damaged to the point we couldn’t get to our suitcases so that’s why we were in such sloppy clothes… and after 15 minutes we had the business card and were good buddies with the General Consulate of Poland to Hong Kong… We said we’d talk to him later, turned around, and we were promptly escorted out of the area by security… definitely one of the most fun events of my life… the next morning the Arts Festival Gala was on the front page of the SE Asia newspaper.

We came back and played basketball at a nearby park with a bunch of pretty good Asians, then went out to Lan Kwae Fong (the crazy bar area.... a cross-section of streets with nothing but fun bars) and had a great night partying from bar to bar, highlighted by an all-Asian band playing American rock covers (Sweet Home Alabama, Ride Sally Ride, Bon Jovi, etc)… and yes they had a cowbell player in a see-through fishnet shirt. So that was just Day 1 in Hong Kong, so you can tell how much happened everyday there and how things just seemed to work out. I’ll spare you the extreme details of the rest of the days… Day 2 I took the hour bus ride to Kam Tim, a remote town with a 16th century walled village still in tact with people living there. The bus stopped by an elementary school so we went and played soccer and basketball for an hour with 12 local kids… then we walked through the narrow streets of Kat Hing Wai (the walled village), the entire mini-city probably consisting of 2 acres. Day 3 I went to Lantau Island (after morning classes) to see the Big Buddha, which is one of the most impressive things I’ve ever seen. It’s a 114 ft tall bronze Buddha, on top of the mountains of Lantau Island. I don’t know why I’d never heard of it before, it’s like a Hong Kong Statue of Liberty, but I loved it and was actually able to meditate there with a friend of mine on a grassy patch right next to the Buddha at the peak (The next day when flying to Vietnam I asked jokingly if there were extra 1st class seats and the flight attendant bumped me up… one other student out of 380 on the flight was in 1st class too, the girl Haley I’d meditated with next to the Big Buddha… crazy proof that good karma does exist!). We then toured the surrounding Po Lin Monastery, which fortunately wasn’t crowded by tourists like most other famous monasteries, and that was pretty amazing at well. I spent the rest of that day alone, which was nice to finally have time to myself, and checked out the HK skyline from Victoria Peak and picked up a few presents at the “night market” on Temple Street. The next morning we flew to Vietnam, and I fell in love.

I didn’t expect to find love on this trip, but I found it in the form of Vietnam. Until this trip Vietnam wasn’t a place, it was a war. When someone said they were in Vietnam, it meant they were in the war… I’ll never look at it that way again. The country is so beautiful and diverse and interesting, with the people being some of the most friendly I’ve ever met. We arrived in Ho Chi Minh City (aka Saigon), and I spent the first day there just walking around, trying not to get hit by motorbikes (they’re EVERYWHERE) and taking in the city. Then I went on a field program to Hanoi (the capital at the north end of the country) and Halong Bay (a 4 hour drive from Hanoi… a bay with over 3000 limestone islands). Hanoi was like Saigon, except not as bustling (like Boston to NYC) and had much more of the French influence in its design and architecture. We visited the Temple of Literature, Museums of Vietnam History and War, Ho Chi Minh’s Mausoleum (the more I learn about him the more impressed I am… from what I know he seems to be one of the best leaders of the past century), massive caves/grottos in Halong Bay (the Grotto of Heaven was a 150 meter, 150 foot high cave that looked felt like being inside a Disneyland ride), a traditional water puppet show, the 36 Streets of Hanoi’s Old Quarter, and the amazing rice fields of North Vietnam. We’d drive for 4 hours and the entire time be surrounded on both sides by nothing but rice fields- perfect rectangular sections dotting green fields, drenched in shin-high water, with one or a few Vietnamese farmers in their traditional hats, working the land. They were out there all day working alone and so hard, it was just incredibly humbling to see.

After three days I returned to Saigon, where I spent one day at the Cao Dai Temple (amazing, unlike anything I’ve ever seen) and the Cu Chi Tunnels. The tunnels were some 200km long, dug in dense soil and used by the Vietnamese throughout the war to demolish the Americans… it was really scary to see and the war hit home pretty hard when in the jungle and crawling through the tunnels, plus there’s a shooting range at the end of the tour where people can fire AK-47’s for a dollar per bullet… so as you’re walking through the jungle, seeing the tunnels, viewing spike-laden traps, I’m hearing gunfire ringing out and bullets whizzing through the air! That definitely added some authenticity to the experience, and furthered my already hyper-pacificist viewpoint on the world. Haha, I know a bunch of you will ask me if I fired the gun like most students did, but I didn’t, it just seemed so wrong to be recreationally firing shots on the sacred ground where so many people died gruesome deaths for the wrong reasons. But I do have a hysterical video of my friend Reed firing the gun while I’m standing next to him shaking my head and the loudness of the shot causing me to almost fall over. The next day we took a day tour to the Mekong Delta, which visually is what I imagined Vietnam to look like… colorful fishing boats, muddy waters, small islands, green vegetation, etc… It was an amazing day; if anyone goes to Vietnam make sure you take a boat tour of the Mekong Delta. Now we’re back on the boat and headed towards India, the country I’m looking forward to most out of any on the trip. That’s the roundup on my daily travels, here are my observations and insights (Although I lost my notepad I wrote a lot of them down in, I’ll try to recount as best as I can):

Hong Kong Observations-
The most contrasting place I’ve ever been to, towering skyscrapers rest on the waterfront next to colorful fishing boats and villages, while lush green mountains roll in the background… extreme rich live two doors from extreme poor
People don’t cross the street during the day until the crosswalk light goes green… even if no cars are around.
It was British for 99 years, so they drive on the wrong side of the road.
Best public transportation system ever, take the bus, subway, ferry, etc… they’re efficient and great.
Don’t spit anywhere, and if you throw out gum make sure you wrap it up… or else a $200 US fine
Very moral people- subway system expects you to tell them where you’re going and pay fee according to distance you’ll travel but they don’t enforce that
They love Bon Jovi, guys feel cool playing the cowbell, and fishnet shirts on men are apparently “in”

Vietnam Observations-
Motorbikes are everywhere, probably outnumbering cars 50 to 1
XXXL clothes are fitted for people that are 5’8”
There’s no regard for traffic regulations, everyone drives on either side of the street regardless of vehicles approaching… it’s like existing inside of a bee hive… its scary as hell at first but fun to watch
You can bargain for anything, most things are dirt cheap, and they accept American cash everywhere
The currency is called “Dong”… the corny jokes are unending
Children will wave and say “Hello” or “What is your name” everywhere you go… from bridges, windows or sitting on the front of motorbikes
The country is like a national dollar store
They all really do wear those straw hats, and prostitution and “massageee” are as big as rumored
Crossing the street is like playing a live game of Frogger
They have knockoffs of everything… DVD’s are 15,000 Dong… that’s $1
The food is soooo good, but never eat off the street… you’ll end up spending way more time with the porcelain g-ds than you want
Yes I did have a woman say “me love you long time” to me… and yes I even puffed on a cigarette for the 2nd time in my entire life just so we could say when we get back “Damn I haven’t smoked a cigarette since Nam”… and yes I’m a fool.

Finally, picking one travel story/insight would be really difficult because several incredible things happened over the past 10 days. One was the horribly deformed 18 year-old girl I saw walking by dragging her bottom on the ground (in a catcher’s squatting position, she couldn’t stand, that was her life-position and the disabled in Vietnam have no government benefits/aid), sliding her left foot forward a few feet and then pulling her right forward with her right hand because she had no power in that leg. After staring from behind her for 30 seconds frozen in shock and empathy, I decided to walk over and smile at her because I figured everyone usually looks away when passing her and I wanted her to see me smile as if things were okay, and hopefully smile back because I assumed she must be so sad. As I walked up from behind her I heard something… it was the girl… she was singing. I was just blown away, I walked 25 feet ahead of her, stopped as if I was looking for something, then walked back past her, smiled at her as she sang and she stopped to flash a true smile back at me… that one really shook me up.

The second was my night in Halong Bay, when I wasn’t particularly close to anyone on my field program so I wandered the streets alone for an hour or two, stopping in markets and makeshift stores. Eventually on my way home, a block before my hotel, I stopped at a small stand where three people were sitting. I wanted to buy a cool Vietnamese traditional wooden pipe they had, so they sent out a guy on a bike to get me one and told me to wait 5 minutes… he came back, but I had realized this was a stand where people stopped by and this woman served them tea and a smoke before they went on their merry way… I bought her a pair of gloves because she only had one, and she gave me tea and a bottle of wine that I insisted we share with everyone around. That turned into an hour of fun with the locals, they probably knew a combined 25 English words between 15 of them, but we somehow made communication work and laughed the entire time. Two SAS girls who were walking by had joined us for the last 15 mins, and overall it was a great great night. I wished them all goodnight round 11pm and gave the woman who ran the stand (she was 26 but looked 35) a big hug goodnight… and then she invited us back to her home to meet her family… 10 minutes through pitch-black dirt roads and we arrived at her home… it was one room, with her husband and 1-year old son, and her parents living in their own one room home nextdoor…

They brought out their best- bottled water in tea cups. We spoke and played with this adorable baby for an hour, they even offered me the only laminated picture they had of him (I had to refuse though), and invited me back the next night but I was leaving for Hanoi. These people had almost nothing, their walls were barren and they had one room with a bunk and regular bed… but they were so happy with their lives, so welcoming to me, and offered me nearly everything they had. That was definitely one of the most amazing nights of my life, and taught me things I can’t really put into words. All I can tell you is that when you travel, see the sights, but don’t travel places without getting to know the locals. Travel to meet the people, not just to view the locations where they live.

Lastly, at the Mekong Delta on the first island (Unicorn Island) we went to there was this ridiculously cute 6 year-old girl who greeted us at the entrance gate by waving at us for minutes without expressing anything on her face… completely stoic. She wouldn’t smile or talk, just waved. When we sat down to eat we realized she was at the gate outside the eating area, standing and still waving. We ate and a small musical ensemble played, and she remained at the gate waving expressionless. I tried to talk to her but she wouldn’t change her facial expression or say anything. Eventually two of my friends got her to say “Cintao”… hello… after they gave her their LiveStrong bracelet. I grabbed our guide and asked him to ask her my question, “If she could have anything in the world, what is the one thing she’d want.” Her friends were around now, and she was silent until he asked her friend the question… all of the sudden she exploded with chatter and laughter, pointing at Dennis, Jaret and me. The guide said “She wants to know, what is heavier- A kilo of cotton or a kilo of iron?” Hahahha, we exploded laughing, told her they were the same, and she nodded laughing and did a little dance in a circle. He then asked her the question for me, and she said a couple things before settling on her final answer. The guide told us, “She says if she could have anything, she wants her parents to have good health so they can take her out and play.”

We were all shaken up by that, agreed we wanted to adopt Vietnamese babies, haha, and eventually she ran off playing with her friends. As we left the island, our guide said he’d been at that island everyday for years. The girl always greeted everyone at the entrance and usually followed the tours around, waving without expression from the gate… this was the first time he’d ever seen her speak a single word.

If I’ve learned one thing on this trip, it’s to travel to connect with people…they’ll teach you more than any museum or book.

Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

SAS Email 4 - China & Hong Kong

2005-02-18T13:23:00.000-05:00

Well I know it’s been a while since my last email, but I’ve literally been going so hard since we arrived in China I haven’t had a free moment to write … I haven’t even had the time to get the hour-long massages for 6 bucks! Before I get to describing China, and a brief foreshadowing of my next email on Hong Kong (where I currently have been for 3 days), I’ll finish up on Hawaii.

We were on Honolulu for a few more days after my last email. More great times were had there, but the best part was the day before we left. I went with three friends on the bus system (amazing public transportation system in Hawaii… so reliable) to ManaWilly Falls (prob spelled very wrong), which was a pretty remote place about an hour outside the Waikiki area. The hike was really beautiful and cool (walking across small rivers, up stairs, down hills) and we met this crazy old local man named Dr. Dizon (claims to have worked for Time, Life, Newsweek and Playboy magazines… and is the only person in the world to know exactly how to have a boy or girl… which he told us the secret of) that cracked us up for 15 mins. The best part was at the end we came to a 30ft waterfall and the small pond it fell into. We were told there’s a way to climb up the rocks and do a 25ft cliff dive, but we apparently climbed up the wrong side and ended up about 45ft up, towering above the waterfall… It was pretty damn scary, and the footing was awful, but one of the guys I was with is a completely crazy bastard, so obviously he jumped and we followed the mantra of “You only live once” and jumped too… it felt like you were falling for 10 secs but so much fun, haha, and we ended up jumping a bunch of times. So if you’re ever on the big island in Hawaii, do the ManaWilly Falls hike and no matter how scared you are, jump off the highest cliff. It was definitely one of the top three highlights of my 12 days in Hawaii.

So next we flew to San Francisco on our way to Beijing (one of my favorite cities in the world… so clean and cool and just different), and had a 9 hour layover starting at 4am. We left the airport and went down to catch sunrise at Fisherman’s Wharf, overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge and Alcatraz. That was pretty beautiful and fun, and we also checked out all the sea lions on Pier 39, Lombard Street (the really steep one), and some local cafes. Then it was the 13 hour flight to Beijing (some people went to Beijing and others to Shanghai… all depending on field programs and expected travel), and my field program was basically touring the city’s major sights with a group led by students from the Beijing University of International Business. Everyone was so excited to finally get to Asia, the vibe was really positive, and it was so strange to say “I’m going to get some Chinese food”… and realize EVERYTHING IS Chinese food.

Our itinerary was really busy throughout the stay, and our guides were great. The first morning we went to Tian’anmen Square, which is just enormous. It’s 100 acres in its entirety, and thinking about the massacres during the student protests made us all feel a sense of historic significance in being there during our college years. We next went through the memorial building for Chairmen Mao, who is completely worshipped there… His picture is on every currency bill and they sell t-shirts and watches with his face on them like hot-cakes. His body is actually displayed in a glass chamber in the middle of this one room that you have to walk on the outskirts of very quickly, and some say it’s actually him, others say it’s a wax figure, and real wack-jobs say it’s just his skin on a fake body. Either way it was really eerie and weird, but kinda cool at the same time. Across the way was the Forbidden City, proving with its 9999 rooms that Emperors in early China really lived the good life. No other building in Beijing was allowed to be taller than this one “Emperor’s Building” in the Forbidden City, because no one was allowed to look down on the Emperor. There were massive plazas, at the end of which were huge buildings colored mainly in red and green with names like “Hall of Heavenly Purity”, “Hall of Earthly Tranquility” and “Hall of Preserving Harmony.”

After that we went to the Temple of Heaven, which was even bigger than the Forbidden City (to show that G-d was always above man in his grandeur). There’s one special circular plateau with 81 stones on the outside ring, 49 on the next, then 25, then 9, and one taller round stone in the middle. It’s believed this stone echoes onto G-d’s ears, so people all take pictures on it and say a quick prayer… but in China lines are not practiced, they just don’t’ do them, they mostly just create a mass of people and first to the destination point wins. So on the stone people are bumping and shoving each other all over the place, so if you ever get there be prepared to get physical. Later that night we saw an acrobat show at the local theatre, something similar to Cirque de Soleil, which was cool and mind-blowing and overly flexible at the same time. The best quote of the night was when someone criticized an act, my roommate Matt on the trip goes “Yea, they act like they’ve never turned their bodies inside out while balancing seven dinner plates before.” After that we went to a standard local restaurant for dinner, ended up buying lots of beer, and these Chinese men in their late 50’s (who were hammered with their families there) starting coming over and toasting with us… before we knew it the place was a mad house, beer was flying all over the place, chugging and cigarette smoke O-blowing contests led to huge cheers, and basically every one had an amazing time. Leaving the place all of us keptlooking at each other and saying “That was just awesome.” From there we went to a local bar with a live band playing Chinese and American covers, and I’ve kept a streak of going on stage at every club or bar we’ve been to so I went up and sang a song with the lead singer.

The next morning we drove to the Great Wall of China. The twist was that it was snowing, so people were slipping and sliding everywhere. It was pretty amazing to think I was actually on the Great Wall, and the snow made it incredibly majestic. After the Great Wall we went to the Summer Palace… it’s incredible, I got lost in there from my group for over an hour… definitely my favorite place on the trip. Being lost was the best part too, cause it made me see all these towering temples and go to desolate spaces away from the tourists. The adventure of being lost in such a cool and crazy place, and I was alone with someone I’d just met that day, made for a great time. After that we saw the dorms of the University, which was by far the biggest taste of culture shock. What would stand for a single at Brown was inhabited by 6 students! They had their computers, and books all on their beds, no room whatsoever, no hot water in the dorms, and showers were in another building a quarter mile walk away. I became pretty close with the two male student guides we had, we a couple great conversations, and they considered this living arrangement to be “so-so.”

That night they took us to a really popular night club, called Rock and Roll Disco… it was insane. Hundreds of Asians in this upscale club in the middle of the dance floor, dancing their faces off to throbbing techno beats with flashing lights and lasers everywhere. Most of the American kids left cause they didn’t know what to do in that environment, but I figured “When in Hong Kong” and joined the middle of the dance floor (eventually ended up on stage for most of the night) and it turned out to be one of the most fun nights of my life… the music was so good, and no one cares (cause they dance like they’re in The Sims… all crazy body contortions and head shaking and stuff… hysterical to just sit back and watch) how you look or dance… it just about self-expression and a release. The following morning we did some shopping at the Yaxiu Clothing Market, and they flew to Hong Kong.

Hong Kong has been incredible so far, some of the most memorable events I’ve ever been a part of have already happened. I feel like everyone should see Hong Kong once in their life, it’s just a place of greater contrast than anywhere I’ve ever been. It’s a metropolis that seriously puts mid-town Manhattan to shame, but the skyline is surrounded by rolling lush green mountains, extremely impoverished people, and exotic colored fishing boats in places like Aberdeen… it’s just so different from any place I’ve ever seen, and you need to witness it with your own eyes to understand what in the hell I’m trying to feebly describe.

So here’s the list of my major observations on China:
1- Yao Ming is everywhere in China… he’s marketing gold
2- Chinese don’t smile in their pictures, they almost always give stone faces… a testament to the self-reservation practiced via Confucianism
3- You can bargain for ANYTHING in China, and everything is dirt cheap
4- They have the worst toilet paper ever, the stuff just doesn’t rip straight at all… the real Chinese water torture is the process of using the bathroom
5- People are everywhere in China, everything is in mass too
6- Chinese people have a great affinity for Americans… they’ll stop you everywhere you go and ask you to get in their pictures with their family… it’s hysterical… would you ever stop a Chinese guy when you were at a museum and say “Get in all my pictures with my family! Thank you thank you so much!”?
7- They LOVE to pose in pictures with the palm-out peace sign… it’s like a national requirement
8- David Hasselhoff in Germany is to the Backstreet Boys in China… if you love the Backstreet Boys in China you’re the coolest
9- The youth study very hard, and party almost never… our trip was the first time both our 21 year old guides had been in either a bar or club… when I asked where they go to party they said “We don’t.”
10- The TV show Friends is a huge hit there… when my guide and I became close he told me he had a serious question for me. He said “I love Joey from Friends, he is very funny. You know how he says “How you doooing” to all the girls.” I said “Yea..” and he goes “Does that work?”
11- They all somehow have English names, but it’s obvious that they’re conversions to whatever sounds closest to their real Chinese names. One guy I met said his name was Oscar, another was Eugene… I’m thinking “There’s no way in hell you’re real name is Eugene Tokanowa.

From my amazing night at the Chinese disco club I came away realizing something really ironic about our two cultures. Americans celebrate individualism and confidence, but when we go out we either dance in a uniform way relying on another person (grinding) or if we’re dancing by ourselves it’s usually in a circle of people so everyone can make sure they don’t look too bad and can evaluate or even replicate those around them. China promotes collectivism and self-reservation, but when they dance no one grinds or circles up. It’s like each person is in their own little world bubble, not caring at all what anyone else perceives them to be, dancing alone and so hard you’d think their backs would break. It’s just really paradoxical that we dance so differently from our cultural mentalities… I know that probably means nothing to any of you and you think I’m rambling on something ridiculous, but it just struck me as strange… plus I still can’t get over the scene at the club that night…

Lastly I’ll share the usual anecdote from the trip. As we were leaving the Forbidden City, we had to wait about 15 minutes on the street for our bus to arrive. While our group of 60 American students stood on the sidewalk being harassed by locals to buy postcards, scarves, and dragon figures for something like 50 cents, we all wouldn’t open our wallets for a second. Then an elderly limping man walked around our crowd of students, dressed in a dirtied soldier’s uniform with his head down. His face was completely withered, and his eyes expressed a sadness that I can’t really explain. He wasn’t asking us for money, he was just walking by… but strapped to his back, as he struggled, was his baby son. His face was also dirtied and in poor shape, but this boy was beyond cute and still smiled with curious eyes at us. I think every student in our group gave the man some money, helped him to sit down, and he kept muttering “Sheishei Sheishei”… Thank you Thank you. We gave his son Oreos, and the man gave us the thumbs up, a small smile, and pulled out an old photo of him dressed in uniform when he was probably 25. He was still wearing that uniform, now walking the streets with his baby strapped to his back, but displaying the picture with such pride and vigor. I was mesmerized by how sad his eyes looked, and how oblivious he was to how curious his son’s eyes were in contrast… Two individuals, deeply connected but at the opposite ends of the spectrum in life.

We pulled away from the Forbidden City on the bus, as he still sat there on the ground, his son’s face now covered in black Oreo. He gave us the thumbs up through the window, the son playing with the picture of the old father as we pulled away. We all felt good about ourselves for helping him out… then I thought about the fact that tomorrow, that man returns to the same life. We go on to see the Great Wall and travel around the world, but he returns to walking the streets possessing nothing but a love for his baby son. Somehow he went from a strapping soldier to a charity case, but the only thing he couldn’t lose was his love for his family.

So we leave in two days for Vietnam, which is probably the country I’m looking forward to seeing second most on the trip after India. We’re also meeting the ship there in a week, so I’ll have more frequent access to the internet and try to respond to some emails.

Take care and stay classy,
Adam

SAS Email 3 - Hawaii

2005-02-08T13:22:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone,

I’m still in Hawaii for a few more days before we fly to Shanghai, China (the boat’s meeting us in Vietnam) but I figured I’ve been here for a while so I might as well send out an update before I leave. My last update I sent out just before I touched land for the first time in 15 days, and the feeling of elation leaving the boat was just great. Everyone was so happy, obviously we all got laid as soon as we got off the boat, and most students hit the bars real hard that first night (myself included). I got a hotel room with 4 buddies in Waikiki and had a blast the first night, shopped a lil after waking up late the 2nd day, then headed to a Luau that was thrown for all members of Semester at Sea. That was really cool and interesting, the food and drinks were amazing, and the cultural show had some great Polynesian dances and this one huge guy did some sick stuff with a flaming bow. After the 6 hour Luau we came back to Waikiki, and instead of doing the usual bar-hopping a bunch of us decided to get some 40’s and just head down to the beach. We found a secluded area and just talked (reminded me of “the blacklight sessions” for those of you who know) for a couple hours, and 3 of us ended up going swimming around 2:30am in the beautiful Pacific. The 3rd morning a few of us woke up early to see the Pearl Harbor Memorial. It’s very simple, basically a mini-museum, you watch a short video, and then you’re boated out to this little floating walkway that floats above the sunken SS Arizona below. Some think the place is very weak because it’s not an overwhelming physical structure, but when realizing that you’re standing on such historically significant ground, and that 1000 bodies are entombed in the ship below you, it can be very very powerful. The ship still leaks about 2 quarts of oil each day, so around you in the water are reflective oil patches. Apparently they wanted to clean the oil tank out so it would stop polluting the water, but the veterans refused, saying the oil represents the tears shed by the fallen soldiers in the waters below… which I think is pretty beautiful. Immediately after that I grabbed two friends of mine and we decided to catch the 30 minute flight to Maui and meet up with some other friends who were already there…so it was off to Maui…. (by the way, when I said we all “got laid as soon as we got off the boat” before, I was obviously referring to the Hawaiian custom of natives placing a lay over our heads…. sickos)

For those of you who have never been to Maui, GO! It’s one of the most beautiful places I’ve ever seen, whether the weather is good or not. It’s just so majestic, that’s really the only adjective I can think of that can do it justice. Serene and gorgeous apply as well, but majestic fits best… it’s the type of place that makes you wanna be on a honeymoon just by being there. The three days in Maui were three of the best days of my life, but I’ll just give you the highlights- When we first arrived it was slightly overcast so I walked with the two guys I went there with about 15 mins along the beach to meet up with some other SAS friends at this big rock formation called “Black Rock” off this hotel nearby. We swam about 100 yards in the beautifully clear and warm water to the rock formation, then climbed the sharp rocks to the peak which was about 30 feet above the water… then being the idiots that we are, we obviously did dives, pencils, flips, cannonballs, and one AWFUL unintentional belly-flop off the top. That in itself was awesome, then that night we had a great dinner and had a blast drinking, dancing, and meeting locals at this tiny near-empty jazz club. The feel of Maui is far less touristy than Honolulu and Waikiki, much less inhabited and has a far more indigenous Hawaiian/Polynesian flavor to it. The next morning three of us went scuba diving, saw some amazing sea turtles swimming with us and heard whales calling to each other underwater, then I had one of those moments that just changes you… which I’ll describe a little later. That night we went to dinner at a place called Sunsai, if you go to Maui you HAVE TO EAT THERE, it was some of the best food I’ve ever tasted, and on Thursdays (which is when we went) they had half-off food (sushi and everything else) and KARAOKE after 10pm… of course we sang “Caribbean Queen” by Billy Oceans for our waitress and “Can’t Get enough of your Love” by Barry White, haha. That night we slept on the beach, but it rained round 3am so we crashed in a friend’s cottage. The next morning the three of us took a cab to Iao (only word I’ve ever heard of with all vowels?), which is a small 10 minute hike up stairs, but has unmarked trails all behind it. So we decided to just go and hike on the unmarked trails, make our own paths, and adventure a little in the Ferngully-looking forest around us. We eventually came to a beautiful stream, took a dip and some pictures, then hiked back. We had an amazing lunch at this little Hawaiin café, then caught the cab back to the airport and flew back from Maui...

We were all on a natural high from how great Maui was, so that night I went out with 4 of my closest friends here (the first 4 friends I made on the trip basically, which includes my roommate) and had a an amazing time at this total dive bar. The highlight of the night came when I got my roommate Jaret to take a “strong man” shot, which involves taking a tequila shot but doing it in a very very unconventional way (some of you may know it)… it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen (and I have the video to prove it). The following morning I hiked Diamond Head, which is the largest crater in Honolulu, where you can basically see the whole island from the peak. We took a bus straight from there to Haunama Bay, which is one of the most gorgeous beaches in the world, and a premier walk-in snorkeling site so we snorkeled there as well. That day also happened to be the great Bob Marley’s birthday, so there was a Reggae festival as a tribute at a place about 10 mins walking distance from our boat. Obviously I had to go there, saw some really good reggae, and capped off the night talking with some friends till bout 5am on the back deck of the boat. For the Superbowl, I went to TGIFridays (Cocktail shoutout) with four friends… congrats to the Pats on the win; my Jets will rise again in 2005-2006. The last part of being in Hawaii I’ll tell you bout is this unreal place we found two nights ago, it’s a Japanese style Karaoke bar called GS Studio… you pay for a tiny room, and you can fit bout 10 people per room and it consists of two couches, a table, two TV’s, and two microphones… from there you basically select songs and go crazy. I can’t even describe how much fun it is; most people think you have to be drunk to do karaoke, but in a small room with just your friends and everyone singing their hearts out, I’ve had an incredible time there the past two nights dead sober (for those of you who have experienced this, it’s like the last 10 minutes of a good power hour (shoutout to Minden and the Deuce7) extended for 2 hours). Highlights from the past two nights included “The Sign”, “Jack and Diane”, “Tiny Dancer aka Tony Danza”, “Livin on a Prayer”, “The Lion Sleeps tonight”, “No Diggity”, “Stayin Alive”, “You’ve Lost that Lovin Feeling”, “Don’t Stop Believin”, “Don’t Fear the Reaper” and “Lets Stay Together”. I really think the idea of bars with individual karaoke rooms needs to be franchised and proliferated across the US, so I implore anyone to try (Matt Wiggins) and I’ll buy the year pass.

Now that you’ve been caught up on the events of my time in Hawaii, here are a few observations on Hawaiin culture… The way of life is very very laid back. The term “hang loose” is clearly the mantra for these islands, although Waikiki is very Westernized and tourist-driven. (As you can tell by how active my days have been, the mantra I keep repeating to myself is “You can sleep when you’re dead”) The people are mostly friendly, although some of the local surfers are pretty territorial and don’t like intrusions by tourists. They are also incredibly strict on underage drinking and fake ID’s, apparently because of all the underage marines stationed in the area. The original Polynesian culture is clearly fading and meshing with mainstream American culture, which is a shame because it’s so interesting. Even the Luau was clearly sensationalized, and digressed greatly from the origins of the culture, most notably when one of the dancers came out and starting doing the Harlem Shake and Crip Walk,hahahaha… some of the Midwestern kids who’ve never really seen newer hip-hop dances were actually like “Wow that’s so cool, Hawaiin dances are awesome”, hahahahhaa. The landscapes are truly breathtaking; the contrast of open blue waters, white cloud formations and soaring green mountains create incredible vistas from any angle. Each sunset is great too; they in themselves are worth waiting the whole day to view.

Lastly I’ll just tell you about two events that happened to me that I was left breathless by. The first occurred at the Luau- There was a little Hawaiian girl, she was no older than 6, and one of the cutest kids I’ve ever seen. She kept dancing on the table, talking to all the SAS students, and generally loved being the center of attention in an adorable way. A lot of students on the trip are doing one “thing” in each country (bottlecaps, masks, hats, shot glasses, tiny instruments, etc), my shtick is that I want to make a huge picture frame with a picture of a local child of the same age in each country and next to that have a piece of paper where they wrote their answer to the question of “If you could have any one thing in the world, what would you want?” It should show a reflection of the desires/mentalities of each culture around the world. Plus I’m gonna have each child write it in their native language, so obviously several of them I won’t even know what they wrote, but hopefully they’ll be revealed to me in due time at a random point when maybe the response contains a message that will be pertinent and helpful at that point in my life. Anyway, when I asked this beautiful little girl to write down what was the one thing in the world she wanted, I was expecting her to respond with a Barbie doll or a pretty dress… her response is in one of the pictures I attached to this email (Called 05-2-1 Emily) so you should probably look at it now… What she wrote gave me the chills, I was simply blown away. Of all the things one could have in the world, she wanted this one thing, and only the innocent and pure mind of a child could make such a beautiful request…

The second event I’ll describe was what I earlier referred to in Maui- After scuba diving we had some down time so I decided to go out to the beach and meditate on the comfortable sand… Yes, I’ve been meditating almost everyday on this trip, although I’m a total novice I love what it brings to my everyday mental state (the ships doctor is a Buddhist who has been somewhat of my mentor with meditation and helped me learn how to do it in ways I’m comfortable with). It cleanses my mind and I awake from my meditations feeling so mentally sharp and physically invigorated… I know that sounds somewhat ridiculous and cliché, but for me I really enjoy it that much and I highly recommend it to anyone that wants to try. So I went to meditate on the beach while no one was out there, and it was right before sunset. I noticed the sun was hidden behind a massive cloud front so I realized I wasn’t going to really see the sun set, which I was a little disappointed by. But after my 10 minute mediation I felt great and the serenity of the beach, ocean and mountains ahead of me was really calming. So I decided to do another 10 minute breathing meditation, again assuming I wouldn’t see the sun go down anyway so I wouldn’t be missing anything. This second meditation was probably the best I’ve had yet, my mind was totally cleared, and when I opened my eyes I was greeted by the most breath-taking site I’d ever seen.

The sky was emblazoned with reds, purples, pinks, oranges, whites, yellows and blues. The sun had dipped below the skyline but reflected up against the clouds, and I was beyond shocked with what I was viewing. I sprinted to the cottage and came back to take pictures, then just sat on the beachfront as the colors danced across the sky above me. It evoked a feeling unlike anything I’d ever had, I guess the best way to describe the feeling was absolute and consuming awe… awe for how amazing the world can be and awe for how something could have created a place with such potential for beauty. Later that night I kept thinking about that sunset incessantly and realized the more profound metaphor in what happened to me- I stopped looking for something (a sunset), expected nothing, and only then was I able to experience the most amazingly profound sunset I’d ever seen. I began relating it to other parts of my life, things that I’ve wanted so badly and searched so hard for unsuccessfully (because I expect them to happen immediately for me) and realized the message was to simply stop looking or expecting to find them in front of me. This is the foundation of Taoism, which I understood the basic concepts of but didn’t fully grasp until this Maui sunset event… You can’t force things in your life to happen, you can only live the best way you deem possible, and hopefully you will be rewarded when the time is right. To find the answers you have to stop looking for them, and sometimes you’ll find they’re right in front of your face… The only way I saw the most beautiful sunset of my life, was by closing my eyes.

Take care and stay classy,
Adam

SAS Email 2 - Hawaii

2005-01-31T13:21:00.000-05:00

Wow where do I even begin… I guess the most important thing to inform everyone is that I’m completely fine and safe. I assume most of you heard on the news about the turbulent times this Semester at sea ship/voyage went through a few days ago, but obviously I’ve had no access to any national/international media outlets so I don’t know that the news reached all of you… after speaking to my mom about an hour ago, she told me to make sure this email was as detailed as possible to answer any questions people might have-

First off, while semester at sea might want the media to think we turned around because of rough weather, the truth is that it was pirates… I’m sure the real story will leak to the media once all the students get off the boat in a few hours and get to land, but I wanted ya’ll to hear it from me first. We were passing through the Pacific calmly when last Thursday night a series of pirate boats attempted to commandeer our ship around 3am. Luckily the crew was able to beat them back with these superstrength hoses all major ships are outfitted with, but the ship incurred a fair amount of damage and the majority of people onboard demanded we turn around and return to the closest land mass- Hawaii.

Haha, obviously I’m just playing… that was just to get a rise out of the few people who before I left told me I should be legitimately scared of pirates abducting our ship (you know who you are). The reality is that the entire first week and a half was filled with nonstop turbulence on the ship, which I think I detailed a fair amount in my last email. This came to an apex on the 27th, the night after I sent out that last email. We crossed the int’l date line and went from the 25th to 27th, then that night we went to sleep with the usual minor rocking and rolling. It was really strange for me cause I’m such a light sleeper, and I had a huge migraine that night (most of you know I get really mad migraines before huge storm fronts) so I took this prescription strength sleeping pill I got freshman year of college and maybe use twice a year. I woke up at 6am to find my room in shambles, my bed had slid about 3 feet to the other wall, my roommate Jaret’s bed was in the middle of the room, everything on the shelves was on the floor, my table stand had flipped over and was completely across the room against the front door, and it really looked like someone tried to tear our room apart. I couldn’t figure it out how I’d slept though it all, but I later realized that sleeping pill just knocked me out. Apparently around 3am everyone went out into the halls cause the turbulence was so bad, everyone but me, and Jaret got locked outside the room in his boxers and no matter how loudly he pounded the door I wasn’t waking up so he had the crew let him back in…

Anyway, I wake up around 6am to find the room a total mess and the boat is truly rocking. I realize there’s no way I’ll fall back asleep and that these waves are even bigger than the 40 footers we’d been encountering the past week… it turns out we were caught between two huge pressure fronts and the wind/waves combined from each side to create somewhat of a super-wave area I guess… Around 6:20am “the voice” came over the PA system and told everyone to put on their life-jackets and remain in their rooms, but he didn’t say it in a calm manner whatsoever like he usually does with the daily announcements. He sounded panicked, scared, and completely out-of-breath. At that point people started to truly feel something was wrong, even I was thinking “Holy shit this is the real deal.” Ten minutes later he came back on and told everyone to get to the 5th floor or higher, and then true fear broke out in most everyone. I went to put on the requisite long sleeves and pants, and grabbed at my sweatpants (most comfortable) but decided not to wear them and opted for my only pair of light khakis because I truly thought to myself I might be swimming today if this boat goes down, so I should put on my lightest items of clothing (that’s how serious it was). A few guys had been congregating in my room to watch the waves out of our porthole, and before walking outside we all agreed that we had to put on a very confident front because there were about to be 450 petrified girls around us. We walked outside to find a sea of orange lifejackets, with girls crying and peoples faces looking as morbid as ever.
In most areas the women and children were put in one space with the men around/behind them in case we had to be evacuated to lifeboats (“women and children first… seems real fair), but I was kind of assigned to wait at the top of the stairs and help people up. For the next 6 hours from 7am-1pm we basically sat in the same area, (I was at the top of the stairs on the 6th floor) and rock-and-rolled as the ship swayed from side to side. When big waves hit you’d literally watch 20 people slide across the floor and crash against the lower side of the ship, then they’d go sliding back the other way and you’d grab em to make sure they didn’t get away. You had to hold on to walls, poles, or each other for support. After that initial feeling of fear when the announcements to go upstairs came though and then an hour of the rocking, I, as well as most people, felt confident that we were gonna pull through it all. Our captain is this AMAZING guy named Buzz, he’s probably in his early 60’s, and every single one of us felt completely secure with… if it was anyone but him I’m sure the sentiments on the ship would have been really different. The crew was amazing too, a few were praying by themselves in corners and saying in 25 years of working on ships they’d never been through anything like this, but most were walking around with smiles, passing out food and water to students. You could hear the sounds of crashing broken glass from the dining room every time a big wave hit, but after a few hours even that became normal. We had to stay upstairs in whatever area we were placed in for what seemed like forever. In my area we eventually just started playing games like the movie game or trivia to pass the time. In other areas on the boat they got into a circle holding hands and this kid I know started reading passages from the Tony Robbins book to crying girls, hahahhaha. Over time the waves subsided somewhat, and we returned to our rooms feeling we’d survived something miraculous. When everyone came back upstairs around 3pm, you could see people were in shock. They were quiet, had blank looks on their faces, everyone was writing in their journals, discussing with each other what we’d gone through, and the only person who wanted to play a game was immediately shot down when her friend goes “Are you crazy! Of all the times to play Battleship, you want to play now?!” haha…later that night during a community wide meeting we found out what had happened to us-
We were in 120 mph hour winds, and a 55-60+ ft wave approached the ship and hit us head on. The captain’s bridge is on the 6th floor, and this monster wave completely covered the bridge and was so powerful it shattered all the glass protecting the bridge and flooded the area. All electrical navigational and controlling equipment for the boat was knocked out at 6:19am, that why “the voice” made that immediate and panicked announcement. We lost all power to the engines, so we basically were a sitting duck getting pounded by the waves. Eventually partial power to one of the engines was restored, and the captain was able to navigate us away from the storm somewhat. Glass was broken throughout the ship, the library looked like a bomb had gone off in it, several people had broken bones and one concussion, my public speaking teacher actually fell and cracked a rib which partially deflated her lung!, a lot of students had various bruises from being tossed around, tables and chairs were broken everyone, the grand piano in our student union was flipped over, and probably the most scary aspect is that many of the TV’s on most peoples’ top shelves flew off and were broken. When we returned to our room, our TV had flown off the shelf, landed on Jaret’s bed where he’d been sleeping only hours before (it could have easily landed on him earlier), and was shattered on the floor.
The executive decision was made by Captain Buzz that we didn’t have the fuel supply and more notably that the ship was too badly damaged with a lot of indeterminable damage to continue battling the remaining storms ahead on the way to Japan/Korea. We decided to turn around and head for the closest land, which was a naval base at Midway Island. Then they realized Midway couldn’t accommodate a full 1000 person ship, so we changed course to Honolulu, Hawaii, which is where we arrived at 3 hours ago. Internet was just restored on the ship, which is why I can write to you now. One of the craziest parts is that the ship was steered over 1000 miles from the point where we turned around to here via a hand-held compass!!! We didn’t have electrical equipment, so they used a handheld compass, AND the rudder lost electrical power so they had a series of guys in the engine room that would push the rudder to change the direction of the ship!
So now we’re in Hawaii, ecstatic to see land after 15 days away… when we turned around we crossed back over the int’l date line again, thus going back in time, so we had the 25th, 27th, 26th, 27th, 28th in that order. The way I figured it, we’re some of the only people to have ever gone “Back to the Future”, which is pretty damn cool. The ship-wide joke is that we did the 27th twice cause the first time was so crappy, and now all we know is that we’re definitely missing out on Korea and Japan (most people are REALLY upset about missing Japan, it was supposed to be one of the highlights of the trip… I’m somewhat disappointed in that too, but we’re lucky to be alive for one and secondly this trip is still amazing in it’s itinerary even without those two locations). They’re going to assess the ship’s damage while we’re in port here for the next 4-5 days, and then hopefully we’ll continue the trip with Shanghai, China as our next port.
It’s amazing what the power of optimism and hope can do to people. The entire shipboard community has been so positive throughout, immediately after the waves of the storm subsided a mass of students were upstairs helping in the cleanup effort, we always give Captain Buzz a huge ovation when he talks to us, and two nights after “The Storm” we had a big dance in our union and even though there was no alcohol served that night, most people went and had a blast. At one point Captain Buzz showed up so they put on the Jamiroqai song that Napoleon Dynamite solo dances too at the end of the movie…. And Captain Buzz went crazy dancing in the middle of this huge circle of cheering students for bout 5 mins, it was definitely one of the funniest and best things I’ve ever seen. This morning I woke up and went upstairs to find a beautiful sunny day with a temperature around the high 70’s. Literally I felt like I was on a different boat, everyone in sunglasses and bathing suits, eating outside with an amazingly positive vibe. The vibe until today was great too, but today I felt like I was on a tropical Carnival cruise instead of the Semester at Sea feeling I’ve grown accustomed to over the last two weeks. Everyone cheered as we pulled into the port, and we’re all ecstatic to touch land and explore Hawaii.
I just wanna thank everyone who sent me caring emails and thought about me during this whole dilemma. About 25 students are leaving the trip because of what happened, but I look at this as an amazing experience that I’m fortunate to have gone through. This may not have been the itinerary I signed up for, and I desperately wish I could have seen South Korea and Japan, but even without touching land this trip has already changed my life. When you really have to fear for your life, especially in such a confined community, you truly see how amazingly people come together and evaluate the value of your personal faith. After that initial moment of panic when I realized the gravity of the situation, a settling calm overcame me and it was completely based on this inexplicable feeling that G-d didn’t want me to die in that way. Like I said before, I didn’t doubt that I might have to swim in the middle of the Pacific, and I didn’t doubt the minute possibility that the entire ship might go down along with tons of people in it, but I knew deep down that it just wasn’t my time. And if I happened to be wrong, and it was my time, then I was okay with that…. I wish I could explain it to you, but it was an experience that connected me with this ethereal feeling, and that feeling brought about inner peace and acceptance. I realized it’s true that every day should be a good day to die, and I don’t mean that in a pessimistic way, but that we should live every moment fully so that if we were to die at that instant we’d never look back wishing we enjoyed the moment more. It’s a Buddhist belief that the only constant in our lives is suffering, but we can get outside that suffering if we let ourselves die to all our desires and attachments. On the surface this sounds terrible, but if you think about it for a moment in a non-westernized “me-me-me” attitude, it’s truly beautiful. If we live our lives attached to our surroundings and desires, we live life fearing death because it will remove us from these attachments we depend on for our happiness… but if we simply let ourselves die to those attachments, there is no more fear of death, and there is nothing left to do but LIVE and immerse ourselves in our experiences and emotions to connect with them on even greater levels.
So the trip goes on, now with each of us on the ship adding so much more value to the things we’ll see and do, greatly anticipating the touch of solid ground beneath our feet and the chance to visit cultures outside of our tightly-knit shipboard community. I hope this email finds everyone having a wonderful and safe semester or day, and I can’t wait to hear from all of you.

Be safe and stay classy,
Adam

PS: I’ve posted most of the pictures that I’ve taken on my Webshots address so if you want you can check those out at- http://community.webshots.com/user/adamb1123

SAS Email 1 - Pacific Ocean

2005-01-25T13:15:00.000-05:00

Hey everyone… just to give you some type of preface so you understand what this email is, you’re part of my mass emailing list (even though some of you didn’t realize I put you on it) so I can keep everyone updated while I’m on Semester at Sea through the end of April. We have very limited internet access so it’s a lot easier for me to send out a series of highly-detailed mass emails (most likely after each port), but if you want to be taken off please let me know and I’ll remove you…

First off, the ship is incredible. I really lucked out cause after having the same ship for bout 20 years, the semester at sea program just upgraded to a new ship this academic schoolyear, and it’s just beautiful. I had no idea it was gonna be like this, I actually almost feel bad sometimes, after coming from the aesthetically-challenged Brown campus I walk round this boat thinking “college def isn’t supposed to look this nice.” My room is pretty small, just me and my roommate Jaret, a junior from Oklahoma who goes to Oklahoma State and is a great guy. I literally couldn’t have asked for a better roommate, he’s real chill, great sense of humor, def has the mid-western mentality but it’s a great change and we both already can tell we’ll learn a ton from each other throughout the duration of the trip. I’m traveling South Korea and Japan completely independently (not through a Semester at Sea (SAS) field program) with him and 2 or 3 other people. He lost his dad three years ago and became pretty religious (Protestant) after that life-altering event, so we’ve already had some great religious discussions and given each other a book or two to read. The 650 students on the boat come from over 250 different colleges (everything you can imagine, state school, community college, private universities, etc), and pretty much everyone is real friendly. It’s like the beginning of freshman year all over again (except most people know even less people than they knew at the beginning of college), and instead of everyone being 18 they’re 19-23 and confined to one small area for the first 13 days while we cross the Pacific Ocean.

The night before we left from Vancouver most kids were in this same hotel, so the lobby was obviously a mad house. I went to a bar/restaurant to eat alone, sat at the bar and happened to be next to a guy going on the trip who’s originally from Trinidad. We ended talking for bout an hour, then I met some people in the hotel, then we all bar hopped the rest of the night and ended up at this one club that was throwing a “Semester at Sea Bon Voyage Party.” Vancouver is a beautiful city, if anyone has a chance to go there I’d highly recommend it. I really wish I’d gone up there earlier and spent a few days/nights to get more comprehensive view of what the city has to offer…

Since boarding the ship its mostly been meeting new people, a couple major meetings and classes (they have one big room called the “union” that accommodates prob 150-200 people, then there’s rooms throughout the ship that have TV’s where the events held in the union are broadcast via satellite over to, so everyone can basically see the same thing and it’s also used so everyone attends this one class (Global Studies) that everyone has attend every morning). The food is surprisingly decent, maybe cause I’m coming from Brown’s “Ratty” standards, which doesn’t say all that much I guess. People are also speculating that it’s like college orientation or parents weekend where schools bust out all the good food early to impress everyone, so I’m kinda anticipating a drop in food quality real soon. My classes are solid and my Intro to World Music class has an amazing professor that’s a brilliant ethnomusicologist and a self-proclaimed “free-spirit” who apparently taught a semester or two at Brown a few years back. He plays tons of cool and esoteric cultural music for us to discuss during class, so I probably look forward to that class more than any other. I also occasionally try to sit in on this one Intro to Asian Religions class that was full so I couldn’t get enrolled, but the professor is this fiery old guy who I just had to take a class with… I’ll give you an excerpt from one speech and you’ll understand why. His opening the other day was “I’m here to teach you about Confucianism and Buddhism, but my background is that of a Texas tent-revival evangelist. I worked the tents of Texas to reform the sinners! I was a Jesus Cowboy in the Holy Ghost Coral!!! Armed with my Old Testament on one hip and my New Testament on the other, I used those six shooters to exorcise the devil within and boy-oh-boy was my aim was deadly!!! I’ll say the same thing to you, because Satan has corrupted the hearts of many. He is the D-E-V-I-L, take out the D and you still have Evil! Take out the E and you still have vile! Take out the V and you still have eel! Take out the I and you have L, which is exactly where you’ll be going if you think Jesus doesn’t see your sinning ways!” Hahaha, so needless to say I love going to his class whenever I can or just talking with the professor.

We’re traversing the North Pacific for 13 days to get to South Korea, and the waters definitely have not been kind. The first day after we left I walked outta my room and most people looked so sick. Everyone had either Dramamine, patches, acupuncture wristbands, or some remedy for seasickness but I’ve fortunately been okay (Most of you know Pepto gets me through anything). Our third night on the ship we were in a decent size storm and had waves of 30-35ft around us, so we had to tape our drawers shut and still our dresser got flipped over a couple times throughout the night. The weather has been anything but friendly, in our first week we’ve faced winds of over 100mph and waves over 40ft according to the ship’s captain. The weirdest part of being on a boat is the continuous sway, something we still haven’t gotten fully accustomed to. It’s strange to open your bedroom window in the morning and see nothing but water and clouds as far as the eye can see (def not the same as the New Dorm Quad), and walking down the halls of the boat can sometimes make you feel like you’re in a video game if the waters are really rough. Dishes will fly off tables in the dining halls, kids get ejected from their seats and are slammed into walls, yesterday my entire music class simultaneously fell out of our seats to the right cause of the ship’s leaning, so you always have to be on guard and be aware of your body and surroundings. Attempting to workout is almost a joke in these waters; depending on whether the boat is swaying up or down can make it feel like you have 25 lbs in your hand or 100 lbs.

Still though its been a really fun first week or so, without the incessant presence of TV, internet and movies we’ve pretty much learned to entertain ourselves with what I’m sure my sister would consider primitive forms of entertainment… card games, board games, interactive games like mafia, lots and lots and lots of reading (I finished “The Alchemist” yesterday, it’s a very cool and uplifting book if anyone is interested), and tons of just hanging out and talking with new people. I guess pre-1980 forms of entertainment aren’t “primitive”, but they’re still somewhat dif from what I’m used to… either way, I really like the forced change. We also have “pub nights” most nights we’re on the ship where you can drink up to 4 beers over a two hour period, so obviously very few people are getting drunk but the general atmosphere at pub nights is def a good time.

Because we’re traveling so much we change a time zone everyday and set our clocks back one hour each night, but tonight we cross the international date line and basically jump from the 25th to 27th. It’s weird to think, but I’m literally not experiencing Jan 26th, the 21st bday of my boy Lonnie Hill, so I’ll take this opportunity to give him a shoutout- Everyone make sure you wish him a happy 21st on Jan 26th cause I technically won’t be in existence that day to do it myself. It’s a strange concept for me to grasp that we just skip a day in our lives, but its kinda cool at the same time…

One last experience I’ll share with all of you happened during breakfast two days ago. I looked out the dining hall window and saw two small white birds flying just above the water together. At first it struck me as normal, but then I realized we’re 625 miles from the nearest land mass! These two tiny birds had somehow flown 625 miles together without stopping on solid land once, and clearly needed to at least replicate that distance to get back to terrestrial soil too. I can’t really explain how or why it was so inspiring, but it sent such a profoundly metaphorical message… it’s not about the destination in our lives or knowing when we’ll arrive… it’s about the journey; having the courage to travel unknown waters even when the comfort of land is no longer in sight, and building bonds with others along the way.

I’ve gotta run but I’ll probably send out another detailed update after my 4 days in South Korea. Feel free to respond and let me know how you’re doing. It’s doubtful I’ll be able to respond to everyone individually, (internet use is limited), but I’d love to hear from you nonetheless.

Take care and stay safe,
Adam