Frenzied Communion

There was an emptiness there,  and it butt furiously against the strong urge to resist it. The wind kept blowing..and blowing..and beating against her skin. It cracked the trees nearby. They looked so flexible but able bodied. So strong; defiant but willing to sway under a pressure they knew confidently they could appease without ever fully caving to. She felt jealous of them. They don't look ruffled at all, just grounded while swaying  to the beat. Grounded, while swaying  to the beat. Why wasn't she capable of hosting this dueling dyad? Why did she feel so god damn accosted by the persistent flow of the sky? Was everything truly so personal? Were even the clouds malicious in their constant push, push, PUSH against her?

Eventually, the buffering produced a crack. The ocean inside seeped into itself- at first a slow trickle of intermingling emotions. Then quickly, all at once the pretenses dropped. The smile faded. The ears and eyes  and throat and hair and fingers squirmed into themselves, whipped inside out by a force she couldn't fight anymore. The wind? Maybe. But whatever it was, whatever first bore this intermingling of forces, it had now fully taken shape as the most beautiful and painful realization of true loneliness she'd ever felt. Another gust blew up; anger and resentment rose up to meet it. Another wave splashed high towards her feet;  disappointment dropped deep into her gut, hitting so low she felt the breath leave her and the weight of its impact buckle her knees. Another sand cyclone whipped itself into a frenzy near her face; and her insides screamed, Please stop! I understand, I'm alone and powerless. I'm alone. I'm alone. I'm alone! She sat down and cried. It was simple. There wasn't a single other thing that needed more doing in that moment. She cried, and cried hard. 

She looked up through eyes glazed in a translucent net, the one final border against the quelling uprise of her insides. She saw a bird. It floated in place. The wind hosted him upon its back. Doing all the heavy lifting for this creature, so used to relying solely on his own expended energy to soar. Here, the wind soared for him. The wind soared around him. The wind carried his burden. She stared at the bird and whispered to the sky; why do you help him so, while beating me down? It bellowed loudly in deliverance of a response;  But I didn't change at all my friend, you simply altered your course. I've held as steady in support of you, urging gently against your back, as I now brunt against you in opposition. The bird looks eased, simply because he never doubted the value of this mutual momentum. She looked again at the bird. She imagined his content. She picked herself up.  She smiled and let her hair whip sideways against her lips, sticking to cheekbones moistened by her self attained Christening. She laughed in acceptance. She lightened in pace. She walked on, leaving the bird and wind to dance together and holding inside a gracious apology to the world for ever having missed the point.

 

A Changing Vision of "America the Free"

This weekend was the Fourth of July, a day all Americans reflect on the wealth of opportunities and liberties that this nation affords us.  As always, the weekend came complete with more than our fair share of tongue-in- cheek jokes about 'Merica, and an overuse of the word "freedom," always shouted with a bit of southern twang. Though it did get me thinking about that word: Freedom. What exactly do we include in this term nowadays? I grew up taught that the word freedom had positive connotations, and that we were all "blessed" to live in a country with so many. But recently, I've seen the word 'freedom' tossed around to veil all sorts of bigotry, and it really got me thinking about my beliefs on the word all together..

This Independence Day was particularly momentous in that we could celebrate the passage of legislation, which finally granted "liberty and justice for ALL", hundreds of years after those words originally stamped our nation into being. We've all seen the news, the social media posts,  and the reactionary politics that are swinging wildly back in forth within a nation coming to grips with it's momentum towards progressive ideals. But some of the arguments I've seen opposing same sex marriage have gotten particularly lacking in logic, and those are what I'd like to explore.

First is the argument of Conservatives that the Supreme Court has overstepped a boundary, or become a vehicle for imposing their will on the people. The very basis of Conservative ideals rests upon the notion of small government. It's a "keep you hands out of my pockets and your ideals out of my lifestyle", sort of belief. In the case of the same sex marriage ruling, that is actually exactly what the court is doing- letting people live, free of government imposition. So I find it interesting that in this case, Conservatives are up in arms about a loss of what had essentially been government-sanctioned protectionism of a lifestyle ideal (albeit in this case, their ideals).

Next of course is the argument that extending marriage rights, hinders the religious freedom of those who don't believe in it (as though extending a  freedom to commit an act, somehow equates to mandated participation in the act). Its an hard reality that any time a freedom or right is extended to more, some will feel their power deflating. That's unfortunate for them, but it's never been a strong enough force to stop the progression of freedoms within this country. The same rhetoric was seen in women's suffrage, and Civil Rights- those who currently hold a right feel threatened by an elimination of their exclusive access to it. They will fight as though this right is something they earned, while others have not. They will concoct doomsday prophecies of terrors to come, in an effort to make valid their claim to why a certain right has, and should remain, rationed.  They will cloak their arguments in manipulated divinity, ascribing them to a higher power so as to avoid taking credit for their own lacking logic and fearful bigotry.

Now, I'm not here to change any one's mind. People are very set in their ways on this one, and I'm not naive enough to think I've said anything that hasn't already been said before. I also know I can probably count on two hands the number of people who read my blog, and so I'm not terribly worried about starting an uproar! Yet for some reason, I couldn't watch silently as people toss around bigotry and veil their ignorance with words like "freedom" and religious "right." The flagrant misapplication of those terms at a time when billions in this world are truly still fighting for them, should make us all ashamed of ourselves.

I support gay marriage. Whole heartily. I was brought up as a good Catholic, and not once did all my priests, nuns, and Bible study teachers teach me that judgment was anything but God's to dole out.  But I am not Catholic now. Now I depend on logic, and so my perspective on gay marriage comes from that. And so to close, I'd ask Conservative America to just consider this: In reality, if any one group is in fact maintaining their "freedom" by denying it to another, then is that not the exact tyranny we should fear? Is not THAT the true example of a government imposed will?

God Bless America.

Momentum

I've been back in the country for a little over a month now. Everyone asks me how my trip was. They ask what I did, who I met, the places I went, and the most popular of questions; "What was your favorite thing about the trip?" The impossibility of answering this question stems not just from the fact that it's difficult to pick a favorite instance from a nearly three month long adventure, but also because the most valuable gifts of these experiences are almost certainly, indescribable. I've tried to narrow my stories down to one country...then further, down to one main event...then down to a one sentence description. Finally, I can narrow it down to one word: Momentum.

I should probably have prefaced this (and most of my previous posts, for that matter) with the admission that I am an amateur amongst pros when it comes to traveling. My posts talk about travel igniting dormant energies of freedom, fearlessness, and self discovery. I have no illusions about being a pioneer- theses are secrets of traveling's treasures that millions before me, have long been privy to.  I humbly accept my novice "traveler" status, and realize that I have all but dipped a toe into the gentle waters of a world many others have already dived into head first.  That being said, these are my experiences as I have graciously received them.

So to me, traveling is most simply described as "momentum." There's a wave that rolls, sometimes fast and sometimes slow, throughout your body when you travel. It's a sway in your feet, and a spur constantly churning under your heels. It's the all encompassing, insatiable
urge to get up and go. Traveling is kinetic energy, in the most pure and personal form. Its a motor inside your soul, that hums and drones and moans and finally WAILS its vibrations into every corner of you. Its the feeling of movement that grooves to your own beat, swinging you back and forth around the barriers of your comfort zone. Its a pulse that quickens inside you, keeping you awake at night while you roll giggling in bed trying to shut down and slip into slumber. Its personal in where it takes you, and the confrontations of "self" it leads you to . For some, the momentum throws them deep into lands and cultures they've never dreamed of. For others, it can be as simple an energy as the gentle nudge to be more outgoing with others. For me, it was both of these things, and everything in between. It was a feeling of being on top of the world where anything is possible, once I accept that I'm strong enough to just grab for it.

So now when people ask me what I got from my trip, I have a simple "go to" answer: momentum. I gained fire and passion.  I gained the desire to move, and shake, and create, and dance wildly to the shuffle of life's up's and down's. I gained the grace to wonder, to ask questions, to forgive myself for shortcomings, and to try again in endeavours I've been intimidated by, or failed at in the past.  These are my gains, and I hope to take them with me forever.

"Losing It" in Cambodia

It was time to navigate my final border crossing: Vietnam to Cambodia. We drove for 13 hours from Saigon, finally touching the outskirts of Phnom Penh by 6pm. Coming into town, was another eye opener of a scene. Elevated huts sat a few yards out, adjoining the main road via ramshackle wood planks, and anchored into pools dense with lily pads. It would be easy to forget these houses comprise a "neighborhood" within a city of nearly 1.5 million people.
                                                             
We drove by three kids, leaning over the rickety rail outlining the lake beside their house. All three had long wooden fishing poles in their hands, as their feet dragged shoeless and muddy through the rain soaked marsh below them. They smiled as they fished and threw mud at nearby  water buffalo, and draped their clothes over the post to dry between the frequent rainstorms. They looked more happy, content, & full of an energy for life than many a western child their age ( I realize the naivete of this thought, coming from my 'priveldeged 1st world Citizen' guilt complex, & so I humbly remind myself not to presume anything about what happiness or unhappiness looks like in their actual lives). I arrived in Phnom Penh with only $30 USD- which is enough to buy my visa, a night in a hostel, a pack of cigarettes (don't judge me, I'm traveling), a meal of the most delicious Indian food I've ever had, & 3 beers...so, I'm set.


After spending just a day or two in Phnom Penh, I was ready to be out of the city. I had just spent a month enjoying the bustle of urban life in Vietnam, but I was feeling the need to hit a beach and slow down for a bit. I planned to hit southern Cambodia, a south east  Asian beach mecca in it's own right. I was hoping to avoid the main beaches of Sihanoukville, that were littered with garbage and rife with all the typical tourist molestations (IE- local restaurants put out of business by all night dance clubs  pandering cheap drugs and sex tourism to those who have the power of the almighty dollar, pound, or Euro, and who have little appreciation for the once immaculate coastline they're now flicking their cigarettes onto).  So I quickly hopped in a tuk tuk headed to the town over, called Otres Beach. I then looked into a boat charter to one of the outer islands, which I was assured are almost totally deserted during rainy season.

When I arrived on Koh Ta Kiev Island, I walked 1.5 miles barefoot through jungle paths to get to my camp. They were flooded and gnarled with tree roots, and I shivered for the first time in months while the afternoon downpour soaked me to the bone. We are only slightly guided along by an old man who speaks no English, only offering us waves of the hand to 'keep going' while he hangs a few yards behind us smoking cigarettes (upon arrival, we notice that his payment for said guidance is a free beer offered by the hostel). The "hostel" is one of only two accommodations on the entire island, both offering tree houses or campsites with no amenities (no electricity, running water, no windows  or doors on any buildings). I am one of only 4 guests on this entire island. I immediately felt like I had tapped into something amazing and untouched. It's a  place where I could sit all day smoking joints, swinging in hammocks,  and letting the salt from the Gulf of Thailand harden to my skin after  hours of her waves rocking me back and forth.

I had been on this trip for over two months, but I don't feel like I truly lost myself until Cambodia.  It was here that I spent days bobbing in the sea, wandering deserted beaches, swaying on swings made of driftwood that slung just low enough that your toes gently grazed the surf as they glided above it. I lost my plans, lost my schemes, lost any lingering personal doubts, fears, & melodramas. I let all the weight of my world float off me and get carried out with the rough surf that pounded my ankles while I walked the beach. I lost my fear of the ocean, letting it grab me and toss me around and swallow me whole, only to spit me back out and return me peacefully to shore. I lost my panic for the future, and my anxieties of the past, as they both gave way to the present. It was a present so vast as it laid out before me, that there wasn't room to focus my attention on anything more. I emptied all of myself into this moment. I traded  in all my past and current weights, for an untouched void with limitless potential to be filled in with renewed spirit, and strength, and energy, and life.  I lost it all- and gained back my peace. 

Na Tran and the road to Dalat

I sat with my toes buried deep in the sand, watching the beach jut out into a warm turquoise surf. Locals gathered around for their evening games of soccer, volleyball and wave surfing while merchants wove amongst the tourist cabanas selling everything from cigarettes to bracelets to corn on the cob and sparklers. Families of Vietnamese tourists splashed and flipped and floated together, laughing with each wave that hit them and carried them into shore, than out once more. The sea here seems so immense, yet so lived in and I start to wonder what it would be like living here with the waves as my playground. It's a feeling I've had many times on this trip, wondering what the real world of local life is like. Right now, Its a world which I feel intimately included in- I'm a guest welcomed to join the party and partake in the energy spinning around on this stretch of coast. The scene was that of everyday life in this bustling beach side city, yet being present in it made me feel so alive and content in that moment, that I wanted to cry.

The sun was setting, meaning the town would quickly be waking back up from its mid day sun dazed sleepiness. Soon, the daytime Bhan Mi stands would give way to the smoked fish and fresh foot-long prawns being sold on every corner. The tour buses would be overtaking the roads from buzzing motorbikes, bringing with them fresh eyes and wallets arriving from Ho Chi Mihn, Ha Noi, & Hoi An.

Ive been here for hours, yet cant get myself to leave. So I order a beer. It's a fabulously priced $1, so naturally I up the ante to 2 beers. I've grown so accustomed to the art of just sitting, observing, taking it all in. This isn't the first time ( nor the last, I'm sure), that I've intended to sit down and kill some time only to find myself entranced and immobile while I lose hours in the sport of spectating. I know I could stay here getting my fill of cheap beer and continuing to wax philosophical, but I have an early bus to Dalat so I decide to call it a night.

The bus to Dalat Should be just another long bus ride, but  turns out to be a scenic cruise through untouched jungle and beautiful, forgotten villages. Every tight bend in the road brings with it the opening up of a new view,  a seemingly endless expanse of tumbling green hills and orange rocky rivers. With each additional 10k, a town punctuates the winding roadside with its shanty shops and colorfully painted Buddhist altars. Rusted over satellite dishes, were perched on the corners of boarded up shacks transmitting no signals and gathering an afternoon mountain dew on their steel arms. Villagers were squatting on their porches, smoking tobacco from banana leaves and watching the bus of tourists roll by. Their unaffected demeanor shows they've likely spent many similar hours, of many similar days ,  of many similar months- in the same languid pastime of porch perching.

Soon we arrive in Dalat. A day earlier in Na Tran, a local warned me not to expect much from the town itself- but I'm pleasantly surprised at how wrong he was. The steep jungle hills have stacked rows of colorful homes, all circling around a deep valley that's so shrouded in rainy fog u cant see the bottom of it. The roads are misted with fresh rain. The air is cool and a welcome relief from the humid lowland cities I've been in so far ( I'm instantly grateful that my decision to lug around Mike's Smartwool sweater has finally paid off, I end up wearing it the entire time I'm in Dalat). The climate and landscape all remind me slightly of a Vietnamese version of Seattle, & a lurch of homesickness quickly tightens my  stomach. Fortunately after a deadly 2 week bout with homesickness earlier in my trip, I'm familiar with this feeling and know the quickest remedy. I close my eyes, shoot a smile and positive thought back to my home city,  & open my eyes back to the gem of a town that is laid out before me to enjoy. Good Morning, Dalat.


Rainy hillsides of Dalat

My Friendly Vietnamese boyfriend, who had my heart when he welcomed me inside from the rain to watch cartoons and share his blanket.

Fourth of July in Laos

I'm sitting at a Bhuddist Wat towering one mile above Luang Pra Bang. The sunset is about an hour from now. Photog tourists begin trickling up the steep hill for a glance at a city perched amongst rolling jungle hills, that's soon to be cloaked in gold as the sun dips low over tiered temples, & retires into the Mekong.

A stray kitten has taken a liking to the back of my leg. He sits cuddling his body into me as he bites and tears at the fleas in his paws. I know he's mite ridden and likely diseased.  I should push him off me but he's so thin, scared, and young. His tail is broken and his face his scared. The poor thing has probably been itching and scratching, & fighting and starving since he was born, but he now looks so content lying against me as he slips into slumber. So I let him rest, and shoot myself a mental reminder to buy hand Sanitizer on the way home.

The sounds of the city coming alive for the night, echo from the main walking street below. Wood xylophones and haphazardly constructed can mandarins, mingle with the evening drums from the temple beside me. A Thai family strikes up a conversation with me and upon hearing I'm American, all the aunts and uncles and cousins begin posing around me for pictures. Two other nearby Americans overhear the conversation and introduce themselves. We start the standard traveler conversation: "Where are you from? Where have you been? Where are you going? "  After our introductions, I realize I've spent 4 hours up here lost in awe and contemplation, & I should probably head back into town for some food. Before leaving I remember the date, & turn to the American boys- "Hey by the way, happy fourth of July!"

A few hours later along the same lines of patriotic mentality mixed with a never ending appreciation for $1 beers, I head out to celebrate.  Laos has an 11pm curfew and there are only 3 bars in town so its not hard to run into everyone you know on one central downtown street anywhere from 9pm-midnight. I run into the two Americans, & happen upon three others at the bar. The place is run by a Canadian expat who lays out an unbeatable offer: bring Americans into the bar all night, & I'll play "American music" & make u free red white and blue drinks all night. Sold! Obviously, it doesn't take us long to stock up on Americans who were interested in a free fourth of July libation. Though his choice of "American music" ended up equating to played out classics such as Hotel California and American Pie, the entire deal worked out decidedly in our favor as we spent the pre-curfew hours dancing, and drinking, and celebrating 'Merica beside the lazy lull of the Mekong.

Luang Pra Bang, Laos

Dong Hoi to Hoi An

I walk the 1.5 miles back to the main bus station of Dong Hoi in an attempt at being responsible and buying my ticket in advance. No luck- tickets are only sold the day of departure so I'll need to be back at the station at 6:30am. One of the more frustrating feelings of my time here, though its a feeling I've grown accustomed to, is being grounded when my feet are anxious to move on. The public transport is confusing, with time tables that make no sense and buses that fill up at a moments notice.  So, I take it in stride and prepare to hunker down in Dong Hoi for one more night.

I wake at 5:30am and try to check out so I can haul ass to the bus depot. Again, no luck- the overnight manager speaks no English and  cant help me check out or get my passport back until someone else gets there to help him navigate the process. I'm on a time crunch so I deliver my best attempt at miming the words, "return passport please" but my fumbling efforts are met with a blank stare from his half asleep eyes. Somehow, he does know English for "5 more minutes," since he continues to say it every 5 mins. for the next half hour. Finally someone arrives who can help, & I'm off!

The bus ride should take about 7 hours. We seem right on track for about 11. The driver stops about every 3 miles to pick up few roadside hop-ons, whom I can only assume are paying about 1/10 what my "foreigner priced" ticket cost at the station. Locals hop on with giant bags of rice, only to get off three towns down, trade the rice for a stack of red plastic chairs, then continue riding on. Passengers are yelling at each other, shuffling bags of food and boxes of goods about the bus.  I'm beginning to realize the ways of the local Vietnamese bus system, and the breadth of commerce taking place within its carriages and the corridors it cruises down. I see a sign saying we're 30k from Hue. I think, "Good- we're almost half way". Then we stop again for a passenger and goods reload...then again for another.. then again for a car wash (yes, a 30 min wash of a bus half way through its journey...I didn't understand the point either, but we all felt shiny and clean for the remaining 3 hours). An hour later and we've moved 10k..I close my eyes and wish I had gotten that over the counter Zanax they sell for $3 a box (presumably to many a traveler for situations such as these). 

Finally, we arrive in Da Nang and my skepticism melts as I realize we've somehow still made it in under 7 hrs.   We pull into the bus station to a scene that looks like Beattle-mania. Motorbike drivers chase down our bus, banging the sides and clawing at the windows until they've managed to open them from the outside. They jump onto the bus while its still moving, throwing their heads in the windows  to find the most tourist looking passenger that they can overcharge for the ride to nearby Hoi An. Naturally, I've been pegged as the front running candidate. I'm not even off the bus before hands are hitting my shoulders and 5 men are around me fighting to grab and direct me to their motorbikes. I politely remove their hands from me, keep saying "no", and walk onward. To my luck, the local bus to Hoi An is right in front of me so I hop on.

I immediately make friends with an old man sitting on the bus alone smoking a cigarette.  He says to me in perfect English,  " I speak very good English." When we begin talking, I realize he used the term lightly and knows only a few words of English. All the same, he's lovely and he likes shaking my hand repeatedly, so I enjoy our meaningless conversation immensely.  He asks me if I'm American or French- apparently those are my only two Westerner options. He has the kind of eyes and face that you know his experience of Americans over the past 30 years, is probably complex and complicated to say the least. Yet, he is so excited that I choose "American", that he points me out to each boarding passenger. They all look and smile and wave and stare a bit and it's all very endearing/ embarrassing. Now that its been established that there's an American on board to provide the in- transport entertainment, we ride on exchanging handshakes and smiles for the next 30 mins. Sitting on the bus, I feel lost for the first time. Not 'lost' as in I don't know where I'm going, but as in nobody else in the world knows where  I am. I'm a bit off the grid, where nobody speaks English and I'm completely alone. I feel disconnected and rootless, wandering around a pocket of the world where I'm  unreachable by a single person I know. I feel my own smallness in a never-ending  spin of the world around me- the feeling is exhilarating and profound. Pulling into Hoi An,  I realize I haven't checked my watch in hours. It's 4pm, I've put in a 9 hour day of travel and couldn't be happier with where I landed.

Hoi An riverfront

Hoi An is known for it's affordable tailoring. Here I'm having a dress recreated from a picture online, tailored perfectly to me.