Taking on Crocodile Dundee - Nico does Australia

King me - Nico and gang do the not-so-red center

2011-07-28T06:22:00.000-04:00

After dropping off and having a couple fun nights out with Kevin, Cameron and Sarah in surprisingly modern Darwin, it was time to head south. Accompanying me for round three were Andrea, a Canadian friend from Perth, as well as Ida and Elina, Finnish best friends. Remember that skepticism I had from the start about traveling with three girls? Entirely unwarranted. Heaps of fun.

We stopped first at the waterfalls of Litchfield NP, taking a final refreshing dip in the plunge pools in preparation for the desert to come. A day's driving then got us to the historic Daly Waters pub, home of the most isolated red light in the world. This was Outback Australia; the cowboy providing entertainment ended with a poem that praised American pride after September 11 and imploring the crowd (some 50 years older than us on average) to take some of that pride in Australia and bring it to glory. Hopeful Asian immigrants didn't seem to fit in to his vision.

Next we passed through the aptly named Devil's Marbles before hitting Alice Springs, 'The Alice', for some car repairs and Ida's birthday. One problem though, "Why is the red center so green?" We had assumed until then that we just weren't in the right part yet, but if the capital of the red center wasn't red, what would be? Should probably be called the pale green center after the ubiquitous spinifex grass taking over nearly every square inch left bare by the small trees and shrubbery.

Then west into the majestic Macdonnell Ranges, culminating with a sweet hike up and around King's Canyon, site of a famous scene from the cult classic "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert". I saw the movie at Tim's house the night before leaving on the roadtrip, and I assure you that witnessing the actor made famous by uber-serious roles of Agent Smith and Elrond dancing to Mama Mia in a blue sequined dress is a wonder to behold.

And finally Uluru. Towering over us. Over me. Sitting alone with it, I began to understand the special reverence it inspires in the hearts of its native owners. Like most other visitors, we complied with their request to not climb the rock. Instead, we learned about the mala (wallaby) men who first climbed up in an ancient ceremony, the bark carved out of a tree to form simple but powerful spear throwers, and an actual blind mouse (marsupial) that lives underground and carries its pouch on its back. After, we hopped over to the Olgas, standing tall in the shadow of Uluru. I'll attempt to convey my thoughtful mood of the time in my next post, a quasi-poetic (don't worry, it's free verse; I won't torture you with forced rhymes) effort I composed that night. But be gentle; it's not my normal modus operandi. So check back soon for The haj - Nico and gang do Uluru. [title borrowed from a Leon Uris book I just read]

A thousand bungled suns - Nico and gang do the Bungle Bungles and Kakadu

2011-07-26T08:47:00.000-04:00

"I think we're missing sunset." "It's gonna be an awesome twilight view though." "Yeah." We park. "Alright, only a few people leaving." We walk in. "Ummmm, looks like everyone's leaving." "Suckers. They're gonna miss the sweet twilight." People look at us with pity. We reach the base of the lookout.
A couple fellow backpackers warn us, "The rangers are turning people away, but if you're quick you might get a look."

We're not quick enough; sunset at Ubirr is denied to us. We retreat to the campsite behind the famous aboriginal art site and are immediately attacked by a million mozzies.

This comes as no real surprise, though; sunset just isn't our time. Our first flat tire? Sunset. Our second flat tire? Sunset.

Sunrise isn't much better. We try for one at the Bungle Bungles. Cameron and Sarah don't make it out of the tent; Kevin and I snooze the first alarm. At the second we leap from our tents and are driving within a minute. We can't find the campsite exit and probably wake a dozen families. Finally, we race off. We park and sprint up the hill, gasping for air, certain that we'll miss it. 45 minutes after we reach the top, the sun rises over the rocks. It's nice, especially when Kevin descends and pulls out his guitar, but one thing is obvious: it would have been nicer at sunset.

The days, however are great. Black, white, and orange striped Bungles are spectacular, and Echidna Chasm is impossibly tall and narrow. The drive through Gregory NP has to be one of my favorites, and the aboriginal culture on display in Kakadu is nothing short of fascinating. And, last but certainly not least, the 6 meter massive jumping crocs of the Adelaide River just take my breath away.

From Croc jumping

Nothing but awe for those ancient killing machines.

Check back soon for King me - Nico and gang do the not-so-red center.

White men can jump - Nico and gang do the Gibb River Road

2011-07-19T22:13:00.002-04:00

"Let's jump!" "It's definitely deep enough." "Is it deep enough to jump!?" The people swimming below shook their heads. Sharing an amused look with Sarah at the childlike excitement, so did I. We knew that our French and British travelmates, Kevin and Cameron, were a little crazy, but jumping 30+ meters into Bell Gorge was taking it to a whole new level. Half an hour later they leapt. "How was it?" "Amazing. But my bum hurts."

From Broome to Darwin 2

An portly elderly man approaches us. "Good jump?" "Not bad." "I might give it a go." We all laugh at the joke. Ten minutes later we watch in awe as he plummets, framed gloriously by the waterfall. We cheer. The old people cheer louder. "Good on ya!" We have a new hero.

Now with no excuse, I join the boys for a smaller albeit slipperier jump the next day at Manning Gorge. My bum hurts a little bit too.

Check back soon for A thousand bungled suns - Nico and gang do the Bungle Bungles and Kakadu.

Editors note: Some may have misunderstood my earlier post about the photos. My mates never said that they weren't sharing their pictures to punish me; it seemed to be more a matter of selfishness than of malice. The first one to say it was on great terms with me and deeply apologetic; he just couldn't let go of his 'babies'. As far as I know, they didn't share with each other either.

Four wheel domination - Nico and gang do the Kimberley

2011-07-17T01:30:00.003-04:00

"Are you sure that this is the road?" "Nope" "Are you sure that this is a road?" "Kinda looks like a car's been here before." "You see the 5 foot ditch, right?" "Yep" Cameron wakes up. "Why are we chasing cows?" "Trying to get to a gorge." "Oh" Ten minutes later: "Maybe this is just a path for cows." Five more minutes. "Might be time to turn around."

Thus ended our short-lived attempt to reach Adcock Gorge, one of the many dicey turnoffs off Australia's most famous 4wd track, the Kimberley's Gibb River Road. We didn't care though; creating our own road over jutting rocks and tenuous ditch crossings was just as fun. Four wheel domination.

From Broome to Darwin 2

Going off-road has without a doubt been one of the highlights of the trip, especially from the driver's seat. There's just no feeling like climbing up and down sand dunes until you pull up the last one and face nothing between you and the ocean. Or diving headlong into rivers that you pray aren't too deep and feeling a moment of panic as the headlights go beneath the water before breathing a collective sigh of relief as you inch up the opposite bank. Or pitching to the left and right as you clamber over boulders as big as wallabies (or an actual wallaby in Kevin's case) and landing with a thud back onto Earth. Or taking any possible road to the beach to seek shelter in the dunes from the wind and the roving eyes of rangers, finding a private spot miles away from any other sentient minds. And, of course, visiting the beautiful spots many backpackers are forced to skip, not just the Gibb River Road but also Francois Peron, Red Bluff and Gnaraloo, the back road to Cape Range, Karijini, and most recently the World Heritage listed Bungle Bungles and Kakadu.

There are some downsides though. In the past week I've gone from never having changed a flat tyre in my life to changing two. Some days we'd open the trunk and discover that everything was covered in dust. Other times we'd stumble out of the car reeling with headaches from severely corrugated roads. Once we hit a bump so hard that the car suddenly died. A few minutes of panic ensued until we determined with the help of two friends we'd met the week before, who just happened to be driving by, that one power cable had simply come loose. And dealing with the air pressure in the tyres, though quite manly, can be dangerous guesswork and a pain to constantly adjust.

But I love it. We all do. And so does King Dave - it's what he was born to do. Half the time it feels like we're in a commercial for Jeep; I'll load up some of those videos up when I get a chance.

Check back soon for White men can jump - Nico and gang do the Gibb River Road.

A bang and a whimper - Nico and gang do Broome

2011-07-13T06:18:00.002-04:00

Some trips end with a bang, others with a whimper. This one had both.

After sleeping near some massive termite nests on the way out of Exmouth, we made our way to Karijini's stunning gorges where emerging differences in schedules and travel styles led to some frayed emotions. I tried to be fair and reasonable, but underlying frustrations and, though it was never said aloud, I think different understandings of proper respect as well, drove wedges into our fun as deep as the gorges we clambered through. Patches were attempted as we left the park but a cool undercurrent persisted on the long drive to Broome via 80 mile beach.

First came the bang. Our most interesting night of the trip materialized from thin air when we bravely followed the sounds of reggae music on an empty street to crash an aboriginal/islander holiday party. Somewhat fearful at first, our initial hesitation was put to rest as we were greeted with open arms, genuine good cheer, some funky dancing, and delicious food and drinks (though the turtle and dugong cooking in the traditional manner beneath the soil were for family consumption only). Even that, though, wasn't enough to save us; we agreed the next day that the two who had been planning on staying with me would remain in Broome as I continued on. We hoped that it would enable us to end on a positive note.

I walk to a nearby hostel, hoping to put a sign up advertising my new lift offer; I now have three spots to fill and still hope to leave tomorrow. There's someone already standing there. "Looking for a lift to Darwin?" I ask hopefully; "You're kidding me" comes the reply. "Nope." "You have room for my friend?" "Hell yah."

Within half an hour my new team was assembled. I was on a high.

The whimper came that night, the last we were to spend together. One by one, my friends told me that they didn't want to share their pictures with me as we'd originally agreed and repeated throughout the journey. Those were the pictures I had been planning to share with you; my own camera had been broken from the start. I'm sorry to say that now I have none to display. Though sorely disappointed, I hope that the incident doesn't continue to cloud all my good memories of our adventure.

Check back soon for Four wheel domination - Nico and gang do the Kimberley.

Happy little whalesharks - Nico and gang do Ningaloo Reef

2011-07-09T23:39:00.002-04:00

"Happy little whalesharks" sang the girls in their highest voices; "Happy little whalesharks" followed the guys in their deepest. It was a wacky end to an awesome day of snorkeling with those majestic fish that are anything but little; the biggest fish in the sea, whalesharks are thought to grow up to 18 meters long. Even the juveniles we swam with - which, being inquisitive, truth to bump us with their enormous heads to figure out what we were - were 3 meters long. Awesome.

The whaleshark expedition was the finale of a weeklong snorkel-fest up the Ningaloo reef (named a world heritage site the day of our whalesharking) that also featured six huge sea turtles (one I kept up with for at nearly 10 minutes), a reef shark, and world-class coral. And twice when I seriously feared for my life: the first after swimming past two sets of breaking waves in Lefroy Bay to see what was on the other side (toes were bleeding after fighting my way back through those) and the second while bring caught in the menacing currents of innocent-sounding Turquoise Bay. The only thing that kept me from panicking was the sight of a man watching me from the shore, a stone's throw from the life preserver placed there for situations like mine. When I finally crawled, gasping, onto the beach, he said, "I didn't think that you were going to make it." When he showed me where I'd fought from, I understood why.

Though we've never resorted to the French Market ("When you steal from a supermarket," told us a French girl in Carnarvon who's brother had just been caught. "Every French person does it"), we have become quite creative getting our supplies at times. Best was at Red Bluff, when, after enjoying the stunning sunset, we ran out of gas mid-dinner and traded cupcakes for a can of butane and collected firewood (comically and illegally) in exchange for some special pizza from a group of surfers. And after camping for free on beaches all up the coast, we (despite my protests) camped one night in a park in town, were caught by the police who luckily didn't fine us, and ended up in a limestone quarry instead.

Check back soon for A bang and a whimper - Nico and gang do Broome

Did somebody order a krabby patty? - Nico and gang do Monkey Mia

2011-07-04T04:34:00.001-04:00

Our next destination was Monkey Mia, made famous by a few families of wild dolphins that gamely head to the shore nearly every morning to interact with the locals. As usual, the journey proved more than we bargained for.
After a brief stop to see millenia-old stromatolites, which are about as exciting as their name suggests, we got some bait and took one of our trip's many unmarked off-road dirt paths; this one, uniquely, led to a beach comprised entirely of little white shells. Armed with my fishing rod and some thawing squid, Chuck and I head off into the water, into the sunset, in search of dinner. We figured we'd get thigh deep before casting the line. So we walked. And walked. 200 meters out we hit what looked to be a sand bar but was also just shells. Kept on walking; the only thing that got deeper were our feet, which sank well into the mud with every step. After a luckless hour of casts, we returned to find that the girls had prepared tea and cookies for us - we were already falling into gender stereotypes. This only got clearer later when the guys built a fire after breaking some of the biggest branches by driving over them with the 4wd. Beast.

In Francois Peron National Park, we caught some beautiful fish and spotted rays, sharks,dolphins, and turtles from a sweet lookout. It was going pretty smoothly (besides a hasty retreat from the water after a shark sighting at our beach and backing up King Dave into the camping table which somehow managed to survive - "cruuuunch" "Is that the table?") until we decided to take the shovel out the second evening to hunt for crabs. Miraculously, we found a huge one in its hole on the second try. Shocked, Chuck asked, "What do we do now?" "Hit it with the shovel!" I replied in line with our plan from the start. Whack. Crab down. Suddenly, Leila shouts, "What are we going to do with it now!?" Before I have time to respond with the obvious, "We eat it," Chuck lifts the crab up with the shovel, chucking it as far as he can into the ocean. Once we stopped laughing, I asked, "What'd you do that for?" "I don't know, I just panicked."

We never caught another crab.

Check back soon for Happy little whalesharks - Nico and gang do the Ningaloo Reef.

And special shout-out to our latest hero, Grant, an auto-electrician who rescued us on a Saturday afternoon when everything was closed to fix not just our brake lights but half a dozen other issues as well. And a couple more things Monday morning. And he did them well, providing good company and welcome advice to boot. When we tried to pay, he accepted only a token amount - "I know what it's like to be on the road". If you're ever in Broome and want to rent a car, you're in good hands with Grant. Cheers mate.

Camping on the beach - Nico and gang do Kalbarri

2011-07-01T00:19:00.000-04:00

After a three day test run down south with Chuck and Maya to surfing and wine mecca Margaret river that featured some friendly Taiwanese who'd just bought a broken car, getting shown up in the waves by a 14 year old girl surfing champion, climbing a 75 meter tree with a wicked view, snorkeling for stingrays, and an overly friendly possum at our campsite, the full group assembled in Perth for our full departure (once I'd finished up my final project at UWA and had a surprise goodbye party courtesy of Tim).

Our first destination was Kalbarri national park, a small corner of the coast cut with beautiful gorges and clouded only by the bad weather we had when passing through. Though the park was nice and our impromptu ballroom and salsa dance party at a hostel outside the park (with a middle-aged Australian man and a Dutch girl) was certainly entertaining, what should have been a simple day and a half drive to Kalbarri ended up being most memorable as an introduction in dramatic fashion to what were to become two of the strongest recurring themes of our trip - getting help from very friendly Australians and doing stupid things. Though the help has come from Aussies of all shapes and forms, like the young recently divorced tyre mechanic in Geraldton who directed us to free camping on the beach in the one spot that the rangers don't check - "I've used it quite a few times in the last couple months" - and the disembodied voice that called out to us with an offer of a covered clothesline as we hung our wet clothes on a tree in a caravan park (we found where it came from on the third try), most of it has been from elderly folks with big hearts and accumulated wisdom from several trips around the country. We were about to meet the first of those now.

As we approached what we thought would be a free campsite at Sandy Cape, we noticed a sign requiring payment for the night. Confused, we decided to check out the site first and drove to the far end where we thought we'd have the most privacy. Noticing a entry spot to the beach, we decided to go for it; why have a car with four wheel drive if we're not going to use it? Despite my very limited 4wd experience, I knew to instruct our current driver to put the car in 4 low while I locked the wheels. For the first 20 seconds, it was awesome. Then the car stopped moving.

We got out and, sure enough, we'd driven far too close to the water and the tires were stuck deep into the sand. The driver got nervous, so it was up to me to try to get us out. I tried to back it up as far as I could, but we reached a point where the wheels were spinning, the engine was coughing, and we just weren't going anywhere. And the tide was inching closer towards us. The panic was too.

Suddenly, four figures appeared out of the night. An older couple and a younger couple who'd heard our noisy attempts up at their campsites and guessed correctly what was going on. The men got our shovel out and started getting to work while the women chatted on the side. As they pushed and I continued to try to reverse, one asked, "Did you put the engine in 4 low or 4 high?" "4 low, is that wrong?" "No, that's right; just sounds like it's in 4 high." Sure enough, the driver had put it in the wrong gear. Fixing that, finally things began improving.

But that still wasn't enough. After a few more minutes, Terry, the pensioner, told me, "If you don't want the ocean to take your car, you've got to let air out of the tyres." I'd known that reducing tyre pressure was important for driving on rocky roads; I hadn't realized that it was even more important for driving on sand. Finally free, we thanked our saviors and went, a little shaken, to a site right next to the beach that Terry directed us to.

In the morning, we got some visitors - Terry and his wife had walked over to check on us and invite us to their trailer for morning coffee. When we'd packed up and drove over to find them, the wife was standing on the road waving us over and Terry had his pump to refill our tires already out and ready to go. They shared some travel tips along with the coffee, loving every minute of it, until finally saying, "What are you doing staying here listening to us? Drive off, explore, have some fun!" Comforted that the magnitude of our stupidity was outweighed only by the generosity of our hosts, we did.

My own reality show for a day - Nico and gang do Western Australia

2011-06-28T04:04:00.002-04:00

As I've told some of you over the past few months, my life in Perth, though lovely, was not quite exciting enough to warrant a blog. From the very first night of our road trip though, when we decided to drive onto a beach to camp and got stuck within a minute, it was clear that that had changed. I've been lazy and without battery for some time (sorry!) but I'm finally ready to write again. Soooooo here begins Nico, Chuck, Maya, and Leila do Western Australia; I hope you enjoy. To make up for lost time, I'll start us off with a big one.

We'll go back about a month, when I finally had my rugged old Nissan Patrol 4wd - "King Dave" - ready to roll, camping and snorkeling gear and emergency car supplies filling up the trunk and straps installed on top for my surfboard and boogieboard to give us some serious Aussie street cred. Now came the most important part - finding travelmates. These were the illustrious backpackers with whom I was going to spend the next month (at least) 24/7, sharing petrol, beds, fun, food, blood, sweat, and a lot of cheap wine, so I could not take this task lightly.

First I put a post up on the local couchsurfing group, which had served me so well in the past - alas, got no bites (which prepared me for our mostly luckless fishing attempts since). I then resorted to Gumtree, Australia's Craigslist equivalent, putting an ad up and responding to a few others; it was a bit riskier than couchsurfing, but had a much wider audience. I communicated with a few that didn't fit for various reasons, mostly time-related, before finally finding a real possibility. Contestant #1 was a German girl, friendly and a chef(!) but pretty quiet and reserved/hungover. She was on her way to see Hangover 2, so she earned points for that. Overall, not a bad option but I decided to hold off a commitment for the time being.

Contestant #2 was also a German girl, who was holding a bag full of meat ("It was on sale") when we met. Good start. We got a six-pack and decided that it would be nice to drink it outside on a bench in front of a fountain despite suspecting that this wasn't strictly legal behavior. Sure enough, a couple of youngish cops came by after an hour or so and knew exactly what was going on. I prepared for the worst. "Where are you from?" "Germany and the US." "We know that you can drink in public in Germany; is it legal in the US?" "Depends where you are (and if you have a brown paper bag)." [As far as I know it's only ok in New Orleans' French Quarter, but to be fair I have made good use of that exception.] "You know, if any other officers had found you, you would have a $200 fine immediately." "That's a lot." "But you seem like nice people and it's a quiet Thursday night, so we'll give you a pass; you just have to pour out the remainder of the open bottles." "Fair enough." "So, we know we shouldn't be encouraging this, but which Aussie beers do you like?" We all laughed and chatted for a few minutes, then with a smile and a wave they went on their way. "Gotta love Australia." And I knew I had found my first travelmate - Maya. Maya's foreign charm has helped us since as well, like when we were stopped by police a few days ago for a burnt-out taillight. Also didn't hurt that she (who was driving at the time) hadn't bothered to put her shorts back on after the beach we'd just been at, leaving her bikini bottom in full view. Needless to say, we didn't get a ticket (and they even saved us from overpaying for petrol at the servo we were at, directing us instead to a little petrol station up the road with cheaper prices).

Since I wanted a full variety of nationalities, this meant that Contestant #1 was out. I also wanted a balance of guys and girls, so Contestant #3 was a Canadian dude. Blind dates between two guys are always tough, so it's nice to find some safe common ground to start with, like agreeing in our first call that it was a good idea to get a caravan going with a group of girls we'd both responded to on Gumtree who were probably getting their own car. "Can't hurt the odds." "My thoughts exactly." [We ended up leaving earlier than the girls, who then passed us when we took a spontaneous detour up a peninsula to Gnaraloo on the recommendations of the old Aussie couple that had rescued us from the sand on day 1 and a Margaret River surfer chick who helped me find a sleeping Maya hidden in the bushes.] When Chuck was game enough to join my volleyball friends and I on a night out and oozed classic Canadian friendliness, I figured he was a pretty safe bet, even though he didn't join in the dancing at Carnegy's ("I need to drink way more before I'm ready to dance"). Turns out that Chuck only needs half a glass of wine to start impersonating a kangaroo and hopping towards ones that are chilling near us on a cliff. Though he displayed none of that (very welcome) goofiness that first night, I could tell that he'd be a good bro and welcomed him on board.

And then there was one.

Contestant #4 was French, a self-described "creasy girl" who got points for being a fellow couchsurfer and for adding a new language to the mix. I think that you can usually tell in the first minute and almost certainly in the first hour after meeting somebody whether you'd gel on the road, and with her I didn't quite feel it. Still, I wanted to leave three days later and needed a fourth rider and she fit the bill, so I gave her a tentative yes but told her I had agreed to meet one more person before making a decision. When my travelmates asked me later the reason for my hesitation, I could only respond, "She was wearing Crocs." "Ahhhh" they all nodded with understanding [Mordechai and Estee - if you read this, no offense intended. I'd be happy to travel with both of you next time we're not continents apart.]

Luckily, by the time I returned home from that, Contestant #5 had responded to my e-mail; we met the next night. Fresh from a road trip along the South Coast, this Swiss Girl seemed prepped for living out of a car. I'd also had a great time traveling with half-Swiss Jenn and Jeremy in South America, so I gave her the benefit of the doubt. When we had a fun night wandering around Freo in search of a live jazz performance she and her friend claimed to have seen advertised (even though bouncers we asked about it thought we were crazy because we most certainly were not in New Orleans), I knew that it had been the right decision to wait out Contestant #4. With Maya, Chuck, and now Leila on board, my team was fully assembled.

Let the fun begin.

Since my internet/electricity access is limited out here, I can't post on a schedule, but I should be able to get something up (likely without pictures) every few days.

Check back soon for Camping on the beach - Nico and gang do Kalbarri.

Why I love Rotto - Nico does Rottnest Island

2011-03-10T10:47:00.001-05:00

1: Quokka. Like mini-kangaroos, but cuter. You can pet them.

2: Snorkeling at three different spots - and that didn't even exhaust all of the options. Back might be a bit burnt though (but not as badly burnt as James was tonight after spitting out the habanero pepper that Ash and I, being real men, were able to conquer).

3: Spotted a baby stingray hanging out on the ocean floor. Let me get within a few inches before darting away; that baby can move.

4: No cars allowed, leaving a beautiful 20K bike ride around the island (with many beach/snorkel breaks included, of course).

5: White sand and all kinds of calm turquoise water just a half-hour boat ride from Freo - it's like having a resort island in our backyard.

Why I love this city - Nico does Perth

2011-03-02T09:23:00.000-05:00

1: Doesn't matter what the weather report predicts; it's been hot and sunny with clear blue skies every day - perfect for the Camelot outdoor cinema (one of the city's many) two blocks from my villa. I'll be heading there tomorrow for the premier of the annual Flickerfest International Short Films Festival.

2: I can bike to work any day I want and there's always time to cool off with a dip in the ocean and jog on the beach when I get home.

3: There are so many fine white beaches with turquoise water and dolphins diving in and out that there simply aren't enough people to make them crowded. Ever. (except for maybe the Sunday Session at Cottesloe, but that's offset by Tim's comment - see below).

4: There are a dozen microbreweries just across the bridge in Freo

and dozens more wineries down the highway in Margaret River.

5: Life is relaxed - nobody works too hard, sleeves are optional, my biggest concern is what kind of surfing to attempt, and the last train home on Friday nights is free for all riders.

Why I loved last weekend - Nico does Melbourne

2011-02-28T06:04:00.000-05:00

1: I'll be on the website of a posh downtown club after my attempt to salsa with my host's friend, a professional albeit out of costume burlesque dancer, got the attention of the photographer.

2: On my first evening out, I was hosted for a delicious bbq and then sat back for a giant-screen backyard cinema viewing of the classic comedy Police Academy, complete with fresh air, popcorn, and home-made wine (courtesy of my host's Italian parents).

3: Two nights later I had another unexpected American treat at a fellow couchsurfer's party - old-school S'mores. A fellow former Jewish summer camp counselor showed the Aussies and Kiwis how it's done. I ended up carrying some s'mores supplies (for my American-candy-crazed roommate back in

Perth) to a couple of clubs after we left the house; the bouncers thought I had some really weird new drugs.

4: I got to use my new worldwide network of contacts from my South American travels for the first time to receive top-notch hosting from a former dorm- and party-mate in Colombia, carrying the celebration straight from Medellin to Melbourne.

5: On the morning that I left there was an attempt about two blocks from the business school where I had been staying by some of the best Italian chefs outside of Italy to create the longest pizza in the world - a fine example of Melbourne's constant, random, and fun celebrations of life.

Why I love my job - Nico does UWA

2011-02-23T00:42:00.010-05:00

1: Less than three weeks into the job I'm being flown out to Melbourne for a few meetings with a long weekend attached, making me a key point-man in the communication with our sister lab there. At my last job, folks were lucky to take a business trip half an hour up I-95.

2: I design my own hours and have opportunities to pick the work that excites me most. Today I even spent the morning participating in an industry game simulation with one of my profs. When I told him that I play to win, he responded, "Bring it." (It ended up being a complex lego-assembly operation, which Willis and I won consecutive gold medals for in TABC's back-to-back Science Olympiad victories some years ago).

3: My colleagues are great - I'm treated like an equal by world-renowned professors, get to practice Spanish every day with a friendly Chilena and a fellow American, and one of my fellow research assistants is not only also a professional dancer but also a swimsuit model (and still quite friendly) - Come on!

4: Our building overlooks the Swan River on two sides and is fifty feet from kite- and wind-surfing mecca Pelican Point on the picturesque Matilda Bay. Talk about a fun lunch break.

5: To top it all off, the pay beats pretty much any standard backpacker job and it's an incredible experience for both my professional development and my resume, not to mention giving me new access to a worldwide network of smart and helpful individuals.

Shout out to the man who made this possible: OB superstar and my favorite Wharton professor, the one and only Dr. Adam Grant

Why I love my villa - Nico, Ash, and James do Mosman Park

2011-02-21T08:19:00.001-05:00

1: It's 3 blocks from Mosman beach and just down the road from world-class Cottesloe (where, as my friend Tim says, there are too many attractive girls)

2: It's also 3 minutes from Perth's iconic Swan River (and my roommates have an extra fishing rod)

3: We got a surfboard out front and and a grill out back, weights on the floor and an X-box well, also, on the floor, air conditioning in my room and ice pops always in the freezer

4: Our neighbor has not only been ducking rent for months and leaving a broken truck blocking the driveway, but also running an illegal wine business out of his garage.

5: I'm chillin with two British blokes in a villa with nightly beer and plans to suit up Swingers-style for a night out in the casino - come on! (if you don't get the references, click here and here)

Eat Pray Love - Nech, Danny, and Alana do the world

2010-11-17T11:02:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I feel like a terrible hedonist.

While I'm going about about steak and wine and pizza and dancing on the beach, mi gran amigo Danny is writing sentences like, "On the contrary, one becomes peaceful in all his ways, and able to pursue goals out of genuine generosity, kindness, love, and compassion, rather than out of some subconscious ulterior motive to feel good/better." My girl Alana began one post, "I don't know how to describe what I saw tonight. We walked around the city at night to meet some street kids. These little children come in from the villages around Kathmandu and live on the street. They collect rags for money and beg as well. 1 in 10 of them has AIDS. They form gangs to survive, and are often beaten or raped by the older members. All of these kids are addicted to sniffing glue."

As it turns out, I'm not the only person who's decided to postpone finding a job and travel (and write a blog) instead. Two of my best friends from back home (and original road trip buddies) have set out on their own journeys that seem more than a little bit different from my experience. As I'm living it up in South America, Danny is sitting still for ten hours a day in Indian Ashrams and Alana is setting aside months to aid poor communities in Nepal. Danny, in his quest for inner and outer peace, has titled his blog the Hebrew acronym for "Thank God for Being Good" while Alana, hoping to rediscover her world through volunteering, writes about "Waking Up in Nepal."

Sometimes I feel like a terrible hedonist.

As I began getting depressed over this, I picked up my friend's copy of the book (now movie) Eat Pray Love. Author Liz Gilbert goes on her own world travels, winding down from her overstressed New York City life by seeking pure pleasure in Italy, peace in India, and a fusion of the two (love) in Indonesia. I couldn't help comparing our three experiences to hers. Danny's Ashram is spot on. Nepal and Indonesia aren't too different, especially considering the amount of focus Alana and Liz put on helping poor children (and who knows, maybe Alana has found a passionate Brazilian hunk of her own). And, in my case, Liz and I both love eating and learning Spanish and Italian (which are basically the same language anyway). I took comfort in thinking that my part, the pursuit of pleasure, was just as valid as the other two.

Being honest with myself, though, I had to admit that the comparison does not stand. If I told any of my roommates that I needed to learn how to be comfortable with pleasure and relaxation, they'd laugh to my face. Most still believe that I never worked or studied my entire last year of university. For that matter, Danny is the last one of my friends who needs help finding inner peace and Alana has been a paragon of love, care, and compassion for as long as I've known her. It's like Kobe taking a season off to learn how to play basketball or Hugh Heffner going on sabbatical to practice his seduction skills. Bullshit.

So where does that leave me? Am I in the wrong place? Should I be cultivating inner peace or developing compassion instead of watching Colombian beauty queens march by in parades? Is this experience of pleasure and adventure a waste of time or an expression of living life to its fullest?

Been nearly two weeks now since I started writing this post and I still don't have any answers. I think I'll just have to leave the questions standing for now. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

In the meantime, I'll be taking a hiatus from backpacking. For the next month at least, I'll be hanging out in NY and Philly to catch up with y'all before departing on what will like be a much longer trip next time. The plan is to get a job to really experience living in a different country as a normal person. Let's see if you can guess where.

I guess this is the end then. Thanks for following; I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it. As much fun as it's been to make new friends every day, the transitory nature of those relationships has made me really appreciate the old friends and family who've stuck with me in spirit despite having their own very busy lives thousands of miles away.

Finally, may I add that some of my craziest times on the trip have been the last few weeks in Colombia. For those stories, you'll have to ask me in person. Excited to see you soon,

con mucho amor,
Nico

Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires

2010-11-05T18:37:00.001-04:00

Proud, beautiful, and hopped up on maté, the porteños of Buenos Aires take the already ridiculous Argentinian late nights to an absurd extreme. Restaurants don't open till 10PM and stay empty until midnight or 1AM. The clubs start up at 2,3, or 4 and more often than not see the next day's light.

We never made it to breakfast in Buenos Aires.

Our days weren't entirely wasted though. We did see the wild and crazy futból fans of River Plate, check out tango birthplace La Boca, peruse the posh cemetery and hippie market of Recoleta and gaucho market of Mataderos, stroll through Soho wannabe Palermo, and eat the best pizza (Ugi's!!) South America has to offer. Had it at least half a dozen times.

Also got bed bugs. That sucked. And we made a toga party in the hostel. That was fun. And rocked a tango lesson before attending the glamorous reincarnation of Buenos Aires' dancing heyday in the 40's, a stylish show called (coincidentally) Tango Porteño.

Can't really think of anything clever to say. Probably because as I'm writing this I'm half asleep; the last two nights we've been dancing on the sand in Uruguay's international beach resort Punta del Este until 5:30AM (at which point we took an hour driving tour of the area with a local doctor) and then 7AM (stayed up for sunrise on the beach with a Dutch friend we met in BA). We also had absurdly huge steaks in Montevideo.

Oooh funny story about the older women drug smugglers. Remind me to type that up. Or maybe you'll have to ask me in person. Ha.

Apparently in Colombia, restaurants close at 9PM. Gonna be a tough adjustment.

Off now to see Diego in Montevideo and Max in Buenos Aires and then Bógota here I come. Get ready.

Didn't end up seeing Diego or Max. Did run into El Luco though. Before catching you up to the good times in Colombia I'm gonna write a thoughtful post with complete sentences. I've actually had to revert to a normal schedule for a few days because of the scuba lessons. So check back soon for Eat Pray Love - Nech, Danny, and Alana do the world.

Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba

2010-10-23T14:30:00.002-04:00

Shout out to new follower: loyal cousin Eitan. And though I don't think hers went through, Becca also said she signed up so she gets a benefit-of-the-doubt shout out. That one really rolls of the tongue. Now I know that at least two people are still reading :) But I digress...

Boasting one of the liveliest downtowns in South America, Córdoba buzzes with hundreds of thousands of university students who give Argentina's second city a legendary club scene.

Somehow we didn't end up going clubbing in Córdoba. In fact, though we loved the city, we actually had our best moments in two outlying towns: Villa General Belgrano and Alta Gracia.

First was Belgrano, the site of Argentina's very own Oktoberfest. Loaded up with a majestic beer stein that holds more than a liter, I watched tango, salsa, ballet and more drinking artesanal beers with German sounding names brewed just miles away. One, though, had somehow hijacked the most beloved American beer name of our time - Homer Simpson's Duff beer. I just wish Moe had been there serving us (though the Argentinians who had licensed the name for exclusive use down here were nice enough).

There we also experienced a moment that epitomized one of the fun (or sad) realities of traveling in South America: realizing that almost everyone you meet is on the same Gringo Trail as you are. Fun because it helps make good friends but sad because you're just not as unique as you thought you were. There we were in a small village several hours outside Córdoba sitting at a picnic table with Irish, Israeli, Dutch, and British backpackers. Two remembered us from a tour of the Potosi silver mines we had taken together weeks earlier. Two more wore buddies we had made riding around the Uyuni salt flats, also up in Bolivia. Two more Binny recognized from our hostel in Mendoza. And the last had been on a tour of the university with us that morning. All gringos. And, of course, the Jewish world was even smaller; I found out later that night that one of the Israelis had been on the Bronfman summer program with one of my FunHouse housemates. Think that called for one of many "Saluds!"

Alta Gracia, besides housing a historic Jesuit estancia, was also the childhood home of this blog's namesake: revolutionary leader Ernesto 'Che' Gueverra. I figured that I at least owed it to Che to check out his museum, so off we went. There I learned not only about Che the Cuban guerrilla leader but also about Ernesto, the father who in his final letter to his children urged them to be the best revolutionaries they could be and even about Ernestito, the little boy with asthma whose love for motorcycles led to one of the most memorable journey's of the modern era, inspiring many (including hopefully me) to take their own motorcycle trips to truly experience and understand new lands and people. Che's compassionate poem for the poorly treated Potosi (and Chilean) silver miners we had visited touched me even as his devotion to guerrilla tactics scared me. His last letter to soulmate Fidel Castro was in equal parts sweet, surreal, and awkwardly over-honest. And who but Che would smoke cigars while sitting in a tree in the Congo reading a novel and waiting for an ambush?

Even as I disagree with many of his tactics, I can't help but be inspired by how Che followed his heart to new countries, positions, and goals without fear or hesitation. In that, at least, I hope I can take on the Che.

Having some trouble getting Córdoba pics up so for now check out these sweet photos from overpowering Iguazu Falls and then check back soon for Beni's last stand in Tango Porteño - Nico and Beni do Buenos Aires.

Steak and wine - Nico and Beni do Salta and Mendoza

2010-10-18T19:41:00.001-04:00

Argentina at last. After four months of stumbling through developing countries whose roads weren't complete without a ditch every few steps and idea of hygiene was - well, let's not go into that - I had finally reached the promised land.

The change in atmosphere was immediate. The border crossing was simple, clear, and efficient and we were waved through with a smile and a joke. The taxi refused to take all five of us at once; apparently, we were now in a country with actual rules and safety measures. Sort of inconvenient.

Our first stop was Salta where we sat down to the first of many steaks and bottles of wine at amazing value. "Isn't that a little bit unhealthy?" "I'm assuming that the red wine will balance out all the cholesterol from the steaks. Pretty sure it works that way." Couple days later we rented a car and began a road trip down through ancient rock formations - including a gaping hole in the ground known as the Devil's Throat and a giant toad - towards the northern wine district of Cafayete for tastings galore. Next day we passed through beautiful Cachi and thousands of cacti, stopping briefly to witness dozens of majestic Andean condors lift off and glide up through the adjacent mountains.

We downgraded transportation for our Mendoza wine tour, opting to go with the recommended Bikes and Wine company. Expecting dirt country roads leading from one vineyard to the next, we were shocked to find ourselves tipsily navigating through cars and trucks on a bumpy asphalt road drunk not only from wine but also absinthe, schnaaps, licquor, gourmet chocolate, and jam. And then back at the launching area we fought on a giant inflatable castle, complete (of course) with more wine. "Not sure if this was entirely authentic experience." "Fun though." "Wonder what the Disney Wine Tour would have entailed?"

After checkin out the local artisans, makin dinner, and hittin up the park, we walked the wide streets of Mendoza one last time before our east. Check back soon for Did Che drink Duff beer? - Nico and Beni do Córdoba.

Note: Shout out to new Canadian friends Jenn and Jeremy! They have a family mountain. Also note that you can now become a follower of the blog. Do it!

Agent Salt - Nico and Beni do Uyuni

2010-10-13T18:24:00.002-04:00

From the jungle we journeyed south to Bolivia's most famous natural landscape - the Salt Flats of Uyuni - via the silver mining town Potosi. Dressed up head to toe in miner gear, we tasted the miners' 196 proof liquor before descending down four levels into a still-active mine. To get the full experience, we helped a few out with their shovelling and offered some coca leaves to the devil-god Tio, a macho stone figure with a huge penis and slot for cigarettes in its mouth who punishes the miners if Bolivian women enter his abode. Then we exploded some dynamite.

Soon we arrived in Uyuni and began a tour of the flats in a sweet Lexus jeep with new English and Irish friends Becky, El Luco, and Niamh. We rode through three days of incredible landscapes ranging from cacti-filled desert islands to green, red, and pink (from the thousands of flamingoes) lakes to 5000 meter high views of multicolored rolling hills and valleys. Most stunning were the flats themselves, plains of white salt extending as far as the eye could see and allowing for pictures that boggle the eye with their perspective. Beni and I also took a few with our new mascot, the (singing) dog of the La Paz Strongest (the oddly named local futbol team). We generally wear our Strongest wristbands to match.

Though I've continued to practice Spanish, Beni and I find ourselves often learning new English dialects as well. For instance, "your man" in Ireland could not refer to your buddy but could be a serial killer. Or the dude at the Hertz office. We're often not sure which one. "Piss" probably takes the prize for versatility. If I jest to an Irishman, "Your economy sucks because your biggest bank is about to be nationalized [we found this out before the news because Niamh works at the bank]," then I am 'taking the piss out of him.' Alternatively, if I sarcastically follow with, "Don't worry, I'm sure taxes won't have to rise to impossible rates," then I am 'ripping the piss out of him.' If we decided to get drunk to forget about the problem, we 'go on the piss' and I can expect him to 'get pissed' because many Irishmen and women are 'pissheads,' but I hope he doesn't get 'angry pissed' and begin throwing Guinness bottles around the pub. But if I have to urinate? According to Niamh, "Eewww, I would never say ´take a piss.' That's just disgusting."

Next was Tupiza, where we silenced a (nearly empty) karaoke bar with a Spanish rendition of Hotel California on our first night; the next day we followed in the horse prints of Butch Cassidy and Sundance Kid's last stand near the southern border of Bolivia with our own cowboy hats and leather riding crops. Sensing my love of galloping, the leader gave me Speedy Gonzalez to ride and we took off at every opportunity. Andeley! Andeley! My knee only went up another horse's butt once.

Check back soon for Steak and Wine - Nico and Beni do Salta and Mendoza.

Welcome (back) to the jungle - Nico and Beni do Madidi

2010-09-21T18:00:00.001-04:00

Following some time in La Paz learning about the coca plant and watching tourists attempt to bribe their way into cocaine-riddled San Pedro Prison, Beni and I spent a couple of tranquil days in beautiful Sorata. Then it was back (bearing an herbal gift from our friendly hostel owner) to La Paz and north on a different road which joined at times the Most Dangerous Road in the World; that got us to Coroico and then Rurrenbaque, jumping-off point for trips into the rainforest of Madidi National Park.

What our location lacked in animal life it more than made up for in plants; the rainforest stocks more medication than we ever imagined. "Are there any plants that don't treat embarrassing medical conditions?" At the time, Beni's question was fair - we'd only seen a natural substitute for Viagra and a bark that fought hemorrhoids up to that point. We then discovered some more normal ones including leaves rubbed together to ease up sinusitis and wood rubbed on skin to drive away mosquitos.

The jungle knows its share of fun too - we tripped over "magic" mushrooms (unfortunately too dry for use) growing out of a log on our path and harvested leaves from the huara shrub known in Peruvian slang as marihuara. Unlike the mushrooms, these needed to be dried before use. More odd was the reverse-Viagra plant which was uniquely useful, according to our guide, "in case you want to get into the pants of your friend´s girlfriend."

But the biggest surprise was yet to come. According to our guide, the cure for (or at least prevention of) cancer has already been found(!) and lies in the wood of thin branches also notable for the huge amount of clean water stored inside that we drank simply cutting a piece off and angling it downwards. Sure as hell filled up my bottle with that water.

Also notable from the trip were my extremely ungraceful attempted sideways running dismount from the Tarzan swing and the French guy who wouldn't stop smoking yet still had the energy to climb up every giant tree we save (and the Tarzan swing). He also went swimming wearing only underwear and a funny hat.

Truth be told, in my case George of the Jungle swing is probably more appropriate.

Check back soon for Agent Salt - Nico and Beni do Uyuni.

Wavin' Flag - Nico does Sucre

2010-09-07T09:57:00.001-04:00

Just days after I arrived in Sucre the whole city stopped to celebrate the Fiesta de Patrias, Bolivia's equivalent of July 4th. Since Sucre is the capital (and site of Bolivia's initial declaration of independence), every school, including my very own Fox Language School, was required to march in the parade.

Upon meeting up to march, however, Fox had a special surprise for me and the four other foreign students who had come to march with the local kids - huge-ass regional and international flags present to symbolize Fox's international focus. A few minutes later I was marching proudly through the streets of Sucre waving the Stars and Stripes in front of their Independence Plaza (25 de Mayo) and own version of a Liberty Bell. Felt pretty damn patriotic (and brotherly; we are, after all, cousins in liberation and democracy).

Though I had expected booing given the US's poor relationship with Bolivia, I received far more cheers than jeers. I learned later that Sucreans hate Bolivia´s president Evo Morales almost as much as Evo Morales hates the US. For them, the enemy of their enemy must be a friend. To quote my Spanish teacher after I commented on his president, "El Presidente, no mi presidente - The President, not my president."

In front of me, Kate was half-heartedly carrying the Australian flag, nearly considered treason for a Kiwi like herself. Just imagine a gun-toting Texan being told to carry the Mexican flag and you'll get the idea.

Admittedly, I could not take full credit for the crowd's cheers. On my left marched my Scottish buddy Neale carrying a regional Bolivian flag. His appeal, however, lay not in his flag but rather in his clothing - a revealing kilt straight from the motherland.

I post this after finally leaving Sucre, my home for a month of Spanish lessons, Bolivian cooking, drinking, playing (WallyBall, Rackuet, Poker, Ping Pong, Pool, Foosball), dancing, hiking, flirting with Bolivian girls, and movies with popcorn covered in chili powder. Good times.

Today I meet up with big brother Binny and begin more adventures on the road.

Check back soon for Welcome (back) to the jungle - Nico and Binny do Rurrenbaque.

Downward dog in the desert - Nico, Alejandro, and Michael do Huacachina

2010-08-23T22:26:00.001-04:00

Mike and I bused back down from Lima to the world famous Nazca Lines, a collection of shapes and pictures etched in the desert by the ancient Nazca people ranging from 50-500 meters in length. As we sat in our four-seater plane munching on some cookies and admiring the pictures whizzing by below, Mike had a tremendous insight into one of the most famous figures, a primitive outline of an astronaut seemingly waving towards space (a basis for the theory that the shapes were made by aliens) - "He's not waving, he's just holding his hand out to ask for an Oreo!" Mystery solved.

We were soon reunited with Jesse and the next morning Alejandro as well in the desert oasis of Huacachina, a small natural pond tucked away in rolling sand dunes that stretch for miles on all sides. We set off in the afternoon for the region's main attraction - a wild buggy ride up and down the dunes with breaks for sand-boarding mixed in. Daring to take most of the hills standing up instead of lying on my stomach, I felt pretty bad-ass at first for someone who never snowboarded before. And then the little Japanese boy sped by me.

Along with us for the ride was Canadian girl named Hue. A yoga aficionado, Hue believed that the dunes, sunset, and yoga poses would make for a great combination. I'll let the pictures (one of which features me screwing up the downward dog position) speak for themselves.

And then a tearful goodbye, and suddenly all my homeboys were gone and I began to adventure alone.

But not for long. The next day I happened to sit next to an Israeli named Shachar on a bus, and it was Hebrew for the next few days on the Isla del Sol and in La Paz (also reuniting with Salkantay-buddies Oded, Stav, and Shaked and meeting new friends Yogev and Liron).

Check back soon for Wavin' Flag - Nico does Sucre

Asch kalt - Nico and Alejandro do Lake Titicaca

2010-08-02T19:08:00.000-04:00

Though its main draw (for many) remains its difficult-to-believe name, Lake Titicaca is also famous for its high elevation and array of islands (floating and other) filled with remnants of Incan and pre-Incan cultures. Taking a tour of some of these islands, we were hosted for a night by a native family along with fellow travelers Matthias and Diana from Germany/Poland.

After climbing an island hilltop to watch the sun set, we ate dinner and prepared for the coming fiesta in the suddenly freezing night. Matthias pulled out a flask he had been carrying with Polish schnaaps straight from the motherland.

As Matthias was explaining that the schnaaps would warm us up from the bitter cold, Alé hoisted the flask. Wanting to toast in the language of our comrades, I asked, "How do you say it in German?" "Asch kalt." So Alé and I shouted "Asch kalt" and took sips.

Matthias and Diana started rolling on the floor laughing. "What did we do wrong?" "Asch kalt isn't what you say when you toast; we thought you were asking how to say 'Really cold' (literally: Ass-cold)."

Still, it made a good toast and we've been saluting "Asch kalt" ever since due to the frigid temperatures of high elevation Peruvian winter nights. Also, Polish schnaaps is great.

Dancing at the fiesta turned out to be the Peruvian version of a hora. As I was laughing about this the next day with a Jewish girl I'd just met, three other Jews overheard and concurred. Turned into a little Jew party on Taquile island (to the confusion of Lindsay, a nice Christian girl from Michigan who was also standing with us). Never know when the opportunity for Jewish geography will strike.

Soon we were back in Arequipa where we attempted to barbecue a guinea pig on the roof of our hostel. Then it was off to Lima with Michael for Shabbat. Check back soon for Downward dog in the desert - Nico, Alejandro, and Michael do Huacachina.

Things that no one ever, ever needs - Nico does Arequipa

2010-07-28T16:35:00.002-04:00

After a two day adventure in the world´s deepest canyon (Colca) with Noam and Eliana featuring majestic condors and a couple beers in the hot springs, I had a few days to relax in Arequipa before more excitement.

Strolling around the beautiful White City, my business training began buzzing in the back of my head as I absorbed the socio-economic life of ordinary Peruvians.

The scenes brought to mind a classic quote from The Office when Oscar is advising Michael Scott (Steve Carell) how to think about his finances. "Okay, the green bar is what you spend every month on stuff you need, like a car and a house...The red bar is what you spend on non-essentials, like magazines, entertainment, things like that...The scary black bar is what you spend on things that no one ever, ever needs, like multiple magic sets, professional bass fishing equipment..."

Thing that Arequipa needs: A store for party supplies.
A non-essential: A store devoted entirely to selling piñatas (called a piñateria).
No one ever, ever needs: Eight piñaterias on the same block as our hostel.

Thing that Arequipa needs: Somebody selling water in the park.
A non-essential: People stepping onto city buses to sell candy bars and nuts.
No one ever, ever needs: Old people sitting on benches with scales on the ground in front of them. To my great delight, I witnessed a man pay to use one of these.

Thing that Arequipa needs: A Claro store for buying cellphones and calling plans.
A non-essential: Several Claro stores scattered around the city.
No one ever, ever needs: Two dozen Claro stores in the couple blocks surrounding the Plaza de Armas along with a Claro parade featuring a marching band and guys doing flips. Claro´s sole main competitor has few to zero stores in this area.

And don´t get me started on the sunglasses stores. Somehow they have yet to realize that Peruvians just don't wear sunglasses. Ever.

Check back soon for Asch kalt - Nico and Alejandro do Lake Titicaca.

In the path of the Incas - Nico and Alejandro do Machu Picchu

2010-07-24T19:08:00.002-04:00

[Update: For those who care, I´ve added slideshows to most of the recent posts. I´ll try to get the older pictures uploaded as well.]
After a few days acclimating in the Incan capital of Cuzco while bargaining for Alpaca goods (including unbelievably soft giant matching rugs Alé and I bought) and eating fresh peas at the local market (they also had an entire aisle for potatoes), Alé and I set off on the Salkantay trail. An alternative to the famous Inca trail, the Salkantay takes hardy souls up past 4650m to the Incan holy mountain Abu Salkantay before dropping down through the jungle and meeting up with the traditional trail en route to Machu Picchu.

From Salkantay

Highlights included being woken up in our frozen tent at 5AM with steaming cups of Coca tea, slide tackling Peruvians in an impromptu futbol match one afternoon (as the sole American for most of the game, I was nearly a liability to my own team), and quizzing the Icelandic girls in our group about former world´s strongest man Magnus ver Magnuson.
One of the girls was herself quite strong as I found out to my detriment when she, a physical therapist, forcefully prodded several parts of my upper leg to demonstrate that one of my muscles there is "short." She said that if I continue the exercise she taught me, it will not hurt so much next time. Nothing like a buff therapist named Scylla [Silla] to intimidate you to follow an exercise routine.

Eli and I also had a great time with the dozen or so Israeli´s on the trip, making kiddush Friday evening (filmed by the Icelandic anthropology student for research), playing Wisk into the wee hours of the night, and learning Israeli army slang from our new friends Itai and Maya. Those two taught us an incredible game called ¨"Sababa bakol" [Great in everything]. One person questions the group, "Would you date someone if s/he was great in everything, but this or that flaw?" Their first example - "Sababa bakol, aval rokedet k´mo Eli [Great in everything, but dances like Eli]." It´s basically an interactive version of Seinfeld (think man-hands, close-talker, etc.) And you find some very interesting differences of opinion.

From Machu Picchu

After a glorious Teaneck reunion in the Lost City of the Incas with Noam, Michael, and Eliana, Alé and I climbed the adjacent mountain of Huayna Picchu for an aerial view of the city. Stunning.

Then it was back to Cuzco and one horseback ride to the Incan ruins of SaqsayHuaman (also known as Sexy Woman) later, Noam, Eliana, and I set off to Arequipa, the White City of Peru. Check back soon for Things no one ever, ever needs - Nico does Arequipa.

Taking on the Peruvian mafia - Nico, Alejandro, Jose, and Roz do Trujillo

2010-07-16T18:30:00.005-04:00

[Inspired by Eli introducing himself as Alejandro, Jesse and I chose our own Spanish names. Nico has been a big hit.]

Known as the Spring Capital of Peru, the northern city of Trujillo is famous for its pre-Incan ruins of Chan Chan and the Temples of Sun and Moon.

We visited those. Kinda cool. Jesse took some pictures.

Our real adventure in Trujillo, however, was saved for the night. After meeting a couple local girls from the university during lunch and conversing with them in our broken Spanish, we were invited to hang out with them later and given their address near the university. With nothing else to do that night, we decided to check it out and took a bus to the university after dinner. I stopped a nice-looking man to ask for directions and handed him the paper with the address.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. In Spanish, he told us (we think) that despite being only a few blocks from the university, that area was extremely dangerous. To colorfully illustrate his point, he stuck his hand into our pockets as a sign of what would happen to our money; memories of West Philadelphia and Spanish Harlem danced flitted through our heads. Now quite curious albeit unnerved, we thanked him and pondered our next move.

A second opinion was certainly in order. We next asked a passing policeman. "Your money: gone. And if you don´t have any, boom boom!" Upping the ante, he said that while firing a mock gun at us and indicating slitted throats.

Alejandro then remarked, "You know, I read online before coming that it is common in Trujillo for uncommonly attractive girls to befriend tourists in order to lead them into dangerous situations." "Why didn´t you mention this earlier?" "They weren´t uncommonly attractive."

We decided to pass and went to a pool hall instead for a couple of hopefully safe games. But the guns just kept coming; only seconds after setting up the triangle at our table, a gaggle of old men came over and once again I had a gun-shaped hand pointed at my chest. "Bang! Bang! Mafia!"

We moved to the next table. Later on, the same man came over and made a similar motion, this time seemingly offering us drinks instead of bullets. We passed anyway.

I´m initially writing this as we celebrate July 4 in Lima after a couple of glorious days in the mountains of Huaraz. Check back soon for In the path of the Incas - Nico and Alejandro do Machu Picchu.

La fiesta - Nech and Jesse do the Quilotoa Loop

2010-07-06T16:23:00.003-04:00

Traveling as we are with little Spanish skills and even fewer plans, sometimes we just have to hope that excitement falls into our laps.

En route to the beautiful crater lake inside Volcano Quilotoa, we stopped for a night in Zumbahua, a small village nestled into the picturesque Andean countryside. As we were checking into our hostel, the owner mentioned something about a fiesta that night. Sweet. We happenned to arrive on the final day of a weeklong festival for Corpus Christie complete with bullfighting, a dozen-man band, and even foosball tables for the kids. Receiving many suspicious looks as two of maybe four foreigners in the village, I decided it was time to act, "We have to start drinking with the old men. They´ll be into it." Sure enough, as soon as we caught the eyes of a few old drunk guys toasting with some unnamed alcohol, they called us over and practically forced us to drink with them. "Salud!"

After a brief foosball match with a few of the kids, we ended up in a small circle with a few local men and I tried practicing my Spanish with one who claimed to be studying Milton (in English) despite being only able to say "Please" and "Excuse me" (to his credit, though, he was able to repeat those phrases many times).

I realized quickly that drunk people may not be the best Spanish partners - I don´t think even they understood what they were saying half the time. Jesse, fortunately, was able to communicate more effectively with a different man through the use of gestures. Unfortunately, however, the man´s gestures indicated that he was trying to proposition Jesse (or get him to hire a prostitute - gestures only go so far). Or maybe he was just another Milton fan and trying to mime Paradise Lost. Either way we decided it was time to hit the dance floor taking up half the main square.

As I´m writing this, I´m chilling on a beautiful beach in Mancora, Peru. Last night the guys dressed in bikinis and dresses for "Ladies Night." Who knew dancing on the bar was so fun?

Check back soon for Taking on the Peruvian mafia - Nech, Eli, Jesse, and Roz do Trujillo.

How fast can piranhas eat a chicken - Nech and Jesse do the rainforest

2010-07-02T09:10:00.029-04:00

Completing our week in Quito with an ascent to 5000m high glaciers of Volcano Cotopaxi, we then traveled to Lago Agria and bused and canoed five more hours into the northern part of the Ecuadorian rainforest known as Cuyabeno (the Cuyabeno River eventually flows into the Amazon) for a five day expedition. Almost as interesting as the animals we spotted - everything from pink dolphins, caiman crocodiles, anacondas, and seven species of monkeys to toucans, parakeets, and giant praying mantises - were the people we travelled with.

Jesse swears that our guide (with a little bit of blue makeup) would have fit right in with Avatar's Návi. We also realized midway through that the jolly old Canadian couple from British Columbia were only so jolly because of the three liters of vodka streaming steadily out of their camelpak.

Possibly the most interesting person, however, was a well-traveled Ecuadorian around our age named Mauricio. Though not all of his ideas came to fruition (like dressing up in war paint and raiding neighboring lodges), there was one instance when he could not be deterred. After having only a little luck on our piranha fishing expedition, Mauricio wanted to up the ante - see how fast the piranhas would devour a whole chicken. So, when we visited an indigenous village the next day, Mauricio bought a chicken and then (with some difficulty) killed it a few minutes before we set out for our sunset swim in the lagoon.

Arriving at the piranha fishing spot, we all sat on the edge of our seats, poised for a scene normally reserved for National Geographic. Mauricio lifted the chicken, put a hook throught it, and flung it into the water. The reaction was immediate - but not by the piranhas. Instead of sinking a few feet to the depth of the piranhas, the chicken floated on the water next to the boat and we all rocked with laughter. Mauricio's further efforts (including spilling the guts out and repeatedly poking the chicken with a stick to drive it deeper) didn't help. Eventually we had to give up and dove into the water for our swim.

But not until we'd sailed to the other side of the lagoon; just because the piranhas didn't eat the chicken, that didn't mean they wouldn't eat us.

I'm initially writing this from the popular adventure town of Banos; today we hiked up to see an active volcano smoking and pouring out lava. Next up is the tranquil Vilcabamba, whose miracle water enables its residents to regular live past 100 years of age.

Check back soon for La fiesta - Nech and Jesse do the Quilotoa Loop.

My very own Ocarina of Time - Nech and Jesse do Quito

2010-06-25T18:22:00.000-04:00

With a week to spare before our jungle expedition was set to depart, Jesse and I had time to explore Quito and its surroundings. Our visit to parts of Quito´s old town was blocked, however, by hundreds of police surrounding the Grand Plaza. Though we were able to catch a glimpse of "El Presidente," we never spotted the real reason for the police - a fellow American by the name of Hillary (such a copycat following us to Ecuador).

But that wasn´t the only run-in we had with the diplomatic corps. After a Friday night bat mitzvah of the daughter of the local DEA agent (with the the US and Israeli ambassadors in attendance), we had dinner with two local families including the former Finance Minister. Thanks Danny for that hookup.
I got pretty excited during dinner when they mentioned we might see gorillas in Lago Agria, our jumping off point to the rainforest. A little confused, they then clarified, "No no no, not the kind of gorillas with fur - the kind of guerrillas with machine guns." Oh.

Following a visit to Mitad del Mundo - the zero latitude center of the world - Jesse and I followed a wizened tour guide on a hike up to the rim of Pululahua Crater, an active volcano with a small farming community living inside. After describing the ancient ceremonies he partakes in (at the equinoxes and solstices of course) complete with pschychedlic berries and spirits of the dead, he pulled out his ocarina to whistle his thanks to the gods.

Barely able to contain my excitement over this unexpected real-life enactment of the classic Zelda game, I told Jesse, "I have to get one of those." Unfortunately for Jesse, I actually got two several days later in Ecuador´s famous Otavalo market. I have faith that someday I will figure out how to play them properly. Until then, they´re my revenge for his snoring.

Check back soon for How fast can piranhas eat a chicken - Nech and Jesse do the rainforest

Taking on the Che - Nech does South America

2010-06-24T18:23:00.001-04:00

Done with college, I have now set off on an adventure that will hopefully take me all over the world to majestic peaks and pristine beaches, vibrant cities and tranquil villages. My only plans before leaving consisted of a one-way ticket to Ecuador´s capital city of Quito, one of the highest cities in the world. With a stunning coastline in the west, the mountain villages and volcanoes of the Andes cutting through the center, and the Amazon rainforest pulsating life in the east, Ecuador promises to start my expedition off on the right foot. Joining me for my first two months is fellow Fun House alumnus Jesse Wenger.

With limited computer time at all stops, I won´t be overwhelming you with dozens of posts every month. I will, however, try to share a couple of fun stories and particularly exciting adventures each week. The first post is above. Also feel free to check out my old posts from Asia or to subscribe with the link on the left side of the page to be notified of future posts.

I´d love for you to comment on the posts or e-mail me, or just to travel with me in spirit.

As they say here, "Hasta la victoria siempre."

Miss you all,
Nech

Mountains, monkeys, and magnificent temples - Nech does Springs, Sichuan, Saigon, and Siem Riep

2008-12-20T00:54:00.006-05:00

Hey all. I've had quite a few adventures on my last few trips to 1: Guangzhou (formerly known as Canton, southern China's largest city) and nearby natural hot springs; 2: Chengdu (in China's Sichuan province), home of many of the world's remaining giant pandas and several of China's most picturesque mountains; 3: Vietnam, specifically Saigon and nearby island Phu Quoc in the Gulf of Thailand; and on the same trip 4: Siem Riep (in Cambodia), the site of Angkor Wat and the rest of Cambodia's magnificent ancient temple comlexes.

After returning from Vietnam and Cambodia, I took all my finals and for the past few days been enjoying the company of my fellow exchange students before we all part ways next week. I will be heading to Delhi and surrounding areas in northern India before heading in Nepal on my biggest adventure yet. There's a chance I'll write more on the blog about Guangzhou, Chengdu, Vietnam, or Cambodia during my first few nights in India, but don't count on it. More likely, I'll get to tell you in person when I get home (Jan 7).

Thanks all for reading; I've had a lot of fun and hope you have too,
godspeed,
nech

Bananas, babies, and beasting the Wall - Nech does Beijing

2008-11-26T00:16:00.012-05:00

Hi all. Sorry for the long delay. As I’ve told some of you, I’ve been quite busy with a little homework, a lot of trip planning, and an inordinate amount of time spent organizing housing for next semester (living with my buddy Ayal Robkin on 41st and Spruce) and next year (with Mordechai, Danny, Brian, Ben, Ross, Jon, Jesse, and Ariel in 318 S 42nd). During my last Astrophysics lecture, we finally got together in an eight-person group gchat to iron out some final details.

Enjoy the many (slightly out of order) pictures (warning: doesn't work perfectly on google chrome. also, any of the captions are greg's work, not mine).

Upon touching down in Beijing, Brian and I briefly parted from our group in order to celebrate Sebastian’s birthday with him and Johann at a club called something Banana. Or Banana something. We didn’t really know. So we found ourselves after much confusion at Coco Banana. “This is probably it; right, Brian?” “There can’t be that many Banana clubs in Beijing.” After a fruitless search in the dark, we approached an older white guy to ask for info. Noticing Brian’s sweatshirt, he shouted, “Wharton? USC!” and held out his fist for props. Amused, Brian asked if he knew of another Banana club. “Club Banana? That’s a gay club!”

He was clearly very drunk, so we decided to try to find it anyway.

Luckily, there was a giant sign for a GT Club Banana right outside, and we eventually persuaded a taxi driver to take us there. After again failing to find our boys, we gave up and danced away.

The next morning I found Sebastian. “So which club were you in?” “GT Club Banana.”

We were soon marching through Tianammen Square wearing our Wharton and U Wisconsin sweatshirts proudly before heading into the Forbidden City.

Though we enjoyed the beautiful architecture and journeys back into ancient emperors’ lives, we enjoyed even more the austere buildings’ names. Behind the Palace of Supreme Harmony stood the Palace of Medium Harmony and then the Hall of Preserving Harmony. The three-year-old emperors had fun in the Hall of Arts and Crafts and Hall of Toys while the older ones went left to the Hall of Martial Victory or right to Hall of Literary Glory; Bob refused to enter the Hall of Abstinence. Later on in the trip we encountered the Temple of Excessive Moisture.

We spent the night riding bikes through quiet alleys and walking alongside a
picturesque lake, chilling in dive bars and crashing a local Halloween party.

We escaped the city smoke the next day with a trip to the stunning Summer Palace, a historic royal retreat that puts Camp David to shame. We then hopped over to the glorious Olympic stadiums where we found ourselves to be nearly as big an attraction as the Bird’s Nest – Chinese tourists literally lined up to take pictures with us.

Particularly cute were a little boy who would hide behind people whenever we looked at him (he was trying to take pictures of us from a distance) and a super-cute baby dressed in a tiger suit who is probably now scarred for life after his mom tried to make him pose with us for a picture. Way too many vanilla faces for that little man.

At night we bargained down polo shirts and communist hats at the city’s historic Silk Market and got a taste of Beijing’s signature Peking Duck.

Our final task now remained – camping illegally on the Great Wall at Simatai. Armed with sleeping bags, tents, bagels, and furry communist hats, we got to the wall just before sundown, upset that the cable car had closed and that we would have to walk all the way up the mountain before even starting our wall hike. Our driver told us later that our timing was perfect; “The guards would have stopped you when they saw your gear; they just happened to be on a break

when you entered.” We raced up and pushed ourselves as far away from the entrance as we could climb in order to best escape the police. The night provided a beautiful sunset and a starry sky before we settled in the tents we had erected earlier in hope of some rest.

We had brought a two-person tent, one-person tent, and five sleeping bags for me, Brian, Greg, Vivian, and Mark. Then Bob decided to sleep on the wall too, and joined me and Brian in the one-person tent. One of us slept very well, stretching out and snoring loudly. I was in the middle and didn’t even have enough room to put my feet down next to each other or lie on my back. Midway through the night I heard Bob, “Hey Nech, you sleep at all?” “Nope.” “Think it’ll help if we switch positions?”

It didn’t.

We got out of the tent at 5 AM in order to see sunrise over the wall. Frozen, we retreated. An hour later we ventured out again, packed up, and hiked to the end of our wall section with time to spare.

Sixteen hours later I put my very own Great Wall stone on my bookshelf at UST.

If I have time, check back next week or this week for Nech does Qingyuan or Nech does Sichuan (or both).

Nech does Beijing

2008-11-06T00:40:00.003-05:00

I'm working on the post and waiting for my groupmates pics to be uploaded. I've been delayed by some work and slight illness, but we'll get there soon.

Obama!

20,000 people on ecstasy and alcohol - Nech does Thailand (part II)

2008-10-29T11:05:00.017-04:00

We returned from the trek with just enough time to shower and eat before Brian headed off to Yom Kippur services at Chabad. He got lost en route and arrived there well after sundown feeling flustered, sweaty, and not happy at all. Expecting white robes and long prayers, he was shocked to find instead a bunch of Israelis eating shawarma. When I got back to the room after (by chance) meeting up with other HKUST exchange students, I found this note:I still can’t look at that without cracking up.

For our next Chiang Mai adventure, we motor-biked up a mountain to the forest temple of Doi Suthep. It was incredible fun and we didn’t even crash once weaving through cars in the city or banking down sharp turns along the mountain road. Though we took some time finding a rhythm – Brian didn’t like the speed I chose when I was ahead but I didn’t like Brian not checking his rear-view mirror for me when he was ahead (not his fault, the mirror just didn’t go far out enough for him to see around his stomach) – we rode like pros by the end.

While we were sitting taking pictures of the temple’s largest Buddha, a Thai family approached a monk sitting on a stool nearby. He started mumbling something and sprinkling them with water and, noticing my interest, included me on the third or fourth round. As the family members approached one by one for a blessing, I felt intrusive and slowly inched away. Then the dad pointed at me. “You sure?” He responded with more motioning to me and the monk. Always up for a blessing from any peaceful man of the cloth, I shuffled over and put my hands together in a show of respect. After some more mumbling with his hand on my head, he took my hand and made me my very own white string bracelet. I’ve been lucky ever since.

In the following days, I took Thai cooking and Thai massage classes (a fellow New Yorker in the cooking class joked, “What girl are you trying to impress?”), saw some Muay Thai no-holds-barred boxing, tried to chat with student monks at the local temples, got a Thai haircut and shave, and turned down many advances from overeager ladyboys. But backtracking a bit – Brian has been gracious enough to not only let me write (undeserved) fat jokes about him, but also to share the following story:

Our first night in Chiang Mai, we found a little shop still offering massages at 11:30 PM. Many such parlors are known to offer “special” massages, so when I heard some discussion going on midway through over on Brian’s side of the curtain, I had a hunch what it was about. Though trying to mind my own business, I still couldn’t help but hear Brian repeat one word over and over – “non-negotiable.” Shockingly, the girl didn’t seem to understand that it wasn’t just her price that Brian objected to. [Editor’s note – Brian wants me to make it abundantly clear that there was no “happy ending.”]

We arrived back in Bangkok on Thursday night with the single goal of seeing a ping pong show (we both love ping pong) before another flight the next morning. Sadly, we got lost looking for hostels that were closed anyway and missed the last shows, at which point we gave up and went into McDonalds for a drink. With no room booked and too tired to continue searching, we decided to camp out there and crash on couches in the relative safety and comfort of the golden arches. “You’ll laugh about it later, Brian.” “No I will not.” “C,mon, take a step back; think of the irony.” “There is nothing funny about this.”

Unrested, we spent most of the next day journeying to a backpacker-friendly island called Koh Phangan in southern Thailand. The island is most famous for its Full Moon parties on Haad Rin Beach that Brian’s friend described as “20,000+ people on ecstasy and alcohol dancing on a tiny beach.” Wanting to spend Shabbat in peace, we went instead to a more remote part of the island and enjoyed the private cabin, ocean-side restaurant, clean sand, and blue water that our isolated guesthouse afforded. After being together for so long, we ran out of normal things to talk about and conversation became increasingly desperate. "Hey Nech, would you date a decapitated head?" "If it had a nice smile." Saturday night we hopped over to Haad Rin to celebrate Brian’s birthday along with the hundreds (thousands?) of Israelis on vacation who had gathered there to celebrate the full moon that was to rise the night after we left. Creating the antidote before the poison, God arranged that the ocean was a mere thirty feet away from the flaming jump rope (even when sober, jumping rope on the beach is not easy). I wisely elected to pass.

After another day relaxing on the beach and a comfy night bus up to Bangkok, I hit up the 7 AM meditation class at Wat Mahatat and then enjoyed a final massage back on Khao San Road. Check back next week for Nech does Beijing.

Buddhas, elephants, and locals with bad social skills - Nech does Thailand (part 1)

2008-10-23T03:51:00.006-04:00

“Beware of tuk-tuk [three-wheeled taxi] drivers who tell you that a popular attraction is closed and then generously offer to take you to an lesser-known but ‘better’ destination (for a fee, of course).” “Oh c’mon,” I said to myself as I read that sentence in Lonely Planet, “there’s no way they actually do that.”

Even so, when the first tuk-tuk driver told me about the election day ceremony that temporarily prevented entry to the Grand Palace, I declined his offer of an alternate location. Then I got the same story from another driver, two more people on the street, and a tourism agency who didn’t even offer another place to go. They wouldn’t lie just for the heck of it, would they? Still, I insisted they give me directions and, to my credit, I continued towards the Palace. Or at least I thought I did; the book didn’t warn me that they would also give bad directions.

Eventually, I found Wat Phra Kaew with its famous emerald Buddha, the stately Grand Palace, the giant reclining Buddha of Wat Pho, and the rising spires of Wat Arun. And, to top it off, a Thai slurpee.

Later, I felt a tap on my back while walking up Khao San Road, Bangkok’s backpacker central. Surprised, I turned and found a friend from my first Wharton class, Management 100. He was studying abroad in Australia and also traveling in Thailand with a Penn friend. “I’m really impressed you recognized me,” I said at the end, “I must have walked right by you.” “Truth be told,” Eric responded, “with your hat, sunglasses, and giant backpack, I couldn’t tell who you were. But that [pointing at the Management 100 shirt I was wearing] gave you away.” Cohort Rupee represent.

After flying with Brian north to Chiang Mai Sunday night, we embarked Monday on our two day trek in Mae Hong Son led by Bowy and joined by two Dutch girls. After stops at the butterfly garden and elephant riding(!) (they’re huuuge!)(but not nearly as huge as the giant Buddha), we began the first part of our hike – 3.5 hours through mud and streams up a mountain. We arrived at a small village before dusk, wet and tired. Brian and I eagerly accepted a “local” massage, something we both had extensive experience with (12 hours combined at $3-6 per hour, plus a six hour course for me). But this was no ordinary massage.

And no, it wasn’t a “special” massage either.

The fun began even before we started, when we attempted to ask for the two younger masseuses instead of the 80 year-old shriveled woman. So awkward. And very unsuccessful.

At first, I got one of the younger ones and Bri had the grandma. He looked at me menacingly “I hate you. You did this on purpose.” I was laughing too hard to respond. Suddenly, they switched. Oh joy. Then, the other woman jumped in and started massaging Brian’s feet. “Hey Nech, do you see the one near my feet?” “Yah.” “She’s only using one hand.” “So?” “The other hand is holding a baby.”

Soon they start motioning to Brian and pointing at his stomach. “You very big!” ***DISCLAIMER - Brian is normal sized; to Thai people, all Americans are very big*** they declared as they spread their hands apart the width of his tummy; the women repeated this many times to make sure he understood. “Thanks, guys.” “Don’t worry Bri, you look great.” Meanwhile, I’m still being pummeled by the old woman while dying with laughter. It didn’t help when one of the women motioned to her three year old son and pointed at Brian’s arm, saying something in their local dialect. Now, in addition to the two women and the baby surrounding him, he also had the little dude poking his arm.

It was the only time we ever got five masseuses (six, if you count the two-year old daughter standing next to us). Though, to be fair, a later masseuse did tell me that my butt is “full.”

Other massage parlors advertised fragrant candles, peaceful music, air conditioning, and oil. Here we got random villagers walking in to stare at us. And each time, the women would demonstrate exactly how big Brian was. All the while, they were chatting and laughing at us. “What do you think they’re saying?” “Did you see that one’s butt? He’s bigger than an elephant.” “I know! He’s so fat, he’s got more Chins than a Hong Kong phonebook.” “Ha ha ha ha.”

Least relaxing massage ever.

The next day we continued the trek with a lot of mosquito bites (our nets at night were only partially effective), some more hiking, a pretty waterfall, and rafting. By late afternoon, we were back in Chiang Mai.

Check back next week for part two of Nech does Thailand.

Inside and out - Nech does Judaism in Hong Kong

2008-10-15T22:35:00.007-04:00

I've been a bit busy since returning from Thailand and have been unable to devote enough time to write a good post for that. So for this week, check out a little reflection I wrote in response to a prompt asking for essays on Jewish experiences abroad:

I am a Jew studying abroad in Hong Kong.

I’ve eaten Sabbath dinner with a local Jewish family, translated my Hebrew name for dozens of people, and befriended the other Jewish exchange students. I’ve compared Jews’ and Asians’ material success in my Hong Kong Society class , debated Sabbath prohibitions with a religious friend, explained the dietary laws to locals, and squirmed while being served baby octopus, diced dog, and congealed pigs’ blood.

Through it all I sensed my Jewish roots hanging over me.

When I felt my religion most, however, I was nowhere near Jews, holidays, rituals, or even food.

I was walking back to my room one Thursday morning after class, hoping for a quick nap that would enable me to stay awake for the five lectures still to come. As I was crossing the bridge-link, I noticed a Chinese boy struggling with two pieces of luggage. He was panting, sweating, and taking breaks every few steps. He hadn’t even reached the stairs.

Dozens of other students passed by. And I, too, after stopping for a brief moment of pity, continued down the steps.

A few words, though, kept reverberating in my head. “Thou shalt not see thy brother's ass or his ox fallen down by the way, and hide thyself from them – thou shalt surely help him to lift them up again (Deut. 22:4);” “thou shalt surely assist him (Ex. 23:5).” The poetry of the Biblical Hebrew rang even stronger, “hakeim takim imo;” “azov ta’azov imo.”

I am living in a different society with very specific rules. I cannot make eye contact with an elder or point the teapot at anyone during Yam Cha; I should avoid tipping waiters and putting soy sauce on my rice. I must wait to unwrap gifts, use both hands when giving an item, and belch loudly after a hearty meal to declare my satisfaction.

The Lonely Plant culture guide says nothing about a twenty-three year old chemistry student holding a Mickey Mouse duffel.

I reached the bottom and looked up. He fumbled to reposition his bags as he approached the stairs; his face betrayed a sense of defeat. I turned around, walked back up, and offered him a hand. His name is Xie Ni, shorthand for one of the few Mandarin phrases I know. It means, “thank you.”

I am living in a different society with very new people. I am sleeping across from Sun-Tan and Fai instead of Mordechai and Daniel. I am learning about Confucius and Mao instead of Moses and Akiba. I am wearing a white string from a Buddhist monk in a forest temple instead of a red string from an old woman at the Western Wall.

I am no longer living in a Jewish bubble. But as far as I’ve gone from external Jewish influences, they remain powerful within.

How I became a badass - Nech does Shenzhen

2008-10-03T14:00:00.007-04:00

After getting back from China, several exchange students approached me over the next couple days, saying something like, "Whoa, I heard what happened. You're so badass!"

This is how it went down.

On the way back from Guilin, Greg and I broke off from the group (no more Lance to guide us) to spend a day in Shenzhen, which is right across the border from Hong Kong and famous for its illegal DVD’s, cheap massages, and fake clothes and accessories. There we walked in circles looking for an archway we never found, bargained with physically abusive storekeepers, felt very shady in drug deal-esque DVD purchases, and scored some $3 (U.S) ‘Nike’ shirts.

Browsing through a pile of fake Giordano polos on the street while wearing a full backpack and holding 3 plastic bags of clothes, I felt a bump on my side. Suspicious, I reached into my pocket and shouted at Greg, “My wallet’s stolen!”

Thanks god I read spy novels as a kid.

Because as much as getting pickpocketed sucks (and it does; I felt like an absolute fool), if I was right about that bump, the thief could not have gone far. Looking up and around, I saw an older man about 15 feet down the alley walking away from me with his hand by his back pocket. If I wanted to see my wallet again, it was now or never. It was the most intense call I've ever had to make.

I started running.

He started running too.

He turned into an empty building. Heart pounding, I followed. He ducked into a staircase. I got within six steps barreling down full speed.

Suddenly, he stopped, turned, and threw me my wallet. Stunned, I watched him walk to the bottom of the stairs. Not knowing if he took anything from the wallet and not wanting to lose him in case he did, I ran to catch up with him, now in a crowded basement market, and grabbed his arm. Nothing missing. I let go.

Apparently, he did not want to mess with me.

Badass.

Trembling after the adrenaline rush (I'm a wuss at heart), I retraced my steps and showed off the reclaimed wallet to Greg; after taking too long to process my shout to join the chase, he had been teaching the surrounding vendors some choice English curse words. The ladies at the stands gave me thumbs up. “Did you buy that already?” Greg asks, motioning to the polo shirt I had inadvertently stolen as I bolted from the shop and had completely forgotten was in my hand. I could barely keep my fingers still enough to pay.

The shirt was actually ugly, but what the heck.

They let me exchange it for another one anyway after I calmed down.

Good luck on atonement day,
Check back next week for Nech does Thailand. (I rode an elephant yesterday!)

Modeling and Duck Hunt - Nech does Guilin

2008-10-01T11:01:00.017-04:00

Our final day in Yangshua, a small town near Guilin, we stopped at a village populated by an aboriginal minority group still living a primitive lifestyle. As I was testing out their old-school mill, two giggling Chinese girls about my age came over, clearly intending to take a picture with it. But when I tried to get out of the way, they started giggling even more, saying, "No no no." Confused, I ventured my best Mandarin guess at "what do you want?" - "ni yall shamah." Now they were doubled over laughing. I looked over to Christine for confirmation; "you said it right," she told me later, "I just don't think they were expecting it." After a minute or two of this, I figured out that they did want a picture holding the mill wheel; they just wanted me to be in it too. "Cute," I thought. We take the pic and I start walking away to join my friends when a middle-age Chinese guy tapped my shoulder and motioned back to the mill. As my buddies applauded my new celebrity status, I posed with the guy, his friend, and a six-year-old boy who didn't quite know what to make of me.

Later that day, Greg, Maarten (whose dirty blond hair also attracted Chinese tourists), Rachel, and I made a gang sign to flash at the other vanilla faces we passed by. Christine and Lance, as helpful as they were with their fluent Mandarin, were not invited to participate.

Guilin is a city in southeast China known for its uniquely vertical mountains and ancient caves. There we ski-lifted up to the top of a famous mount to get a panoramic view of its unique nearly vertical hills and rode down using toboggans on a metal track. After the first of what would eventually be 4 stalagmite/stalactite caves, we had some exciting street food at the market, tasted the local tea, and prepared for an early start to Yangshua.

There we crashed an ancient Buddhist temple, a 1600 year old Banyan tree, and dragon caves before taking a cruise on scenic Li River (background to the 20 Yuan bill). After witnessing a dog being chopped up in the local market, we headed over to the water theater for a traditional show produced by the same dude who did the Olympic opening ceremony this year and acted out by local farmers. The next day we biked, first to the minority village and then down a very rocky path through a rural village down to the water/mud caves, where we got very very dirty and floated like in the Dead Sea.

Lunch that day proved to be an adventure in itself. Having already caught our own fish from the tank for Friday’s lunch, Greg and I asked if we could watch them pick the duck for our main dish. So the two of us and Maarten followed an old lady a shed where she opened a door to a corridor 15 feet long and 3 feet wide. At the other end were 5 ducks cowering in a corner. She gestures for us to go in, but stays outside. Apparently we had asked to catch the duck ourselves. Greg goes to the ducks, I move to the middle, and Maarten hangs to the door. Greg lunges. Ducks go crazy. Greg freaks out. Lunges again. Ducks waddle/flap past Greg towards me. Maarten escapes outside and shuts the door. I bend down and quack at the ducks to force them back into the corner. Same thing happens again. I’m laughing so much my face hurts. Ducks finally calm down, frozen with fright. Greg calms down too and finally gets one by the neck. We retreat before the other ones attack.

An hour later we were picking Donald's bones from our teeth.

I'm going to Thailand for 10 days (woohoo!) and won't be able to post about that till the Wednesday after (October 15). In the meantime, check back next week for the story that Tal Raviv gave a "Wow x 30" in "How I became a badass - Nech does Shenzhen."

Chilling with Hong Kong Humans - Nech does hiking with the Yo-Hoo club

2008-09-23T23:33:00.007-04:00

One of the other exchange students on the camping trip remarked that she had been calling one of the group leaders, "Human" for the past week.
"You mean Tommy?"
"Ohhhh, maybe that's it."
Though Dana was referring to Tommy, I discovered soon after that there was indeed a person on the trip named Human. "You a monster," he said smiling, "Me Human."

Dong Ping Chou is the eastern-most island of Hong Kong and directly across from the city of Shenzhen in mainland China. After train and boat rides to reach the island, we set up tents, had lunch, and embarked on a four hour hike/scavenger hunt circling Ping Chou. Barbecue dinner followed, which included an exchange-student led lesson on how to make s'mores.

It was only that night, though, when I finally realized my dream. After waking up in the tent with a mouse on my forehead, I decided it was time to whip out my hammock and sleep out on the beach under the stars. Within minutes it was set up and hours later I woke up in the shade. True to the hammock's slogan, "It beat the ground."

After a day spent in the water mostly laying on my back but also helping out a bit building our bamboo and garbage bag raft for racing (we lost badly), I arrived back in UST even tanner than I'd been before.

Water activities continued the next day when Brian and I borrowed (as per Tal's advice) UST kayaks and paddled out to a nearby island with little shacks and a little beach.

Tuesday afternoon the typhoon struck. Fun! Wednesday I finally played ping pong again with Jovian, who I initially met at Penn last year while he was on exchange (we met playing ping pong in Rodin). He was on the team here, which means he's darn good. I'm about to do my first homework of the semester...wish me luck.

Check back next week for Nech does Guilin. Happy New Year!

Where tricycles aren’t just for kids – Nech does the Philippines

2008-09-17T08:27:00.011-04:00

There I was, passing through security with Sebastian, Johann, Jesper, Maximillion, and another Sebastian en route to Boracay, the Philippines’ premier beach island. The security guard inspected out passports and chuckled, “Four Germans… and an American?!” (To be fair, we also had a Swede.)

We arrived in Boracay wearing our matching SEAIR tanktops we had just purchased on the airplane. Leftover typhoon rain later forced a wet retreat from the ocean; that day we started drinking at 3. 6 hours later I was getting beaten in foosball by some guy Filipinos (the girls, though, were easy). 5 more hours later I was playing drums at a bar on the beach (I only played for one song; Max, who was much more drunk but still much better than I was, played a dozen).

The next day, after an oil massage, we took our first tricycle ride across the island on the way to pick up our ATVs. These vehicles are brave but weak; we almost had to get out and push to get up some of the hills. After riding the ATV’s to a hilltop, we walked up some steps only to be greeted by a cockfight (don’t worry – no metal claws) and monkeys. By the end of Saturday, I think I was the only member of the group not to have danced with a prostitute or transsexual (or both).

After a lot more beach, sailing, and snorkeling on Sunday, we returned to Manila for Monday. Our only experience thus far had been our first night in the Philippines before our transfer to Boracay, when we met a very friendly cockroach named Alex who seemed to want to assist us in our vintage (a large bucket of water with a smaller pitcher inside) shower. The rest of the city was not much better (except for the street urinals), so after 2.5 hours of driving around the city, we elected to wait at the airport instead for five hours (where I learned about the German school system). Still, Manila is the only place I’ve seen that has fully uniformed security guards in a 7-11.

On the flight home I won a very precious Cebu Pacific backpack and luggage tag by being the first person to correctly answer “Lord of the Rings” in the movie quote game. I’ll let you guess what the quote was.

Stay tuned for next week – Nech does hiking with the Yo-hoo Club (after Shabbat dinner with Brian at the Einhorns).

Nech and Michelle go to 7-11

2008-09-11T00:30:00.013-04:00

I feel that being on exchange not only gives me license to travel on weekends, but also to be more adventurous the rest of the time.

Take Tuesday night. It started innocently enough. Swimming, dinner, and off with Michelle for a quick slurpee run.
After walking 15 minutes to the local 7-11 and finding it slurpee-less, we decided to continue on the road in the hopes of finding another. 20 minutes later still no 7-11, but, after getting ice cream from a gas station, we did see a path leading up into the forest. We took it.

There were no lights except for my cell phone and we had nothing in our pockets besides our school ID cards and less than $10 [U.S.].

Immediately we started going down steep steps until we passed some local tombs with remnants of incense. "Probably for the mountain god," Michelle suggested.

At this point we had already gone down about 200 steps, and the prospect of going back up was unappealing. We knew that if we continued down, we may have to go back up even more, but the potential of not walking up (and slurpees) was tempting. Thinking of Harold and Kumar, I decided on the slurpees. "We're on exchange," I said, "Let's have some fun."

So we continued. Down and down and down. We crossed over a couple streams, picked left at a fork in the path, found a swivel chair in the middle of a clearing, and (after about 1.25 hours) finally found a road. We were in Po Lam, right by the metro station. A little relieved, slightly bitten up by mosquitoes, and reasonably sweaty, we got back to school twenty minutes later.

But not before getting our slurpees.

New horny dicky club - Nech does Taiwan

2008-09-09T04:02:00.016-04:00

Having been repeatedly disappointed with the Mandarin capabilities of Hong Kong's citizens, BFink and I were very excited to finally show off our new language skillz in the generally Mandarin speaking Taiwan. Unfortunately, we weren't entirely ready for the challenge - within hours after arriving, Brian managed to turn "Do you want to have lunch with me" to "Do you want to f*** with me over lunch."
Either way, Friday we (me, Brian, Mikhail, Tiffany, Tiffany's Taiwanese friend [who Brian so crudely propositioned], and the friend's friend) bounced around Taipei for a bit before settling in our hotel, leaving Brian to rest, and then heading out to Taipei's famous night market.Emboldened, Mikha and I tried some local street food, most memorably stinky tofu - even if it had tasted good, nothing is worth that stench. The next day we went up to the observatory deck of the (pre-2005) tallest skyscraper Taipei 101 before happening upon a performance by the winners of Taiwanese Idol and then visiting the memorial of Taiwan's ideological founder, Sun Yat-sen.
That night we discovered the new horny dicky club.
Unfortunately, that boy was not the only person who clearly had no idea what his t-shirt said. Two minutes later, we ran into "FREE! You do take me home!! Right now!! Cock and bun." Then we stumbled upon a goldmine in a store called "100% American" that was filled with shirts no American would dare wear outside. The winners included "Aggressive Town," "Topological Variation," and of course "You might say that all do it way created in love." For fun, I even went for the Fobby* look at one point.
Sunday, Brian and I woke up early to journey to Taiwan's breathtaking Taroko Gorge. Rebuffed by more than a dozen mo-ped rental rentals after arriving in the nearby city of Haulian, we managed to screw up our once real chance by admitting we'd never ridden them before. Another bus ride and several rain storms later, we found ourselves on a Chinese tour bus hitching a ride up from the park entrance to the gorge so we could salvage what was left of the day.
But salvage we did. After an intensely uphill but nice hike (in my naot), we meditated on a rope bridge suspended over the gorge. Later, after a nice walk along the gorge, we were in dire need of a ride to the bus station when we were rescued by 3 Canadians on mo-peds that we had met earlier during the hike. So much fun riding those things. Since we had some time to kill before catching our train back, we had dinner back in Haulian where we met Jhun Hin, whose job at the restaurant consisted entirely of getting people beer. Amused by our attempts at Mandarin and enraptured by our stunning good looks, she stayed with us for much of the meal and even gave us travel chopstix and a little screwdriver set (both sponsored by Taiwanese beers) as parting gifts.
Rounding out the trip with a Monday morning that included the National Palace Museum(host to some of China's finest treasures) Chiang-Kai Shek memorial (Taiwan's founder) and one of Taiwan's oldest temples (beautiful), by 6:00 PM we found ourselves back in Hong Kong - a mere 3 days before setting out again. Check back next week for Nech does the Philippines.

HKUST - The First Days

2008-09-03T02:21:00.006-04:00

It's been a full week since I've arrived at HKUST so I figured it's about time I shared the wealth.

After being met at the airport by some nice HKUST students, about 20 of us who arrived that Wednesday morning (including my good buddy Michael Ruah) boarded a coach bus and headed over to the UST. It was (and is) hot and humid, but the view was (and is) spectacular.
Located on a steep hill on the coast of Clear Water Bay, the university is afforded a panoramic view of mountainous islands and ocean from both the main buildings (which have partially open walls) and most of the dorms. We even got a beautiful beach 20 minutes away (went on Monday).

Most fun has been meeting the people. It's kinda a rewind to freshman year: anytime you see a white guy or gal (or an Asian kid speaking perfect English) it's permissable to introduce yourself and start chatting. But this time 'round people aren't just from Nebraska, Michigan, and Texas, but also Germany, Sweden, and Spain. Meeting Europeans though does have a downside - I have proven myself to be a complete American when it comes to knowing geography (like when I was surprised that Slovakia still existed upon meeting a kid from there last night). And being Jewish can mix things up a bit too: A couple days ago, my new good friend Sebastian (from Frankfurt) noticed I was wearing my Jew-Black alliance t-shirt. Guessing (correctly) that I wasn't black, he asked hesitantly, "So, you're Jewish?" and then, "What do you think about Germans?" (Later on I got to ask what he thought of Hitler.)

Meeting non-American Asians works a bit differently. Contrary to what we expected, not only do local students have a lot of trouble with English, but they also have very poor Mandarin. Still, Brian and I tend to lead off with the classic
"wu shu mei gua ren" (I am american) - at which point they start smiling

, "wu chway shwa idiar Putonghua" (I speak a little Mandarin) - Now they're sometimes impressed, sometimes laughing, sometimes confused

and "wu Putonghua shwa da boo how" (I speak Mandarin poorly) - shake their heads vigorously and give thumbs up or say "hen how, hen how" (very good, very good)

with girls we sometimes add "ni hen mei" or "ni hen pial lian" (you are very beautiful). Works every time.

As for exploring the city, so far I've been to Stanley Market and Victoria Peak, both popular tourist destinations, as well as parts of central Hong Kong (including the bars of Lan Kwai Fong), Victoria harbor, the night market, and Macao for a day (won $50 Hong Kong). Most fun though was my first Karaoke bar experience. For 3 hours we (14 students, including 4 locals) ate, drank, played, and sang. For those of you who are curious, there are embarrassing videos of me singing "pump it" and soulja boy" up on facebook. I even sung some of the Mandarin songs we played (though I can't read any Mandarin characters) and fooled several people for a good 40 seconds before they realized I was just making random "chi chai wong tu" sounds (not videoed).

Food here is amazing. Not only do I get Chinese food (which I love) every day, It's also usually been less than $3 (U.S.) per meal with surprisingly large portions. In Macao we had a "hot pot" meal, which meant that they put boiling pots (each with a spicy and clear section) around the table, and then we ordered raw food which we cooked ourselves so it was constantly hot and freshly made. And trust me, you do not want to hear which new kinds of food I tried that day.

I think that's 'nuff for now, but stay tuned for next week's post - Nech does Taiwan

8.5 Hours in Tokyo - Nech does Japan

2008-08-28T03:23:00.006-04:00

That's right. Already delayed one night in Detroit, I opted to delay myself even more by convincing NWA to allow me to stay the night in Tokyo.. Initially offered 9:45 or 11 AM flights the next morning, I was given a 7 AM flight instead without paid hotel. I figured this was ok - I could still spend the night in Tokyo and return to the airport in the morning. The girl waiting on line next to me was less certain. "You know", she said, "people in Japan don't speak English very much."
"Don't worry, I speak Mandarin."
"Putonghua??!!" [Mandarin]
"id'ar" [a little]
She grimaced.

I was wrong about about staying in Tokyo overnight. Tokyo was a 1.5 hour train ride from Narita, and the first train only arrived 6:30 AM; I needed to board at 6 AM. I decided to just sleep on a bench in the airport instead. And by the time I got my new ticket, some Yen, 3 maps, 2 train schedules, a tourist guide from the information booth, and arrived in Tokyo, it was already 2:30 and the last train back to Narita was 11 PM.

In those 8.5 hours in Tokyo, I got to see the imperial palace, meditate in Tokyo's oldest Buddhist Temple (I got a good fortune), take a boat down the central river, walk around a Japanese mall, enjoy a stroll over Rainbow Bridge, and ride up Tokyo's tallest tower.

As exciting as that was, the real adventure came only when I left Tokyo at 11 PM. Though I had been successfully albeit slowly navigating the metro until then, I missed one of the transfers on the way to Narita. Luckily, I realized this a mere two stops later. Unluckily, that was still five minutes too late and I was stuck for the night in the random Japanese city of Abiko. At least it was safe in the train station.

Then the station closed. After failing to convince security to allow me to stay, I found myself stranded on the street.

So that's how I found myself huddled up in a nook in front of a hair salon two stories up overlooking a little convenience store (open 24 hours) and a parking lot containing 3 cabs. Every once in a while some people would walk into the store. Sometimes they were drunk. Every time I heard footsteps I would jump a bit. Thankfully, nobody came up those stairs. I figured it was a bad idea to go to sleep, so I stayed up and read The Audacity of Hope.

At 5 AM the station opened and I got hot chocolate from a machine.
At 5:30 I boarded the first train to Narita, which only got in at 6:30. Uh oh (I had found this out the night before, but I had no real alternative).
At 6:30 I ran from the station to my best guess as to the departure area. Nobody was there. Fortunately, my guess was right, because I finally find one guy who asks as I'm approaching, "Hong Kong?", which apparently was the only flight leaving before 8 AM. He rushes me over somewhere, where I showed my ticket, put my bag through security, but then was told that I was too late.

Ten minutes later I was on the plane. Four hours later I was in Hong Kong, 60 hours after I had left New York. I was very ready for a change of clothes and some deoderant.

Then I noticed a paper stuck to an upside-down container on the luggage carousel.

"NECHEMYA ELIEZER KAGEDAN, please see NWA ground staff for baggage information."

I did eventually get my bag - another 30 hours later.

(Administrative note: Some people have asked me if they can be notified whenever I post. This is possible using an RSS feed - just scroll down to the bottom of the page and click "subscribe" and follow the directions thereafter. Happy reading!)

Introduction

2008-08-18T21:50:00.002-04:00

Hey you! If you're reading this, it means that you are too lazy to get off your butt and go to China and want to live vicariously through me instead. Or you just care about me and want to see how I'm doing. Either way, I've had a few requests to keep people updated, so I figured I'd give it a shot. As much as I'll try to limit my posts to super-funny and/or exciting happenings, I am not a super-funny or exciting person, so don't get your hopes up too high.
In order to keep me posting and you knowing when to read, I will guarantee a new post every other Wednesday - beginning with yesterday, August 20.
If you like it, feel free to talk about it by the water cooler and check back every once in a while. It'll be here. Much thanks to Tal Raviv for his inspiration in my journey and BFink among others who will be joining me in HKUST.
I'd love to hear from y'all about how your doing, so please shoot me an e-mail or even reply to a post (if you want your voice to be heard by my legions of readers).

With love and (hopefully) wit,
miss you all already,
Nech

What not to do when getting your visa

2008-08-18T18:29:00.004-04:00

After running into some technical difficulties trying to get my Chinese visa, I found my savior - Fiona (Chen), my friend Guli's travel agent. I call her and hear a voice say, "ni hou." Somewhere in my brain, the Mandarin tapes I've been listening to tell me that that means "hello" in Mandarin, and I should flex my new skillz and say "ni hou" back.

I stammer a "hi." Strike one.

Either way, we get past that and my butchering of Minguang Zhu (Guli's dad) (his name, not that actual dad), and work out the details. I print out my bank account statement, visa form, flight itinerary to hong kong, passport picture, get a bank check, and stick all that and my passport in a usps priority mail envelope at the post office. I weigh it, add a bunch of stamps, seal it closed, and stick it in the mail box.

Two blocks later i realized that i had written no address. Or return address. Strike two.

I go to china in three weeks and just lost my passport.

So I mosey back to the post office right in front of the mailbox, but they didn't have the key to open it. Now it was 4:45 and I had been skipping work for the last hour and a half. I realized that my best bet was to wait until the mailman came at 5:30, but that was a long time to wait and my long absence at work was probably a little suspicious. So I, foolishly, abandon the mailbox to go to my office for a few minutes, grab a book and return at 5:00 to continue my stalk. By 6:30 still no mailman and I had to leave; apparently he had come in those 15 minutes I was at work. Thus, I abandoned my passport to fate.

Strike 3.

But before i went, out of desperation I wrote 2 notes to the anonymous mailman who may yet have held my fate in his hands, each explaining what had happened. I added the address of the travel agent and put one inside the mailbox and the other set to pop out when the box was opened.

After 3 days of suspense, I e-mailed Fiona to ask if she got the package. (Not that I thought she had gotten it; at this point I was really hoping that they opened up the envelope, found my passport and bank statement, and sent it to my house.)

I finally get the reply - "Got it yesterday, no problems."

whew.

anonymous mailman: you are my hero