Here comes 2008!

Hey loyal Journey followers,

Since I last updated this blog, I've slept mostly on floors a few couches, and even a couple beds. I've worked twice in Hawaii, celebrated the holidays with my family, and attempted to drown myself more than a few times in pitchers of beer.

But with all that behind me, I am ready to be the adventurous traveler you all love and head back out on the road. As you can see, the blog has a new look and I've added some of my favorite pictures from the last few years of travels. And hopefully I will be able to add more pictures very soon from my upcoming trip!

I shall start 2008 out with a bang! Picking up where I left off (kinda) I will fly from Seattle to Bangkok on January 6th to begin my 3 1/2 month journey through SE Asia. My route will take me east through Cambodia and into Vietnam. Then I will head north and cross into Laos and back into the north of Thailand. Following the peninsula down, I will reach Malaysia and perhaps even Singapore. If I'm lucky and based on funds and time I might even reach the island of Borneo. Below is a map of the region:
So stay tuned to hear about my newest adventures from abroad!

For those not in the know, I don't send out group emails and I'm not on facebook or myspace. If you want to contact me, comment on my blog or email me at evanmurph@hotmail.com.

Breaking Paradise

I have other blogs to update when I get a chance. However I will probably be updating them in Seattle this week.

4 days ago I returned to my mountain paradise of Sonapani where I spent three montsh last year teaching english and learning Hindi and wehre I was planning on spending the next two months until after Christmas of this year.

3 days ago my paradise was broken because of a trivial-sounding problem. Laura and I broke up, which to put lightly I was not expecting. First I thought I would leave immediately, having no reason to stay. Then I thought I would stay a month or two after takling to the head of the NGO, a very respectable man, Madhavan-ji. But yesterday I freaked and snuck out of the resort so as to avoid the awkward confession that I was going home (its still for me an incredible sin of the lonely traveler to run home- which i dont really have anyway in a strict sense- when faced with a problem). I was caught leaving by my host family of course but instead of trying to talk me into staying again they were very supportive and I promised to return to them soon.

I feel very alone now, moreso than I've felt in a long time. I'm not sure what my next step is and I really have no idea why I'm going home. Lack of a better answer when I am searching for answers I guess.

I think Ill spend a cuople days with my parents, maybe see a couple friends who have moved to san francisco and then I dont know. Maybe hit the road and visit friends in Montana or DC or something. I dont want to work but I dont have much money. Im uncertain about everything.



Ill update the blog with the rest of my stories of trekking and visiting Sonapani soon btu this will be the last post from Asia for awhile. I bought a ticket an hour ago and I leave in 7 hours. I had to get out of Delhi even though I'm staying wtih a good friend here. Even he can't make Delhi tolerable. I love you all and I'll see you soon.

EBC Trek Day 2

Travel Journal 9/23/07

Two days ago I met my dad at the airport in Kathmandu, showed him around the city and had a more expensive dinner that I was used to. We bought supplies, nuts, candy, toilet paper and batteries which I then left in the small shop where we called me mom for a few minutes to say we were OK and that we loved her.

The next morning, early, we rose and caught a cab back to the airport for the first flight to Lukla, the start of our trek. In the airport I saw a young man I thought I recognized as a French guy who I had exchanged a few words with while in line for a visa at the Indian embassy the day before.

I smiled and nodded to him, but in the dark I missed the Italian flag on his arm. So when he came over, I mistook him for French. Luckily he forgave me right away.

Tall, light skinned, with shaggy hair and big round eyes, Giuseppe is from Milan and soon became the unofficial third member of our party.

The flight to Lukla is short and utterly fantastic. Our maximum altitude had to have been less than 15,000 ft in our little duo prop airplane, capacity for 14. The significance of our low crusing altitude is appreciated only when realizing that the Kathmandu valley- the low point of our flight is around 4,000 ft, Lukla is above 9,000 ft and the jagged high Himalayan peaks waving down to us through out tiny windows soar around 25,000 ft or higher.

Weaving through the forested ridges and valleys up to Lukla gave us a new perspective on the amount of habitation those remote regions actually have. All over, the green forested hillsides are dotted with white buildings or give way to terraced fields. No roads were visible between most settlements which fits the descriptions of people we've met in KTM who say they take a bus, then walk a few hours to go home to visit their family.

In Lukla we stopped in a German Bakery for breakfast and were soon chatting with another group of six volunteers from Kathmandu. Joe is a young writer from London who recently had a play he wrote receive good reviews at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival.

Lucy is a Polish woman living in the UK about to move to Australia. Her prior trekking experience, knack for negotiating and strength on the trail and Alpha Female attitude left us to half jokingly call her our leader.

Marian is a physical therapist from Johanesburg. Her short stature is counteracted by the huge smile always across her face, her positive attitude, and her riddle solving ability. She is a steady walker and enjoys socializing on the traila. For these reasons we've become trail partners, chatting, singing, teashin and otherwise enjoying ourselves between deep gasps of thin air.

Lastly is the Beck family from Utah. Aubrey is 15, although no one would be faulted for mistaking her for a college underclassman. Her parents, Mark and Laura "dragged" her to Nepal hopin to change her debaucherous behavior. Although Aubrey puts on a front, the rest of the group believes she is enjoying herself more than she lets on.

An international, trans continental group of 9 trekkers. Different backgrounds, different futures. All united by one goal, to reach Everest Base Camp without succumbing to the cold, alitutde, or social abrasions common in a group dynamic.



Stay tuned to find out the outcome and who might have reached the goal. Ill give a clue. We did.

Back in KTM

OK.

So I didn't have time to tell everyone by blog that I would be with my dad, AKA Papa Murphy, AKA The Jer Bear, trekking to Everest Base Camp for 3 weeks. We have lots of stories to tell and pictures to share and they will be told and shared in days to coem. Actually pictures will waite months most likely. INternet here in KTM SUCKS WITH 29 X's. (SUXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX). Count em. I'll update soon. But know this: we are ok. My dad missed his flight home cus of bad weather keeping us in the mountains without a way out. I smell bad. I need a shower. Ill shower tomorrow. I miss you all.

Austin I apologize.

E

Dahab

Travel Journal 9/16/2007

Dahab is touristy. It's a hippie/traveller resort city on the Gulf of Aqaba not far from Israel, Jordan and within site of Saudi. It comes complete with shops hawking the same hippie clothes and accessories as India- and I assume elsewhere- and restaurants on the beach serving up backpacking ad "Egyptian" food in a chillaxed setting.

Hala and I spent five days here and eventually found our routine. Waking up late we have breakfast at a beachside restaurant around 11am. After this we do our best to waste time during the midday extreme sun and heat by cruising the AC shops, utilizing the numerous internet cafes, or louning in our room- also AC.

At night we eat dinner early, around 6pm, waste some more time breezing through the kitchy shops, and return to the row of cloned restaurants for some ice cream and a sheesha- mint being our favorite flavor. This is capped by an early night as well, usually in bed before 10pm.

However, around 2:30pm, after time wasting and before dinner, we put on our bathing suits- I have my cargo pants minus the zipped-off legs- lather ourselves in sunblock, grab our snorkel gear- rented for under $2 a day- and head to one of myriad snorkeling areas in or around the city.

This is my favorite part. I'd only been snorkeling once before I came to Egypt, in Hawaii over spring break in my junior year of high schoolo. I remember my masking leaking salt water into my eyes, and swallowing enough through my crappy tube to get sick and not want to do it ever again. However with the better quality equopment available to us in what is basically a Red Sea diving Mecca, I realized I really enjoy floating face down witnessing an alien world within reach of the normal one.

The reefs run up and down the coast of the REd Sea and, where they haven't been degraded by overuse or irresponsible visitors, overflow with a spectrum of marine life I'd never tried to imagine.

Schools of shiny fish dart past the large individuals out for a carefree jaunt among brightly colored outcrops os coral inches below my floating torso. Millions of fish as far as I can see. Blue, maroon, yellow and white. Striped, spotted, half one color and half another. Deflated puffer fish, fish resembling a steel blade, and fish with finger-tipped fins. Layers of color, one on top of the other, fading slowly to a blue-grey dozens of yards below through the clear, clean water. These scenes, made for post cards and IMAX movies, are those of true natural beauty I hadn't before admired.

Dahab has its downsides: touts, hassle, high prices, the lack of fresh tap water- yes, the entire tourist part of the city, hotels, restaurants and all have only salt water running through their pipes. But despite those shortcomings, and that my skin is still covered in a salty residue (I really SHOULD shower more) the relaxed atmosphere, late evening beach-side sheeshas, and of course the new-to-me wild frontier of underwater exploration led to a relaxing but adventurous time in Hippie-ville.

But I still prefer mountains to the sea.

Luxor

After a week of hanging out in Cairo with our couchsurfing friend Mostafa, Hala and I boarded a plane down south on the Nile. Luxor was our destination. It was actually cheaper to fly than to take the 20+ hour train. Who knew?

Luxor is a city built for tourism. The famed valley of the kings is just across the Nile and over a ridge from the center of town. There are numerous temples, tombs, monuments and other things to attract tourists from all over the world arriving en mass in huge buses ready to take a picture and head to the next packaged tourist site. Needless to say, Hala and I didn't really like Luxor too much.

Our hotel room was another in a string of disappointments with bathroom doors not closing because they weren't measured properly and bedroom doors not opening because the doorknob is missing. Couple this with a permanently flooded bathroom floor and its a hassle. However our room was nowhere near the hassle we received from around town. As with any other tourist dominated city, the touts are out for blood. People hawking trinkets, taxi or carriage rides, tours of all kinds or rides on the Nile, everywhere we looked we were hounded.

Despite the hassle, Hala and I had ourselves a couple decent trips. For all our hotel's downsides the staff was pretty helpful, especially one young man named Riggi. He sold us on a donkey tour of the West Bank with all its temples and tombs. Early the next morning we headed out intending to finish our trip before the extreme heat of the day. We met our donkey guide, Mohamed at our hotel and followed him to the ferry across the river. Then we met our donkeys.

Hala's was Mini Ha Ha and my stead's name was Cici- which is a little too close to Sissy for my liking. I've never ridden a donkey before and verbally expressed my doubt beforehand that these diminutive creatures could carry my ass up a mountainside. Well they can. Their strength and endurance is quite impressive actually even if I do look ridiculous riding an animal that is a couple feet shorter than I am. I had to be careful on the long rode from the Nile towards the mountain because we rode next to the curb, and my feet were only a few inches off the ground. At least if I fell I wouldn't hurt myself like I did on my camel trek last Christmas.

It took more than an hour or so for our trio of donkey jockeys to make it down the road, up a few hills and finally up and over the crest above the Valley of the Kings. It was by then 8am and Mohamed waited for us in the shade of the ridge as we descended in search of Pharonic treasures. Instead we found a massive horde of European tourists in shorts and sunhats with video cameras filming the undramatic scene.

They had all arrived on dozens of giant A/C tour buses and had tour guides speaking the whole range of European languages. Hala and I tried to escape their masses and we were successful for awhile. With the ticket to the Valley, we are allowed entry into 3 tombs. Our first was a short hike up and around from the crowded center and we found ourselves isolated and alone with enough time to enjoy the ancient tomb, its well preserved wall paintings and its giant stone sarcophagus. After that, it went to shit. We joined a short line to get into our second tomb after our attempts at entering others which we had picked from their descriptions on our guide book were thwarted because they were no longer open to the public. This tomb was sweltering from all the visitors and it was less than enjoyable sharing our experience with a bunch of nasally Brits.

By the time of our escape from the second tomb we were running way late from the time we had told Mohamed. In the interest of finishing quickly, we made our way to what turns out to be the most popular and therefore crowded tomb in the valley. A trip through a literal assembly line of tourists down the entrance of the tomb, around the end and back finished our time in the valley.
I didn't really care for the site, even without the other tourists I think it is an overrated tourist trap as every tomb is empty, few are decorated at all, and the price of admission is larcenous.

But, we made it back up to the ridge to meet Mohamed, Mini and Cici. Mounting our noble steads we headed once again into the heat of the desert. Down another path from where we had come, the sights were amazing. We could see down to the Nile from our vantage, and the craggy desert around us looked like the lunar surface, but scorched by the sun. It was gorgeous and the best part was we were alone to enjoy the views away from hawkers, touts and tourists. On our way around the other side, we had a great view down onto the valley that houses the temple of Hatsepsut. While previously we had wanted to go in, we figured our vantage point was the best we would get and that way we could avoid the cost, the crowds and the heat stroke by calling our trip short.

We stopped to snap a bunch of photos and headed down the mountain stopping at an alabaster shop on our way back down the road to the taxi.

Truthfully, this trip saved our time in Luxor. Those short donkeys are my personal saviors. Any other tour or even renting a taxi for the day would have left me completely disappointed with my time among the temples and tombs of the west bank. But the experience of riding the donkeys away from the crowds and with views that no one else was getting with a friendly young man guide made the day very fun and a total success.

The only other thing worth mentioning in Luxor was our sunset cruise of the Nile. We didn't have to look hard for a boatman to take us out and we settled on Mahmod and his felucca the Endeavor. The trip was quite enjoyable and the sunset over the west bank of the Nile orange and gorgeous. We didnt even let our captain spoil it when he tried to con us out of money we know we didn't owe him. I was talking to Laura on Hala's cell phone when he was pushing us and so she got a small glimpse into my "I DONT TAKE SHIT" persona. In all this was another memorable experience.


We cut our time in Luxor far shorter than we expected, hoping to capitalize on more time on the Sinai peninsula where we are now. We took a short but expensive ferry from the Eastern coast of Egypt across to the southern point of Sinai and are now in the relaxed hippie-ville city of Dahab doing out best to enjoy ourselves despite our (really just my) distaste for other tourists. We are being pretty successful and are enjoying ourselves a lot, more details to come. However, this much tourism makes me impatient for my upcoming trip to Cameroon to visit my friend Brian who is on his way into the Peace Corps. Hopefully next year!

Cairo

Travel Journal 9/4/2007:

I've split my time in Cairo between being a local, being a tourist and being lazy. I'm not proud to say the latter two have been more common than the former.

The first night in the city, Hala and I joined our couchsurfer host, Mostafa, and his friends at a screening of films by the local film shool students and then to a cafe downtown for tea, food and sheesha. Mostafa speaks perfect English as he studied in America and has spent time in the UK. His friends don't really speak English at all but we communicate well with gestures and though out host. That night we stayed up until 530am playing cards. The next day we woke up so late that we ended up not doing anything more productive than checking our email.

The Egyptian Museum was disappointing. There was nothing I hadn't seen a half dozen times already in the great museums of Europe. Instead of going to the pyramids that night, we ended up hanging around Mostafa's apartment trying to beat the heat, a common practice for everyone. The days are so hot and we stay up so late usually that we rarely get up and out of the house much before sunset.

Hala and I did make our way to the pyramids for sunset a couple nights ago. Unfortunately we were rushed since we were misinformed of the closing time. We didn't get a chance to walk around them for a view of the structures lit up by the golden lights of the setting sun and we ad to settle for a backlit view.

On our way out we feigned ignorance and headed down the wrong path in hopes of double backing for a few more minutes with the great stone giants. We were confronted by a guard. Instead of sending us away he assured us we were okay and offered us to climb a little on one of the giant pyramid and even took our picture and posed for one with Hala. Of course a small baksheesh was necessary as payment for his extra service.

I was less disappointed after this friendly encounter because we got to touch the limestone mammoths, had a few unrushed minutes alone with them and got a few decent pictures because of it.

Late that night, Mostafa escorted us to the old Islamic city with sections of the original city walls, 9th and 10th century mosques and a friendly bazaar open long after 11pm.

Our trio strolled the narrow lanes of the bazaar shopping for nothing in particular and chatting and joking with the amiable shopkeepers. As we hadn't eaten much that day we stopped at a cafe and our host ordered us a couple warm and creamy desserts, like a milkier Egyptian version of creme brulee.

With our appetite's curbed temporarily Mostafa led us on a late night tour among the towering minarets of te old main road of Islamic Cairo. e was an incredibly knowledgable tour guide and we walked for hours in the early mornin stoppin to gaze at another gorgeous mosque facade or to ask or answer a question.

The black and white marble of many of the mosques reminded me of the Duomo in Siena which was designed to incorporate influences of many cultures including the Arab world in order to exhibit their multinational importance.

As we passed on of these mosques a tourist police came up, chatted with Mostafa for a few seconds until our host turned guide looked to us and asked if we would like to go inside the large mosque complex in front of us. The smiling policeman gave Mostafa history and architectural information that was passed on to us and we were encouraged to explore the corners of the stone courtyard in the center and to take pictures. He even instructed us to stand in a far dark corner from where the giant dome of the other side of the mosque was visible out of the center courtyard. It was all so peaceful alone in the giant gray structure at 2am and was an inspring experience.

On our last day in Cairo Hala and I made our way to the Coptic area of the city. We visited some churches and made our way down narrow alleys in search of more monasteries and chapels. Many of the buildings were very old and were built on ancient Roman structures that were sometimes visible below the floor.

That night Mostafa met us for some culture. A few hours of beautiful folk singing and dancing at a cultural center was an unforgetable experience. I believe the style is called Zar and is a mix of many folk styles from around Egypt. In it the women play the central roll and the men are secondary. During our show the old costumed women sang gorgeously in Arabic and gracefully and slowly slipped around the small room connecting with the audience. Some of the fun moments included a man with sunken cheeks playing a flute. When he would blow, his cheeks would puff our like a frog croaking. For another song, a thin man with a huge pot belly strapped on a cumberbun of goat hooves and mimicked the "Twist" dance while essentially acting as a human marraca. That was my favorite.

The next morning we flew to Luxor where we are now. Our time in Cairo was varied and maybe we spent too much time doing too little. However I again didn't mind enjoying the hospitality of a new friend and relaxing with him and his crew playing cards, drinking tea and pretending the heat didn't bother us.

North Coast Beach House

Travel Journal 9/1/07:

Nader Pickd Hala and I up and we reached the beach house with Mustafa and Umnea around 3pm. There we were me byUmnea's parents, younger brother, Ali (21), twin brother and sister (14) and a range of cousins young and old and a handful of aunts. Everyone seemed very friendly and happy we came. The house was small but very nicely decorated and quite beautiful architecturally. When I told the father this in a down point in the conversation, he seemed very pleased and gave me a tour.

After a small feast of meat, salad, pasta and other dishes we changed and headed for the beach. No one told the Egyptians to wait to swim an hour to after eating.

I zipped the legs off my cargo pants, smothered myself in SPF 50 sunblock, changed my t-shirt and was ready to go.

At the beach a lot of us headed to the water right away. There must have been a dozen or more in our group and they all looked at my funny when I kept my shirt on in the water. How to explain to 2nd degree sunburn to an Arab?

After about 5 mnutse of splashing in the waves I felt I'd had enough. Salt water in your eyes, up your nose and in your throat and stomach. Half standing half floating in water while the rough sea's swells batter you around for a few hours. Polluted water conspiring to seep into your body any way possible. And sand finding trespassing in every crack and orephus you newer knew existed until you had to rinse it our a tenth time.

In my head I saw, "What's the point? Where's the fun in this?" Though, ever the international diplomat, out loud I say "I'm havng a great time! So much fun!" I plant a smile firmly on my face, throw out a few thumbs up and grit it out. Nader couldn't believe I hadn't swam in the sea for 6 years. He and Hala were the last two out of the water, while I might wait another six.

One of the tiny cousins plays volleyball on a team. When her ball materialized after the sun was nearly set and the group and finally emerged from the primordial ooze, Hala suggested we go play. It started as just a cuople of us but after some time we had a decent 4 on 4 noncompetitive game going. The fun ran until well after the sun set and the light gave way to dusk then finally to dark.

It was after 10 pm when we made it back to the house and had washed most of the sand off of us. A short time of sitting around doing nothing prompted the little cousins to suggest playing a game.

Twister and Jenga were produced. Although Twister never made it out of the box, thank Allah, we played 3 rounds of Jenga each with around seven participants teasing each other and laughing incredibly loud until the inevitable moment someone poked or pulled too hard and sent the tower toppling over in slow motion as everyone reached out to stop it.

Hala introduced her favorite card game, Egyptian Rat Screw. Everywhere she goes in the world, which is a lot places, she teaches the people this game. She is quick ad takes the game very seriously so she always wins. Last Christmas our young boy camel guide in the Thar Desert beat hala and she freaked out and still denies it.

We had aroud 10 players playing at the beach house, all around a small table leaning over hands ready to slap the central ple of cards when necessary. It was chaos, a jungle of arms and fingers. When I was eliminated I went into the living room and chatted with some of the old cousins for an hour.

When I returned to the table, the game was still in progress, Hala was still in it, and a little later she had won, beating out 9 others.

Around 2AM we had a small meal, only our second of the day, of bread and cheese. We gave our thanks to the parents and owners of the house and when I told her mother sincerely that her house and family is incredible she seemed a little taken aback and embarrassed by the compliment.

We also had to say goodbye to Mustafa since he and Umnea would not be available the next day and we hadn't decided whether we would leave or stay anyway. We gave heartfelt salutations and promised to stay in contact and that I would repay their hospitality one day.

Nader drove us home and, to keep us from leaving the next day, promised to hang out with us.

The following afternoon we returned to the fancy beach bungalo and while I was sitting outside relaxing the prime minister's entourae drove by and parked on the one narrow road. I didn't see the man himself because it was around the corner but I was told that he has a bunaglo just down from their own.

Nader and Hala were excited to eat at Quizno's that day and so we headed to a mall's food court. We all ate, myself included and I made them promise not to tell anyone I ated American fast food. It was pretty bad like I thought it would be anyway. The other two enjoyed it a lot.

Lastly we saw the new Harry Potter movie in a different mall. Nader hated it and was bored throughout but I like it somewhat.

He drove us home and we all shared a heart felt goodbye. He, his cousin Mustafa and Umnea had done so much for us, and for me although we had just met. It still amazes me, the hospitality of strangers. I've also learned first hand the benefits of having friends around the world, or in my case, friends of friends. But now, thaks to Hala and the openess of her contacts in Egypt, I too can say I have friends in Alexandria.

Alexandria Part 2 of 3

Hala and I leave for Cairo tomorrow but here is my travel journal entries for the past few days.

August 28 2007:

Saturday was supposed to be very busy. Finally Mustafa, Nader, and the cousins were all available, and we discussed hwo to juggle seeing everyone.

Instead, in the early afternoon the cousins said they had no plans for the day and to plan on hanging out the next. This seeming contradiction was cleared up when Hala explained that their father probably prevented them from seeing us.

At the same time Mustafa's availability seemed doubtful and we still couldn't reach Nader by phone. We know he sleeps in very late and so at 4pm, Hala texted Mustafa about Nader's lack of answering his phone. Mustafa called Nader's grandmother who woke him up and he called saying he was still at his beach how but would be back in town by 8 or 9.

Nader being out only plan, we got a light snack and waited for him. At 9:30pm we caleld again and introduced him to the English slang of being a "flake." He said he was still coming, but would meet us at 11pm.

Hala and I sat for a sheesha and ice cream at a cafe on the harbor. At 11:30pm, when the smoke and constant watching for Nader's car on the busy highway in front of us finally became unbearbale we called again.

He said he had to pick up Mustafa but they were on their way and would be meeting us in a half hour at midnight. At this point we were very annoyed not only because we were kept waiting but they never bothered to let us know they would be later than said. I realized we were holding them to an American standard of punctuality- which I would never do in India- but I was unaware that Egyptians also had a sense of time different from my own.

At 12:30 am we had waited long enough and were headed up to our hotel room from the cafe below. A few minutes after, and only a few before 1am we got a call, they were finally downstairs.

They had brought two ars -probably another stop which had to be made - and after a few minutes of chatting with Mustafa and his wife, Umnea, we were left with Nader who wanted to cruise in his car. We ate some more fuul and falafels at about 2 am and drove around the city. Alexandria never sleeps. Something is always open and people are always about socializing and having fun all hours of the day.


When I first met Mustafa, he seemed very jovial. About 6'2'' and now probably around 280 lbs, he played basketball competitively for a long time, but ahd to cut back during Medical school. At 26 years old he is now in his residency and married to another doctor and working on getting their apartment together before they can move in. His wife is shot with a huge smile which she shows often because Mustafa is very funny. She doesn't wear a head scarf, which is up to the woman, although 95% of the women choose to wear one after hitting puberty. Secretly, I like the fact she doesnt wear one because the modesty which the scarf symbolizes would make it difficult for me to converse openly and joke with her. I am very used to being unable to socialize with young women as this was teh case throughout India and for the most part I feel it applies also here in Egypt.

Mustafa contrasts with his cousin, Nader, in some ways. Although both live modernly and their families are well off- if not locally famous- doctors and engineers, Mustafa speaks boistrously while Nader speaks very slowly and quietly although not as if lacking confidence. I have realized that Nader is very deliberate in everything he does but were I to meet him in America I would guess he was a stoner, his demeanor is so relaxed.

Before Mustafa and his wife left us on Saturday night, we discussed the things which we had done in Alexandria already and those we wished to do. A list was made and Mustafa said we could check all the boxes the next day, although I had my doubts due to their problems with punctuality we witnessed that day.

However the next afternoon at 3pm the trio arrived at our hotel and whisked us south first to Pompey's pillar- a large Roman column on the site of Alexandria's first settlement and that of one of the two original famous libraries. The site is under rennovation but we walked around teh debris and through some tunnels where were ancient hallways formerly full of nearly a million papyrus scrolls, available for all to read.

As we were entering the gate my appearance as the only white guy turned some heads and warranted a few questions from the guards and ticket takers. "How do you know him?" "Where is he from?" etc. Apparently I look very dangerous. The questioning ended abruptly when they asked to see Mustafa's ID, saw his last name, Hisab, and asked if he was a member of that family which apparently owns or operates a famous hospital which does very well by the community. Of course he was a member of that family.

Our next stop was a complex of Roman catacombs nearby the pillar and we rushed through the impressive site which was discovered in 1900 when a donkey fell through the ground, because they were closing. Out hosts had not been to either site before and I think sincerely enjoyed themselves.

For lunch we had some options. I had treid most of the local staples except one- liver. (I also found out that they eat cow brains but we decided I'd save my brain eating for Vietnam). Umnea was afraid for our health and wouldn't let Mustafa take us to what she thought was a dirty establishment, although it was Mustafa's first choice. After a short drive we dined in teh car on liver sandwiches - pretty tasty actually. A short stop for juice- mango, date, and other nameless concoctions- and we were off again.

We stopped briefly at the largest mosque in the city which is actually a complex of 5 mosques. Nader took me through one quickly while Mustafa waited with the women who had not dressed appropriately enough to enter. There were a few men inside praying but hte architecture and decorations were really beautiful. Just like the great churches in Europe, I feel I could spend a lot of time enjoying myself tranquilly in a giant mosque.

Down the street is the fort on the site of the famous lighthouse which is the main sight from our hotel balcony. The area around the fort is a popular spot to hang out as its a beautiful location out on a spit of land in the middle of the sea. We walked around a bit and hung out before deciding to see a movie on the other side of town.

A quick race amond traffic saw us reach the theater 10 minutes too late for the 7pm show. No matter, to kill time before the 10pm show, we hung out in a Costa's coffee shop (around the corner from Starbucks) across teh mall from the theater.

Mustafa asked us poignent questions about our travels- a very rare occurence- and was not satisfied in our brief answers forcing us to really thing and reflect on our time. This memory of him alone is enough to make him stand out as someone special.

We shared our views on who was REALLY responsible for 9/11 (Mustafa= Russians, and Umnea= the US gov, Nader was too relaxed to participate). To them Arabs couldn't have done it, not because they wouldn't do such a barbaric thing but because they are too unorginized. RACISTS!

We had many laughs- maybe too many at Hala's expense- and enjoyed ourselves until it was ready to start the movei. Everyone really like The Bourne Ultimatum and on they way back to our hotel, now after midnight, we were invited to Umnea's family's beach house which is out on the North Coast near the other two we never got to. We graciously accepted the offer and [at the time of writing in my journal] are awaiting word on when we leave. Although Hala's family might not accept me, her friend's- despite a few setbacks with timekeeping- are making our trip to Egypt an immense success.




I finished writing that yesterday and the spent all day and into the next morning at the beach house. It was an incredible time and I will be able to report back on it soon. Today we should be meeting Nader for another trip to his beach bungalo and then are setting off for the insanity of Cairo tomorrow. I'm going to see the freaking Pyramids of Egypt! I miss and love you all.

First Days of Egypt

I have been in Egypt now for about three days. Those of you expecting some great revelation, advanced insight, or incredible encounter or adventure at this point should stop reading now. No such thing has come to pass yet.

We arrived very early in the morning, flying through Athens, Greece and Hala's strict uncle and two cousins picked us up at around 330 AM and took us to our hotel. We got checked in and slept until around noon. The next day we were up and about when Hala tried to call her friend, Nader, who she though might be in Greece with his family for a week or so. However, due to some problem with his visa/passport, he had to stay behind and was willing to take us swimming.

I dont really like swimming for a few reasons, not the least of which is that I'd be bright red after about 10 minutes under the Mediterranean Sun. But we went to Nader's families private beach bungalo in this fancy club that is reserved for families of politicians. Apparently Nader's grandmother's sister's husband was a former ambassador to Russia back in the 70's and so now he is able to come out to this private club bungalo place. So while Hala and Nader spent an hour in the sea, I sat in the shade, did crosswords puzzles in the cool breeze and relaxed listening to her Ipod. What a life.

After a dinner of kebabs, he dropped us off and we went out to a waterfront coffeehouse for some water and a sheesha- the water pipe with flavored tobacco. I'd tried this a few times in America and I really enjoy sitting and puffing on these. Very relaxing before bed.

The next morning Hala's two cousins, Eptisam and Mohammed picked us up and took us to a cafe on the water where we had mango juice and waited much too long for food to be available that never was. So we went and had some fu'ul which I guess is a staple middle eastern dish that is basically refried beans in a pita. Someone might argue there are spices or other things in it, but I would respond by saying "WELL THE STUFF WE HAD WAS SMASHED PINTO BEANS IN PITA!" Sorry for the outburst.

To beat the heat, we went back to the hotel, took another cold shower and took a nap until around 4pm. At this time we got up and walked to teh famed library of Alexandria where we spent a few hours walking around admiring the architecture and reading books on the middle east. I read a few chapters in a book about Saddam Hussein written after the first Gulf War. Another sheesha before bed capped the night.

Today we somehow slept until noon, and only then got up, showered and dressed and went looking for what turned out to be lunch. I got shaved in a barber- since India I have realized shaving yourself is for losers- and the guy murdered my face- in a good way. At one point after finishing shaving me, he said "Water?" with which I assumed he would rinse off my face. Only he didnt supply any water, but instead pinched the hell out of my face and even ears with two tautly held pieces of thread. It seriously hurt. And my face is still on fire an hour later.

So now we await further word from Hala's friends or cousins on what we will do today and with who. Maybe a trip back to the beach with Nader is on the agenda, we aren't sure yet. Either way the good life is being led here on the Sea, and only the heat is bothersome.

Dry shoes = Good times

As the title will tell you, my feet have dried. Everyone breathe a sigh of relief now. I'll wait...

OK. So taking up from that morning of wet misery yet lively adventure, here is a brief synopsis from my travel journal, although I realize I didn't really write much about what happened after our flooded night in Peel.

8/22/07

"We made our way back to Douglas from there, got onto couchsurfing, sent out a few emails to prospective hosts on the Man, and met Hanlin in a coffee shop. Hanlin offered us a dry bed at his place for the night and we accepted but only after we met and fielded a hosting possibility from a generous young couch surfer.

Hanlin drove us around that day and we were able to see Castletown and Port Erin before having a couple pints that night.

The next couple days were slow without many noteworthy events but Sunday and Monday nights we spent camped out beneath the stars, first in a restricted area in an old dirt bike race track above Douglas, and then near the beach outside of the old capital of Castletown. We dined on fruit, cheese and bread and stayed up late listening to music by the light of the campfire.

We had come full circle, from the first days of a backpacking trip, to a storm soaked and then boring time, back to living cheap and enjoying the easy life of camping. Thursday morning as we walked to the airport and discussed the Royal family I felt good in my time on the Man. Although my physical journey never bore any fruit, I had traded it for memories of friendly hospitality, lively misery, and finally a contented comfort. I'll probably never return to the Man, but a place that most people don't even know exists has left a small isle of good impressions on me."


Corny, I know. Whatever. I wrote it quickly.

We fly to Alexandria, Egypt tonight and Hala's family is picking us up, although it turns out that me being Whitey and male doesn't agree with everyone. I guess the oldest and boss uncle didn't like the idea of us staying there and so banned it which meant all the family and friends were prohibited from hosting us. Luckily, Hala's friend Mustafa- not a lion like I originally thought- got us a cheap price on a apartment/ dorm place for students and we will stay there until we decide to couch surf or move on. It sounds really nice and only about $7 a night each, so we will see. I was hoping to get by for less. I spent a load of cash on the Man.

I'll keep writing and update you all on my first Middle Eastern adventure in a few days hopefully! Keep your fingers crossed for more misery, strange encounters, and cultural exchanges. I will too.

Isle of Man 1st Half

I have to make this quick because I've run low on minutes and that pound is a real killer. Come on British economic recession!

So I had an uneventful flight to London, easy if not long tube journey to the flat with Hala and Adam and then a few hours wait before our flight to the Isle of Man. These two have been with each other every day since I've left them and it feels a bit weird that I left at all and now am just meeting back up with them on their same trip. They are on their same journey while I am just starting another, but after a few days now, we are back in stride and I feel like I never left.

So we landed in Castle Town on the Man, and Adam's mate, Hanlon picked us up and took us back to stay at his mum's house- where he lives. We hit the pub, had a few pints, grabbed some chips from the chippy and went to bed. The next morning after some preparations we were off and ended up walking about 16 miles which doesnt sound like al ot to some (DAD) but tired us right out. We guerilla camped in a farmer's field and while we were setting up the tents, Adam's knee got really tight so he could hardly walk. It still bothers him and the next day we didn't get very far before we were all really tired- my legs were definitely sore- and Adam could hardly move. Good thing for us Hanlon picked us up with their Irish mate Colm and we met their other friend, Gregg at the far north for some camping by the beach. Of course the object was to get wasted. I had 4 beers over many hours and was never tipsy while Adam proceeded to drink about 10 pints of lager and the Irishman had 15 bottles of Grolsch. The weather was great taht night and the stars were all around us. It was a beautiful night.

Then there was the next day. We got a ride down to Peel which is a gorgeous little fishing town. There is a big hill between the castle which is built on an island and the city which looks like other norse places like Bergen, and we set up camp on it. We met the boys in town for a few beers and we hiked up the hill to sleep. As we reached the tents it began raining heavily. But we made it in time and got to sleep. After a couple hours, around 3 am i woke up to gale winds and rain soaking my tent and me from all sides. i sleep in my own and hala and adam share a tent. Basically from 3am onwards, I was awake and jsut trying to be comfortable in my progressively more flooded tent. The tents are from Tesco, a grocery store basically, so tehy are cheap and about as waterproof as a paper bag. As soon as they are saturated, the crazy winds were blowing water right in my tent. By 5am I and everything in my tent was completely soaked and i was just able to stay warm in my wet bag by curling up and breathing into it. I was trying to brave it through until 8am because everything is supposed to open at 9am. At 730 I'd had it because while i was thinking it was going to get better, the wind and rain only got worse. So I yelled over to the other tent something to the tune of, "Well im having fun but im getting the f off this hill!" I jumped out of the tent, laughing maniacally in my soaked t-shirt and boxers- thankfully not cotton- and grabbed my at-that-point-relatively-dry pants and put them on in what turned out to be quite a storm. I heard the other two stirring but I was freezing and I was switching back and forth in my head about my attitude. One minute I would ask myself, well do you feel alive now you asshole, which would make me smile, again rather maniacally, and I would take the adventurous situation in stride. The next I would realize how god damn miserable I was, shivering my skinny white body off lieing in a freaking pool of water on top of a hill early in the morning on the damn isle of man.

In the end, the second moment lasted longer and I grabbed the stakes from the ground as wind and stinging rain pounded in my ears hurting them. With my soaking sleeping bag, clothes and pack still inside, i folded up the tent which must have weighed about 50 lbs with all that water weight and awkardly carried it down the half out to the bottom of the hill where the wind wasn't so bad. The pair joined me shortly and we made it to a public bathroom where I was able to go through all the stuff and roll up my wet gear and strap it to my pack.

Walking around in the early morning in the now gray town with every cafe closed, freezing my butt off, shivering, and with a 50lb watered down pack on made me not care for Peel as much. Finally we were able to find a cafe that was open and sit and have some tea, although still dripping wet and shivering uncontrollably. Finally we decided a laudromat was the best idea to dry ourselves since we would probably have to camp in the rain again tonight (this all happened last night and this morning). After afew laps around the town we settled in a dry cleaners who pitied us and offered us her large dryer at cost and we stripped down threw everything we owned in the industrial sized dryer and waited in our underwear- which apparently is no big deal. My shoes are still wet. Damn my cold feet.

Greg, Adam's mate, picked us up right when we finished and gave us a ride back to the capital city, Douglas, where there was internet because we were hoping to find some couch surfers to stay with and we knew they were all in Douglas.

So this is the situation as it is now. Our options are varied but not great. Greg already turned down Adam's hints at needing a place for us to stay tonight, which is well within Gregg's rights since he has already driven us around. We are meeting Hanlon for a tea in a few minutes and while he also has already hosted us beyond any reasonable asking, he might extend his grace further and offer us a dry bed. Thats option A. Option B would be a couch surfer and Adam staying at his Nana's who I guess isn't keen on even him staying and wouldnt consider hosting the three of us. Option C, and a distant 3rd place is camping outside again in the rain and hoping we get a place out of the wind and that the tents hold otu better than before. Or we could pay around $100+ for a hotel room. As of right now I don't know what will happen, all I know is my feet are cold and wet. Ok ok, its not that big a deal, but I am very aware of the status of my feet since the rest of me feels much better.

In all so far my time on the Man is similar to what I thought it would be. The landscape looks much like pastoral Ireland which I spent a few days in, and that was no shock to me. Fields of green grass speckled with white sheep flow up and down the hilly island and are interupted only by small villages and towns here and there. We have seen a lot of it recently and although I wish I could continue my quest to walk around the Island, it looks like the weather, adam's knee and my own physical shortcomings have already made that impossible (insert smarky saying from Jerry about how he is in such great shape and I am going to hold him back in Nepal). I still got Mt. Sinai to put my legs in order.

It's great to see Adam again and we are getting on very well. I know it will be hard for Adam and Hala to say goodbye when we leave on Tuesday afternoon but they are already planning- indeed have already booked- a week on Iceland together. What a small world it is when you live large.

Ill let you know my status on the rest of my trip to the man when we return to london on Tuesday, hopefully the weather will turn for the better again, and my shoes will dry out by then.

I miss you all, I apologize for my britishisms, and although my langauge my sound whiney, I really do realize that these lows make me feel alive and the adventurous.

One week to go...

With one week to go before my departure on my latest journey, I will take the time to reflect on my pre-departure thoughts:

I am in a difficult transitional phase in my life. I have just graduated from the University of Washington and it seems like every week I say goodbye to a close friend whose friendship is not guaranteed to remain close. Michelle left at the end of May for grad school in Notre Dame which keeps her busy all summer and then leaves her to teach in Florida the rest of the year. Seema has begun her career working for Accenture Consulting in San Francisco. Dave is finishing his education at Montana State University and Patrick has returned to his side of Washington state to fight forest fires over the summer. Then soon my roommate and one of my closest friends, Danielle, will move home to San Francisco in search of a job.

Then there is of course those who, like me, are leaving or have already left the country to test their wits abroad. As I write, Nate is leaving Greece for Eastern Europe, Matt toils in Ghana, Lauren is busy learning and volunteering in Guatemala, Hala awaits my arrival having just returned to London from India, Josh is visiting family before heading down to Peru, and Brian enjoys his time before reporting to the Peace Corps for his tour in Cameroon.

Although staying in touch with people long term is difficult given the diversity of our life goals and immediate plans, it is something worth fighting for and hopefully I will see everyone in good health in the not too distant future, and maybe will even meet up with others on a trip sometime soon. I'd also like to say that I feel very fortunate to associate myself with such a group of world travelers, and wish them all an adventurous journey abroad and a safe return home.

One week to go. I have begun to pack up my belongings but it still doesn't feel like I am leaving. Last year I didn't realize the weight of my undertaking until I was on the plane, flying alone to Beijing. "I'm going to China," I remembering thinking. "What the HELL am I doing going to China?"

I think back on the lessons that I have learned since that first day of my trip last year, and I realize how much I have grown as a traveler, a person and a man. I expect a similar reflection taken next year to yield similar results stemming from my forthcoming trip. The learning process is so steep when one is forced to adapt to survive. An intrapersonal survival of the fittest.

I read about travel in a lot of resources and since I constantly hear about places I am going or want to go, I realize that some novelty is lost with the idea that the trip I await to begin has already been completed by thousands of my predeccesors and that many places I yearn to visit and explore are alreay overrun by white tourists. I recognize this but move on past it and try to stay as original as possible. To most people I meet before I leave, however, novelty is not lost. I tell people at my jobs that I am traveling and predictably they ask to where. Of course it takes a minute or two to explain the complexities of my hodge podge trip.

"Oh well I am going to the Isle of Man- thats an island between Ireland and England-, a friend of mine lives there and we are going to backpack around it for a week, then I'm going to Egypt for a month, I have a close friend who is Egyptian and she have family there and so we will stay with her family and travel around, then I'll meed my dad in Nepal for a month of trekking to Mt. Everest, then I'll cross the border into India where I was last year for 3 months and will volunteer there, teaching English and other projects, then in January I will meet my girlfriend in Bangkok and we will travel through Southeast Asia, Thailand, Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos."

I've had to rattle this speech off dozens of times in the last couple months. And usually I either get to "then I'm going to Egypt..." and people lose interest, or harp in on that and make a comment about their own desires to visit the sands of Egypt. Learning my lesson, I sometimes shorten the rant to include only country names, but this still more often then not falls on deaf ears.


I have found that traveling is entirely an internal endeavor and any attempt at trancedence to a point where it can be shared with someone ignorant of travel or of the places in question, only works to cheapen the event by trivializing that which is in the traveler's eyes an infinite experience. Like one's loss of interest during a friend's detailed relation of a dream, a travel story is always incomparably more important to the one doing the telling.

In light of this I have created this blog not to relate the stories of my adventures in hopes of appreciation by the reader, but for a couple other reasons. First, simply, some people like to know where and in what frame of mind I am and consistent update of this site affords them comfort that I am sane and healthy. Second, I see an upkeep of a blog as a first step in something larger in the future which truthfully I hope will be unique and marketable enough that I can make a living by living my dream. Lastly, I feel it is my duty to promote travel to those who feel it is beyond their reach.

Every day I speak to someone about my trip and they offer their envy to me as if that were why I was going. On the contrary, I do not take pleasure in hearing that others wish they could do what I do but instead find amazing delight in learning that they themselves are taking their own journey soon, no matter how limited. I have found so much freedom and contentment in wandering, exploring and learning about other places that I can't stress enough how important it is to people who are considering a trip of their own. If I could give advice to every incoming freshman to the UW each year, it would be, "This is college, not the last judgment, oh, and study abroad. Twice." I can think of dozens of times I have met an underclassmen and wantonly told them that the NEEDED to study abroad, and to do it early and often.

No matter what I preach, extended trips such as my own are difficult to plan, save for, and carry out. Most would tell you that to do so requires time, money, and more than a little ambition. But I feel there are a separate three requirements that stand true to any longterm personal endeavor: passion, priority and sacrifice.

No one will dedicate three months, much less three years to a trip if they are not passionately involved. Luckily for most, this is the easiest of the three requirments, its as easy as falling in love. And just like being in love, its what comes after that is difficult.

I'll tell you that the biggest difference between me and someone who has always dreamed of a overland trip from Turkey to India but has never done so, is our biggest priority. Every day we make decisions based on an overreaching number one priority that shapes how we view the world. Someone might be driven to one day become a senator or a doctor or just to have children, and their decisions they make, including their education, friends, jobs, careers, and every financial decision is based on their aspirations. Every decision I make is based on the fact that I travel. Not that I want to travel, or would like to travel, but I do travel. Ask me to give a basis of reason for any thing I do and it will come down to that one point. For example, why do I work so much. That one is easy, because I travel. But why do I eay frozen pizza and pb&J sandwiches almost exclusively? Because I save money to travel. Because I don't have a lot of time or money to cook because I work so much because I travel. And so on.

This brings me to the last requirment. After a passion is identified and made a priority above all else, sacrificing those things that now seem less important becomes easy. I give up time to work, money for toys to lodging, food and airfare abroad. I dont make committments I can't fulfill given the fact that I travel over half the year. I lose contact with friends, I leave my teeth uncleaned by a professional, and my gastrointestinal system in a constant state of shock. Because I travel.

I don't really have a way to conclude my ramblings on traveling one week before I set out, so I will close with an appeal to all those reading. Have you ever wanted to take an African Safari? Sail a boat in the Mediterranean? Walk along the Great Wall? These things are less than a commitment of time and money, both of which are of short supply to all and shouldn't be wasted, but are more a set of choices than you may think. It is never to late for an adventure.

The Usual Suspects

The following are the short profiles of the people with who I am sharing my upcoming trip:

Hala Megahy

I met hala last spring when she couchsurfed at my apartment in Seattle with her roommate. They were on a roadtrip from Chicago across the northern US and then down to LA. She and I became friends immediately.

Perhaps the only person I have met with a passion to wander to match my own, Hala is terrific as a travel partner. When my pride prevents me from admitting to perfect strangers who I will never see again that I need directions, she has no problem in asking. Long bus rides are more enjoyable with endless ridiculous conversations held as if it we were talking about the weather. "If you could have 3 magical powers, what would they be?" "Could you take 40 squirrels in a battle to the death? What about a hyena? 30 4-foot tall penguins with 3-inch fangs?" The list goes on. I still think about writing a book including all the zany conversations and fun games we came up with to pass the time on the seemingly infinitely long travel times in India.

Hala arrived in India a month after I did, but when I left in March, she stayed to travel the rest of the country with a friend we met, Adam. They returned to the west (although still far from home for Hala) only yesterday, August 1st, when the flew back to London. I will meet Hala and Adam there and we will travel together to the Isle of Man for a one week backpacking tour around the small British Isle. Then Hala and I will fly to Egypt to spend a month relaxing at her villa on the Mediterranean in Alexandria, walking amongst the giants in Giza, and enjoying ourselves along the Nile and in Sinai.

Whats the Isle of Man you ask? Good question. See the link below for more details.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Isle_of_man

Adam Kendrick Kewley

Adam's and my friendship was dubious from the beginning. One critical issue divided us and I would have normally thought that it would be difficult to reconcile and remain friends. Adam hates traveling.

I know what you are thinking, "that doesn't make sense, Evan, you met him in Calcutta. That is in India, Evan! If he hates traveling, why was he in India!" I have no good answer for this. Just a few bad ones.

Adam is a Beatle maniac. He loves 'em. And deep down, I believe he wishes he were them. Or at least he tries to emulate them. Furthermore, Adam's Dad is a bhuddisht, and his brother a big hippy. And it is no coincidence that The Beatles, his father and his brother have all spent time in India.

The Manx man has spent a year in the Subcontinent and traveled with Hala and I from West Bengal, through Nepal and back down to Varanasi. When I left Hala in March, he has been by her side through their journey through the south of India, and back up to the far north into Jammu and Kashmir.

Also, Adam is a musician. A guitarist. And for a few weeks in Varanasi, a sitarist. He came to India for inspiration and has completed writing the music and lyrics to his album which he will now dedicate himself to produce and record. Formerly known as the Hundreth Monkey, he has since changed his name to something I can't remember. He is perhaps my only chance at having a claim to fame. He joked with Hala and me about naming his album my favorite Hindi phrase, mei chammach hu which means "I am a spoon" and we also flirted with starting our own band, Monkey's on Leashes, inspired by our walk through the Maiden park in Calcutta on the first day we met.

Adam makes his home on the Isle of Man, although he has also lived in London, and it is there we will travel together hopefully not for the last time. Despite his hatred.

Jerry Murphy

My father, Jerry Murphy, has been my father for as long as I can remember. And just slightly longer than that, we have gone out together hiking, backpacking, cycling, and climbing mountains and rocks. In 2000 we summited Mt. Rainier together. In 2002, we finished the Seattle to Portland bicycle ride. A broken attempt by us to backpack the 200+ mile John Muir Trail in California has been revenged as he has been dedicated to section together the entire Pacific Crest Trail running through the west from the borders of California and Mexico.

When I was in the mountains of Tibet, Nepal and India, I thought every day about how much my dad would love to be here. When I was growing up I never had a shortage of books on climbing in the Himalaya to read, as the pile my father had finished and saved for me constantly grew and grew. He knows every classic climb in detail and if he doesn't, he'll make something up. Good luck proving him wrong.

Finally when Hala and I took a short trek through the isolated region of Sikkim last winter- which means it was COLD- I thought that here is something that he couldn't miss. I spoke to my mom, Faith, about the idea of bringing my dad back to Nepal with me and for us to trek to Everest Base Camp together. She was incredibly supportive from the beginning, moreso than he was when I broached the topic. There are always a million little excuses not to do something, but I kept reminding him of the big reason to do it. "Mt. Everest, Dad. Mt. Freaking Everest." I rest my case.

Finally he agreed and is now as excited as I am to walk long distances through Sherpa villages, eat noodles, drink chai, and shiver in the cold all night for three weeks starting at the end of September.

Laura Zanzig

My girlfriend, Laura, and I met in a history class we took winter quarter of 2006. She immediately fell into my trap of being courted with food when she agreed to a weekly friendly get together at my place where I would cook. At least momentarily trapped by her love for my ability to chop a vegetable, saute it with a piece of frozen meat and tell her its gourmet, she will accompany me on the (probable) final leg of this journey. And I wish I could say it was my idea.

Laura loves playing softball but not so much coaching it. She has become very good friends with my roommates, Melissa and Danielle, which means she fits right in at my apartment. Laura never tires of taking me and picking me up from work, often after 1am, and although she gets antsy watching long movies (and hence has never seen the Lord of The Rings) she is always available to spoon feed me a scoop of humble pie by finishing my crossword puzzles when I get stuck.

Laura spent last Winter quarter studying in Rome and returned home almost as ready as I was to travel again. She looked at programs in South Africa, Thailand and Vietnam and questioned aloud the reasons that the programs in SE Asia were even more expensive than her time in Rome, especially since these are some of the cheapest countries to travel in the world.

Laura then considered taking the quarter off, as she would still be able to graduate in time the next June. It wasn't hard for her to talk me into coming along and I can't wait to bring out the most adventurous side of her.

Ashish, Deepa, and Vanya Arora

Ashish and his family manage the Himalayan Village resort at Sonapani which hosted our univeristy program for three months last fall. Thanks to the efforts of this gracious family and the hands working the resort, we all felt right at home and some of us never wanted to leave.

Ashish was a self-proclaimed slacker in college, attending one class in four years. This, however, didn't stop him from having the best grades of anyone in his graduating class. Now a successful business and family man, he is always thinking of sustainability, the environment and a chance to make a new friend for life. He has since began a company to sell chutneys made from fruit grown organically on the property and has supported the arts by producing a play in Mumbai. Proving to be immediately one of the gang, Ashish once claimed that he had to take his matress and sleep outside after staying up late and drinking with the students during a birthday party early in the program. Apparently, deepa had him "in the dog house."


Deepa is the perfect counterpoint to "The Don" as we affectionately referred to Ashish for his stature in the community. She and Ashish make incredibly caring and thoughtful parents to little Vanya. Always helpful with advice or even help with Hindi homework, the students adored Deepa's sweet nature. And the girls on the program also enjoyed the fact that she is a bit of an artist, and gave them henna tattoos on thier hands and arms. Rumor has it that Deepa is pregnant again.

In the running for the single cutest thing ever put on the planet, Vanya baby was a treat. Although she was at first daunted by 19 tall white strangers who didn't speak her first language, she warmed up to us slowly and by the end was hugging everyone and flaunting her English skills. The saddest part about my trip to India was watching Vanya scream and ball her eyes out in Ashish's arms as we said our goodbye's and headed down the trail on our walk to the jeep which would take most of us away forever. I feel extremely fortunate to be able to say that I will again walk up that trail, and see Vanya playing with her parents, two of the most authentic and genuine people in the world.

Evan's Journey 2007-2008

Hey All!
I will be leaving the good ole' US of A in less than two weeks time now. Below is a map of my route.

I will fly into London and meet my friends Hala and Adam with who I traveled in India. Although a week of backpacking on the Isle of Man- where Adam calls home- won't be enough, Hala and I head back to London and onward toward the ancient and modern riches of Egypt.

After a month of living the good life with the help of Hala's friends and family in Alexandria and Cairo- and after a few side trips down the Nile and to the Sinai peninsula- I will trade the camels, heat and sand of the desert for the yaks, cold, and snow of the Himalaya.

Meeting my Dad in Kathmandu, Nepal we will take a short flight into Lukla and begin our three week trek to Mt. Everest. After my dad flies home mid October, I will return to where I studied last fall in the Indian Himalaya just over the western border with Nepal.

I will be teaching English and hopefully volunteering in other programs while there, on the road between the cities of Nainital and Almora, and hopefully will have time to visit some friends I made last year. As the new year comes, so does the end of my second visit to India.

Soon after celebrating the begginning of 2008, I will fly to Bangkok to begin the last leg of my journey with my girlfriend, Laura. We will travel overland making a loop from Thailand to Cambodia, Vietnam, and Laos and back to Thailand.

If things go as planned, I should return to the US- with much fanfare- late March 2008. If not, who knows when. Malaysia is calling, as are Taiwan, Mongolia, Indonesia...

Coming soon:

Snapshot profiles of the characters accompanying me on my upcoming trip

AND

Buy shirts to help support my trip at http://www.evan.shirtcity.com/

I live to travel. I travel to live.

Prospects look good

Since I last posted, the fog has cleared from the airport, the tanker strike ended and I have arrived in Calcutta in one piece. I am taking a bus tonight and will hopefully arrive at the border with my friends in hand in the early afternoon tomorrow. Phase 1 is to get out of India in a week before my visa expires. This looks to be very probable.

Phase 2 is to get to Kathmandu in one piece, get a new Indian visa and return to Delhi by Feb 16 for a friend's wedding. That has yet to be proved probable. Ill keep this updated.

Visa Problems

So my first not travel journal blog. This is a summary of my last couple days and how my plans have changed. Its a testament to how volatile traveling can be and how it pays to be able to adapt- something Im really trying to do. It starts after I have come down the East coast from Calcutta to Chennai and am leaving India, flying to Sri Lanka in order to get a new visa for India.

So long story short, i go to the airport, check in go through
immigration and get stopped. I dont have some paper that is required- but not
really but they think it is and i cant prove its not without another piece of
paper, so im missing some sheet of paper.

So then I talk to this guy who is
somewhat helpful but acts like im an idiot for not having this sheet of paper
ive never heard of (especially since no one on my trip had a problem leaving the
country). So he tells me to have someone fax it and i think maybe i can get in
touch with my director, Keith, in America.

I go to the phone and realize i dont
have his number in America. I call a bunch of people in India, no one has the
sheet or his number. So i go back and talk to them.

Now its a new girl the other guy went home. This girl is decidedly less helpful and again acts as if
im some felon trying to leave the country without proper documentation. Shes
gets on a phone with yet another superior and more people come up, take my
passport, stare at it and I again try to explain the situation to them, but
altho they all ask they cut me off after like 5 words and dont want to hear the
explanation that my man Ashish explained to me on the phone.

Finally she gets
off the phone and says I have to go back to Nainital to get registered and then
i can come back and leave the country. For clarities sake, pretend you are
driving up to Vancouver, you wait in line at the checkpoint and then get
up there. They look at your passport and eventually decide, nope, you have to go
to Miami, then you can come back. Literally to get back to Nainital would be
DAYS and DAYS on trains and buses just to get there. Its ridiculous. So after
much standing around I am returned my checked bag, call more people and get in a
cab to a hotel in the city.

The next day I finally get in contace with Keith and get faxed the letter from someone on high saying I actually DIDNT need that registration form that the people at the airport the night before said I did. But now I have 9 days to get out of India and no plans.

So i go to a travel agency and start asking about next flights to Sri Lanka. 12,000Rs- my last flight was 6,700 Rs. No dice. How about up to Kathmandu? Even more, 17,000 Rs. Ok... What if I fly to Calcutta? Then go overland to Nepal. 3,400Rs. Ok deal. So I buy this ticket for Wednesday on Monday the 29th. As I write this, its Tuesday 30th.

Then I go online and get all these emails from my friend Hala who is also in the country in the north just east of Nepal. She says call me quick. Then says theres violence and borders are closed. Call me.

When I call she informs me about violence in the Terai- the plains area in the south of Nepal. From what I understand there is violence both on the Nepal side and the India side. This doesnt really affect me since Im not trying to cross there, but it was an option.

However, she also informs me of problems in Nepal where we will be crossing. Protesters have blocked highways and people are in buses for a week without a way to move. But apparently its still possible to get to the border and cross, since I jsut have to get out of India in the next week or face more consequences.

THEN, I go back to my hotel room and flip on the news and see not only violence near the Nepalese border, but 5 day gas tanker strikes in Calcutta leaving the transportation crippled and the city at a standstill. There is 10% of taxis adn buses running.

THEN, I see that there is crazy fog at the Calcutta airport and tons of flights have been canceled. Less than two days before I fly.

The last I heard, just a few minutes ago, its possible to get into Nepal from the mountins where I was planning to go. Theres no problem with that. But then there are no buses goin to Kathmandu right now. And the strike is still on in Calcutta making it sound nearly impossible for me to get out of the city into the mountains in the first place.

But im going to try anyway. I have a week. Once I get to Calcutta its just a matter of getting a train or a bus or somehow getting out of the city enough that I can get to the mountains. From there I just have to get the hell out of India before my visa expires and i face worse things than strikes and fog. From there I plan to wait out the buses to kathmandu. i have to be in Delhi on Feb 16 for a friends wedding. I will see if thats possible.

Wish me luck, and ill update this when I get achance, hopefully from Kathmandu in a few days.

Rishikesh

From my Travel Journal February 6, 2007:

Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday. I love everything about it: family, food, booze, football, and a break from school, whats not to love? Being stuck in India, I was unable to celebrate this last thanksgiving with my family. Instead I took advantage of my last opportunity to travel for a weekend, and left on Friday, November 24th for Rishikesh.

A number of weeks earlier, two of my close frinds on my program in India, Nate and April, and I discussed where we wanted to travel during our quarter of study and all agreed independently that Rishikesh was highest on the list and that we would find time to go together for a weekend.

After many weekend plans being thwarted by midterms, birthdays and field work for our NGO, we had one last chance. Bringing along our good friend Tara, but limiting our group to four in order to reduce hassle we made our escape from our studies and projects on a long bus ride from our mountain home down to the transit hub Haldwani.

This city also happens to be the home of our princely host, Ashish, and this weekend he was down with his wife Deepa and child Vanya to stay with his parents. We made great time and arrived in Haldwani at 6 pm before finding out that there was a night bus to Haridwar- literally the door to the gods- which is where we planned to spend the first night, leaving at 10 pm.

With time to kill we called Ashish who was more than willing to come meet us in a little bit and recommended a good small restaurant to eat at. Right after we had finished eating, The Don- Ashish’s nickname because of his stature in our mountain resort and community- showed up with his family in tow. He directed us to his old, beat up, white hat box of a car, and drove us to a liquor store where we purchased a bottle of Old Monk Rum for our night.

Our host took us to the best restaurant in Haldwani were alcohol isn’t allowed, but he assured us we would be okay. True to his name, it turns out that the owner of this establishment has been a good friend since first grade and is willing to look the other way on the dry rule provided discretion is upheld. Not only did we gain entrace to the restaurant but we were set up outside uinder a tall tented rook with yellow stringed lighting and even a fire in a half barrel drum to keep our table warm. We sipped rum and cokes and nibbled on french fries and laughed and joked for hours.

We killed the bottle and even had ice cream to top off the fantatstic night before we left. The Don wouldn’t even let us pay. A true prince. This unexpected night was summed up perfectly by Tara’s clever remark about our relative ignorance to Indian cultural nuances but our amazing experience so far . “It’s not what you know, but who you know.” An hour later we were on a bus destined for Haridwar, trying desperately to sleep in our slightly reclining seats.

The Ganga River, or River Ganges, started in the high Himalaya near the Chinese border in the state of Uttaranchal. It flows southeast for about 2,000 km, winding its way through the plains of Uttar Pradesh, Bihar and West Bengal while meeting up with other rivers, and finally entering Bangladesh on its way into the Bay of Bengal. It is said to flow from the head of Vishnu- one of the Hindu triad- and is therefore very holy. Thousands upon thousands of devotees travel to a numbre of holy cities set on its shores to step out onto the ghats- steps down into the water- and bathe. This act is said to wash away one’s sins.

Haridwar is one such pilgrim-filled holy city, and Rishikesh, a little further upriver, is more touristy. Made famous by the Beatles in the 60’s, Rishikesh is home to a number of ashrams housing hundreds of hippies who come to spend weeks or months meditating and practicing yoga. Becaust it is so far upriver, the water that flows through this city is incredibly clean compared to the water in the most famous and most holy city, Varanasi, hundreds of miles down into the plains.

I arrived in Haridwar knowing that if given the chance, I would als love to bathe in the hold water, cleansing myself of sins. Also truthfull, I hadn’t bathed in over a week. I love India.

We though we would arrive in Haridwar around 6 in the morning but we were awoken out of dazelike slumber and told we had arrived at 3:30. Although we had planned to arrive later and in no need for a hotel, we were still exhausted and decided to take a couple of eager cycle rickshaws to a cheap hotel listed in the guidebook.

At this hour, after little uncomfortbale sleep, and shivering uncontrollably from the mountain wind, we were in no mood to be yanked around by our rickshaw cyclists and we expressed ourselves very clearly when they tried to bring us to the wrong hotel to collect a commission.

Once we’d arrived to our choice, we were shown two side by side double rooms. The price was cheap, but I noticed a problem. There was only one blanket fit for a single bed per double bed room. And we were freezing. The boy in charge at this hour insisted only one blanket per room so April came up with a happy compromise. We took one blanket and one room, and shared, spooning to keep warm. It worked for the most part though we all admitted we were still cold the next morning.

And so we began our adventure in Haridwar. Later that morning we walked through the bazaar where I contemplated buying another sweater remembering the intense chill of the previous night. However in the heat of the day and with an already overstuffed small pack, I decided against it.

For hours we explored the city walking along the ghats and often crossing the river back and forth over the many bridges. In the heart, the ghats and connecting riverbanks were packed with pilgrims come for the weekend. In fact for most of the day, we were the only white faces among the crowds of people lining the river. It is for this reason, along with a more veritable feeling that later made me favor Haridwar over the western hippie infested Rishikesh. I have been called a rascist from time to time in India, but only against my own kind.

Old men and women bathed in t-shirt and boxers or colorful saris. Families came to take pictures, a few even with me. Powdered white faces of sadhus with dreaded hair and orange robes mix with enormous pregnant cows eating cardboard and supplying the riverbank with landmines. I kicked one when I wasn’t looking. Beggars asked for a baksheesh and aggressive men, women and children tried to give uncareful visitors a bindi on the forhead with colorful powder, only to then ask for a “donation.”

The riverbank was packed and we loved it. It was India at its most real: pilgrims coming to a holy place (almost) completely devoid of foreigners to interact with each other and their gods.

As the sun began to set, we walked up to a temple on a hill. This was another monkey temple, of course named for the hundreds of resident brown monkeys living, playing, and if you’re not careful, stealing cameras or bags held by visitors during the walk up. The temple had many visitors and seemed vast, but the parts open to those not staying in one altar to pray do not take long to visit.

Just outside the back was a flat rocky area set against a cliff overlooking the temple and city. Walking up to it, our foursome sat on a bench watching the sun set over a lonely sacred city. As we watched, the river flowed through the valled, into the city and beyond, the water making its way to the ocean, another world away.

We walked down th steep trail on the hillside as dusk gave way to night. Crossing the river we had one last order of business in Haridwar. For a small donation, one can receive a river puja, an offering to the river deity in the form of a large leaf boat, complete with flower petals and candle to light before ceremoniously releasing it to its destiny downriver.

The theory and concept behind the act I find to be serenely earthly but divinely sacred- saying a prayer before liberating an illuminated leaf boat down a holy river. April went first and was handed a puja down on the ghats across for the red main temple set on the riverside.

Althogh I love the idea, the practice is not as serene as it sounds. I sat on the ghats next to Nate and Tara and had the dual pleasure of attempting to keep old women and small children from reaching my forehead with their thumbs, and also preventinga number of young men from harrassing April, insisting she needed them to show her the process of carrying our the puja offering.

This behavior is reminiscent of the reasons Ashish ahd given us the night before for not liking the city. Not a religious man himself, to him the corruption of the sacred for money proves Rishikesh and Haridwar to be falsely advertised as holy places.

One man refujsed to be rebuffed and stayed by April’s side the entire time, trying desperately to instruct and assist so that she might feel obligated to “donate” to his cause. April seemed able to handle him herself so Nate and I only sat back and watched annoyed at his aggressive tactics. It amazes me now that I didn’t push him into the river, but I was probably distracted by the need to guard my forhead at all times.

To her great credit, April responded to her helper’s repeated calls for a donation with a simple, “I’ve already given a donation, thank you.” While she walked away, Nate and I ran interference until it was clear he would get no money for his unsolicited company. He gave up and disappeared into the crowd. Nate and I quickly decided agains doing one ourselves, although I had looked forward to it up until that point. We didn’t want to pu up with the hassle any longer and it was getting late.

We had decided as a group to head to Rishikes that night, and we headed to the bus station. Using Nate’s advanced Hindi skills, we found out where to wait and took the next bus the hour trip north to Rishikesh, arriving at 10 at night.

After further hassle with auto rickshaws drivers- a common daily adventure of its own- we were dropped off at one of two pedestrian bridges in the city. Locating our position on the guide book map, I led us on the quarter hour walk through a large, quiet and dark complex that was comprised of many ashrams. The one I had chosen for our group was at the opposite end, and when we arrived we read the signs hanging from the perimeter fencing which made the institution of spiritual learning resemble one of correction.

There was no drugs or alcohol- as expected- no music or card playing… ok… and a strict silence must be upheld at all times… that’s a bit weird. It also locks its gates at 10 pm every night.

Uncertain though we were that this was the place for us, it was late and we needed a place to stay. And we had come this far…

Discreetly waking up the man just inside the gate, we inquired about a room for the night. He jumped up and found a man in charge who irritatedly let us in and led us to the office.

I think we were all a little intimidated by the facility’s strict atmosphere and we sat in silence as the man took our passports and filled out the paperwork. The man seemed quite upset we awoke him at this hour and when I was asked why we did not come before the 10 o’clock curfew hour, I just mumbled something about a bus and looked at my shoes in a humbly apologetic manner. We went to our room, concluded there was no hot water here either, and went to bed.

Immediately after waking the next morning we made our escape. Politely nodding our thanks to the man still stationed at the door, we exited and breathed a sigh of relief to be out of the oppressively prison-like environment.

In the crisp morning air, we went searching for breakfast. It was at this point I began noticing for the first time the other westerners also out and about. Almost without exception they matched the same description. Twenty-something or middle-aged, the white faces were framed with a head of dread-locked hair. Each wore thong sandals and cotton pants and kurtas that they had undoubtedly purchased at a store who markets such
”Indian” clothes to westerners. And each was wrapped in a large blanket to stay warm, just like the locals. Yet try as they might to fit in with the local Indian crowd of the heavily touristed city, these westerners fir in only with each other.

Nate first broached the subject when he mentioned how all the westerners wore “Indian” clothes while all the Indians actually were dressed in button-up shirts and slacks. By attempting to look and act Indian, the hippies in the city only succeeded in looking and acting like I would expect a hippie to in India.

For this I cannot fault them, as they are only emulating those who came before them. What I can fault them for is behavior which I would not expect from a hippie in India.

Later in the weekend, still in Rishikesh, Nate and I were obsessed with eating a thali at least once a day. We craved them. A cheap meal, a good thali consists of dhal, vegetables, rice and chapati, and costs around 60 cents. There are many good hole-in-the-wall places to get one in the small city and we never had any complaints about the price or quality. Our only complaint was sometimes the other company in the restaurant.

On several occasions we ate while listening to westerners in typical overt hippie attire impatiently explain special requests to the humble waiter trying desperately to understand. Then when their friends arrived, the visitors, in town to enhance their spiritual selves, would proceed to rudely call out for more food and complain about the service. Hardly the behavior expected of the meditatively spiritually enlightened.

The other interaction with a foreigner was an encounter with a large Israeli man riding an equally large motorcycle who invited us to a party in a remote location the next day that began at noon, and ended at the same time the next day. He said only good people were invited, and I would venture a guess that few if any Indians would be in attendance. Apparently if yoga and meditation is not your thing, the foreigners in Rishikesh are also given the opportunity to forsake all actions of serenity and have an all night rave outside the city with other foreigners. A truly Indian adventure.

But this disillusionment is not the lasting impression of my trip to the holy river. Indeed, despite the fraudulent occurrences I witnessed, I was able to forge an entirely serene experience for myself, and it is this memory that I took from this long weekend.

After our first breakfast in Rishikesh, we were going to take a leisurely 2 km walk up the road to the more touristy and pretty part of the city, away from all the oppressive feelings we got from the ashram. We walked past a path down to the river and with the sun warming us from above, the water looked very peaceful and clean, winding through the forest and lined on both sides by a boulder-strewn beach. We decided to change our path. Heading along the beach, the aura of the river and its surrounding stillness away from any contamination from the city hit us hard, and we fell into a respectful silence.

Meandering between the rocks, I walked to the rivers edge and pooled some water in my hands to splash on my face. It was pleasantly chilled and clear, having just sprouted from the mountains, and I felt immensely refreshed and at ease. I forgot all about the stress of the previous night.

We slowly pressed on, but when we came to a bend in the river that was especially protected from the road above, I stopped. Still silent, the girls disappeared over the boulders that now were as tall as a man, and Nate sat cross-legged on the tallest one, faced the river, and closed his eyes in meditation.

I also observed our tacit silence and perched myself on a boulder’s shoulders. Peering out over the tranquil, slow moving, blue current, I tried to grasp the peace I felt inside myself and stretch it around my whole body like a protective robe. It warmed me inside and out, and then I remembered the cool feeling of the water on my face.
Sufficiently inspired, I resolved to finally bathe myself, body and soul, in the pool of sacred water below me. I scrambled down to the ground, and made sure I was out of site and surrounded by tall boulders on all sides. I slipped off my sweater and shirt, removed my shoes and socks, and stepped out of my pants.

Testing the surface with my toe, the water was crisp and glassy. I waded out to shin depth and the cold water enveloped my feet in its therapeutic grip. I took one last breath to summon up my courage and leapt forward, water up to my neck, arms spread in front of me. It wasn’t as cold as I thought a river in the Himalaya in November would be. But it was chilly.

Nate had heard me in the water, and caught a brief glimpse as I had swam further out and looked up at his smile. I assured him it felt fantastic.

I dunked my head a couple times and then stood up. Rubbing water onto my face and beard, down my chest and stomach and under my armpits, I took my first bath in ages. The sun beat down on my wet body in the water, holding me in its light and warmth. Rejuvenated and purged of my sins, and some grime, I emerged dripping from the river.

I climbed back onto a low but sunny boulder and regained my quiet reflection, although this time my soaked body clad only in boxers shivered in the light breeze. Still, the suns rays and wind quickly dried me off and I was quite satisfied to sit almost naked on the boulder, on the bank of this holy waterway, basking in the warmth and peace of my surroundings.

Nate soon joined the club, going for a dip in the water on the other side of the boulder from me. When he had finished, and I was mostly dry, we got dressed, found the girls and continued our walk upriver. As we passed an office with a phone, I paused to make a call while Nate chatted up the shopkeeper in Hindi and the girls lagged behind, buying up the town.

A very good friend of ours had started a day behind, and was in Haridwar today. Matt had a full head of tiny blond curls set on top of his tall and skinny body. We share a similar (read: Hilarious) sense of humor, get along wonderfully, and it was he who taught English with me both at the school and at the NGO. He had had to complete another day of field work the day we left and so couldn’t come with us. The last we saw him, he was trying to convince our friend, Brian, to come with us since he admitted to me that he hates the stress and seclusion of traveling alone.

When we answered his phone when we had called the day before, he was on the bus to Haldwani, alone. He couldn’t get anyone to come with him and he had decided that coming alone was better than not at all. His heart was set and I knew he had been feeling quite confident and adventurous as the weeks had passed on our program in the mountains. And now he was taking a big step.

I had told him about the shorter than expected bus, our cheap hotel in Haldwani, the monkey temple and river puja and that we’d call him to let him know where we were in Rishikesh if he wanted to skip everything else and meet up with us.

When he answered that day, he was in Haridwar and said he was having a great time. The stress hadn’t gotten to him, he had not trouble negotiating a late night bus, transferring to a hotel and spending the day among the crowds of pilgrims and less than holy people in Haridwar, all alone. I was immensely proud. Traveling alone isn’t easy, and he had specifically told me he was hesitant at taking the trip without someone else to be a buffer. But my close friend had courageously decided overnight that he could easily be self reliant and take great pleasures in solo travel, and new doors full of adventure have opened for him.

He met up with us that night at our guest house in Rishikesh, and the next morning we headed back riverside. Slightly upriver from where we had sat the day before is a sandbar, about 100 meters long and 20 meters wide, beneath a row of small ashrams.

Walking on this sandy part of the beach with Nate and Matt, we decided we had to make a sand castle. Given our surroundings it didn’t take long for us to decide it would be a sand temple instead, modeled after the large one in town near our guest house.

We set to work using rocks as a foundation to make a large block, about a foot high and two feet long. We kept it moist with water dripped from our hands, and Matt decorated it with Hindi symbols (including swastikas!). Finally a tower was put on top by Nate and I although it began to fall apart before our pictures. Our temple had a gate, a circular designated place to pray, which we sat at and took pictures. A lei of orange flowers floated by and Matt plucked it out of the river and adorned our crumbling spire with it to complete the sand structure.

Pleased by our handiwork, we walked downriver to the spot we had occupied the day before. I wrote some in my journal and Matt was the first to decide he was going in. I took pictures of the half naked man as he prepared to him in and as he splashed around in the cold water.

Soon after I again was inspired to wash- maybe I had some residual sin to wash away. I made my a little down from Matt. Following the same steps as before, I took my second and last bath in the holy Ganga river. Perhaps more refreshed the second time, I again crawled on a rock and sat still and silent while the cool mountain breeze dried my pale wet shivering body. The sun was hiding that day, and the temperatures were significantly cooler. I grabbed my sweater and moved onto a rock swung far out over the water and resumed my tranquil state.

For a long time I again pondered my fortune for being able to take the auspicious bath in t freezing yet sacred water and felt a wave of content relief fro having fulfilled this dram and finally crossed off the last name on the list of places to visit before my program was over.

The next morning, we woke very early and left the hotel. We were leaving that day but not before Matt did me the huge favor of filling a liter plastic bottle with part of the Gange for me to take home. And we were not leaving to head back to Sonapani. Instead, we were meeting the rest of our program’s group in Ramnagar, the city outside the famous Jim Corbett National Tiger Reserve. It was here, only a few days later, that I had my next adventurous encounter with nature that week.