The Land of Not Quite Right

After over a year in the idea phase, I'm finally in Bahrain. One of my best friends whom I have known since we competed for first chair clarinet in 5th grade band, has been stationed here with her husband and children. Before I got sick last winter, I toyed with the idea of quitting my job in New Orleans, and coming out here to teach on base, and was then invited to come for the summer and nanny for her kids. Sounded like a good plan, but it wasn't able to come to fruition.

It was, however, the impetus for this last six months of adventure.

My ten week trip to Central America was the practice run for hemisphere-hopping. It was a success, so I finally planned a trip there. I flew from Bangkok after a month long trip in Southeast Asia with my friend Chris. Culture shock began in the Bangkok airport as thoebes and burkas replaced sarongs.

The flight to Dubai was pleasant, as was going through customs at the Dubai airport. The flight from Dubai to Bahrain however, was something else entirely. There were many children on the flight, none of them being parented. Children were climbing on the tops of the airplane seats, had all video games going, were running up and down the aisles. Going through customs was somewhat complicated as they wanted a direct address in Bahrain, which I didn't have. An hour later, I was through, and Jillene was there to pick me up.

Not far from the airport, Amwaj island is on the northeast coast of Bahrain. It's built on reclaimed land, sand from the gulf. It's a gated community of expats, wealthy Bahrainis, and Saudis with weekend homes (they come to the island over the bridge to drink). Jillene's villa is a spacious two level house with more bathrooms and couches than I could ever imagine using. The backyard overlooks a small swimming pool, which is steps away from the Persian gulf. The color of the gulf is milky blue, and set against the white sand and the white buildings, is absolutely stunning. 

Yet apart from the beautiful water and the white sand, there's not much else. It's so hot, and so dusty, that most activities take place indoors, in elaborate malls. It's no matter, though, as I came more for the company, and getting to know Noah, 6, and Mitchell, 4 was absolutely wonderful. 

Jillene and Kris refer to Bahrain as the land of not quite right, and it's apparent why. Burka-clad women shopping at Victoria's Secret, devout Saudi Muslims driving like mad to get to the island to drink like fish. And the beautiful homes all have little...quirks, even though most are almost brand new. European dish-drain cabinets located over the stove instead of the sink, open floor plans with loft-style staircases waiting for forehead impact, classes that 'start in April' but haven't. 

Jillene will be leaving the country in January, so I've lost interest in teaching here. But I'm really glad I was able to come out to visit before they left! 

From Sabai Dee to Sawasdee. Same same.

Sawasdee kaaaaaaaa...
Same same. Those of you who have traveled to this region of the world know exactly what I'm talking about. But how to explain to someone with no context? I'm going to give it a shot...
Me: How much is that sarong?
Local person: 350 baht
Me: ok, what about that purse?
Local Person: same same


Or

Me: are these the fresh spring rolls, or the fried ones?
LP: same same (hmm...)

Or
Me: I'm trying to get to _______. Should I take the bus, or a boat taxi?
LP: same same (or "yes", which is always helpful)

That's just a start. But you get the idea. It's used for anything to placate you so you think all deals are equal, but better if purchased from the person you're speaking to.

This was my third time to visit Thailand, so I was ready for the same same, ready for the always wet feet, ready for the squatty potties, ready for good food (which unfortunately didn't happen), and ready for the beauty of Krabi province. I was even ready for the crowds and oppressive humid heat that is the high season. What I wasn't prepared for were the inflated prices, and the growth, and the amount of Russian tourists, language, and food that was not present in my last trips.

Railay beach, aesthetically, is the most beautiful beach I have ever been to in my life. Limestone karsts climb out of turquoise waters that seem an unreal color and earthly combination. My first experience was ten years ago, staying in a tree house with no AC, and so many holes it seemed more like we were just staying in the tree itself. Food was spicy and good beach side, and everything except the more than five star resort of Rayavadee was simple, rustic, and relatively inexpensive. Well, as in Vietnam, now that the visa requirement has been lifted for Russian citizens, and direct flights have been established from Moscow to saigon and Bangkok, the tourist population has doubled in these parts. This is great for everyone, except those of us who wanted to stay in simple, rustic, relatively inexpensive digs. Now, simple and rustic costs 50$ a night, and our tree house has been converted to a 'resort' with ac cabanas for over 100$ a night. And all day, the small peninsula, only reachable by boat, is awash with the sound of jackhammers, as new hotels are being built on every possible piece of land available. It is still possible to get those cheap simple rustic places, but instead of being a short jaunt to the magnificent beaches, they are a hike away in the middle of the jungle. Equally awesome if you're a nature person, but quite a hike to the beaches and restaurants.

To be fair, my last trip to Thailand, 8 years ago, was not only during the slow summer season, but also six months after the tsunami. The trip was planned around a volunteer opportunity in Ranong province and on Phi Phi island (which is when this blog was started. If you'd like to read about that experience, go back to the first several entries in 2005). At that time, as well as two years prior, the exchange rate was 39-43 Thai baht to the dollar. On this trip, it was 27-30. I hope this means that Thailand has improved financially, and that this has trickled down to the people. A week wasn't enough time to investigate that. I did have a moment of wanting to go to Phi Phi, just to see the improvement and changes. And then I started perusing TripAdvisor, remembered my first experience there, and thought better of it. The beauty is astounding, maybe even more so than Railay, but the parties and overcrowding of young people, and buckets of booze, and inflated prices for crap shacks deterred me. After seeing the growth and crowds in Krabi and Phuket, I can only imagine what it's like there now.

In Railay, we stayed on the east side of the peninsula, where the mangroves reach the sea wall. During high tide, a step off the cement walkway and you're in the Andaman sea. During low tide, a step off is onto rocks and sand, for a good ways- maybe 750 feet- to the water's edge. This is the more populated side of the peninsula, and where most of the ferries arrive. There is no pier, and it's clearly too shallow to bring the ferries close to shore. So they stop a good way out, and a long tail boat comes beside it. People climb from the bigger to smaller boat, luggage is handed down, and the long tail takes you as far as they can. Then everyone hops out, into the water, grabs their luggage and walks to shore. This is always an entertaining thing to watch as some people have traditional suitcases rather than backpacks, and end up carrying them over their heads.

Chris and I found a place with a room for 2 nights, relatively far from 'the action' of east Railay. We had a cabana, overlooking jungle and mangrove, fan cooled with mosquito nets. We had a deck out the back where we were greeted with wildlife, and...ahem...gifts from wildlife, and we loved it. One of the special things about both Railay and Phi Phi, is the absence of cars and motorbikes. Sounds divine, and peaceful. And in many ways it is. But no cars means transport is long tail boats, with very loud motors, for at least 18 hours a day. This was, by far, my favorite place we slept in our short time in Thailand,

The next afternoon, Chris accompanied me to nearby Ao Nang, another beach resort area closer to the airport for my upcoming journey to Bahrain. I flew business class, which turned out to be the same as first class, from Bangkok to Dubai. It was fabulous! A new experience for me, and I think if I can swing it with my miles, I will fly back to the states in the same manner. Whenever that is.

Same Same but Different

Luang Prabang, Laos

Sabai Dee! Yes, I'm back in the land of same same.

We flew to Luang Prabang Saturday morning from Hanoi. With the inhabitants of this city being only 30,00 it was surprising that there was an airport at all. But alas, it is a tourist destination. Has been on the backpacker "banana pancake trail" for some time. And with the convenience of vegetarian food, tuktuks, and the jaw dropping night market, it looks as if it's been that way for a long time.

The UNESCO city of Luang Prabang boasts over 40 gilded wats, and although touristy, has an authentic community of monks. One of the highlights of any stay in the town is to wake at dawn to watch them making alms from a myriad of mindblowing religious sites. This is not something you have to look for, as the color of saffron flows through many streets, in a silence that is so beautiful. Yes, it's true, it is strange to be sitting silently on the sidewalk across the street from a gorgeous wat, at dawn, pre-caffeinated, and see busloads of tourists jump out at the last minute, and get super close to take videos. But even with them, it's an amazing experience.

Luang Prabang lies alongside the Mekong river, at the base of many mountains. No trip would be complete without a trip to one of the many waterfalls. I was skeptical at first, having been sold trips to falls that were just a trickle in the past. But Laos put on a spectacle for us this day. There were not only several different falls, but there were several different ways to get to the falls. One way took us past a bear sanctuary, where bears who have been held in captivity in tiny cages for their bile, used in some Eastern medicines, were rescued. They can no longer survive in the wild, but the people at the bear sanctuary make the rest of the bears' lives free of such treatment. We were there during feeding time, where bear handlers hide meals inside bamboo or under leaves, to keep their foraging skills up. The pool at the bottom of the falls is quite close to the sanctuary. The milky blue was so inviting after hiking in the heat. Inside, there were little fish that nibbled at the skin on your feet, which has now been marketed all over Southeast Asia as a "fish spa" where people Simon benches beside a fish tank, and leave their feet in the tank to be nibbled on.


Five days slowly slipped by between fabulous French inspired food, smoky mountains (we were there during crop burning), and wandering around the town and across rickety bamboo bridges over the river. This was in such sharp contrast to Vietnam, where motorbike horns were part of every minute of every day.

This was our only stop in Laos, and I know the country has more to offer. Time was a constraint, and I do hope to return.

How to Cross the Street in Vietnam

1. Look both ways
2. Stay calm
3. Disregard everything your mother told you, wait for a big bus or car (they're rare) to pass
4. Walk
5. Resist the urge to flinch, run, step backwards, or scream. Keep moving forward with consistent pace.
6. Ignore every motorbike that looks as if it's going to hit you. If it does, you ignored number 5 above.
7. Do not put your guard down when you get to the other side. Motorbikes are also common on sidewalks.
8. Go back to your regular heartbeat

Monkey Island, Halong Bay, Vietnam
March 14, 2013

Chris and I just marked week two in Vietnam. It is both nothing and everything I expected it to be. It's incredibly crowded, fast,and signs of growth are all around. Quite frankly, I have been surprised as what was described to me as a "third world country" seems nothing like that at all. Ho Chi Minh (saigon) and Hanoi are bustling, extremely modernized gigantic cities, with everything any foreigner could ever want available. Language barriers prevent me from asking locals if they feel the same. Hanoi, the more international of the two, is covered with parks and lakes and tree lined boulevards. Tourism infrastructure is plentiful, in all budget classes.

We began our journey in Saigon, taking in the vibrant bustle of this Asian megalopolis. Impossible to see even a tiny fraction, we focused on what was nearby. Chris, who has never really been anywhere, was stymied by the traffic, and that we could be staying in a hotel in a small alley, a stones throw away from what we were told is the busiest intersection in Ho Chi Minh, and couldn't hear a thing. A highlight of visiting Saigon was watching the sunset from the Saigon Skydeck, 49 floors high, with windows around the entire floor. Once the sun went down, the city lights were on display. No ordinary city lights, but bridges with light shows, tall buildings with floating messages up the side. Truly remarkable.

After four nights in the bustle, we headed for a two day tour of the Mekong delta. We lucked out by booking a tour that left on a Sunday. We expected a giant tour bus to be picking us up. Instead, it was our guide, Thien, and our driver, in a small sedan. A personalized tour, on accident. Here, we visited craft makers villages, tropical fruit gardens, and a traditional floating market- one that actually wasn't designed for tourists. We saw how different foods were made, and stopped for tea about five times. The people of the Mekong were very hardworking, many living and working on their boats and rarely coming to land. So many things were reminiscent of the Mississippi. Down to some of the houses we saw along the riverside, where French influence is apparent, both in new and old architecture.

We then flew to Hue for a few days, taking another river trip to see the old citadel, similar in design and purpose of the forbidden city in Beijing, the tombs, complete with a motorbike ride, something I swore I would never do. From here we took a four hour bus rise to the tourist mecca and UNESCO heritage site of Hoi An, where we treated ourselves like kings. The ancient city of Hoi An is so atmospheric, especially by night. The city is along a small river, and a beautifully lit bridge connects different parts of town. The entire town is covered with glowing lanterns, and in the evenings, adorable children sell candles in colored paper bowls to float down the river, where you can take a small canoe through the beauty. Hoi An is also a place to have clothing custom made for you. Tailors dot every street, from handmade leather shoes, to wedding gowns and everything in between. We both ended up buying more than we thought, and left extremely satisfied. From here, we booked a flight to Hanoi but were delayed by one day so we decided to check out Danang, home to the famous China Beach.
A large city without a true town center, we weren't particularly impressed. But the city is definitely progressing. Two gorgeous bridges are being built, and beachfront hotels are up and running at a rapid pace. In ten years, maybe this will be a place to be. But not yet.

Hanoi is busy like its southern city, but far older, cooler, and more international. At the moment, we are sitting on the beach at monkey island, in halong bay. We took an overnight cruise on a boat, with an extra night here on the island. Halong bay is beautiful, though crowded. This morning when the sum rose, I looked outside and saw about 25 ships, almost exactly like ours, docked in the bay with sleeping passengers. It was kind of like our own floating city.

We are getting ready to leave Vietnam, to spend a week in Luang Prabang, Laos, and I look forward to seeing something different and being in a Buddhist area. Vietnam is a surprising mix if religions, and it's cultural heritage being influenced by so many different places. We have found people here very kind and warm. They seem over eager to please, and methinks its because of TripAdvisor. It becomes so important to be on the top of that list. When we check out hotels, we are immediately asked to post a review. Move over, Lonely Planet, there's a new kid in town!

There's no place like home

Especially when home is New Orleans.

Old, rickety yet decadent, history and booze laced, New Orleans can be overstimulating. Intoxicating. Utterly exhausting.

My obsession with the city waxes and wanes, but my love never wavers. I love her most when I can't decide if I'm ready to be here forever, or if I think I should leave tomorrow. Or next week. Or maybe after jazz fest.

That's the thing. New Orleans gives and gives, a series of events strung together, beckoning people to be part of the festivities. It doesn't matter who you bring or don't bring, as the entire city is at the same great party. Even when they don't know it. It's not uncommon for people to visit New Orleans for an event like Mardi Gras, and cancel their flights and stay through Jazz Fest. Or move to the city indefinitely.

I fell in love with New Orleans during my second visit from California. The slower pace, and social ease resonated well with me, as did the incredible music scene. I was there for my spring break, and contemplated staying an extra week for French Quarter Fest. As a teacher, of course I couldn't. But when I returned to work that first Monday, hearts still floating out of my eyes, I had a speech prepared for the following year's Jazz Fest.

The speech went like this:
Me: How was your trip to Paris?

Principal: It was so fantastic (insert romantic details about a lovely symphony here). How was your trip to New Orleans?

Me, in exactly one breath: It was amazing and I want to go to jazz fest next year, the whole 12 days and I know it's right before testing so it's a bad week to take off but I will make sure the kids are prepared and the sub knows exactly what to do, what do you think?

Principal: I think we can make that work
**note- most principals aren't this cool, and it helps to ask when said principal is on a romantic vacation high!

Unfortunately, Hurricane Katrina hit New Orleans five months later. This changed my plans.

It changed everyone's plans.

When Jazz Fest rolled around again during the spring of 2006, I wasn't sure if it was appropriate to go. I asked my friend, an evacuee who I had housed for a while in the fall through moveon.org, what he thought. And he told me exactly what I already knew after the horrible Asian tsunami the year prior to Katrina.

Go. Spend money. Spread it around. Enjoy it.

I did. We did. It was an extremely difficult time for the city, and signs of the storm were still everywhere.

But those little cartoon hearts were still flying out of my eyes. That was the last weekend of April. I was back in June. Twice in July. Once in August, and back again in September signing the papers on a note for a condo just outside the French quarter. In hindsight, I probably should have sublet an apartment for the summer. But committing to this sultry city didn't seem plausible then.

Six months later, I came to New Orleans for two months. It's been five and a half years since then.

You can see how that worked out.

The city has changed a lot since I moved here. NOLA's greatest supporters will complain about the change, while simultaneously encouraging friends from different places to come and be part of it. Locals sometimes naysay the out-of-towners moving in. Locals who mainly came from somewhere else, at some other time, when others were complaining about them moving in from far away places changing what was then New Orleans. Though change is a bit slower in these parts, it is inevitable, and I believe New Orleans will always be different than the rest of the USA's cities. Tennessee Williams wrote years ago "America has only three cities: New York, San Francisco, and New Orleans. Everywhere else is Cleveland."

Both Caribbean and European aesthetically, linguistically, and culturally, one often feels it is not a part of the United States at all. We still have fruit peddlers driving down the dilapidated one way streets, bellowing through a megaphone out the window, "I've got watermelon. I've got corn. I've got eatin' pears. I've got the mango." A woman walks down the roads with a rolling crate full of pies, singing, "pie lady pie lady pie lady!" Social Aid and Pleasure clubs, a remnant from the benevolent societies in the 1800's, have second line parades every Sunday from Labor Day through Memorial Day with brass bands and people dancing in their finest fines, for miles and miles. If that isn't enough, twice a year we are blessed with Super Sunday, devoted to the Mardi Gras Indians parading themselves in their beautifully handcrafted and intricate beaded suits.

New Orleans is a feast for all senses, and the first place I've lived where I feel a sense of loss when I leave. I never tire of the colorful architecture, the incredible culture, the creative people. Every year I learn more and more, and unravel yet another layer of this mysterious and fascinating place.

I quit my job this year and rented out my condo to go have some epic adventures around the globe. They've been delayed and organized a bit differently than I imagined, but amazing nonetheless. For about three weeks I was certain I would be leaving for a job in Africa, so I booked a few days back home in Nola just as the more local Mardi Gras events were starting. Both the travel abroad and the visit home gave me such pleasure in knowing I had chosen the right city to call home. I think I cried at least five times, knowing I was, indeed, leaving again. When I used to deal with homesick children at sleep away camp I would tell them that it was ok to miss their moms and still have fun at the same time. And that their moms loved them and missed them, too, but were so happy they were enjoying themselves at camp. I'm operating on my own advice. It's ok to miss New Orleans and enjoy some time away from it at the same time. She knows I love her, and I know she loves me. After all, home is where the heart is, and I'm lucky enough to have heart in many many places. So until I return it's ok to miss her and continue on my adventure.

Carry on.

Fronteras

When I was a child, my parents took me and my brother to Lake Tahoe a couple times a year. Only a four hour drive from the San Francisco Bay Area suburb we lived in, it was worlds away. We had (still have) a time share in Incline Village, Nevada, about 15 minutes north of the stateline at Crystal Bay.

Crossing state lines was a huge adventure for us. Like holding our breath through tunnels, it had its traditions also. We lifted our feet and held our breath and made a wish- all at the same time. The five-year-old's version of multitasking. Sometimes we would stop at the CalNeva hotel and go for a swim in their pool, which had a thick black line painted at the bottom of it, indicating the border of the two states. We would stand in the pool with one foot on each side, confused at how this was possible.

One of these road trips to Tahoe was taken in a pretty big rainstorm. I was about 8 years old. Weather reports said it would rain for three days in California- that's what my dad told us. I pictured the shape of the state that I had drawn in school, and imagined a giant raincloud hovering over it. Over the Bay Bridge it rained. Through the foothills of the east bay, it rained. Across the Central Valley? Rain. When we started climbing up the Sierra foothills it was still raining. As kids, we didn't necessarily have a concept of four hours, but because of the terrain, we knew when we were getting close. Those gigantic silver rocks and the immediate quiet that comes with them told us we were almost there. So did the popping of our ears and dad telling us the story of the Donner Party for the umpteenth time. Over the summit, it was still raining.

"I can't wait to get to Nevada so it will stop raining," I said.

I'm not sure if anyone heard me. If they did, they didn't answer.

Taking the turn from Truckee to the Lake, it was still raining and I wondered if it would ever stop. We were getting awfully close to the border, it had to at least lighten up. I imagined how it would look crossing the state line- pouring rain in California, dry and sunny in Nevada. Would it be like driving through a waterfall?

I got really excited when I saw the CalNeva in the distance. Surely there would be a V-shaped line where the sun would shine, like the V-shaped border on the east side of California where the lake is -the one I drew in class. We saw the gold miner on the sign saying Welcome to Nevada- The Silver State (which confused me even then). My brother, Devin, and I held our breaths, lifted our feet, made a wish. I even closed my eyes hoping when I opened them and we were in Nevada it would be warm and sunny. Of course, when I opened them in Crystal Bay, in Nevada, it was still pouring.

I was so confused.

Crossing the frontera between Nicaragua and Costa Rica was sort of like that. Terry from Canada drove me to the Nicaraguan side. I had to first walk to the exit counter and pay the exit tax, then to the stamp counter and pay another tax, and then there was a hot dusty mile of No Man's Land between the exit of Nicaragua and the entrance to Costa Rica. Usually there is some sort of a tuk tuk or a guy with a bike or a wheelbarrow to shuttle you or at least your luggage across No Man's Land. Not on this day. I walked it with my stupid bag I purchased without wheels or a back strap and I daydreamed about the Mecca that would greet me when I got to the border, knowing that Costa Rica was much much wealthier and more stable than it's northern neighbor. Clean bathrooms, clean food, would I see vegetables? Green ones? I remembered my first visit 15 years prior, and the lush lush jungle. Nicaragua was so dry and brown, I imagined walking into Eden.

20 minutes later I arrived at the Costa Rican entry. There were bathrooms and boy were they clean! There was a soda (cafeteria) inside the waiting area with what looked like delicious food. There was even a luggage X-ray machine! But, of course, the landscape was exactly the same as it had been a mile north. It wasn't Eden.

It wasn't even Modesto.


With the amount of time I spend pouring over maps, you'd think I would have figured out that political borders often have nothing to do with physical ones. But sometimes, I'm still 8, with the imagination and excitement that comes with it. I think I'm ok with that.

Maybe Jesus Has a Wedgie

E: what's that over there?
L: that's Jesus overlooking the city
E:Jesus? You sure it isn't San Juan? He should be the patron saint.
L: no, it's a statue of Jesus. A personal gift from some rich guy
E: interesting. How come he only has one arm?
L: one arm? Oh, you just can't see the other one at night.
E: where is it? Is it behind his back?
L: I don't know! Maybe Jesus has a wedgie!

Conversation while had in the car on the dirt road from the expatriot subdivision to the tiny very hip downtown of San Juan del Canada. I mean, San Juan del Sur.

It's nice here at the beach. Especially after some hard travel in Nicaragua. My inner Princess and the Pea has invited herself to my Central American adventure. I'm not proud of this. But I can't seem to shake her.

Maybe it's the nights being eaten by mosquitos. Or the lack of power and running water on more than a few occasions. Maybe it was the Star Wars sheets and Harry Potter pillowcase. I don't know. But she's here and she's really bugging me. I want her to leave the same way I want to get away from 22 year olds playing drinking games. But I'm stuck with her.

The final straw was in Ometepe. I hitched a ride with aforementioned 22 year olds in a collective taxi for the two hour drive on dirt roads back to the port. I should mention Ometepe is an island made of two volcanoes perched in lake Nicaragua. Stunning. We are on the base of the smaller of the two volcanos. Much farther than I imagined was possible from the ferry port.

There were 7 of us. Room for 9. In Central America, room for 14. Two more wanted to join. It was the right thing to do. We were in a remote area, quite expensive and time consuming to get back to 'civilization'. Stupid couple didn't want their oversized backpacks on top of the van. A surprise coming from stupid couple bragging about the year they are spending in Latin America, and stupid couple that didn't agree on a price before we all piled in the van. They won't budge. And they are being quite rude about it. I WANT to be passive aggressive, and say that I will stick back with the extra two and share a cab with them. But Inner Princess can't imagine another two hours at this hole of a hotel. Inner Princess wants everyone to be happy and get in the effin van. So that everyone can be where they need to be- the exact same place, in the exact same car for the exact same price.

Things works themselves out and I am thrilled to be complimented on my small backpack. Carry-on size to be exact.

We end up at the port but I can't leave for another day so I book myself a hotel in "civilization". With hot water, even. From the wall, not the electric contraption hanging on the shower head that could be misconstrued as a suicide attempt if not wearing rubber soled shoes in the shower. No AC, which I hardly notice anymore, but Inner Princess is still quite pleased. Especially because there's a laundry lady next door. This is the first time in over three weeks that I've seen a laundry lady. It's been sink laundry for a bit which was fine until my amazing trip to Río San Juan where I caked my belongings in rainforest mud. Quite a souvenir.

I'm told there is even a dryer! A strange concept in, well, most countries in the world. This means my pants might fit for the first time in a month. Inner Princess is pleased. I take a chicken bus journey to some supposed to be amazing hot springs that takes me almost three hours and involves holding a baby in an overcrowded bus- even by Central American standards- while I listen to the bus helper swear at the backpackers insistent on wearing their packs in the bus (a theme apparently) not realizing how this affects the locals. Remember them, backpackers? The ones that live here and just worked all day for a dollar and need to get home to their families?

By the time I arrive it's almost time to leave. Fortunately there is a trio walking out as I do and I am bold. "Hey, did you all drive here?" I ask, in English, and the words roll around in my mouth like rocks.

Yes, they drove. And instead of dropping me at the fork in the road, I'm driven the entire hour back to "civilization" by a Managuan living in North Carolina, visiting home for the holidays.

I walk back to the hotel, inwardly excited at being able to pick up a truly clean load of laundry. I bring it back to my room with hot water. It's folded beautifully, my very small bag of clothes. I inspect my pants and there is absolutely no sign of mud. So I put them on. And suddenly I feel like I'm 7 and start yanking them off of me.
They stink.
I know this smell. It brings a memory of being in Yosemite, stuck in Yosemite because of the forest fires.
And then I want to gag. Because I know this smell. It's the toxic smell of burning trash, plastic trash. My clothes weren't put in a dryer. But they were hung outside over a fire- over burning trash- to dry quickly to appear that they indeed use one.
I'm immediately deflated. And Inner Princess isn't pleased. She wishes I was more of a girly girl and had more than the carry-on bag that I was so proud of several hours ago. Just for today. I take a shallow breath, as a deep one may make me sick- and seal them very tightly in a plastic bag.

The next morning I take the ferry back to the mainland where Terry from Canada, a friend of a friend, is waiting for me. He takes me to his beautiful home in San Juan and Inner Princess is appeased. The first thing I do when I get there is put on my bathing suit and wash every single cloth item in my backpack, in a proper washing machine. I notice almost immediately how I have come to use the word 'proper' on this trip. Grocery stores, beds, wash machines, wifi, showers. Proper. Is this like the word 'torch' or 'holiday'? Am I picking up European travel words, or am I just being high maintenance?

Originally San Juan del Sur was not on my list. Touted as a touristy party town, I just didn't see the draw vs price tag. My Kiwi friend Sophie, who I met my very first day on this trip in Guatemala, came here weeks ago planning on a three night stay. I found out later that afternoon that she was on night 15, and I could sort of understand why. Especially after a few hard weeks traveling in the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere.
There's surfing. A lot of it. And yoga, which means there's access to good food. A direct correlation, actually. And there is a lot of it. The pace is nice. The amenities are comfortable without disregarding the fact that you're in a foreign country (except that its clearly a Canadian snowbird town). It's pretty. Slow. And of course there's Jesus looking over the town. In the daytime, it's clear there is no wedgie, and both of his arms are visible. I'm thrilled to hang out with Sophie again for the third accidental time in the last two months. What did we do without Facebook? Without proper wifi?

My wonderful Canadian host took me to the Costa Rican border today. My first border crossing not in a tourist shuttle. Took two busses once I crossed into Costa Rica, none with crazy paint, music, stickers, or babies in my lap. Apparently the more advanced a country is, the less interesting it is culturally. I want to snicker at Inner Princess about this.

Now I'm in Playas del Coco with other friends, and AC to boot. Inner Princess went to a proper grocery today. There were rice noodles. And green things. I cooked for myself. Inner Princess is pleased.

There's yoga here, so I'll be eating well. The smell of burning trash is still present. A reminder that I'm still in Central America and should pay attention to how my backpack affects the locals. Because everything everywhere affects the locals.