As of late, I haven't been doing anything except bouncing here and there, tracing a route across the US and trying to figure out a new place in the world for myself.
I miss so much about Asia. I miss the masses of chaotic beings working together, I miss the curious stares children gave me in isolated regions, people touching my hair and my skin on bus rides, and the way the days melded one into the other. I miss Indonesia especially. A place that inspires with the people, the land and the seascapes. The spirituality seems to hang in the air there, just waiting to be soaked up. I came home, never thinking for a moment that I would feel more lost in my country of origin then I ever was while traveling to foreign places.
I came home quieter somehow, perfectly content with doing nothing except healing my body. I have been spent the past month surrounded by my loves and family and yet I have felt a bit like a stranger. It just all seems so sterile, so isolated, so futile and I don't yet know how to deal with my those new feelings.
I have decided to find a quiet corner of this vast country of ours and settle in for a bit. I plan to surround myself with books and plants and work tasks and somehow figure out what dreams I want to dream now. See, traveling the world was my dream for as long as I can remember and now that I have done it, I don't know what my new dreams are. Without dreaming I am lost.
Peace, love, and joy
Lara
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Sunday, November 21, 2010
The Long Road Home
I'm back in the US and of course had some trouble getting home. It seems as if the universe was intent on kicking my ass the entire time I was gone, but man, what an adventure I had.
I booked my flights, routing me through Perth and then Sydney while still in Bali. I made sure I had to appropriate electronic Visa to get into Australia and though I was dreading the almost 30 hours of flight time to get home, I was thrilled. My leg was giving me constant problems and I could barely walk to the store to buy water. Not exactly a fun place to be in while alone in a foreign country. I woke up early for my flight to Perth and made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. I went to check in with Air Asia, and the ticket counter guy scanned my passport. He paused and looked at me with a curious look on his face. "I'm sorry, you aren't allowed to board the plane." He tilted his screen towards me and there it was, a giant Do Not Allow To Board screen. I told him their must be some mistake, I was certainly allowed to fly to Australia. He told me that I would be sent back to Indonesia if he allowed me to board and since my Indo Visa expired the next day, I wouldn't be allowed back in. I began to panic. I was in horrible pain, dragging my backpack, in the Denpasar, Bali airport and basically at a loss as to what to do. He gave me a website and told me to contact the Australian embassy through it. I wandered around the airport for a bit, trying to find an internet signal and finally decided that there had be an Australia Consulate in Bali. There just HAD to be one and I would go there and get it sorted out. The fourth cab driver I asked knew where it was and off I went, an hour ride away to try and get proof that I could actually leave Bali.
I sat outside the Australian Consulate for 3 hours, my passport inside the building, and finally the agent came out with a piece of paper that said I was allowed to enter Australia. It seems that their was a glich in the airlines system that automatically rejected my passport. I grabbed a cab back to the airport and showed the Air Asia people all the forms, trying to get them to put me on another flight. After all, it was their fault that I missed my flight. They, in true asshole corporate form, refused to refund my ticket or reroute me in any way. I whipped out my credit card and paid $400 for a flight to Sydney, deciding to bypass Perth all together. So, it cost me a total of $800 to get from Bali to Australia. Fun times.
I finally made it to San Fransisco some 48 hours later and boarded a flight to Las Vegas. I spent the next 4 days, comfortable on my friend Beau's couch, seeing various friends, the ones that really matter to me. It was strange being back. It struck me how incredibly easy life is in the US and I plan to post another blog about that soon. After Vegas, I went to Atlanta to see friends from my former life there, spending my time once again on the couch with my stupid leg up.
Peace, love and joy,
Lara
I booked my flights, routing me through Perth and then Sydney while still in Bali. I made sure I had to appropriate electronic Visa to get into Australia and though I was dreading the almost 30 hours of flight time to get home, I was thrilled. My leg was giving me constant problems and I could barely walk to the store to buy water. Not exactly a fun place to be in while alone in a foreign country. I woke up early for my flight to Perth and made it to the airport with plenty of time to spare. I went to check in with Air Asia, and the ticket counter guy scanned my passport. He paused and looked at me with a curious look on his face. "I'm sorry, you aren't allowed to board the plane." He tilted his screen towards me and there it was, a giant Do Not Allow To Board screen. I told him their must be some mistake, I was certainly allowed to fly to Australia. He told me that I would be sent back to Indonesia if he allowed me to board and since my Indo Visa expired the next day, I wouldn't be allowed back in. I began to panic. I was in horrible pain, dragging my backpack, in the Denpasar, Bali airport and basically at a loss as to what to do. He gave me a website and told me to contact the Australian embassy through it. I wandered around the airport for a bit, trying to find an internet signal and finally decided that there had be an Australia Consulate in Bali. There just HAD to be one and I would go there and get it sorted out. The fourth cab driver I asked knew where it was and off I went, an hour ride away to try and get proof that I could actually leave Bali.
I sat outside the Australian Consulate for 3 hours, my passport inside the building, and finally the agent came out with a piece of paper that said I was allowed to enter Australia. It seems that their was a glich in the airlines system that automatically rejected my passport. I grabbed a cab back to the airport and showed the Air Asia people all the forms, trying to get them to put me on another flight. After all, it was their fault that I missed my flight. They, in true asshole corporate form, refused to refund my ticket or reroute me in any way. I whipped out my credit card and paid $400 for a flight to Sydney, deciding to bypass Perth all together. So, it cost me a total of $800 to get from Bali to Australia. Fun times.
I finally made it to San Fransisco some 48 hours later and boarded a flight to Las Vegas. I spent the next 4 days, comfortable on my friend Beau's couch, seeing various friends, the ones that really matter to me. It was strange being back. It struck me how incredibly easy life is in the US and I plan to post another blog about that soon. After Vegas, I went to Atlanta to see friends from my former life there, spending my time once again on the couch with my stupid leg up.
Peace, love and joy,
Lara
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Following My Heart All The Way Home
One of the hardest decisions I have had to make as of late, was my decision to come home to the States.
I have spent the past couple of weeks in more pain than I have ever been in my life. I can't walk more than 10 feet without almost falling. I feel incredibly isolated and lonely most of the time, stuck in non-descript rooms in guest houses around Bali with almost no options. I can't even walk to get a water without enduring incredible pain. Here I am, in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to and I can't see any of it. I started to question if I can really do this for the next couple of years and I still haven't come up with an answer.
I have always been one to completely follow what my heart tells me to do and so I made the heart decision to come back to the States for a spell. A part of me feels like such a failure, because the absolute truth is that my leg will heal, it can heal here, but I do want to come home. I had all of these grandiose plans to see as much of the world as possible, but I'm not sure I can make the cut. Someone very dear to me asked me what I had learned on this journey and the list is so very long. I guess in the end, I have to hold on to that and remember that this is all part of it, of that growth and a direct result of it.
I am scared to come home. I am scared I will lose the lessons I have learned about myself and others. I will do my best to hold on to those things that have made me grow in leaps and bounds. I feel as though I will have some culture shock, after living amongst such simple, wonderful people all over the world. The love and compassion shown to me has taught me so many things. That it's OK to accept help and OK to be weak at times. It's OK to be vulnerable and I don't have to be tough all of the time. Any sort of ego I had, was knocked out of me with a hammer like blow so many times in so many different places.
I still don't want the typical American life. I am still going to be traveling around, seeing friends, working a bit (man, how I have missed work) and being the best friend possible to those that know how to be a friend to me.
My plans are to fly to San Fransisco later this week from Sydney, then go to Vegas for a couple of days to see a few people and then off to Atlanta to see some friends from my past life there. After that, I will be going to St. Thomas for Thanksgiving and from there? Who knows. I sure don't. But, still this is my journey, just tweaked a bit and of course, I like not knowing.
I am going to remain open to any and all possibilities. I think I will end up in some pretty spectacular places with people that know and love me. And that my friends, is where I need to be right now.
Peace, love, and joy
Lara
I have spent the past couple of weeks in more pain than I have ever been in my life. I can't walk more than 10 feet without almost falling. I feel incredibly isolated and lonely most of the time, stuck in non-descript rooms in guest houses around Bali with almost no options. I can't even walk to get a water without enduring incredible pain. Here I am, in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to and I can't see any of it. I started to question if I can really do this for the next couple of years and I still haven't come up with an answer.
I have always been one to completely follow what my heart tells me to do and so I made the heart decision to come back to the States for a spell. A part of me feels like such a failure, because the absolute truth is that my leg will heal, it can heal here, but I do want to come home. I had all of these grandiose plans to see as much of the world as possible, but I'm not sure I can make the cut. Someone very dear to me asked me what I had learned on this journey and the list is so very long. I guess in the end, I have to hold on to that and remember that this is all part of it, of that growth and a direct result of it.
I am scared to come home. I am scared I will lose the lessons I have learned about myself and others. I will do my best to hold on to those things that have made me grow in leaps and bounds. I feel as though I will have some culture shock, after living amongst such simple, wonderful people all over the world. The love and compassion shown to me has taught me so many things. That it's OK to accept help and OK to be weak at times. It's OK to be vulnerable and I don't have to be tough all of the time. Any sort of ego I had, was knocked out of me with a hammer like blow so many times in so many different places.
I still don't want the typical American life. I am still going to be traveling around, seeing friends, working a bit (man, how I have missed work) and being the best friend possible to those that know how to be a friend to me.
My plans are to fly to San Fransisco later this week from Sydney, then go to Vegas for a couple of days to see a few people and then off to Atlanta to see some friends from my past life there. After that, I will be going to St. Thomas for Thanksgiving and from there? Who knows. I sure don't. But, still this is my journey, just tweaked a bit and of course, I like not knowing.
I am going to remain open to any and all possibilities. I think I will end up in some pretty spectacular places with people that know and love me. And that my friends, is where I need to be right now.
Peace, love, and joy
Lara
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Bali Part 2- A Knock Out Blow
Sometimes life throws you tiny little punches barely glancing off you and sometimes it throws you a wave so big that it knocks you on your ass for weeks.
After arriving in Kuta, Bali and finding a terrific place to stay, I went off in search of some local surfers. In part to show me the best breaks, to show me some new skills, and to hopefully surf with for a bit. I always find the locals when I go surfing and that strategy has served me well. Being a female and not nearly as good as any of them, they have often tended to take me under their wing and show me around. I wandered not far from my guest house and found a surf shop. The guys were busy repairing boards in their tiny little shop. I walked up and introduced myself and before I knew it, they had me sit down and we all engage in some lively conversation. Roland, the one that knew the most English, and I hit it off immediately. The next day we went out to Halfway Beach in Kuta, boards in hand and hit it hard. It was an amazing session. That is what surfing is all about. I hit my sweet spot and became one with the wave and my board. I was in heaven. For the next couple of days I surfed some amazing waves with the boys and drank beers with them in the afternoon.
On the last day that I went out, we paddled out to the break. I spotted a monster and knew that it was too big for my skill set, but I have never been one to not take on something too big and so I went for it. The second I stood up my leg twisted. It felt like I had been shot in the calf. Roland helped me out and up and I limped on back home, not grasping what I had really done to myself by taking on that monster. The next day, I woke up in a massive amount of pain and even though I couldn't walk, decided I would go out again. I stubbornly insisted that surfing isn't like walking and I would be just fine. I limped to the shop and Roland gave me a scooter ride to the breaks, board strapped to the side of the scooter. It was to be a costly mistake as I had a horrible session and I hurt myself even more.
It turns out that I have a stage 2 torn calf muscle, made worse by the fact that my stubbornness got in the way and I went out a second time and tried to surf on it. I was absolutely miserable and in the worst pain I have ever been in. After seeing a local doctor, which is a treat in itself; mostly because of language barriers, I decided to stay off it as much as possible. I couldn't find crutches anywhere and I was pretty much stuck at my guest house, which thank goodness had a pool. For someone as active as I am, it was a serious blow. I woke up every morning for the next week and insisted it was better and try to walk on it. After a few days I went back to the doctor because of excruciating pain and discovered that because of my inability to actually listen and stay off my feet, I had torn a ligament in my knee.
It's hard to convey how wonderful the guys from the surf shop were to me. They gave me scoot rides to the doctor, they helped me walk and brought me dinner. Their are 5 of them that live and work at the surf shop. They sleep on mats in the back room and work from 9 am until 11 pm on most days. They are some of the happiest people I have ever met. "We get to watch the sunset everyday, we get to surf, and we get to play our guitars at night with our friends. We dont need much more than that Ms. Lara." It is so very humbling. All over Southeast Asia I have met people like that. And they are happy, more so than I could ever imagine being in the same circumstances.
I left Kuta, Bali yesterday for the interior. Ubud is this amazing little town, filled with artists and writers. It is absolutely beautiful. I had a horrific van ride up here, jammed in the front seat, my leg swelling to monstrous size, but even though I cried the whole way from the pain and didn't stop until I met a fellow traveler for dinner, I am happy I came. I'm going to extend my Visa for another 30 days and get better up here. I entertained brief thoughts of coming home, crying my eyes out. But if I'm going to convalesce I figure I might as well do it in Bali. Today, I am going to see an acupuncturist and a herbal healer. I figure that I might as well give Eastern medicine a try since I'm here.
The local people I have met have been taking care of me and fellow travelers have carried my bags for me and helped me walk. People are so incredibly nice everywhere I go, and there I go again, tears in my eyes thinking about it. For someone resistant to accepting help from anyone, I have learned that sometimes you need it, sometime you can't do everything yourself. I only hope that I can return the favor of universal compassion everyday of my life and never forget the kindness shown to me around the world.
Peace, love and joy!
Lara
After arriving in Kuta, Bali and finding a terrific place to stay, I went off in search of some local surfers. In part to show me the best breaks, to show me some new skills, and to hopefully surf with for a bit. I always find the locals when I go surfing and that strategy has served me well. Being a female and not nearly as good as any of them, they have often tended to take me under their wing and show me around. I wandered not far from my guest house and found a surf shop. The guys were busy repairing boards in their tiny little shop. I walked up and introduced myself and before I knew it, they had me sit down and we all engage in some lively conversation. Roland, the one that knew the most English, and I hit it off immediately. The next day we went out to Halfway Beach in Kuta, boards in hand and hit it hard. It was an amazing session. That is what surfing is all about. I hit my sweet spot and became one with the wave and my board. I was in heaven. For the next couple of days I surfed some amazing waves with the boys and drank beers with them in the afternoon.
On the last day that I went out, we paddled out to the break. I spotted a monster and knew that it was too big for my skill set, but I have never been one to not take on something too big and so I went for it. The second I stood up my leg twisted. It felt like I had been shot in the calf. Roland helped me out and up and I limped on back home, not grasping what I had really done to myself by taking on that monster. The next day, I woke up in a massive amount of pain and even though I couldn't walk, decided I would go out again. I stubbornly insisted that surfing isn't like walking and I would be just fine. I limped to the shop and Roland gave me a scooter ride to the breaks, board strapped to the side of the scooter. It was to be a costly mistake as I had a horrible session and I hurt myself even more.
It turns out that I have a stage 2 torn calf muscle, made worse by the fact that my stubbornness got in the way and I went out a second time and tried to surf on it. I was absolutely miserable and in the worst pain I have ever been in. After seeing a local doctor, which is a treat in itself; mostly because of language barriers, I decided to stay off it as much as possible. I couldn't find crutches anywhere and I was pretty much stuck at my guest house, which thank goodness had a pool. For someone as active as I am, it was a serious blow. I woke up every morning for the next week and insisted it was better and try to walk on it. After a few days I went back to the doctor because of excruciating pain and discovered that because of my inability to actually listen and stay off my feet, I had torn a ligament in my knee.
It's hard to convey how wonderful the guys from the surf shop were to me. They gave me scoot rides to the doctor, they helped me walk and brought me dinner. Their are 5 of them that live and work at the surf shop. They sleep on mats in the back room and work from 9 am until 11 pm on most days. They are some of the happiest people I have ever met. "We get to watch the sunset everyday, we get to surf, and we get to play our guitars at night with our friends. We dont need much more than that Ms. Lara." It is so very humbling. All over Southeast Asia I have met people like that. And they are happy, more so than I could ever imagine being in the same circumstances.
I left Kuta, Bali yesterday for the interior. Ubud is this amazing little town, filled with artists and writers. It is absolutely beautiful. I had a horrific van ride up here, jammed in the front seat, my leg swelling to monstrous size, but even though I cried the whole way from the pain and didn't stop until I met a fellow traveler for dinner, I am happy I came. I'm going to extend my Visa for another 30 days and get better up here. I entertained brief thoughts of coming home, crying my eyes out. But if I'm going to convalesce I figure I might as well do it in Bali. Today, I am going to see an acupuncturist and a herbal healer. I figure that I might as well give Eastern medicine a try since I'm here.
The local people I have met have been taking care of me and fellow travelers have carried my bags for me and helped me walk. People are so incredibly nice everywhere I go, and there I go again, tears in my eyes thinking about it. For someone resistant to accepting help from anyone, I have learned that sometimes you need it, sometime you can't do everything yourself. I only hope that I can return the favor of universal compassion everyday of my life and never forget the kindness shown to me around the world.
Peace, love and joy!
Lara
Friday, October 29, 2010
Vietnam to Bali Part 1
I absolutely had to get out of South East Asia. After spending months traveling at a break neck speed through various countries, it was time to leave. I flew back to Saigon via Tiger Air from Pho Quot Island and spent a couple of days wandering around with different sets of people. I randomly ran into an American couple I had met way back in Thailand and we spent a day exploring Saigon, particularly the war museum. The museum itself is a different blog for a different time, but suffice it to say I was deeply moved by it. It was horrendously done, with massive propaganda against the US, but some of the photos and facts presented made me cry.
I walked into a travel agency and randomly pointed to Bali on the map. "Ok, that's where I am going now" I thought. Less than 24 hours later I was in the air on my way to Jakarta for an overnight 6 hour layover. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I was setting up my flights, but man did I pay for it. The day I left Saigon I was up at my normal time, around 7 am. I met my American friends and then took a taxi to the airport for my 8 pm flight to Jakarta. We were slightly delayed in leaving, so we didn't actually land in Jakarta until almost 1 am. My flight to Bali was at 6:20 am the next morning. In my naivety I assumed I would be able to grab a few hours of sleep in the airport, by now I am quite used to sleeping whenever and wherever I can.
No such luck.
I lined up for immigration and encountered some of the nicest people I have met at immigration posts thus far. Simply put, they love Americans. I was bombarded with facts about Obama and learned that he lived there as a school child. One of the initial immigration guys got a look at my first name on my passport and so the "Lara Tomb Raider" nickname was given to me and followed me for much of the night. It was 1:30 am before I got through immigration and grabbed my bag. Ok, now for a nice bench to park my ass on and sleep. No such luck. Every seat was taken and I ended up hanging out with a couple of Irish hippie boys and their guitars outside the building, taking requests from the local boys hanging around us. Which mainly turned out to be ColdPlay. The guys soon left to grab a flight and I wandered aimlessly, ending up close to immigration once again. A couple of the officials, with nothing else to do, pulled out a chair and had me sit with them. They drank coffee and smoked right in the middle of immigration in the middle of the airport and chatted with me about all things American and Indonesian. After a while, a deck of cards was produced and we began to play. I'm not sure how many people get to say that they played cards in the dead of the night in the Jakarta International terminal with Immigration official, but I can. That's what I love about this whole journey, I never know what will happen.
I finally boarded my flight at 6 am after being awake for nearly 24 hours. I tried to sleep on the plane with no luck. The flight was 4 hours and I was a zombie disembarking in Bali. I grabbed a cab to head to Legian and a group of guest-houses. They were all absolutely horrid, so I ended up wandering the streets for nearly 2 hours, with my 26 pound backpack strapped to me and finally found a terrific little place, of which I am still at. I had been awake nearly 40 hours before I finally crashed. Never again will I do that.
Part 2 coming soon!
Peace, love, and joy!
Lara
I walked into a travel agency and randomly pointed to Bali on the map. "Ok, that's where I am going now" I thought. Less than 24 hours later I was in the air on my way to Jakarta for an overnight 6 hour layover. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I was setting up my flights, but man did I pay for it. The day I left Saigon I was up at my normal time, around 7 am. I met my American friends and then took a taxi to the airport for my 8 pm flight to Jakarta. We were slightly delayed in leaving, so we didn't actually land in Jakarta until almost 1 am. My flight to Bali was at 6:20 am the next morning. In my naivety I assumed I would be able to grab a few hours of sleep in the airport, by now I am quite used to sleeping whenever and wherever I can.
No such luck.
I lined up for immigration and encountered some of the nicest people I have met at immigration posts thus far. Simply put, they love Americans. I was bombarded with facts about Obama and learned that he lived there as a school child. One of the initial immigration guys got a look at my first name on my passport and so the "Lara Tomb Raider" nickname was given to me and followed me for much of the night. It was 1:30 am before I got through immigration and grabbed my bag. Ok, now for a nice bench to park my ass on and sleep. No such luck. Every seat was taken and I ended up hanging out with a couple of Irish hippie boys and their guitars outside the building, taking requests from the local boys hanging around us. Which mainly turned out to be ColdPlay. The guys soon left to grab a flight and I wandered aimlessly, ending up close to immigration once again. A couple of the officials, with nothing else to do, pulled out a chair and had me sit with them. They drank coffee and smoked right in the middle of immigration in the middle of the airport and chatted with me about all things American and Indonesian. After a while, a deck of cards was produced and we began to play. I'm not sure how many people get to say that they played cards in the dead of the night in the Jakarta International terminal with Immigration official, but I can. That's what I love about this whole journey, I never know what will happen.
I finally boarded my flight at 6 am after being awake for nearly 24 hours. I tried to sleep on the plane with no luck. The flight was 4 hours and I was a zombie disembarking in Bali. I grabbed a cab to head to Legian and a group of guest-houses. They were all absolutely horrid, so I ended up wandering the streets for nearly 2 hours, with my 26 pound backpack strapped to me and finally found a terrific little place, of which I am still at. I had been awake nearly 40 hours before I finally crashed. Never again will I do that.
Part 2 coming soon!
Peace, love, and joy!
Lara
Saturday, October 16, 2010
The Ties that Bind
She was old. Older than I care to guess. The sun had wrinkled her skin, the laugh lines were firmly etched around her mouth and she liked me.
I really can't say why an old Vietnamese woman, who has seen more heartache, joy, and love than I can ever imagine liked me so much. We weren't able to communicate through typical means, she didn't know a single word of English. And yet, we were able to communicate. I spent an evening in her restaurant barely containing my tears and she was there, with a hand upon my shoulder and a look of pure compassion. It was human kindness at its best. When it was time to leave and journey to another place, she hugged me fiercely, tears in her eyes, planting a kiss on my cheek. She somehow knew I was all alone on a remote island in Vietnam and with an instinct bred into women across the world, to nurture and care, she acted.
I have always scoffed at the notion that women are bound universally by the ability to nurture and show compassion. I was raised with a barely there mother figure and have always been able to relate to men better then women. I tended to have my guard up with women coming into my life, more so than men. But, I have gradually come to realize that there is a bond transcending race, age, and location that links all women on this earth. There was the old woman in Portugal that took the time to guide me and gave me a gift, no words were spoke, it was impossible to communicate, but for the knowledge she had that I needed her right at that moment. There was the young woman in Thailand, baby in hand, struggling with packages, that handed me her child so she could manage a crowded walk way. She knew no harm would come, she knew through a single look that I would help her. There was a tiny Indian woman on a flight, sitting across the aisle from me. We experienced turbulence and she grabbed my hand, as much for her comfort as for my own.
I wish I could go back to my former life and see with open eyes the amount of kindness brought upon me by women strangers in the US. Perhaps it is easier to recognize it when I am out here, away from all the women I know and love. Perhaps, with single glance or gesture from me, it will continue. My heart bursts with the knowledge that we women, go through the same heartache, passion, and trials all over the world and we are bound together. I will continue on, eyes opened further and continue to bond with women all over the world through a look, a smile, and love.
Peace, love, and joy!
Lara
I really can't say why an old Vietnamese woman, who has seen more heartache, joy, and love than I can ever imagine liked me so much. We weren't able to communicate through typical means, she didn't know a single word of English. And yet, we were able to communicate. I spent an evening in her restaurant barely containing my tears and she was there, with a hand upon my shoulder and a look of pure compassion. It was human kindness at its best. When it was time to leave and journey to another place, she hugged me fiercely, tears in her eyes, planting a kiss on my cheek. She somehow knew I was all alone on a remote island in Vietnam and with an instinct bred into women across the world, to nurture and care, she acted.
I have always scoffed at the notion that women are bound universally by the ability to nurture and show compassion. I was raised with a barely there mother figure and have always been able to relate to men better then women. I tended to have my guard up with women coming into my life, more so than men. But, I have gradually come to realize that there is a bond transcending race, age, and location that links all women on this earth. There was the old woman in Portugal that took the time to guide me and gave me a gift, no words were spoke, it was impossible to communicate, but for the knowledge she had that I needed her right at that moment. There was the young woman in Thailand, baby in hand, struggling with packages, that handed me her child so she could manage a crowded walk way. She knew no harm would come, she knew through a single look that I would help her. There was a tiny Indian woman on a flight, sitting across the aisle from me. We experienced turbulence and she grabbed my hand, as much for her comfort as for my own.
I wish I could go back to my former life and see with open eyes the amount of kindness brought upon me by women strangers in the US. Perhaps it is easier to recognize it when I am out here, away from all the women I know and love. Perhaps, with single glance or gesture from me, it will continue. My heart bursts with the knowledge that we women, go through the same heartache, passion, and trials all over the world and we are bound together. I will continue on, eyes opened further and continue to bond with women all over the world through a look, a smile, and love.
Peace, love, and joy!
Lara
Monday, October 11, 2010
Tales of Transport
I am currently on an island off the coast of Vietnam and couldn't be more content. I left Muine beach 4 days ago, intent on spending some time in the Mekong Delta, really experiencing the life on the river so many people here depend upon. Unfortunately, my plans didn't work out quite like I thought they would.
I left Muine for Saigon on an early morning bus. Arriving at around 1:30 pm, I immediately went to a travel agency to book a bus ticket to one of the many villages along the Mekong. I randomly picked out a town on the map and told the lady I wanted to go there. I should have realized something was amiss when she gave me a strange look, booked it, and then gave me the phone number for her cousin that lived there in case I needed anything. After jumping in a mini-van, I was whisked away to a makeshift bus station in Saigon and put on another mini-van. The vans are supposed to sit 12 people, but somehow we managed to fit 15 people in it. I was stuck in the very back with my legs shoved against my chest and after popping some Dramamine, settled in for the ride. It only took me a second to realize that I was the only Westerner in the van. The driver didn't speak any English, in fact, only one person spoke a few words. I didn't know if I was on the right bus, I didn't know where I would end up, and I was stared out for hours. Surprisingly enough, this didn't bother me one bit. One lady kept staring at my skin and then my hair back and forth for hours. Finally I figured out that it was because my skin is the same color as theirs, but my hair is curly and blond from the sun. I also had a good 6 inches on everyone aboard. I pointed to my skin and then her skin and said "Same, Same." She nodded and laughed, apparently understanding a little.
After several hours, we stopped at a makeshift outdoor cafeteria where all the mini-vans and buses stop for food. There were literally hundreds of people there and I was again, the only white person. I posed for numerous pictures and bought enough treats for the entire group in our van and then we got on our way. With the sounds of Passion Pit playing on my Zune, we finally stopped in what I assume to be the town I had pointed out on the map. It was a dirt lot in the middle of a dirty city, motorbikes streaming by and again, not a single white person to be found. The driver threw my bag out and took off before I had a chance to ask him where I was (not that he would have understood). I strapped my life on my back, and stood there, not knowing where I was or where I should go. I was then approached by a friendly guy with a motorbike that, in barely understandable English, said he could take me to the center of town. I walked through poring rain to a hotel and booked a room for the night and then went in search of food. I was the only white person in town I assume, as people stopped and stared everywhere I went and little children said "Hello!" and pointed at me laughing. Again, I didn't mind it one bit. It was actually quite cute. I didn't actually find any food that night, the only thing available was sidewalk vendor food and of course, all writen in Vietnamese. My hotel room had a bag of chips in the room, so I ate those along with an iced tea.
The next morning, I woke up bright and early and checked out of my hotel room. The same guy that had taken me to the hotel was waiting outside for me and I had him take me to camera store so I could buy my 3rd camera of this voyage. After that, he dropped me back at the same dirt lot so I could get on yet another bus that would take me to the coast and further out, to the island I am on right now. Wash, rinse, repeat the exact same sequence of events as the day before. My destination was Rach Gia, Vietnam a port city with regular ferries to the island. Again, no one spoke English and I'm pretty sure I got massively ripped off with my "ticket" for the mini-van, which didn't actually include a ticket, just me handing some guy over a hundred thousand Dong and hoping that I wouldn't be dropped in the middle of nowhere.
I finally made it to Rach Gia, and checking into yet another hotel. However, this one was extra special because it actually had a bathtub in my room instead of the usual shower over the toilet I have been using for months. I bought my ticket for the ferry the next morning and soaked for hours, feeling like a princess. The next morning, I walked to the ferry and saw the first white people I had seen in days. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. To have a real conversation with someone had become a luxury it would seem. I quickly made friends with a couple of Londoners and settled in for what I hoped would be a smooth ferry ride. Luckily I took some more Dramamine because the ride was anything but smooth. We were rolling back and forth with the sea for hours and the trip took an hour longer than usual because of the rough seas. I get motion sickness quite easily, but luckily I have plenty of drugs to counteract it.
We finally arrived at Pho Quo island and I checked into an unbelievable villa right on the ocean. The waves crash right outside my door and there are several beach front bars to eat at. All that for the price of 200,000 dong or $10.27 a night. I plan to spend at least a week here, maybe longer and really explore. I would like to go to the local school to do some English tutoring, so I'm going to try and arrange that later today.
The coast of Cambodia can be seen from the island and I will be going there next. In the meantime, I am going to live it up Vietnamese island style perfectly content in a little slice of heaven.
Peace, love, and joy!
Lara
I left Muine for Saigon on an early morning bus. Arriving at around 1:30 pm, I immediately went to a travel agency to book a bus ticket to one of the many villages along the Mekong. I randomly picked out a town on the map and told the lady I wanted to go there. I should have realized something was amiss when she gave me a strange look, booked it, and then gave me the phone number for her cousin that lived there in case I needed anything. After jumping in a mini-van, I was whisked away to a makeshift bus station in Saigon and put on another mini-van. The vans are supposed to sit 12 people, but somehow we managed to fit 15 people in it. I was stuck in the very back with my legs shoved against my chest and after popping some Dramamine, settled in for the ride. It only took me a second to realize that I was the only Westerner in the van. The driver didn't speak any English, in fact, only one person spoke a few words. I didn't know if I was on the right bus, I didn't know where I would end up, and I was stared out for hours. Surprisingly enough, this didn't bother me one bit. One lady kept staring at my skin and then my hair back and forth for hours. Finally I figured out that it was because my skin is the same color as theirs, but my hair is curly and blond from the sun. I also had a good 6 inches on everyone aboard. I pointed to my skin and then her skin and said "Same, Same." She nodded and laughed, apparently understanding a little.
After several hours, we stopped at a makeshift outdoor cafeteria where all the mini-vans and buses stop for food. There were literally hundreds of people there and I was again, the only white person. I posed for numerous pictures and bought enough treats for the entire group in our van and then we got on our way. With the sounds of Passion Pit playing on my Zune, we finally stopped in what I assume to be the town I had pointed out on the map. It was a dirt lot in the middle of a dirty city, motorbikes streaming by and again, not a single white person to be found. The driver threw my bag out and took off before I had a chance to ask him where I was (not that he would have understood). I strapped my life on my back, and stood there, not knowing where I was or where I should go. I was then approached by a friendly guy with a motorbike that, in barely understandable English, said he could take me to the center of town. I walked through poring rain to a hotel and booked a room for the night and then went in search of food. I was the only white person in town I assume, as people stopped and stared everywhere I went and little children said "Hello!" and pointed at me laughing. Again, I didn't mind it one bit. It was actually quite cute. I didn't actually find any food that night, the only thing available was sidewalk vendor food and of course, all writen in Vietnamese. My hotel room had a bag of chips in the room, so I ate those along with an iced tea.
The next morning, I woke up bright and early and checked out of my hotel room. The same guy that had taken me to the hotel was waiting outside for me and I had him take me to camera store so I could buy my 3rd camera of this voyage. After that, he dropped me back at the same dirt lot so I could get on yet another bus that would take me to the coast and further out, to the island I am on right now. Wash, rinse, repeat the exact same sequence of events as the day before. My destination was Rach Gia, Vietnam a port city with regular ferries to the island. Again, no one spoke English and I'm pretty sure I got massively ripped off with my "ticket" for the mini-van, which didn't actually include a ticket, just me handing some guy over a hundred thousand Dong and hoping that I wouldn't be dropped in the middle of nowhere.
I finally made it to Rach Gia, and checking into yet another hotel. However, this one was extra special because it actually had a bathtub in my room instead of the usual shower over the toilet I have been using for months. I bought my ticket for the ferry the next morning and soaked for hours, feeling like a princess. The next morning, I walked to the ferry and saw the first white people I had seen in days. I was so excited I could barely contain myself. To have a real conversation with someone had become a luxury it would seem. I quickly made friends with a couple of Londoners and settled in for what I hoped would be a smooth ferry ride. Luckily I took some more Dramamine because the ride was anything but smooth. We were rolling back and forth with the sea for hours and the trip took an hour longer than usual because of the rough seas. I get motion sickness quite easily, but luckily I have plenty of drugs to counteract it.
We finally arrived at Pho Quo island and I checked into an unbelievable villa right on the ocean. The waves crash right outside my door and there are several beach front bars to eat at. All that for the price of 200,000 dong or $10.27 a night. I plan to spend at least a week here, maybe longer and really explore. I would like to go to the local school to do some English tutoring, so I'm going to try and arrange that later today.
The coast of Cambodia can be seen from the island and I will be going there next. In the meantime, I am going to live it up Vietnamese island style perfectly content in a little slice of heaven.
Peace, love, and joy!
Lara
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